Hotel Alpha

(The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real individuals either living or dead is coincidental. Please send any comments, corrections, or requests for reposts to lwoods@peak.org)

PROLOGUE TO BOOK ONE

Episode One

North Dakota

Saturday morning Christian Taylor checked his e-mail. Of the twelve messages received while he slept, one demanded immediate attention; Chris clicked 'just a suggestion' from paul@alpha.org.

"Hey, Chris," the message began, "As we've discussed I've been looking around for another North Dakotan to pair you up with. I haven't run across anybody perfect, but there's an applicant from Dickenson that sounds better than anybody else I've come across (pun intended.) His name is Jeff Michaels, he's 5'8", 130#, brown hair, and blue eyes. His favorite food is meatloaf, sport snowboarding, snack tacos, get-away Sun Valley. He will be a freshman at state and is spending the summer at home, taking math and history classes from the local JC. He has a decent-enough sex drive -- 7-10x/week -- but since he has never had our kind of sex he fails to qualify for affirmative action. I was thinking that maybe you could give him a call (349-555-9807), get together, and talk some sense into him. That would give me the two ND men I need and leave me only three states to go. See ya soon hopefully, Paul"

Five-foot-eight, one-hundred-thirty pounds was not exactly Chris's idea of a hunk, but the snowboarders Chris knew had excellent builds, so Chris replied to Paul's message, "Will do and thanks." Chris ate breakfast planning his strategy, and at nine o'clock he called Dickenson.

When Jeff's mother put Jeff on the phone, Chris introduced himself, then explained, "I had a message from Paul Hogan on Alpha . . . "

"Paul Hogan? No shit?"

"No shit. Paul said you'd applied for a job and seemed to meet all the requirements except for one minor problem. I was wondering if we could get together and discuss it."

"You bet. My car's being worked on, but I could hitch it from here to Bismarck in under two hours."

Chris said, "My car's running fine, so why don't I come over there, as long as there's someplace we can talk."

"I've got the whole second floor. Hey, this is exciting."

Back in his room, glad he had not relieved his urges earlier, Chris wondered how he should dress. Since this would be another hot, humid day, he chose running shorts without underwear, a Columbia T-shirt, and sneakers. He drove the ninety- eight miles to Dickenson in eighty-one minutes.

Wiry was the term that came to mind when Chris first saw Jeff wearing only his swim trunks watering the lawn. Chris parked, Jeff turned off the hose, came to Chris's car, and they shook hands. Jeff smelled of freshly mown grass, a scent Chris associated with cumrags.

Standing beside Jeff on the sidewalk Chris reflected that the three-inch difference in their heights mattered little, that Jeff's enthusiasm make it irrelevant. Jeff gripped Chris's biceps, led him inside, and up the stairs to the typical teenage boys's bedroom. Football and baseball trophies cluttered the dresser, pictures of Jeff paired with assorted girls covered the walls. The bookcase could have belonged to any college-bound male; textbooks vied for shelf space, competing with Playboys and Hustlers.

Jeff escorted Chris to the chair, sat on the bed, leaned forward, and asked, "So how do you know Paul well enough that he sends you e-mail?"

Chris said that he had met Paul after Paul had given a speech at Chris's college. Paul had encouraged him to apply for a summer job on Alpha, Chris had applied, and had been chosen. "They're committed to taking at least four people from every state, so he needs to find another guy by the end of next week. The girls are all set."

Jeff tapped Chris's knee, saying, "I guess when you mention my little problem you're talking about me getting busted for pot. I swear I haven't touched the shit in a year, honest to God."

Chris said, "Paul never mentioned dope. The situation's like this, Dr. Mueller's sponsors include minority groups, and his contract guarantees that college-aged members of those groups will receive preference."

Jeff laughed, "I can't dye myself black."

"Race isn't a consideration, but Dr. Mueller's largest contributor is the Rainbow Committee, so there's a preference for men with gay backgrounds."

Jeff scowled, "Then how did you qualify?"

Here, Chris must move cautiously, so instead of saying, "'Cause I love to suck cock," he said, "The guidelines don't state that the applicant's orientation has to be gay, only that he has to have had gay sex."

Still skeptical, Jeff asked, "What's the difference?"

"I've got this fraternity brother," Chris said, "and Grant is as straight as they get, but he needed a little extra spending money to finance his partying so he spread the word that for a fifty you could blow him."

Genuinely perplexed, Jeff asked, "Who'd pay fifty dollars -- who'd pay anything -- to suck a guy's stick?"

"There are people around."

Perplexity became impatience, and Jeff demanded, "How about you? What's your story?"

Jeff opted to describe his first gay experience, in his opinion, the least threatening. "It's probably happened to half the kids in this country. I have this friend Cory, and we're both completely jack-off obsessed."

This, Jeff understood; he nodded, "Me too -- it goes with having a penis."

Chris returned Jeff's nod. "We were always picking up new techniques on the net, and we ran into one that sounded great but it needed two people. Anyway, two-way JO's qualify as gay sex."

"What kind of jack-off technique needs two people?"

"One guy lies on his back, makes his hand into a fist, and the other guy fucks it."

As Jeff sat frowning, his mother called, "Jeff, would you and your friend like some lunch?"

"That'd be great, Mom," Jeff answered.

Downstairs, Chris marvelled that Jeff stayed in such excellent shape considering his mother's high-fat cooking. The teens ate hamburgers so gooey and luscious they must have contained a thousand calories minimum, plus a sensational potato salad and homemade apple pie for dessert.

Afterward, washing his plate, Chris said, "Anyway, it's something for you to think about. Paul didn't say what we'd be doing on Alpha, but even if we're stuck cleaning hotel rooms it'd be awesome."

Squeezing Chris's forearm, Jeff said, "I've done all the thinking I need to. Let's go upstairs."

Jeff again led the way, offering Chris a fine view of his rear. In the room, Jeff stood tense, waiting for Chris to do whatever. Jeff might have been scared, but there was a hardon in his swim suit, Chris saw.

Chris asked, "Got lube?"

Chris's question broke the tension; Jeff snickered, "That's like asking if Foodmart has vegetables."

Jeff opened the top drawer of his cluttered dresser, shifted folded pairs of shorts to the side, revealing an assortment of lubricants. "I've been collecting for a while," he said.

For jacking solo, Chris would have selected Jeff's Astro- Glide; for what he did with Cory, K-Y performed better. He took the blue-and-white tube, set it on the dresser, and dropped his shorts. He pulled off his T-shirt, took the lube to the bed, and lay on his back.

Although Jeff stripped modestly, facing the wall, there was nothing modest about the prick Chris saw when Jeff turned around. Chris guessed Jeff's rod at six-plus inches, a full two-inch diameter, slightly left-curved, and darker in color than Jeff's lanky tanned legs. "So you make your hand into a pussy, and I drill it, right?"

"Right." Chris squeezed two inches of lube onto his palm, formed a fist, and held the fist against his belly with his thumb knuckle stuck in his navel.

Jeff climbed onto the bed, on top of Chris on all fours, positioned his knob, and shoved his dick through Chris's fingers. "That does feel different," he conceded, thrusting again.

From where Chris was lying he could not see Jeff's facial expression nor did he dare hold a finger against Jeff's asshole, either of which would have allowed him to gauge how excited Jeff was. He could see Jeff's neck muscles, however, and they offered clues. When Chris squeezed Jeff's cock, the muscles corded; when Chris's fingers relaxed, Jeff's neck muscles also relaxed.

Ten minutes into the fist fuck, Jeff growled, "Stop screwing around, Taylor -- I need to cum now."

Chris boosted the pressure, Jeff's thrusts increased speed, slowed down, sped up one more time, and white stuff spewed. Three shots into his climax he groaned and collapsed onto Chris. Moments later, he came back to life, stroking Chris's side, asking, "What do I do to bust you?"

Chris answered, "Roll off me just enough so I can use my hand on my cock."

Episode Two

New Jersey

Saturday morning Jared Spencer's groin ached, and when he rolled over, his hardon brushing the sheet set off sparks. Either he would have to find a partner soon or relieve himself, but before he did either he left his bed, crossed to his desk, pulled up his boxer shorts, and logged on.

Seventy-four-thousand collegiates had applied for the four- hundred summer jobs at Dr. Mueller's two Alpha resorts, Laurasia Inc. in the north, Gondwana Ltd. in the south. Given the numbers, Jared had calculated his chances at roughly one in two-hundred, the same as were his brother Greg's; consequently, Saturday's message doubly astonished him.

From Paul@alpha.org. "Hey guys -- first the good news. Director Will Menton has agreed to suspend his usual policy prohibiting relatives from working together. The bad news, he refuses to make an exception to our affirmative action commitment. Let me know what you decide before Friday. Best wishes, Paul."

Jared had not yet informed Greg that they had a good chance of reaching Alpha -- Jared had hoped for an exception to the gay- sex requirement -- but now that the matter was settled, Jared printed Paul's message and took the printout down the hall to the bathroom where Greg was drying off after his shower.

"Great timing," Greg grinned. "Take off those shorts and bend over."

"That isn't as funny today as it would have been yesterday. Check this."

As Greg read Paul's message, his expression changed from mild interest to elation to confusion. Returning the paper, he asked, "What's this affirmative action about?"

Jared explained that Doctor Mueller's sponsors had specified that all summer hires have gay-sex experience.

"That's easy," Greg said, making no attempt to hide his bare body. "You bend over, I stick you, and we're employed."

Fretting, Jared studied his brother. "I guess I could jack that thing off if I had to."

Snapping Jared's arm with the towel, Greg said, "Jacking somebody off isn't sex. Sucking somebody's dong isn't sex. The only way to have sex is to poke the pink python way up inside them and pump it back and forth till you squirt."

"You're repulsive," Jared growled, yet back in his room he admitted to himself that Greg was anything but repulsive. The goddam kid had filled out, his physique was superb, and no girl in town would have refused Greg a date. Lately, Jared had caught himself fantasizing Greg during his stroke sessions, which was why he had not jacked last night and why his balls hurt this morning.

Jared was changing into his Bermudas when Greg walked in, stood behind Jared, and wrapped his arms around Jared's chest. Enormously strong, he lifted Jared easily, set him down, and watched him dress.

Perched on Jared's desk, Greg said, "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to solve our mutual problem. Why don't you be a good sport?"

"I am not into incest," Jared said virtuously, zipping his shorts.

"Oh bullshit. We Spencers are into whatever feels good." His arm across Jared's shoulders, Greg walked down the hall with his brother.

They spent the balance of the morning and most of the afternoon rowing their skiff across Bennington Bay, reaching Paradise Island in a dead heat with schoolmates Tom and Blake Atwood. Rowing back, his shin brushing Jared's, Greg said, "Tell you what, bro -- I'll compromise. We'll flip a coin. Heads I'm in you, tails you're in me."

Jared said, "I am not taking you up my ass."

"Okay," Greg shrugged, "then I'll take you."

Hoping to educate his brother to the possible perils of such behavior, Jared said, "In that book I just finished the two brothers liked the sex they had together so much they stopped liking women."

"Think of all the money they saved," Greg chortled, "and think of all the money we'll make on Alpha."

"If we go," Jared replied.

"We're gonna go," Greg assured him.

The boys rinsed the salt off their boat at the wharf; they rinsed the salt off themselves on the lawn. Jared went to his room, set netsearch to anal+sex, and studied three sites. Armed with new knowledge, Jared went to Greg's room, found his towel- wrapped brother lying prone reading Penthouse. Jared took off his trunks, sat beside Greg, and lifted the towel.

"You've reconsidered?" Greg asked.

Jared spread Greg's cheeks, uncovering a blond-hair-lined valley with a taut, virgin slit. When Jared blew on the slit, it quivered.

"Sheesh," Greg said.

Jared opened the drawer of Greg's nightstand, withdrew and uncapped a tube of hand lotion. Actually, both brothers preferred designer lubes but they cost more. Jared squeezed a gob of lotion into Greg's crack, smeared it around, then slid his finger into Greg. Greg groaned, and Jared asked, "Does that excite you?"

"More than seeing you naked, less than me spanking my monkey."

Curling the finger, Jared said, "Boylust.com says when I rub some gland in there it'll feel like you're cumming."

Greg's sphincters squeezed Jared's finger. "I think you just found it."

"Flip over."

As Greg rolled over Jared left the finger up his ass and opened the towel. Dick shapes must be genetic, he reflected, seeing that Greg's knob's diameter, like Jared's, hardly exceeded the shaft's. Also, while Blake Atwood boasted that his cock turned ruby red when rigid, the brothers' glowed pink.

Greg's anal sensitivity prompted Jared to experiment further; bending forward, he licked Greg's cock, and the muscles gripping Jared's finger squeezed tight.

"There is a connection between your dick and your ass," Jared said.

"No lie." Writhing impaled, Greg reached upward to pull Jared's face toward his crotch. "Listen," he gasped, "if you'll give me head I will do anything, absolutely anything you say."

Ignorant of how to give a competent blow job, Jared took Greg's dick in his mouth and jacked it off with his tongue. He pressed his tongue tip in the notch below Greg's knob, then drew a line from the knob down Greg's stalk. As he repeated this basic maneuver, Greg's breathing turned ragged, his asshole went spastic, and ropey dick-juice erupted.

"Goddam but do I ever owe you," Greg said.

Jared's initial impulse was to spit Greg's spunk, but his trunks were the only thing handy so he swallowed. "A little bit like raw oysters," he said.

"You can take your finger out now -- I'm starting to ache."

Jared removed the finger, saw it was clean, and wiped the lube on his leg. Stretching out beside Greg, Jared rubbed his brother's belly. "I could tell when you were ready to cum. Your abs flexed," Jared said.

Pulling Jared's prick, Greg said, "And my toes curled."

"Your rear end would have felt great on my dick, like it was sucking . . . Oh shit!" Jared paid the price for underestimating how close busting Greg had brought him; he had scarcely started enjoying Greg's grip when his load sprayed Greg's side.

Greg pulled Jared's dick while it emptied, then said, "I didn't want you fucking me tonight -- I'm fairly sore from your finger -- but there's always tomorrow."

Sunday morning, Jared experienced deja vu when he visited Greg. Greg was on his bed wrapped in a towel, his hair wet from showering. He glanced sideways as Jared stepped out of his swim suit, saying, "Bro, you are stiff."

Sitting where he had sat the night before, Jared lifted Greg's towel. "How did you sleep?"

"Like a log."

Jared spread Greg's buns, saw his pucker, and licked it. "What did you do to make your asshole taste salty?"

"Boylust.com said a saline enema would help it relax."

Jared had left the lotion under Greg's bed; he found it, opened it, and greased Greg's hole. His finger entered more easily than it had entered Greg yesterday, and it found Greg's gland quicker. Jared pressed the gland, and Greg moaned.

Jared said, "Get up on all fours so I can jack you and fuck you."

When Greg had assumed the classic position of a boy wanting it doggie-style, Jared mounted him. Three times his prick sought Greg's hole, but only when Greg positioned it did Jared's tip nudge the tight bung.

How was it that porn queens could take it up the chute without a whimper? When Jared's dork poked Greg's slit Greg gritted his teeth; when Jared's knob penetrated Greg's hole, Greg whispered, "That hurts." Jared could have spared his brother had he inched into him, but as lust overwhelmed Jared, he thrust.

"Yipes!"

Jared felt between Greg's legs. "Did I tear you?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm already kind of liking it. Don't cum too quick."

In telling a teenager as horny as Jared, 'Don't cum too quick,' Greg's wasted his breath. Jared had read that the better sex felt the less time it lasted, and nothing had ever felt better than Jared felt in Greg. Consequently, a few jackrabbit thrusts, a little heavy breathing, some sweat, and Jared's cock delivered a seminal flood.

Dizzy from the overdose of pleasure, Jared heard Greg say, "Don't pull out till I shoot."

Reaching beneath Greg, Jared found his brother's cock in a surprising condition: sticky but limp. Normally, Greg was the boy with a hardon -- stiff when he woke in the morning, stiff in the evening even after he creamed. Jared said, "I didn't hope you'd be thrilled, but I hoped you'd be marginally close."

Greg groaned, "You have no idea how close I am." Greg proved how close when his soft meat unloaded.

PART I

Chapter One

Jeff's arrival

Project director Will Menton had provided for teleporting his two-hundred employees from four different cities, Easterners from New York, southerners from Atlanta, Midwesterners from Chicago, and Westerners from Los Angeles.

During an eight-hour bus ride, Jeff Michaels sat beside the other North Dakota selectee, Christian Taylor. Had Jeff realized what Chris Taylor's fist would do to his sex life he might have chosen to spend the summer in Dickenson selling watermelons. This past week, jacking off had been considerably less exciting than before Jeff encountered Chris's talented hand.

In Chicago, Jeff and Chris joined the other Midwesterners at the East Side Banquet Hall. Following Will's instructions, each employee brought only prescription medicines if any and the clothes on his back -- Hotel Alpha would provide underwear, uniforms, toiletries, and anything else he would need.

At three p.m. Sunday afternoon, June 6, Jeff was discussing baseball in the banquet hall when the lights flickered. Chris's face slipped out of focus, a kid at the next table passed out, and they were on Alpha. At 3:05, the group filed out of the hall into a twelve-acre park.

Advertising brochures had prepared Jeff for what he saw. To the left of the teleportation depot were casinos, to the right were boutiques, straight ahead past the park was a golf course. Those same advertising brochures had not prepared Jeff for what he smelled: the overpowering fragrance of citrus contributed by a profusion of lemon, orange, and grapefruit trees, the park's principal flora.

As Jeff stood wondering what he should do next, a blond boy came out from Candy Shop Alpha. Between taking licks on a lollipop shaped like a dinosaur, he directed Jeff's group, "For you goes all the ways past those stores here, und you will sees many peoples und tables such as yourselfs, und you joins them."

Jeff and Chris walked past the boy, the boy licked his sucker, and Chris said, "That reminds me of something that'd feel pretty great."

It reminded Jeff that everyone in their group was a male. Tapping the boy's shoulder, Jeff asked, "Where are the girls?"

The boy eyed him gravely. "They ist there, you ist here."

Jeff asked, "Where is there and where is here?"

"In Gondwana they ist, und you in Laurasia. Wie heissen Sie, bitte?"

"I'm sorry," Jeff apologized, "I don't speak German."

Chris translated, "He asked what your name is."

"Jeff Michaels," Jeff said.

"Ha ha!" the boy laughed. "Another Yeffster, another Yeffster, now five."

The boy skipped away, and Jeff walked alongside Chris past the shops to tables where other blond boys distributed orientation kits. Jeff's contained the nametag JEFF, the key to room 182G, a razor, and a toothbrush. The kit also contained a dozen Dino-Might condoms, but why? Jeff asked Chris, "Why do we need rubbers if there aren't any women?"

Though Chris did not know, he speculated, "Maybe in case you connect with a rich banker's daughter?"

Despite the danger a continuing relationship might involve, Jeff had hoped Chris would share 182G, but Chris's key was for 192F. These rooms and all other employees' room were located in the hotel's north wing directly opposite the teleport depot. Since signs forbade crossing the golf course, the newcomers walked past the entire eastern wing, 2000 feet of recreational facilities including a bowling alley, video arcades, tennis courts.

Upon reaching 182G Jeff unlocked a room containing two twin beds, two desks, and two chairs. A small glass-block window set into the far wall overlooked a flowering prairie. Since Jeff had arrived before his roommate, and since all groups left at 3:00 p.m. local time, Jeff deduced that his roommate must be coming from Los Angeles, giving Jeff two hours alone. What better way to spend part of that time than unloading his junk? He pulled the curtain across the window, shot the door's deadbolt, and took off his clothes.

Stiff from anticipation Jeff walked to the bathroom, his hardon leading the way. He searched the medicine cabinet for hand cream, lotion, or anything else he could use to grease up. He found shaving cream, toothpaste, deodorant, after shave, but no lube, and he was ready to use good, old-fashioned spit when someone knocked on the outside door.

"Chris?" he asked hopefully -- Chris might have grease.

"It's Paul, Paul Hogan, Jeff."

"Just a minute." Jeff pulled on the jeans he had just taken off, grateful he had not started sweating and that he could shake Paul's dry hand with a dry hand of his own. "I've seen so many pictures of you it's almost like we're old friends. Come on in."

"Actually, I want you to come with me, but you'll be more comfortable in other clothes. They're in the bottom desk drawers."

Jeff chose the nearer dresser, opened the bottom drawer, and found a pair of tan shorts. He stepped out of view of the doorway, dropped his jeans, and heard Paul chuckle. Looking down, Jeff saw pre-sem smeared across his dick-knob, put on the shorts, tightened the drawstring, and said, "I was just killing time."

Grinning in the doorway, Paul said, "No better way. Damn but those things are baggy on you. What size waist do you have?"

"Twenty-nine." Jeff pulled on a T-shirt. Both the tee and the shorts bore a Triceratops monogram.

Outside, leading Jeff westward past more employee bedrooms, Paul quizzed him. "Do you know much about porn?"

"I've rented everything Dickenson has to offer," Jeff said.

Jeff answered Paul's questions as they turned west, stating that his favorite porn queen was Cherise, that he didn't pay much attention to the males but that Rod Long squirted impressively, that Pan-America Video had the best technical quality, and that his all-time favorite film was 'Mirage.' Completely at ease with his idol, Jeff confessed, "I didn't beat off to 'Mirage' as much as I did to 'Sorority Sisters,' though. Dyke scenes don't usually do it for me but that one with Gwynneth and Lise turned my crank."

"How many times?"

"Five watching the movie and once later in bed."

The west wing housed the hotel's utilities: the generator, the water purification plant, and hangars where mechanics serviced the tanks. "Are those things hard to drive?" Jeff asked.

"There's nothing to it on the flatland," Paul said, "but when they go into the hills to look for brontosaurs, they're a bitch."

Near where the west wing met the south wing Paul led Jeff into 'Alphaland Entertainment,' past racks of conventional videos, through a door with a sign above it reading ADULTS ONLY. Besides a vast collection of triple-x videos, the ADULTS ONLY room housed sex toys, indiscreet lingerie, jack-off booths, hard- core magazines, and an assortment of lubes Jeff would have killed for half-hour ago. Jeff recognized all his favorite greases, plus some even he had not tried.

"This is the third-largest collection of erotica under one roof and your summertime job," Paul said. "You'll have the night shift."

Paul left, and the incredible treasure trove so absorbed Jeff that he next looked at his watch at 5:15, which likely meant that his west coast roommate had arrived. As he debated using a booth, two stockboys wheeled in cases of merchandise. One said, "Paul told us you're the boss here. Where do you want your gay 'zines?"

Jeff did not want them at all, but he recalled that gays formed an important part of the hotel's financial structure. He helped the stockboys move all the straight stuff to one set of racks, freeing space for the gay. Jeff told the stockboys, "Don't spackle the merchandise," then returned to his room severely in need hoping to meet a roommate blind and deaf.

Dave Butler was neither. The angular teenager had sharp blue eyes, pointy ears, sparkling teeth. He was sitting at the farther desk reading, glanced up, and he smiled. "Your bio says your favorite snack is tacos. I hoped you might be from Mexico City. Aztec culture's my hobby."

Returning Dave's smile, Jeff said, "I hoped you might be a big-titted blonde nymphomaniac, so we're both out of luck."

Leaving Alphaland Entertainment, Jeff had taken a give-away sample of Astro-Glide. Worried that the packet might burst in his pocket, he transferred it to the bathroom cabinet under the sink, then lay on his bed wondering how he could wait until dark to do what he needed. Deciding he couldn't and that frank conversation might improve their relationship, he told Dave, "Paul put me in charge of the adult video store. I've been looking at that shit for the past couple hours, and it's had the effect you'd expect, so I was wondering if you'd mind taking a walk or something. I won't need long, five minutes max."

Turning around, Dave looked at Jeff's shorts and he nodded. "I understand blue balls, but think about this -- we're going to be spending the next hundred nights here. Every time you wake up horny -- and if you're like me that'll happen most nights -- are you going to wake me up and ask me to go for a walk?"

"I wouldn't do that," Jeff answered.

"And if I woke up horny I wouldn't either. I'd put my hand to the meat, and if you watched me, so what?" Dave shrugged, "Everybody's seen another guy cream or he wouldn't be here."

Jeff protested, "It'll be different doing it at night versus doing it in the daytime with you watching. Just this once, bud?"

Dave stood, went to the door, and as he closed it behind him said, "Five minutes -- have fun."

Clock ticking, Jeff pushed down his shorts; they caught on his hipbones, and he wasted precious time untying the drawstring. Then when he had his shorts at his knees and his dick in his hand he remembered the Astro-Glide in the bathroom. Finding and retrieving the lube from behind the rolls of spare toilet paper wasted more time. His watch warned him that sixty seconds had passed before he was jacking.

As each minute slid by, additional circumstances conspired prevent Jeff from cumming. He began with too much Astro-Glide, couldn't hold onto his dick, and wiped his hand on the bedspread, reducing the lube too much, so he had to add more. Four and a half minutes into his beat-off he was close but the good feelings also produced pre-cum, reducing resistance. He was wiping his hand a second time when the five minutes ended.

Chapter Two

Twinks and their E-Zones

Seated on a wrought iron bench outside 182G, observing the other new hires walk by, Dave Butler reflected that whoever had picked Alpha's employees liked twinks. While twinks could be muscular, they could never be stocky. Twinks could be slim or slender, never skinny. Twinks could have long hair, short hair, blond hair, brown hair, red hair, but never more than a normal amount of body hair. Not one twink in one-hundred was handsome, but all twinks were cute. In Dave's opinion Jeff Michaels epitomized twink. He was well-built with body hair only where he would have looked freaky without it, and he was most certainly cute.

When five minutes had passed Dave re-entered the room expecting to hear Jeff showering. Instead, he saw Jeff lying flushed, frustrated, naked, hard, wiping his hand.

Dave asked, "Did you bust?"

Jeff snarled, "Do you see snot?"

"Do you want another five minutes?"

"Fuck it -- I'll finish off later."

While Jeff showered (That was another common thread among twinks, they bathed frequently.) Dave changed into hotel-supplied clothing. Dave was reading, Jeff was combing his hair when the dinner bell rang.

The architects had designed the employees' mess to feed all two-hundred workers simultaneously. Due to scheduling conflicts the dining hall would never be full, but tonight it came close. Dave sat on a bench at a twenty-foot-long plank table beside Jeff and across from Jeff's friend, Chris Taylor, another twink.

Ladling soup from the tureen to his bowl, Jeff said, "I know what my job's going to be. Have you guys found out yours?"

Paul had not assigned Chris yet; Dave said, "I'll be giving massages. I'm a CMT, a certified therapist."

Jeff beamed, "If I can't have a nymph for my roommate, I'll vote for a CMT. My brother's got his certificate -- he's outstanding."

Five mid- to late-twenties men, too old to be twinks, were sitting at a smaller table near the window. One stood, introduced himself as Will Menton, and defined Hotel Alpha's ground rules. "There won't be a curfew -- too many of you will be working odd shifts -- but remember that at any given time people will be sleeping in their rooms, so keep the noise down. No fighting -- we're one big family. No stealing -- the dean of discipline, whom you'll meet shortly, punishes thieves."

Will sipped water, then continued, "Here are the do's and the don'ts about sex. With each other it's recommended, and it's okay with anybody over eighteen unless they're married. Stick your dick in someone who's married, and you'll visit the dean. You'll also visit the dean if you stick your dick in a girl without wearing a condom. If you use up the twelve-pack we gave you, we'll give you more."

Dave's attention wandered through the rest of Will's speech but focused when Will introduced the Dean of Discipline, Austin Penn. Penn would have been a twink five years ago. Even today he was a good-looking man, although the defined muscles of his youth had softened into the curves of adulthood.

Penn rose, smiled a sinister smile, and said, "I'm told a picture's worth a thousand words, so if the gentleman nearest the switch will turn off the lights."

As a twink in the back of the dining room rose, Will Menton pointed to a blond boy serving dessert. "Matthias, leave the room for a minute."

"But I likes pictures," Matthias pleaded.

"Matthias, I said leave the room."

Passing Dave, Matthias muttered, "Verdammt Menton. He ist worser as Bechtel."

When Matthias had left, the twink turned off the lights, and Penn projected a slide onto the wall. The slide depicted a teenager screaming, and no wonder. A pencil had been shoved up his cock, a fist up his ass, and battery clamps squeezed his tits.

"So you won't be wanting to see me in my official capacity," Penn said, "but I make a hell of a tennis partner."

The lights went back on, Jeff and Dave went outside. As they walked to their room, the young blond German came up behind them and tugged on Jeff's T-shirt. "Hello, Yeffster five," said the boy.

Jeff said to Dave, "Matthias must know five people named Jeff."

"No no," said Matthias, "for I knows seven." Matthias held up a forefinger. "Yeffster one pictures takes." Matthias added his middle finger. "Yeffster two machines oils." He added his ring finger. "Yeffster three, he rooms cleans." He added his little finger. "Yeffster four, he cleans also." Matthias held up his whole hand, fingers spread. "Yeffster five, you movies rents." Matthias set down the bottle of wine he had been carrying so he could finish his count. "Yeffster six blackjacks deals und Yeffster seven statues makes. I am very gladdest we are friends, Yeffster five, und you also, massager."

As the boy hurried away, Jeff called, "You forgot your wine."

"Is for you," Matthias called back. "Herr Paul, he sends it."

Dave opened the door to 182G, found two cups alongside a corkscrew in the bathroom, and opened the bottle. Dave poured two cupfuls, gave Jeff one, swallowed, and yowled. "Holy shit, that's strong."

Snickering, "Pussy," Jeff took his cup, sat on his bed, gulped wine, and set the cup on the nightstand separating his bed from Dave's. As Jeff sat thinking, Dave went to the window and gazed outside onto the twilit grassland. Near enough to gaze back, two triceratops grazed.

Afraid his voice would spook the beasts, Dave whispered, "Jeffster, come here."

Jeff joined him, laid a hand on Dave's shoulder, and they watched the five-ton animals feed. On earth, only a full-grown male African elephant could match the size of a trike, Dave had read. While the animals ate and the boys drank their wine, Alpha's moon rose.

Eventually, the dinosaurs lumbered off, the boys emptied the bottle, and sat on their beds. Jeff's foot slid between the gap, bumped Dave's, and Jeff asked, "So how did you qualify for affirmative action?"

Dave answered casually, "Your brother's probably run into into this -- some clients give masseurs big tips to get them off." Dave did not add that he often got twinks off for free.

Jeff shook his head, stared out the window. "My brother wouldn't do that. Me, I qualified because I fucked a guy's fist. You've met the guy actually, Chris Taylor. To get here, I needed gay action, and Chris helped me out."

Dave asked, "What do you mean you fucked Chris's fist?"

"He made his hand into a hole and I fucked it," Jeff said, "like this." Jeff formed his fingers into a circle, looked at Dave, and dropped his hand. "How about giving me a chance to compare your massage technique with my brother's?"

Passing Jeff's bed on his way to the bathroom, Dave squeezed Jeff's shoulder. "As soon as I get rid of some wine."

"How many clothes should I take off?"

"Whatever you're comfortable with." In the bathroom Dave pissed, washed his hands, then returned to the bedroom where Jeff had shed everything and now lay facedown. His was a rear to remember, muscular, round, totally twink.

Rather than risk grease on his clothes, Dave removed them before he opened the massage oil. He disliked giving massages on beds, but since he had no available table, he sat beside Jeff and began with Jeff's neck. As the muscles relaxed, Dave advised, "Breathe steady, breathe deep."

Depending on the client, Dave would sometimes spend twenty minutes kneading his back. Jeff, though, knew how to receive a massage; his delts and his lats loosened quickly. Wringing Jeff's biceps, Dave asked, "What does your brother do when he gets to your butt?"

"Skips over it, goes from my tailbone to my legs."

Dave could not skip over it if he hoped to identify Jeff's erogenous zones, e-zones in the massage business. All twinks had at least one and most had several. Dave began his investigation by running his fingers through Jeff's butt-crack. When he touched Jeff's asshole, Jeff's back muscles tensed, indicating that while Jeff's hole was an e-zone, Jeff was not ready for Dave to exploit it.

Further down, on safer ground, Dave massaged the spot between Jeff's legs anatomically called the perineum, colloquially termed the choad. Running his fingertips in a tight circle, Dave asked, "How's that?"

"I'm sprouting wood," Jeff answered.

Dave had done everything possible with Jeff on his stomach; he said, "Roll over and show me."

When Jeff rolled on his back, Dave noted that there was no common thread between twinks' cocks. Dave's was skinny and straight, Jeff's was thicker and curved.

Before further exploring Jeff's midsection, Dave tried Jeff's tits, pinching each nip. "Does that do anything for you?"

"It hurts a little."

Dave rubbed oil into Jeff's abdominal muscles. Abs were rarely an e-zone, but many twinks enjoyed having them stroked.

Dave moved to a spot that was always an e-zone, Jeff's nutsac. Jeff groaned when Dave touched it. As their friendship progressed Dave would demonstrate how he could almost bust Jeff through ball-massage, but for tonight, Dave would settle for hand-on-dick stimulation.

Dave had scant opportunity to demonstrate his superior jack- off technique. He oiled his palm, gripped Jeff's rod, Jeff's back arched, and he shot. Jeff scored few points for distance, but there was a praiseworthy puddle on his stomach when he finished.

"Good load," Dave said.

"Whew. That felt terrific. Before I go to sleep, I want to watch you do it to yourself. There's something I want to check out," Jeff said.

Doubting he would need much more time than Jeff had, Dave asked, "Will you play with my choad."

"If you'll tell me what it is I will," Jeff said.

Chapter Three

Invitations

Hotel Alpha had been built as a three-story square with each of the four sides two-thousand feet long. Doing the math in his head while his roommate still slept, Greg Spencer calculated that the central courtyard covered approximately one-hundred acres. The courtyard included two eighteen-hole golf courses, three parks, and five swimming pools. Greg's roommate, Dennis Wilson, would be a lifeguard at one of those pools, while Greg would work somewhere as yet undetermined.

Greg's initial disappointment that his roommate was Dennis and not brother Jared had disappeared the first evening. Dennis seemed outgoing, irreverent, and interested in the same subjects as Greg, namely sports, science, and sex. Each teen followed pro football, each had studied biology, chemistry, and physics in high school, each had sized up the other when they had taken showers last night. Dennis had asked, "What do you think of my cock, stud?"

"That you probably keep it as busy as I keep mine," Greg had answered.

Monday morning Greg stayed in bed, waiting for Dennis to use the bathroom before beating his meat; Dennis thwarted him by leaving the door open, hauling his dick out, and pissing in full view.

Looking at Greg, Dennis asked, "What's the matter -- you've never seen a guy take a leak before?"

Greg said, "I was hoping you'd take a long shower so I could abuse myself leisurely."

Laughing and shaking his dick, Dennis said, "Abuse yourself whenever -- I intend to."

Words were one thing, actions another. Aside from the episodes with his brother, Greg had never popped in front of anybody. Perhaps when he knew Dennis better he could, but not yet. "Are you ready for breakfast?"

"Does Sister Saint Agnes suck cock?"

In good weather the employees ate an outdoor breakfast in the park nearest their rooms. Paying customers could eat with them if they chose to; one-hundred four-man tables sat on a flagstone veranda, a bandstand at the far side. Waiting in the cafeteria line, Dennis remarked, "The only instrument I could ever play was the skin flute."

Never a great fan of breakfast, Greg took a piece of dry bread, half a cantaloupe, and iced coffee laced with sugar and cream. Dennis, however, asked for three scrambled eggs, two slices of toast, four pieces of bacon. They took their food to an unoccupied table -- Jared was nowhere in sight -- sat, and were arranging their napkins when the blond boy who had been sent out of the dining room last night joined them.

The boy sat, sipped Greg's coffee, grimaced, and wiped his lips. In a thick, German accent, he said, "Mine name, it ist Matthias. That tastes like milkshakes. I prefers blacks."

"Aren't you a little young for coffee?" Greg asked.

"For many, yes surely, but Doctor Mueller, he allows us to drinks it, for it is a lie, he says, it stunts our growths. Mein growths, they ist not stunteds, ja?"

Probably not, depending on Matthias's age. Greg guessed the boy stood five-foot-six, weighed 130 pounds. "You seem healthy enough," Greg agreed.

"Yes yes, I am healthish." Matthias wore a white smock; he wiped his lips with the sleeve.

Dennis asked him, "Do you work around here?"

"For I does," Matthias nodded, "three years now since I am fifteenish. I grows foods in plantation boxes. Also, I mines ores und oils tanks." Matthias took a slice of Dennis's bacon. "Verdammt Menton, he says I works here until you peoples ist orientals. Does you wishes to sees many gross dinosauruses?"

Ears at adjoining tables perked up when Matthias mentioned dinosaurs. The boy led a dozen employees up three flights of stairs to the rooftop, then to the western parapet where they looked down on an octet of boneheads nibbling grass. They were each about twenty-five feet long, Greg guessed, except for one half that size.

Tugging Greg's sleeve, Matthias said, "If you wishes to rides them, Herr Greg, I will shows you, but not now, for I has mine chores I must does. I will shows you tonight."

"That's excellent. Thanks, Matthias," Greg said.

Gripping the forearm of a short, rawboned cowboy, Matthias said, "Yeffster five, he can rides with us. There are many gross pachycephalosauruses so that Herr Greg brings Dennis the lifeguards und Yeffster five brings Dave the massager."

On the way down to their tables, the rawboned cowboy identified himself as Jeff Michaels, the massager as his roomie Dave Butler. Greg, Dennis, Jeff, and Dave joined forces; while they ate, the three that weren't Greg discussed their jobs.

Jeff asked what Greg would be doing; Greg shrugged, "They haven't decided I guess."

Rising, Jeff said, "Let me go talk to Paul."

When Jeff returned, Greg was watching more blond boys bus tables. Dennis had gone to the pool, Dave to a meeting. Sitting, Jeff asked, "Have you ever stroked to Cherise?"

Perplexed, Greg asked, "Who's she?"

"How about Stacy St. Croix?"

"I don't know her either."

Jeff laughed, "Damn but you'll take some educating."

Jeff walked with Greg around the perimeter, explaining that he, Jeff, would be managing the X-rated division of Alphaland Entertainment. Except for a pause when they stopped to view the tanks, Jeff talked nonstop from their table to the video store where Greg followed Jeff into the ADULTS ONLY section. A door at the rear of the section bore the letters JOP.

Greg asked, "What does JOP mean?"

Steering Greg toward the back, Jeff explained, "Jack-off place. They have one in Dickenson, North Dakota, but it's nothing like this."

They entered a hall; when Jeff opened a door, Greg saw a padded bench three feet wide opposite a twenty-five inch television screen. "Why is this special?" Greg asked.

Jeff pointed at folded terrycloth hand towels next to the television. "We give the tourists something they can cum in so they don't spray the screen -- the one back home was a mess -- plus . . . " Jeff pointed toward a keyboard attached to the video machine, "they can choose any movie without having to take it to us at the counter. That's useful when they're into kink."

Greg asked, "What do you mean by us at the counter?"

Patting Greg's back, Jeff said, "This is your job, stud. You'll do the day shift."

The rest of the morning, they sorted movies into alphabetical order. Dave Butler, Jeff's roommate the massager, brought tuna sandwiches for their lunches; as Dave looked through the straight magazines he mentioned that he needed someone to practice on.

Jeff suggested, "I'd volunteer but I have a one o'clock meeting. Greg can go."

The headquarters for Alpha Therapeutic Massage nestled between the candy store and a shop that advertised Computerized Palmistry. Greg followed Dave through an empty entry, down a hall wider than the JOP hall, past four oak doors to a large, white- tiled bathroom with three toilet stalls, three sinks, and enough shower heads for four. "Rinse off, wrap a towel around yourself if you want to, and meet me outside," Dave said.

After he washed, Greg decided against wearing a towel in Alpha's all-male environment. He went through the third oak door ahead of Dave, lay on a sheet-covered foam pad, and asked, "How'd you get started doing this?"

Kneading Greg's neck, back, and butt, Dave explained, "My track team had too many sprinters and not enough trainers. The coach suggested that if I took a course in massage I could make extra money for college. You've got impressive glutes."

Dave's massage making him sleepy, Greg yawned, "What are glutes?"

"Your ass muscles." Dave oiled Greg's buns, spread them, touched Greg's hole, and Greg sighed, remembering Jared's touch.

Dave asked, "Does that excite you?"

His python coming alive, Greg answered, "Uh huh. That's how I qualified for Alpha -- a friend put his finger in me there."

"Like this?" Dave's finger entered Greg's chute, lodged in his ass, and explored Greg internally. Dave knew which buttons to push; within seconds, he had Greg whimpering, tossing his head, and humping the sheet. The stimulation grew greater, greater, greater, only subsiding when Greg blew his load.

Limp on the sheet with his spunk running out from beneath him, Greg said, "You're good at your job."

"I knew you were anal as soon as I touched you. You're luckier than most guys with a sensitive rear, though. You enjoy it. Where sex is concerned, most guys would prefer to forget they have assholes."

Chapter Four

Lifeguards

Monday morning, the director of Alpha Aquatics, Tim Fox, told his lifeguard crew, "As you know, we have five pools here. The pool we're at now is the main pool and will be open twenty- four hours a day, seven days a week. The other four pools are specialty pools, one for kids, one for teenagers, one for adults, and one for the old folks. The specialty pools will be open from two in the afternoon until midnight, so you men working the specialty pools will work four ten-hour shifts. Does anybody have preferences? No? Then do we have any volunteers for one of the specialty pools?"

Dennis Wilson and brown-eyed brunette, Andy Sexton volunteered for the teen pool.

All morning, Dennis, Andy, and the other ten lifeguards practiced rescuing one another; at noon they broke into individual groups. Five lifeguards remained at the main pool while eight others went to their specialty pools. The main pool was located near the bowling alley, the teen pool near the tank hangar, so Dennis/Andy could either have gone counterclockwise past their rooms or counterclockwise past the shops and the teleport depot. The distances were equal.

"I'd like to go by the depot," Dennis said. "I met a kid at breakfast that manages the porn store we'll pass."

"We'll also pass Dino-burger," said Andy.

Dino-burger was an upscale fast food stand located between two east-wing video arcades. Dennis chose the Allosaur Appetizers (sushi), Andy took the Stegosaur Special (Bratwurst with onion rings), and they continued their way around the hotel. When he had finished his fish, Dennis dropped the paper plate and the napkins in the next trash barrel, commenting, "I'd have to guess Rob Meade is gay."

"Without doubt," Andy agreed, "When I was giving him mouth- to-mouth he got hard as a rock."

"Same here," Dennis said. "I'd advise that dude to JO before the next practice session."

At Alphaland Entertainment they went to the ADULTS ONLY section and found not only Jeff but Jeff's roommate Dave Butler and Dennis's roommate, Greg Spencer. Jeff had assigned Greg the day shift, Dennis learned.

Outside, approaching the hangars, Andy said, "You're lucky. I'll bet Greg's got a hot-looking body under that tee."

Dennis turned right, opened a gate in a chain link fence, and entered the pool enclosure. "There's lots of great bodies hereabouts," Dennis said. "What gets to me about Greg is his smile."

Following Dennis toward the changing rooms, Andy asked, "How's his equipment?"

"I'll let you know when I've seen it in action," Dennis answered.

Will Menton must have had two different decorators designing the changing rooms. The girls' room featured pastels, embroidered cushions, wicker lockers. Next door in the boys' room, a mural depicted a young man's torso; nothing but sexual ecstasy could have caused the muscular tension portrayed. Inside each locker door the decorator had glued G-rated photographs that nonetheless bespoke lust. One showed a boy lying atop a girl on the hood of a car. Another showed a girl kneeling in front of a boy's bulging crotch. Although all participants were fully dressed, the implications were plain.

Also inside each blue, steel locker was a ziplock bag labelled 'Free Samples Courtesy of Alphaland Entertainment.' The bag contained lubricants, condoms, a refrigerator magnet shaped like a fist, and an invitation to visit Jeff's store.

Dennis laughed, "If I'd had that kit when I was fifteen I wouldn't have left my room for a month."

Andy asked, "How old are you now?"

Opening the next locker, Dennis saw the same kit and a photo of one girl unclasping another's bra. "Twenty-one," Dennis answered.

"Me too," Andy said.

The left the locker rooms, went to the pool, dove in, and swam ten forty-foot laps. They rested on the steps, butt touching butt, and Dennis said, "Let's hear about your affirmative action qualifications."

Andy replied, "I picked up a hitchhiker between Akron and Cleveland. The kid wanted to blow me and I let him. I've always been ashamed of the episode, but it got me to Alpha. You?"

Dennis braced himself on Andy's shoulder, pushed, and stood. "I tend to do what friends want. My best buddy liked me to jack him."

Looking upward, Andy studied Dennis's wet, outlined swim suit. "You're pretty big, aren't you?"

"Not that it's ever done me much good," Dennis said.

During the remainder of the afternoon they visited the other specialty pools, none of which hinted at the aggressive sexuality they had seen in the teen boys' locker room. The shallow children's pool had a collection of floating, inflatable dinosaurs. The adult pool emphasized health and fitness with an attached gym available. The pool for the elderly featured rustproof walkers, grab bars, and a handicapped ramp.

At five, returning home to their rooms, Dennis asked, "Would you want to go skinny-dipping in our pool after dinner?"

Shaking his head, Andy would not make eye contact. "I'm pretty excitable and I've got a butt-ugly cock. Imagine a cucumber with a mushroom glued to the end of it."

"Did the hitchhiker object?"

"No, apparently it didn't bother him as much as me."

Suspecting Andy exaggerated, as they approached Andy's door Dennis said, "I want to see that butt-ugly cock. If you show me yours, I'll show you mine."

Andy opened his door, peeked in, turned back toward Dennis. "Maybe some other time. My roommate's conservative."

Dennis smiled, "Mine's not -- Greg's as fucked up as I am."

"You're lucky," said Andy. "Stop by on your way to work in the morning?"

"You got it." Dennis proceeded to his room went inside, and saw his roommate curled up, shirtless, sleeping. Even without the smile he was tasty, so Dennis took off his own shirt, lay behind Greg, and wrapped his arms around Greg's chest. Dennis was rubbing the blond teenager's pects when Greg woke.

Greg yawned, "Feeling good, Den. How went your day after I saw you?"

As Dennis described the specialty pools, his hand roved lower; by the time his narration reached the senior citizen's pool his hand had reached Greg's waistband. Dennis lowered the band, brushed the top of Greg's pubes, and asked, "How went your day?"

Greg pushed Dennis's hand into his shorts, Dennis gripped Greg's hardening shaft, and Greg answered, "Jeff had a meeting so I went with Dave to the massage parlor and he gave me a dynamite rubdown. Then he gave me a long lecture on e-zones. Does the term mean anything to you?"

Greg's boyish looks had deceived Dennis who now held a man- sized piece of meat. "I never heard of an e-zone."

"Take off your shorts and I'll demonstrate," Greg said, breaking loose from Dennis's hold and standing.

Sliding his shorts past his ankles, Dennis asked, "Do I lie faceup or facedown?"

"Facedown for starters," Greg answered, pouring clear, blueberry-scented oil on his hand.

"I wish you'd take your shorts off," Dennis said, anxious to see what he had held.

Greg stepped out of his shorts, baring a dick at least as large as Dennis's.

Dennis asked, "Were you the joke of your football team too?"

"I'm not near as big as you are when I'm soft." Massaging a circle around Dennis's back, Greg said, "Everybody has four potential e-zones -- his nips, his balls, his butthole, his choad."

"What's a choad?"

Greg's pressed between Dennis's legs, and Dennis gasped, "Oh yeah, there."

Greg spread Dennis's cheeks, dribbled oil on his cherry, inserted an inch of his forefinger. Concern over Greg's size counteracted any pleasure Dennis might otherwise have felt.

Dennis said, "Don't get any ideas, horse."

Greg withdrew his fingertip, rolled Dennis over, and pinched his tits. When an ex-girlfriend had sucked them, Dennis had enjoyed it. Today, Greg's fingers failed to excite.

"Try the last one," Dennis said.

As Greg played with Dennis's balls, Dennis's dick tried to grow even longer, stretching the already taut skin. Panting, Dennis said, "Try using your mouth."

Dennis's request had been an invitation for Greg to suck Dennis balls, but Greg misunderstood. Keeping hold of Dennis's sac, he put his mouth around Dennis's hardon.

Dennis lost track of the time, of where he was, of who he was, of everything except the flames in his dick. Afterward, as far as he knew, he could have cum in ten seconds or he could have lasted ten minutes. In any event, when he had shot his wad down Greg's throat and was lying behind Greg, jacking Greg, the mist finally cleared.

Stroking the blond teen's thick rod, Dennis said, "You ought to do that for a living -- you'd be rich."

"I was glad I could pop you. That was the first time I've done it."

Amazing, Dennis thought as he stepped up his stroke-speed.

PART II

Chapter Five

New Jobs

Andy Sexton had just entered his room and was facing the wall, setting a ziplock bag on his desk, when something sharp stung his thigh. Spinning around, he saw his roommate, Jim Holloway, half-hidden in the bathroom doorway pointing what looked like a cap pistol and grinning. "Gotcha," Jim said.

"Damn!" Andy replied.

Jim came over, extracted a small dart from Andy's shorts leg, and said, "If that had been dipped in Penn's drug, you'd be sleeping like a baby."

Jim had been assigned to Alpha Security working under Austin Penn. Jim claimed that outside of the office, Penn was an altogether great guy, but he hadn't convinced Andy, not after Penn's sickening picture.

"What's in the bag, babe?" Jim picked up the ziplock, and examining its contents asked, "Grease for the meat?"

Andy explained that Alphaland Entertainment was using the ziplocks as promotional packages, that he had met the manager of the X-rated division, and that Jeff had given him samples. Changing from his trunks into uniform shorts, Andy asked, "Who did you torture today?"

"You got me all wrong, man," Jim answered, swatting Andy's bare butt. "Penn showed us how to use a few gadgets is all."

At seven that evening they were drinking coffee with Dennis and Greg in the employee's dining room when Matthias rushed over and pulled Greg's sleeve. "Herr Greg, Herr Greg," the boy said. "We has eight gross pachycephalosauruses which needs riders. We has already five -- we needs three."

Andy wanted to ride, but Jim pleaded fatigue, leaving two empty places.

As they approached the east-side portal, they spotted two teens playing ping pong, one nametagged SCOTT, his opponent JARED. Greg went to the opponent, wrapped his arms around Jared's waist, and lifted him, asking, "Hey, bro, do you and Scott want to ride a couple gross pachycephalosauruses?"

They did, and they followed the larger group to a four-foot- wide by eight-foot-tall steel door set into the exterior wall. Matthias punched numbers into a keypad, the door opened, and the young blond whistled, whereon one small and seven large boneheads trotted through the gate.

The men rode the eight pachys across the fairways stopping occasionally for the boneheads to nibble. When it became too dark to see, they led the pachys to the gate, Matthias shooed them outside, and the riders returned to their rooms.

The lights were on when Andy entered. He heard the shower running in the bathroom, saw that the ziplock had been moved, and examined the bag. Two samples were missing. Andy found the empty, slippery packets in the wastebasket along with two spunked-in tissues. Not bad, considering Andy had left Jim in the dining room less than two hours earlier. Andy retreived the packets and examined them; Jim had tried Alpha-lube and Coco-Fun.

The water went off, the bathroom door swung open, and Andy looked around to see Jim drying his hair.

Eying the empty packets, Jim said, "I get these testosterone surges. Last spring down in Fort Lauderdale I'd be shooting in one sock before the last one was dry."

Discarding the packets Andy admitted, "I have days like that. The next time I do, I'm going to Greg's porn store. There's booths in back where you can watch any movie you want, plus they've got real cloth towels to blow your load in." Andy washed his hands, bathed, put on his shorts, and crawled into bed.

Tuesday morning Andy and Dennis picked up where they had left off on Monday, at the main pool, receiving instructions. Tim Cox told his lifeguards, "The specialty pools have two men each working four ten-hour shifts to cover a seventy-hour work week. I'd like to make up the ten-hour discrepancy by having the man who's only working three days cover the auxiliary facility nearest his pool. That'd be the water slide for the kids, the Jacuzzi for the teens, the sauna for the adults, and the steam bath for the seniors." Tim surveyed the group, saw no questions, and sent the groups to service their pools.

For Andy and Dennis, servicing the teen pool meant cleaning the filter, scooping up leaves, testing acidity. They wore red trike-trunks, knee-length swim suits with the familiar Triceratops logo on the pocket.

As he poured chlorine into the water, Andy sniffed pungent fumes. "After we went riding last night I got to the room and there were two tissues in the trash full of Jim's junk. They smelled like this."

Dennis, dragging the net across the surface, asked, "Didn't you say he's conservative?"

"Politically -- obviously not where his prick's concerned."

"Speaking of pricks, I promised to let you know about Greg's." Dennis emptied the net into the trash can. "I jacked eight superior squirts out of him, then found out he'd cum a couple hours before."

"Nice." Andy went into the boys' changing room, opening lockers, making sure each locker had its free samples. Several did not, and Andy made a mental note to ask Jeff for extras. There was a linen closet set into the wall across from the lockers. Any boy who had neglected to bring a towel from his room could use one of these. Andy doubted any boy would forget to return it; the loanable towels were bright pink. Smiling, Andy used the trough urinal, pulled up his shorts, and moved to the girls' room

Today, Andy noticed things he had not noticed yesterday, the room's prissy decor had so annoyed him. Yesterday he had ignored the lockers; today when he opened them he found crocheted cloth attached to the back of each door preaching Victorian morals, e.g., Just Say No, He Is Watching, and A Virgin Bride Is a Lifelong Bride. Worse, these lockers also contained free samples, but these were samples, not of lubricants, but of topical creams designed to 'anaesthetize the male organ.' The girls' ziplock bags contained giveaway envelopes of 'Nummer,' 'De-Lay,' and 'An-Erectia.' They had allegedly been provided by the Mothers Against Diabolical DatE Rape, under its acronym MADDER.

Dennis came in, Andy showed him the lockers, and Dennis burst out laughing. "This is such a total farce," he said. "This whole setup, the entire hotel complex. All the employees are males, we can't have sex with girls . . . "

"We can if we wear condoms if they're over eighteen," Andy pointed out.

"You just try having sex in one of those condoms, amigo. Greg and I rolled one out. They're like leather." Dennis's forefinger tapped Andy's chest. "Riddle me this. Why does every one of us new hires have a sex drive big enough for New York City plus gay sex in his background?" When Andy remained silent, Dennis hypothesized, "I'd guess we're Will's poster-boys. We're here to excite the verdammt Menton's clientele."

Confused by Dennis's ideas, Andy said, "I guess we ought to investigate the Jacuzzi, our Jacuzzi."

Dennis slapped Andy's back. "Let's do it."

The path between the teen pool and the Jacuzzi led through dark groves of Alpha's native trees. Past the forest, they reached their target, but there was a sign on the gate reading, 'We will open Friday, June 11. Thank you for your interest.'

As they walked back toward the teen pool, they entered a circle of ferns. Dennis pulled Andy to a halt and his hand brushed across Andy's fly. "So show me your butt-ugly cock."

Concealed by dense foliage but nervous, Andy asked, "Here? Now?"

Dennis dropped his shorts -- he was large -- he sat at the base of a palm, rested his back against the trunk, spread his legs; when Andy had taken his shorts off, he sat between them.

Tugging Andy's balls, Dennis said, "There's nothing wrong with your cock. It's a little bigger in the middle than it is at the tip, but that taper would probably feel good going into somebody. Can I jack it?"

"Okay," Andy said.

In the beginning, Dennis's hand felt about the same as Andy's hand would have felt. Dennis used the same slow up-and- down motion Andy would have used on himself. True, having a friend pull his dick added to the pleasure, but the addition was emotional rather than physical.

Several minutes into the jack-off Dennis tweaked Andy's nipple, and Andy knew he would cum. Electricity leapt from Andy's chest to his cock. He tried fighting back the sensations unsuccessfully. He groaned, "Oh my God," and his dick blew multiple wads.

After busting, Andy slid to the side and watched Dennis. Dennis beat off differently than Andy had imagined because Dennis had an even bigger prick than Andy had imagined, so big that Dennis could squeeze the base with his left hand while twisting his right around the top half. Dennis took longer than Andy had; Andy's breathing had returned to normal when Dennis gasped, "Here it comes."

Chapter Six

Plan A

Jim Holloway's urges had always been different. Tuesday morning, sitting in bed, watching Andy pull up his trike-trunks, Jim remembered that early on he had had a candid conversation with three adolescent basketball teammates. They had filched the center's father's beer, and alcohol had loosened their tongues.

Each of Jim's friends had admitted that he jacked off more or less once a day on a regular basis. This had astonished Jim whose beat his meat much more erratically. Jim might go two weeks without a hardon except for the early-morning variety, and then Boom! Lust's thunderbolt would strike and he might whip it ten times in two days.

Jim's fantasies also differed from his friends'; while they imagined their girlfriends sucking their dicks or sticking their pricks in tight pussys, Jim's fantasies had always involved busting straight boys, against their wills preferably.

When Andy had left for breakfast, Jim went to his desk and looked in the ziplock. Jim had used two samples last night, leaving three: Kream, Whisper, and Anal Lube. Jim had never used 'Kream' but he knew that Whisper was too thin and Anal Lube too thick for great jacking. As he reached for the Kream the telephone rang.

Penn's voice said, "Plan A is all set. Menton says that Scott Parsons in 172F sounds perfect. Handle it, would you? I'm afraid after I showed them that picture Scott would probably faint if he saw me."

Postponing his previous plan, Jim put on his uniform, walked eastward, found 172F, and he knocked. The young man who answered the door was attractive -- his nametag read JARED; the boy combing his hair whose nametag read SCOTT was sensational.

Addressing Scott over Jared's shoulder, Jim said, "Scott Parsons, I'd like you to come along with me please." The boy had to be eighteen -- Alpha's regulations required it -- yet Jim couldn't believe it.

Scott looked at Jim hopefully, "Did they find me a job?"

"We'll discuss that in my office. If you'll please come along."

They took the slightly longer counterclockwise route around the perimeter because Jim wanted to look into Alpha Entertainment -- its JOP sounded right up Jim's alley. Passing the power plant, Scott asked, "Aren't you a little old to be in college?"

"I served three years in the Marine Corps out of High School. Where are you from?"

"You look like a marine. I'm from La Jolla, on the beach, a little north of San Diego."

"You look like you grew up on the beach," Jim said.

At Alphaland Entertainment Jim asked Scott to wait outside, walked through the outer room, entered the ADULTS ONLY area, and saw last night's dinner companion Greg Spencer behind the counter.

Greg greeted Jim, "Hey Dino-cop."

Jim said, "Hey pal, what do I do to reserve one of your booths for late this morning."

"You won't have to make a reservation," Greg said. "The crowds don't show up till after lunch."

Alpha Security headquarters was located near the teleport depot, between Computerized Palmistry and Alpha Ice Cream. Jim took Scott through the unmarked front door, past the day clerk, down the hall to Jim's office. Jim asked Scott to sit in the visitor's chair.

Jim sat behind his desk glancing through a dossier Penn must have left. Penn had been right, Jim concluded. Scott might be perfect.

Looking at the boy across from him, Jim asked, "Could I get you anything, some water, juice . . . ?

"No thanks, I just finished breakfast."

Jim drummed his fingers on the desk top. "If you had your choice of any job here, what would you choose?"

Tanned, with only the slightest hint of down on his cute upper lip, Scott answered, "If I had my absolute choice, I'd be a caddie."

Jim nodded, "Good tips, fun trips, an outdoor life, plenty of exercise. Well, I could arrange that."

Scott blinked, "You could?"

"Yes I can, but if I'm going to do a favor for you I want some help from you in return. There's an experiment I'm working on. To begin with, I need you to answer some personal questions."

"Sure," Scott said.

Jim knew intuitively when a young man was lying, and Scott lied often. Initially Scott claimed that he used to jack off regularly but that he had given it up. Under Jim's prodding he admitted he still did it daily, in bed back home, in the bathroom now that he and Jared shared a room.

Scott claimed he had never touched a friend's dick, a lie that collapsed when Jim pointed out that Scott had claimed affirmative action preference. Scott eventually conceded that he had "jacked off with a friend a couple of times but I've outgrown it."

Jim asked, "Are you convinced that you are entirely heterosexual and that another male couldn't excite you?"

"'Course," Scott answered.

Jim buzzed the front desk, "We'll be at Dave's place if you need us, Dave Butler's."

Scott grinned, "I know Dave. Me and him and some other guys rode boneheads all around the golf course last night."

"Then you must know my roommate, Andy Sexton."

"Andy's cool," Scott replied.

Dave Butler's assertion in his resume that he could cause anybody to climax formed the basis for the experiment. If Dave's claim proved correct, Alpha Security would rely on Dave's talent when the tourists arrived; straights hated males busting them, as Jim knew from fondly remembered past incidents.

By 'Dave's place' Jim meant Dave's cubicle at Alpha Therapeutic Massage two doors west. Dave had tied short lengths of clothesline to the four corners of his work table since Jim had last seen it.

Dave said, "Hiya Scott. That was fun last night. I need you to take off your clothes and lie down. Just pretend a doctor's going to examine you."

Unfazed, Scott replied, "Guys see me naked every day in the gym. I'm okay."

Lying down, Scott and his luscious, lean body became somewhat less composed when Dave began tying him. Only Jim's repeating his job promise prevented the experiment's collapse.

Bound spread-eagle, completely vulnerable, Scott asked, "Can you at least tell me what this is all about?"

Pouring massage oil onto his hand, Dave said, "I'm going to make you cum, Scott."

Scott laughed, "Yeah, you and ten ladies maybe."

Scott's confidence remained steady and his dick remained soft as Dave worked his neck, chest, and arms. The first chink in Scott's armor appeared when Dave stroked the hair trail leading from Scott's navel to his pubes. Scott's dick jerked.

Dave asked, "Are you sensitive there?"

"It tickled."

When Dave stroked Scott's sac, Scott said, "Watch out for the 'nads." Dave rubbed between Scott's legs, and Scott said, "I had a girl do that, and it felt great." As Dave's hand disappeared between Scott cheeks, Scott squawked, "Hey, dude, this boy's asshole is a one-way street marked no entry."

Gotcha! Jim grinned.

Once Dave had shoved his finger into Scott, Jim could understand what Dave was doing only by watching the flexing in his wrist. Dave was curling his finger, dragging it across Scott's prostate, and making Scott sweat. Beads formed on the downy upper lip and Scott's forehead.

Scott's cock was stirring, rearing; within three minutes it was firm and oozing pre-cum. Jim believed that Dave could have busted Scott if he had even blown on Scott's hardon, but that would have been less impressive than what Dave did. Never touching Scott's rod, Dave continued the finger curls until finally Scott's pelvis thrust upward, he snuffled, and a long streamer of cream absolutely exploded through his slit.

Wiping Scott's face, Dave said, "If your butthole is sore tonight, try sitting in a tub of hot water. That usually helps."

Composure shaken, Scott asked, "Does that mean I'm gay, 'cause I came from you playing around in my ass?"

Dave tossed a soggy paper towel in the trash, took another, and drying Scott's chest said, "Not at all. It means you're anally sensitive. Most guys are but they never find out. For a straight, anal-receptive kid like you, your hottest possible date would be a girlfriend stroking your prostate while she was sucking your dong." Dave wiped Scott's pubes, squeezed his dick, untied him, and patted his shoulder.

Chafing his wrists, Scott asked, "How can I talk a girl into putting her finger up my chute?"

"That's going to be a challenge," Dave admitted.

Jim escorted Scott to the Alpha Security office where he wrote a memo requesting that Paul Hogan test Scott for his aptitude as a caddie.

Scott left the office, and Jim, rather than walk clear around the compound to stroke in his room, walked west west toward Alphaland Entertainment, hoping to empty his cock into a JOP towel.

Chapter Seven

Tour Guide

Tuesday morning Jared interviewed for jobs as an ice cream parlor clerk, a video game repairman, and a confectioner. Leaving the candy store, intending to report the lack of success to his brother, Jared spotted the man who had come to his room that morning, Dino-cop Jim with the telltale Velociraptor monogram on his T-shirt.

Jared asked if Jim had seen Dave, Jim replied that Dave had gone to his new job as a caddie, and Jared said, "If somebody else doesn't hire me pretty soon, I'm a room service attendant.

Passing the teleport depot, soon to be disgorging tourists daily, Jim said, "There's still one opening left for a tour guide."

"You're kidding." The five coveted tour guide spots had been filled even before the new hires reached Alpha.

"No, that Alaskan -- he was from Juneau -- lied about his affirmative action qualifications. The only prick he'd ever touched was his own." Jim stopped, faced Jared, put a hand on Jared's shoulder, and said, "You're the right type, and everybody's a dinosaur buff, but how much do you know about local flora?"

"I can tell a ginkgo from a cycad," Jared answered.

"Let me run in here for a second and see what I can do."

As Jared waited outside Alpha Administrative, he imagined what a coup it would be to land the most prestigious job a new hire could land. Five tanks would go out every day, each carrying twenty tourists, a driver, and a guide. Jared yearned to be that fifth guide.

After no more than five minutes, Jim waved Jared into Paul Hogan's office. Paul tested Jared's knowledge of dinosaurs, seemed satisfied, and directed Jared to report to the tank hangar.

When they had left Paul's office and were again walking westward, Jared asked Jim, "How did they find out the first guide lied? Will I have to take a lie detector test?"

"No, but your tank driver, Kip, is aggressively gay. He came on to the Alaskan, the guy panicked, and now you've got the job." At the corner, Jim said, "I'd walk with you but I've got business to take care of in here." Turning left, Jim entered Alphaland Entertainment.

Proceeding toward the hangar, Jared thought the description 'aggressively gay' to be a contradiction in terms. Jared had known two gays in Bayview, one a classmate, one his mother's hair dresser, and both had been meek. How could a gay be aggressive?

Jared soon learned. As he entered the hangar, he saw a shirtless, long-haired blond examining a tread. The blond had a decent build, sharp features, and an enormous ring, turquoise set in silver on his left hand's fourth finger. "Are you Kip?"

The blond stood, looked Jared over, walked toward him smiling, and said, "Uh huh, and you are hot. I thought I'd marked out every doable dude on this planet, but somehow you slipped through the cracks. Are you hung?"

No wonder the first guide had panicked, Jared thought. "Average, I guess," he said.

Shaking Jared's hand, Kip said, "Just so long as you're not less than five inches. I worked with this carpenter back in Indy . . . but that can wait. Want to go for a ride, stud?"

Kip rubbed Jared's rear as Jared climbed the ladder, followed Jared through the hatch, and sat in the driver's seat. Standing beside Kip, Jared saw five rows of passengers' seats, two on each side, with an aisle down the middle.

Kip turned on the intercom. "Please open the portal."

Jared turned around, looked through the windshield, and watched the massive tank portal slide left, creating an opening in the outside wall larger than the forty-five ton, World War II panzerfaust. Kip drove them onto the prairie, turned right, and headed north.

Kip said, "A major challenge is going to be keeping the tourists interested the first hour because the country we'll be driving through is flat-out boring." Kip grinned, "You might try telling them about your earliest sexual experiences."

"That'd bore them worse," Jared said.

Kip's grin lifted the right side of his mouth, not the left. "Are you a squeezer or a speeder?"

"Beg pardon?" Interesting the tourists would indeed be a problem. Behind them, ahead of them, to their right and their left, Jared saw only vast expanses of the monotonous flowering grasses.

Kip said, "Imagine you're pulling your prick -- you've got yourself close, feeling real sweet, and you want to make yourself squirt. Do you jack your cock faster or squeeze your meat tighter? Everybody does one or the other or both."

"I don't know," Jared said awkwardly, wishing that some feature of the landscape might divert Kip's attention.

"Of course you know. It's totally basic."

Jared moved back to the first row of seats, next to the window farthest from Kip. "If I tell you will you drop the subject?"

Kip snickered, "Temporarily."

That's better than nothing, Jared thought. "Okay, if I'm whipping it dry I speed up and if I'm whipping it lubed I squeeze tighter. Satisfied?"

Kip repeated, "Temporarily." He pointed dead ahead. "The reason I don't go faster through here is tree stumps. That one's obvious, but some of them are covered by weeds. You can't see them until you're damn near on top of them." Kip swerved around the broken tree, continued north another five minutes, then abruptly turned left.

Jared asked, "How did you know where to turn?"

"Two-point-eight miles past the snag," Kip answered.

The scenery improved as Kip drove them west. Now Jared saw live trees, small at first but within a few minutes they were travelling parallel to the southern edge of a majestic hardwood forest. "Angiosperms," Jared commented.

"You couldn't prove it by me," Kip replied. "Look up ahead at the rookery."

They were nearing the hadrosaur rookery where thousands of female hadrosaurs sat on their eggs while males foraged for food in the woods. Everywhere Jared looked he saw duckbills honking,

tending their nests, and milling about.

Surveying the dinos, Kip said, "Kind of puts you in a reproductive mood, right?"

Annoyed, Jared snapped, "It might, if there was somebody around for me to reproduce with."

"We could try," Kip said with that lopsided grin.

Kip turned south, then west, then north as they skirted the rookery. They reached the forest, Kip turned left, and Jared saw a wide body of water blocking their path. "Lake Borogovia," he announced.

Kip nodded, "And the end of the line for today. If this was a real tour we'd go around most of the lake, then head back to the hotel. On lucky days, we'll see brontosaurs -- otherwise we'll have to settle for the horny varieties."

Jared waited for Kip to compare himself to the horny dinosaurs, but Kip did not. Even Kip had heard the tired pun too many times, Jared supposed. Instead, Kip asked, "Before we head home would you want to go skinny dipping?"

"No."

"Now why am I not surprised that you don't?"

When Jared had turned the tank south-southwest, he gave Jared a box lunch consisting of a dry ham sandwich, stale chips, and a mason jar full of warm Kool-Ade. Opening a similar box for himself, Kip said, "We've got to hope they feed the tourists better than this."

"For sure," Jared said, glad they had found a subject he and Kip could agree upon.

But not for long. No sooner had they finished their food than Jared was right back at it. "You are such a great-looking kid it's hard to decide what to do to you first, beat you off, suck your cock, or fuck your ass."

"Look," Jared said, deciding the time was right for some clarification, "I'm straight, got it? Yeah, I messed around once but that was just so I could qualify. I am straight." Needing to piss, Jared asked, "Where's the bathroom?"

Chuckling, Kip handed Jared an empty mason jar. "The mechanics took the chemical toilet in for repair."

"I can hold it," Jared said, but after another several minutes of bouncing in the shock-absorberless tank, he carried the jar to the rear of the cabin and pissed with his back to Jared. He screwed on the lid, brought the jar forward, and added it to the trash.

When they came in sight of the hotel, Jared sighed with relief although wondering how he could spend an entire summer working with Kip. Maybe Kip would be better with tourists around, Jared hoped.

Up front, the intercom squawked, and a crackly voice said, "Do you want me to open the portal, Kip?"

"No," Kip answered, "Call Menton and see if it's all right for me and Jared to do an overnight at the camp. Kind of a dry run, so to speak, or even better, a wet one."

"I can authorize that," the intercom said. "Good night, sleep tight, and don't let those mean ol' therapods bite."

Chapter Eight

Jared's Choice

What was it about Jared that had heated Kip to the flash point? Jared's build was probably all right, and Kip looked forward to seeing it, but good builds were a given with new hires. Everybody had a defined chest, thick biceps and thighs, a six-pack for abs. No, as impressive as Jared's build might turn out to be, his uniqueness lay in his face, especially those cornflower-blue eyes. How could Kip ever have missed him?

Driving south toward Camp Wilkins with Jared huddled against the far wall, Kip said, "Why don't you tell me about the time you, quote, messed around."

"None of your business," Jared muttered.

"This is just pure speculation, of course, but the way I'd imagine it, one of the guys on your football team . . . "

Studying the fern grove outside, Jared said, "I played baseball, not football."

"Okay, so one of the guys on your baseball team was spending the night, and you heard him whacking it, and you asked if you could finish him with your mouth."

"Shut up. Besides, I explained that the messing around was a setup, something we only did to get hired."

Aha, thought Kip, Jared's bed-buddy was also a new hire, but Kip did not verify that quite yet. Hoping to lull Jared into a false sense of security Kip said, "There's lots more to see in the south than the north. If you look in the distance you'll see Mount Menton, the highest peak on the continent." As the terrain grew uneven, Kip said, "These rock formations puzzle geologists. They say there's no way they should be here."

"Why's that?" Jared asked, breaking his silence.

"You'd have to ask a geologist. In just a few minutes you're going to see one of the greatest things you've ever seen."

Jared sighed long-sufferingly, "Your dong?"

"That too, but what I was talking about -- there you are."

No tourist however blase could help but gape at Wilkins Bluff. They had arrived at the edge of a six-hundred-foot cliff, in the canyon below which the Wilkins River had carved a city of limestone minarets in reds, yellows, and oranges.

"Sheesh," Jared said, properly impressed.

Kip had waited long enough and he was anxious for the answer; as he began their descent to the river, he asked, "Did you know a lot of the new hires back where you came from?"

"Just my brother," Jared said.

"Are you twins?" Contemplating one Jared sucking another, Kip adjusted his shorts.

"No, Greg's a year younger."

For the next fifty minutes Kip focused his attention on the winding trail leading down to the water. He slowed to five miles per hour through a series of switchbacks and sped up only to ten on the severely tilted straightaway. "The first time I drove this I was going too fast along here and nearly flipped over."

"Let's hope you don't make the same mistake twice," Jared said.

Kip ignored the sullen youth until they reached the level road alongside the river. "Do you want to hear about the carpenter I worked with?"

"If she was a girl and you fucked her," Jared said.

"There isn't time anyway." Kip braked to a halt in front of a concrete-walled quadrangle, somewhat like a miniature Hotel Alpha but single story and encompassing one acre rather than one- hundred. The reinforced framework had been poured in Georgia, then teleported; the roof was due tomorrow, in time for the initial tourist rush.

Pointing toward a smaller ten-by-ten building, Kip said, "That's the guide's quarters -- you and I'll have to share it. I'd normally sleep in the tank, except tonight I'm going to fumigate. I was supposed to do that last week but I keep putting it off."

Moving toward the hatch, Jared said, "You sleep wherever you want. I'll sleep in the camp."

"Suit yourself," Kip answered, gleeful that his fumigation- ruse had passed unchallenged. "If you don't want to swim bare- butt, how about if we swim in our shorts?"

"I can do that," Jared answered.

On the bank of the Wilkins Jared pulled off his tee baring a build better than average even for new hires, carrying slightly more bulk than the norm yet with good definition. Studying Jared, Kip asked, "How much do you weigh?"

Jared's eyes rolling heavenward, he answered, "I'm six-foot tall, weigh one-hundred-sixty-nine pounds, have ten toes, ten fingers, and a ten-inch-long cock."

Kip shrugged modestly, "Mine's twelve, but who's counting?"

Will Menton had chosen this location for the camp because this was one of the few places tourists could swim in the Wilkins. Upstream were dangerous rapids, and downstream, where the river widened into its delta, mud clouded the water. Also, tanks could reach this beach in four hours; if a tourist left Hotel Alpha at eight he would arrive here for lunch, have the afternoon and the following morning to swim, and would be back at the hotel in time for the second day's dinner. Additionally, there was a final allure Jared would discover this evening.

Kip raced Jared around an island a hundred yards offshore; Kip did not mind losing, because when he pulled himself out of the water he saw Jared lying shirtless on the beach.

"You're a hell of a swimmer," Kip said, lying beside Jared.

Jared's forearm shielded his eyes from the glare. "Back where I grew up, my brother and I used to race our buddies around Paradise Island."

Dragging his fingertips across Jared's stomach, Kip asked, "When you, Greg, and those buddies used to circle-jerk, who jissumed first."

Jared pushed Kip's hand away, rolled onto his stomach, and said, "You redefine sexual harassment, dude, truly you do."

While Jared napped, Kip entered the guide's quarters, opened the solar-powered refrigerator, and took out boiled chicken, lettuce, tomatoes, green pepper, green onions, carrots, and watercress. When Jared awoke, Kip had tossed a chicken salad for their dinner. "Sorry I couldn't fix anything warm, but they aren't delivering the barbecues till tomorrow along with the roof."

"We don't need either one, not with hot weather and a salad like this."

They had finished their second helpings of salad and were collecting the trash when they heard the first roar, low and off in the distance. Initially birds' songs and the river's splashing masked the growls, but within five minutes Jared seemed anxious.

"What the fuck's that?"

"Ty, the local tyrannosaur," Kip answered happily. "He comes here at sundown, making his rounds. They have wide-ranging territories, tyrannosaurs, and incredible appetites. Me and another driver Don Carter watched Ty gulp down a hypsie bigger than you are."

As the roars grew closer and louder, Jared grew paler. After a deafening screech came from a grove of trees not more than five-hundred yards upstream, Jared said, "Hadn't we better get in the tank?"

"You can't get in the tank -- I'm fumigating," Kip reminded him, "but you're welcome to sleep with me in the guide's quarters."

Hearing another, nearer roar, Jared edged toward the outbuilding. "If you promise you'll keep your hands off me . . . "

Hurrying through the doorway, Kip said, "I promise to do everything possible to make you squirt."

"Cripes," Jared said, ducking inside, "raped or eaten, what a choice."

The guide's quarters had a double bed, a mini-kitchen, no chairs, and a concrete-slab floor. Kip took off his clothes, lay on the bed, watching Jared, who first stood with his nose pressed to the tiny window until the tyrannosaur left, then stretched out on the floor. Jared tossed, he turned, he stood and pissed in the sink, lay down, but finally, after an hour or so, said, "You win, scoot over."

"Take off your shorts," Kip answered sliding closer to the wall, "or else I'll rub your dick and you'll cream them."

Jared lay nude on the bed, completely uninterested to judge by his dick. Kip slid lower, bringing his head even with Jared's crotch, leaned sideways, gripped Jared's sac and put his lips around Jared's cock. He sucked Jared stiff in that awkward position, then rose, took hold of Jared's ankles, and pulled him until Jared's knees were even with the foot of the bed and his feet touched the floor.

Kneeling between Jared's calves, Kip jacked himself off while he sucked Jared's dick. Kip came first, splattering the bed five minutes before Jared groaned, stroked Kip's hair, and blew load.

Lying beside Jared, Kip played with Jared's balls. "I must not have done very well, considering how long it took you."

Arms by his sides, Jared said, "No, you were excellent, but I fought you all the way. I wanted to prove you couldn't bust me."

Kip slid his hand between Jared's thighs. "You're no ten inches."

Jared laughed, "I'm closer to ten than you are twelve." He stroked Kip's forearm. "That's the first blow-job I ever got."

"That's a coincidence -- it's the first one I ever gave." Kip kissed Jared's nose. "Night, guide."

Jared patted Kip's thigh. "Night, driver."

PART III

Chapter Nine

Clark Kent

On normal days one-third of the tourists would be new arrivals, two-thirds would be staying over, but on Friday, June 11, the day Hotel Alpha opened to the public, all guests were new arrivals and bellboys were in short supply.

Jeff Michaels's x-rated division now employed four full- timers: Jeff himself, Greg Spencer, Lane King -- a likeable compu- geek who was working on his laptop if he wasn't handing out lube -- and Alex Ross, a longhair surfer.

Thursday, when Paul Hogan had requested that all of Jeff's staff be on hand Friday morning to help carry luggage, Jeff had called his employees together for a meeting: Jeff had said, "I'm suggesting we close this sperm factory at midnight so we all get some sleep."

Lane had countered, "There are guys that depend on us. Some of them work late, and some of them wake up with the need. I don't mind taking the early shift -- I'll still help carry suitcases."

At eight a.m. Friday, Will Menton handed the First Lady an enormous bouquet of Alpha's gaudiest flowers. As the regular bellboys helped her and other dignitaries to their rooms, Jeff and his crew watched from the park, ready whenever Paul waved.

Jeff asked Lane, "Did anything interesting happen last night after I left?"

Lane polished his glasses. "No. I'm glad we didn't close down, though. Thirteen guys got off, fourteen if you count Jim Holloway coming in about one and again about five."

Alex laughed, "Dino-cop loves his hand-sex."

Before the Washington D.C. tourists had been shown to their rooms, fifty Boston tourists arrived. Three of the Bostonians were a man, a woman, and a preppie. Jeff took the man's bags, Lane took the woman's, the preppie carried his own. Passing the candy store, the man and the woman stopped, talked, decided to shop, and sent the others ahead.

Before he picked up the bags again, Jeff shook che collegiate's hand. "I'm Jeff Michaels. I work at Alphaland Entertainment with my buddy here, Lane King."

"Nice to meet both of you. I'm Kevin Adams, Pre-med, Dartmouth."

Midway along the eastern wing, between the tennis courts and the bowling alley, as they climbed two flights of stairs, Jeff said, "You're lucky you're on top -- the second floor rooms don't have balconies." Kevin asked why, and Jeff answered, "Meat-eating dinosaurs could reach them and gobble you up. Lane and I haven't seen any, but the week before we got here a pack of allosaurs dropped by, thirty-five-foot-long allosaurs."

Kevin's eyes brightened, "That'd be excellent to see allosaurs."

Lane said, "You'll be plenty safe up here -- even a T. rex couldn't reach you."

Jeff left the adults' luggage in 343A, they went through the connecting door to 343B, and Kevin set down the his bag. As Jeff and Lane turned to leave, Kevin handed Jeff a folded bill and said, "Let's hook up later on after my cousin gets here and you can show us around."

"Sure thing," Jeff said. "We'll be working by noon. You just go back the way we came, past the depot to the corner, turn right and you'll see a big white-and-blue sign."

At twelve forty-five, Jeff, Lane, and Greg were eating corned beef sandwiches when Kevin and his cousin arrived, undoubtedly more comfortable in tennis shorts and tees than Kevin had been in his Ivy League suit.

Gawking, Kevin said, "This is outrageous. Look at that wall, Stef." Jeff had solicited autographed beaver shots from the industry's forty top-ranked porn-queens. Kevin pointed to Jeff's favorite photograph. "I'd like to launch my rocket in her."

Jeff said, "You're in luck. Cherise will be here tonight to premier her new film. We'll have a drawing after the movie, and she'll lap dance the winner."

Stef laughed, "We'll be there, and Kevin better wear his dark pants." Looking at the rear of the store, he asked, "What does JOP stand for?" When Jeff had explained, Kevin said, "That must be a west coast term. Down in Florida we call them 'bator booths."

"And my cousin is truly the master 'bator of Miami," said Kevin.

"The hotel is heaven for 'bators," Jeff said. "We've got most of the triple-X movies ever made, and if you don't feel like walking all the way over here, Channel thirty-six on your TV shows round-the-clock porn."

Since Greg was minding the store, Jeff and Lane showed the easterners the hotel's major attractions. Kevin wanted to try out the golf course next morning, and Stef wanted to ride in a tank. Midafternoon, hot and sweaty, Jeff suggested they swim.

"Great idea," Kevin said. "We'll change and meet you guys there."

Jeff said, "No need to go back to your room. We're friends of the lifeguard -- he'll loan us trike-trunks."

They walked to the nearby teen pool, Jeff cadged four swim suits from Dennis, they went into the changing room. Jeff's first surprise came when Lane shed his shirt -- he was built; the second surprise came when Lane took off his glasses. Jeff said, "Damn, Lane, you are one handsome dude," and Lane blushed.

Kevin showed more interest in the ziplocked samples, asking, "Have you guys tried these?"

Lane recommended Alpha-Lube and Coco-Fun as being especially friction-friendly; Jeff agreed.

At four, Lane excused himself, saying he needed a nap before Cherise's premier. Jeff left with him, intending to return to the store, but at the perimeter causeway, where Jeff would have turned left and Lane right, Lane displayed the baggie he had taken from his locker. "You wanna?"

"Why not?" Turning north, Jeff said, "Not long ago I wouldn't have considered beating off with a guy, but I drilled Chris Taylor's fist and Dave's popped me a couple of times -- now it seems natural."

As they walked past the power plant, Lane rubbed the small of Jeff's back. "Your room or mine?"

Since Dave the massager had been booked solid from noon until midnight, Jeff said, "Let's use mine."

In 182G, Jeff witnessed the same transformation from nerd to athlete he had seen in the changing room. Lane took off the tee that had hidden his biceps, hung it on Jeff's chair, then stepped out of the shorts that had hidden his thighs. When the glasses came off, Jeff said, "Something about an ugly duckling and a swan."

As things progressed Jeff lost control of what he had considered an eminently controllable situation. They lay side by side on Jeff's bed, Jeff tore open the packet of Coco-Fun, Lane opened Alpha-Lube, and they greased up their hardons. They were next to each other, jacking slow, when Lane asked, "Have you ever got laid?"

Jeff replied, "Small towns in North Dakota aren't the best places to meet girls."

They jacked awhile longer, and Jeff was moving to a higher plateau when Lane said, "Would you want to shoot off inside me?"

Jeff's hand stopped. "Inside your mouth?"

Lane's hand kept stroking. "Up my tail."

Jeff asked, "You're saying you want me to drill you as in anal intercourse as in what Rod Long does to Cherise?"

Instead of answering Jeff's question, Lane rolled over, onto his stomach.

Jeff opened the Anal Lube packet, smeared some on his dick and some in Lane's butt crack without actually poking his finger in Lane. Hoping they were greasy enough, Jeff climbed on, felt for Lane's hole, found it, and positioned his cock.

The initial penetration jolted Jeff's nervous system; he sensed he was about to experience significant thrills. He would have liked to make the sex last, but his prick refused to cooperate. He thrust faster and faster until all too quickly he heard himself grunt as the first of many squirts filled Lane's ass.

Beneath Jeff, Lane said, "If you stay in me you'll stay hard and you'll be able to do it again quicker than you'd think."

Rubbing Lane's neck, Jeff said, "What I think is that I've gone from a straight to a buttfucker in under a month. You roll over, I'll jack you, you'll take a nap, and I'll sort things out."

Chapter Ten

Ivy League Stuff

Kevin Adams had seen many hotel rooms, but he had never seen one he liked more. His and Stef's Hotel Alpha room was large -- Kevin guessed sixteen by twenty -- with brown ceramic tile on the floor and beige area rugs over the tile. Opposite the two queen- sized beds, an entertainment center included a TV/VCR, CD player, and two premium speakers. A refrigerator contained assorted alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages. The sliding glass door on the far wall led onto a balcony nearly as big as the room.

Kevin said, "Nice place for a party."

His cousin Stef, changing from trike-trunks to shorts in the bathroom, said, "Girls might object to these walls." The unusual bathroom had solid walls only from the floor to waist height. Above the solid walls, clear plate glass extended upward. "It's okay with you here -- I'd feel self-conscious taking a shit around anybody else. Do you want to try for a tee-time tomorrow?"

Kevin called the golf pro who said that the earliest reservation he could give them would be eleven on Monday, but when Kevin called the clerk for the dino tours, the clerk had just taken a cancellation for tomorrow's Wilkins River excursion. Kevin and Stef could have the vacancy as long as they could stay overnight. They could stay overnight, Kevin said.

Kevin hung up the phone, went onto the balcony, and inhaled the warm, moist Alpha air. He looked below at the herd of grazing horn-heads. "You want to see your first dinosaur, Stef?"

Joining Kevin, Stef looked down, studied the dinos, and said, "Huge fuckers. What did you think of our poolmates?"

"Good guys," Kevin answered. "What did you think?"

"I think they must have dicks of steel to work where they do."

For dinner, they went with their parents one floor higher to the rooftop restaurant, Chez Alpha. The women liked their chicken, the men praised the fresh local fish, and everyone raved about the salad. Stef's father summoned the waiter and asked that he carry their compliments to the chef; minutes later, a smiling blond adolescent came to their table.

"I am Matthias," he said, "und I ist gladdest you likes mine leaves. In plantation boxes I grows them."

He must mean he grows them in planter boxes, Kevin thought. "Do you work here year round?"

"No no," Matthias shook his head, "Soonest I leaves und works with Herr Doctor Mueller. Howsoever, the verdammt Menton, he says I must works here until the new peoples ist oriental."

Oriental? Matthias must mean oriented -- oriental made no sense.

After dinner the adults went to the casino while the cousins went to Bistro Alpha for Cherise's premier. They sat with the Spencer brothers, Greg whom they had met at Alphaland Entertainment, and Jared, a tour guide. At eight o'clock, when the lights dimmed, everyone turned his chair to face the stage.

Jeff entered from the wing, adjusted the microphone, smiled at the audience. "I'd say 'Welcome ladies and gentlemen' except there aren't any ladies present yet, but Cherise will be here at the end of the show to give one of you a real treat. In the meantime, enjoy her new film, and if you feel that uncontrollable need to drain the main vein we've put plenty of Alpha-Lube in the rest room, or you might favor saving your fluid just in case you win the lap dance.

Most of the hundred or so viewers conserved their fluid despite a very hot movie. Kevin counted only three patrons who slunk toward the bathrooms. Most boys fidgeted, but unless someone had cut a hole in his pocket, only the three who left achieved release before the film ended.

At nine-thirty Jeff introduced Cherise to loud applause. An ordinary-looking girl, well made-up, with tits bigger than basketballs, Cherise reached into a fishbowl and pulled out half a ticket stub. When she read the number, Jared Spencer, seated to Kevin's right, gasped, "Thank you, Lord!"

Dressed in tight pink Spandex, Cherise came to their table. She sat on Jared's lap facing him, put her arms around his neck, and ground her crotch against his.

Jared's responses to Cherise's lap dance fascinated Pre-med student Kevin. Initially Jared seemed calm despite the rigid cock bulging his shorts, but as Cherise squirmed, rubbing her rump against his dick, Jared breathing turned heavy, his eyes bulged, he sucked on her tit. Sweat darkened the sides of Jared's tee, a vein pulsed in his temple.

Cherise whispered in Jared's ear, "Are you close, honey?"

"Oh yeah," Jared moaned.

Cherise wriggled, Jared gasped, and the lap dance was over.

Climbing the stairs to his and Stef's room, Kevin joked, "I calculated his blood pressure at two-hundred over one-fifty."

Stef said, "I'd heard the expression, 'sperm running down both legs.' I'd never seen it before. He must've emptied his dick. I bet he won't think about sex for a week."

"You'd lose your bet," Kevin said. "After that cum, he won't be able to think about anything else."

In 343B Stef undressed in the bathroom, but the glass walls allowed Kevin to see Stef's rod. While Stef showered, Kevin set the packets from the ziplock on the nightstand, arranging them alphabetically: Alpha-Lube, Anal Lube, Coco-Fun, Kream, and Whisper. Kevin left them there for Stef to consider while Kevin took his shower.

From the glassed-in enclosure, Kevin saw Stef sorting through the packets. Stef's dick now reared higher, his knob had turned crimson, and Kevin had an idea. He dried off, exited the bathroom, and said, "We're both going to do it. Do you want to watch channel thirty-six while we do?"

Stef's looked at Kevin, the television, his cock, and he nodded, "I could handle that."

Kevin sat on his bed, his back to the headboard, the remote in his hand. Clicking 'on' followed by 36 brought up the following menu: To watch boys jacking, press 1, for hot lesbian action, press 2, for straight porn, press 3, for gay porn, press 4.

"I assume you want three," Kevin said.

"Let's see what one's all about," Stef replied.

One's submenu allowed a choice of 1) College kids, 2) hunks, and 3) buddies.

Stef opened the Alpha-lube, dribbled drops on his meat, and, rubbing it in, said, "Try three."

Selection number three produced a scene showing two teenagers in an Alpha hotel room identical to Kevin's and Stef's. They were sitting on one bed, one had his arm around the other, and they were beating off, watching TV.

"Come over here," Stef said.

Surprised but aroused, Kevin went to Stef's bed, sat, and Stef's arm wrapped his shoulders. When Kevin had greased himself, he and Stef copied the teens, jacking conventionally when the teens did, backhand when the teens did, matching their speed to the teens'. Difficult though it was, Kevin postponed his cum until four men fired simultaneously, two onscreen and two on Stef's bed.

Stef picked up a towel, wiped Kevin's stomach, and asked, "Do you think we've got that out of our systems?"

Kevin shrugged, "We'll find out when we're horny again."

Saturday morning they met Jeff and Lane in front of the tank hangar. Jeff had rearranged schedules so that he and Lane could visit Camp Wilkins while Greg and Alex manned the store. As they climbed aboard the tank they saw their companion from last night, Jared Spencer. Passing Jared, Kevin asked softly, "Are you hornier than usual this morning?"

Jared nodded, "What's causing it?"

"Ejaculating like you did raised your libido. Enjoy it."

Stef sat in the driver's-side window seat three rows back; Kevin sat in the aisle seat. The steel portal slid open, the tank rumbled forward, and they were crossing the prairie.

Standing beside the driver, Jared pointed ahead. "Those dinosaurs we're approaching travel in small, family units. You can see mommy, daddy, and baby. The other adult might be an uncle."

Stef chuckled quietly, "A ceratopsian menage a trois?"

A teenager asked from the first row, "Are those dinos chasmos or trikes?"

"Neither," Jared answered. "They're centros. Centros only have one horn. Both genera you mentioned have three. Now if you'll all look east you'll see Mount Menton, the highest peak on the continent."

Chapter Eleven

Tingles

The dino tour took a fifteen-minute break at Wilkins Bluff, allowing passengers to view the multi-colored filigree carved by the river. At the canyon's edge, Lane stood beside Jeff, contemplating Jeff's invitation that was resulting in their spending the night together less than twenty hours after Lane had doubted they would ever spend a full night together.

Jeff had seemed a thrill-seeking straight who might be persuaded to do something he suspected would feel good on his cock. Lane had hoped his ass would feel so incredibly good on Jeff's cock that Jeff would want more, but he had held no hopes of being anything other than Jeff's occasionally useful receptacle. Lane had been pleasantly surprised, therefore, when Jeff had asked Lane to join him on the overnight tour. When Lane had reported for work last midnight, Jeff had said, "Greg and Alex will cover for us if you want to take Jared's tour. It'll give us a chance to talk things over." They were not talking about anything personal right now, though; they were with the Adams cousins, Kevin and Stef.

Jeff asked, "I know Kevin's major is Pre-med, Stef -- what's yours?"

Kevin said, "His own anatomy."

Rapping his cousin's head, Stef answered, "I'm still undecided."

When Jared called, "All aboard," they re-entered the tank. Jeff and Lane sat halfway back, across the aisle from the cousins. As the tank crawled down a steep grade, a teen up front asked Jared, "Are there plesiosaurs in the river?"

"There are in some rivers but not the Wilkins," Jared answered.

The kid asked, "When do we get to see the T. rex?"

"Around sundown, with luck," Jared said.

They reached Camp Wilkins late morning, and Jared escorted the tourists to their rooms. Like all Camp Wilkins rooms, Jeff and Lane's had two double beds, a plain wooden dresser, a chair. Lane sat on a bed, pulled off his shorts, and pulled on his trike-trunks. Jeff changed standing; as he stepped out of his shorts, he said, "After we eat, Jared wants to show us this swimming place up the river."

At lunch, Lane sat with the teen named Matt and his grandmother. All three came from Oregon -- Lane from Portland, Matt from Corvallis, the grandmother from Salem -- and they examined OSU's chances of reaching a bowl game. Given the beavers' new coach and young talent, they hoped Oregon State might surprise people this fall.

After tuna sandwiches, cole slaw, and chips, the couples swam in the river near the camp while the unattached males walked upstream, through a grove of horsetails, around a bend, until they had lost sight of the others. At Jared's suggestion, they shed their trunks and swam naked, Lane avoiding any contact with Jeff until Jeff touched Lane's arm.

"Let's take a walk," Jeff said.

Ashore, they put on their trunks, and as they walked further upriver, Jeff asked, "Didn't it hurt when I stuck my dick in you yesterday? The reason I ask is, I tried one of our dildos last night, and I couldn't even get the tip in."

"It takes practice." Lane's brother Grant had gone to college by day and worked nights at 7-11. "The store was across the street from a woman's aerobic center, and Grant would get so heated from watching the girl's working out he'd come home and stick it to me. He said my butt felt a lot more like a cunt than his hand did."

"The first time must have hurt, though," Jeff said.

Lane nodded, "The first night I bled -- he didn't open me up. That scared him, and from then on, no matter how horny he was, he'd play with my ass till he felt the muscles relax. I also learned it helped if I was horny too, so when I was expecting him I'd be looking at porn, then he'd come in, lift me out of the chair, take me over to his bed, and pull down my pants. He'd work vaseline up my tail till I was loose, then we'd lie on our sides and he'd prong me. Sometimes he wanted more than one cum, and he'd stay in me up to an hour."

Jeff shifted his hardon to the side of his trunks, and asked, "How long did it take him to bust?"

"The first time was quick, say less than two minutes. The second time, if there was one, took awhile."

"Why didn't you complain to your folks?"

"Complain? I totally loved it. When he was done shooting inside me he'd jack me. Before yesterday, that caused the best squirts I'd ever had."

They had been walking on sand, which had now become pebbles, hurting their feet. As they returned toward the others Jeff slipped his hand into Lane's trunks, into his crack, and fingered his hole. "Do you get a funny feeling in your balls when I do that? Kind of a tingle?"

"Absolutely," Lane answered.

Their travelling companions had left the water while Jeff and Lane had been talking. Lane saw Kevin, Stef, Matt, and Jared lying facedown; he wondered if he petted their bungs if they would feel the same tingles. Sitting beside Pre-med student Kevin, Lane asked, "Why is it when you see something exciting you get that tingle in your balls?"

Kevin answered, "It isn't in your balls, but close enough. There are two small glands on either side of your urethra -- that's the hose that takes your semen from your prostate to your cumslit. If you see something sexually exciting, or if somebody who turns you on you touches you, or whatever, your brain sends impulses to those glands. What you feel is a minor electrical shock."

"When my brain shocks my glands," Matt said, "I spring a boner."

Kevin said, "An erection is the second step, and for most males, pre-cum's the third."

"Pre-cum's embarrassing," Matt said.

"That's why I suggested Kev wear dark slacks to the lap dance," Stef laughed.

In the week Lane had been on Alpha, every day had been a bright, sunny day; now, as they lay on the beach, dark clouds loomed in the west. The clouds raced toward them, and a brisk, cold breeze arose. As the temperature plummeted, the sunbathers hurried back to camp. They helped Jared deliver extra blankets to the tourists, then went to their own rooms to wait out the storm.

Lane stood at the two-by-two, steel-barred window, watching the gale bend the palms; behind him, Jeff pulled down Lane's shorts. Jeff opened an Anal Lube sample, greased his finger, and slid the finger up inside Lane. "Are you feeling that minor electric shock?" Jeff asked.

"Minor's not the right word," Lane groaned.

Wiggling his finger, Jeff asked, "Did Grant always dick you from the rear?"

Dribbling pre-cum onto the concrete slab floor, Lane answered, "Always."

As thunder and lightning exploded outside, they exploded in Lane. Adopting Grant's favorite position, Lane lay facing the wall, Jeff in back of him, sliding his dick in. Once inserted, Jeff thrust slowly, evenly, lacking Grant's frenzy.

Lane asked, "What are you thinking about?"

Jeff rasped, "Making this last."

"Let yourself shoot -- you'll like the second time better."

"Okay." Jeff slid all the way in, pulled half out, thrust quickly three times, grunted, thrust six or seven more times, then lay still, panting.

A minute later he asked, "What do we do between cum number one and cum number two? Do I jack you?"

"Not till after you squirt again. Talk about high school -- what sports did you play?"

Rubbing Lane's chest, his cock deep in Lane's ass, Jeff answered, "I was too short for most organized sports, so I wrestled."

"Me too, at one-sixty-three," Lane said.

"One-twenty-seven for me."

Eyes closed, as Lane waited for Jeff to begin his second and longer session, Lane listened to the storm. So much on Alpha had been constructed of concrete, not only to keep out meat-eating dinos, but because these unpredictable, cyclonic storms could produce winds of 150 miles per hour and had been known to drop twenty inches of rain in a day.

"Lane," Jeff asked, rubbing Lane's belly, "do you fantasize girls?"

"Just guys -- lately just you," Lane said.

"Have you always worn glasses?"

"Since I started high school," Lane answered.

Stroking Lane's sac, Jeff asked, "How about letting me lie on top of you like the guy did Cherise. You can wrap your legs around my neck."

They were changing positions when somebody knocked; they grabbed their trunks, and Jeff yelled above the wind, "Who is it?"

"It's all of us," Jared answered. "Half the goddam roofs are leaking."

Chapter Twelve

Teen Talk

When the deluge began, Matt was in Kevin/Stef's room, talking to the two older men about things that had puzzled him. He had verified that jacking off did not cause hair on one's palms, did not produce acne, and would not ruin his eyesight. He was on the verge of asking the men if they knew any techniques he did not when water began coming through the roof. A single drip became two, became three, and they went to find Jared. He was shifting the tourists from wet rooms to dry. After he had moved everybody who had to be moved, they all went to Jeff/Lane's room.

"Who is it?" Jeff asked.

Jared answered, "It's all of us. Half the goddam roofs are leaking."

Jeff was lying on his bed when they entered; Lane was using the bathroom. The toilet flushed, Lane joined them, and he sat next to Jeff alongside Jared. The cousins flanked Matt on Lane's bed.

Jared explained, "It seems like when they poured the reinforced concrete roof they didn't get it quite flat, and when the cranes lifted it onto this building, they must have cracked it, or maybe it was cracked before it ever left Georgia. Anyway, we've got too many people for the number of dry rooms. I put Matt's grandma in with a churchgoing couple, and Matt can stay with me in the guide's quarters, so I was wondering if Kevin and Stef could stay here. I realize that everybody's crowded, but we don't have much choice.

Jeff and Lane seemed glad to share their two-bed room, and Matt rejoiced that he would be staying with Jared. Stud muffin Jared had been popped by Cherise.

Tapping Kevin's knee, Matt said, "Some parts of me and my friends' dicks are more sensitive than the other parts. Why's that?"

Kevin answered, "It's the way the nerve endings connect. They're densest on the underside of your cock near your knob, and they're the least dense on the top and the sides. One of my professors, Doctor Rutherford, says that . . . "

"Guys," Jared interrupted, raising his hand, "listen up. The storm must have thrown off Ty's routine."

Matt had begun pestering his grandmother to take him to Alpha the day Ricky Wilkins published his tyrannosaur photograph. His grandma had been unable to afford such a vacation until Matt's essay had won an all-expenses-paid trip for two. By then, Matt would have preferred to take a friend but since he had badgered his grandmother (and since his parents would never have let him go unchaperoned) he stuck with her. Today, he would finally do what he most wanted to do, outside of sex. Today he would view a live T. rex.

At first, Ty's roars could hardly be heard above the wind. As he drew nearer, the roars became clearer, and Matt rushed to the window. When the enormous, three-toed foot stepped from the forest, Matt's companions had crowded behind him, pressing his face against the glass.

The monster strode into the clearing towering high above the compound. He walked with his body parallel to the ground, his back twice as high as the walls. As he approached Matt's barred window all but his legs disappeared; then the legs disappeared too, and Matt heard a thump overhead. The tyrannosaur had mounted the roof.

Stef asked, "If he steps on a crack will he fall through?"

"No," Jared answered, "everything's reinforced with one- inch-thick steel."

The footsteps faded, the men returned to the beds, and Jared asked, "So if Cherise had been sitting on the top of my cock instead of the bottom I wouldn't have spunked like I did?"

"It wouldn't have felt nearly as good. Try an experiment the next time you're jacking. Make your fingers into a vee." Kevin flashed the V-for-victory sign. "Drag the vee along the sides of your rod. You'll appreciate how it feels, but it's different from rubbing the bottom."

Matt heard a snapping noise, looked out the window, and saw the top half of a palm tree blow by. The ceiling creaked, the glass rattled, Matt walked to the door. Peeking outside he saw the trash leftover from lunch swirling around the courtyard, sandwich bags, paper boxes, salad containers. Standing square in the middle of the chaos, the wind whipping scrap paper around those big legs, the tyrannosaur saw Matt, stepped toward him, and bellowed.

Lane yelled, "Shut that door, Matt!"

Matt slammed the steel door, slid the bolt, and returned to the bed.

The Camp Wilkins brochure had advertised dinner as 'a festive celebration of succulent pork ribs grilled with Matthias's secret dino-sauce, baked beans ala Menton, and tossed salad.' When the storm abated, however, water filled the barbecue; the tourists ate more tunafish sandwiches, cold beans, and limp greens while Jared promised to refund their money.

Afterwards, Matt helped Jared clean up the storm's mess. Each took a trash bag, began at the entry, and worked in opposite directions. When they met, Jared ran his fingers through Matt's hair. "You didn't have to help, but thanks," Jared said.

The other males had taken fishing poles to where they had earlier swum. Joining them with poles of their own, Matt and Jared stood on the bank, cast, and waited for bites, everyone alert in case the T. rex returned.

Near sundown, they dressed their fish on the bank, then took the fillets to the guide's quarters' refrigerator. The guide's quarters had only one bed, which ought to prove interesting, Matt thought, considering how horny he was. He hoped Jared slept soundly.

On his way out the door, Stef asked, "What's the plan for the morning?"

"We have a rowboat in the storage locker if anybody wants to see the far side," Jared answered.

Kevin asked, "Can all six of us fit?"

"If we don't mind being cozy," Jared said.

Kevin, Stef, Lane, Jeff retired to Jeff/Lane's room, and while Jared straightened out tackle boxes, Matt investigated the bathroom as a JOP possibility, discovering two difficulties: the room had no door, only a curtain, and there was no shower. Lacking a shower to run, he would have no cover noise masking his groans.

Matt went to the window, looked out, and wondered why these ferns grew thirty feet high; similar Oregonian ferns barely reached Matt's chest. As Matt contemplated Alpha's weird botany, Jared entered the guard's quarters, bolting the door. He moved behind Matt, pressed his chest to Matt's back, and asked, "Have you ever helped a buddy get off?"

Astonishing though it might be, Jared seemed to be hitting on Matt, but why? Jared was handsome, popular, and straight -- Cherise had popped him -- so why hit on Matt?

"You mean jacking around?"

Jared's hands slid between Matt's arms and his sides, lifted his tee, stroked his stomach. "I meant a blow job," Jared said.

Now things made sense. Jared wanted his prick sucked, and since Matt was his roommate, Matt was elected. At least he could later beat off without Jared complaining, plus, anything was worth trying once, Matt believed. "I've never sucked a dick -- I guess I could learn."

"You've got things backwards." Jared pushed down Matt's shorts, squeezed his dong, and did the vee-thingy Kevin had described, forking his fingers, and running the vee along the sides of Matt's boner.

"That feels like you're tickling it," Matt said.

Jared took off his own shorts, sat on the bed, took hold of Matt's balls and pulled him close enough to swallow Matt's dick. Matt responded to the wonderful sensations with a whimper.

So many horror stories involved girls' teeth shredding guys' meat that Matt feared for his cock, but Jared used only his lips. He formed them into a circle, then ran them up and down Matt's stiffy. The thrills were extreme, and Matt wondered how many times Jared could do that without busting him? In porno, girls sometimes sucked their boyfriend ten minutes before he pulled his stick out of her mouth and spackled her face. Would Matt last ten minutes?

Not hardly. Jared had sucked Matt only briefly when the need to shoot off overpowered Matt. He grabbed Jared's head, fucked Jared's face, and fired a great deal of load.

"You didn't give me much chance to escape," Jared said, wiping his lips.

Genuinely puzzled, Matt said, "I don't know what happened. It was like some alien invaded me. All I wanted to do was cum in your mouth."

"Will you help me beat off?"

"Nope." Matt dropped to his knees, pushed Jared backward, and as Matt's mouth neared Jared's prick, said, "I want to see if I can make you go as crazy as you made me."

PART IV

Interlude

At 12:15 a.m. Sunday, as Dennis switched off the pool lights, two typically nice-looking collegiates approached him. The taller asked, "Where's a good place to meet women?"

Dennis led them through the chain link fence, shut the gate, and answered, "This time of night there aren't many. Tomorrow you might try the ice cream parlor, the pro shop, or the outdoor cafe. I'm afraid for tonight you're stuck with your hand."

The taller collegiate muttered, "Just like back home." He asked his friend, "Do you want to use our room first or should I?"

Dennis suggested, "Try out the JOP booths."

The college kid replied, "Stand in line twenty minutes for a five-minute nut? No thanks. How about it, Rob?"

Rob answered, "You can have the room first. I'll be downstairs when you're done."

After the young men had left, Dennis padlocked the gate, went to the perimeter causeway where he encountered his roommate waiting under a street lamp. "I just got off work," Greg explained. "I figured I'd walk with you."

Turning north, Dennis slid his arm around Greg's waist and repeated his conversation with the collegiates. "What's sad is," Dennis concluded, "they could bust so much better if they busted together."

Rubbing Dennis's thigh, Greg agreed, "We need to promote two-person sex -- either that or install twice the 'bator booths. I'll discuss it with Jeff in the morning."

Chapter Thirteen

Clint's Hardbody

Summertime for Clint Walker meant beer, Bermuda shorts, raging hormones, and hot, sweaty sex. He had first got laid last Fourth of July, received his first blow job in August, and hoped for even better luck this June.

Monday, when the girl he had met at Chez Alpha called to cancel their date -- her parents insisted she golf with them -- Clint could have had hot sweaty sex all alone in his hotel room since his folks had gone gambling; instead, seeking beer and a partner, he visited the teen pool snack bar where he ordered an Alphabrau, lay on a lounge, and prayed for a hardbody.

The gods of lust answered Clint's prayer, but with a wrong- gender hardbody. Although the brunette who sat down beside Clint had a build and a half, his bulging trunks indicated he had more between his legs than Clint preferred. Still, they might pair up and meet two good-looking co-eds, so Clint stuck out his hand. "I'm Clint Walker from Columbus, Ohio," he said.

"I'm Whip Lowe of Austin, Texas," Whip drawled, "and what you're sipping looks mouth-watering. I'll return momentarily."

While by the pool drinking Alphabrau the men discovered much in common; both were travelling with their families and shared a room with their parents in the hotel's western wing. Both were engineering majors who had recently broken up with their girlfriends, and they played the same position on their school's football teams, strong-side safety.

After an hour, Whip emptied his second beer, then said, "This location isn't getting it done, boy."

Clint agreed, they discarded their bottles, and they went searching. Near the hotel's southwest corner, they saw a white sign with blue letters reading Alphaland Entertainment. They entered, hoping for advice on where to find partners; a clerk in the main room directed them to the ADULTS ONLY room. There, a young man named Greg showed them a map of the hotel.

Greg's yellow marker highlighted sites as he described them. "I've had good reports about Candy Shop Alpha and Alpha Ice Cream. The video arcades are great for picking up boys, but you wouldn't be interested. Plus there's always the microbrewery. It's got Alphabrau on tap. They serve free beer from three to five."

The tourists thanked Greg, and as they were leaving, Greg asked, "Where are you going to take these girls if you find them?"

"I reckon we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Whip said.

Lowering his voice, Greg leaned across the counter. "Not many people know about this so don't spread it around. When they were building the hotel, they put up a barracks for the workers. A small section is left between what's now the tank hangar and the power plant. You can't see anything from the causeway, but if you go into the hanger and look to your right, there's a door past the ticket booth. That lets you into the barracks. The door says 'Authorized Personnel Only' but ignore it. Good luck."

Clint and Whip went to the candy store, saw no women under middle age, and were proceeding toward the ice cream parlor when they passed a picture window with a sign reading 'Computerized Palmistry. Complimentary printouts this week.'

Clint shrugged, "It sounds like it's free."

Inside, they saw a screen set into the wall. A sign next to the screen read, 'Place spread palm against screen and hold in position until you hear the buzzer.'

Whip went first, spread his hand, held it to the screen, and heard a buzz. Immediately, an old fashioned printer began rattling at the far end of the room. While Whip stood next to the machine awaiting his printout, Clint held his palm in place. The buzzer whirred, Clint went to the printer, and noticed Whip blushing ferociously. Clint read his own printout, and he also blushed.

"Hiya Clint," the printout began, "it's no mystery how I know who you are. Every guest's drivers' license is on file, and that black strip on the back shows your fingerprint. According to your license, you're nineteen, 5'10", 155#, and your picture looks foxish. A cross-check with your server, buckeye.net, indicates that in the past three months you have downloaded 1.2 gigabytes of hardcore porn, which is supported by the callus- pattern on your hand. Of the 1.2 gig, 36 megabytes involve male- on-male action. Since Whip Lowe and his great upper body fit the same pattern you do, if you don't find the women you're hunting, why don't you and Whip get together?"

Feeding the printout into a shredder, Clint said, "Let's find us those women."

When the ice cream parlor proved a washout, they took a break at Alphabrau Microbrew. Amid other college-age men, they drank too much beer for two hours; at five, they walked out of the brewery, Clint squinted at the bright Alpha sun, and said, "I feel like a nap. How about if we crash and get back to the hunt after dinner?"

Surveying the park surrounding them, Whip said, "I expect I might sleep on the grass. I surely couldn't do it while my mother is watching her soap operas. She brought them on tape -- it's her ritual."

Upon further consideration, Clint realized that his parents were likely watching the VCR too. "Do you want to see if those

barracks rooms are an option?"

A winding path led them between the two golf courses, past the jacuzzi, to the teen pool.

Clint said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to pick up one of those sample packs. I feel the need."

Whip too took a ziplock from the changing room, they went to the tank hangar, and entered. Turning right, they saw the door Greg had described, ignored the sign, and went into a hall. Five doors lined the left-hand side of the passageway; Clint tried four before he found the fifth one unlocked.

Clint complained, "How are we supposed to jerk off if there's two of us and one room?"

"We could close our eyes, I expect." Whip walked up to Clint, put his hands on Clint's hipbones. "Or just perhaps we should take the computer's advice."

Uncertain, Clint swung open the door. The room beyond had obviously been occupied by a lone individual. No walls surrounded the bathroom fixtures, not even the half-wall and curtain like Clint's room upstairs; the narrow twin bed could have slept only one. A small barred window admitted the afternoon sunlight.

Clint heard the door close, went to the window, and gazed at the prairie. "What kind of gay porn did you download?"

Standing behind Clint, his crotch pressed against Clint's rear, Whip kneaded Clint's shoulders. "Those files depicting oral copulation most often. When I commenced to be interested, I told myself I was looking at them so Bonnie and I -- Bonnie was my lady at the time -- could vary our positions. She and I always did it the same, with Bonnie kneeling down and fingering her twidget while she sucked me."

Clint said, "That's how Linda did it to me."

Whip slid his hand into the front of Clint's shorts, pinched Clint's knob, and smeared the pre-sem that oozed. "When Bonnie and I were no longer together and my roommate was attending his night class, I would sometimes look at those pictures and play with myself."

"Did you feel guilty after you came?"

"The word anxious better describes my feelings." Whip turned Clint around, held his wrist as they walked to the bed, sat, and pulled down Clint's shorts. Whip did what Linda had done, but Whip did it better, using his tongue to massage, then jacking Clint off with his lips.

Clint knew his body. As he approached the point of no return, as his knees began to fail, he pushed Whip's head away. "Any more and I'll shoot," Clint said. "Trade me places."

Clint sat, and Whip stood.

By alternating positions whenever one or the other got close, they lasted longer than either had lasted with his girlfriend. Eventually, though, Clint's cock rebelled; he creamed without warning.

After he had finished off Whip and they were lying face to face, Clint stroked Whip's thigh. "You did way better than Linda," Clint said.

"And you did far better than Bonnie. I supposed some man would, although I did not expect to be fond of him. How long will you be here on Alpha?"

Rolling on top of Whip, Clint said, "The rest of the week, until Sunday."

"My parents are leaving on Friday," Whip said. "I expect Greg's supervisors might let me sleep here, though."

Chapter Fourteen

Frat-buddies

Dylan Vincent's position as Chi Kappa Gamma treasurer had allowed him to switch the fraternity's beer contract from the more expensive Budweiser to the more popular Alphabrau. Besides saving money and improving quality, the substitution had earned Chi Kappa Gamma a week-long vacation for two at Hotel Alpha. The members had chosen Dylan unanimously; in a close vote their second choice had been freshman boytoy, Chris Aikins, due largely to Dylan's lobbying in favor of his protegee. Dylan had recruited Chris out of high school.

Tuesday night, when the lifeguard Dennis locked the teen pool Chris was showing signs of frustration. From dinner to midnight, Chris had been surrounded by hotties. For five hours the girls had flirted with him, touched him, laughed at his jokes, but none had accepted his invitation to 'go someplace else and get friendly,' which they had correctly translated to mean 'go someplace else so I can bend you and pork you.'

Dylan and Chris walked down the path, stepped up onto the perimeter causeway, and Chris said, "You're lucky you aren't gay, Dyl, or you'd have one very sore hole in the morning." As they passed Alphaland Entertainment, he said, "I truly envy those guys who can relieve their tensions in a booth. Right-handed sex doesn't do it for me anymore, not like it used to." His mood brightening, Chris laid his arm across Dylan's shoulders and chuckled, "You wouldn't want to give me a blow job, would you, just to help a frat-brother out?" In their room Chris shed his trike-trunks, hugged Dylan absent-mindedly, and climbed nude into bed. He tossed and turned all night long.

Wednesday morning Chris ate breakfast red-eyed and distracted. At eight, when they boarded a tank for the northern excursion, Chris glanced at the other passengers, shook his head, and fell asleep as soon as the tank left the hangar. Scenerywise, he did not miss anything significant that first hour, although Jared's description of Alpha's dinosaurs fascinated Dylan.

Chris woke when the tank turned east, and he whispered, "I never have trouble getting women on earth so why should I have trouble on Alpha?"

Dylan counseled, "Be patient. We haven't been here twenty- four hours."

"Yeah, but I've been saving my spew. I haven't cum for five days."

Good Christ, Dylan thought as they approached the duckbill rookery, five days without sex, a feat of Homeric proportions. Dylan had not shot last night, not with Chris half-awake, but aside from that single exception he could not remember the last time he had gone even two days without sex, much less five.

From the front, Jared said, "We're lucky today. Off to your left, you can see a pack of velociraptors. Usually they hunt in the forest."

The tank turned south, and the driver, Kip, halved his speed. As the two-dozen raptors slunk toward the nest, they crouched low, looked straight ahead, and their rigid, balance- beam tails bobbed up and down.

Chris muttered, "That's what my dick was doing in the shower this morning."

Jared said, "I'm going to aim the parabolic microphone at them so you can hear them. Alpha scientists think they understand many of their signals." When Jared flipped a switch, the overhead loudspeaker came alive with hisses, cackles, and snorts. The leading raptor stopped, the noises died, then the lead raptor cawed like a crow. "That's the attack signal," Jared said.

Now every raptor began cawing, creating such a cacophony that Jared turned down the speaker. En masse, the pack surged toward the rookery, screeching fiercely, then halted abruptly forty yards short of their goal.

Jared explained, "They were hoping to panic a juvenile into running out into the open. The raptors won't dare enter the nest. Duckbills may look like oversize cows, but they have four-hundred teeth and a kick like a mule's."

"Four-hundred teeth? You wouldn't want them sucking your stiffer, right, roomie?" Chris tapped Dylan's thigh.

Chris dozed again as they circled the rookery. In the frat- house, Dylan had been careful to never touch his recruit, but here, millions of miles from their friends, he gripped Chris's hand.

"Huh?" Chris asked, waking.

"Nothing special -- I'm just glad you're here."

"I'll be gladder," Chris said, "when my wand gets a workout."

Leaving the rookery behind, Kip drove west to the banks of Lake Borogovia. He parked, all the tourists climbed out, and Jared distributed box lunches. Chris and Dylan took theirs to the shore, shed their shoes, and soaked their feet in the warm, clear water.

Wiggling his toes, Chris said, "The thing I don't understand about you, Dyl, is you're an ultra-cool dude and my best friend on campus but if I'd never seen you without your clothes on I wouldn't know you had a cock. The rumor mill says you dicked Stacey, but then you started dating Jennifer, and I doubt you were getting anything off that frigid specimen."

Glancing at Chris's lap, Dylan joked, "Talk about a rigid specimen."

Chris looked down, shrugged, and said, "I told you it's been a long time." Locking onto Dylan's gaze, he asked, "Is it true about you and Stacey?"

"Yeah, but it didn't feel as good as my hand, and it took me forever to bust." Spotting the tour guide approaching them, Dylan said, "Hi, Jared."

Kneeling between them, Jared patted each frat-man's shoulder. "Dennis called from the pool, and he said to tell you that the two sisters you took to the sauna last night were asking where you were. He said you were on the tour and would be back in your room about five."

Chris smiled, "Dennis gave them the number, I hope."

"You can trust Dennis," Jared said. "He knows what he's doing."

Chris murmured, "She wants me," then said nothing noteworthy the rest of the tour, except, after they passed the brontosaur herd, he whispered, "I am going to unload tonight, whether it's in one of them or in you. I will unload, understand?"

They returned to their room at 4:35 and showered separately. At 5:05 Donelle called, suggesting they have dinner Dutch treat then attend the premiere of the locally made art film, Der Junge ohne Schatten.

The Dutch treat dinner never materialized; lifeguard Dennis arranged for a complementary meal at Chez Alpha. The men ordered the plat du jour consisting of T-bone steak, Caesar salad, baked potato, and the girls ordered the catch of the day: roast fish reminding Dylan of tuna.

Despite its derivative title, Der Junge ohne Schatten held Dylan's attention. Der Junge told the story of a young man played by Matthias searching Mount Menton for his shadow. When he finally found it, he held it high and exclaimed, "Fuer ich nicht mehr bin der Junge ohne Schatten!" [For I am no more the boy without a shadow!]

They escorted their dates to the east wing, told them goodnight, and expressed the hope that they would see them tomorrow. Headed for home, as they wound their way between the golf courses, Chris said, "What a waste of an evening."

Dylan said neutrally, "The movie wasn't so bad. I kind of enjoyed it."

"I'm glad one of us did. I can't think of anything dumber than a thirteen-year-old looking all over a mountain for his shadow." Ducking beneath an overhanging branch, Chris mocked Matthias, "For we ist packed tightest, such as Sardinians!"

"He meant 'sardines'," Dylan said. "Matthias is a nice kid -- you shouldn't make fun of his grammar."

Chris replied, "My date shouldn't have pushed my hand away every time I tried to touch her."

Up onto the causeway, past the hanger, up the stairs to their room. Dylan unlocked the door, Chris followed him inside, and he wrapped Dylan in a bear hug. Running his hands down Dylan's back, Chris asked, "Did you think I was kidding?"

Dylan answered, "With you, I never know."

Chris pushed Dylan backward until he bumped into the bed, his knees collapsed, and Chris fell on top of him. His eyes boring into Dylan's from inches away, Chris asked, "Have you ever been fucked, Dyl?" When Dylan shook his head, Chris asked, "Can I try?"

"As long as you're careful."

They stood, shed their clothes, Dylan sat and examined Chris's dick.

Though they had played Little League, football, and tennis together Dylan had never before allowed himself to look at Chris's cock; soon he wished he had not looked at it tonight, because that six-inch cylinder would haunt him. As cocks went, Chris's was not unusual, average length, average thickness, pink toward the knob, beige nearer the base, but the boy the cock stuck out from was singular.

Stroking Dylan's hair, Chris said, "Lay on your stomach, Dyl."

Their first sex together, the culmination of so many years friendship, ended almost before it began. Dylan lay facedown, Chris climbed on top of him, and as Chris slid his dick into Dylan's crack, seeking Dylan's entrance, he groaned, "Oh shit!" and the juice he had hoped to fill Dylan with sprayed Dylan's back.

Chapter Fifteen

Twins

Cody Kramer teleported from San Francisco Wednesday morning, found the registration office, took the key imprinted 394W, and decided against going to his north-wing room because the Kansas City group would arrive shortly. Doubting that he had time to walk the round-trip to his room and back, Cody visited the site that had become the rage of the internet, Alphaland Entertainment. Cody went through the door beneath the sign ADULTS ONLY, up to the counter, and when the blond teen on the other side smiled, Cody showed him a coupon book. "Do these work here?"

The teen wearing the name tag GREG opened the book. "They sure do. This one is good for three free video rentals, and this one gets you ten tokens to the booths, and this one . . . I might as well take this one right now." Greg tore out the coupon, put it into the cash register, and gave Cody a bottle labelled Alpha- Lube. "Truly sweet on the meat," Greg promised. "What contest did you win to get that book?"

Last Christmas Cody's parents had told him that they had adopted him, but more important, that another family had adopted his twin brother, so when Gymnasts' Weekly had run a contest offering to send the winner and 'the person you most want to meet,' to Hotel Alpha, Cody had entered. Three days ago, Paul Hogan had called to tell Cody that they had located his twin, that his name was Mike Warren, and that Paul had reserved them a room beginning Wednesday.

"Wow," Greg said, "so you've never seen your brother or talked to him?"

"No, Paul suggested we wait till we got here."

"Coolest," Greg said. "It'll be great if you use the same toothpaste, deodorant, that kind of thing. Bring Mike over and introduce me, all right?"

Cody promised he would, dropped the Alpha-Lube in his backpack, and returned to the depot. He stood out front as the first Kansas City passengers exited, then spotted the boy he saw in the mirror every morning. "Hey, bro!" he called. Shaking hands, they flashed identical smiles. Like Cody, Mike carried a backpack.

Steering Mike west, Cody said, "We've got a million things to talk about, but before we get started I want to introduce you to this guy I just met."

In the triple-x room, as boys waiting in the JOP line looked the twins over, Greg studied their faces. "I can't see any difference, can you, Lane?"

Lane joined them, surveyed them, cleaned his glasses, shook his head. "They even comb their hair the same way."

Greg asked, "Are you carrying pictures of your girlfriends?"

Sure enough, each twin's wallet contained a picture of a slender, tallish, blue-eyed blond.

"Amazing," Greg said. "I get off work here at noon. If you want to hook up for lunch, I'll treat, and be sure you go out on your balcony. There's thousands of Chasmosaurs grazing today. We don't see the big herd all that often."

Walking north, the twins soon tired of finding similarities and began searching for differences. Though both had been sprinters on their high school track team, Cody also wrestled; Mike did not. Cody had been a debater; Mike had been on the speech team. Cody hoped one day to study medicine; Mike had registered at the University of Missouri as a psychology major.

Upstairs, they unpacked side by side, storing their sox, tees, and briefs in a drawer. When Cody set the Alpha-Lube on the dresser, Mike asked, "What's that?" and when Cody explained, Mike commented, "Isn't that kind of blatant?"

Cody grinned, "If we're as much alike in our jack-off habits as everything else, we'll be using your coupon by Saturday."

"True enough," Mike conceded.

They went onto the balcony and watched the chasmosaur host until at eleven-fifty Greg knocked. He had brought them two red swim suits decorated with a monogrammed horn-head. As they walked toward the door, Mike said, "You don't have to buy our lunch. We have coupons."

"They're only valid some places, and we're going to Dino- burger," Greg answered.

At the fast food stand, without any discussion, both twins selected the Lambeosaurus Lunch, i.e., fish and chips. Greg chose the Baryonyx Burger, paid for the meals, and they stepped down into the adjacent park. The twins sat on a bench; Greg sat on the grass at their feet.

Greg said, "Can I ask some personal questions?"

"Sure," Cody said.

"I guess so," Mike answered.

Greg's first queries confirmed Cody's suspicions that his sex drive paralleled Mike's: they beat their meat about daily, usually on their backs in their beds, their average session took ten minutes, they both used both hands. "If I use only my right hand I blast too quick," Cody said. Given adequate time to clean up afterwards, Cody greased with K-Y, Mike with lotion.

Both were in a romantic relationship with a girl that had not become sexual, and neither had experienced intercourse. "My last girlfriend gave me a hand job once, though," Cody said.

Greg's further questions brought out differences, however. Regarding their orientation, Cody claimed to be bi while Mike said, "No, I'm totally straight . . . make that mostly straight." Cody fantasized both sexes while stroking, Mike only women. Males and females had jacked Cody; no one had ever jacked Mike.

At one, Greg thanked the twins for answering his questions, they thanked him for lunch, and he suggested the meet at the teen pool. "There's a short path opposite the tank hangar. If I'm not there when you get there, say hi to the lifeguard. He's Dennis Wilson, my roommate. Uh oh, here comes the wind." Greg sucked on his forefinger and held it aloft. "It's coming in from the west."

Cody asked, "What does that mean."

Greg quoted. "If she blows from the east, tomorrow's a beast. If from the west she blows, nobody knows. See ya."

On the way to their room, Cody outlined a theory. "I'm not surprised we're different. It's caused by where we grew up, not our genes. For instance, I bet you didn't have an AIDS-prevention poster in your locker room that said, 'Don't let your buddy cum in your ass, and don't you cum in his.'"

"Heck no -- my friends and I would've shredded it."

Turning left at the corner, Cody said, "And I bet your health science teacher didn't explain the best ways to lick dick, plus passing out fliers showing how to open up a friend's bung for easy entry. I bet you never even learned that a saltwater enema relaxes your hole."

Mike paled as Cody described his first encounter. "I was in this restaurant with my family. I had to whizz so I went to the bathroom and there was this one dude sucking another. I mean right out in the open, one guy was kneeling and the other guy was poking his tonsils."

Leaning forward to brace against the brisk westerly, Mike said, "You haven't, have you?"

Cautious, Cody said, "Don't ask that question, bro, unless you'll be okay with my answer."

Mike insisted, "I'll be okay."

Cody nodded, "You said you were mostly straight, so I'm guessing you've jerked off with a friend. Well, in the city, that's called foreplay. Do you know what an SF kid calls the guy who gave him his first blow job?" Mike shook his head. "Usually, Coach."

The brothers turned right at the stairway and climbed to their room. When they had taken their shorts off, before they put on their trunks, Cody touched a mole below Mike's left nipple. "Me too," Cody said. He took hold of Mike's dick and massaged it till it stiffened. "Mine curves just the same tiny bit."

Squeezing Cody's biceps, Mike croaked, "I've never . . . " Mike cleared his throat. "I've never been sucked."

Since he would have a week to test Mike's more complex responses, today Cody stayed basic. He told Mike to kneel, and Mike knelt; Cody got down on all fours, and crouching, he blew Mike, again very basically. Cody's mouth formed an O that Cody ran up and down Mike's hardon repeatedly. He saved the tongue- teases until Mike announced, "I'm gonna cum," then licked Mike's tube while his twin's dick spewed junk.

By the time they reached the causeway the wind speed had doubled, clouds had appeared, and Cody put his ear near Mike's mouth.

Mike asked, "Why didn't you want me to jack you off?"

Cody answered, "I do, but we're supposed to meet Greg, and we're late."

They passed the power plant, reached the tank hangar, and stepped onto the teen pool path. When they reached the chain link fence they saw white caps, empty chairs, but no swimmers. As they were turning to leave, Greg appeared in the changing room doorway, calling, "Come here."

Joining Greg, they saw about twenty young men including Matthias, half wearing the hotel's red trunks. They were gathered around a table, watching one teenager massage the other's back.

"Dave Butler's the masseur," Greg explained, "and the guy he's massaging is my roommate."

Mike asked, "Why is everybody inside?"

Greg answered, "They've issued a thunderstorm warning."

Chapter Sixteen

Golfers

Matt Devon arrived early Wednesday morning, put his clothes in the drawer, his clubs in a corner, and he was studying the south course map when Sasha Mitchell came in. They shook hands, said they were glad to finally meet, and Sasha unpacked while Matt showered. Sasha seemed decent, reminding Matt of the surfers he had gone to school with, except that Sasha was also a golfer and a very good one. He birdied as many holes as he bogied.

They hurried to the tank hangar arriving just in time to board the half-day eastern tour. On the far bank of Lake Borogovia their tour guide, Jared, showed them the Velociraptors' burial grounds. The torn-apart skeletons proved that Velociraptors cannibalized their kinfolk, Jared claimed.

On their way back to the hotel, Sasha asked, "Any thoughts on hole nine?"

Pros had called the dog-legged hole nine the south course's greatest challenge. A golfer could attempt to cut off the dog-leg by hitting over the trees, but any misjudgment and he was deep in the woods.

Matt said, "I haven't decided for sure yet, but knowing me, I'll probably play it conservative."

"Not me," Sasha laughed. "I'm going over the top."

When Jared handed out box lunches, Matt noticed that Sasha picked the roast beef out of his sandwich. "Are you a vegetarian?"

"Not completely, but I don't eat red meat," Sasha answered.

Hotel Alpha a dot on the horizon, the tank began passing chasmosaurs, an enormous herd stretching ahead and to his right as far as Matt could see.

Jared said, "This is the biggest chasmo herd around. They've been mowing the southern prairie all week. We're glad they're here. Grass as tall as you saw this morning is a fire hazard."

Matt noticed the wind as they went from the hangar to their room. Sasha said he wanted to swim, and Matt agreed to join him after watching the chasmos. Time flew by as Matt viewed the herd; half hour later the wind was gusting; Matt was out on the balcony, hanging onto the rail, when the sky seemed to explode.

Multiple lightning bolts flashed simultaneously, thunder shook the hotel, and the chasmosaurs panicked. The rhino-sized animals bellowed, pawed the ground, then raced towards the north. Awed, Matt wondered if even the panzerfaust could have withstood the terrified dinos' stampede.

After standing in the hot, wet air watching the dinosaurs, sweat was running down Matt's sides. He decided to take a quick shower before he went to the pool. He stripped, rinsed off, left the shower, grabbed a towel, and went to the drawer for clean underwear. When he opened the drawer he saw that Sasha had left the current Penthouse atop his other belongings. Matt put the magazine on the dresser and began reading the forum. Before he realized what he was doing he was spitting on his hand. He put the wet hand to his cock; good feelings were becoming great feelings when Sasha opened the door.

"Oh, shit," Sasha said. "Sorry."

"Oops," Matt said, dropping his dick.

Sasha had returned because he had forgotten a towel and pink towels were the only towels the pool offered. Matt put on his trunks, took a dry bath towel, and went downstairs alongside Sasha.

Between the second floor and the causeway, Matt yelled, "Why are we bothering? The weather's terrible."

"This guy, Dave, is demonstrating back-massage on Dennis the lifeguard and I want to learn how," Sasha yelled back.

Minutes later, hurrying into the changing room to escape the first drops of rain, Matt saw Jared, Kip, and a pair of twins among others. The masseur wore the name DAVE on his trunks.

"You've seen what to do to deltoids," Dave said. "We'll take a quick break, I'll be back, and I'll do Denny's traps."

While Dave did stretching exercises, some teenagers gathered at the door, watching the storm, and some sat on benches. The ones on benches talked about what they liked and what they did not like about the hotel.

Dennis complimented the food, another boy praised the rooms, another the weather 'except for today,' and another lauded the athletic facilities. Matt agreed with all of them, but asked, "Why don't they have more dinosaurs on this dinosaur planet?"

Matthias nodded solemnly. "For I accords with you. I tells verdammt Menton I wishes to brings insides mein darlingest Cupid the bone-head dinosaurus und he says Cupid must stays outsides mit the allosauruses more verdammter as Menton. Moresoover, I wishes to brings mein smartest pet, Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus, und shows you his tricks, for I has teached him to count."

A counting dino? Matt wondered. He asked, "Why wouldn't Menton let you bring Blitzenschnell what's his name."

Matthias answered, "His name, it ist Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus, means lightning-quick piglet dinosaurus, for he is hungry every time, und I must not brings him, for Menton, he says mein pet, he will the orange fruits all eats."

Give him the oranges, Matt thought. "Where is Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus right now?"

Sadly, Matthias looked at the floor. "For he ist in cages."

Matt asked where was his cage? Under the teleport depot, Matthias said. "Then let's go see him," said Matt.

"Let's do it," said Sasha.

Matt, Sasha, Matthias, and the twins hugged the walls as they forced their way south along the causeway where swirling drafts threw one into another. At the corner, they ducked inside Alphaland Entertainment, caught their breath, then turned east. They reached the depot, turned right, and took a stairway down to the basement.

Dino-fan Matt recognized the caged Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus as a Heterodontasaurus tucki, the height and weight of a house cat. Only his size, however, could be compared to a mammal's. Blitz was a bipedal dinosaur, hopping up and down and clapping his paws when he saw Matthias.

Pushing an orange between the bars, Matthias smiled, "Here ist your treats, mein geliebte Blitzenschnell Ferkelosaurus."

Blitz chirped, and a twin said, "Show us how he counts, Matthias."

"Tomorrow most earliest," Matthias promised, "but not these minutes, for no props I has here."

Matt promised to talk to the management about liberating Blitz, and he went outside with Sasha into brilliant sunshine. The storm had been only a squall. After leaving a note in the administration building's suggestion box, the roommates walked the south course.

The eighteenth hole's green abutted the teen pool. Still in their swim suits, Matt and Sasha swam until five, ate grilled fish in the outdoor cafe, and returned to their room. As they were changing from wet trunks to dry shorts, Sasha looked at Matt's dick and said, "Awhile ago, you were using spit, right?"

"You use it too?"

"Uh huh, but the first time I went to the pool today, before I came back and caught you spanking your chicken, that kid Greg we ran into gave me this." Bending forward to pick up his shorts, Sasha's long blond hair cascaded over the top of his head. He took a baggie from his pocket, stood, brushed back his hair, and gave the baggie to Matt. "Want to finish off what you started?"

Eying the five packs of lube, Matt said, "I don't jack off with guys watching."

Sasha grinned, "Tell your dick."

Dammit, thought Matt, watching his rebellious rod rear. His cock was misbehaving here on Alpha just the way it had misbehaved in junior high, when every time he had stood up in class he'd grown wood.

Eyes twinkling, Sasha said, "You pick one, I'll pick one, and we'll race."

Debating between Kream, which he had tried, and Alpha-Lube, which he had not, "If I shoot first, what do I get?"

"Second place," Sasha answered. "We'll be seeing who can last longest." Sasha's cock, Matt noted, was as stiff as his own.

Matt removed the Alpha Lube, gave Sasha the baggie, and tore open the packet. "Ground rules?"

Sasha opted for Coco-Fun, tossed the others, opened the lube, and dripped five drops on his knob. "You can go faster or slower but you can't quit stroking completely, and it's cool if you want to cream my magazine."

"If I want to delay things," Matt said, "your Penthouse is one thing I won't need."

They greased themselves facing each other, and each began jacking slow. Good technique was as important here as in swinging a golf club. Here, Matt slid his hand up his shaft, squeezed his knob, slid back down. Having timed himself previously, he knew his speed was approximately two strokes per second, the fastest speed he could maintain without shooting too quickly.

Sasha, however, varied his speed and his grip. He began like Matt, though he didn't pause to milk his dick-tip, but after three or four minutes he flipped his hand upside down and began pulling sideways.

Matt heard the strain in his voice as he asked, "Can you cum like that?"

Sasha's voice manifested comparable tension. "Sometimes, unh, unh, not usually." Sasha's eyes were closed, his knees were bent slightly, his back curved.

As time went by, Matt found standing more and more difficult. His rubbery knees threatened to buckle, but he resolved to cum standing. There was no reason he couldn't; he had cum standing many times in the shower.

"Mmm," Sasha murmured, "feeling good, feeling good."

"Totally," Matt replied.

Sasha's cumming would mean that Matt could, so Matt studied his roommate, hoping for clues as to how close Sasha was. Studying Sasha proved to be a mistake, though, because watching the wiry, athletic, surf-dude caressing his prick excited Matt further.

Matt's finale began with his asshole clamping tight. Even gasping like a fish out of water, he could not inhale enough oxygen. When his fist tripled its stroke-speed Matt could not slow it down.

"Here it comes," he announced. "Move aside."

Sasha refused to move even when Matt's spurts began pelting him. He stood in place, maintaining the same even strokes that had won him the contest for another several seconds before groaning, "Oh yeah! Start counting."

Matt counted twelve squirts before he lost track.

PART V

Chapter Seventeen

Whip's Thursday

Whip was eating breakfast with his parents in the outdoor cafe when Matthias sat in the table's fourth chair, scribbling notes on a pad. His little pet crouched at his feet.

Matthias said, "For mein friend, Herr Paul, he wishes a survey und you must tells me those things you likes bestest und those you likes worstest."

Whip started to translate, but his mother held up her hand. "I understand the nice young man perfectly, and I would like to say that I approve of the entire operation."

Whip's father said, "The golf courses are challenging, but I'll get the hang of them, I expect."

Matthias stood. "I does not needs to ask Whipster, for I asks him last night. Kommen mit mir, Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus."

Whip's mother sipped her tea, set down her cup, and asked, "Where did you and your friend go last night, honey? Daddy and I were asleep when you returned."

"We went down to the brewery."

Whip's father beamed. "That Alphabrau's some fine beer all right. Say, son, do you think you and Clint could find yourselves another pair of golfers to make up your foursome? Mr. Cranston and I have been discussing taking the ladies on one of the tours."

"I expect I could, sir. You and mama have a wonderful time, y'all hear?"

At nine Whip met Clint in the pro shop, explained that his parents had gone touring with the Cranstons, and they looked around for replacements. They found two college men at the snack bar awaiting a cancellation. The clean-cut, well-dressed boy introduced himself as Matt Devon from Phoenix; the long-haired blond said he was Sasha Mitchell from Santa Monica.

Whip knew he was out of his league when Matt hit his tee- shot, a towering drive that landed on the edge of the green. Sasha's drive came to rest ten yards behind Matt's.

Two hours later, after Whip bogied hole eight, Whip looked at the score card and shuddered. The spread ranged between Matt's thirty-two and Whip's forty-four.

Whip improved on the ninth hole. Matt led off with a perfect drive that landed square in the middle of the dog-leg. From there he took one shot to the green and two putts for par 4. Sasha and then Clint botched the hole by trying to shoot over the trees. When neither shot cleared, Sasha scored a six, Clint an eight. Whip moved into third place with a five.

On eighteen, Matt sunk a twenty-foot putt to give him sixty- eight for the day. Sasha finished at an even-par seventy-two with Clint and Whip far behind, both high eighties.

The south course's first fairway began opposite the teleport depot; the eighteenth green bordered the teen pool. Tomorrow, when Clint and Matt would play the north course, they would start from the bandstand and work their way south.

Matt said, "Dannemeyer laid them out like that so both courses could share the same restaurant. Is anybody besides me ready to eat?"

Clint, Matt, and Whip ordered the special: corned beef on rye with potato salad. Sasha ordered the turkey on whole wheat toast, explaining, "Like I was telling Matt, I'm no vegetarian but I don't eat red meat."

Whip asked, "Are you men travelling with your families?"

Matt explained that a number of high schools had chosen a senior to travel here for a four-day teen-tournament. Today's round had been practice; tomorrow's would count. Sasha added, "We took the eastern tour yesterday, walked the course, swam a little, and just screwed around some."

At one o'clock the men took their clubs back to their rooms then rendezvoused at the JOP to see if Greg had suggestions for a not-too-strenuous afternoon. Matt said, "I don't feel like breaking a leg bungee-jumping."

In Alphaland Entertainment's back room, Greg thought a moment, then said, "For relaxation you could jack in a booth -- nah, too long a line. I'd recommend the brontosaur lookouts, except they aren't open to the public yet, but let me ask Paul."

Greg punched in three numbers, waited, Whip heard a click, and Greg said, "Hi, boss, it's me. Any chance four friends of mine could take a sneak peek at the lookouts? . . . I'll tell them and thanks."

Hanging up, Greg said, "Okay, here's the deal. It's an overnight tour -- the flatcar needs eight hours to recharge its batteries. Do you know where Computerized Palmistry's at?"

"Do we ever," Clint muttered.

"Computerized Palmistry is just a temporary exhibit until the lookouts are running. Go through Compu-palm's back door and you'll see ten sets of train tracks but only one car."

Whip asked, "Why haven't we seen the tracks from the roof?"

Greg answered, "Because they run underground in tunnels. Imagine if you'd been crossing that prairie when the chasmos stampeded."

Clint asked, "What should we bring?"

"Just yourselves -- the lookouts have everything."

After Matt and Sasha verified that they would be back in time for tomorrow's ten o'clock tee-off, the men went to Computerized Palmistry, through the back door, and boarded a six- foot-long flatcar. Each sat in one of the four theater chairs, Matt pushed a button labelled 'start,' and the car began to move almost imperceptibly.

Whip could have walked as fast, he suspected. For over an hour the train inched through a fluorescent-lit tunnel before reaching a five-prong fork. The car took the second track from the far right and a few minutes later stopped at a platform. The men left the car, crossed the platform, and entered a room.

The chest-high sills indicated that much of their room was underground. The windows looked onto a meadow featuring two enormous brontosaurs and one baby feeding from tree tops far overhead.

"Brachiosaurs," Matt announced.

Clint asked, "What's the difference between them and the other kind?"

To demonstrate the difference, Matt knelt on the floor. Arms stiff, he placed his hands flat on the carpet. "You see how my shoulders are higher than my butt -- that's a brachiosaur." He bent his arms, dropped to his elbows, and said, "Now my butt's higher -- that's a brontosaur."

"Grr," Sasha growled, eying Matt's rear, "Hold that position while I find me some lube."

"Sheesh," Matt said as he returned to the window. "Be grateful you guys don't live with this pervert."

A pocket door led from the room they were in to another room furnished indistinguishably from the first room, with a double bed, a nightstand, a television screen set into the wall, and a bathroom. In the nightstand drawer Whip found the familiar ziplock baggie with its five sample packets.

On top of the night stand, he found a tape recorder; pressing 'play' he heard, "We have put your dinner in the refrigerator on the boarding platform. Before going to bed tonight, please connect the train car to the cord hanging from the front of the dock. In an emergency, the telephone located under the right rear seat of the train car will connect you with the administration office. Enjoy your stay."

Passing through the first room, Whip saw Clint wrestling with Sasha while Matt studied the dinos. On the dock, Whip plugged in the flat car, then opened the refrigerator expecting to find box lunches. Instead, he found a large tureen with a note attached reading, 'Heat fifteen minutes in the microwave.' Bottles of Alphabrau filled the shelf below the tureen.

Whip's watch read four, and he had been yawning for an hour, so he decided to rest before dinner. In the unoccupied bedroom, he pulled off his shirt, lay down, and he must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, the door was closed and Clint was sitting beside him stroking his chest.

Clint said, "Sasha figured out how to get porn on the TV."

Gripping the rod in Clint's shorts, Whip said, "You must have enjoyed it."

"It gave me an idea," Clint said, snapping Whip's waistband. "Take those off and I'll show you."

Whip wriggled out of his shorts, relaxed as Clint licked his chest, groaned when Clint sucked his balls. Bonnie had never sucked Whip's nutsac. Only another male could know how good it felt, Whip supposed. When Clint stopped Whip said, "Ladies believe the only sex organ we have is our dingus."

Clint grinned, "See how your dingus likes this."

Kneeling between Whip's spread legs, Clint sucked Whip's hardon, raised his head, and twisted his hand around Clint's knob, combining the thrills of blow jobs and jack-offs. Clint did it again and Whip moaned, did it again and Whip groaned, did it again and again and again until Whip, unable to endure the pleasure, gasped and surrendered. He began to unload during the suction, finished as Clint milked his cock.

Chapter Eighteen

Workout

The walls at the brontosaur lookout transmitted sound. Sitting with Matt, Sasha heard Whip say, "Ladies believe the only sex organ we have is our dingus," followed by Clint's reply, "See how your dingus likes this."

"That's repulsive," said Matt; he went out onto the loading dock, brought two Alphabraus, sat, and gave Sasha one. As Whip's groans grew louder Matt asked, "Doesn't that bother you?"

"No," Sasha said, "it's getting me hot."

"Sheesh," Matt responded but did not slide away.

Sasha suspected that Whip's and Clint's noises repulsed Matt less than they confused him. Boys did not have sex with other boys in Matt's well-to-do world. "I bet you had girls willing to do anything you wanted even before you needed to cum."

Surveying the straight porn onscreen, Matt admitted, "I got laid fairly early. Nothing came out the first time."

"When you were, say, fifteen -- one girl or many?"

Matt sipped his beer, looked at the screen, and answered, "A few."

Sasha took a packet of Coco-Fun from his T-shirt pocket; setting the lube on Matt's thigh, he asked, "Want to JO?"

"I'm fighting the urge," Matt said.

Fighting gay urges -- and Sasha considered two guys watching each other jerk off gay -- would have been easier for Matt than for most, given the ready availability of country club pussy. Sasha himself sometimes chose pussy; he also savored foxes as tasty as Matt.

As Whip's groans crescendoed, Sasha asked, "Did you ever have a boyfriend?"

Whip gasped, then sighed, and Matt said, "Not like that." When Clint's groans began, Matt said, "Shit. Let's drink the next one outside."

They drank their second beer on the loading dock, dangling their feet, discussing golf. They took their third beer into the room and heard the shower running next door. "Clint shot quicker than Whip did," Matt said.

"I would have expected him to. Busting Whip got him close." Rubbing Matt's rump, Sasha teased, "Do your brontosaur imitation again."

Matt smiled, "Get your hand off my butt, clown."

Catching Matt jacking yesterday had been pure serendipity. What happened while Whip microwaved their stew proved equally fortunate. The four tourists were standing at the window watching the brachiosaurs when the beasts decided to mate. One behemoth moved behind the other and climbed aboard. Clumsily the brachiosaur on top twisted himself around so that the underside of his tail pressed against the underside of her tail. As the top dino lunged forward, Clint said, "I thought they did it like birds."

"No," Matt said, staring, "land-bound dinosaurs have the same sexual apparatus as we do, except it's internal."

Sasha asked, "How does he know he isn't dicking her asshole?"

"They don't have anuses and vaginas the same way mammals do," Matt replied. "He'll fill her passage with semen and hope some of it gets where it needs to."

Both brachiosaurs squealed high-pitched, keening squeals each time the male poked his prick into the female. At climax they bellowed, the male staggered back, and thick gooey white stuff dripped from beneath the female's tail onto the grass.

"It looked like it felt as good for them as for us," Sasha said.

They ate their chicken stew sitting on Matt/Sasha's bed, each preoccupied with his own interpretation of the leviathans' sex.

Clint of the rippling abs said, "I can't get it out of my head that he was fucking her ass and that it felt really fine."

Whip swigged Alphabrau, swallowed, and said, "That lady reacted most favorably to having his organ within her."

Matt said, "The male nutted as quick as I did the one time I dicked a girl's butt."

Sasha said, "It was hard to tell who liked it better, the male or the female."

When the sun dropped low on the horizon Sasha discovered that the wall switches had not yet been connected to the bedroom lights, although the bathroom light functioned. At eight o'clock, with only the television's hard core porn lighting the bedroom, Clint and Whip went next door.

Sasha heard Whip's voice through the wall saying, "There's Anal Lube in the nightstand."

"Jesus!" Swearing, Matt took the Coco-Fun into the bathroom, turned on the light, and left the door open. When Sasha joined him -- after the man onscreen creamed -- Matt stood naked facing the mirror with his well-oiled dong pointing high. "I'll beat you today," he said.

"Just on the golf course." Sasha undressed, greased his meat, and stroked his rod. If he looked at Matt he would shoot too quick, so like yesterday, he closed his eyes and mentally recited the alphabet backwards. Midway through Sasha's third alphabet he heard Matt's stroke-sounds slow, then stop. Opening his eyes, he saw Matt studying their reflections and said, "That's cheating. You've got to keep jacking."

"I concede -- I was about to squirt anyway." Matt slid his hand into Sasha's butt crack, slipped his finger knuckle deep in Sasha's hole. "Could I have my squirts here?"

Oozing pre-cum, Sasha answered, "With help from that Anal Lube Whip mentioned."

While Matt fetched the lubricant, Sasha crouched; when Matt returned, Sasha growled, "Give it to me doggie-style, studly."

Matt worked half the sample pack up into Sasha; he greased his dick with the rest. Laying his chest on Sasha's back, Matt penetrated Sasha slowly, pausing after each inch. When he was in all the way he stopped altogether. Holding Sasha's rod, he said, "You've done this before. It took me three tries before I got in my girlfriend."

Since having Matt lodged inside him felt so excellent, Sasha explained at length, "Kids that grow up in SaMo -- that's Santa Monica -- grow up on their boards, and everybody belongs to a surf club. The best club was Hang Eleven. The only sponsor I could find, though, was this total butt-aholic, Ron Glasser, who agreed to get me in if he could sometimes get in me. I don't think he was gay, but he really got off on it."

Matt's head resting on Sasha's, he said, "I don't think I'm gay either, but I'm really getting off on it."

"Prove it, buddy -- fill my passage with semen."

Matt's endurance surprised Sasha, thrusting over and over, harder and harder, until Sasha's prostate gland throbbed and both teens were squealing like the two overheated brachiosaurs. Finally, Sasha's abused gland spasmed spontaneously, peppering the floor with his load. Midway through Sasha's cum, Matt grunted and spewed.

In the shower, facing Matt and shampooing Matt's half-inch- long buzz-cut, Sasha said, "I've got my junk dripping out my dick and your junk leaking out my ass. I'm a spermy young man."

His arms around Sasha, Matt washed between his cheeks. "Did you let me do that because we're friends or did it actually feel good?"

"It actually felt good," Sasha answered.

Sliding his finger into Sasha, Matt grinned, "I was hoping you'd say that."

Next morning, as the flatcar crawled east toward the hotel, Sasha stood. All night, it seemed, Matt had either been in him or trying to re-enter him. They had gone through four packets of lube and would probably have sunk to using Whisper had they not had a ten o'clock tee-time.

Matt's resilience on the golf course impressed Sasha more than his stamina in bed. Driving majestically, putting with clockwork precision, Matt matched yesterday's four-under-par sixty-eight while bung-sore Sasha dropped to a seventy-five.

"Don't sweat it," Matt said, walking toward the perimeter causeway. "You'll still make the top ten the way the wind's picking up, plus the north course is easier and we still have two rounds to play there."

At the teen pool they saw a crowd, mostly boys, gathered around Matthias and his dino-pet Blitz. As they took a place beside the twins wearing red trike-trunks, someone yelled, "Show us how he counts, Matthias."

Matthias answered, "These same minutes, very soonest as Herr Greg brings mein props."

Awaiting the demonstration, Matt told the nearer twin, "Apparently our note in the suggestion box did some good. They let Blitz out."

"Matthias is totally grateful," the twin said, "and he wants you, Sasha, Cody, and me to ride boneheads with him Monday after he treats us to dinner."

Contemplating his stretched butthole being bounced on a pachy, Sasha said, "Not unless Greg sells some kind of numbing cream."

Chapter Nineteen

Banana Sp its

Squeezed between a twin on his left, his roommate on his right, Hoosier Brad Wood watched Matthias set ten posters on ground-level easels. Each poster displayed a single-digit numeral from 0 through 9. Props in place, Matthias stood back and held up three fingers. Blitz went to easel number four, gripped the 3 between his paws, and carried it to Matthias as the spectators clapped. Matthias held up five fingers; Blitz brought him the 5. Matthias held up four fingers on his right hand, three on his left; Blitz brought him the 7.

"This is getting impressive," Brad said. "Matthias, hold up all your fingers."

"Yes yes!" Matthias said gleefully, "for that tricks ist mein bestest."

Matthias held up both hands, fingers spread, and Blitz brought him the 1 plus the 0 to thunderous applause.

As the crowd returned to the pool, Brad felt a twinge in his ankle. He had broken the ankle playing high school basketball; he had apparently strained it today playing golf. Tapping his roommate, Texan Rob Crockett, Brad said, "I want to pick up some tape at the infirmary. I'll meet you back in the room."

"You'll need help," Rob said. "I'll put our clubs in the locker and go with you."

Brad was awaiting Rob's return when a teenage golfer who had been standing on the far side of the twins asked, "Did you say you were going to the infirmary?" Brad nodded, and the teen yelled to yet another golfer, "Hey, Matt, I'm going to look for some salve. Would you take care of my stuff?"

Like Rob, Matt put their golf bags in lockers, and the foursome set off for the infirmary with Brad braced on Rob's shoulder. On the way, Brad learned that Sasha/Matt had played the south course today and that Matt had scored sixty-eight. Brad too had shot sixty-eight but on the easier north course. Brad said, "If my scouting reports are accurate, you'll shoot a sixty-five tomorrow."

Matt shook his head, "An afternoon tee-time means wind."

At the administration building Matt and Rob sat on the marble steps while Brad limped down the hall alongside Sasha. They went through a door bearing a first aid sign, into an anteroom, and a very young doctor, or maybe an intern, took care of Brad first, wrapping his ankle, dispensing two aspirin, and telling him, "You stay off that foot till tomorrow morning's match."

As long as he was already here, Brad mentioned another nagging annoyance. "Last night and today I've had a kind of dragging pain in my groin."

The doctor asked, "When was the last time you ejaculated?"

"That was the night before I got here, so make it three days."

The doctor answered, "Not good at all, Brad. You're straining your glands. Go to Alphaland Entertainment's triple-x room and tell Greg Stefan sent you. He'll move you to the front of the line."

Right, Brad thought, limping outside, I'll ask these guys to stand around while I paint the 'bator booth's wall.

Brad waited for Sasha discussing strategy with Matt and Rob, Matt strongly advising conservative play on the dog-leg. When Sasha joined them, he brought Brad a crutch, and the group moved slowly toward their north-wing hotel rooms.

Nearing the teen pool and in need of a breather, Brad proposed stopping at the sundae bar Banana Split Alpha. Brad noted that someone had peeled off the letter 'l' in Split, leaving the sign to now read Banana Sp it Alpha. They sat around a white wrought iron table, the waitress brought menus, and Brad saw that on the menus, the napkins, and the place mats the printer had also omitted Split's 'l.'

As the golfers sat deciding what to order, Matthias skipped up to them, put a hand on Matt's shoulder, and said, "For I owes you much thanksgivings, me und mein pet Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus, for from the cages you delivers him." He turned to the waitress, saying, "Elsa, ask Lothar to prepares four mein favoritest specials for these friends here they sits, ja?" Leaving, he walked toward the causeway, paused under a tree, and called, "Kommen mit mir, Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus." Blitz leapt out of the tree, onto the ground, holding an orange.

Brad forgot about the missing letter while he and the others ate the most delicious (and the most filling) dessert ever concocted. Matthias's special included a quart of sliced bananas, strawberries, and assorted chopped nuts on a bed of vanilla ice cream topped with whipped cream, pecan halves, and raspberries.

"Well, that takes care of dinner," Matt said when he finished.

Resuming the northward trek, Brad asked if anyone beside himself had noticed the missing 'l.'

Matt shrugged, "Eighth-grade joke."

When Brad still failed to understand, Sasha said, "Don't you remember how you'd be hanging around with a buddy, you'd both be bored, and one of you'd say, 'Want to see my banana spit?' Then you'd go someplace and whack it."

Before Brad could say he did not remember any such thing, straight-arrow Rob who had placed a framed picture of his girlfriend on their dresser, laughed, "Down in the hill country, the way we most often used the expression was, 'I can make your banana spit faster than you can make mine.' Then we'd have at it."

Matt shook his head, "In the desert it was a challenge, the same way you might challenge a friend to a race. I might say, I can make my banana spit farther or faster or spit more times, but however I used the expression, it always led to a contest."

Rob sighed, "Those were the good old days when sex didn't mean getting dressed up, buying flowers, take your date to dinner. Back then sex just meant boys having fun."

All seventy-two teen-tournament players were staying in third-floor rooms near the northwest corner. Though the crutch had helped, Brad's ankle ached after the hike; Rob took Brad's right arm, Matt took Brad's left arm, and they carried him up the two flights of stairs. In the room he and Rob shared, Brad stripped to his boxers and flopped on the bed, hoping not to move for a while. Looking through the glass bathroom wall at Rob who was brushing his teeth, Brad said, "I'm going to check what's on TV."

Lacking broadcast facilities, Dino Cable showed movies, taped comedies, and yesterday's news, but they must have been having problems, because this afternoon all channels showed test patterns. Brad picked up the phone, called the cable company, and said, "I've seen enough Indians -- what else is available?"

"Our feeds are screwed up," the operator said. "Seventy-two seems to be coming online. Give it a try."

As Brad pressed seven two, Rob walked between Brad and the screen. He had taken off his golf outfit and wore only white briefs. Stretching out on his bed, he asked, "What did you find?"

"I don't know yet," Brad answered.

Channel seventy-two was showing a grainy black-and-white movie with language Brad would never have expected from the black-and-white era. Two boys in an early-model Ford were driving along a rural road, and one said, "Let's go to my place and whip it." The second said, "No way, your door doesn't lock plus your brother's a snoop. Let's use our woodshed."

The scene shifted to a dim shed with the two now shirtless boys visible only from their chests up. Their strained expressions told what they were doing before the first boy said, "Slow down -- I don't want to cum so quick."

As the scene progressed, Brad supposed that he found it erotic due to his sexual drought, but a sideways glance told him that Rob was reacting to the film as much as Brad. Brad saw the Rob's pinkish cock-tip poking out of his shorts.

Brad, moving his own cock away from his fly, asked, "Is that how you remember it?"

"Word for word." Rob took off his shorts -- which hadn't been hiding much anyway -- rolled on his side; his hardon pointed at Brad. "It's been two days for me -- how long for you?"

"Three," Brad answered.

Rob moved beside Brad, pulled down Brad's boxers, and licked the bottom of Brad's dick. As sparks flashed, Rob said, "Don't worry, I won't be sucking you, just getting you slippery."

Brad blurted, "Who's worried?"

Rob licked both sides, the bottom again, then wrapped his hand around Brad's stalk, but there was something wrong with the picture. "Say, Rob, when you were jacking your friends weren't they jacking you back?"

Sliding his fingertips along Brad's cumtube, Rob said, "Most often."

Brad reached in Rob's lap, grabbed his dick, tugged it, and said, "Lie next to me then."

Even with Rob jacking him left-handed, Brad had a powerful cum. His body was like a spring wound tighter and tighter until, unable to stand any more tension, it snaps. When Brad snapped, his cock fired a load that splattered the headboard. Rob's load hit the pillow.

On his back, looking at the ceiling, Rob said, "I'd forgot how wonderful that felt."

Wiping Rob's sperm on the bedspread, Brad asked, "When did you do it on Wednesday? We were together all the time."

"You went downstairs to buy sodas. I'd hardly got my dick back in my jeans when you returned," Rob replied.

Chapter Twenty

The Final Round

Matt's ass was sorer than Sasha's when Matt returned from riding the bonehead to the brontosaur lookout and back. Sasha had enough sense to swim while Matt, Rob, Brad, the twins, Chris, and Dylan followed Matthias aboard his 'darlingest Cupid' through eight miles of anal agony, bouncing and swearing as their twenty- five-foot-long tormentors raced.

Torture over at last, Matt dismounted. As he walked toward the portal, Matthias patted his back. "For, Mattster, you rides very bestest on mein gross pachycephalosaurus, name of Dancer."

"Thank you for the great dinner, Matthias." Matt did not, however, thank Matthias for the ride.

Catching up with Brad and Rob, Matt asked how their third round had gone. Brad had shot three under par; Rob had come in at one over. When Brad asked how Matt had done, Matt answered, "I have been so incredibly lucky on that course. Everybody else does better on the north than the south. With me it's the opposite."

Rob said, "You got caught in practically a hurricane yesterday. You'll ace it tomorrow."

Matt hoped so. His two 68s in the south added to his awful 74 in the north put him six under par at 210. His nearest competitor, Princeton's Joe Lang, stood five under par at 211. Matt/Sasha were paired with Joe/Joe's brother for tomorrow's finale. Matt suspected that whoever played the twelfth hole best would win first prize.

Matt said goodnight to Brad and Rob, went into his room and saw Sasha lying facedown, butt hiked, with the ointment the doctor had given him atop the nightstand. Sitting, Matt dipped his finger in the salve, then greased Sasha's chute.

Sasha laughed, "I must be recovering -- I'm getting a stiffy."

"Could you cum?"

"The doctor said not to till after the tournament -- make that, till after you win the tournament."

Matt turned out the light, stripped, and crawled in bed horny. He had fucked Sasha ruthlessly Thursday, had vowed to give up gay sex forever on Friday, had wanted it yesterday, and needed it now, yet he would not get it until Sasha could too. Matt's out-of-control cock had caused Sasha's problem, so Matt would wait until they could do it together, whatever 'it' meant. The night spent in Sasha had shattered Matt's certainties.

Wednesday's eight a.m. tee time almost guaranteed a calm round. Matt and Sasha began taking practice swings at seven forty-five. At seven fifty-two, when they formally met the Lang brothers, blond Joe and brown-haired Cory, Joe lost no time in living up to his reputation; lifeguard Dennis Wilson had called him obnoxious.

Shaking Matt's hand, Joe said, "Your friend's limping. Did you forget to use lube?"

"Nope, it's just that Sasha's not used to a dick the size of a beer can. He'd be fine if he'd sat on your field mouse."

Although Joe grinned, his forehead flushed. "Any time you want to compare dicks, dude, you let me know, okay?"

"Now children," said Cory.

Midway through the match, having traded insults each hole, Matt and Joe tallied their scores; both had shot remarkable 31s.

Placing his ball for the tenth hole, Joe told his brother and Sasha, "Don't be glum, lads. Everybody knew you were out of it anyway. Now it's just between me and the cowboy." He smiled at Matt, "How about a side bet. Whoever bogies ten blows everybody that shoots par."

"I wouldn't want to stretch your jaw," Matt replied.

The bet would not have earned anyone a blow job -- they all shot par threes -- but it escalated the tension. As Matt teed up for eleven, Joe asked, "When Sasha cums in your mouth, how many times does he squirt?"

Taking his practice swing, Matt answered, "Five -- two less than when I cum in your ass."

Joe smirked, "At Princeton, they teach us to say, 'two fewer.'"

"Probably because you're two inches fewer than any normal- hung human."

Joe no longer confined his taunts to the tee shots. Matt was calculating his best chance to sink a twenty-foot putt when Joe said, "If you make that shot, I'll jack off in a jar and let you drink it."

Rather than answering, Matt pissed off Joe further by sinking the putt. "No thanks, bud," Matt said. "Save your junk for the next cute kindergartner you molest."

Twelve was the bitch. On Saturday, Matt had landed in a sandtrap and double-bogied the hole. Today, two strokes ahead of Joe now, Matt played twelve ultra-conservatively, following Joe's tee shot with an equally short drive, one more shot to the green, two putts and in for a bogie, but Joe had bogied it too.

On their way to thirteen, Joe asked, "Where's your balls, pal?"

Matt said, "You ought to know since you're the last guy who sucked them."

Both hit par fours the next three holes before each birdied the par-five seventeen. Needing an eagle on the par-four eighteen, Joe chose concentration over banter, then launched a picture-perfect rocket that reached the edge of the green. Joe two-putted for a birdie, but Matt also birdied and won by two strokes.

Match over, Mr. Hyde became Dr. Jekyll. Joe extended his hand, grinned, and said, "Dude, you were fantastic. I've beat the best kids in the east and you're better. It's been a privilege to play you. Your nine-shot on two was one for the record books."

On his way to the winner's platform, Matt wondered whether he could have been such a magnanimous loser. Doubting it, he led Joe up the steps with him, gave Joe a cup of champagne and one of the long-stemmed red flowers that looked like roses but smelled spicy, like carnations. When Will Menton had handed Matt the ceremonial red compy-coat, Matt wore it to Dino-burger where he bought his foursome tyrannosaur tidbits: barbecued shellfish with rice.

As the golfers carried their lunches toward Computerized Palmistry (Sasha had said, "They're going to close this place down, and I want to try it out first.") Matt spotted Matthias playing catch with Blitz in the park. When Matt whistled, the boy raced over with his pet. Matt gave Blitz the last of his rice, and Matthias snatched Joe's only shrimp.

Matthias wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then wiped his hand on his smock. "Most savoriest und I thank's you, Herr Yo, und also I wishes to congratulates Mattster for winning his trophy, und Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus wishes to thanks Mattster for there ist no more cages." Chirping, Blitz licked Matt's shin.

In Computerized Palmistry, when everyone's hand had been scanned and each was reading his printout, Joe said, "I'll show you guys mine if I can see yours."

The printouts were equally offensive. Joe's said, "You are a very pretty boy, which is not the best thing to be if you like girls. Why not go gay for a day and rest your hand?" Cory's said, "You only stroke twice a week. You need an endocrinologist." Matt's said, "Nobody as cute as you are could conceivably be straight. Good luck, faggot." Sasha's said, "If, alas, you still look like you did when your driver's license picture was taken, GET A HAIRCUT, HIPPIE!"

Outside, laughing, the men walked north, stopping at the tank hanger to view the vehicle the Lang brothers would be taking tomorrow morning on their tour to Camp Wilkins. Joe looked forward to the trip as 'major fun' while Cory seemed dubious. "I don't care about tyrannosaurs," Cory said. "I came here to golf."

Upstairs, after promising to meet the brothers soon at the pool, Matt and Sasha entered their room. Matt set his trophy, his jacket, and his flowers on the dresser, pulled off his T-shirt, pulled down his shorts. Turning around, he saw Sasha as he had seen him last night, facedown and naked. Matt sat on the edge of the bed, but as he was reaching for the ointment, Sasha said, "Don't lube me with that. It'll numb your dick."

Matt replied, "No it won't," put his finger in the salve, then put the finger in Sasha. "Are you getting a hardon?"

Backing onto Matt's finger, Sasha said, "I've had it since Blitz licked your leg."

Finding Sasha's swollen gland, Matt massaged it, and he reached underneath Sasha, squeezing Sasha's knob until it leaked.

Sasha snarled, "Stick your dick-meat in me, faggot. Stick it in now."

"Shut up, hippie."

Enough girls had blown Matt that Matt knew how to blow Sasha; he rolled Sasha over and swallowed his cock. When Sasha's tip lodged in Matt's throat, Matt swallowed repeatedly while he rubbed Sasha's prostate.

Sasha's butthole fluttered as it had fluttered around Matt's dick Thursday night. Judging Sasha to be on the edge, Matt swallowed faster and tugged Sasha's balls. Sasha howled when he came.

PART VI

Chapter Twenty-One

Gay for a Day

Joe had lost the match and the tournament, but he had come within two strokes of beating Matt Devon, the golden boy of the west. Joe had not exaggerated when he had called it a privilege to play Matt, but in their room, Joe's brother Cory griped, "You almost won. You didn't have to kiss Matt's ass."

Studying himself in the mirror, Joe said, "Bro, I would kiss that stud's ass in a heartbeat. I'd ram my tongue up his cherry. He'll win the masters one day, write it down."

As they changed from their golf clothes into trike-trunks, Joe pointed at his brother's dick. "You really do need to use that thing more."

"You'd say that if I used it every ten minutes."

At the teen pool Joe sat with Chris Aikens, the Penn State freshman he had been hanging around with the past three days. As always, hotties teased them, but never agreed to -- as Joe's grandfather called it -- a roll in the hay. After numerous vixens had giggled, pinched them, and promised to see them later, then abandoned them, Chris lay back in his lounge, and Joe said, "Yo, Chris, what's up for tomorrow?"

Chris, at least as pretty as Joe with his wavy blond hair, boy's features, blue eyes currently closed, answered, "Nothing urgent."

Wondering how the soft bulge in Chris's trunks would look hard, Joe said, "How about going on the tour to Camp Wilkins? My brother'd rather stay here and golf, so you could have his ticket."

Chris sat up, yawned, stretched, flashing the golden curls in his armpits. "That would work. My frat-buddy's got a lady he's taking to the brontosaur lookouts, if you're sure your brother won't mind."

Joe assured Chris that Cory would be delighted not to go on the tour, adding, "Just one thing -- you don't spank your monkey tonight and I won't, okay?"

Chris shook his head, "I don't beat off anymore."

Hoping he had not chosen a cull, Joe said, "I don't beat off any more. Of course, I don't beat off any less either. Look, stud, I've got to head out to dinner, so I'll see you at eight tomorrow morning in the hangar."

That night in bed Joe reflected that if his brother had been planning a seduction Cory would have planned it minutely, possibly constructing a timetable, certainly jotting down strategy. Joe, on the other hand, would be content to let the Fates rule. Joe did regret pledging he wouldn't beat off. Besides the good feelings he was missing out on, Joe loved Cory's pretending to sleep while Joe stroked.

Last thing before falling asleep Joe considered a hypothetical question: given the choice of Matt, Cory, or Chris, which would Joe have selected for his first gay connection? Not Matt, Matt was Sasha's; Joe had seen it in their eyes. Cory maybe, but the brothers had come so close so many times and Cory had always backed off while Joe jacked off. Yet even if Matt and Cory had been guaranteed partners Joe still might have picked Chris. Besides being dazzling, Chris seemed to share Joe's I'll- try-anything-for a-thrill attitude. Two nights ago over an Alphabrau Chris had jokingly suggested swapping blow jobs; perhaps tomorrow they would do just that while the tyrannosaur roared.

Early Tuesday morning Joe ate bacon and eggs, purchased supplies from the JOP, and waited for Chris outside the hangar. When Chris arrived they entered the tank taking the rear driver's-side seats. As the tank revved its engine, two slim, tall college-age men took the seats across the aisle.

Chris and Joe discussed fishing during the first half of the trip. Chris had fly-fished all his life, wanted to learn about deep-sea fishing, and Joe described how rock fishing varied from cod fishing. Overhearing Joe's discussion, the men across the aisle introduced themselves and talked about their own fishing experiences. Pre-med student Kevin Adams said that he had had great luck fishing upstream from Camp Wilkins.

Joe asked, "Where we're going is so great you're coming back?"

Kevin replied, "Last time we were here the roof leaked and the food was ruined, so they were going to refund our money, but my cousin and I said we'd rather re-take the tour. We had to wait for a cancellation. They didn't call us till six-thirty this morning. That's why we were so late getting on board."

At Wilkins Bluff, on the edge of the ravine, alone with Chris for the first time today, Joe asked, "Are you horny?"

Gripping Joe's arm, Chris gazed at the far-below Wilkins River. "If I unloaded right now, those fish would be swimming in sperm." Looking down at his shorts, he said, "If that wind blows any harder I'll shoot in my shorts."

Chris, Joe, the Adams cousins, tour guide Jared, and tank driver Kip were the tour's only men without women. They lost Kip soon after arriving at camp when he returned to the hotel. While Chris unpacked his shaving kit in the bathroom, Joe stashed his JOP loot in the dresser. In the courtyard, they joined the cousins and Jared at the smallest of three plank-top picnic tables far enough from the other guests to talk freely.

Stef Adams asked Joe if he had heard about Jared's lap dance. Jared laughed while Stef detailed the causes of Jared's volcanic eruption. Stef said, "First off, Cherise has humongous tits that she stuck right in his mouth, and second, she slid her butt around on his hardon. His expression when she asked, 'Are you close, honey,' was priceless, and it got better the next time she wiggled."

Jared said, "I remember her asking if I was close -- the next thing I knew I was wet," Jared looked at the river, "and speaking of wet, does anybody want to go swimming?"

Leaving the older tourists swimming near camp, Jared led his lunch companions upstream to a secluded beach where he prodded them to shed their shorts and swim bare. When Jared urged swimming further upstream to the rapids, Joe's earlier glimpse of Chris's halfway-hard cock prompted him to ask Chris, "Do you want to go with them or go back to our room and get off?"

Chris asked, "Do you have anything particular in mind?"

"Enough to get us started anyway," Joe answered.

Nodding, Chris left the water, they put on their trunks, and as they walked toward the camp they talked about their closest approaches to man-on-man sex.

Chris said, "I climbed on top of my buddy, and I was trying to dick him when I shot on his back."

Pushing his way through a clump of stubborn horsetails, Joe said, "They'd handed out rubbers at school and me and my friend busted practicing putting them on."

Chris frowned, "That doesn't sound gay."

"We were putting them on each other," Joe said.

They passed the other bathers, crossed through the courtyard, and entered their dimly lit room. Joe locked the door, asked Chris to strip and lie down, then took out the merchandise Greg had sold him that morning.

The day Joe and Cory had arrived on Alpha, Dave Butler had given the brothers backrubs, and Joe had noted Dave's methods. Copying Dave, Joe coated his hands with body oil, then massaged Chris's neck, back, and rump.

Chris said, "I mentioned I was trying to dick my buddy, not the other way around."

"Relax."

Joe saw his first anus when he spread Chris's buns. Joe did not recognize it immediately -- the tight little pucker hardly stood out from the valley it lay in -- but when Joe had identified it he greased the surface. Chris's muscles tensed, Joe said, "This won't be my cock," and he slid a two-inch nozzle up inside Chris.

"Exactly what are you doing?"

Squeezing the bag attached to the nozzle, Joe answered, "I'm giving you an enema to relax your A-hole, also to clean you out."

"Why do you care if I'm clean since your dick isn't going in there?"

"You'll find out and you'll like it." Joe rubbed Chris's thighs until Chris needed to empty the water bloating his ass. He took longer in the bathroom than Joe expected, so Joe peeked through the glass wall and saw Chris straining to force out every last drop. When Chris returned, Joe talked him into crouching on the bed, swearing he had no intention of fucking him. Chris crouched, Joe spread his buns, and as he had said he would do to Matt Devon, he rammed his tongue up Chris's cherry.

"Jesus!" Chris yelped, "that's incredible but don't expect me to do it to you."

As his tongue teased Chris's bung, Joe's hand reached between Chris's legs and grabbed cock.

Chris panted, "I'm going to fire really quick my first time."

Like milking a cow, Joe yanked Chris's meat a few times and gummy cream squirted out.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sleuth

Jared knew much more about dinosaurs than either cousin, so when Jared diagnosed the ostrich-like critters barring their way back to camp, Stef listened.

Jared said, "All ornithomimosaurs are basically the same design, and many scientists want to collapse the group into one genus. Others, like Duke's Dr. Tim Hume, see meaningful differences in the phalangeal structures of the pes and the manus."

Stef asked, "So what are we looking at?"

Jared replied, "According to the first approach, they're Gallimimus bullatus. According to the second, they're Dromiciomimus Samueli."

Whatever they were, they were hungry, one group on the river bank pecking and scratching, dislodging crawdads and gulping them. The adjacent group fed from nearby trees, devouring fruit looking like cherries.

"They're one of the few dino-omnivores," Jared said. "They'll eat almost anything but they won't eat us. They seem friendly toward humans." Threading his way between the two flocks, petting a dino's head-high flank, Jared laughed, "The last time the three of us were here it goddam poured."

The last time they were all here had been a blast and a half, Stef recalled. Forced by wet bedding to share a room, the cousins had heard Jeff and Lane going at it. Kevin thought they had pudwhacked together, Stef thought Jeff had fucked Lane, but either way their muffled grunts were so hot the cousins set speed-records jerking off after Lane and Jeff came.

Now, ten days later, the cousins had returned to a repaired and improved camp. A four-inch layer of insul-foam covered the recast concrete roof, and a reinforced steel grate now covered the courtyard to keep the tyrannosaur out. As a second anti- tyrannosaur precaution, workmen had shrunk the entry, so that tourists now had to enter single-file. In other improvements, one king-sized bed had replaced the two double beds, and the cheap wood bureaus, wrecked by the rain, had given way to acrylic, glass topped dressers.

The cousins left Jared with the other tourists on the beach, entered the courtyard, and sat with Joe and Chris who were playing two-handed pinochle. When Chris beat Joe, the cousins accepted an invitation to play a rubber of bridge, which the teenagers won thanks to Joe's audacious grand slam.

In their room, across the yard from Chris and Joe's, Kevin said, "That was an ill-advised bid Joe made. If his finesse hadn't worked we'd have set him."

Shedding his trike-trunks, Stef replied, "Joe's a gambler, plus he's lucky. I'm glad we weren't playing for money." As the electric current Kevin had talked about flowed from Stef's brain to his dick, he asked, "Want to meat-beat?"

Indecisive, Kevin looked out the small, barred window. "We'll probably do it -- we always seem to these days -- but yesterday made me think about something."

In the shower, Stef pondered what might have been different about yesterday. They had eaten breakfast in the outdoor cafe, had watched Matt Devon beat Joe in a very close match (strange that the super-competitive Joe hadn't seemed to mind losing), their lunch had been hot dogs covered with sauerkraut at Dino- Schnitzel. In the afternoon they had swum, had watched Matthias demonstrate his tricks, had snacked on ice cream cones, and gone back to their room.

In the evening, they had eaten steaks with the Spencer brothers, had in fact shared the same table they had shared the night of Jared's eruption. After dinner, they had gone with Greg to replenish their lube-supplies, then back to their room one last time. Watching porn, they had jacked off side by side, but Stef had not asked to jack Kevin. Stef had asked that just once, six days ago, and when Kevin had declined, Stef had not asked again. Had Kevin's cum been unusual? No, there had been the typical three or four squirts, the first hitting his chest, the rest hitting his stomach. So what had happened yesterday that was different from all their other days here on Alpha?

Stef failed to solve the riddle, but he assumed Kevin would explain when he wanted to. Out of the shower, Stef dried off, put on clean shorts, and went to the picnic table where he found Kevin explaining, "Semen, also known as spooge, spunk, and jism . . . "

Joe interpolated, "Don't forget cock-snot, or maybe that's an Ivy League expression."

Kevin continued, "Not at Dartmouth. Anyway, semen is not a homogenous fluid. Different glands secrete different components. Some elements look like white dishwashing soap and some are clear."

As Kevin continued his Physiology 101 class, Stef walked through the main entrance and circled the compound, seeking clues to a riddle he might solve. In the courtyard, he had counted the number of doors between the corner and Joe's; out here, he counted the windows from the corner, and when that number matched the number of doors he looked inside. Two bottles lay on the rug beside the bed -- Body Oil and Alpha-Lube. An empty disposable enema kit lay next to the bottles. Two types of stains covered the bedspread, dark stains above the pillows, white stains center-bed.

This exercise in voyeurism provided food for thought during the next rubber of bridge. After the game, sitting on the river bank with Kevin, Stef described what he had seen and his conclusions. "The lubes give us the main clue, namely that they didn't fuck or do blow jobs. You wouldn't use either of those greases for a cornhole, and you wouldn't use any lube at all for a blow job. That brings us to the question of the enema kit. Why would you wash out somebody's guts if you weren't going to fuck them?"

Cupping his hand, splashing Stef, Kevin said, "This is your hobby, not mine."

"If you were the really squeamish sort, you might want your partner clean before you stuck your finger in him, but I'm betting that neither Joe nor Chris are that squeamish. You wouldn't have to be squeamish at all if you wanted him clean before sticking your tongue up his ass."

Wincing, Kevin watched a school of red-and-blue fish swimming near shore.

Stef said, "All of which brings us to the last clues, the stains and their locations. Since the white stains are near the middle of the bed, I'd guess that they came from somebody who got rimmed and jacked off, which would imply that the pillow stains came from a guy lying on his back, getting jacked, and shooting over his shoulder, but why the different color stains, Kev?"

"That's easy," Kevin answered. "The guy that made the white stains had gone without sex a long time. His stuff would be chunky and wouldn't soak in. The other guy's a regular cummer. His stuff would have been milky, and it would have soaked in."

"I'll bet Joe is our regular cummer," Stef said, "meaning Chris isn't, making things interesting."

That evening's T. rex attack had the potential to shut down Camp Wilkins. Everyone had eaten, taken a final swim, and most had gathered in the south-side rooms facing the river watching an ankylosaur family drinking. As twilight faded, the armored dinosaurs heard something and looked behind them, but before they could escape, the tyrannosaur charged. He came silently from the forest, roaring only when the ankylosaurs saw him.

"Jesus!" Chris said, "suppose we'd been swimming."

The T. rex had no luck penetrating the ankylosaurs' thick carapace ("Think of a turtle's shell," Joe said later on.) so he tried flipping them over, but their low center of gravity prevented him. Moreover, the ankylosaurs had their own weapons, long, whiplike tails with bony spheres on the ends. They snapped their tails, the bony spheres flew, and one hit the T. rex's foot.

He gimped away snarling, but as Jared, at the window with the four card players, pointed out, "If he'd attacked most other kinds of animals including us we'd have been history. He's always roared before, so we've depended on him to warn us he's coming. I'm wishing I didn't have to run from here to the guide's quarters."

Neither cousin favored their likeable tour guide getting munched, so they encouraged him to sleep on their floor, apparently ruining Stef's plans for a jack-off with Kevin. Jared brought two sheets from the linen storeroom, spread one on the rug, lay down, and covered himself with the other. Stef reached to the nightstand and turned off the lamp.

Breezes rustling the tree leaves outside combined with the river's gurgling produced enough background noise that Stef hoped he might stroke undetected. On his side, facing Jared and away from Kevin, Stef pulled his dick through his boxers fly and petted it.

Nor was Stef the room's only 'bator. As the night's first tingles sparked his meat, Stef saw Jared wriggle around, roll on his back, bend his knees, lifting the sheet. Stef used the same approach in his dorm room; the raised sheet allowed the 'bator to pull himself silently.

Stef continued fondling himself while watching Jared's sheet move ever so slightly, and then Stef heard a sound louder than the river and the wind combined. Jared must have begun oozing even before he started jacking; soon after Jared bent his knees, Stef heard the telltale noise caused by a hand jerking wet cock.

Shortly after the first wet-cock noise, Jared's breathing turned harsh. Gasps punctuated by groans indicated that climax approached. Unconcerned now about anything but release, Jared threw back the sheet. Moments later, grunting, hips pumping, Jared splattered his chest.

Rolling 180 degrees to face Kevin, Stef asked, "Did you see that?"

"Wow," Kevin whispered.

"If he doesn't care why should we?" Stef said.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Early Warning

Fear of a silent tyrannosaur attack threatened to abort the Camp Wilkins tour. Before, when Greg had walked to work he had seen twenty tourists outside the tank hangar anxious to spend two days swimming. On Thursday, the day after Jared returned with his lurid descriptions, Greg saw only a mid-thirties couple with two unruly children. The parents probably hoped the T. rex would eat them.

Midmorning, Paul Hogan stopped by the bookstore to inspect the new magazines. Leaving, he took a copy of Big-busted Babes and told Greg, "Interest in Camp Wilkins has dipped to zero, and why shouldn't it? Would you want to ride eight hours so you could spend two days in your room?"

Greg chuckled, "That'd depend on who I was spending the two days with."

At four-fifteen Greg saw someone worth spending two days with. While playing catch by the teen pool with Matthias and Blitz, Greg spotted a great-looking boy flirting with two gorgeous girls. The boy was older than Greg, likely nineteen or twenty, and he had the best defined torso Greg had ever seen on a slim kid. His legs weren't bad either.

"Hey, Matthias," Greg said, "do you know anything about that olive-skinned guy over there by the lifeguard stand?"

Matthias looked behind him, nodded, and answered, "Name of John of very Newest Mexico. John, he feeds mein pet fruits. You catches this now, Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus."

Greg mentally wished John good luck with the ladies, but in bed that night, jacking off, he imagined his and John's bodies intertwined. Greg groaned, "John," when he came, and Dennis looked at him oddly. After Dennis had shot, Greg wiped them both off, tossed the towel on the floor, and asked if Dennis had noticed John too.

"Yeah," Dennis said, "but his name isn't John, it's Johns, Michael Johns. His friends may call him Mike, Mikey, or Mickey, but he signed the insurance waver Michael."

"I thought he looked slightly Latin, maybe?"

"That one girl he was with was." Leaning back against the headboard, Dennis put his arm around Greg. "Miguel? Miguelito? Nah -- doesn't fit."

Next morning Greg saw a sign on the tank hanger reading, 'Camp Wilkins temporarily closed due to unforseen circumstances. Please apply for a refund with cashier.' At the bookstore, when Greg relieved a red-eyed Lane, Lane said, "I've been on the computer since midnight looking for a predation pattern for the T. rex, but either I'm missing something or our six-ton friend hunts at random."

"Get some sleep, bud," Greg said.

Greg's eight a.m. to four p.m. shift always logged fewer jackers than Jeff's or Lane's; most boys apparently preferred blowing load during the night. There was rarely a line in front of the JOP during the day.

Today could be even slower than usual, Greg suspected, most boys saving their spunk for their Friday night partners. At eleven, Greg had sold only three sets of tokens when Michael Johns walked through the door.

Approaching the counter, Michael smiled, "How much do the booths cost?"

"I can sell you five three-minute tokens for a dollar," Greg said, "or if it's your first time, it's free."

"It's a first." Michael had an unusual smile, combining reserve with self-confidence.

Greg gave him a key, saying, "First you find a movie in the catalog. Write the SKU number down if you want to and sit on the bench. Press the number into the keypad, and turn the key in the lock on the wall."

Michael passed through the turnstile, turned left. He reappeared seventeen minutes later looking rattled, but many boys looked flustered after their date with a towel. Returning the key, he panted, "I saw you playing ball with Matthias."

Greg grinned. "I saw you too."

"Those girls I was with?" Michael wiped sweat off his forehead. "The blonde thinks you're cute. How about double-dating tonight?" Greg nodded. "Great, you set the agenda -- you know the hotel." Greg asked when and where they should meet. "How about six in front of your store."

By lunchtime, Greg had located the Adams cousins. In the park across from Dino-burger, handing Stef a wadded-up, white towel, Greg said, "The stuff inside came out of a college-age male who lasted seventeen minutes."

Unfolding the towel, Stef viewed Michael's spunk, sniffed it, said, "Alpha Lube."

Greg swallowed a bite of Baryonyx Burger. "I knew that, and I'm no sex-detective."

"He's cut or he wouldn't use lube and he's Caucasian or he wouldn't have pubes like this one." Stef touched a long, curly black hair lying next to the spunk-puddle. "He gets himself close, stops, wipes off, gets himself close again, stops, et cetera." Stef indicated six whitish smears around the edge of the towel. "Isn't seventeen minutes longer than average?"

"Definitely longer than average, not close to a record."

As Stef continued to study the towel, his Pre-med major cousin, Kevin, said, "He's what I call a regular cummer, once a day or better."

Pointing to a 584Z845QW written on a corner of the towel, Stef asked, "What's this, Greg?"

"Nothing," Greg said, "we leave washable markers next to the catalog so customers can write down the numbers. That way they don't have to keep going back to look at them when they're punching them in."

"Then why don't you look at this movie? Can you tell where he stopped it?"

Greg washed down his final french fry with lemonade. "I could, I guess -- why?"

"So you'll know what makes him squirt, my dear Watson," Stef replied.

When Paul returned the magazine that afternoon Greg asked for a favor, and when he and Mike -- Michael's nickname of choice -- had escorted the girls to their room early Saturday morning, Greg said, "My boss is sending a tank to Camp Wilkins to see about attaching a signalling device to the T. rex. There's space available if you'd want to go with me."

Hands in his pockets, looking up at the stars, Mike said, "Sure. Linda won the drawing, so she'll be going to the brontosaur lookout, and her mom said she couldn't take me, so she'll take Di." Mike brought out his hand, extended it, and shook. "You're on."

Five hours later, the boys boarded the tank, took the last two seats, and slept from the hotel to the bluffs. Climbing out, Greg saw the marvels Jared had described, the multi-colored towers carved by the river.

Ordinarily, the tour would have arrived at Camp Wilkins before lunch, but this was a formal expedition. Upon reaching the river, the tank turned east and stopped periodically thereafter, allowing the eighteen hurriedly summoned scientists to examine tyrannosaur tracks.

Watching the scientists through the tank's window, Mike asked, "Who's the skinny little guy with thick glasses?"

Greg answered, "Dr. Tim Hume from Duke. My brother says he's the top mind in his field."

They reached Camp Wilkins midafternoon, and Greg took Mike to room seven. "Jared told me seven has the best view of the river. Maybe we'll see the ankylosaurs." Greg had hoped to see Mike undressed, but Mike changed into trunks in the bathroom after rejecting Greg's suggestion they swim nude.

Mike had said, "I'd be uncomfortable with all these older guys around."

Wearing swim suits and carrying towels, they crossed through the courtyard, left their towels on the bank, swam to the island, and waded near shore. They were sitting chest-deep in the water, and Greg was wondering how to proceed, when out of nowhere, Mike asked, "Do you ever watch the movies you rent?"

"Sometimes." Greg said truthfully, "Back in Jersey, I watched straight ones. Since I've been here, I've been watching the other kind."

Gazing at his rippling reflection, Mike said, "I work at the fairgrounds, and I get hit on every day. Sometimes by old guys, sometimes by guys that've got their kids around, sometimes by guys our age. They never say, 'I want to blow you,' more like, 'Are you free after work?'"

Wary of touching Mike too early, Greg kept his hands at his sides. "I know the line -- I worked in a gym."

Mike dipped his face in the river, lifted it out, shook his head. "In high school you never really know what gay guys do. I was curious. Honest to god, when you gave me that key, I never expected to . . . never expected what happened to happen." He squeezed Greg's arm. "Race you back?"

Swimming the hundred yards to the mainland, Greg remembered the scene that had busted Mike's nut: two teenage boys, wrestler types, parked in a car overlooking city lights. The blond had put his arm around the brunette, the brunette had rubbed the blond's crotch, and one thing had led to another.

In their room, Greg put his arms around Mike and held him awhile, stroking his back. Tense at first, Mike relaxed bit-by-bit, and Greg sat him down on their bed. Sitting beside Mike, Greg brushed his fingertips across ridges of muscle, working downward from Mike's chest to his trunks.

"Pretend it's your birthday," Greg said, "and you can have anything you want, a jack-off, a blow job, or you can fuck me."

Studying the carpet, Mike answered, "The first choice."

Out of their trunks, Greg braced his back against the concrete block wall; he held Mike between his spread thighs. He fondled Mike's dick until it stiffened, then circled his fingers and slow-jacked. "Want lube?"

"Don't change anything." Mike, completely relaxed, leaned back against Greg's chest.

Marking time, Greg studied Mike's cock, searching for distinguishing features. He saw nothing unusual, but he knew jacking Mike's felt different from jacking his own. The difference, aside from the girth, lay in the veins, Greg realized; Greg's ran along the sides of his prick; Mike's ran down the bottom, seemingly adding extra width to his tube.

When minute followed minute with no sign of Mike's increasing excitement, Greg asked, "Am I doing okay?"

Mike answered softly, "This is even better than I'd hoped."

Another few minutes and pre-cum seeped through Mike's slot; more and more oozed as Mike auto-lubricated.

"Should I go faster?"

"Please don't change anything."

Mike never groaned, never flushed, never sweated, and when the end came it came undramatically. Mike let out a single low moan, he rubbed Greg's thigh, dick-juice gushed from his cock.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Aromas

Ecstasy had blocked other sensations, but as he returned to reality he first noticed the smells. Strongest of those was the acrid scent of his semen now coating Greg's hand. Less strong and more pleasant was Greg's lemony fragrance. Mike himself smelled as he always smelled, vaguely of nutmeg.

Greg's voice near Mike's ear asked, "Was it okay?"

"It was what I wanted and more," Mike answered.

"I'll clean us up." Greg lifted his hand from Mike's dick, reached to the floor, picked up a towel, and wiped Mike's cock. As Greg was cleaning his hand, a new scent intruded, unpleasant and rank.

Leaving the bed, Mike went to the window; looking through the barred glass, he saw nothing different, but something was out there -- something that had not been out there before. "Do you smell anything funny, like it's rotten?"

Wiping goo from the tip of his awfully big dick, Greg answered, "No."

Greg's answer did not surprise Mike. No one but his father could also detect the faint odors that Mike could. "Come here, Greg."

Greg stood behind Mike with his dick in Mike's butt-crack. Greg's lemony scent had sharpened the way everybody's base scent sharpened when he was horny -- or she.

Wrapping his arms around Mike's waist, sliding his dick in Mike's crack, Greg asked, "Will you play with my balls while I spank?"

"Anything, but stay here a minute. It's getting stronger." Palms swished in the breeze, ferns rustled, nothing out of the ordinary, and then, "That's him!"

Bursting from the forest came the beast of worst nightmares, fifty feet long, a monstrous oversized head, and teeth the size of bananas. The tyrannosaur strode to the tank, sniffed it, turned, and came to the compound. Window by window he peered inside, and when he came to Mike's window, he roared. His teeth gripped the steel bars, and he attempted to wrench them loose from their bolts. Failing, he roared louder.

Mike couldn't step back, not with Greg holding him, and there was no purpose -- they were safe where they were. Still, the desire to flee nearly amounted to panic.

The T. rex bellowed, turned, stomped to the river. He lowered his obscene head to the water and drank, then entered the river and waded downstream. They lost sight of him at the bend, and Greg had lost his erection, Mike noted.

"Do you want to lie down?" Mike asked.

"First we've got to see Dr. Hume," Greg replied.

Back in their swim suits, they found the young scientist in the courtyard conferring with his colleagues. Wiping his glasses on his shirttail, he was saying, " . . . like a crow. First stealth, and then it spots it's prey and it roars, hoping to paralyze the victim."

"He paralyzed me, Doc," Greg said. "My buddy Mike here smelled him a long time before we saw him."

When Dr. Hume put on his glasses, thick lenses magnified his pale blue eyes. "What does he smell like, Mike?"

"Rotting meat."

"Indeed?" Dr. Hume peered at Mike over the rims of his glasses, looked around the courtyard, and asked, "Does anything else around here smell out-of-the-ordinary?"

Twenty people crowded together exuded an aromatic symphony. Did anything stand out? "You," Mike said, pointing to a middle- aged man beside Dr. Hume, "spilled gasoline."

"No, I . . . " the man began. "Oh yes I did, when I was filling the lawnmower yesterday, but is this relevant to our tyrannosaur-problem?"

"It may very well be," Dr. Hume said. "It gives us a whole new approach. So that was what spooked the ankylosaurs, the tyrannosaur's scent. Thanks, guys -- stay within earshot, all right?"

Since Greg's fainter fragrance indicated that his need for immediate relief had decreased, Mike followed him out of the compound to the beach, where they sat facing each other in two T. rex footprints.

"I thought you wanted to spank," Mike said.

"I did and I will, but right now I want to hear about this nose you've got."

"Some people hear extremely well, and some have super-sharp eyesight -- I can smell things better than most people. When I'm with somebody scrubbed like you, it's fantastic. It's hell in the locker room." Greg asked what he smelled like, Mike said lemons. Greg asked what Linda smelled like, Mike said chili powder and garlic. Greg asked what Dr. Hume smelled like, Mike said old books. Greg asked what Matthias smelled like.

"Matthias has no signature odor. Naturally, he smells like whatever he's eaten because he wipes his mouth on that smock, but when he got out of the pool yesterday, except for the chlorine, he had no scent at all."

"Gentlemen," Dr. Hume called from the entry, "we seek your wisdom."

Dr. Hume had covered the picnic table with a white sheet, and on the sheet he had drawn the compound, the river, the forest. "We can set up a ring of scent-detectors here, here, here, and so forth." He marked the proposed scent detector locations with X's. "They'll tell us when he's approaching, but what happens when he's upwind of the sensors? We won't know he's here until it's too late."

Greg said, "If you set up a second ring outside the first, you'd always know when he was between them, and if it was far enough from the compound, you'd have the warning you need."

Rather than eat more tunafish sandwiches Mike and Greg prepared a real dinner. They found baked chicken breast in the refrigerator, cubed it, and added vegetables. Mixing a little vinegar with olive oil, Mike said, "Onions are the worst. They're fine when they're fresh, but after they've been stored for a while, they reek."

Greg asked what other smells were major turn-offs; Mike named cilantro, geraniums, and anything rancid. Were any smells major turn-ons, like pussy perhaps? "Don't make me puke," Mike said, adding a pinch of dry mustard to the dressing. "Crotches are the worst, except for yours. Yours has the same lemon smell as the rest of you."

Greg's urges returned during dinner, signalled by his foot touching Mike's, by his smile, and of course, by his aroma. Afterwards, in their room, Greg shed his trunks and lay down. "Pretend it's my birthday. What's my present?"

Mike answered, "I don't care if it's your birthday, graduation day, and Christmas rolled into one, you ain't sticking your T. rex up my ass. You need penis-reduction surgery, methinks." Mike's finger traced the bottom of Greg's hardon. "Aside from that, you set the agenda -- you know your body."

"Surprise me," Greg grinned. When Mike wrapped his hand around that enormous piece of meat, Greg said, "There's lube in the drawer."

Mike greased his hand, greased Greg's shaft, and stroked the thick pole. While jacking Greg, he decided to attempt something he had never done to a girl; he licked the crease between Greg's thigh and his nutsac.

Greg groaned, "Oh fuck yes!"

Burrowing lower, Mike licked from Greg's asshole to his sac.

"Oh yeah! Lick my choad!"

Mike's tongue applied maximum pressure, Greg thrust upward, squirts went flying.

As Greg lay gasping, Mike sniffed the spew pooled on his stomach, discovering no difference between Greg's spunk and his own. He went into the bathroom found a washcloth, wet it, and mopping Greg clean asked, "What's a choad?"

"Where you were licking me," Greg answered. "What's the matter?"

The fetid stench was returning, coming back to terrorize anew. Fighting his instinct to rush to the courtyard, Mike went to the window, held his breath, watched the tyrannosaur leave the river and stalk toward the compound. His head moved nearer and nearer until Mike could see only one baleful yellow eye, unblinking, staring, mere inches away. After appearing to memorize Mike, the tyrannosaur growled, turned, and he disappeared around the west corner.

Greg, behind Mike, said, "You don't appreciate how big he is until he's right next to you." Greg put his arms around Mike, slid his hands down to Mike's balls, and massaged them. "You made me feel really good -- thank you."

Cock stiffening, Mike said, "I hope I did all right. Like I told you, I'd never had sex with a guy."

Greg said, "You still haven't. As I explained to my brother, beating somebody's meat isn't sex. Even sucking somebody's dick isn't sex. Sex is poking the warrior," -- he tweaked Mike's cock -- "way up inside, and jabbing it in and out till you spew."

Imagining Greg's behemoth splitting him open, Mike said, "Then I'm dying a virgin, anally anyway."

"It doesn't have to be me in you," Greg said, jacking Mike's hardon. "It could be the other way around."

"That's a concept that would take some getting used to," Mike said.

PART VII

Chapter Twenty-five

Ling Dai

When Dave Butler opened Alpha Therapeutic Massage Friday morning, a blond twink sitting at an empty table in front of the ice cream parlor next door, asked, "How do I get an appointment?"

"Come on in and let's look at the schedule," Dave said.

The twink, wearing a loose white tee, blue jeans, sneakers, and a baseball cap followed Dave into the reception room. He stood while Dave turned on the computer.

"My first free spot isn't till noon," Dave said, "but I can get you in with somebody else in ten minutes."

"I'll see you at noon," the twink said.

Dave would give up his lunch break to take him at noon. Word of mouth from satisfied clients had filled Dave's appointment book through the end of July. Unfortunately, twinks represented a microscopic percentage of Dave's clientele, which consisted primarily of mid-forties men and their wives. Seeing the twink without clothes would provide welcome relief.

Dave's morning passed uneventfully, until at twelve o'clock the twink came through the door, freshly showered and wrapped in a towel. He lay on the table, and as Dave began working his neck muscles, said, "My arms and my legs are what are sore. Too much tennis."

Wringing the twink's biceps, Dave noted that tennis players shared their long, fluid muscles with swimmers, very different from weight-lifters or football players. "Are you here for the tournament?"

"Yeah, with three guys from my class. Do you play?"

"I never stepped foot on a court. My sport's track," Dave said.

The twink had highly developed forearm muscles on both arms, a condition Dave rarely saw. "Are you ambidextrous?"

The twink snickered, "Depends on what I'm doing. Just kidding, yeah, totally."

Tired of mentally referring to the young man simply as 'twink' Dave said, "I'm Dave Butler."

"I'm Jack Nelson, and no jokes about Jack-- I've heard them all often."

Jack's delicate fingers contrasted with his overall boyish masculinity, although considering his concerns regarding his name, Dave decided against mentioning his hands. "Where's your team's rooms?"

"Make that room as in minus the ess. I guess the hotel is full up. Coach said he had a hard time even getting the one room, two-eighty G, overhead."

Third floor rooms would have been crowded enough for four athletes; in the smaller second floor rooms the boys would have been -- to use Matthias's locution -- packed tightest, such as Sardinians. "When's your first match?"

"Tomorrow." Jack looked over his shoulder at Dave. "Have you studied Oriental massage?"

"That's kind of my specialty."

Watching Dave, Jack asked, "What would it take for you to give me Ling Dai?"

Ling Dai was the Cantonese term for the Kama Sutra's prostate massage, the procedure Dave had used to pop the straight kid.

"More time than we've got. I have a one o'clock appointment." Squeezing Jack's thighs, Dave asked, "Are you straight?"

"Absolutely. Do you work tonight?"

Kneading Jack's sinewy calves, Dave answered, "After five o'clock this afternoon I will not see this room for sixty-three hours."

Facedown again Jack said, "Great, I'll meet you here when you're done. You can show me around first."

At five, Dave refilled the bottles of oil, put a clean sheet on the table, and walked out the front door. He saw Jack waiting at the same table as this morning, eating vanilla cones with Matthias and Blitz.

"Massager!" Matthias called, "for my friend Yackster, he buys us iced creams. You comes und with us you sits und Yackster, he buys you one also, ja?"

Dave sat but declined the ice cream. "I'll be eating dinner in an hour or so and I don't want to wreck it."

Blond hair spilling from his baseball cap across his forehead, Jack grinned, "Where are we eating?"

Matthias tugged Dave's shirt sleeve. "Massager, for they opens das lobsterhaus these very evenings!"

Chez Hommard was an afterthought inspired by tank driver Kip's discovery that Lake Borogovia's west bank teemed with freshwater crustaceans. Chez Hommard's menu included only the lobster-like shellfish grilled with garlic and butter plus tossed green salad and fresh-baked sourdough bread.

"Jeff already checked," Dave said. "They're full all month."

Matthias said happily, "Yes yes! Howsoever, for them I bread bakes und mein nicest leaves confers. Surely no tables but on the grasses we eats."

Jack asked, "How expensive is this place?"

Serious, Matthias nodded, "Most peoples, they pays grossest dinosaurus-marks. Notwithstanding, you und massager und Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus und ich, we eats gratuitous."

Since no space had been allowed for Chez Hommard in the hotel's original plan, Will Menton had closed the unprofitable religious bookstore, Alpha Devotional, and had filled the floor space with booths. Waiters shuttled back and forth between the restaurant and the park where five harried cooks barbecued shellfish.

At eight, stuffed with too much excellent food, Dave and Jack thanked Matthias for dinner, then walked from the south-wing restaurant westward to the corner, turned north, and entered Alphaland Entertainment. Dave wanted to talk to his roommate, Jeff Michaels, whom he had not seen since breakfast.

Dave asked Jeff, "Will you be coming home after work?"

"Yeah, but Lane's screwing around with his computer, so I'm taking his shift too." Jeff said to Jack, "I'm guessing USC?"

Thumbs hooked in his pockets, Jack said, "Not bad geographically, way off financially. I go to Cal State Long Beach."

Outside in the balmy night air Dave led Jack north. If Jeff had been coming home as usual, Dave would have found an alternative site for Jack's massage. "Have you had Ling Dai before?"

"Yeah, me and some friends went to Chinatown." In a massage parlor, Jack had hired a masseuse. "She had nowhere near your technique. She was pretty clumsy really. She didn't know what to do with my back, but she knew what to do in my ass."

In his room, Dave turned on the light; he would leave it on for Jack's Ling Dai. Subtle change in skin tint might indicate Jack's e-zones within his e-zone. As Jack pulled off his T-shirt, Dave asked, "Did she start off with Ko Tai Mun?"

Jack set his shirt on a chair, unbuckled his belt, and answered, "If Ko Tai Mun means an enema, the answer's yes."

Jack's earlier masseuse would have used the ceremonial pig bladder. Dave had only the disposable plastic syringes available. Bringing one from his desk, Dave asked, "How long since your last cum?"

Jack concentrated while he took off his jeans, laid them on his shirt, and said, "After lunch -- why?"

Dave opened the box, removed the syringe, dropped the box in the trash. "Because what I do once I'm in you depends on how horny you are. I don't want to pop you too fast."

Jack's briefs held his hardon tight against his belly; the hardon remained vertical when he shed them. "I won't pop till you rub my dick, right?"

Dave shook his head. "She must not have known what to do to you anally either."

When Jack lay facedown, Dave spread his cheeks and slid the lubricated nozzle into Jack, squeezed the syringe, and transferred the water. "Do you consider yourself totally straight or mostly straight?"

Standing, heading toward the bathroom, Jack asked, "Is anybody totally anything?"

Jack flushed the toilet, returned, lay on his back with his knees bent and his legs spread, the prescribed posture for accepting Ling Dai. "The Chinese girl greased my hole with something that smelled strange."

Dipping his middle finger in Anal Lube, Dave said, "The traditional lubricant is goat butter -- we'll have to make do." Finger oiled, Dave watched Jack closely as he penetrated Jack's cherry. Halfway in, Jack gasped, and his dick sprayed droplets on his stomach. Textbooks called this Din Kai Lo, literally translated 'the harbinger.'

Entering Jack all the way, Dave said, "I've read about that, but I've never seen it before."

"I never did it before," Jack said.

Dave curled his finger, bringing the tip across Jack's gland, lightly at first, and Jack moaned. As Dave increased pressure, he saw effects he expected: Jack's forehead, cheeks, and chest reddened; sweat dampened his face and his armpits; pre- sem oozed from his cock. Jack's prick remained rigid, unlike a quarterback Dave had massaged who had shot off limp as a noodle.

When Jack's anal spasms told Dave the end approached, Dave stopped the curls, pressing harder and harder until Jack's cock erupted.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Das Freibrau

Ordinary Alpha days had highs in the low-eighties, lows in the mid-fifties; Saturday, June nineteen, the temperature on the changing room thermometer read ninety degrees at noon when Dennis opened the pool, and it would climb until four. Combined with the humidity, the heat was a bitch.

Most tour packages ran from Saturday morning through Saturday evening; June 19, Dennis welcomed many teens he had not seen before. He also welcomed many regulars, and he gave each a ticket admitting him or her to the microbrewery's first Saturday night beerfest, Das Freibrau.

A craggy boy holding his girlfriend's hand asked, "Why tell us? The ads said you have to be twenty-one to buy liquor here."

"That's true, but Freibrau means free beer," Dennis answered.

At two, when Paul Hogan stopped by to inspect the new arrivals, Dennis asked him how the hotel made money. "Half the people I talk to are here on trips they've won in contests, and now Alphabrau's giving beer away too."

"Menton's crying all the way to the bank," Paul replied. "The casinos are pulling in profits even he can't believe, the souvenir business is booming -- especially those remote-controlled Blitzenschnell ferkelosauruses -- and . . . take Chez Hommard for example. The fake lobster costs the hotel virtually nothing and they sell it for twenty-dollars a plate. Besides, Menton isn't paying for the free Alphabrau tonight. Alpha-Terra Distribution is. They'll be filming commercials."

"I had the lobster last night," Dennis said. "It was great."

"I never said it wasn't, only that Will gets it free," Paul replied.

Dennis's roommate, Greg Spencer, came to the pool about four, having returned from Camp Wilkins. He brought his friend, Mike Johns, who had helped solve the tyrannosaur-detection problem. At five, Dennis's alternate, Andy, relieved him; at six, shaved and showered, Dennis went to Das Freibrau.

Waiting in line outside the microbrewery, Dennis observed that Alpha-Terra Distribution had built a trellis over the outdoor seating area and had suspended flower baskets from the perimeter beams. Alpha-Terra had also doubled the capacity of their steins; once he had surrendered his ticket, Dennis took a full liter of icy beer to a table and sat with his friends.

Greg and Mike had brought two fine-looking women, Linda and Di. Jeff had come with a date, as had Lane, leaving Alex to staff the JOP. Jared had brought a strokeworthy vixen worth filing for fantasies.

When his friends rose to dance, Dennis went for more Alphabrau; he was filling his mug when he noticed a young man sitting alone on a bench sketching Matthias and Blitz playing catch. Dennis had met the young man that afternoon when he had sold him trike-trunks. The young man had signed the credit card slip Tim Weber.

Dennis filled a second stein and took both to the bench. "Hey, Tim, I'm glad you made it," said Dennis.

Tim seemed puzzled, accepted the beer, then smiled. "Oh, yeah, you're Dennis. You look different with clothes on. Sit down."

Sitting, Dennis watched Tim complete the charcoal drawing. He tore it loose from his spiral-bound artists' pad, gave it to Matthias, who studied it thoughtfully. "For this ist much bester as store drawers does."

By store drawers, Matthias meant Alpha Artistic's professionals, and Dennis agreed. Tim had instilled a spark into his characters. When Matthias raced off, Dennis asked to see Tim's other drawings; Tim showed him a collection of sketches done from the hotel roof, portraying horn-heads and duckbills. Tim had done one picture of a tyrannosaur that somehow failed to explode from the paper like the others.

"Yeah," Tim said, noting Dennis's frown, "I drew the T. rex from a photograph. It isn't the same as live models."

Dennis asked if Tim could draw people; Tim demonstrated by drawing a picture of the now shirtless Mike chinning himself from a beam, capturing the teenager's outstanding face and physique.

"You should go to Camp Wilkins and draw the T. rex there," Dennis said.

Tim, outlining Mike's face, said, "Gosh, even if I could afford it there isn't a ticket available anywhere. People are coming all the way from earth for the re-opening."

Dennis said, "Stay where you are. I've got a friend who needs to see what you do."

Dennis brought Paul, Paul looked through the sketchbook, and he agreed that a tyrannosaur drawing by Tim would make an excellent advertising poster for Camp Wilkins. As Tim had pointed out, though, no seats remained.

"I know," Dennis said, "but the re-opening isn't till Wednesday. Don't you have a tank going there in the meantime? I thought Jared mentioned you were sending supplies."

Paul said, "No reason Tim couldn't go up on Monday and come back on Tuesday, but there won't be any fancy cooking or room service or anything."

"Heck, I'll bring me some bread, cheese, and milk, and I'll be fine," Tim said.

Paul told Tim to report to the tank hangar at eight a.m. Monday, left, and as Tim resumed drawing Mike, Dennis asked, "Where are you from?"

"Meade, Kansas, ninety minutes from Wichita," Tim answered, filling in Mike's upper body.

"Are you here with your family?"

Tim's parents were staying in a west-wing third-floor room. They had given Tim the choice of either sharing their room or of staying in one of the economy-model second-floor single rooms. Tim had chosen the single room rather than "have to take a shower in my bathing suit in that loony glass-walled bathroom."

When Tim finished the drawing he closed his sketch pad and said, "I think I'll go on upstairs. Two beers is my limit."

"Did you bring any work from back home?"

"Yeah," Tim said, "if you want to see it, come on."

They cut between the golf courses, passed the video arcade, and climbed the stairs. Dennis had never seen an economy room; he compared it to one of the less expensive chain motel rooms back home.

"Sit down wherever," Tim said; Dennis sat at the desk. Tim took a tablet from the drawer, gave it to Dennis, and as Dennis opened it, said, "I need a shower -- this heat's worse than Kansas."

As Dennis flipped through the pages, he divided his attention between the drawings and Tim, who pulled off his tee to display a decent if not outstanding upper body. Shedding his corduroys revealed decent legs, and shedding his boxers revealed decent dick.

Dennis asked, "Do your folks own a farm?"

"Two thousand acres." Tim's back to Dennis he turned on the tap.

Addressing Tim's bare butt Dennis asked, "Are these kids in the drawings from your high school?"

"My youth group," Tim answered. He soaped himself in the same progression Dennis soaped himself: his pits then his balls then his rump then his face. Greg, on the other hand, started with his face and worked down.

Tim left the shower wearing a longer cock than he'd gone in with. Drying his hair, he asked, "You're from the Midwest too, right?"

"The Windy City," Dennis confirmed.

Bending forward to dry his calves, Tim said, "I wish I'd known you last summer. We had a convention up there but the hotels were full and I had to sleep in my car."

Dennis was responding to this pleasant-looking teen, perhaps because Tim seemed so wholesome, so rural. "Did your girlfriend sleep in the car with you?"

Smiling his first smile of the night, spraying deodorant in his armpits, Tim said, "You wouldn't ask if you knew the girl I went with. She'll have sex with her husband someday, and she'll hate every minute."

As Tim wrapped a towel around his waist, Dennis asked, "So how does a handsome guy like you take care of your urges?"

Tim grinned, "Handsome I'm not. Would you like to watch television before you go back?"

Dennis sat on Tim's bed as he so often sat with Greg, their backs against the headboard and Dennis's arm around his companion. With Greg, Dennis would have watched the porn channel; with Tim, he watched a late-fifties movie about a boy whose idea of a hot date consisted of necking with his girlfriend on the porch swing. The G-rated movie had the effect on Tim that X-rated movies had on Dennis. Tim's towel raised, he put his hand beneath the towel, he pulled his dick.

Following suit, Dennis pushed down his shorts and jacked off, but Tim had different ideas. As soon as Dennis's hand picked up speed, Tim wrestled Dennis on top of him. Tim stroked Dennis's back, while Dennis thrust between his legs. When Dennis had cum, Tim rolled them over; he humped Dennis's thighs slowly until he sighed and unloaded.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Setting up Shop

Friday's Ling Dai proved so draining that Jack played tennis all weekend without wishing he were someplace else beating off. At age nineteen, strokemaster Jack had already busted himself over three-thousand times. Jack's best friend, after spending a noisy night in Jack's bedroom, had told him he should have a bumper sticker printed up reading, 'I'd rather be stroking.' Given Jack's propensity, his parents had been prescient in their choice of a name.

That weekend Dave Butler attended all of Jack's matches, sometimes alone, sometimes with Matthias and Blitz. Sunday afternoon, when Jack qualified for next weekend's second round, he joined Dave in the stands. "Thanks for helping me focus on tennis," Jack said.

"You're welcome. Come by the shop tomorrow -- I'll do your quads."

Showering, Jack regretted not having stayed Friday night to watch Dave get himself off. Assuming Dave had, Jack wished he had seen Dave's talented fingers work his meat. Responding to the image, Jack left the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, hiding his stiffy.

Jack put on his street clothes, went outside toward his room, and was passing Dino-burger when Matthias caught up to him. "For Yackster, you plays choicest," said Matthias; at his feet, Blitz clapped his paws. "Has you sees massager?"

"I was with him a few minutes ago." Dave would not have gone to Alpha Therapeutic; he had said he would not be back there until Monday. "Have you tried his room?"

"Yes yes," Matthias said. "Now we does that."

With no plans for the evening, Jack followed Matthias. They ran into Jeff in front of the bowling alley, and Matthias repeated his question, "Yeffster Five, Yeffster Five, has you sees massager? For him I has missives."

"Dave's probably taking a nap. The Freibrau didn't break up until two in the morning."

Dave was not taking a nap, though he may have intended to later. He answered Matthias knock with, "Wait a minute," and wore a bathrobe when he finally opened the door. He blinked at Jack, said "Hi guys," absent-mindedly; when he took the letter from Matthias his fingers left greasy prints on the envelope. While Dave read the letter, Jack spotted a bottle of lube on the nightstand, its pop-top popped open.

Dave frowned, "It's from Menton. I'm supposed to load Kip's tank with what I'll need to set up a massage room at Wilkins. He calls it a mini-vacation. Uh huh."

"Verdammt Menton," Matthias muttered.

Jack offered, "If you need help loading the tank I've got time on my hands."

Dave snorted, "I had something better in mine. Screw it, let's get it over with."

By the time they had stored two tables, oils, and linens in the panzerfaust's hold, Dave's disposition had improved. Crossing to the teen pool, he laughed, "Don't you just hate it when somebody interrupts you right when you're ready to cum? Ten more seconds and I'd have been squirting."

Willing to concede that calling himself 'mostly straight' had been a stretch, Jack said, "I want to watch you beat off."

"Go to Camp Wilkins with me and you will," Dave answered.

At ten Monday morning, Jack, Dave, artist Tim Weber, and lifeguard Dennis Wilson climbed out of the tank at Wilkins Bluff. Menton had waked Dennis early that morning to request he address any safety concerns that might affect the Camp Wilkins swimmers, pointing out that with the two young princes visiting the following weekend safety had become more important than ever. Dennis would remain at the camp until their royal highnesses concluded their visit.

As the men stood on the edge of the canyon, viewing the Wilkins River below, Jack saw the tyrannosaur. Even from here his size impressed as he stood in the river near shore, bending forward every few moments to drag his snout through the water. He was fishing.

The T. rex snagged a salmon, tossed him high, and gulped him coming down. Dennis said, "Greg told me that a six-ton tyrannosaur needs a hundred pounds of meat a day. Five more bites like that and he's got it."

Re-entering the tank Jack squeezed past sofas, big-screen televisions, and mirrors. When they had first boarded the tank Jack had asked, "What's all that crap for?" Dennis had answered that they were creating a lounge at Camp Wilkins to provide entertainment for the tourists.

In order to turn the tank into a moving van, workmen had removed the seats; Jack sat on the floor with the others as the tank lurched into the gorge.

At Camp Wilkins, as everyone helped move furniture inside the compound, tank driver Kip said, "They covered the steel grid overhead with weathertight plastic. We're supposed to put the furniture in the courtyard so people will have something to do at night besides fuck and watch the tyrannosaur."

Jack and Dave set the massage table in a bedroom. They sent the king-sized bed it replaced back to the hotel in the tank.

After Kip drove away, the boys cooled off in the river. While Dennis and Tim swam upstream to search for underwater hazards, Jack swam beside Dave to the island and back, then they walked along the beach.

Jack asked, "How did you get interested in Oriental massage?"

""My track coach had paid his way through college doing massage, and he suggested I study under his former teacher. When she'd taught me everything she could, she sent me over to San Francisco -- I grew up in Merced -- and every Saturday afternoon for twelve weeks I studied under my Guru, Chang Fong.

Dave had taken up massage believing he was straight. "Why shouldn't I have? I thought about girls when I whacked it." But one afternoon after practice he had been massaging a teammate's pulled groin muscle. "That's a fairly intimate area because the muscle sheath runs under your pubes. I was working on Pat there, and he sprouted a hardon. My guru had taught me about e-zones, so I went after his choad -- that's the area between your balls and your bung -- and Pat begged me to bust him. Making somebody's spunk fly is hot. I've been bi ever since."

Needing to piss, Jack unzipped and aimed his cock at the river. Empty, before he stuck his dick in his pants, he showed it to Dave, but as Dave reached toward it, the camp's siren blared.

Jack and Dave rushed in from the east as Dennis and Tim returned from the west. They filed into the courtyard, stood near the entrance, listening for the tyrannosaur's roar. Minutes dragged by, and Jack was wondering whether the alarm might have sounded accidentally, when a green dinosaur the size of a setter bounced through the entry; he stopped near the men.

The tyrannosaur stomped from the forest, his nose near the ground. He followed the green dino's scent to the entry, and the roaring began. Shrieking, the monster tried to force his way through the opening.

Dave said, "He wants Blitz's big brother."

When the tyrannosaur gave up and returned to the ferns, the dino bounded through the entry, hopped into the river, and swam off downstream.

After a box lunch dinner of ham-and-cheese sandwiches, celery, and cake, Tim set up his easel, Dennis swam, and Jack followed Dave to the massage room. Door closed, Dave said, "Show me your dick like before."

Anticipating soon getting wet, Jack took off his jeans, his jockeys, his shirt, and he stood in front of Dave bare.

Dave pulled Jack's cock till it hardened. "Mandarin has eighty-six separate words for different parts of your cock and more than one word for some parts." Touching Jack's piss-slit, Dave said, "Under normal conditions this is called your Wan Go, but when you're getting close to your shoot off and the hole opens up it's your Wing Li." Sliding the skin along Jack's shaft, Dave said, "The word for your whole dick is Mung Kai. I asked if that's where the expression 'spanking the monkey' came from, but I guess it's just a coincidence."

Cotton-mouthed, Jack said, "I want you to cum first."

"Okay, I'll show you the butterfly."

Dave lay on his back, legs bent, feet together, knees apart. As he pulled his hard prick, he bought his legs together on the upstroke, spread them on the downstroke. He never increased his jack-speed, and the only thing he said from start to finish was to pant near the end, "Play with my ass please." Jack had an oily finger in Dave when Dave's dick began spewing.

Jack washed his hands, lay next to Dave, and rubbed Dave's stomach. "Your asshole really clamped down on my finger."

Dave licked Jack's chest and said, "I've been practicing doing what you did last Friday. If I squeeze my butt muscles when I'm starting to cum, I have a minor shoot off, keep my hardon, and blast off majorly the next time." Squeezing Jack's balls, Dave asked, "Have you ever been sucked?"

"Not to climax," Jack answered, sweating.

Dave's fingers slid between Jack's legs, entered his crack, and stroked his hole. "You liked how my massage felt in here."

Quivering with tension, Jack said, "God yes."

"Kneel over me," Dave said. "Fuck my mouth with your cock and I'll give you Ling Dai."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

New Hires

Painting in the courtyard, attempting to transfer the tyrannosaur's ferocity from memory to canvas, Tim Weber heard Jack making noises he recognized. Jack's were not the conventual moans of a boy enjoying conventional sex; no, these groans, springing from deep in the soul, resulted from rapture.

Outlining the T. rex's stubby arms and his two-fingered hands, Tim reflected that though he had never personally experienced rapture he once had caused it. Last Thanksgiving an unseasonable snowstorm had forced his family to stay overnight at his grandparents' house. Crammed in bed with his cousin, Bill, Tim had given Bill his first blow job. Billy had chewed on the sheet lest his groans wake his brother.

In the courtyard, as Tim connected the T. rex's chicken-like feet to his powerful calves, Dennis returned from scouting the river. He came to the easel, looked at the drawing, and heard Jack's groans.

"Dave must be working him over," Dennis said.

"Jack must be near to exploding. That's been going on for ten minutes." Eyes closed, Tim visualized the tyrannosaur approaching the entry. His entire fifty-foot length had been parallel to the ground, the tail slightly lower than the body and the body slightly lower than the head. An ess-shaped neck connected the head to the torso. When he had stooped, the tyrannosaur's head had touched the ground

All right, Tim thought, so much for the preliminaries, now for the poster. Easily the scariest thing about the rex had been those teeth; Drawing the T. rex head-on would highlight that feature. Also, size was important. Drawing a T. rex standing alone would never convey the animal's massiveness. Consequently, Tim sketched Dennis (now standing behind Tim, humping his butt) Jack, and Dave cowering in front of the crouching tyrannosaur's slavering jaws.

Dennis asked, "Are you about ready for bed?"

Tim answered, "It's getting too dark to draw, but I want to hear Dave finish Jack."

As dusk became darkness, Jack's groans became feverish, finally ending with a long, drawn out, "Ahhhh." What could Tim do, he wondered, to cause the same rapture in Dennis?

Tim asked, "What was the best sex you ever had?"

"I don't know," Dennis answered, rubbing Tim's belly. "Last night was right up there."

From a technical standpoint, last night had been nothing to write home about. Sticking your dick between a friend's legs and sliding it around till you shot had been so commonplace on cold, snowy winter nights the boys in Tim's youth group had referred to it as 'the Kansas connection.' Many the time Tim had called a buddy or a buddy had called him with the simple question, "Wanna connect?" Bishop Nugent denounced the practice, but Tim's Uncle Max, who had known the bishop during his teen years, swore up and down that a younger Lee Nugent had connected with more buddies more often than anyone else.

Tim asked, "You never did that before? What did you do when you were horny and didn't want to jerk off?"

"Jerked off," Dennis answered. "Let's go lie down."

Tuesday afternoon Tim was lounging by the teen pool, wishing Dennis had returned to the hotel, when Will Menton summoned him. Tim followed Matthias to the administration building, down the hall, to an elevator.

Before leaving Tim, Matthias shook his hand gravely. "You wishes three floors, drawer," said Matthias, "und you does not answers, 'Jahwohl, verdammt Menton,' only you says, 'Yes, sirs, Mein Herr Menton.'"

Inside the elevator, Tim pressed 3, the car rose silently, and it opened onto a large, underfurnished office with only a desk and two chairs atop five-hundred square feet of Persian Rug. Behind the desk sat the twenty-three-year-old director of Hotel Alpha, Will Menton, well-put-together, brown-haired, a take- charge type. Past Menton, the far wall, solid glass, looked down on the prairie.

Trained not to speak unless spoken to Tim waited for Menton, who soon looked up at him and nodded, "I trust you enjoyed your brief stay at Camp Wilkins?"

Tim answered, "Very much so."

Menton gestured toward Tim's drawing, the only item on his desktop. "Mr. Hogan brought this to me a short time ago. It's really quite remarkable, remarkably good, that is."

"Thank you, Mr. Menton."

Menton drummed his fingers, narrowed his eyes, and said, "We'd like you to spend the rest of the summer with us, designing posters for our publicity department. Mr. Hogan will discuss specifics such as salary and benefits, but I believe you'll find us most generous."

Excited by an offer that might launch his career, dejected he could find no way to accept it, Tim apologized, "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm committed to serving abroad the next two years."

"Not to worry," Menton replied, raising his hand, "your bishop was delighted to receive a contribution in lieu of your mission. Now fill out the forms Mr. Hogan will give you, and you can begin work tomorrow -- oh, and Weber?"

Turning to leave, Tim paused. "Yes sir?"

"If you see the brat and his lizard would you tell them I want them?"

At the casino, Tim's parents congratulated him on his new job, then on his way back to the pool Tim visited the JOP. News travelled fast here; Jeff congratulated him and offered to take him to dinner. With Dennis away at Camp Wilkins Tim had no pressing engagements, so at seven he joined old timers Jeff, Jared, Dave, and Matthias at Alphabrau Microbrew.

Everyone ordered the Tuesday Night Special: spicy German sausage, three different kinds of mustard, four choices of homemade bread. Matthias left soon after dessert to run errands.

Jeff said, "It's a nuisance they're sending Lane to Gondwana. I'll need to find a replacement."

Gripping Jeff's arm, tour guide Jared snickered, "How about one of those pocket pussies you sell?"

Jeff nodded knowingly, "You're one to talk. Kip tells me you can't cum unless your cock's in his mouth."

"Bullshit! Kip blew me one time. We're never together at night -- he's back here with the tank and I'm in the guide's quarters pounding my pud."

At nine, when Jeff presented Tim with his official Hotel Alpha uniform, the group adjourned to Alpha Therapeutic so Tim could try on his new clothes. In Dave's workroom, he exchanged his old tee and cords for the official monogrammed T-shirt and shorts.

Tim left his co-workers at Alphaland Entertainment, walked north toward his room, and a man late-twenties or early-thirties stepped out of the shadows near Banana Split Alpha.

"Fifty bucks if you cum in my mouth," the man said.

"Not interested," Tim answered.

As Tim walked away the man called after him, "Don't give me that butch crap -- everybody knows all you workers are gay."

Upstairs, Tim found a note taped to his door: 'Drawer -- For I puts your possessions in your newest rooms 182H of the north wing und your roommates ist Joe which ist NICEST -- Matthias.'

Tim looked between the box springs and the mattress, saw nothing, and sprinted to 182H where he found what he had been afraid he would find. A shirtless, short-haired blond stood at the desk, flipping through Tim's personal sketchbook.

Looking Tim's way, the blond asked, "Did you draw these?"

Tim gulped, "Uh huh."

"These are really good. You like to take it up the ass, huh?"

"I never did it. I just drew it."

Though not as muscular as Dennis, the blond had superb definition. "I've never had it up the ass either, but I've jacked to the fantasy. Shut that door, would you, and let me examine you?"

Tim shut the door, and he allowed the blond to undress him, pulling Tim's T-shirt over his head and dropping his shorts. As the blond caressed Tim's sac, Tim stiffened. "Not a great dick but a good dick," said the blond.

Stepping back, the blond took a Dino-mark from his shorts pocket, flipped it in the air, and told Tim, "Your call."

"Heads," Tim replied; when the coin landed with Will Menton's head facing up, Tim wondered what he had won.

Muttering, "Some people are plain born lucky," the blond shed his shorts. He opened a packet, squeezed thick lubricant onto his hand, and greased his long, skinny cock. He came to Tim, put his hands on Tim's shoulders, and turned him around. "Bend over," he said.

Stalling, Tim asked, "You're Joe?"

"Uh huh, brace yourself on the desk."

Tim might have denied anal cravings if Joe had not seen the self-portraits depicting Tim getting pronged, but Joe had seen them, so Tim bent, reached behind himself, and led Joe's dick to his hole.

Poised at Tim's entrance, his stomach rubbing Tim's back, Joe whispered, "I've read that the first time you empty your cock-snot into somebody's rear you're bonded tight from then on. This doesn't mean we can't mess around with other people, but it's kind of a pledge we won't have to jack off alone from now on unless we want to. All right?"

"Okay," Tim murmured.

Now came the pain, serious blistering pain as Joe forced his way through Tim's hole, up his chute, into his guts. Then Joe began fucking. Pumping deep, he put his hand to Tim's cock, and Tim understood rapture.

PART VIII

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Blood Feud

The cashier gave Matt Devon more change than he expected, demonstrating the confusion caused by Alpha's coinage. Dino-marks were the size of U.S. nickels with Will Menton's face on the front, a horn-head dino on the reverse. The nearly-same-size Dino-pfennig, worth one tenth of a Dino-mark, had Ricky Wilkins face on the front, a duckbill on the back. Stepping outside the pro shop, Matt told Joe Lang, "It wouldn't be as bad if Menton didn't look so much like Wilkins."

"Cousins sometimes do," Joe said. "Look, that root beer made me horny. Would you be up for a jack-break?"

Hotel Alpha had hired four new workers: Joe and Matt as golf instructors, poster-drawer Tim Weber, and pornophile Clint Walker, who would fill in for Lane King at Jeff Michaels' JOP. Compu-whiz Lane had gone to Gondwana.

Standing in the shade of a ginkgo, Matt said, "You and Clint should have been roommates. You're the same height, weight, build, and you go through life stiff. There isn't a girl anywhere near here, but check out your lap."

Joe glanced down, grinned, and replied, "I get that way around a real stallion." Looking over Matt's shoulder, Joe cautioned, "Uh oh. Can the smut."

Matthias stormed up to them, glaring. "Fuer er sehe ich bin ein Balge und mein geliebte Haustier ist ein Reptil!"

Joe translated, "Somebody called Matthias a brat and Blitz a reptile."

"Verdammt fuehrer," Matthias growled.

Hoping to cheer up Matthias, Matt went to a trash barrel, salvaged ten uncrushed aluminum cans, and arranged them like bowling pins. From eight yards away, Matt rolled a golf ball, toppling two cans. He handed Matthias another golf ball, asking, "Can you do any better?"

"This game ist sehr childish." But when Matthias's roll knocked down three of the remaining eight cans, he clapped, "For to plays bestest, coordinations must has."

While Matthias celebrated, Blitz found a third golf ball and overturned the five upright cans with one throw, which instead of delighting Matthias intensified his rage. Stalking off he muttered, "Verdammt Menton. Kommen mit mir, Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus. Reptil mein fuss!" [Reptile my foot.]

At noon, Joe and Matt went to the administration building where young Dr. Stefan drew their blood. "If it's all the same to you I'd rather donate a sperm sample," Joe joked, or maybe not.

Across the hall they filled out forms, took a personality test, and Paul Hogan welcomed them to the staff. While Joe used the rest room, Matt asked Paul, "What's the feud between Matthias and Menton?"

Paul answered, "You'll have to ask Matthias for the details, but the year we came to Alpha, Matthias and the seven other German boys were panning for gold when an allosaur pack attacked them. Matthias calls them tyrannosaurs but allosaurs hunt in packs and tyrannosaurs don't. Anyway, according to Matthias, Bechtel stuck all the other German boys in one enclosure and took the second one for himself. Then, when the allosaurs left and the boys returned to the compound, Menton stuck up for Bechtel. He said Matthias had misunderstood Bechtel's orders." Paul shrugged, "They've been at war ever since."

Walking back to the club house, Joe asked, "How did you answer the question about your jack-off fantasies?"

Matt sighed, "I said I fantasized your mouth."

Veering left to avoid a sprinkler, Joe said, "You won't believe this but I've never sucked cock. I might have to bust you with my hand."

"I'll bust you with my nine-iron -- give it a rest," Matt said.

Yet though Matt would have liked to deny it, Sasha had changed him. That afternoon he golfed with three girls, but he felt the day's first surge of lust in the club house, showering alongside Joe, who caught Matt surveying him.

Winking, Joe said, "You can't hold out forever. In the meantime, let's ride Matthias's boneheads."

Matt gritted his teeth, "Never again."

Joe swatted Matt's rump. "C'mon studly. You can have Blitzen and I'll take Dancer. Blitzen's a doll."

Blitzen proved such an improvement over Dancer that Matt reached the brontosaur lookouts asshole intact. Dismounting, he walked to where Matthias was kneeling, drinking water from the creek.

"I hear you and Herr Menton had a misunderstanding," Matt said.

Matthias said calmly, "Ist no misunderstandings -- he lies und I says so."

Matt baited Matthias, "Poor Bechtel, facing an allosaur pack all alone."

Springing to his feet, Matthias whirled, eyes ablaze. Gripping Matt's forearm he spat on the ground. "You hears me, Mattster. You hears what I tells you, for there was fifty boys und two cages, cages such as which verdammt Menton incarcerates nicest Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus, und that Teufel von Hoelle, that devils from hellfires, name of Bechtel, he puts us forty- nine in one cage und tooked the others, for he tooked Lukas' filbert cakes also, und he is piggish. Und then, when we sees Herr Doktor Mueller, verdammtest Bechtel, he lies worser as Menton und he tells Herr Doktor Mueller it was Hansel und meinself which ate Lukas's filbert cakes whereas Bechtel eats each last crumbs all alonest."

Confused by the tirade, Matt said, "I thought there were eight German boys."

Matthias clarified, "Acht Deutschenkinder is true." He held up one finger, "Ich bin Matthias," two fingers, "und Hansel mein Freund," another finger, "und Lukas, also mein Freund," more fingers, "und Freund Niklaus, und meine Freunde Hogarth und Tomas und stupid Friedrich und very baddest Bechtel hisself. Howsoever, those days und we has forty-two helper-kinders mit uns." Dropping Matt's arm, Matthias returned to the creek.

"If you dislike Menton so much why do you do what he tells you?"

Matthias cupped his hands, scooped up water, and drank. "For I can not goes back mit mein freunds unless you peoples ist all Orientals. Verstehen Sie?"

"Kinda."

After dinner, Matt went with his roommate, Clint, to Alphaland Entertainment, Clint to relieve Jeff Michaels, Matt to test his hetero-leanings by jacking to straight porn. Unfortunately, the line for the 'bator booths reached halfway to the door, so Matt decided to test his leanings at the teen pool.

Matt told Clint, "I think I'll go girl-watching."

Jeff, stocking empty shelves with Alpha-Lube, said, "Wait a minute, and I'll go with you."

Together they walked into the sultry Alpha night, heavily scented by the grapefruit trees blooming everywhere. As they neared Banana Split Alpha, Jeff said, "You're missing him bad, right?"

While Sasha had been on Alpha, during and after the tournament, he and Matt had visited Alphaland Entertainment several times, renting movies they had never quite found time to watch. During those visits, Matt had noticed Jeff but had never said more than "Hi," or "How's it going?" nothing that had prepared him for Jeff's question.

"It shows?" Matt asked.

Short and wiry, Jeff said, "Only because I'm missing Lane too, and it isn't just sex."

Remembering Sasha's teasing, his smile, the long blond hair hanging down to his collar, Matt agreed, "It was more than just that."

At the pool, Matt tried, but the interest that had motivated him back in high school had deserted him. His basic urges, though, had not deserted him, and at nine-thirty he told Jeff, "I'll see you at breakfast. Right now, I need to take care of business."

"Me too," Jeff said. "This is worthless." He followed Matt through the gate, up onto the causeway, and as they passed the power plant, asked, "How about if we take care of business at your place? My roommate's got company."

Matt would not have predicted the tingles Jeff's question induced. Physically, Jeff was a nice-looking guy but not remarkable, not like Joe Lang, for example. "Have you got any lube?"

Taking a handful of Coco-Fun packets from his pocket, Jeff grinned, "Does Alpha Ice Cream have vanilla?"

Laying an arm across Jeff's shoulder, Matt said, "The first time Sasha and I jacked around we had a contest to see who could last longest."

Moving closer to Matt, Jeff said, "The first time I had sex with a guy was when I fucked Chris Taylor's fist."

"Chris Taylor? Have I met him?"

"Doubtful," Jeff said, "Chris manages the arcades."

In Matt's room, the men took off their uniforms, each studied the other and apparently liked what he saw; both dicks stiffened.

Jeff emptied a packet of Coco-Fun onto the palm of his hand. "What we'll do is, we'll combine the two ways we talked about. You fuck my fist and see how long you can last, then I'll fuck yours and time that too."

Jeff lay on his back, formed his fingers into a circle, and Matt climbed on top of him. When Matt had stuck his dick in Jeff's fist, Jeff looked at his watch and announced, "Nine forty- seven and twenty-two seconds."

Matt might have done better if all he had had to contend with was his dick, but Jeff distracted him by pinching his tits, stroking his choad, and petting his asshole. Seven minutes, thirty-four seconds into the fist-fuck, Jeff tugged on Matt's balls and Matt lost it; his squirts flew all over.

Jeff switched places, thrust steadily, and seemed impervious to Matt's left-handed activities until, seven minutes into the session, desperate to finally win a contest off the golf course, Matt took control, flipping Jeff onto his back, kneeling beside him, and jacking him brutally until he unloaded.

Chapter Thirty

Chris and the Grads

As the better-looking of the two princes emerged from the teleport depot, Chris Taylor asked, "Do you think he can cum yet?"

"Mathematically, the odds are in his favor," Paul Hogan replied. "I'll see you tomorrow. Have fun at the lookouts."

Paul went to welcome the hotel's guests; Chris went to his video arcade. Five days a week, eight hours a day, Chris sold tokens, adjusted machines, and cruised boys old enough to be cruised. A manager could not reasonably require every customer to show an ID, but by offering free tokens to anyone with a valid driver's license, Chris learned what he needed to know. Back on earth, the saying 'fifteen will get you twenty' meant that messing with a fifteen-year-old would earn you twenty years in the state penitentiary; on Alpha it earned you a wire up your cock and a fist up your ass.

Since Chris's tastes ran to college-aged males, his ID check ordinarily verified his targets' availability, but the ID check had kept Chris out of trouble last Sunday when a stunning youth whose age Chris had guessed at twenty produced a driver's license proving him to be seventeen, yet all was not lost because the young man, Ethan Oliver, would turn eighteen the following Saturday, i.e., today.

Throughout the week Chris had fished for information, learning that Ethan had recently graduated from Rhode Island's Providence High School, that he would be entering the University of Connecticut as an architecture major, that his hobby was skiing, and that he had no steady girlfriend. He did, however, have gonads, because on Wednesday Chris had seen him leaving Alphaland Entertainment. Chris's fellow North Dakotan Jeff Michaels told Chris Ethan had been in a booth for eight minutes.

Chris had asked, "Kids don't have to be eighteen to use the booths?"

Jeff had answered, "They do to rent porn to take back to their rooms, but if they want to use the booths here there's no restrictions."

During the week Chris had invented then discarded numerous ploys. By Saturday he had one he thought might work, and when Ethan entered Arcade Alpha with his buddies (He was travelling with three friends from school on a graduation vacation.) Jeff invited the group to celebrate Ethan's birthday at the brontosaur lookouts.

Everyone agreed except for Ethan's friend Randy. Randy had won a dinner-for-two at Bistro Alpha with a blind date. Paul Hogan had furnished the girl. Randy need never know his beautiful date was a lesbian and that he had about as much chance of dicking her as he did of beating Matt Devon at golf. Anyway, Randy would have the room to himself when he got home; he could stroke himself raw or quit when he ran out of lube.

The quartet that boarded the flatcar that afternoon consisted of Chris, Ethan, and two eighteen-year-olds: Brad Greenwood, a tall, lean basketball player worth viewing, and the equally pleasant-looking swimmer, Ron Lloyd. Chris pressed the start button, the car slid from the dock, beginning its hour-long creep toward the lookouts.

Making conversation, Chris said, "So what's there to do for fun in Rhode Island?"

Ron said, "Hang out with chicks and drink brew." Ethan smiled, "Depends on the season -- skiing or sailing." Brad grinned a wide, lazy grin, circled his fingers, and mimed jacking off.

"Speak for yourself, Brad," Ron said.

Brad grinned his same grin. "Ronnie's never beat his meat. He's never had to. He's such a hot item girls have been waiting in line since we were scouts."

"Bite me," said Ron.

"Why? You cum quicker when I bone you," said Brad.

Amidst this badinage, Ethan held himself aloof, frowning at both friends, then asking Chris where he went to school -- Columbia -- and what it was like to live in New York.

At the lookout, everyone stood at the window, watching ten brachiosaurs browsing, their heads fifty feet above the ground, but Brad's attention waned fast; he went to the dock, brought back four Alphabraus, and handed them out. While the others studied the dinosaurs, Brad entered the adjoining bedroom, Chris heard a drawer open, and Brad returned laughing. He gave Ron a packet of Anal Lube and said, "This is so when I go up in you it'll be smooth."

"You are one sick puppy, Bradley," Ron said.

Standing behind Ron, rubbing his shoulders, Brad said, "I am going to feel so great in your shitter."

"Shut the fuck up, fag."

Chris's somewhat nebulous plan called for the grads drinking beer, watching porn, becoming aroused. Then, if Chris could steer Ron and Brad into the adjacent room he would have Ethan to himself, but it was becoming more and more unlikely that Ron would agree to that plan. Still, give eighteen-year-olds enough alcohol and anything might happen.

The grads drank beer watching the dinosaurs, more beer with the hotel's lobster salad, and yet more beer while Ethan opened his presents. Ron gave him a T-shirt, Chris gave him trike- trunks, Brad gave him a bottle of Alpha-Lube.

By the time Chris turned on the television the group had finished the first case of Alphabrau and Chris had drunk only two. By the time Cherise had given her first blow job the young men were squirming. By the time Cherise finished the dyke scene, Chris's plan had fallen apart; during the lesbo-action, Ethan had taken his Alpha-Lube and locked himself in the bathroom.

When the movie ended without Ethan's reappearing, Brad said, "It never takes him this long." He popped the lock with a pocket knife, opened the door, and said, "One of you guys needs to help me."

Chris went to the door, looked inside, and saw Ethan asleep on the floor, his shorts around his ankles, his well-oiled hand holding his well-oiled dick. With Brad doing most of the work, he and Chris cleaned Ethan up, dressed him, and dragged him to bed. Chris had watched more than enough straight porn, so leaving the grads, he went into the adjacent room, took off his clothes, and climbed in bed bare, expecting to find three passed-out teens next door in the morning. He was reaching for the light switch when Brad came in.

Sliding the pocket door shut, Brad said, "Ronnie needs to beat off, but he'll never do it with me there, so is it okay if I sleep here with you?"

When Chris said it was, Brad took off his tee, his running shorts, and said, "I kinda got the clue you were gay when you said you lived in the village, but I wasn't absolutely positive till I saw you wash Ethan's meat. A straight guy wouldn't have touched it." Brad had an excellent tan.

"Are you sure you want to sleep here?" Chris asked.

Shedding his briefs, Brad said, "Uh huh." He folded his clothes, set them on the nightstand, and slid in bed. "I've wanted to talk to a gay person. Some of my friends at school were, but they were pretending they were straight, and I didn't want to push them." Brad threw off the sheet, exposing both naked bodies. "So, do I turn you on?"

"Uh huh," Chris replied.

Brad wrapped his hand around his half-hard rod. "What about me gets to you, my dick?"

Chris studied Brad briefly before answering, "It's never just a guy's dick. It's the whole picture, your face, your body . . . I was thinking a minute ago about what a great tan you have."

Brad smiled, "My folks keep a boat down at Newport. What do you think about when you stroke?"

"Guys I've had sex with," Chris answered.

"Most of the time I think about girls I want to have sex with." Brad's holding his rod had transformed it into a hardon oozing pre-sem. He dipped his fingertip in the goo and held it close to Chris's lips. "Wanna taste me?"

Chris licked Brad's finger, savoring the salty taste of a healthy, horny teenage boy.

Brad's lazy smile stayed in place. "You want the whole popsicle?"

Chris stopped midway down the bed, pointed his tongue, and stuck it into Brad's belly button. He worked it around, then dragged it down the hair trail into Brad's pubic curls. Brad hissed when Chris swallowed his cock.

Chris slid his lips up and down Brad's shaft seven times, licked seven circles around Brad's knob, then repeated the maneuver increasing the vacuum only a little each series. Meanwhile, Chris's busy hands delved between Brad's legs searching for hot spots. Squeezing Brad's balls brought whimpers, so Chris squeezed them again.

Brad groaned, "I need to get off -- suck me harder. Uh . . . uh . . . Uh!"

After he swallowed, Chris slid up the bed, patted Brad's arm, and said, "You lasted better than most straights."

Brad's grin had finally vanished. "My girlfriend sucks cock almost that good. Let go of yourself and I'll bust you."

Chapter Thirty-One

Shopping Spree

Sunday morning Joe and Matt took the princes around the north course. At noon, as they were shaking hands on the eighteenth green, Matthias raced up to them carrying a knapsack with Blitz close behind.

"For you youths," Matthias said, "you has not sees Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus's newest of tricks. Now you watches."

Matthias dumped a load of cans on the ground, arranged them like ten-pins, and as the princes stood spellbound, Blitz knocked them all over with one roll of a tennis ball.

The boys praised Blitz and Matthias, who said modestly, "Mein freund Mattster, he designs tricks, but I much enhances mit grosser balls, ja, Mattster?"

As Matt graciously conceded Matthias's improvements, Joe thought about Matt's balls and grew wood. He sensed that Matt responded to him, possibly almost as much as he responded to Matt, but so far nothing physical had happened. Relationshipwise, they were becoming good pals. The past three nights they had eaten dinner together and yesterday they had gone to a show.

Matthias told the princes that if they would follow him to the teen pool he would show them how Blitz could count. When the boys had left, Joe asked, "You want to grab a sandwich?"

Matt answered, "Let's shower first. I'm grungy."

In the locker room, pulling his cleats off, Joe said, "The day we met, we didn't get along so well.

Matt slipped out of his T-shirt, smiled, and replied, "Not at first. We were both pretty crude."

Knowing it was none of his business, Joe nonetheless asked, "Has living with Clint cramped your sex life?"

Dropping his shorts, Matt said, "Actually, Clint has had zero effect. I've hardly seen him, but that may change this afternoon since we both have it off." Walking toward the shower, Matt asked, "Have you made any plans?"

Following and admiring Matt's rear, Joe said, "Not really."

"Walk with me to the souvenir shop. I need a birthday present for my dad."

Alpha Memorabilia, located between the teleport depot and the administration building, occupied floor space equal to both neighbors. Joe had never been inside before -- it was not the kind of place boys hung out -- but it teemed with older tourists.

Dozens had gathered around a metalwork booth where young artisans hammered slag platinum into a paper-thin sheet, weighed it, priced it, stamped it with a dinosaur design, and hung it on a rack for prospective customers to examine.

Matt said, "Dad's a great guy, but platinum's out of my league."

Beside the metalwork booth, Alpha Agricultural offered produce grown on the shores of Lake Borogovia, which to Joe's untrained eye looked exactly like the produce back home, only bigger. "Are those tomatoes any good?" he asked a clerk, pointing to a beefsteak the size of a cantaloupe.

"Try a piece." The clerk handed Joe a chunk; it was exceptional.

Further along they came to a display of remote-controlled Blitzes, animatronic dinosaurs that could hop, run, leap, and clap their hands.

"Get one of those for your dad," Joe suggested.

"Dad'd give the neighbor's dog a heart attack. He hates that mutt," Matt replied.

Alpha Floral sold arrangements suitable for Matt's mom, Alpha Tobacconers might have solved their problem had Matt's father smoked, and Joe dismissed Alpha Fine Jewelry as out of Matt's price range. Spotting the clothing store, Pour les Homme Alpha, Joe said, "Buy your dad what I always buy mine, a new shirt."

"My dad's the men's sportswear buyer for Goldfarb's," Matt answered.

Alpha Cosmetics didn't appeal, nor did Dino-Sox, a hosiery shop, but Matt found what he was looking for at Alpha Leather Goods, an Edmontosaurus hide wallet.

Wrapping the present, the salesman assured Matt, "All our leather comes from carcasses. We never kill dinosaurs." He laughed, "We don't have to -- they kill one another." Offering Matt a gift card to sign, he asked, "Will you be taking this with you or should we deliver it?"

"You'll have to deliver it. I won't be home for two months," Matt answered. "Uh, who harvests the carcasses?"

"I can't tell you his name, sir. It's a small blond boy who brings the hides Mondays."

Outside the emporium Matt said, "Don't you get a picture of Matthias on Cupid looking for allosaur leftovers? He was talking about his German friends to me the other day, and I wonder."

They discovered Matthias in the park demonstrating his bowling trick. When the tourists had applauded, many dropped Dino-marks into the cans before leaving. Though he thanked them politely, as soon as the tourists were out of earshot, Matthias shook out the coins. "I wishes they does not did that, for when these cans they gets heavy, they topples erroneous."

Shaking the coins through the pop-tops was a pain in the butt. When Joe had salvaged ten, he ran across the street to Dino-bargains and traded his coins for ten cheap steel mugs, approximately the size of the beer cans but minus the tops. Handing the mugs to Matthias he said, "At least the coins come out easily."

"Yes yes! They comes out easy." said Matthias. "Many thanks, Yo -- you ist nicest."

"Matthias," said Matt, "Do you and your friends collect dinosaur hides?"

Matthias held up his forefinger. "One, no more, name of Hogarth, rides mein gross pachycephalosauruses."

Matt asked, "Could we ride along with him?"

Matthias nodded, "Surely next Saturday und I rides mit you."

As Matt and Joe approached Alphaland Entertainment, Matt said, "I need some straight porn I can jack to."

"I've got the new Hustler you can borrow. I haven't cum on it yet." Minutes later, passing the turnoff to the teen pool, Joe said, "Hang on for a second -- I'm low on lube." He left Matt on the causeway, went to the changing room, and picked up a ziplock.

At the corner, Matt asked, "Where are you going to do it, or don't you mind Tim watching?"

"Tim's working today," Joe answered.

Matt said, "You don't need all five samples. Give me one."

In Joe's room, he gave Matt the magazine and offered him his choice of lubes; Matt took the Coco-Fun, saying he would see Joe at dinner. Showing Joe his watch Matt reminded him, "Sunday dinner's at four."

Joe laughed, "I'll see how close I can time it."

When Matt had left, Joe stripped, greased both hands, and lay on his bed. He did not touch his dick. He touched other places, dragging his fingertips across his chest, his abs, his armpits. Stroking his inner thighs caused the best sensations, so Joe stimulated himself there while fantasizing.

He imagined being with Matt in a room at Camp Wilkins. Joe would have gotten Matt hard by sucking his balls; now he would try to sit on Matt's cock. Acting out the illusion, Joe spread his legs, put his hand between his cheeks, and fingered his hole.

To continue the fantasy, though, he would need something substantial to shove up inside himself. Wishing he had bought one of Jeff's butt-plugs, he left his bed, rummaged through his drawer, and found two leftover enema kits from the time he and Chris Aikens had gone to Camp Wilkins. Bent forward, braced on the desk, Joe was squirting water up his ass when Matt opened the door.

Matt snickered, "Got a tummy ache?"

Joe removed the nozzle, dropped the empty syringe in the waste basket, and sat on the bed. "Did you bust already?"

Tossing the Hustler to Joe, Matt answered, "Clint and Greg are watching a movie. Isn't your ass kind of full?"

In the bathroom, Joe forced a stream of water out, flushed the toilet, but as he was standing a cramp twisted his guts, and he sat again, forced more water out, and again even more water before the cramp eased.

Finally drained, Joe washed his hands, returned to the bedroom, saw that Matt had undressed and was sitting nude on Joe's bed reading the Hustler.

Sitting beside him, Joe asked, "Isn't your dick kind of limp?"

Matt scowled, closed the magazine, and answered, "I'm not reacting to this shit like I used to."

"React to this," Joe said.

He did to Matt's body what he had done to his own, dragging his fingers across Matt, from his chest to his legs. Like Joe, Matt hardened when Joe stroked his thighs, his breathing evened out, he seemed in a trance.

Joe asked, "Can I pop you?"

Matt answered very softly, "Suck me -- after I bust, I'll suck you."

Joe used a technique Clint had described from a movie. He sucked Matt's rod until his mouth filled with pre-cum and spit, then lifted his head and jacked Matt's shaft. When Matt's dick dried out, Joe sucked it until it was slippery then he jacked it some more. Pulling Matt's pud, Joe asked, "Am I doing okay?"

Matt sighed, "Uh huh."

"Are you close yet?"

"Uh huh."

Since Joe wanted to see Matt's geyser erupt, he shortened the sucking intervals, lengthened the jacking ones. He failed to realize that Matt might have other ideas. As Joe was licking Matt's dong, Matt grabbed Joe's head, held it tight, and shot off in Joe's mouth. Caught by surprise, Joe tried to say, "Lemme go," but with Matt's dick wedged in his throat, Joe merely croaked.

Matt's junk tasted thick going down.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Lambda Lodge

Ethan Oliver spent much of Saturday night in the brontosaur lookout bathroom, throwing up Alphabrau, hoping to die. Sunday, after returning to the hotel, he would have slept away the afternoon except that Brad Greenwood, soon to be his roommate in college and currently his roommate on Alpha, insisted he swim, pressured him to eat dinner, demanded he climb to the roof and watch dinosaurs grazing at sunset, and ended the day giving Ethan a backrub that put him to sleep.

Ethan ended Sunday with Brad's hands on his shoulders; he began Monday with Brad shaking his arm.

"Get your sweet ass moving, E-man. We tee off in half hour," Brad said.

Brad's reference to Ethan's rump combined with Brad's grin directed at Ethan's briefs-covered boner as he walked to the shower unsettled Ethan, but why should it? Brad was Brad, a bright-eyed entertaining teen, a fabulous friend who handled his sexuality well, unlike Ethan who snuck off to the 'bator booths whenever the pressure overwhelmed him, which would likely be tonight once again.

At the south course's first tee, they paired up with Jeff Michaels, manager of the JOP Ethan frequented, and golf instructor Matt Devon. After everyone's drive, as they walked down the fairway, Jeff said, "We had so many customers last night we ran out of clean towels. That's never happened before. I took one out of the hamper and spilled somebody else's junk on my shorts. Yuck."

Brad said, "There is definitely something about this place that makes my dick want to spit."

Matt, whose tee shot had rolled onto the green, said, "I wonder if it's Alpha's weather. I can't remember ever being this horny growing up."

So he was not alone, Ethan reflected as he chipped out of a sand trap.

Starved by the time the round ended, Ethan ate two Baryonyx Burgers, onion rings, plus two pieces of peach pie with ice cream. Matthias, who had joined the foursome as they walked from the eighteenth green to Dino-burger, said, "Ha ha! For you ist more piggish as Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus, Herr Ethan. You und Bradster will stays here nextest Saturdays?"

"We don't leave till Sunday," Ethan confirmed.

"Yes yes, all you und Mattster und Yo und Yeffster Five, we rides gross pachycephalosauruses mit mein freund Hogarth."

When Matthias went to coax Blitz out of an orange tree, Matt said, "Hogarth scavenges hides to turn into leather goods. I want to ride with him so I can go inside the forest."

After lunch, too embarrassed by last Saturday night to see Chris Taylor any time soon, Ethan rejected Brad's suggestion they visit the video games parlor, saying, "How about going to the jacuzzies instead?"

"Why?" Brad teased, "because you don't want Chris telling you how cute you looked passed out on the floor milking your root?"

Ethan winced, "I'd as soon you didn't tell me either."

"Well, you did look real cute."

They climbed to their room, they changed into trike-trunks, but before they went to the spas Brad oiled Ethan's back and legs with sun screen. Afterward, they walked along the path to Dino- Spa, told the clerk they would like the first private tub available, and heard their names called five minutes later.

They passed the large concrete pool where a dozen or more people were bathing, came to a wood wall broken by a series of gates, and went through the gate labelled F. Inside, they climbed into a plastic jacuzzi, and Brad turned on the jets. Submerged in frothy water, Brad ran his foot up Ethan's shin. "I could be beating my meat right now and you'd never know."

"If it weren't for Samantha, you'd worry me," Ethan replied.

Grinning, Brad slid his foot along Ethan's thigh. "Maybe I'm bisexual. Maybe I want my best friend's hard cock."

Playing along, Ethan said, "Maybe I want yours too. Maybe I want to steal you from Sam."

Brad asked, "Just for fun, why don't we go on an all-boy date tonight and eat at the Lambda Lodge for a change." Every dinner last week had been at the outdoor cafe.

"I kinda doubt I could dance with you," Ethan said, no longer sure Brad was joking.

"It's not so different from wrestling," Brad said.

In their room, Ethan breathed easier when the Lambda Lodge reservations desk told Brad they were full for the evening, but Brad called Chris Taylor and Chris called Paul Hogan, and the clerk called them back to ask what time they would arrive.

Hanging up, Brad said, "He told me we need jackets and ties."

Brad was showering, Ethan was shaving when an envelope slid under their door. Opening it, Ethan saw a note reading: Wear these on your lapels. Tipping the envelope, he shook out two gold pins shaped like 's, the small-case Greek letter lambda.

Ethan set the pins on the desk, put on white pants, a white shirt, a blue blazer. He stuck the pin in his lapel, and when Brad had dressed he stuck the other pin in Brad's.

"Right, E-man," Brad said, "If we're gonna go gay, let's go gay all the way."

Climbing down to the causeway, Ethan said, "The guidebook calls the Lambda Lodge a bar and grill catering to the gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgendered tourist. Couldn't a tourist theoretically be gay and transgendered?"

"No, but he or she could be bi and transgendered," Brad said.

Pondering Brad's logic, Ethan walked past the power plant, stopped at a door reading Lambda Lodge, and held the door open for Brad. Inside, they passed through a foyer into a small anteroom. They stood there a moment, Ethan felt sick to his stomach, the door on the far side of the anteroom opened, they stepped into a restaurant. Booths lined three walls, and above the booths, windows framed views of snow-covered slopes. A fire roared in the fireplace.

"We've been teleported. This is where Matthias found his shadow," Brad said.

"Right. We're on top of Mount Menton," Ethan agreed.

A prospective architect, Ethan estimated the room's size at thirty by thirty. Trusses built from six-by-twelves supported the ceiling planks, and six-by-eighteen lintels supported the trusses. In the booths, well-dressed men and women ate, drank, and conversed. Ethan could have been in a restaurant at Aspen or Vail.

The mid-twenties maitre d' saw their pins and nodded approvingly. "Would you young men prefer a table or a booth?"

"A booth, please," Brad answered.

The maitre 'd led them around the edge of the room to a four-man booth, and when they had taken their seats, he handed them menus, asking, "Would you care for a cocktail?"

"I'd like a coke," Ethan said, and Brad asked for an Alphabrau.

The menu offered three choices of grilled meat -- steak, chicken breast, lobster -- or a large salad served with or without cubed cheddar cheese. Brad ordered the steak; Ethan the salad with cheese, asking the waiter, "What kind of dressing does it come with?" Given the choice of oil & vinegar, blue cheese, or ranch, Ethan opted for ranch.

Noting the tracks in the snow, he asked, "Were people skiing today?"

"Yes indeed sir." Did anybody rent equipment? "That's all part of the package, sir, so if you'll just call me when you've eaten, Hansel will show you to your room."

"We already have a room at the hotel," Ethan said.

"Of course you do, sir, but you'll want to stay here tonight. The teleportation facility will not reopen until noon, far too late for good skiing."

When they had eaten, a young blond boy who looked and talked like Matthias led them from the restaurant, down a hall, past numbered doorways, to room 38. Hansel turned the key in the lock, opened the door, and waved them inside. "For you peoples, you writes me your numbers," Hansel said. "You goes to the tables, bitte."

On the desk, Ethan saw an order form requesting ski length, boot size, and other pertinent information. Ethan labeled one column E's, another B's, and filled in the spaces. Handing Hansel the paper, he asked, "What time tomorrow do the lifts open?"

Hansel shrugged, "Mostly early. I calls you for breakfasts."

Hansel gave Brad the key, wished them good night, and shut the door. While Brad used the bathroom, Ethan stood at the window, studying the precipitous slopes dropping down to a valley. Brad had not shut the door, and Ethan said, "This'll make the White Mountains seem like beginner's runs."

The toilet flushed, Brad moved behind Ethan, reached between Ethan's arms, and unbuttoned his jacket. Brad blew in Ethan's ear. "I wasn't kidding -- I want your hard cock."

"Oh, fuck, Brad," Ethan sighed. "I want yours too, but it'll complicate things."

Brad unbuttoned Ethan's dress shirt; he stroked Ethan's stomach. "It'll simplify things. We'll be living together. You won't have to run to the jack-off arcades." He loosened Ethan's belt, unzipped his slacks, knelt, and pulled down Ethan's pants.

Brad turned Ethan around, kissed his belly button, and licked his way down to Ethan's dick. He put his lips around Ethan's shaft, slid them up and down a few times, then ran his tongue around Ethan's crown a few times.

Time lost all meaning, the room spun, Ethan's eyes would not focus. Pressure built in his head until he expected his brain to explode through his ears, but when Brad shoved his finger up Ethan's rear, the pressure released through his cock in rapid- fire spurts.

PART IX

Chapter Thirty-Three

Into the Forest

Dave's laugh woke Jeff after five hours sleep. "You must awakes, Yeffster Five, und we rides pachycephalosauruses these mornings."

Sitting up, rubbing his eyes, Jeff muttered, "You can suck on my cock, massager. What time is it anyway?"

Bony Dave, blue eyes aglow, smiled, "Six-thirty. I offered to suck it last night but you were tired."

Hard-boned now, Jeff said, "I wish I'd taken you up on your offer. Do we have time?"

"Not for me to do it right. Let's get going."

At the east portal, Matthias and Hogarth had lined up the bone-heads. Matt Devon and Joe had mounted Blitzen and Dancer. Matthias would ride little Cupid with Blitz perched on his shoulder. Hogart had co-opted Comet, Jeff took Donner, Dave took Prancer, the two Rhode Island grads Ethan and Brad took Vixen and Dasher.

At seven, Matthias cried, "Goes!" and the bone-heads galloped through the portal. Crossing the prairie they spread out, trotting eight abreast toward the woods. When they reached the evergreen forest, they paused.

Waving a knife nearly as long as he was tall, Hogarth said, "For we finds us deadest dinosauruses, und we butchers them snicker-snack."

Hogarth led them into the forest single file, weaving between pines trees whose needles filtered the sunlight. Riding behind Hogarth, Jeff spotted movement. "Something," he said.

"Safirpanzer, howsoever ist living," Hogarth replied.

As they entered a clearing, Jeff saw his first Safirpanzer, named the 'sapphire tank-dinosaur' because bony armor decorated the blue brontosaur's hide. The top of Jeff's head reached the animal's knee; the Safirpanzer had mean-looking claws.

In the forest again, they had ridden for an hour when they heard a faint commotion off to their right. Hogarth turned the troop, they moved forward slowly, and the faint commotion became growls.

"Many gross allosauruses," Hogarth said.

They were now in a marsh where the bone-heads' feet splashed through muck, crushing horsetails. Bright sunshine ahead indicated they were approaching another clearing, and Hogarth entered it cautiously. When Jeff paused beside him, he saw five allosaurs lined up on a lake shore no more than a quarter-mile distant. Jeff recognized them as allosaurs from their three- fingered hands -- otherwise, they looked like the two-fingered T. Rex, but smaller.

The allosaurs had chased a baby Safirpanzer into the water; they seemed disinclined to swim after him. Though they snarled, growled, and spat, they stayed on the bank harassing the juvenile no larger than Donner.

Matthias yelled, "For you leaves him alonest, verdammt allosauruses. You scares him."

The nearest allosaur looked at Matthias, roared, and trotted toward the riders, which might have saved the allosaur's life because just then a full-grown Safirpanzer eighty-feet long broke into the clearing. It reared up on its hind legs, bellowed a challenge, and forty tons of pissed-off relative came crashing down on two allosaurs.

"No no," Hogarth wailed, "for she ruins their hides."

Meanwhile, the first allosaur had approached to within a hundred yards, and Matthias yelled, "Raus!" [Get out!]

Matthias's cry galvanized the bone-heads, whirling and racing back across the marsh, through the trees, and onto the prairie.

Well out of the woods, Matthias called his herd to a halt. "Ha ha! Very slowest allosauruses, deadest also."

Hogarth said, "Mein Freund Matthias, we rides northways und we finds carcasses fuer wallets and belts."

As the group walked their bone-heads northward, Ethan Oliver, wearing a gold pin on his collar Jeff had not seen Monday, said, "It must be fifty degrees hotter here than where I've been staying."

Jeff said, "The day we played golf, you and Brad were in room three-fifty vee."

"Paul moved me into the Lambda Lodge on Mount Menton. I've been giving ski lessons. Look behind us and you can see the mountaintop."

Looking back, Jeff could not see the mountaintop; black, billowing clouds surging toward him blocked his view. "We're in for a storm," he told Matthias. "Should we go back to the hotel?"

"No no! I needs mein hides," Hogarth said.

Saying, "Kommen mit mir, you alles," Matthias turned around and galloped south to a typical Alpha structure, individual rooms surrounding a courtyard and everything constructed of concrete. "Us which builded the brontosaurus lookouts lived herein," Matthias explained. Slapping Cupid's flank, he said, "You comes und the rain stops, ja?" The bone-heads trotted toward the hotel.

Would this be a storm or a squall? Jeff wondered, entering a westside room, a step down from the Camp Wilkins rooms with one double bed and a chair but no dresser. Why had these windows been barred? Allosaurs rarely left the forest, and they could not have fit through the small opening.

Matthias had followed Jeff into the room, and Jeff asked him, "Why the bars?"

On his knees, Matthias crawled toward the bed. He answered, "Velociraptors und they's claws what goes snicker-snack. Ha ha! Mein Wuerfel! Hogarth, you comes here und we plays." As Jeff left the room, Matthias rolled three dice on the floor.

In the courtyard, Jeff noticed two differences between this workmen's camp and Camp Wilkins. Thick glass covered this courtyard and a steel gate shut off the entry. Looking up through the roof, Jeff watched the first raindrops fall.

Jeff found an unoccupied room, went in, and lay down. The rising wind sang its lullaby, nearly putting Jeff to sleep before the door's creaking roused him. "Dave?"

"Hiya, twink." Dave sat on the bed, kissed Jeff's neck, rubbed his tail. "I've got time to do it right."

Jeff said, "And I've got time to do you right. Lose those clothes, roomie." Jeff also stripped, but before he did he put a Coco-Fun packet on the pillow.

When Dave lay facedown and bare, Jeff did the things Dave had taught him. He spent time kneading Dave's scalp -- Jeff loved having his own scalp massaged -- then gradually worked down Dave's neck, shoulders, back, to the top of his butt.

Jeff spread Dave's cheeks and looked at the dimple. Further down, as he rubbed, Dave's groan prompted Jeff's question, "Why are we so sensitive there?"

"Our choad's connected to our cocks," Dave answered.

Jeff rolled Dave over; as he played with Dave's balls, Dave's sac tightened, his dick turned bright pink, and he wiggled.

Jeff asked, "Should I do anything else before I bust you?"

"I'm ready," Dave said.

Jeff opened the lube, greased his hand, then Dave's cock. Sitting, as Jeff slid his fingers up and down Dave's long, skinny prick, he watched Dave's abs tremble, his calves tense, his chest flush. When Dave's toes curled, Jeff squeezed Dave's dick tight, jacked him fast, and snot spewed through Dave's slit. This was a notable cum; spunk flew as far as Dave's face.

If Jeff had cum as hard as Dave had, he would have lost interest, but not Dave. He opened his eyes, smiled, pulled Jeff beside him, asking, "My mouth or my hand?"

"Whichever."

"My mouth then."

After Jeff creamed, when they were dressing, he told Dave, "Your oral talents are improving. The first time you sucked me, you had to finish me with your hand -- not any more."

"I'll catch up to you as soon as I shower," Dave said. "I shot that shit in my hair."

Jeff went into the courtyard, listened to the rain pepper the roof, and looked through the gate. A Protoceratops the size of a hog ambled from the forest, looked at Jeff, lowered his head, and grazed heedless of the storm.

Matt was playing shuffleboard with Joe; Ethan sat at a picnic table across from Brad; glumly, Matthias totaled his three dice. As Hogarth was taking his turn, Blitz bounded through the open bedroom doorway, rushed to the gate, and chirped at the Proto. Responding to Blitz, the Proto came to the gate. Blitz ran to Jeff, pulled the hair on Jeff's leg. Believing Blitz wanted to play with the Proto, Jeff swung the gate open.

A velociraptor pack swarmed from the woods as the Proto entered the compound. The raptors shrieked, they held their killer claw high, they charged the compound.

With the Proto safely inside, Jeff slammed the gate shut, threw the bolt, and retreated to the table where he sat beside Ethan.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Besieged

Rain fell in sheets, the temperature dropped, and the velociraptors remained at the entry. Their size did not intimidate -- Brad's retriever weighed more -- but their razor- sharp talons and those flashing teeth terrified; Brad would hear their caws in his nightmares.

The largest raptor leapt onto the roof; he examined the courtyard through the glass. From below, Brad saw the six-inch curved claw, which would have disembowled either the Proto or Brad with one kick, click impatiently.

The German boys took the raptors in stride, continuing their dice game. Matthias would roll the three dice, total them, write down the sum. Then Hogarth would roll, and whoever had the higher total won.

As Brad watched from the doorway, Matthias gloated, "Yes yes! For I has five, four, und six makes fifteens. You tries und beats that, Hogarth."

Hogarth rolled and clapped his hands. "Ha ha, I has two sixes und one fours makes sixteens und I wins."

Matthias closed his eyes, pressed his hands against his temples, and Brad asked, "What are you doing?"

Hogarth answered, "The concentrations, they ist prominent."

Leaving the boys, Brad stood behind Ethan at the picnic table, kneading Ethan's shoulders and watching the raptors. The one who had been on the roof crouched at the gate snorting at the Protoceratops. Others huddled behind him, while still others circled the building testing the bars for loose bolts.

Jeff, beside Ethan, said, "We should've brought jackets."

Ethan said, "An hour ago, shorts and a T-shirt were too many clothes -- now they aren't nearly enough."

Squeezing Ethan's neck, Brad said, "I think I'll curl up under a blanket."

Would Ethan curl up with him? That was the question Brad considered as he entered the room two doors down from the room Jeff and Dave had used. Monday night at the lodge Brad had got what he had wanted, Ethan's hard cock. On Tuesday, though, when Brad had been giving Ethan a backrub and had reached under Ethan to rub more than his back, Ethan had said, "Look, Brad, what happened last night doesn't change things, all right? You're straight, I'm straight, we're all straight."

Yet Brad was not straight, nor was he gay, nor did he wish to be either. His bisexuality suited him, allowing him to enjoy Chris Taylor's mouth, Ethan's dick, and his girlfriend. Brad had no desire to limit his options; he saw no reason anyone would. Hoping for company, Brad kicked off his sneakers, climbed in bed, and he waited. As warmth returned, he drifted asleep.

One hour later, Ethan's shaking wakened Brad to a world lit with sunshine. The cloudburst had passed, the bone-heads had driven off the raptors. The group returned to the lake where they helped Hogarth skin the crushed but salvageable allosaurs.

Galloping toward the hotel, Ethan told Brad, "Jeff thinks Paul is going to offer us jobs as ski instructors."

"You'll do well," Brad said.

"You won't stay?"

"I'd rather get laid," Brad answered.

After that quick exchange, Ethan turned pensive, saying little else as they rode the bone-heads through the portal, dismounted, thanked Matthias for a great day, and went to their room. While Ethan showered, Brad considered calling Chris Taylor, then Ethan came out of the bathroom wearing not even a towel and those thoughts evaporated.

Ethan tossed Brad a packet of Anal Lube, put a pillow in the middle of his bed, and lay on it, offering his fabulous rear end. "If it costs me my ass to get you to stay here, you've got it," he said.

Brad sat beside him, stroking his butt. "This isn't real original, but I can't put the genie back in the bottle, E-man -- maybe you can, but I can't. After last Monday night, things'll never be the same as they were."

Ethan said, "I told you sex was going to complicate things. I'm sorry I shot in your mouth, incidentally. You pressed my button and my squirt-gun went off."

Kissing Ethan's shoulder, Brad said, "Don't be sorry -- I like how you taste." Swatting Ethan's buns, he added, "Get dressed. I never pop somebody's cherry on an empty stomach."

Downstairs across from Dino-burger they were sitting on a park bench, eating Allosaur Appetizers when Matthias ran up to them, exclaiming, "Herr Ethan und Bradster, for Yared, he sees gross stegosauruses of Lakes Borogovia und tomorrow nights we rides there in newest tanks mit mein friend youthfullest Edgars!"

"Tomorrow I'll be back in little Rhody," Brad said.

"No he won't," Ethan contradicted. "Sign us up."

Saying, "You goes und you meets youthfullest Edgars," Matthias raced off to recruit more passengers for tomorrow's excursion.

Brad asked Ethan, "What do you know that I don't?"

Ethan swallowed sushi, smiled, answered, "I know how bad you want me, and after you have me you'll want more." He rose, discarded his paper plate, and said, "Let's go see the new tanks and meet Edgar."

They took the path between the golf courses, leading past the jacuzzi and the teen pool. In the hangar, they saw a young man oiling the treads on one of two tanks half the size of the panzerfausts. Brad stuck out his hand, saying, "Hi, I'm Brad Greenwood and this is my friend, Ethan Oliver. Matthias invited us along to Lake Borogovia."

The mechanic wiped his fingers on a rag. Shaking hands, he said, "I'm Tom Edgar. How do you like the machines?"

"They're small," Ethan answered.

"They're fast," Tom said, "They'll run circles around those PF's. Top speed of fifty and they'll cruise all day at forty." He patted the tread. "We could get to the rookery and back in two hours. Camp Wilkins is a day trip. Want to go for a test drive?"

"The sun's going down," Brad pointed out.

Climbing the ladder attached to the side of the tank, Tom said, "These babies aren't afraid of the dark."

Ethan climbed behind Tom; Brad climbed behind Ethan resisting the temptation to bite. Inside the tank, taking a seat in one of twelve chairs, Brad asked, "Is there any advantage to the little tanks besides speed?"

Tom, sliding into the driver's seat, answered, "Just listen to this." Instead of turning the key as a driver would have in the panzerfaust, Tom flipped a toggle switch, producing a faint, high-pitched hum. "She's electric," Tom said. "I've been developing battery cables down in Gondwana. This thing cranks out two-hundred amps."

Silent, compared to the larger tanks, the electro-tank slid through the west portal, onto the prairie. She reached the forest in five minutes; when she stopped, Tom flipped another switch, and spotlights lit the woods. "This will be dramatic up north where there's nocturnals," Tom said. As he returned to the compound, he asked, "Could I crash with you guys tonight? They haven't assigned me a room yet. I can sleep on the floor."

Ethan answered, "There's plenty of room. We've got two beds."

On the way to 350V, Brad bought a six-pack of Alphabrau; in their room, he gave one to Tom, took one for himself, but Ethan declined, saying, "I haven't recovered from the brontosaur lookout."

After three beers, the slender mechanic whose spotless white tee belied his occupation, slouched in his chair. "What does a guy do to bust a nut around here?"

Brad smiled, "I haven't done anything except grease up my hand."

"I'm familiar with that routine." Tom yawned, "Point me in the right direction and I'm out for the night."

Ethan suggested Tom take the bed nearer the windows. While the mechanic used the bathroom, Ethan stripped and climbed into bed nude, saying, "We'll have to be quiet."

Brad showered after Tom vacated the bathroom, dried off, and turned out the light. In bed behind Ethan, he lubed Ethan's hole, his own cock, and lay waiting. If Ethan backed onto him, cool; if not, he had as soon blow Ethan and stroke.

Slowly, deliberately, Ethan took Brad's meat up his ass, inching backward until Brad's prick filled him. Then began the impossible assignment of fucking Ethan noiselessly; each thrust and Brad wanted to scream. He would have wagered tight pussy was the ultimate sex, but this was incredible.

Ready to cum much too quickly, Brad stopped moving, wiggled Ethan's hardon, and whispered, "Are you okay?"

"Better than that," Brad replied. "I'm trying to hold off till you shoot."

Listening, Brad heard nothing from Tom's bed, so on the next thrust he allowed himself a low moan. Approaching blast-off, the feelings got better and the noises got louder. Each time Brad rammed his cock into Ethan, both groaned; by the time he and Ethan started creaming he no longer cared whether Tom heard them or not.

Chapter Thirty-Five Sunday Morning

Tom ate breakfast Sunday morning with Ethan and Brad at Chez Alpha's rooftop buffet. When he asked them what they were going to do between now and the tank ride, they answered that they were going skiing, that they would teleport to Lambda Lodge. Sipping orange juice, Tom said the guidebooks listed Lambda Lodge as exclusively gay. Brad and Ethan assured him they qualified. Ethan went for a second helping; Tom stayed at the table with Brad.

Tom asked, "What made you want sex with a guy?"

Brad mopped egg yolk with toast, ate it, and answered, "If you haven't ever tried it you ought to. It's not like anything you've done with your girlfriend. Another guy knows what to do to your dick." Running his finger down the back of Tom's hand, Brad asked, "When you're beating your meat, do you think about your friends beating theirs?"

"Sometimes -- actually a lot of the time," Tom admitted.

"Go see Chris Taylor at the video arcades," Brad advised.

After breakfast, Tom thanked his friends for the bed, told them he would see them that evening, and followed them down to the causeway where they turned right, he turned left. At the video arcade, though, the clerk selling tokens said that Chris had gone to Camp Wilkins for the weekend.

A boy on his own with free time on his hands, Tom walked along the south wing. At eight o'clock on Sunday morning nothing was open, so Tom took the guidebook from his hip pocket and turned to the section headed 'We Never Close.' The main pool was available, but Tom did not want to swim yet, which left him the choice of various religious services, the jack-off booths, or the steam bath. Holding onto the booths as a fallback plan, Tom followed directions taking him to the south course's clubhouse, then west past a padlocked swimming pool into a building with a sign reading SAUNA.

Tom walked down the hall past a door labelled LADIES to the door labelled MEN. Entering, he found himself in a dressing room; he took off his jeans, his T-shirt, hung them in a locker, and wrapped a towel around his waist. The next door led him into a room so thick with mist Tom could barely make out the room's other occupant.

"Hello there," Tom said.

"Hello yourself. Come have a seat."

Able to see the man now, Tom guessed that he either played sports or ran. He had a toned upper body, good legs, and the parts the towel didn't cover were tanned.

"I'm Tom Edgar," Tom said, offering his hand.

"Ewan McPherson." Ewan firm grip confirmed Tom's diagnosis. "Are you here with your parents, Tom?"

"I work here, servicing and driving the electro-tanks we brought up from Gondwana. Are you here with your wife?"

"No," Ewan answered, "quite frankly I was glad my firm arranged it so's I'd be away from her awhile. We've not been getting along lately." Ewan's accent reminded Tom of Sean Connery's. "Did you grow up in the states, then?"

"Bend, Oregon," Tom answered.

"I'm from Glasgow," Ewan said.

"That's in Scotland."

"Aye," Ewan said.

Utterly inexperienced at picking up anyone -- Tom had dated the girl across the street all through high school -- he waited for Ewan to make the first move. Finally, Ewan said, "I'd imagine you're popular with the girls."

"I was too busy working on my car to ever go out much," Tom said.

"Then you must be quite an expert with your hand, I expect."

"Practice makes perfect," Tom agreed. "How long have you been married?"

"Since I was your age, six years." Assuming Ewan was guessing Tom's age correctly, that would make him twenty-four. "Could I interest you in a breakfast?"

"I just ate, but I'll drink a cup of coffee with you," Tom said, "after we shower."

In the shower, the mutual attraction became apparent. Tom washed Ewan's back, Ewan washed Tom's, and they got hard. Studying Tom, Ewan said, "That's a nice piece of equipment you've got between your legs, Tommy."

"You too," Tom replied, "but I didn't think they circumcised people in Europe."

"I'd say the men on my boating team are about half and half," Ewan answered.

Both in jeans, Ewan in a sport shirt, Tom in his tee, they went to Dino-Omelet next door to Alphaland Entertainment. Seated outside, they talked while Ewan ate scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Between bites, Ewan told of his job as a travelling salesman selling pet supplies, sleeping in motel rooms alone half the time, "So you see that I've had a bit of practice myself," he said.

Tom described growing up in Oregon, rafting in summer, freezing his ass off in winter.

"That would be a shame if anything unpleasant happened to that extremely attractive behind that you have," Ewan said.

As Ewan was paying the check, Matthias's little pet leaped up on the table, grabbed Ewan's uneaten orange slice, and gobbled it. Seconds later, Matthias arrived. "For you must has bester manners, Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus. You must asks first, such as, may I has this unused bacon, Herr Ewan?"

"Certainly, Matthias," Ewan said, signing the credit card form. "Was that whistle helpful?"

"Yes yes!" Matthias mumbled, swallowing bacon, "for I demonstrates." Matthias wiped his mouth on his sleeve, took a whistle from his smock pocket, and blew it. Tom heard no sound, but Blitz leapt onto Matthias's shoulder.

"It's a dog-whistle," Ewan explained.

"Yes yes, und you is kindest to supplies it for me, und in thanksgivings, I invites you to sees gross stegosauruses mit our friend youthfullest Thomas tonights." He tapped Tom's knee. "When we leaves?"

"If we want to be at the forest when the sun sets I'd say no later than five."

"Then I will tells Yared, und he will tells massager und drawer und Yo und alles others." Matthias skipped off with a half-piece of toast and Blitz still on his shoulder.

Rising, Ewan squeezed Tom's neck. "I've a room nearby we could make ourselves comfortable," Ewan said.

Accompanying Ewan upstairs, Tom hoped he would not make a fool of himself, would not shoot too fast, would not be too nervous to shoot at all, would not hesitate to suck Ewan if Ewan wanted to be sucked, or to jack him, or whatever.

On the third floor Tom followed Ewan into a room just like Ethan and Brad's, two beds, a balcony, and the glass-walled bathroom Tom had been too self-conscious to beat off in last night. He might not have been able to blow his load anyway; beer deadened his dick.

Ewan sat on a bed, untied a tennis shoe, and asked, "Have you ever made love to a man before, Tommy?"

"Nuh uh," Tom gulped, now wondering whether he could even get hard again.

"Neither have I," Ewan said, "so we'll just have to do what feels good to us, shall we?"

"Uh huh."

Ewan may not have had sex with a man, but he'd had sex with a partner, and he knew how to get started. He asked Tom to lie on the bed, lay on top of Tom, kissing him everywhere, mouth, nipples, navel, and dick. He sucked Tom's meat till it stiffened, lifted his head, and sucked his thick middle finger.

Ewan said, "The ladies of Edinburgh charge me an extra three quid for this service." Stroking Tom's butthole, he asked, "Am I entering uncharted waters?"

"Totally," Tom answered. "Uh!"

Once lodged in Tom's ass Ewan's finger stayed steady while Ewan licked Tom's balls and the places surrounding his balls. When he had raised Tom to the heights, he busted him by sliding his finger nearly out of Tom's hole, ramming it home, and sucking Tom's dick-knob while jacking the shaft.

"Wow," Tom said as his head cleared, "what do you want me to do?"

Stretching out beside Tom, Ewan answered, "Use your imagination, Tommy."

Repeating what Ewan had done would take no imagination, but if Ewan had paid an extra three quid for a finger-fuck Tom would include it. He did not trust his spit, though, to lube his finger enough, so he went into the bathroom, smeared it with soap, and returned. Sitting next to Ewan, working his finger up into him, Tom asked, "How did the lady in Edinburgh pop you?"

Eyes closed, breathing deeply, Ewan answered, "With her hand, but don't touch my cock for a bit. This is wonderful."

Since Ewan didn't want Tom touching his cock, Tom touched where Ewan had licked. Every so often, a spasm rippled through Ewan; his hole squeezed Tom's finger and his stomach muscles tensed. When Tom saw the vein in Ewan's neck throb, he asked, "Can I finish you yet?"

"Bloody right," Ewan answered.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Derek Collins

Derek Collins attended the eleven o'clock mass with his roommates and a hardon. Derek's uncle, Father John Riley, had supplied a room for Derek and three friends, but the room had only two beds. The luck of the draw had paired Derek with Charlie Evans, a gangly six-foot-four-inch spiderboy who had taken his half of the bed plus most of Derek's. At dawn, Derek had gone to the rooftop to watch the sun rise.

Derek's hardon resulted from too much stimulation combined with too little masturbation. Both afternoons since arriving on Alpha he had swum in the teen pool and had witnessed many deserving receptacles; both nights, he had had no chance to fantasize those receptacles hand-on-dick, not even in the bathroom, that strange glass-walled bathroom.

After mass, outside St. George's chapel, Derek told Father Riley, "It's great to see you again, Uncle John. Have you been homesick at all?"

"Only for my sister's fine cooking, and where are your roommates?"

"They'll be out in a minute. Scooter's talking to somebody about playing the guitar Wednesday night." Late morning sunshine bathed the park across the causeway and the golf course past the park. "This sure beats the weather back home all to heck."

"Indeed it does, Derek," Father John replied.

While they awaited Derek's roommates, a young blond, early teens, with a heterodontosaur on his shoulder, tugged Father John's cassock. "For I wishes to be altar boys," he said.

Smiling, Father John answered, "I'm afraid that's not practical, Matthias. Blitz would have to wait for you outside."

"Oh," Matthias frowned, "then I doesn't wishes it, und I learns alles die verdammt Latins for nothings." Tapping Derek's watch, he said, "Dominus vobiscum. Wie heissen Sie?"

With high school German in his background, Derek answered, "Derek Collins."

"Sehr gut, Herr Derek. I wishes you mein pets to meets, name of Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus, means lightning-quick piglet dinosaurus."

Matt bent down and shook Blitz's outstretched paw.

Matthias blew a silent whistle, Blitz leapt onto his shoulder, and Matthias bounded off; when the roommates came out of the chapel, they went to the rectory where Father John's housekeeper served them a snack. A good-looking woman, Marie had worked for Father John since she had been a good-looking girl. Derek assumed strong sex-drives ran in his family, and he wondered sometimes.

After everyone ate, Charlie and Bill went to the teen pool while Scooter helped Derek wash dishes. A few minutes later, Derek turned the dishwasher on, and he and Scooter followed their friends. Passing the power plant, Derek asked, "Are you as horny as I am? I rubbed myself a little last night but I couldn't squirt without waking Charlie."

Scooter shook his head, saying, "It's dumb we don't share a bed. You wouldn't care what I did -- I wouldn't care what you did."

At the pool, Derek put on his trunks in the changing room, sat in a lounge thinking it strange that stroke-masters Scooter and himself had no more body hair than Charlie and Bill who maintained they had never stroked. Charlie denied ever cumming, Billy admitted infrequent wet dreams, but who really knew? One thing Derek knew: if Billy had a wet dream here on Alpha, Derek would be glad he was sleeping with Charlie. At two p.m., they went to the jacuzzis where Derek rehardened imagining sticking his dick in the jets.

At three, the roommates went back to the rectory for an old- fashioned Sunday dinner of fried chicken, biscuits, and gravy. Derek was imagining himself humping Marie when Father John said, "If I might ask a favor of you, Derek, Bishop O'Dwyer has sent me hymnals. They're in two heavy boxes. Could you and Scooter take them to the vestibule for me?"

The books had been shipped to the teleportation depot, so after dinner Derek and Scooter carried the fifty-pound cartons from the middle of the south wing to the middle of the east wing. Passing the brontosaur lookout terminal, Scooter sat to remove a rock from his shoe while Derek wandered inside. Beside a television screen a sign read: 'Place spread palm against screen and hold in position until you hear the buzzer.' Derek did as suggested, heard a buzzer, and a printer near the rear wall started chattering. He tore the printout from the machine; he read it leaving the station.

"Whatcha got?" Scooter asked; when Derek continued reading, Scooter took the paper and read it aloud. "'You need sex in a hurry or you'll damage your glands. If the 'bator booths don't appeal, go to room 117C. Enter the number 3982 into the keypad. I'm not joking, dude. Go empty your prick.'"

"You didn't have to read it so loud," Derek complained, snatching the paper.

"There's nobody around," Scooter said, lifting his carton.

East wing room numbers began at 115A. The chapel was 116K, L, and M, putting 117C somewhere near the northeast corner. When they had set down the books, Derek told Scooter, "Catch you later." He grinned, "Give my best to our roomies."

"Fat fucking chance," Scooter said.

At 117C Derek punched in the number, heard the door click, opened it, and entered with Scooter close behind. As Scooter bolted the door, Derek saw the glass-walled bathroom, the chair, the double bed. "You are not watching me monkey-spank," Derek said.

"Okay, we'll get under the sheets," Scooter agreed.

Edgy, Derek took off his clothes and crawled under the sheets keeping his back turned to Scooter. On the far side of the bed, Derek rubbed his balls till he stiffened, then gripped his dick. He was already feeling very good when Scooter slid in beside him.

Derek did his best to disregard Scooter despite Scooter's hand-on-sheet noises, but when Scooter reached to the floor beside the bed, Derek asked, "What are you doing?"

"I snagged some lube from the locker," Scooter answered.

After Scooter greased himself the noises got dirtier: sloshing sounds as Scooter's hand jacked his lubed meat, ecstatic moans, labored breathing.

Derek asked, "Did you use all of that?'

"No," Scooter gasped.

"Give me what's left." Derek cupped his palm alongside his thigh expecting Scooter to fill it with lube; instead, a warm slippery hand took hold of his cock.

"Dude," Derek said, "You've got the wrong penis."

"I knew you had a great dick!"

"Leggo my great dick!"

As Scooter's hand began racing, he said, "I want to make it happen for you."

Writhing, Derek said, "Slow down or it'll happen right now."

Dropping to a moderate speed, Scooter delivered a more-than- competent hand job, though toward the end, when Derek groaned, "Oh God, that's so sweet," Scooter's acceleration robbed Derek of a few precious seconds.

After staining the sheet, Derek left the bed, said, "Danke schoen, Blitzenschnell," and turned on the shower. He watched his last spunk drip and float down the drain, then watched Scooter get out of bed, come into the bathroom, and join him.

Glancing at Scooter's cock, Derek said, "You didn't cum like I did."

Doleful, Scooter answered, "I didn't cum at all. It stopped feeling good when you left."

"Christ," Derek said, "you've jacked yourself ten times a week for five years and now all of a sudden it doesn't feel good?"

Scooter placed his greasy hand flat against Derek's chest. "You owe me a favor. I baby sat your brother the night you took out Tara."

Backing away from Scooter's woody, Derek asked, "So what?"

"So beat my meat and make it spit."

Derek sighed, "Turn around." He pulled Scooter's cock till Scooters junk sprayed the glass.

Leaving the room, Derek dropped two Dino-marks on the dresser, a tip for the maid. As he and Scooter returned to their room, they passed the tank hanger where Matthias was standing with Blitz.

Spotting them, Matthias pointed their way. "Herr Derek, you und you friend, does you wishes for to rides mit us tonights to sees grossest stegosauruses? We has tens, we needs twelves."

Why not? Derek thought.

"Better than sleeping with our roommates," said Scooter.

In the hangar Derek climbed the ladder, dropped into the tank, and saw four rows of seats, two on the driver's side, one on the passenger side, with an aisle down the middle. Boys his own age filled the double seats, a guy in his twenties sat in the right rear single seat, so Derek took the seat directly ahead of the guy. Scooter sat in front of Derek, and Matthias took the front row seat.

The boy across the aisle from Derek introduced himself, "Hi, I'm Matt Devon from Phoenix."

"Nice meeting you. I'm Derek Collins from Drake's Bay, California, the land without summer."

PART X

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Stegos

After three weeks on Alpha, Matt now classified boys on the same one-to-ten scale he had formerly graded only girls. He rated Joe Lang sitting beside him a ten, Dave Butler sitting in front of him a six, with everyone else in between. On that scale, he put Drake's Bay Derek and his buddy at eight, possibly eight- point-five in fewer clothes.

Matt asked, "Are you interested in dinosaurs?"

Derek's buddy, cute rather than handsome, said, "He's a dino-fanatic. Most guys have pictures of girls on their walls. Derek's got monsters."

Tank driver Tom flipped a switch, and the electro-tank seemed to glide through the portal, a far cry for the bone- jarring, deafening panzerfaust. The tank turned right, and as it sped north across the prairie, Matt tested Derek's expertise. Pointing to Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus, Matt asked, "How would you classify Blitz?"

Derek answered, "The obvious answer is Heterodontosaurus tucki, but the jaw's a tad shorter."

So Derek was an expert. "Do you and your buddy play golf?"

Derek answered, "Scooter and I dick around some on this nine-hole course south of town, but our friend back at the hotel's really good, Billy Olsen, if you've ever heard of him."

"Heard of him -- I've played against him." Two years ago in the Olympic Club's sixteen-and-under tournament Bill Olsen had placed fifth out of forty. "Bill can putt with the best," Matt said.

"He's way out of our league," Scooter replied.

As the sun sank low on the horizon and the tank continued speeding north, Matt turned to Joe. "What did you do last night?" Since they met most often in public, they had devised a code in which Matt's question really meant, 'Who did you do last night."

Joe answered, "Hung out at the pool." Joe's answer meant he hadn't got laid.

Matt said, "Last night was a zero. I fell asleep watching Sci-Fi with Clint."

"Coolest," Joe grinned.

When they came to the forest, Tom turned the tank left toward the hadrosaur rookery. Ten minutes later, he stopped at a stream where four stegos were drinking. Though only half the size of Triceratops, stegos had been Matt's favorite dino as a child. "I love those spiked tails," he told Derek.

"I don't care what anybody says," Derek replied, "those plates have got to be thermoregulators."

As blackness settled in outside the tank, the stegos lumbered off and Tom turned on the floodlights, showing the forest canopy alive with leaf-eating dinosaurs. "Othnelias?"

"Some kind of basal ornithiscian, for sure," Derek answered.

At seven, returning to the hotel, Tom's intercom squawked, he pushed a button, and Matt heard, "We're under an allosaur attack, Tommy. They've got sentries posted at the portal. We'll take out a panzerfaust in the morning and chase them away, but you'll have to spend the night in the tank."

"No no," said Matthias, "for we can sleeps where we lives when we builded the lookouts."

Lights glowed in the courtyard as they approached the workers quarters. Hogarth apparently lived here regularly, and he jumped with glee when he saw Matthias. Before the tank had been emptied, the two Deutschenkinder were rolling dice in the room where they had rolled the dice yesterday when the velociraptors had attacked.

Leave it to Joe. In the kitchen, he discovered a case of Alphabrau. In the rec room, he found a deck of playing cards. "Anybody for poker?" he asked.

Jeff asked, "What'll be our chips?"

"Our clothes," Jeff answered, "but only down to our shorts with the kids here."

In the room Dave and Jeff had used yesterday, the men sat in roughly the same formation Matt and his adolescent pals had used for their round-pounds, in a circle cross-legged on the carpet. Joe dealt the first hand, Scooter opened 'one shoe,' everybody dropped out, eleven shoes went into the circle.

After twenty minutes things were getting more enjoyable each hand. Derek was down to his pants and had a nine-point-four torso. Scooter had lost his pants but had been wearing trike- trunks underneath and was still in the game. Matt awarded Scooter's legs an eight-point-eight.

The next hand, when Tom folded, he stood. "I'm done. I'll see you guys after while."

"Lose those jeans, Tommy," Jeff said.

Tom said, "I'm not wearing any underwear."

"Lock the door and lose them anyway," Jeff said.

Thanks to Jeff's change of rules, Matt soon saw Tom's stubby; as the game progressed he saw Jeff's, Dave's, Greg's, Joe's (no ten-pointer dickwise), his own, Derek's, Ethan's, Brad's, Ewan's (the mid-twenties Scotsman), and Dennis's, leaving only tour guide Jared still in his briefs.

Joe said, "Take those things off -- they make me self- concious."

Jared said, "It's my man-meat that'll make you self- conscious" and wiggled out of his shorts.

"Hey, Ewan," Joe said, "tell us something really nasty about girls up in Glasgow."

Ewan, whose build Matt hoped to have six years hence, leered wolfishly. "Aye, laddie, but it isn't in Glasgow they're nasty. It's in Edinburgh. I've me this lady there -- not for free, mind you -- but for a price she'll do anything and I do mean anything." As Ewan described the lady's practices, different boys reacted differently. Jared bonerized when Ewan described her tight pussy, Dave when Ewan called her tits 'huge.' Jeff sprouted wood to tales of Ewan eating her box, Derek to tales of Ewan pronging her.

"And I've saved the best for last, boys," Ewan said. "For an extra three quid she'll do the soddy, where she shoves her finger up your bung and wiggles it inside you while she sucks on your cock."

Ewan filled in the pornographic details so skillfully that by the end of his story no limp dick was left. Greg rose, pulled up jockey shorts that didn't hide his monstro stiffy very well, and snickered, "I hope nobody'll miss me. I hear the sperm bank's running low on grade-A jissum."

Some dressed blushing, some dressed matter-of-factly, but eventually all dozen travellers wore either blue jeans, trike- trunks, or shorts. Dave unlocked the door, they went out to the courtyard, and Jeff handed out the pink box lunches that always seemed to feature tuna sandwiches, celery, and potato chips.

Eating beside Matt, Derek said, "I can't imagine how stegosaurs mate."

Matt quoted the old joke about porcupines, "Very carefully," then told about watching the brachiosaurs at the lookout, ending, "I don't guess it's any harder for a dino than for an elephant."

Across the table, Joe teased, "You were hard, Mattster. For you were very, very hardest as Derek."

"We were all very, very hardest," Matt said.

Gradually, solo or paired, boys went into the sleeping rooms: Derek alone, Scooter alone, Jeff with Dave, Ethan with Brad, Ewan with Tom, Dennis with Greg, Jared solo.

"Well," Joe grinned, "you can either sleep by yourself and jack lonesome, or you can sleep with me and get jacked."

"You've skipped the alternatives," Matt said, standing. "Come on, pal."

As they undressed in the room between Jared's and Scooter's Matt marvelled anew at Joe's awesome physique. "You may be a dipshit time to time, but you're undoubtedly gorgeous," Matt said.

Naked, his cock almost vertical, Joe said, "Could I interest you in something more intense than a hand- or a blow-job?"

Pausing with his shorts at his knees, Matt said, "You want to do what?"

Smile vanished, Joe said earnestly, "For you to stick that wet dong of yours deep up inside me. Don't look disgusted -- you said you fucked Sasha."

Matt stepped out of his shorts, dropped them on his trike- trunks, and said, "Yeah I fucked Sasha. I tore up his ass, and like I told you, Sasha'd had practice."

"Studly," Joe answered, "I need the first spunk I take up my chute to squirt out of the guy the guy I most respect. I don't usually talk this way. Don't make me sound like a retard, Mattster."

Pretending indifference, Matt shrugged, "Sure thing. Where's the lube and what position?"

Joe took two Anal Lube packets from the shorts he had set on the chair, handed them to Matt, and said, "Position? However you gave it to Sasha."

"Doggie-style."

Joe licked his lips, climbed on the bed, and crouched waiting. "Way coolest," he said.

Matt greased his dick, lubed Joe's bung, and climbed aboard. Chest glued to Joe's back, Matt felt for Joe's hole. Finding it, he pressed his dick-knob against it; then, listening for any hint of suffering, he penetrated Joe as he had penetrated Sasha: slowly, pausing after each inch. When he was fully inserted, Matt said, "You redefine stoic."

Joe's voice bespoke awe. "You just redefined sex, Mattster. I'm starting to cum."

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Trivia Buff

Scooter was lying awake Monday night, contemplating all the wonderful things that had happened, when the door opened, the light went on, and Hogart asked, "For why ist you occupying mein beds, Scootster?"

Glad he had not started spanking, Scooter said, "Sorry, I didn't know this was your room."

Hogarth frowned, thought, then said, "Surely ist mine for I customarily sleeps here, howsoever you can stays if you wishes, und I sleeps on the bricks."

Saying, "No, but thanks anyway," Scooter took his pants, his shoes, and went out to the courtyard wearing briefs and a tee. He saw Derek sitting at the picnic table and sat next to him. "What happened? Were you sleeping in Matthias's bed?"

Derek, wearing the same clothes as Scooter, shook his head. "I got one of those leg cramps and walked it off, then I got thinking." He squeezed Scooter's arm, stood, and said, "If I can sleep with Charlie I can for sure sleep with you. Come on."

Scooter carried his things to Derek's room and climbed into bed beside him. At the hotel, Scooter had been sleeping with Bill Olsen in a queen-size bed; tonight, sleeping with the equally large Derek in a double caused excellent contact. On his back, his shoulder brushing Derek's, Scooter asked, "What were you thinking about?"

Derek answered, "How much fun we've missed out on, about the nights I stayed at your house and didn't jack off because I thought it'd be gay, and the same when you stayed at my house. I guess it's like Terry says, jacking off with a friend is just part of growing up."

"We've read on the net about a lot of guys jerking off together and they all say they're straight." Since taking hold of Derek's hand might be considered quite gay, Scooter left his own at his side. "Beating the meat has been such an important part of our lives, you and me. I don't see how Bill and Charlie survive."

"Well," Derek said, "we survived without it for thirteen years."

Pushing his luck, Scooter rolled on his side, slid his hand into Derek's T-shirt, and stroked those excellent abs. "Your comparison makes sense for Charlie -- assuming he's telling the truth and never has cum -- but Billy has those wet dreams."

Not objecting to Scooter's petting, Derek said, "Assuming he does."

Scooter's hand rested on the hair below Derek's navel. "Dude, but he does. Either that or he uses his pajamas pants as a cumrag. When I helped him with his laundry they were stiffer than shit." Scooter slid his hand across the down between Derek's pects.

Derek chuckled, "Somebody our age, one of our best buddies, and he sleeps in pajamas. Even by Drake's Bay standards that's strange."

The sultry heat had caused sweat to seep from Derek's chest; Scooter's hand drifted across it, lingering over Derek's firm nipples. "The first time I jacked off was on Thursday, June sixth. I'd been feeling funny at practice, and when we were walking to your place we talked about how Fritz said he could make yucky stuff come out of his boner, so I got home and was reading something, and I thought about trying it. I got under the covers so if Julie came in she'd think I was sleeping." Scooter tweaked Derek's left nipple. "June sixth is not called D-day for nothing."

"You remember more trivia than anybody, Scoot."

Scooter's hand glided across Derek's chest, tried to enter his armpit, but the shirt kept him out. "The first time you jacked off was on Saturday, June eighth. You've always been slow catching on."

Derek snorted, "I got so sick of hearing you brag I had to try it myself. Get your hand out of my shirt and I'll take it off." Hand gone, Derek sat, peeled off his tee, lay back down.

Able now to invade Derek's pit, Scooter stroked the damp, curly hair. "The first time we jacked off online was Thursday, July fourth."

"Yeah, I haven't thought about that in a while. We'd planned to go to the beach, but the fog was so thick we stayed home, and you messaged me that there was this new chat room you'd found where guys could meet horny girls. The one we talked to was probably a guy."

Scooter's fingers left Derek's farther armpit, crossed his chest, and entered the nearer pit. Squeezing Derek's biceps, Scooter said, "Her online name was Tanya, and she asked for details about our dicks, which she called our cocks. That was the day I learned yours curved up."

"I guess I thought everybody's did. We didn't start watching porn till later that summer."

Leaving Derek's armpit, Scooter's hand coasted down his side to his waistband. Sliding along the waistband, Scooter brushed the top of Derek's pubes. "Saturday, August third at Jeff Winslow's. The movie was Big-titted Babes, and Terry got so hot he left early."

"It didn't heat you and me all that bad, I don't think."

"Nah," Scooter agreed, "they didn't look human, and besides, neither one of us gets off on lesbo hardcore."

"True." Derek rolled over, onto his stomach. "If you're going to explore me, explore my left calf -- it's what cramped."

Scooter knelt, found the muscle, massaged it. "When we rented Teen Angel it was a whole other story. That was the first time I saw your junk, a big chunky wad that for some reason didn't flush."

"I was in shock after I shot. The problem was your bathroom door didn't lock right and I while I was jacking I was afraid your sister'd walk in on me and I wanted her to but I didn't. Then after I blew, I couldn't believed I'd risked it." Bending his leg, Derek said, "My calf feels fine -- rub higher."

Like Derek's chest, sweat coated his thigh, but because of the hair his thigh seemed less slick. "Then there was December twenty-ninth last year. Deirdre made you put on a rubber before she'd jack you. After you came, you took it off your dick, and you put it in the glove box."

"And you were looking for gum and you found it and you took it to school and compared my junk with yours. That's when I knew you were loony." Derek rolled onto his back. "Now do that same leg from the front."

The hair on the front of Derek's thigh grew thicker than the hair on the back; there were fewer patches of skin. "On September eighteenth, inspired by your hero Steinfeld . . . '

"Seinfeld," Derek corrected.

"Inspired by your hero Steinfeld, we began the experiment that nearly landed me in the hospital."

Derek laughed, "Anybody so shit-all stupid as to stick his dick in a vacuum cleaner hose deserves to be in an asylum, not a hospital."

Bumping the elastic band at the top of Derek's thigh, at the bottom of his shorts, Scooter asked, "Want your groin muscle rubbed?"

Derek slid out of his briefs, allowing Scooter to see what the dim light had prevented his seeing before.

Scooter said, "You're hard."

"Of course I'm hard. We're discussing sex. I have every right to be hard. Rub my groin muscle."

Scooter assumed that the firm plate extending south from Derek's abs must be his groin muscle, so he rubbed it. "Were you surprised when I grabbed hold of your dick?"

"Just for a second, then it was feeling good except you were going too fast." Derek felt the fly of Scooter's jockeys. "Pre- cum's a pain."

"That's why I hate wrestling with you -- I leak." Was Derek leaking?

Before Scooter could check him, Derek said, "That isn't my groin muscle. Switch places and I'll show you a groin muscle."

Scooter dropped his gooey shorts on the floor; they would dry as stiff as Bill's pajamas. He pulled off his T-shirt, lay down, and Derek massaged the crease between his leg and his nutsac.

Scooter asked, "Does your uncle believe jacking off's bad?"

Applying pressure to a very sensitive part of Scooter's anatomy, Derek answered, "Uncle John never discusses it. I'm sure if I asked him he'd say what he had to, but he isn't anything like . . . what was that priest's name from down south?"

In spite of the tingles in his dick-meat, Scooter laughed. "Father Roberts, April sixth junior year, said that beating off 'represents a serious disruption of the natural order,' whatever that means."

Scooter saw Derek's teeth when he smiled. "If your balls are aching like mine, it's time for disruption."

Disruption became eruption when Derek gripped Scooter's dick. Due to the foreplay, Scooter started off close, and he didn't last long. Derek jacked him briefly, he heard himself grunt, and as his dick-juice rained down, Derek said, "That beats my record all to heck."

"January sixteenth, sophomore year," Scooter wheezed, "eighteen seconds from the time you kicked me out of your room till you said, 'You can come back now. I'm done.'"

Chapter Thirty-Nine

On Top of the Mountain

Monday morning, as the electro-tank waited one mile west of the hotel, employees stood on the roof spraying the fifteen allosaurs with fire hoses. The allosaurs retreated, the portal opened, and the panzerfaust emerged. Its warning shot chased off the allosaurs.

As the dinos sped by, hurrying toward the forest's safety, Jared said from the front of the tank, "Those of you who have been to Camp Wilkins will notice how graceful these animals are compared to the T. rex. We've sent off photographs of the specimen the Safirpanzer squashed to Duke, and Dr. Hume says it resembles Deltadromeus agilis, agile runner from the river delta. Allosaurs aren't as big as a rex, but they're still truly big animals."

They were longer than the electro-tank, Ethan realized watching the fleeing dinos race past.

Jared continued, "Deferring to Dr. Hume's opinion, we will be revising the Alpha website to substitute D. agilis for A. fragilis."

Matt asked, "How could even Dr. Hume determine the difference from a photograph? I've seen the holotypes of both specimens and they're so close that . . . "

Ethan's attention wandered to the stampede outside. He appreciated dinosaurs, liked watching them, but he had no more interest in their skeletons than he did in his dog's back in Providence. Ethan's interests lay in other directions, like skiing. "We ought to go see Paul and find out what the formal offer is," he told Brad.

"I almost wish you hadn't convinced me to stay," Brad said. "You're the Matt Devon of skiing -- I'm awful on skis."

In Paul's office, when Brad had expressed his reservations, Paul asked if he could think of another job he would like. "Lambda Lodge serves as a safe haven for gays, lesbians, bis, and transgendered," Paul said, "a place they can feel comfortable. What are you good at, Brad?"

"Academically?"

"Recreationally," Paul answered.

Brad scratched his head. "Uh, the usual New England sports, basketball, sailing, bicycle riding, tobogganing."

"Perfect," Paul said. "Rick Wilkins -- he runs the place -- was telling me just yesterday that I ought to have something for people to do at the lodge if they don't like to ski. How much do toboggans cost?"

"Toboggans themselves don't cost a lot. I picked up a used Sitka Special for one-fifty. But you have to build a lift to take them back to the starting point."

"We can do that." Paul took a map out of his drawer, set the map on the table, and asked, "Can you read a topo?"

"Sure," Brad replied, studying the map titled Mount Menton. "You'll want to put it right here. It's steep enough to be fun, not steep enough to be lethal."

"I'm booked all week," Paul said. "but let's reconvene this meeting at the lodge Saturday morning. In the meantime, scout out the run and make me a list of the equipment you need with the approximate costs."

Brad asked, "How many people does the lodge hold when it's full?"

"There are a hundred rooms up there, two queen-sized beds each, so if you're talking about really good friends you're talking four-hundred people tops. Two-fifty would be a more reasonable estimate," Paul said.

Ethan walked with Brad from the administration building toward the lodge's teleport depot, stopping for a vanilla milkshake at Banana Split Alpha. As he swallowed the thick, creamy shake, he told Brad, "Last night was good."

Brad smiled Brad's smile, "Every time things just get better, E-man."

As they continued toward the depot, Ethan reflected that things had certainly gotten better this past week. Last Monday Brad had blown him, and the intensity of the experience had shattered any hopes Ethan had held of being straight. Last Friday Brad had pronged him and their shared ecstasy had forged a bond stronger than Ethan could have imagined. The past two nights they had jacked together, also most excellent.

As they were passing the hanger, electro-tank driver Tom Edgar, asked them, "Is there any sledding up where you guys'll be staying?"

Brad answered, "Nobody said anything about sledding, but Paul asked me to check into setting up a toboggan run."

Tom seemed dubious. "I went tobogganing once. The tiredest I ever was was a day I spent with some cousins carrying that hundred-pound thing back uphill."

Brad said, "You must've had an old wood one. Nobody makes them anymore. Nowadays everything's lightweight plastic. I picked up a seven-footer from a guy that hadn't ever used it, and I doubt it weighs forty pounds. Anyway, all the good runs have lifts to carry the toboggans back to the gate."

"Great," Tom said, wiping his hands on a rag, "eighty miles an hour four inches off the ground is a definite rush."

"If I'm reading the topo right," Brad said, "we'll be doing closer to a hundred."

They told Tom they would see him soon, went next door, and entered the lodge's teleport depot. Seconds later, as they walked into the restaurant, Ethan realized what had been nagging him since the meeting with Paul. "It'd be impossible to fit more than, say, eighty people in here, so how do they feed two-fifty?"

"They eat in shifts?" Brad suggested.

The same mid-twenties maitre d' who had seated them last week asked if they wanted some lunch. Full from their milkshakes, they declined.

Ethan asked, "Is this the only restaurant up here?"

"Oh no sir," the maitre d' answered. "You'll want to try Chez Niege. If you'd remained in the depot, you would have gone there next. Picture the second stop for an elevator, but you really should check into your room first. May I make you dinner reservations at Chez Niege?"

"Thank you," Brad answered. Seeing Hansel approaching, he asked, "How come Menton lets Hansel work here. He's not gay, lesbian, bi, or transgendered."

"A very neat point, sir," the maitre d' replied. "Technically our charter reads that visitors and employees may not be exclusively heterosexual, but Mr. Menton liked his phrasing better, and since the Deutschenkinder have no interest in sex whatsoever, Hansel qualifies."

Hansel led them along the hall, past room 38 and its memories, to a set of stairs leading down. They descended two flights, turned left, and followed Hansel along a corridor. Bare rock formed the left wall, as if the lodge had been chipped into the mountainside.

Hansel said, "For here ist where us workers live alles. Mostest climbings for returnings."

The view from the room Hansel led them into justified any climb. Through the window Ethan saw the workers' quarters where he and Brad had spent last night, saw the outline of the hotel in the distance, and much nearer at hand saw the treeline. Ethan asked Hansel, "How high is Mount Menton?"

"Many thousands und thousands of foots," Hansel said.

Ethan noted that this room had only one queen-sized bed; when Hansel had gone, he told Brad, "Sleeping with you is just excellent. It isn't toe-curling like sex, but it's excellent."

Brad had been inspecting the closet; he turned, grinned, said, "Prepare for curled toes." He came to Ethan, unbuttoned his shirt, and Ethan unbuttoned Brad's. Where sex was concerned, Brad led, Ethan followed, so Ethan waited to learn what Brad wanted to do.

He wanted to take off Ethan's jeans, which he did after he pulled off his shoes. He wanted to take off his own jeans, and he wanted to suck Ethan's cock. Kneeling, Brad's mouth jacked Ethan until the room began spinning, but he stopped sucking before Ethan shot, wrestled him onto the bed, and he licked Ethan everywhere he could get to, then said, "Grab the back of your knees and lift your legs in the air."

Severely exposed, with his thighs on his chest and his asshole available, Ethan expected Brad to lube him, and Brad did, using spit he shoved into Ethan with his tongue. Ethan could not have imagined anything lewder, nor much that felt better. As the room began whirling again, he gasped, "Stick it in me. I'm ready."

As Brad crawled onto Ethan, his cock slid into Ethan. Brad braced himself on his right hand, reached between their twined bodies, and jacked Ethan while he fucked him. Every instroke they groaned, every outstroke they gasped.

Sex transformed Brad from a lighthearted boy into an engine of lust. His lower head was in command, demanding he thrust into Ethan; Ethan expressed a reciprocal need by locking his legs around Brad's back.

Eyes bulging, Brad grunted, "Getting close."

"Fill me up," Ethan said and started to cum.

In the shower, washing Ethan's butt-crack, Brad asked, "Do you hurt here?"

Ethan replied, "I did after the first time but not tonight. Your tongue relaxed the muscles and your dick slid right in."

Chapter Forty

Rehearsal

Between washing the first and second e-tanks, Tom Edgar took a break. He climbed to the rooftop to visualize tobogganing down the slopes of Mount Menton. Tom's idea of a perfect weekend would have been crashing down the mountain with Ewan, but Ewan had gone back to Scotland. Would he remember the day they had spent together, or would the memories disappear the first time his Edinburgh girl gave him the soddy?

Melancholy, Tom returned to the hangar where he found Matthias spray-painting the side of Tom's newly washed tank. Neatly, almost professionally, Matthias had stencilled, DER SCHLECT BECHTEL PANZER. "What does that mean?" Tom asked.

Matthias turned and wagged his finger. "For I names these vehicles todays, und I calls these first ones the 'Bad Bechtel Tanks,' und the others I will calls Das Dumm Friedreich Panzer, the 'Stupid Frederick Tanks.' Verstehen Sie?"

Tom explained that while long names might be fine for dinosaurs, short names worked better for tanks. "The guys in Gondwana named their tanks after their girlfriends, like Carrie or Irene."

Matthias shook his head, "Bechtel, he has no friends, for everyones hates him excepting Frederick, und Frederick, he is so stupid he relishes Bechtel even after Bechtel consumes Lukas's filbert cakes und gives him none." Matthias rubbed his chin. "Howsoever, you says tanks names, they ist short?"

"Six letters at most," Tom said.

"On these facts I must reflects," Matthias said.

Matthias was removing DER SCHLECT BECHTEL PANZER with paint thinner, and Tom was washing the other tank when a college-aged boy entered the hangar. Tom estimated his visitor's age at twenty, his height at six-feet, his weight at 180. "Hi, I'm Tom Edgar," Tom said.

"I'm Keith Young. Are those the new battery-operateds?" Tom said they were. "How did you solve the cable problem?"

"Copper cables would have been too thick for the engine compartment, so we used silver," Tom said.

"I just got out of the army." Keith had done his tour of duty with an armored division in Germany. He had come to Alpha to serve as his cousin's best man in a wedding tomorrow.

Matthias turned around, looked Keith over, and asked, "When you was in Deutschland, you visits Hamburg?"

Keith nodded, "I was dating a girl there. She lived on the Kartnerstrasse."

"Ach, die Kartnerstrasse," Matthias said sadly, "for I was growing up on die Kartnerstrasse in Saint George's home for wayward boys. Me und mein freunds, we was abandoned as youths."

Keith, wearing a suit and a tie, removed a letter from his coat. "Could you translate this for me? I don't speak German and Ilse doesn't speak English."

"I will be honored to do so." Matthias took the letter, unfolded it, cleared his throat. "'Mein geliebte Keith,' this girl says, 'I am missing you tails very much.'" Matthias scowled, walked behind Keith, and said, "You has no tails."

"Read the next part," Keith said.

"Ahem, 'we has had fuer ourselfs a very nicest June months, und July, soon to be hot. Mein mother, she wishes you was here for she bakes pies from peaches, und mein father says he wishes to do fishings for the pikes. Writes me please, Ilse.'"

Returning the letter to Keith, Matthias told Tom, "I goes now, und then I returns und ends mein cleanings."

"That's okay, Matthias. I'll take care of it."

"Herr Keith, you comes mit me und I obtains for you mein favoritest specials from Lothar."

That morning Paul Hogan had given Tom the key to 182H. At four-fifteen he took his backpack to the north-wing room, opened his door, and set his pack on the nearer twin bed. Leaving the door ajar, he pulled out the top dresser drawer, intending to store his T-shirts and jeans, but the drawer had been filled with Alpha uniforms, beige collared tees and beige knee-length shorts. The middle drawer though contained nothing but two ziplock baggies with their assortments of lubes, so Tom put his clothes there.

Paul had told Tom that he would not have a roommate until July fifth when his friend from Gondwana, Chris Jay, would arrive to pilot the second e-tank. Tom wondered if Chris had ever wanted sex with a man; if so, he kept those desires to himself.

As Tom stood contemplating which lube to jack with, Jeff Michaels called through the doorway, "Hey, neighbor."

Glad to see someone he knew, Tom smiled, "Hey, Jeff. You live near here?"

"Next door in 182G with Dave Butler. We're going to dinner if you want to go with us."

Tom's solo satisfaction could wait, so he ate knackwurst at the outdoor cafe answering Jeff's and Dave's questions about Gondwana. "The inn's basically a smaller, tamer version of Hotel Alpha except all the employees are girls. The whole place is so wholesome it's frustrating."

After dinner, Tom toured the perimeter with his neighbors. At Alpha Memorabilia he bought his brother a remote-controlled Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus. At Dino-Sox he bought his dad a pair of monogrammed trike-sox, and at Alpha Floral he bought his mom a dozen red flowers that smelled like carnations.

Jeff left Tom and Dave at Alphaland Entertainment; Cherise's new movie had arrived, and he expected a busy night. As the remaining duo walked north toward their rooms, they heard wedding musing coming from the First Baptist Church. Peeking inside, Tom saw what was apparently a rehearsal breaking up, with people milling around, shaking hands, and kissing cheeks. Tom's ex- soldier acquaintance from the afternoon was nearing the door, so Tom waited, and when Keith came outside, Tom saluted.

"Hiya, Tommy. Maybe you know where I can get a drink around this place," Keith said.

Keith did not, but Dave took them through the park to Alphabrau Microbrew, which reminded Keith of a Bavarian inn he had stayed at. After two beers, Dave went home, saying he had letters to write. Drinking his third beer, Keith took off his coat and tie.

"I guess you got laid all you wanted overseas, huh?" Tom asked.

"Nobody gets laid all they want. Ilse was great in bed but it was a two-hundred-mile drive so I only saw her on weekends."

Rendered bold by the beer, Tom said, "You must have stroked a lot during the week."

"Everybody has to get rid of it somehow." Unbuttoning his collar, Keith said, "I wish I didn't have to sleep with my cousin tonight. Jerry snores."

"You're welcome to use the extra bed in my room, 182H," Tom said.

Keith thanked him, asked for directions, and said he would meet him at the room as soon as he had informed his family of the revised sleeping arrangements. At the causeway, Keith went upstairs; Tom went to his room where he shed all his clothes but his tee and his shorts. He turned on the porn channel.

Tom left the menu on the screen, so when Keith arrived he saw, "To watch boys jacking, press 1, for hot lesbian action, press 2, for straight porn, press 3, for gay porn, press 4."

Tom said, "Would you want to watch any of this?"

Keith studied the menu as he unbuttoned his shirt. "I shouldn't. It makes me want to beat off. See what's playing on three," he said.

Tom pressed 3, and a submenu showed, "To watch girls fuck their boyfriends with dino-sized dildos, press 1; to watch girls fuck their boyfriends with big-diameter buttplugs, press 2; to watch girls fuck their boyfriends with one or all of their fingers, press 3; For none of the above, press 4."

While studying the menu, Keith hung up his shirt. Hanging his slacks, he asked, "Has your girlfriend ever put anything up your tailpipe?"

Tom admired Keith thighs, his biceps, the bulge in his jockeys. "No," he said, wishing Keith would offer his finger.

Sitting on the bed separated from Tom's by a nightstand, Keith said, "Me neither. Try four."

Pressing 4 brought up the submenu: "To watch two guys and a girl, press 1; to watch three guys and a girl, press 2; to watch four guys and a girl, press 3; to watch xtra-straight action, press 4.

Tom pressed four, and the screen showed an I Love Lucy rerun; he asked, "What else do you want me to try?"

Keith said, "Let's see if two guys and a girl does anything."

It did enough. The scene showed a girl on her side between two men dicking her. Keith reacted to the movie; Tom reacted to Keith. As Keith's dick thickened, so did Tom's, and as Keith's dick hardened, Tom's did too. Keith leaked pre-sem; Tom leaked pre-sem.

As his knob approached the top of his shorts, Keith asked, "Is it cool if I stroke?"

"Me too," Tom answered. "Do you want lube?"

Gripping his meat, Keith replied, "I bust harder without it."

Most of Tom's adolescent jack-offs had involved imagining how his friends beat their meat, but he had never had the courage to ask if he could watch them. Today, Tom watched Keith closely, memorizing the details for future fantasies.

Keith had an average-size dick, and he wrapped all his fingers around it. He began by pulling the skin up and down slowly, letting his wrist move his hand, but as he became more excited, the wrist stiffened and his elbow bent, flexing his biceps.

Noticing Tom staring, Keith asked, "Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, I was interested in how your muscles worked."

Keith smiled, "My main muscle's working pretty great about now."

"Mine too," Tom agreed.

Keith's jack-speed increased toward the end, though by less than Tom's speed increased. Right before shoot-off, Keith's hand raced, slowed down, raced, stopped, and four squirts of dick- juice streamed through his slit.

EPILOGUE

On Wednesday morning Hotel Alpha's board of directors convened in the conference room. Nobel laureate, CEO Juergen Mueller, wearing a gray pinstriped suit and smoking his cherry- scented tobacco, sat at the head of the table. Along the sides sat Will Menton, Ricky Wilkins, Dr. Stef Wilkins, and Ken Halstead, the clones. Justin Emory sat next to Ken Halstead, whom he had met for the first time this morning. Doctor Mueller had summoned Justin, second in command of the Kreisland expedition, to listen to everyone's reports and give an outside opinion.

At eight, Doctor Mueller tapped his pipe on the table. "I wish to thank you all for coming this morning. You have prepared us an agenda, Wilhelm?"

As Will Menton shuffled his papers, Justin reflected that Will had been a pain in the butt on the K-expedition. All handsome, the clones had distinct personalities.

Will began, "I'd like Justin and my cousins to hear from the department managers, but since you have to leave early, Uncle George, I thought we'd take the project directors' reports while you're here. Kenny, can you bring us up to date on Gondwana?"

"Well," Ken said, "The Gondwana Inn isn't much compared to here. We're running zero vacancies too, but a lot of that's the overflow from Hotel Alpha, because if someone wants to see dinosaurs and if the hotel is full, we're the only other game in town. We don't have the concessions you do, so we don't pull in anywhere near the revenue you do, especially gambling revenue."

Doctor Mueller shook his head. "We never intended Gondwana to compete with Laurasia. You have done precisely what we asked you to do. You have created a family-oriented resort featuring fishing, swimming, boating, hiking, combined with excellent dining facilities. I have eaten at every eating place on the planet, and nothing surpasses your underwater restaurant, especially Frau Gertrude's salmon."

"The Kronosaur Cafe has been a success," Ken conceded, "but we've had to keep kids under eight out of there. Some of those big fishes terrified them."

"That fifty-foot long shark thingy terrified me," Ricky said.

"Anyway," Ken said, "the internet has been profitable for us. We're selling tons of surf boards, snorkel equipment, jet skis, you name it. I've got it all here in the report."

Glancing down at his copy, Justin saw the entry Daily Rental Income = $20,000, meaning that The Gondwana Inn was renting its two-hundred rooms for the same $100 a night as Hotel Alpha.

Next, Dr. Stef reported the finances of Hotel Alpha in detail, confirming what Justin had known all along, that the hotel was making money hand over fist; then Will Menton described the hotel's history, recruiting policies, it's employees, its day-to-day activities.

When Menton finished, he said, "I saw you making notes, Justin."

"Two things," Justin said. "You're concerned that twenty- eight percent of the employees haven't had sex with anybody but themselves since they came here. How do you know?"

Will answered, "Behavior patterns, frequent visits to the JOP, watching straight films exclusively, too much interest in girls."

Justin asked, "Why not shake up your roommate assignments, putting the kids that haven't in with kids that have."

When Menton nodded, Justin said, "I also think you ought to ask Paul to resurrect the column he did during the Kreisland trip. He was getting over a million hits a day, and a lot of those people bought the merchandise in our ads."

Ricky said, "I agree totally. I loved those columns."

Doctor Mueller said, "And I also agree. I asked Paul to discontinue his column when he came here because he was working fourteen hours a day without it. Now, however, he has more time and he has asked me if he may resume writing."

PROLOGUE

Paul's Column

Well, friends, I'm back after being offline for what? Six months or so? A lot has happened since we talked last, so let me bring you up to date real quick before I get to your questions.

Hotel Alpha is DA BOMB, boys and girls. We have everything the best hotels on earth have, plus we've got dinosaurs! I was up on the roof after breakfast this morning looking at trikes, chasmos, and centros. Last week we had an allosaur attack, and one of our tour guides, Jared Spencer, tells me there's a brontosaur herd headed our way. If you want to be here to meet them, go to the site-map, click on 'free contests,' and enter today. Dr. Mueller has authorized me to give away twenty-five all-expenses-paid trips every week. Or, if you're interested in a job this coming fall when the summer hires go home, click on 'help wanted' and see if your talents match our needs. Now on to your questions . . .

From Janie in Meade: Q: Paul, Those remote-controlled Blitzenschnell ferkelosauruses are the cutest toys ever made, but there's only one store in town that carries them and it's selling them for $89.95. My dad wants to buy me one for my birthday, but he can't afford ninety dollars. A. Good news for you, Janie. Since yours is the first question we posted on the hotel's site, we're going to give you a remote- controlled Blitz free of charge. All you have to so is send us your mailing address, and we'll deliver a Blitz to your door within three days. I don't know why your retailer is charging ninety dollars -- the big discount chains are all selling them for $39.99.

From Helen in Duluth: Q. What's the difference between an Allosaurus fragilis and a Deltadromeus agilis? A. Beats me. Click on 'philogenetic taxonomy' and ask Dr. Hume.

From Vince in Sarasota: Q. I'm confused. I've started having sex with my girlfriend and fucking her doesn't feel as good as jacking off. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? A. That's an old wives' tale. The vagina is highly overrated as a penis stimulator. A hand works much better, as you have discovered. Almost as good as your hand is an anus, which you can enjoy with all your friends regardless of gender.

From Ruth is Columbus: Q. I'm having the most terrible problems with deer in my garden. Could you ship me a T. rex? A. Exportation of dinosaurs is strictly prohibited. You might see if the zoo would sell you a 'gator.

From John in New York: Q. Recently I switched from Astro-glide to Alpha-Lube, and it's truly improved my life. It never dries out, plus I can jack off as many times in a row as I want and I never get rug burns. Where do you make it, and what's the formula? A. Alpha-Lube is blended in a laboratory on Kreisland near the mouth of the Faulfluss. The formula is top secret, but I can tell you it includes coconut oil. The factory needs two tons of unprocessed coconuts every day to keep operating. And thanks for the plug, John. Give me your address so I can send you some samples.

From Kitty in Omaha: Q. My family is planning a vacation on Alpha next year. When is the weather the best? A. As you know, this planet is so slightly inclined that we don't have recognizable seasons as such. However, next month, August, gets considerably more rain than the other months. If you don't like wet weather, make your reservations for winter. Personally, I love rain. I can stay in my room, take off my clothes, bring out the lube . . .

From Hank in Fort Worth: Q. How many times a day is too much to jack off? A. Twenty-five.

From Marie in Charlotte: Q. Paul, you are truly the stallion of the internet. Your smile makes my panties go wet every time. What would you say is the most important single thing your perfect girlfriend must have? A. A six-inch dick. Just kidding. Actually, faithful readers will remember from previous columns that I like sex with girls. I just haven't been getting much lately.

From Cory in Atherton: Q. When we whip it together, my buddy shoots out much white jism, and I shoot little drops of clear stuff. Should I be worried? A. Probably not, assuming the treatment I'll prescribe helps. Next time you and your friend get together, before you start whipping it, take off your clothes, lie on your stomach, and have your friend slide his greased-up forefinger through your anus and into your rectum. Once it's inside you, have him curl it ten times, making sure he's curling it downward. This should cause you to shoot milkier semen, plus it feels xlnt. For further details click on 'Ling Dai' at the site map. Dave Butler will field questions gladly.

From Eddie in Ogden: Q. The kid next door wants to blow me, but I'm afraid it'll feel so good I'll turn gay. What should I do? A. Experts agree that incidental contact after puberty can't affect sexual orientation one way or the other. Let him blow you. You'll love it.

From Ikey in Miami: Q. I received Matthias's dice game, 'Wuerful Matthias' as a Bar Mitzvah present. It's just stupid. Should I throw it away? A. If you're old enough to be Bar Mitzvahed, the answer is yes, or trade it in on a bottle of Alpha-lube.

From Lisa in Atlanta: Q. Which is better for lubricating my pussy, Alpha-Lube or Coco- Fun? A. Just between us chums on the website, they're identical except for the odor. What happened was, the factory had a batch of coconut oil that smelled slightly strange, so they labelled everything made from that batch Coco-Fun in case they had to recall it. We now know that Coco-Fun's tangy smell comes from a special species of coconut that grows on Gondwana. It tastes pretty good, so if your boy friend wants to eat you out, use it.

From Jessica in Ojai: Q. Where is Kreisland in relation to The Gondwana Inn and Hotel Alpha? A. Kreisland is located on Alpha's equator. We're about 1900 miles northeast of K -- The Gondwana Inn is about the same distance southeast of K. For specific latitudes and longitudes, click on 'maps.'

From Darren in Indianapolis: Q. I won a week on Alpha for two and I'm taking my best friend. We want to go skiing, but we're not gay, lesbian, bi, or transgendered. Could you make an exception? A. No, because we can't. Lambda Lodge is sponsored by the Rainbow Coalition who guarantees us full occupancy in return for our filling the rooms exclusively with members of the groups you mentioned. I would suggest that instead of fighting your natural urges you and your friend park your car in some romantic spot, you put your arm around him, and let your instincts take over. You'll like what will happen.

From Elaine in Peoria: Q. I don't understand why the brochure says we have to take a tank to Camp Wilkins. Why can't we teleport? A. You could, but half the fun of Camp Wilkins is the scenery you'll see during the ride, plus you wouldn't to miss Wilkins Bluffs. Nothing in Laurasia matches it.

From Jim in Waco: Q. I think my girlfriend's cheating on me. The other night I was fingering her twixie and it felt like some good old boy had dumped a load in that thing. Should I break up with her? A. Not necessarily. If you'll give me your address I'll send you a sample of our topical anaesthetic An-Erectia. Tell your girlfriend that it prevents yeast infections and that she should smear her box with it before she has sex. Then, keep an eye out for somebody that looks like he's lost his best friend. He won't be able to get stiff for a week. Oh, and Jim, if you decide to copulate with her, wear an extra-thick condom.

From Seth in St. Louis: Q. I have a couple really close friends. We're on the a softball team, and we hang around off the field too. My problem is that when we all stay at somebody's house, usually Tex's, they jerk off together and they want me to join them, but I'd feel weird doing that. A. Go ahead and do that. As I've said a hundred times minimum, mutual masturbation isn't a gay-thing -- it's a guy-thing.

PART XI

Chapter Forty-one

Friend from Back Home

Thursday night, July 1, Paul Hogan stopped by Alphaland Entertainment to rent Cherise's new film. Jeff gave him a copy, samples of a new, experimental lube, and said, "I read your column today. I loved it, of course, but don't you catch shit from the moral majority types?"

"All the time," Paul acknowledged. "A few minutes ago the reservations desk told me they'd taken five cancellations."

Bagging Paul's jack-off supplies, Jeff asked, "What'll you do with the rooms?"

"There's nothing we can do," Paul said. "They'll sit empty."

"Buddy," Jeff said, "that's a crime. Dave and I've got friends back home that'd give their left nut to come here but they can't afford it and we can't afford to pay their way, not at a hundred bucks a night. Make me a deal on a room."

Paul took the bag, smiled, and offered a deal: "Give me a five-hundred word biography and you've for a room for a week, starting Saturday."

Saturday morning, 9:45, Jeff stood in the park across from the teleport depot. Dave's friend, Pat Daly, would arrive three hours later from Los Angeles; Dave had stayed in the room, writing his bio. At 10:01, as tourists streamed from the depot, Jeff called, "Yo, Bart, over here."

Jeff's month on Alpha had altered his perceptions of males. June fifth he had considered Bart a dependable guy, a first-rate wrestler and snowboarder, a boy as preoccupied with jacking as Jeff. Today, watching Bart squeeze through the crowd, Jeff considered him foxy. Jeff now believed that their high school friendship had resulted at least partially from his physical attraction to the short, rawboned teen nicknamed Spunky.

They shook hands using the same coded handshake they had learned in Boy Scouts, grinned at each other, and Jeff took Bart's bag. Walking west past Alpha Ice Cream, Jeff asked, "How'd you get the time off?"

Bart, his summertime job grilling burgers, answered, "Kelly [Bart's boss] was glad not to have a horny little fuck like me sniffing around Lacy," [Kelly's daughter who would be coming home for the long Fourth of July weekend.] "How about you, cowboy? You haven't been letting your meat loaf, I hope."

"You know me better than that." Between the brontosaur lookouts depot and the corner they turned right and climbed two flights of stairs. Jeff's key admitted them to 304V, where Jeff set Bart's bag on the dresser and took him onto the balcony.

Thirty feet below, five allosaurs scavenged a triceratops carcass. Jeff recognized three of the allosaurs as survivors of the Saphirpanzer's attack. One had a long scar on its left leg, another limped, the third had a curved tail. The pack had ripped the trike open, and they were tearing out chunks of viscera, gulping the offal. "The old horn-head must've died during the night," Jeff said. "He's been stumbling around out there all week."

"That's cool," Bart said, "but what I'm really interested in is your JOP plus to check out the snowboarding."

"I'll take you to the JOP," Jeff said, "but they won't let us go snowboarding." Jeff opened the top dresser drawer; he took out a gift box he had placed there last night. "I got you a present."

Bart opened the box, studied the swimsuit, and said, "Thanks muchly. I'd been wanting a pair, but I never seemed to have an extra twenty-five dollars."

"Put them on so's after we go to the JOP we can go to the pool," Jeff said.

Bart sat on the bed, pulled off his shoes, stood, took off his tee. Turning his back to Jeff, he dropped his running shorts; as he stepped into the trike-trunks, Jeff commented, "In all the years I've known you, I've never seen your dick, Bart."

Shrugging, Bart turned around, holding the swim trunks mid- thigh. "Now you've seen it. Impressed?"

Jeff smiled, "Not in it's current state. Let's hope Cherise's new movie improves it."

Leading the way, Jeff took Bart downstairs, past the depot, past Alpha Memorabilia, past the administration building, to Alphaland Entertainment. Inside, showing Bart the autographed posters of porn queens, Jeff said, "I wrote you about Cherise's visit."

Eying her cunt, Bart said, "If that lady lap-danced me I'd go off in my pants like your friend did. God but she's hot. Give me some tokens."

"Later, Spunky. Give your meat a chance to recover."

Bart snorted, "Recover from what? I couldn't find a hotel room last night so I slept in the bus station, and they didn't have doors on the stalls."

With difficulty, Jeff convinced Bart to wait until after they had seen more of the hotel. Jeff showed him the tank hanger with names now stencilled on the e-tanks, one reading TEUFEL, the other HOELLE. They left the hangar, turned left, and as they passed the door reading Lambda Lodge, Bart said, "Run it by me again, why we can't go to the lodge."

"You read the website. You know that the lodge is exclusively for gay, lesbian, bi, or transgendered," Jeff said.

Bart persisted, "Couldn't we lie?"

They could have before Doctor Mueller's meeting with the Rainbow Coalition last Wednesday. "Now, if anybody looks questionable, they give them a retinal scan, which is a sophisticated lie detector test. If you fail it, they turn you over to Dino-Cop Jim Holloway."

Bart had not eaten breakfast at all, Jeff had eaten only toast and coffee, so Jeff bought them early lunches at Dino- burger, Daspletosaur Dogs with potato salad. Unusually thoughtful, Bart chewed his hot dog, swallowed, then said, "I really want to go snowboarding. We could do like Paul suggested to the Indianapolis kid, go back to the room, get naked, see what happens."

Unwilling to endanger a ten-year friendship for a few days sledding, Jeff said, "You're sure you won't regret it."

"Cowboy," Bart laughed, squeezing Jeff's knee, "has anybody ever regretted getting off?"

Daring talk notwithstanding, in their room Bart stripped nervously, turning around, then sitting on the edge of his bed with his hands folded in his lap. Shedding his own trunks, Jeff vowed to stick to fundamentals, to keep his finger far from Bart's cherry, nor attempt to suck Bart's cock.

Sitting on Bart's left side, Jeff put his arm around Bart. When Bart looked at the floor, Jeff ran his fingers across Bart's thighs. He came to Bart's cock, squeezed and pulled, squeezed and pulled. "Easy Spunky," Jeff said.

As his dick responded, Bart lay back, spread his legs, allowing Jeff access to his choad. He moaned when Jeff rubbed it, then slithered sideways and raised his head onto a pillow. "Got any lube?"

Jeff took a packet from his trike-trunks, tore it open, squeezed the lube on his hand, and greased Bart's stalk.

Bart sighed, "That isn't Alpha-Lube, Coco-Fun, or anything else we've ever tried."

Jacking Bart quicker, Jeff said, "It's new -- do you like it?"

"It's choice," Bart said. "Go faster or you'll get bored and won't want to do this again."

"Say when," Jeff said, accelerating.

"Mm, mm, yeah, when!" Most of the snot landed on Bart's belly with one good shot to his chest and two minor ones in his pubes.

While Bart recuperated, Jeff went to the balcony; as the breeze dried the spunk on his hand, he looked at the fallen triceratops. The allosaurs had eaten their fill, had returned to the forest, and the small Troodons were eating the leftovers. Troodons were beautiful animals. They stood as tall as a man's waist, were slender and quick, always chittering. Stripes decorated their hides, brown alternating with gold.

Though walls separating the balconies prevented Jeff's seeing the next door inhabitants, he could hear two young males talking.

The first one asked, "How can you tell if dinosaurs are boys or girls?"

The second answered, "I don't know."

The first one asked, "Then how'd you know who to fuck? I mean, suppose you stuck your dick in somebody and she turned out to be a he?"

The second kid said, "As long as you busted your nut, who'd care?"

From inside the room, Jeff heard, "Yo, cowboy."

Bart was sitting at the head of the bed with his legs apart, summoning Jeff to sit between them. Jeff sat, Bart lubed him, then pulled Jeff's cock backhand.

"This is some very, very good stuff," Bart said, "better than anything you've got in your drawer. I remember in the old days we thought vaseline was good lube."

"I remember in the old days, I never would have wanted your hand on my dick," Jeff said.

Chapter Forty-two

Pat's Visit

Pat Daly exited the teleport depot wearing the outfit he had worn a month ago when he had driven Dave Butler to Los Angeles: a baseball cap that hid blond hair, a white T-shirt, and jeans. More tanned than he had been, Pat crossed the causeway, squeezed Dave's arm, and said, "I've missed you."

"I was glad I could pry you away from the lake," Dave said.

"Anytime, twinkmeister," said Pat.

As they walked along the west wing past Alphaland Entertainment Matthias stepped up from the park, tapping Pat's hand and asking, "Wie heissen Sie? Was ist you names?"

When Pat told him, Matthias asked, "How you knows massager?"

"We ran track at Merced High together," Pat answered, "and we're roommates at CSFU."

"You comes mit me now und we asks Lothar to makes us mine favoritest specials."

At Banana Split Alpha, Dave ordered a soda instead of a sundae, but Pat ate every bit of his ice cream, whipped cream, nuts, and fruit. His metabolism allowed him to eat megacalories with all of it turning to muscle.

Wiping his mouth on his smock, Matthias asked Dave, "Does you und Herr Pat goes to the lodges where mine friend Hansel labors?"

"We won't be staying overnight, just tomorrow for the day," Dave answered.

Matthias gripped Dave's wrist. "You tells Hansel I misses him und Hogarth misses him also, howsoever soonest you peoples ist orientals und we alles returns mit Doctor Mueller even to stupidest Frederick und baddest Bechtel hisself, ja?"

After Dave tipped Lothar, Matthias with Blitz on his shoulder, Dave, and Pat walked to the tank hangar where Matthias showed them the names he had painted on the e-tanks. "I honors Bechtel mit these six-letters words," Matthias said, "These ones ist Teufel, means devils, und these ones is Hoelle, means hellfires. You swims now?"

"A little later," Dave said.

Matthias scampered off toward the teen pool; Dave and Pat continued north, Dave asking, "How's your sex life been going?"

Pat answered, "I've been drilling Louise but it isn't important. One day you and I, we'll marry girls, have kids, and we'll still get together."

In Dave and Jeff's room -- Dave and Pat's for a week thanks to Paul -- as they hugged, Pat rubbed Dave's rear. "Is this still reserved?"

"For whenever you're ready," Dave answered, tracing Pat's spine. "Let's lose these clothes."

When they had undressed, Pat lay down, and Dave worked massage oil into his shoulders reflecting that it had not always been so easy to talk Pat out of his clothing. In the beginning, Pat had allowed Dave to massage only his back, neck, and head. After continued requests, he had let Dave work on his chest; Dave had taken classes a year before Pat took off his pants.

Rubbing Pat's sides, Dave asked, "Were you so slow to let me do your lower body because you knew I was bi?"

"I think I knew we both were, and back then I cared."

After another year spent massaging Pat in his boxers, Dave had given his friend an ultimatum, that either no part of Pat would be off limits or Dave would find somebody less inhibited.

Rubbing Pat's armpits, Dave said, "Chang Fong insisted that a real massage included everywhere."

"It's funny how I still hate having anybody but you see my dick, including girls, especially girls."

Pat had been the only uncircumcised boy on their track team. His parents were years ahead of their peers in their attitudes, but it had resulted in grief for their son. The locker room jokes had been ruthless.

Massaging Pat's thighs, Dave asked, "I still say you would have got laid two years earlier if it hadn't been for your hangup dickwise."

"Look at the positive side," Pat answered. "If I'd had a regular female partner I could maybe have survived without you."

Kneading Pat's quads, Dave said, "You make it sound like you'd never had sex before us."

"I'd shot off, fairly often, but that night in the cabin was the first time I'd squirted."

Dave asked, "What's the difference?"

Pat answered, "Relief versus thrills."

Dave's mom and Pat's mom worked at a Yosemite Valley souvenir store, which is how the boys had met. The store closed between Christmas and New Year's Day. During the boys' junior year, their families took a joint vacation, renting a cabin beside Lake Merced. When a blizzard cancelled everyone's ski- plans, the women baked cookies, the men watched TV, and Dave massaged Pat in their room.

Squeezing Pat's buns, Dave said, "My roommate has an ass almost as twinkish as yours, but Jeff's has never been entered."

"Poor soul," Pat said.

That day in the cabin, the first time he massaged Pat bare, Dave had read about e-zones. Rubbing Pat's choad, he had felt the aroused flesh engorge, just like a cock.

Stroking Pat's asshole, Dave said, "We came three times that night." Pouring massage oil in Pat's crevice, Dave said, "So many guys panic whenever I get close to their cherry. Their muscles get tense, their skin turns red, they get shaky."

"I did at first," Pat said.

Working the oil up Pat's chute, Dave recalled how difficult it had been for Pat to accept anal massage. There was something about entering a boy's ass, even if only with a finger, that jarred a boy's core. With Pat's bung as with his balls or his choad, only the threat of Dave's finding another subject had persuaded Pat. Once Dave had got into Pat, however, Pat's attitude had changed until nowadays he considered anal intrusion a prerequisite to satisfaction.

"Does Louise do this to you?"

"She'll play with my hole, but she won't go inside yet."

Dave slipped his middle and forefingers into Pat, spread them, and felt the sphincter muscles loosen. "You're primed?"

"Yeah, fuck me."

Dave climbed onto Pat, shoved his cock into Pat, and Pat groaned. The first few times Dave had fucked Pat he had blown instantaneous load, but over the months he had learned that by stopping his thrusting when he neared the point of no return, he could launch an incredible cum for them both. Today he had stopped and restarted five times before Pat said, "Time to roll over." Holding Pat tight, dick deep, Dave rolled them onto their sides. Once he took hold of Pat's rod he thrust no more; as Pat's shootoff began, his ass muscles sucked out Dave's sperm.

When their dicks finished spewing, Dave slid out, went in the bathroom, washed his hands, and combed his hair. He waited while Pat used the bathroom, then gave Pat a pair of trike-trunks and a towel. After they dressed, they walked all the way to the other end of the hotel to Alpha Security. That morning, while Dave had been writing his biography, Dino-cop Jim Holloway had called to ask if Dave would visit the station that afternoon. He had a prisoner who needed attention.

They entered the station, Dave introduced Pat to Jim, Jim led them down the hall to room I-106. When Jim opened the door Dave saw a smooth teenage male bound to a tubular steel chair. The boy had been blindfolded, gagged, and as he struggled to free himself, muscles bulged.

Dave asked what his name was and what he had done; Jim replied that the boy, Billy Olsen, had attempted to visit Lambda Lodge without being gay, lesbian, bi, or transgendered. "He misrepresented his orientation, so either he gets reoriented or we stick a wire up his prick. You want to Ling Dai him?"

"No, I was telling Pat a few minutes ago that Ling Dai terrifies first timers. Let's try Stef's Tumescithol." From the refrigerator, Dave took a vial of clear liquid, a hypodermic syringe, and a foil-wrapped swab. He wiped the boy's dick-knob with alcohol, filled the syringe with ten units of medicine, and pushed out an air bubble. Even gagged, Billy screamed when Dave injected his cock.

Checking his watch, Dave told Pat, "Dr. Stef Wilkins invented Tumescithol. It's like Viagra, only stronger."

As the seconds ticked by, the boy's limp meat stiffened until it had become a full-fledged hardon. Colorwise, the bright pink dick and nutsac contrasted with the otherwise tanned young man.

"Anybody can bust him now," Dave said, "and when a guy's popped him, Billy's technically gay so he can go to the lodge."

Jim grinned, "Send for Chris Taylor."

Dave and Pat went to Dino-burger where they had Allosaur Appetizers washed down with iced tea. Afterward, they walked to Alpha Ice Cream, ordered single-scoop cones, and Dave was wishing he hadn't when Matthias reappeared. Dave gave Matthias the cone, and the blond said, "Muchest thanksgivings, massager, und you does not tell Hansel I misses him for I tells him mineself. Bradster's toboggans, they commences tomorrow, und mit nicest Yo und Mattster I goes."

Chapter Forty-three

The Discovery

Any one of ten teenagers could have seen the animal first, but from a practical standpoint, Joe must have deserved the distinction; his toboggan had raced ahead of Derek's in the switchback, so he must have seen the creature before Derek caught up. What everyone agreed on was that Matthias had spoken first while the others stood awed. Jumping up and down, clapping his hands with great glee, Matthias announced, "Ha ha! For I wishes to name him das Schlectbechtelosaurus weisshaar, the white-hairs baddest Bechtel dinosaurus!"

"That name doesn't make it, Matthias," Matt pointed out. "He isn't covered with hair -- those are feathers."

Matthias squinted, "Yes yes, now I sees. Even bester, I wishes to names him das Schlectbechtelvogel weissfeder, the white-feathers baddest-Bechtel bird."

More patient than Derek would have been Matt said, "Matthias, he's sixty-feet long, he weighs at least twenty tons. He's no bird."

"For he must be's a bird -- he feathers has."

As Matthias wrangled with Matt, Derek studied the brontosaur. Two years ago, paleontologists had ridiculed Dr. Hume when he had suggested that, at least theoretically, feathers might unify the saurischia. Proof here at hand, Derek marvelled.

Derek posed for himself the type of questions he had posed for himself as a boy examining Drake's Bay ammonite fossils. Q. Why was the brontosaur feathered? A. So he could live in cold climates, eating the food of his choice, i.e., pine needles, without fear of allosaurs. Snow and ice prevented the uninsulated allosaurs from hunting in these altitudes.

Q. Were any other dinosaurs feathered? A. Almost undoubtedly, and they might be living nearby. Q. Why were the feathers so white? A. Camouflage. Q. Were they likely to find feathered horn-heads, boneheads, or duckbills? A. Most likely not if Dr. Hume had been correct and feathers were peculiar to saurischia, but they might very well find feathered velociraptors.

Standing next to Derek, Scooter said, "I'm worried about Billy. He's been a zombie since they turned him loose from the police station, and he kept moaning in his sleep last night."

"I'll see if I can find out what's bothering him." Hefting the toboggan, Derek said, "Help me with this, would you, Bill?"

"Huh? Yeah, sure," Bill answered vacantly.

As they trudged up the mountain, Derek turned his deductive powers to Billy, pondering what might have so stunned their old friend. Billy prided himself on his golf game, but losing to Matt yesterday would not have dazed him -- Matt had beaten him before. Billy had received no bad news from home, seemed perfectly well, so Derek asked, "What's up with you, Olsen? You're acting morose."

"I'll be fine," Billy answered.

By the time they had teleported from the lodge to the hotel Derek had devised a plan. At dinner, he asked his uncle for a bottle of altar wine. When they had eaten, he asked Scooter to take Charlie to the pool and give him and Billy an hour alone in their hotel room.

At eight o'clock, sipping burgundy, Derek asked again, "What's up with you, Bill?"

With his newly acquired deer-in-the-headlights stare, Billy replied, "Nothing."

"Well," Derek said, "whatever is bothering you concerns your dick, since for kids our age nothing else short of a car crash matters a lot. Clue me."

Speaking softly, monotonously, Billy answered, "When they arrested me yesterday they took me to the police station and stripped me."

Derek shrugged, "I've seen you stripped. You've got a great- looking bod."

Billy looked at Derek, blinked, and sipped his wine. "There was this chair like the ones your mom bought for your breakfast nook, kind of metal and rounded with a cushion on the seat and the back." After refilling his glass, Billy said, "They tied my hands behind me, and they blindfolded me and gagged me. Then they left me alone for a while until somebody came in and gave me a shot in my dick."

"Yipes!" Derek said.

"Exactly, it hurt really bad, and then I started getting hard. I could feel my dick swelling up until I thought the skin would tear apart."

Concerned, Derek asked, "Are you all right, bud?"

"I suppose," Billy sighed, "and then somebody named Chris Taylor came in and he sucked me till I came."

Striving to emulate Matt's earlier patience, Derek asked, "So what?"

Bill swigged more wine. "So I ejaculated in another guy's mouth. That means I've turned gay, plus when they gave me the retinal scan and asked me if I was gay, lesbian, bi, or transgendered I answered yes, and this time I passed."

Leaving his chair, Derek stood behind Billy, rubbing his back. "Show me your dong, Bill."

Bill hesitated, "I feel kind of funny doing this."

"It won't be the first time I've seen it, so do it."

When Billy had pushed down his pants, Derek reached over him, gripped his soft cock, and searched for damage, finding only a small red spot near the slit. As he held Billy's meat, it enlarged.

"That's feeling like it did yesterday," Billy said.

Now believing Billy's professed inexperience to possibly be genuine, Derek asked, "You've really never jerked off?"

Bill shook his head, "No, and let go of me."

They put on their trunks, went to the teen pool, and found Matthias continuing to argue with Matt. "For I says ist a bird, und you says, no ist not, for birds flies, und I tells you that in das Hamburger zoo they has Strausse, means ostriches which ist birds und no flies, ja?"

Matt gritted his teeth. "Matthias, ostriches are secondarily flightless, meaning they descended from creatures that flew."

"Yes yes, und it may be the gross brontosaurus fathers, he flies also, ja?"

Derek dove in the pool, swam over to Scooter, and related what Billy had told him. "He needs to start monkey-spanking," Derek said.

Scooter suggested, "We'll give Charlie what's left of the wine, and when he goes to sleep, you climb in bed with me and Bill."

Eleven p.m., lights out, Derek lay beside a passed-out Charlie Evans. In the neighboring bed he heard Billy say, "I hope you're not doing what it sounds like you're doing, Scoot."

Scooter said, "Pull down your shorts and do it too. It feels awesome."

Derek slid out of bed, shed his briefs, and climbed in beside Billy. Like pack-hunting velociraptors, Derek and Scooter tore Billy's shorts off and fondled his cock. When Billy rolled onto his stomach, shielding his dick, Derek reached under him, and pulled his prick between his legs, exposing the tip.

"If you don't jack yourself we're going to jack you," Derek threatened.

"You guys are my best friends," Billy wailed.

"Exactly," said Scooter.

They wrestled Billy onto his back, Derek pinned him, Scooter lubed Billy's rod. As Scooter's hand stroked Billy's meat, Billy quit struggling, and Derek asked, "If I let you go will you behave?"

"Don't let me go," Billy said. "Damn it -- I knew I couldn't control myself."

As his arousal increased, Billy became the aggressor, grabbing the back of Derek's head, pulling their faces together, kissing Derek the way Derek had fantasized kissing girls. Billy forced his tongue between Derek's lips; he licked Derek's teeth. When Derek opened his mouth, Billy's tongue speared Derek's, flashing sparks. Luckily, before the situation got even more out of hand, Scooter popped Billy.

After Billy shot off, he lay between Scooter and Derek, holding his friends while they stroked. "I've always been curious," Billy said. "When you whip it at home, what do you do with the mess?"

Scooter answered, "If I'm in bed, after I relax a couple minutes, I wipe it up with a tee or my sock. If I'm in the shower it isn't a problem."

"I use a paper towel," Derek said.

Tonight Billy wanted to know everything about their stroke- habits: how often they did it, the most times in a day, had anybody ever caught them, had they ever tried to quit, had they ever done it outdoors, the longest they had ever gone without doing it, and the strangest place they had ever done it.

"Driving to Bodega," Scooter chuckled. "I nearly went off the cliff."

"Cool the questions, old buddy," Derek said. "I'm ready to cream."

Chapter Forty-four

Tom Gets Lucky

The week following the feathered brontosaur discovery, electro-tank driver Tom Edgar shuttled scholars to and from the base of Mount Menton sunrise to sunset. The eponymous hotel director had offered free room and board to any published scientist wishing to study the creature, and many hundreds had wished to. Sunday, as Tom pulled his tank through the west portal after his final run he told Matthias, along for the ride, "You must be proud you named something so famous."

Matthias glowered, "For he says I must not names it ein bird or after very baddest Bechtel neither, so I must gives it names more stupidest as Frederick."

Tom said, "The scientists I've talked to seem to think Albapinatosaurus mentonensis is an okay name."

"He says I must calls it such dumbest names, else Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus, which he calls reptiles, ist back in das cages." Matthias blew the dog whistle, Blitz jumped on his shoulder, they vanished into the night.

Weary after his seventh consecutive fourteen-hour day, Tom washed his tank Teufel, vacuumed the interior, then went straight to his room. Monday morning, he dragged himself out of bed, felt light-headed while brushing his teeth, and went to the outdoor cafe. He sat with three JOP boys, Jeff, Greg, Alex. As everybody ate whole-wheat pancakes served with maple syrup and butter, the JOPers voiced their thoughts about visiting academics.

"This one guy," Jeff said, "from Ohio State wanted me to rent him a snuff film."

Greg said, "A geeky-looking dude from Yale stayed in the booth thirty-two minutes."

Alex said, "I wonder if everybody from Georgetown is into children."

Jeff laughed, "Just the faculty."

As Tom stood to go for more hot cakes, everything slipped out of focus. He sensed himself falling, then nothing, until he woke lying on the cafe's cobblestones with his friends kneeling around him.

"You relax, handsome," Jeff said, wedging his shirt under Tom's head for a pillow. "Dr. Stef's on the way."

The awfully young doctor looked in Tom's eyes, took his pulse, and sent for a wheelchair. The JOPers helped the doctor lift Tom into it, then took turns pushing the chair to the corner and along the western causeway to Alpha Infirmary. His friends left him at the reception desk, Tom filled out admission forms, and Dr. Stef wheeled him into an elevator.

On the third floor, Dr. Stef took Tom into a wonderful room that aside from much high-tech equipment resembled no hospital room Tom had seen. There were two big beds, a wide-screen television, a balcony, a thick beige carpet. A tanned hunk lay on the far bed, holding a newspaper's comic section, smiling.

The hunk said, "He looks fit enough to me, doc."

"He'll be fine, Luke," Dr. Stef said. "Tom's been working too hard is all."

An orderly arrived with a hospital gown that Tom traded for his jeans, briefs, and tee. The orderly lifted Tom into bed, covered him, and said Dr. Stef would come back soon to run tests. When the orderly had gone, Tom asked his roommate, "How come they let you wear trunks?" Luke wore an orange, black, and silver swim suit, nothing else.

"Because I'm fine, but my boss's wife is a friend of my girlfriend. Stef's an expert on what my girlfriend thinks is a problem." Luke told Tom he was a twenty-three-year-old graduate student from Duke University working with Dr. Tim Hume, Luke's godfather, to classify the feathered brontosaur. "Have you seen it?"

"No," Tom said. "I drive my tank to the bottom of the mountain, and then the people have to hike five miles uphill to where the animal lives unless they're gay, lesbian, bi, or transgendered. Those people can teleport to the top of the mountain and take the ski lift back and forth."

"Tim told me the hike's a real bitch," Luke said. "Why can't guys like you and me teleport?"

"It's something in the hotel's contract with the Rainbow Coalition," Tom answered.

When Dr. Stef returned he told Tom to lie on his stomach. The doctor pulled back the covers, greased Tom's bung, and inserted his finger. After exploring briefly, Dr. Stef said, "You've been neglecting your sex life."

"I've been so tired after work," Tom explained.

"That's no excuse for risking your health. When I check you tonight, I want to find that gland drained." Dr. Stef washed his hands, patted Tom's shoulder, and left him alone with Luke, who seemed thoughtful.

An hour after Tom had checked into the infirmary, Matthias arrived carrying Blitz on his shoulder and bearing a bag of oranges. "For these ist you lunches, youthfullest Thomas, you und Herr Luke. Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus, he compiles them." Peeling an orange, Matthias asked, "Has you gots back you tests, Herr Luke?"

Luke smiled wanly, "Every time they get one result they take two more tests to confirm it."

Matthias broke the orange in half, gave one part to Tom, the rest to Luke. "These fruits makes you healthish, so you and youthfullest Thomas, you improves fastest und we all goes und sees . . . " Matthias lowered his voice to a whisper, "we all goes und sees das Schlectbechtelvogel weissfeder also names of Albapinatosaurus verdammt mentonensis. Kommen mit mir, Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus."

Matthias left, Tom dozed, and he woke to see Dr. Stef examining Luke's genitals. Tom grew wood as he watched Dr. Stef inspecting Luke's balls individually, rolling them between his fingertips, then massaging the bottom of Luke's dick with his thumb.

Dr. Stef said, "There's no detectable nerve damage in your penis or testes, but your girlfriend says you can't maintain an erection." Gripping Luke's knob, Dr. Stef stretched his dick. "Are you able to masturbate?"

"I function fine when I'm alone," Luke replied, "and I used to function fine with her."

"Well," Dr. Stef said, "people's tastes change. I can't see that keeping you here any longer is going to help either you or your girlfriend. I'm going to release you in time for work tomorrow morning." Leaving, he patted Tom's knee. "And you get your hand busy. I'll see you after a while."

Since Luke's girlfriend-problem sounded promising, when they were alone, Tom asked Luke, "You can't get a hardon?"

Luke answered, "I can always get hard, but when I'm with her, before I can finish, my nerves go dead or something. It's strange." He shrugged, "Maybe I'm bored -- we've been living together since high school." He looked Tom over head to toe, concentrating on his crotch. "If it'd be easier for to do what you've got to do without me I'll go out on the balcony."

Tom blurted, "I'd drain my gland better if I had my arm around you."

"I don't think . . . " Luke started, stopped, frowned, and said, "All right, anything's possible, and you are definitely a good-looking kid." He came to Luke's bed, lay back, with Tom's left arm under his shoulders. As Luke watched Tom jack, his dick filled his trunks; rubbing Tom's stomach he said, "My roommate wanted me to do this."

"I could suck you if it'd give you a climax," Tom said, stroking steady.

"No thanks," Luke said, "but if you want to beat my meat I'll beat yours."

When Luke took off his trunks Tom examined his dick, faintly disappointed to find an average woodie on such an above-average man. Luke wore the standard-issue six-inch dick with a straight shaft and a knob not all that much bigger than the stalk.

Taking hold of Luke's meat, Tom asked, "Do you use lube?"

"Not real often," Luke replied, gripping Tom.

Jacking off with a buddy was kind of cool, Tom discovered. When he wanted Luke to go faster on him, he went faster on Luke. When he wanted to delay his cum, he let go of Luke's cock and splayed with his balls, and Luke did the same thing to Tom. Finally, faced with the choice of busting or screaming, Tom raced his hand. As inside stress forced spunk through his prick, Tom rolled onto Luke and they came on each other.

They showered, they dressed, and as they lay on their beds watching Ben-Hur, Dr. Tim Hume arrived. "You hurry back to work, Tommy. Your replacement's a maniac."

"Kip doesn't understand an e-tank's suspension yet," Tom replied.

Dr. Hume walked to Luke's bed, squeezed Luke's forearm, and said, "We confirmed that Alba is definitely a diplococid, which ought to drive our friend Alan straight up the wall. How do you think he'll get around this?"

Luke laughed aloud, "Convergence, everything's due to convergence."

"He'll try, but the scientific community won't buy it, in addition to which, we found tracks today that indicate medium- sized therapods living up there, and if they're feathered too, it'll be one more nail in the coffin." Handing Luke a thick printout, Dr. Hume said, "Study this tonight. We'll discuss it at breakfast after Stef kicks you out. Looks like we're a team again, Lucky."

PART XII

Paul's Column

Big excitement around here, guys and girls, first the Albapinatosaurus and yesterday the feathered Chirostenotes Dr. Hume's godson discovered. I'll be teleporting up to Lambda Lodge later this morning hoping to get a look at both critters. I'd also like to get a good look at the godson, Lucky Bender, preferably with a spurting erection. Lucky is one sexy dude.

Good news! Doctor Mueller has given his approval for the importation of a museum where we can exhibit the many wonders of Alpha. Our director, Will Menton, is on earth right now negotiating the purchase of the recently moved Museum of Natural History in Los Angeles. We're not sure where to put the old museum here on Alpha yet because we don't want to interfere with the horn-heads pasture, but we don't want it to be inaccessable either. I'll keep you posted.

Those of you in the bible belt will see a new product on your supermarket shelves this week that I really want you to try. It's called Dino-Balm, and it is truly DA BOMB! You'll find it in the health and beauty department with the hand lotions 'cause your hand is what you put it on. It's what you do with your Dino- Balmed hand we don't mention. Moresoover, as Matthias would say, it also works for anal sex, representing a major breakthrough in the lube business. Whoever comes up with the best advertising slogan for Dino-Balm will win a week for two at the hotel. Go to the site map and click on 'free contests.' Now for your questions . . .

From Mary in Portsmouth: Q. Where are the hundreds of visiting scientists sleeping, since the Hotel was already full even before you discovered

Albapinatosaurus mentonensis? A. We leased a Hyatt Regency temporarily. We put it outside the east portal so if the scientists are gay, lesbian, bi, or transgendered they can walk to the teleport depot; otherwise they board the tanks at the hangar. For details, click on 'alternate accomodations.'

From Ted in Lewistown: Q. Could you tell us in detail what an 'all expenses paid trip for two' includes and what it doesn't? A. I know there's been some confusion about that and I'll be posting this answer in more detail to the site map. The all- expenses-paid-trips include everything except your transportation to and from the teleport depots. You get a room with two beds, three meals a day (breakfast in the outdoor cafe, lunch at Dino- burger, and dinner at Chez Alpha or Chez Hommard) JOP tokens, lube samples, Alphabrau coupons, a day trip to the duckbill rookery, and your choice of spending one night at the brontosaur lookouts or Camp Wilkins. There's probably other stuff I've forgotten so check out the site map in a day or two for the full story.

From Gerry in Cleveland: Q. What was the quickest you ever reached climax? A. My quickest time happened after I'd been looking at porn on the net. I hadn't even got my penis all the way out of my jeans and I was squirting the bottom of my desk.

From Letoya in Milledgeville: Q. What worship services are available at the hotel? A. There's daily mass in Spanish and English, seven protestant services on Sunday plus a bible school thingy Wednesday nights. The Jews have a prayer meeting in Synagogue Alpha on Saturdays, and the Moslems have something over by Jeff's JOP but I don't know much about that one.

From Bobby in Gary [or should that be from Gary in Bobby :-)]: Q. Me and some of my friends play this game we call cracker- whacker where we kneel in a circle and jack off on a cracker and whoever cums last eats the cracker. My problem is, seeing my friends beating off gets me so hot I can never last long enough to win the cracker. I've tried everything, pinching my knob, jerking off right before we get together, saying the alphabet backwards, but I can't ever last longer than my friend Timmy who gets the cracker every time. A. It sounds like you've already done everything I would have recommended. Tell Timmy if he's a really good friend he'll share the prize. Offer to blow him the next time he's horny.

From Chad in West Hollywood: Q. I finally talked this guy I've got a crush on into spending the night. Should I suck him or grease my chute and let him poke me. A. If he's gay, let him choose; if he's straight, here's a scenario I've been successful with. When you're in bed and you're talking sex and the lights are out, ask him how he holds his dick to jack off. Whatever he answers, tell him you prefer the barber- pole. You'll learn how to do it by clicking on 'grips.' He won't know what you mean, so you'll offer to demonstrate and once you bust him, he's hooked. My point being that it's considerably less faggy to masturbate him than to suck him or take him up in you. Like my old coach used to say, "Never give head the first date." Note: When you masturbate him, either do it sitting behind him or sitting between his legs. Otherwise, if you do it lying behind him, your glans will slide into his butt-crack, and that will spook him.

From Natasha in Oak Grove Park: Q. In the original compound and on Kreisland you gave the dinosaurs German names, now you're giving them Latin and Greek names. Why is that? A. Chris Dials, the Kreisland expedition leader and about my best friend, caved under pressure from Dr. Hume and his colleagues. Dinosaurs already named German names will keep their designations, e.g., Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus.

From Grant in Fargo: Q. I'm totally straight and I think it's disgusting when boys have sex with other boys. Would you call me a bigot? A. No, nor I wouldn't necessarily call you totally straight. Here's the definitive test: Pick a guy your own age that you like and you trust. Go someplace you can experiment without worrying somebody will walk in on you. You both take off your clothes, you lie down, and your buddy runs his fingertips all over you. If you don't get an erection, you're straight. You're also dead, by the way.

From Cecile in Boston: Q. My girlfriend and I won a trip to your hotel. The information brochure we received says we can upgrade from a second-floor room to a third-floor room for $20.00/night. Is it worth it? A. Absolutely. The third floor rooms are sixteen-feet wide, giving you plenty of room between the beds and the dresser, entertainment center, desk, etc. More important, though, is the fact that the third-floor rooms have twelve-by-sixteen-foot balconies, so you can get a great view of the dinosaurs without having to go up to the roof. Before you pay anybody anything, though, let me talk to my boss. I understood that all contest- winners were going to get third-floor rooms.

From Cary in Orlando: Q. How does the alcohol content of Alphabrau compare with regular beer? A. Domestic U.S. beer is ordinarily 5.2% alcohol. Alphabrau Lite is 3.1%, plain Alphabrau is 5.5%, and Alphabrau Gold Label is 9.6%. Watch out for that Alphabrau gold.

From Deena in Rochester: Q. I bought my boyfriend a dozen Dino-Might condoms, but he always cums when I'm putting them on him. Am I doing something wrong? A. Sounds more like you're doing something right. After he ejaculates the first time, massage his testicles and his anus until he achieves a second erection, then put the Dino-Might condom back on him. He should be able to last awhile the second time.

From Irving in Beverly Hills: Q. I was shtupping my girlfriend the other night and I went one way and she went the other. I had this hideous pain in my schwantz. Since then, every time I get hard my schlong bends to the left and it hurts. A. You have incurred a horrifying condition known as Peroni's disease, pronounced pay-ROE-knee's. Doctors are currently treating this condition aggressively and they will probably slit your penis wide open to fix you, which should tell the rest of you out there something about the hazards of vaginal intercourse. Masturbation never causes Peroni's, nor does fellatio.

From Desmond in London: Q. I'm really quite heterosexually inclined, however when I look at the pictures of boys on your website, especially your two golf instructors, Matt Devon and Joe Lang, I inevitably become erect. I'm worried this make me bisexual. A. I'd be more worried if somebody could look at Matt or Joe without an erection. They are totally studly.

From Mary in Eloi: Q. If you could spend a year at Camp Wilkins with one of your employees, who would it be? A: Matt Devon, Joe Lang, one of the Spencer brothers, Jeff Michaels, Tom Edgar, Brad Greenwood, Ethan Oliver, Clint Walker, or Dennis Wilson. As of this morning, my non-employee of choice would be Lucky Bender.

From Glen in Farmington: Q. Which is bigger, an Eiger or a T. rex. A. An Eiger (from the German word meaning Ogre) is the largest carnivorous dinosaur ever discovered. Although he is technically a tyrannosaurid, he has the gracile morph of an allosaur. Jared Spencer, tour guide, thought he saw Eiger tracks near Lake Borogovia last week, but Dr. Hume hasn't had time to visit the lake to confirm Jared's suspicions. Dr. Hume did say that the photographs of the trackway looked promising.

From Jessica in Melbourne: Q. You are all godless people that worships DINOSAURS. Please refrain from doing so. A. Sheesh, Jessica, I thought we got rid of you last year. Go away.

Chapter Forty-five

Room Attendants

The influx of scientists had strained Hotel Alpha's resources. Paul Hogan had been forced to hire whatever visitors he could to help run the Hyatt Regency Annex. Father Riley had brokered his nephew's and his nephew's friends' services, which was just fine with Bill Olsen. The longer they could work on Alpha the longer they would be staying on Alpha; Bill had no great desire to go back to sunless Drake's Bay.

On Thursday Bill and his bedmate Scooter Penn wheeled their cart full of linens and cleaning supplies along the walkway outside the fourth-floor Regency rooms. They came to a door with the namecard reading Luke Bender, knocked, and hearing no response, entered the room. Luke's were Spartan accomodations compared to the Drake's Bay boys' Hotel Alpha room; this room had one double bed, a dresser, a desk, a television, a sliding glass door leading onto a minimal deck.

Snooping, Bill read a note on the desk. "Lucky, You need to get to work naming the feathered chirostenotid, and keep away from Matthias or you'll be calling it the Lazy Bechtel Dinosaurus or something similar. I've already assigned it the species name 'fortunatus' since I can't resist a bad pun, and the s.n. meets all ISZN criteria. I'll see you in the hangar at 7:30 -- Tim."

Reading the note to Scooter, Bill finished with the question, "What's the bad pun?"

"Fortunatus is Latin for Lucky," Scooter answered. "Look at this."

By lifting the spread, Scooter had discovered a partly dry cumstain on Lucky's top sheet. "Did he do this wet-dreaming?"

"No, that's from a jack-job," Bill answered, "A guy might get a wet dream on the bottom sheet but mostly it'd stay in his clothes."

Unconvinced, Scooter persisted, "Suppose he sleeps bare?"

"Then the sheet would be wetter."

As Bill dusted the desk, he bumped Lucky's mouse and the computer's monitor came to life, displaying the start-up screen. Running ahead of schedule, Bill sat down, clicked on 'find,' then typed '*.jpg.' The computer whirred, and the screen listed 3,587 files, arranged in order by date. While many files pertained to paleontology, such as T_REX.JPG, many did not, such as BLOWJOB.JPG. All the non-scientific files seemed to be in a folder called HANDWORK, so Bill turned on a viewer, went to HANDWORK, and he looked at Lucky's pictures.

The first two-hundred porn files depicted straight sex, but the nineteen that Lucky had downloaded last night showed sex of a gayer variety. Mentally tallying results, Bill counted three illustrating two-way JO, eight depicting oral sex, nine portraying anal encounters. Turning to Scooter, Bill said, "See which of these gets you hot."

In the bathroom, Bill investigated Lucky's shaving kit; he found a comb with brown and blonde hair, six Trojans, four Shieks, Advil, a disposable razor, shaving gel, hand cream, a toenail clipper, an Exacto knife, a toothbrush, and toothpaste.

Bill moved Lucky's things to one side, sprayed the counter with disinfectant, and wiped it dry. As he knelt to scrub the shower, Scooter called, "I've got one that's giving me the mother of boners."

Leaving his work, Bill went to the bedroom where Scooter's shorts revealed his enthusiasm. Viewing the screen, Bill saw two boys in the front seat of a car, one bending sideways sucking the other. "That looks like you sucking Derek," Bill said.

"Which is why I'm about to cum in my pants," Scooter answered. "Wanna squirt?"

"You mean here?"

"I don't mean out on the walkway."

Shoving Bill ahead of him, Scooter propelled them into the bathroom. Scoot pulled down Bill's shorts, his briefs, sat on the folded-down toilet seat, and sucked on Bill's nutsac. Though Bill had pounded his pud fifteen times the past nine days, he had not stimulated his balls; the sensations astonished him. Providentially, Bill had jacked off at lunchtime or he would have blown his load in Scooter's hair. When Scooter jacked Bill's cock, however, even his recent cum could not prevent blast off.

Finished creaming, Bill knelt and jacked Scooter, who held Bill's hand and fucked Bill's fist. One of Lucky's pictures inspired Bill to pull Scooter's sac as he stroked him, and when he tugged, Scooter erupted.

Ten minutes later, they finished their chores; Bill returned Lucky's computer to its original screen, left the room behind Scooter, and because Lucky's was their last room to clean, they wheeled the cart to the first-floor laundry. They were crossing the bare grassland between the Regency and the east portal when Matthias, aboard Cupid, rode up.

"Mein Freunds Herr Bill und Scootster," Matthias said. "Youthfullest Thomas is driving twelve us tonight to Lakes Borogovia for picnics. You rides also, ja?"

"We'd love to," Scooter said, "but Derek made reservations at Chez Hommard for us three plus Charlie."

"Herren Charlie und Derek, they picnics also -- they tells me. You alles eats Chez Hommards for tomorrows." Saying, "You meets me at four-thirty in das hangar," Matthias rode off.

Four-thirty gave Scooter and Bill only half hour to shower and change; they were the last two men to enter the e-tank. Already inside were Derek, Charlie, Jeff Michaels whose JOP Bill had used often this past week, Dave Butler, who had injected Bill's dick, Lucky Butler, and Dr. Tim Hume. (The scientists wanted to see Lake Borogovia's possible Eiger tracks.) Brunette Lucky Butler had not left the yellow hair in his comb -- who had?

The quick little tank sped across the prairie, cutting diagonally from the hotel to the lake, missing the rookery and arriving lakeside in only forty-two minutes. Once there, Matthias set up a barbecue, started the charcoal, and unwrapped T-bones.

During the ride, Bill had sat beside Dave Butler, and the masseur had proved to be so good-natured that by the time they arrived Bill had forgiven him for jabbing a needle into his cock- tip. On the shore, waiting for dinner, Bill lay on the grass, and Dave knelt beside him, rubbing Bill's back.

Ten feet away, the scientists discussed the three-toed dino- tracks. Dr. Hume said, "They measure longer than any therapod tracks I've measured before, but all that tells us is we've got a big meat-eater living around here."

Lucky said, "The carnivore that made these tracks is no joke."

Meat-eater . . . carnivore . . . the words raised a red flag in the back of Bill's brain. Dave's massage had nearly put him to sleep, though, and danger in this idyllic setting seemed unthinkable, but when the smoke from Matthias grilled steaks wafted his way, Bill understood. Sitting up, he looked at the scientists, at the forest, and asked, "I don't want to ruin the party but . . . "

The Eiger's roar drowned out the rest of Bill's sentence. As the dinosaur stalked from the woods baring those famous seventy- eight steak-knife teeth, his jaws twenty feet above the meadow, Bill made a split-second decision that could have cost several lives. Instead of racing back toward the tank, he pushed Dave and the scientists into the lake.

"Swim as fast as you can," he told them.

Fifty yards offshore Bill turned to see the Eiger ignoring the swimmers and attacking the electro-tank. The dino could have done nothing to the twice-as-large Panzerfaust, but he could majorly harass the lightweight, aluminum e-tank, and he did. He bit the grating covering the windows, ripped it loose, and tossed it aside. Using his head as a club, he smashed the windshield. He stuck his snout through the opening, sniffing for victims. Frustrated when his massive jaw jammed in the opening, he bellowed.

The Eiger pulled out his head, clamped his mouth around the cannon, and shook the tank, rocking it violently. Bill was certain the monster would flip the tank on it's side when the cannon went off. As the six-inch shell flashed overhead, the Eiger roared a blood-curdling roar, let go of the cannon, and came to the lake.

"Our turn now," Lucky said.

The Eiger, however, continued to disregard the swimmers; he dipped his muzzle, drank, then walked to and tipped over the barbecue. He ate all the steaks before he returned to the woods.

From inside the tank, Matthias called through the shattered windshield, "Verdammt Eiger, you thieves our foods!"

Scooter, Derek, and Charlie had adopted the same survival strategy as Bill had. Swimming over to his roommates, Bill stiffened from the water's ripples caressing his prick. When they climbed onto the shore, Scooter snickered.

Chapter Forty-six

Flamingosaurus

Hungry but intact, the party limped home through the twilight. While shaking the e-tank, the Eiger had bent the left tread; unless driver Tom Edgar pulled the wheel severely to the right, the tank drifted in circles. Night had fallen when, at nine-fifteen, more than three hours after leaving the lake, the tank entered the hotel's west portal.

Matthias had served potato salad during the ride, and the salad had whetted Lucky's appetite, so when his godfather suggested eating something more substantial at Dino-Burger, Lucky gladly accepted. As they walked south from the hangar, Lucky revisited an earlier discussion, "Look, Tim," he said, "we both hate that hike every morning, plus it eats up our field time. Teleporting to the lodge solves the problem. You must've had sex with a guy at some point."

"Even if I had, how do you think Sue would react to me announcing I'm gay? How would my students react?"

Tim's point was well-taken, for Tim. Married, he had to consider the implications his disclosures might have on his wife; Lucky, on the other hand, felt under no such constraints. His live-in girlfriend Tammy enjoyed her lesbian partners, and she had encouraged Lucky to experiment, which is why he had jacked off Tom Edgar.

After Baryonyx Burgers and Alphabraus, mentor and pupil went to the Regency. In his room, Lucky undressed, preparing to shower, but before he bathed he opened his briefcase, took out a picture he had printed last night, and compared the boy in the picture with tank driver Tom, thinking they could have been brothers. Both had boyish, soft-featured faces, dark complexions, and liquid brown eyes.

As pre-cum oozed through his dick-slot, Lucky realized that showering before beating his meat put things backwards. More sensible would be choking his chicken, followed by rinsing the consequences, but as he reached for his rod, somebody knocked.

"Who is it?"

"Tom Edgar."

"Just a sec, stud."

Though Tom had seen Lucky's dick before, whoever might be with him had not, so Lucky wrapped a towel around his waist before he opened the door, saw Tom standing alone, and pulled him inside. Door closed, Lucky asked, "How bad is the e-tank?"

"They'll have to teleport it back to earth to be repaired. I don't have the equipment here on Alpha." Like the boy in the picture, the hint of a beard soon to come shadowed Tom's upper lip and his chin. "We haven't been together since we checked out of the infirmary," Tom said, eying Lucky's tented towel.

"We've both been working full time," Lucky understated.

Tom licked his lips, touched Lucky's hand, met his eyes, and said, "Yeah, and I've missed you a lot. I could give you a really good climax."

Lucky slid his hand in Tom's jeans, held Tom's dick as it stiffened, said, "Take off your clothes and we'll both have really good climaxes."

Lucky dropped his towel on the floor, lay down, and when Tom sat naked beside him, Lucky pulled the boy on top of him. Rubbing Tom's rump, Lucky asked, "Do you want to help me name a dinosaur?"

"They didn't teach Greek or Latin at my high school," Tom said, "so I don't know the right word for it, but I thought it looked kind of like a flamingo."

Exactly! The chirostenotid did resemble a flamingo with his funny hooked beak, crimson epaulets, and rosy-white feathers. "Phoenicopteromimus? I like it."

Would kissing a boy be any different from kissing a girl? Investigating, Lucky pressed his lips against Tom's, and when Tom sighed, "Yeah," Lucky stuck his tongue in Tom's mouth.

Rubbing Tom's rear as they kissed, Lucky felt Tom's goo leaking onto his belly, highlighting the difference between their successful sex Sunday night and Lucky's recent failures with Tammy. While Tom had responded enthusiastically, Tammy had been so unemotional in bed lately Lucky might as well have been screwing the blow-up doll his former roommate had used. Lucky laughed at the memory.

Tom's eyes showing disappointment, he said, "I s'pose I'm a terrible kisser."

Squeezing Tom's butt-cheek, Lucky disagreed, "No, you're great. I was just thinking about the guy I roomed with when we were undergrads."

Tom's breath smelling of mouthwash, he asked, "The guy that wanted to beat your meat?"

"Yes, Chuck. They cancelled an anthro class and I came home early. Chuck was on his bed humping this inflatable woman he'd bought." Petting Tom's butthole, Lucky recalled Chuck's flat ass bouncing up and down as he thrust into the doll.

Tom's wide-open eyes searched Lucky's. "Have you ever used sex toys?"

Lucky brushed his lips across Tom's, rubbed between Tom's legs, and answered, "Tammy wants to put the dildo she vibrates her clit with in me -- it's never happened."

"Does she give you good head?"

"Competent, but she pisses me off when she spits out my junk," Lucky said.

"I won't spit it, promise."

Tom slithered south, took Lucky's cock in his lips, and gave a far better blow job than Tammy. Tom knew how to use his tongue, circling Lucky's crown, licking his cumslit, and massaging the underside. Between sucking Lucky's hardon and rubbing his sac Tom had Lucky thrashing, groaning, and squirting. "Goddam it, Tommy," he said.

Tom drained Lucky's load, kiss his pubes, and slid into his original position. His face atop Lucky's again, Tom replied, "I told you I'd swallow it."

"Raise your butt and I'll jack you."

Late that night Lucky woke wishing he had done more than merely jack Tom. He should had sucked Tom's thick dick, but in the afterglow of his mind-numbing cum, Tom's pleasure had seemed less important than it seemed now. Stroking his shaft, Lucky fell asleep resolved to do better next time.

On Friday, at breakfast Lucky mentioned Tom's dino-name, Phoenicopteromimus, which Tim Hume suggested truncating to Phoenicomimus. Tim said, "The critter doesn't have wings, so the 'copter' suffix isn't appropriate, but I do like the flamingo allusion, considering its beak and its colors." Before they went to the mountain, Tim e-mailed the formal name Phenicomimus fortunatus to his colleagues as a nomen nudum and had promised a formal description within a week.

As Tom drove them toward the base of Mount Menton in a panzerfaust, Matthias's pachycephalosaurs, the bone-heads, trotted alongside, Matthias on Cupid and Blitz on Matthias. At a fork in the road, Lucky told Tim, "If we'd turn left we'd have the weekend for R and R." The left fork led to Camp Wilkins.

Tim smiled, "It's already arranged. The dean wanted me to compare the rex with the Eiger. I told him I'd like to see the rex again first, so he arranged for us to have the camp's vacant rooms tonight and tomorrow." Turning to the people sitting behind him, Tim said, "All ashore what's going ashore."

The panzerfaust ground to a halt, the crew disembarked, and the seven oldest scientists mounted pachys, leaving Tim and Lucky afoot, hiking with two Penn State grad students. Halfway up the slope, the grad student named Caleb, wheezed, "Guys, I'll suck every one of your dicks if it means we can teleport tomorrow."

The other grad student, Caleb's brother Orren, said, "Watch it, bro. These guys don't know you well enought to realize you're kidding."

Caleb said, "Speaking of cocks, I gotta whiz." He left the trail, unzipped, and Lucky heard water splashing leaves, followed by, "What the fuck's that?"

Caleb was holding his dripping dick when the others gathered; ten feet away, blending in with the forest, a horse- sized green-and-grey duckbill watched them, grunting softly.

Caleb asked, "Do I get to name him?"

Tim answered, "No, that's Zweigenfresser appetitlich from the Kreisland expedition."

Caleb stuck his dick in his hiking pants, returned to the trail, and they continued uphill. Nearing the treeline, sweating profusely, Lucky saw the dino he had named tearing an anthill apart with its sharp narrow claws.

Tim said quietly, "Notice the difference in strategies between the duckbill back there and P. fortunatus. The duckbill uses its coloration to blend in. Fortunatus uses its to stand out."

Caleb asked, "Why's that, Doc?"

"Sexual display, I'd guess."

Everyone shot pictures of the Phoenicomimus, they hiked onto the snow where they encountered a hundred or so fellow scientists who were taking notes, photographing the white-feathered brontosaur, drinking coffee, and chatting. Aside from the seven who had ridden pachys, were these others all gay?

Dropping back to the state men rewinding their cameras, Lucky said, "We're of the wrong persuasion, I fear."

Chapter Forty-seven

Crapshoot

When Lucky said, "We're of the wrong persuasion, I fear," Caleb North's brother Orrie replied, "Alpha's like Wonderland -- everything's backward. On earth, gays are second-class citizens. Up here, we straights are."

Caleb had read Paul Hogan's column during the panzerfaust ride. "Speak for yourself, bro. I offered to suck your guys' dicks, and I wasn't kidding."

High overhead, the white brontosaur took a branch in his mouth. He dragged the branch through his teeth, raking the needles. The needles would sit in his gut until bacteria had converted the cellulose to sucrose. "He's a twenty-ton termite," Caleb remarked.

Lucky said, "Let's get to work finding his twenty-ton spouse."

Previous expeditions had failed to discover the dinosaur's sleeping place. Had he gone home at night through the snow, following his footsteps would have been child's play, but the animal disappeared into the forest at sundown, and he was back feeding on the slope by the time the first scientists arrived each morning.

Those who had seen him leave said that he travelled to their right, so Lucky, Caleb, and Orrie walked downslope, entered the woods, and went south. Twenty minutes into the search, Orrie called, "Here's his shit and it's warm."

They found four more piles during the ensuing two hours; those droppings lured them on. Evergreen boughs hid the sky, and it was not until Lucky said, "Doesn't it seem to be getting kind of dark, guys?" that they went up to the snow pack, looked overhead, and saw that storm clouds had gathered. As they stared skyward, the first snowflakes fell.

"We can do one of two things," Lucky said, "head downhill until we get where it's raining or take cover in that cave over there."

Since everyone preferred taking shelter to a wet hike back, they crawled into the cave through a two-foot high opening. Inside, Caleb took a flashlight from his butt-pack, shone it around, saw they had entered a rectangular chamber eight feet by twenty. Others had occupied the cave previously; someone had stacked three sizes of sticks against a wall and had built a stone firepit. Beside the pit lay three large dice.

Lucky, at the entrance, said, "It's blowing a blizzard."

"It's blowing through here," Orrie said.

Wind carrying snow entered the cave from the opening the men had used, whipped through the cavern, exiting somewhere overhead. Chilly, Caleb crumpled his copy of Newsletter Alpha, set it in the firepit, covered it with assorted sticks, lit it. Sitting on the sandy floor, he turned off his flashlight and picked up the dice. Lit by the fire, he threw a three, a two, a five. As Lucky crouched near the entrance and Orrie brought wood, Caleb said, "How about if we do it like this? High score gets to buttfuck the other two."

Dumping medium-size sticks on the blaze, Orrie said, "You've got sex on the brain, bro, the wrong kind of sex."

Rolling a four, a three, a six, Caleb said, "Orientations vary by culture. In India, adolescent boys who don't have bed- buddies are considered asocial."

"We ain't in India, Cal." Crouching, Orrie picked up the dice, rolled two fives plus a three.

Announcing, "Tiebreaker," Caleb picked up the dice, then rolled three twos. "Uh oh," he said, "looks like I'm the one cornholed."

Joining the game, Lucky rolled a five, a three, a six. "My girlfriend's kinky. I had a friend over to the apartment, and we were all kind of drunk, and Tammy wanted to take us both on. She knelt down and I got behind her and screwed her while she blew my buddy. Now days, sometimes when I'm beating my meat I imagine I'm in the middle like Tammy."

Caleb rolled a two plus two fives, went for more wood, and said, "Orrie and I had a baseball coach. He talked us into believing that jacking off sapped your strength, causing me frequent locker room hardons. When I'd gone a week without sex, everybody looked good."

Orrie said sadly, "I prayed for wet dreams, but wet dreams never came -- me neither."

Lucky bounced the dice off the cave wall, producing a three, a one, a four. "Did you guys read Paul's column where he talked about the quickest he ever got off?"

Sitting, Caleb retrieved the dice, threw a pair of fours and a one. "At least he got it out of his pants. Orrie and I were at the coast on vacation. He was watching this girl, and he blew load in his trunks."

"So what was your fastest time, big mouth?" Orrie rolled a two plus two threes.

"I remember my fastest time," Lucky said, rolling a trio of twos. "It was the first time I ever watched a porno. I was walking home afterward and the need was so bad I did it in somebody's backyard. I seeded their lawn." Lucky handed Orrie the dice, stood, and hung his jacket on a spike driven into the rock.

Throwing a four, a one, a six, Orrie repeated, "What was your fastest time, bro?"

"One night I woke up when you were going to the bathroom. I busted before you got back." Caleb rolled two threes and a five.

Lucky, rolling a two, a five, a four, said, "I've always thought that if I had a brother I'd make an agreement with him that if I needed to do it I'd do it and that if he needed to do it that'd be okay too."

Orrie threw a five, a four, a one. "Cal and I have that arrangement -- he's talking about back when he'd started and I hadn't." Peeling off his sweater, Orrie said, "The fire is definitely warming things up."

Caleb took off his coat, set it beside him, and rolled two threes plus a four. "The main reason I think I could get off with a guy is that if I'm lying in bed completely unhorny and I hear Orrie flogging I go stiff. I can't go to sleep without relief."

Caleb went to the woodpile, picked up a log, and Orrie said, "It's already roasting in here, douche."

"Those little sticks burn fast -- this'll keep going for hours."

Lucky rolled three, five, one. "I've caught a hardon before from hearing a roommate beat off."

"Just because wood's contagious doesn't translate that you want to suck stick." Rolling two ones and a two, Orrie swore, "Dammit!"

"It's just a game, little bro." Caleb threw two fours and a five, stood, took off his jeans, and set them on top of his coat. He took off his shirt, set the shirt on his pants. "Is anybody ready to get serious?"

Lucky picked up the dice, studied Caleb, asking, "Name the rules."

"High roll gets what he wants from the low roll."

"Count me out," Orrie said.

"Fine, tomorrow I'll teleport and you'll walk."

After Lucky threw two threes and a five, Orrie reluctantly grabbed the dice and rolled two twos and a six. "I am not sucking either one of you guys and I'm not taking it up the kiester from you either."

"Bad loser," Caleb said, rolling a four and two fives.

"All right," Orrie sulked, "but only so we can teleport." Orrie stood to shed his pants, his shirt, and his shorts. Despite his protests, his cock was as stiff as when he jerked off. "Just don't fuck me, okay -- I'll get really pissed off if you fuck me."

Caleb slid out of his boxers, sat back against the cave wall, spread his legs, and patted the vacant space between them.

Pointing at Caleb's prick, Orrie asked, "I don't have to suck that?"

"Sit down," Caleb said.

Although Caleb had not had a chance to visit the site-map since reading Paul's column, he surmised that the Barber-pole resembled something a high school girlfriend had done before she'd done blow jobs; when Orrie sat between Caleb's thighs, Caleb took a packet of the new Dino-Balm from his pack, ripped the corner, and squeezed the salve on his palm. After rubbing his hands together, he gripped Orrie's stalk with his right, Orrie's knob with his left. He twisted each hand ten times, moved his left hand to Orrie's sac where it played with Orrie's balls while Caleb's right hand jacked Orrie conventionally.

"So this is how Sandie choked your chicken," Orrie said.

"Like it?"

"Very sweet," Orrie answered, patting Caleb's shins.

As he alternated twisting with jacking, Caleb wondered if he must cum too to be gay. He suspected that jacking off at home, trying to coincide his climax with Orrie's qualified him, but to be safe, when Orrie had shot a gusher over their heads he wrestled his brother onto the floor, mounted him, and hunched his legs till he spewed.

Chapter Forty-eight

Camp Wilkins

Thursday, July 1, Paul Hogan had transferred Clint Walker from Jeff's JOP to Camp Wilkins as resident cook. Whether Paul had transferred Clint because of Clint's cooking experience back in Columbus or because Clint gave away too much lube didn't matter. Clint liked his new job, loved to swim, and enjoyed meeting new people.

Each day followed a similar schedule: sausage patties, eggs, and toast for breakfast, a noon buffet, then the tank brought one load of tourists and returned the previous day's visitors to Hotel Alpha. During the afternoons the new visitors swam; for dinner they ate barbecued ribs in the courtyard.

Friday provided a change of pace from the regular routine. Besides the twenty tourists arriving at noon, the panzerfaust brought a second group at five o'clock. The later group's original ETA had been four, but rescuing three snowbound grad students had delayed them.

Along with scientists, the second load brought Clint's friend and former boss, Jeff, prompting Clint's question, "Who's minding the store?"

"Alex and Greg plus a new hire named Charlie," Jeff answered. "How've you been doing?"

"Mostly myself," Clint said, "although last week I JO'ed with a kid from Duluth." As Clint began describing his adventure with the redhead, Matthias ran toward them, cutting Clint's tale short.

"We misses you at the hotels, Clintster," Matthias said, "howsoever tonight you und me und Yeffster Five, we alles plays nicest Wuerful. Herr Lucky, he finds these for me in das caves where I neglects them und they ist snowbound." He handed Clint three large dice carved from bone, possibly an allosaur femur.

Clint asked, "What made the red spots on your Wuerful?"

Matthias's eyes opened wide. "Das Drachenblut, das dragon's bloods."

Clint had established a system for grilling the pre-cooked pork ribs. Every night before going to bed he put tomorrow's portion in a bath of olive oil, red wine, and wine vinegar. In the morning, he removed the ribs from the marinade and rubbed them with a sauce made from tomatoes, chopped lemon, ginger, paprika, and saffron. Tonight, as he basted the ribs one last time before lighting the charcoal, Jeff joined him.

"That good-looking dude over there is Lucky Bender, the guy who named flamingosaurus," Jeff said.

Glancing toward the far end of the courtyard where the three grad students sat talking, Clint said, "I've read some of his work -- he's impressive." Ribs ready for grilling, Clint lit the paper under the charcoal.

While the coals were burning down, the tyrannosaur alarm wailed; scientists flocked to the entrance and ooh'ed and ah'ed over the beast, but Clint tended his cooking. Having seen the T. rex every day, Clint regarded his visits a nuisance.

When Jeff returned, Clint said, "They can swim, you know, only not very fast. Last Saturday there was a little vegetarian dino out on the island and the rex went for him. By the time he got halfway to the island, the veggisaur was on the far bank."

After dinner, Clint, Matthias, and Jeff rolled dice on the picnic table. At nine, having won Clint's and Jeff's spare change, Matthias excused himself, saying, "I must has works very, very hard today for I am sleepish. Gute Nacht Clintster und Yeffster Five."

When Matthias had taken his dice to his room, Jeff asked, "Who sleeps where, Clintster?"

Clint answered, "I could use a roommate in one-seventeen. I'll meet you there when I've put the ribs in their crock."

Clint had converted his room into his own personal 'bator booth. Packets of lube covered his nightstand, Jeff's discarded porn posters hid the walls, wadded tissues filled the wastebasket. As the men removed their shirts Clint watched Jeff: good features, cropped light-brown hair, fantastic tan, tight body shining with sweat on this hot July night.

Bare but for his trike-trunks, Clint said, "I don't normally sleep in my clothes."

"Fine with me." Jeff took off his briefs and lay on his side on the bed. When Clint lay facing him, he said, "Will Menton wants us to market a calendar. He'll be on the cover, of course, riding a trike, and we'll have Matthias with Blitz. This'll be strictly G-rated mass-market. I'm going to be Mr. February with a duckbill, and we'd like you to be Mr. April with the T. rex."

Jeff wedged his knee between Clint's, slid it upward until the knee pressed Clint's sac. "I've missed us jacking together in the booth, watching Cherise."

Clint's hands meandered across Jeff's back, his butt, his thighs. "I had a dream about that. I dreamt that when you got close, you asked me to sit on your cock. You came in me while I was on you."

His eyes holding Clint's, Jeff asked, "Want to go for a ride?"

"I'd like to try it," Clint said.

Jeff rolled on his back; when Clint had greased his prick with Dino-Balm Jeff said, "Turn around so I can put some inside you." As his finger lubricated Clint's chute, Jeff asked, "Is this your first time?"

Crouched, watching a drop of pre-sem ooze through his slot, Clint answered, "My first time in a while. The quarterback on the university football team -- Bobby -- lived in a frat-house down the street. Have you ever been in Columbus?"

"Nuh uh," Jeff answered, poking deep.

"Bobby saw me mowing the lawn, and he asked if I'd like to go to a party. I got drunk, he talked me into spending the night, and he poked me."

Now working Clint with two fingers, Jeff asked, "One time?"

"No," Clint sighed, "I was a regular visitor till he graduated, and sometimes he'd sleep over at my place. He got married last year. I wonder if he shoots as hard in her."

Two fingers becoming three, Jeff asked, "What positions did you use?"

"After the first couple time, the one I'm going to demo," Clint said.

With Jeff on his back, his hardon flat on his belly, Clint straddled him. He held Jeff's cock against his hole, then took it inside himself gradually, remembering the pain Bobby's entry had also caused. "Bobby asked me to fuck him once, so he could see what felt good about it, but I didn't even get my tip in and he made me pull it out." Jeff deep in his ass, Clint rocked forward and backward. "His face used to turn all red too."

Jeff croaked, "It feels so different from my fist."

Holding Jeff's sweat-slippery shoulders, Clint raised himself until only Jeff's knob was left in him, sat, raised, sat, and raised. Jeff's chest turned as red as his face.

Clint said, "Bobby didn't like me to cum on him. You can cover my slot with the sheet if you want."

Jeff rasped, "Let it fly, buddy -- I am."

The next time Clint lifted up, Jeff held him above him, thrust upward into Clint three times hard, grunted, thrust upward several more times as he emptied his load. As when he'd had Bobby's dick in his tail, Clint simply touched himself and he squirted.

Before falling asleep with his arm across Jeff's chest, Clint said, "We ought to pose like that on the calendar."

Clint's clock read two when he woke. Leaving the light out, he went to the bathroom and flushed Jeff's load. Returning to bed, he fondled Jeff's cock till Jeff woke and they jacked together.

After they came, Clint said, "I couldn't take Bobby up my ass more than once a day either."

"Anything that intense, once a day is enough," Jeff agreed.

Next morning, as Clint cooked sausage and Jeff scrambled eggs, Matthias ran up, saying breathlessly, "For I has teached Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus mine bestest tricks yet."

To demonstrate, Matthias called Blitz down from a tree. The boy took a handful of the Dino-pfennigs he had won at last night's dice game, set them on the grass, and took a notebook from the opposite pocket. He opened the notebook to a picture of Dino-burger's Stegosaur Special.

"You shows me now how much das gross Stegosaurus Specials, they cost," he said.

Little Blitz picked up seven Dino-pfennigs, gave them to Matthias, and chirped.

"Yes yes! For gross Stegosaurus Specials, they costs exactly sevens these coins." Matthias opened to the picture of an ice cream cone, and Blitz gave him two Dino-pfennigs. He showed Blitz a Lothar Special (fruit, nuts, ice cream, whipped cream) and Blitz gave him twelve Dino-pfennigs.

"That's a great trick, Matthias," Jeff said. "What time does our tank leave?"

"I does not knows," Matthias said. "I goes asks."

As Matthias skipped off, followed by Blitz, Clint asked, "Any chance you might be getting down this way again any time soon?"

Jeff slid the cooked eggs onto a platter. "There's a better chance we can hook up next Friday. Menton's opening the museum."

PART XIII

Paul's Column

It's not long till the moment we've all been waiting for. Day after tomorrow, we open the museum. You can see pictures of the various halls by clicking on 'museum' but since the photos were taken when it was a plain old natural history museum near downtown LA, it won't look anything like what you'll see when you get here.

In my opinion the most exciting ride the museum will offer will be called, 'A Day at the Zoo.' You and your partner of either gender will be able to go into a teleport booth and select any of 183 species from all over Alpha. Let's say you want to see Kreisland's Alpdruck gottfriedi, the white monster-birds with those mean, yellow beaks. You'll press button 39 and before you can blink you'll be on the K'land plateau in the middle of a grassland in a cage designed to protect you from the Alpdrucks. When you've seen enough of them, you press RETURN and you're back in the museum. Then let's say you want to see the fifty-foot Kronosaur. You'd press 12 and you'd be in Gondwana underwater, right outside the Kronosaur Cafe.

We're betting that lots of people who can't get hotel reservations will be coming here on day trips just to look at the animals. Since we always try to give this column's readers the opportunity to see new attractions first, go to the site map, click on 'museum tickets,' and I'll send you a free pair just for answering a few easy questions. You'll notice that you don't have to give us your name and address anymore; our computer reads your log-in address and picks up your real address from a master file someplace.

One more thing before I get to your questions: several of you have complained that in the video file BATORBOY.AVI you can't see the jacker's face. Well, would you want your kid someday to go to the internet and see you waxing your weasel? That's probably why that screeching woman who complains about me every day for three hours on her stupid radio program won't allow internet access in her house, so her son can't see her as the slut she was. She did used to be good-looking though. I bet plenty of guys have stroked to those pictures. Now on to your questions . . .

From Kirk in Las Vegas: Q. Can you explain how you can travel gazillions of miles from earth to Alpha in less than a second? A. I can't, but if you have Ph.D.s in math and physics you can go to the site map, click on 'teleporting' and you may run into something that makes sense to you. It doesn't to me.

From Hal in Waterbury: Q. When will I be able to get my hand on the new Dino-Balm? A. Congratulations on asking the question that earned you a free two-ounce bottle. The target program has gone into effect in the south, and the response has been overwhelming. The Western- Tennessee division alone sold fifteen-thousand units the first week. As a result the factory has increased production, and Connecticut can expect shipments early August.

From Jerry in Canton: Q. What do you mean you leased a Hyatt Regency hotel? What happened to the tourists who had reservations to the hotel where it used to be? A. It's a new structure that had been scheduled to open in Baghdad this summer, but the government revoked the Hyatt's use permit. The Hyatt is letting us use it, and in exchange, we'll teleport it to a friendlier country for them.

From Maggie in Fort Wayne: Q. The instruction sheet on my Wuerful Matthias say that the dice's dots are made with dragon's blood. What's that? A. Drachenblut is the sweet-tasting, deep red juice from a Gondwanan fruit like a pomegranate.

From Jason in Winston-Salem Q. My girlfriend wants me to drill her, but I don't want to catch peyronies (sp?) disease. What should I do? A. You'd be much safer jacking off with a buddy than drilling your girlfriend. The correct spelling, incidentally, for those of you interested in the consequences of vaginal intercourse, is Peroni's. If you want a confirming opinion, contact your surgeon.

From Andrea in Jackson: Q. My remote-controlled Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus won't clap his hands like the ones on TV. A. Sadly, you or someone you love has been duped by a company formerly operating under the name 'Precious Playthings.' Ricky Wilkins learned who was making the ersatz Blitzen, and we've confiscated their assets. The company's directors have been teleported to Alpha and are presently being reeducated. If you take the bad blitz to any reputable toy store, they will exchange it for the authentic one we build here.

From Vince in Redding: Q. I enjoy having my buddy give me an enema during sex, but the disposable kits are expensive and you can use them only once. Is there a cheap alternative? A. Have him use a garden hose carefully. Cf. the old Falcon classic, 'Water Sports.' Click on 'video erotica' then go to 'historical.'

From Idella in McKees Rocks: Q. I had a dream last night and I was lying on my back with my legs wrapped around Lucky Bender and his rock-hard manhood deep up inside me. What's his voice like? A. Cute. Slightly nasal. Funny we had the same dream.

From Joel in Dover: Q. I'm a sophomore at Annapolis and my problem is that my roommate brings his girlfriend up to our room and sticks it to her while I'm trying to study. How can I let them know it distracts me (to put it mildly.) A. Lube your forefinger and just when he's starting to climax jam it hard through his anus. His reaction may surprise you.

From Craig in Montgomery: Q. I'm an accounting major and I'd like to do my apprenticeship on Kreisland where they're mining the platinum. I've developed a computer model showing how much they can ship to earth over what period of time without flooding the market. How much do starting jobs pay there for somebody with an M.Ba.? A. Ricky handles specifics, but I can guarantee you our salaries are competitive. Also, in addition to their base rate all permanent Alpha employees receive room and board, four-weeks vacation a year, a generous pension plan paid for entirely by Alphacorp Limited, plus full medical benefits.

From Elvira in Grand Rapids: Q. I understand that more people go to Chez Hommard for the filbert cake than the lobster. Why can't my local bakery order it for me? A. Lukas's Nussenkuchen is impractical commercially because it has a shelf-life measured in minutes. Click on 'recipies' to learn how the Deutschenkinder make it, but if you're planning dinner at seven don't take the cake out of the oven before five. And never bake Nussenkuchen on a dry, windy day; it is extremely temperamental.

From Gavin in Idaho Falls: Q. The guys on my baseball team smeared AnErectia on my jockstrap, and I'm just worthless. I haven't been able to cum for three days' and my jism's backed up. I feel all congested inside. Tell me there's an antidote. A. The only antidote is time, Gavin. If I were you, I'd tell these teammates of yours that they either had to give me relief via prostate massage or I'd sue them. Click on 'Ling Die.'

From Brita in Bowling Green: Q. I think Tommy the tank driver is a dreamboat. If I visit Alpha do you think he'd go out with me? I have full, pouty lips. A. I don't know Tom all that well, but he seems to be friendly, and as you point out, he's a dreamboat. I imagine he'd be happy to go out with you.

From Darryl in Lexington: Q. I've got a bet with my best friend that you've squirted more than five times in a day. He doesn't think so, since five is the most he or I have ever done it. Who wins? A. You do. Me and a friend wanted to see if we could accomplish the Mueller Progression in twenty-four hours. You start off by watching each other masturbate, then you masturbate each other. Next, you perform oral sex while you jack yourself off, then he performs it on you. Finally, you take turns ejaculating in each other's rectum while the one getting poked masturbates again. When I climaxed in my friend, that was my sixth of the day.

From Betsy in Clearwater Q. I click on 'Jeff Michaels' but his site doesn't load. Am I doing something wrong? A. No, traffic is so heavy on some of the subsites that the transmission time is terrible. We hope to be improving the system within a week or two.

Q. From Alan in Calgary: Q. How co you send e-mail from Alpha to earth? A. We collect everybody's e-mail at the teleport depot, transmit it to earth, and resend it from there. Same with this column.

Chapter Forty-nine

Preview

Statues of a rearing brontosaur preparing to stomp two hapless allosaurs dominated the rotunda. Past the statue, Dino- Hall buzzed with zoologists readying exhibits for tomorrow morning's opening. On Matt Devon's right, Alpha Geological teemed with scientists with their students arranging their rocks; on his left, a passageway led to a dozen other exhibits including the zoo's teleport depot. Fluorescent lights from within Dino-Hall cast a shadow dwarfing the golf instructors.

Entering from the passageway, Lucky called, "Joe, Matt, we're ready to demonstrate."

A hundred yards into the hall the three men came to a corridor leading off to the north. Two dozen individual teleport depots lined the corridor, and the trio entered the nearest.

A panel with 250 buttons covered the back wall; as Lucky pressed 39, Matt asked, "What would happen if we wanted to go someplace where somebody already was?"

Lucky answered, "You'd get a 'rejected' message and a voice would suggest other destinations you'd like."

The depot door slid open, and the men walked into a cage brightly lit by noonday sunshine. They had left the museum at nine a.m.; however, three hours separated the museum's time zone from Kreisland's.

"Those are two scary motherfuckers," Joe said, pointing at a pair of Alpdruck devouring a duckbill carcass. "Are they birds or are they dinos?"

"The jury's still out about whether they're neornithes," Lucky replied, "but since all birds are dinosaurs, except in North Carolina, the point's moot."

Joe asked, "What's special about North Carolina?"

"An ornithologist there named Alan Pasqualini thinks birds are alligators."

Every boy on earth would want to see these hideous nightmare birds, Matt believed. Twelve-feet tall, with white plumage and a bright yellow beak, the creatures weighed eight hundred pounds and could fly; Matt had seen films of a single Alpdruck swooping down on, then tearing apart a three-ton hadrosaur.

Joe said, "This is great, Luck, but we've got ten o'clock tee times."

"Come back after work and I'll show you our dino exhibits," Lucky replied.

Crossing to the hotel's west portal across a hundred yards of bare prairie, Matt wondered what would happen in the event of an allosaur attack. Would the museum be cut off?

Joe interrupted Matt's thoughts by asking, "Did you get anything from the princess last night?"

Matt smiled, "I kissed her hand when we got to her room. How did you make out with Dona Katerina?"

"About like you did. Meet you for a beer after our rounds?"

"You're on," Matt said. "I'll see you at Alphabrau."

Celebrities had flooded the hotel in preparation for tomorrow's grand opening. Joe golfed the north course with two emirs and a sultan. Matt drew a politician, Dan Roberts, his wife Mary Lynn, and their son Ryan. As the dopey politician fought his way out of the second hole's sand trap, Matt asked Ryan, "Where do you go to school?"

"Purdue," Ryan said. "You?"

"ASU, Arizona State," Matt responded.

The boy had inherited his father's good looks and his mother's intelligence. On hole number four, two pretty girls who had been playing catch with Matthias and Blitz in the neighboring park walked up to Matt and his golf partners. The blonde girl said, "Matthias told us that Mattster and his extremely cute friend would like to take us out to dinner."

"Would we ever. Hey, Dad," Ryan said, "Use your influence to get us into Chez Hommard."

Matt said, "Don't bother, sir. Matthias can handle it."

The girls promised to meet the boys at six-thirty in front of the bowling alley, then returned to the park. On the ninth hole Mr. Roberts tried to hit the ball over the trees, failed pitifully, and triple-bogied the hole. His wife and son played the dogleg properly and both scored a par.

After the round, when Matt invited Ryan to join him at Alphabrau, Mr. Roberts said, "My son doesn't drink." Assured that Alphabrau also served sodas, Mr. Roberts allowed Ryan to go. As the politician and his wife walked toward the golf-course restaurant, Ryan snickered softly, "He doesn't think I yank my dork either."

At Alphabrau Microbrew Matt introduced Ryan to Joe and Joe's date. For once in his life Joe behaved, no crass jokes or lewd puns, due primarily, Matt suspected, to the vixen beside him. At three, Matt suggested they teleport to see more of Alpha's fauna, but Joe wanted to show his lady the e-tanks.

In the museum's rotunda, Matt told Ryan, "Joe and I were on the expedition when the Safirpanzir stomped the allosaurs." As they walked down the left hallway, passing a sign reading, The Lambda Hall of Alternative Sexuality, Ryan asked what was inside. "I don't know, but if Lambda's sponsoring it, it probably features gay, lesbian, bi, or transgendered erotica."

Ryan asked, "Do lesbians do it for you?"

"Never have," Matt answered truthfully.

"Me neither," said Ryan.

In the teleport booth, Matt searched for a reference telling him which button led to which animal. Finding nothing, he said to Ryan, "Pick a number between one and two-fifty."

Ryan grinned, "Sixty-nine."

Pressing sixty-nine took them into a dark forest. At this stop, no cage protected the travellers, causing Matt to believe they would find only herbivores here. The big, slothlike dino ahead of them was certainly a herbivore; the russet-and-white animal reached high up the tree trunk, dragged his eight-inch claws downward, shredding the bark, which he ate.

Matt pressed RETURN, they went back to the museum, and Matt said, "Pick something else."

Ryan shrugged, "One-hundred," Matt pushed the button, and the door opened onto a waterfall surrounded by jungle. A six- foot-long, three-fingered dinosaur crouched at the base of the falls, bent forward, caught a fish between his paws. "Rotfisher," Matt said, "rust-colored fisherman, an ornitholestid. We must be near the original compound."

"It's twenty degrees warmer than at the hotel," Ryan said. "We'll need showers before we pick up the girls."

They returned to the museum, crossed the prairie, entered the portal, and Ryan invited Matt to his room. "You won't believe the view I've got of Mount Menton," Ryan said.

Three floors up, when Ryan unlocked 303G, Matt saw things not entirely unexpected: the current edition of Boylust on the desk, a bottle of Dino-Balm on the nightstand. "Gay or bi?" he asked Ryan.

Walking to the balcony, Ryan answered, "Bi."

At the railing, his arm around Matt's waist, Ryan asked, "Have you ever done the Mueller Progression?"

Rubbing Ryan's back, Matt said, "I'd never even heard about it till I read Paul's column last Sunday, and I wouldn't be qualified since I don't take dick up the ass." Turning Ryan so that Ryan faced him, unbuttoning Ryan's jeans, Matt added, "But I wouldn't object to the first phase, jacking off watching each other."

Inside, Ryan sat on his bed, took off his shoes, stood, and removed his pants. Pulling his tee over his head, he said, "Watching somebody yank was my first time with a guy."

Remembering the old days in Phoenix while eying Ryan's vertical hardon, Matt said, "Mine too."

Ryan went to the nightstand, dripped lube on his palm, gripped his cock. Giving Matt the bottle, then stroking, Ryan said, "Not just a friend spending the night in my case. I was back from boarding school -- you know hot Indiana gets in the summer?"

Ryan took the bottle, oiled his meat, returned the lube to the nightstand. Two feet from Ryan, jacking backhand, Matt said, "I've been in Ohio."

Flipping his fist upside down, adopting Matt's grip, Ryan nodded. "This feels great. Anyway, I'd been to the lake with a friend, and we'd seen some fine-looking girls. We yanked in the dressing room and shot our loads in the sink."

Changing grips, beating his meat forehand at his two- strokes-per-second pace -- any faster and he would have been unable to think -- Matt said, "I had a friend who wanted me to try stroking like he did." Demonstrating, Matt slid his fingers to the top of his shaft, squeezed his tip forcing out pre-cum, and slid his hand back down the stalk to his pubes. "It's the knob- attention that makes it different. I told him I'd try it if he'd show me how."

Ever at a modest two s.p.s. the good feelings were becoming great feelings already. With no wager on who could last longest, Matt surrendered to his hand. Legs apart, cock pointed at Ryan, Matt watched his fingers accelerate. Though fighting to breathe, he managed to gasp, "Oh shit," as his dick-juice blew out. Ryan followed soon after, firing multiple squirts reminiscent of Sasha.

As Ryan cleaned the carpet with a wet washcloth, Matt asked, "Do you keep track of how many spurts?"

"That was one of my best," Ryan grinned, "plus it lasted a while."

Chapter Fifty

Practice Run

At three, when his date left to have her hair done, Joe walked from the hangar to the museum. In the rotunda, a college kid wearing the nametag ORRIE asked if Joe would like a tour. He needed practice for tomorrow's grand opening, he said.

The tour began in the small room, Alpha Mammalia, where Orrie demonstrated he knew much about mice; they proceeded to Dino Hall where Orrie proved equally impressive regarding dinosaurs, but as they walked toward the teleport depots, they passed The Lambda Hall of Alternative Sexuality.

Joe asked, "What's in there?'

Orrie shook his head, "I don't get into that alternative crap."

"I do," Joe said. "Let's take a look."

"We can't," Orrie said. "I don't have the key."

Joe tried the door, verified that it was locked, and followed Orrie to the teleport depots. After viewing the Alpdruck and five other dinos, Joe thanked Orrie and wished him good luck. Leaving, Joe turned to wave and saw Orrie watching him, frowning.

Joe ate dinner at the outdoor cafe across from the Drake's Bay boys; he went with Derek to the tennis courts and spent the evening playing a doubles match against roommates Greg Spencer/Dennis Wilson. At nine, walking home, Joe was contemplating which fantasy to stroke to when he saw his earlier guide Orrie sitting on a park bench, staring at nothing.

"What's happening, studly?" Joe asked.

Orrie looked at Joe, glowered, and nodded, "You're another alternate type, right? You and my brother -- normal sex isn't good enough."

Annoyed, Joe said, "You sound like my own brother, Cory. You goofs think that shooting off anyplace but in a pussy's second- rate. Let me tell you something, donger. I could pop you so hard you'd see stars."

"Oh, bullshit," Orrie said, but when Joe turned to leave, he asked, "Did I do okay on the tour?"

"Yeah," Joe said, "you're a really bright guy who knows his material and presents it very well. I wish I was as good at my job."

"Wait here while I grab us a brew," Orrie said. "I need somebody to talk to."

In the park, over two Alphabrau gold, Orrie told of what he perceived as his brother, Caleb's, descent into gayness, of how the first time he had caught Caleb pounding pud Caleb had been chagrined, but as the months had passed Caleb had begun jacking openly. "Sometimes he'd do it while I was reading or on the computer," Orrie said. "Last week I let him beat me off so we could teleport to the Lodge."

Joe said, "When he played with your dong, how did he hold it?"

Forming a fist, his middle fingertip touching his thumb, Orrie said, "How else would he hold it?"

"Well, if I were jacking you I'd start off with the three- finger rub on your cumtube, polish your knob some, and bust you like Caleb did. So, did getting you off calm him down?"

"It made him worse. Every night he's been wanting a repeat."

Joe swallowed the last of his beer, said, "Sounds reasonable to me. If you were my brother I'd want repeats. Do you have time for more beer?"

Nodding forlornly, Orrie said, "Sure, if I go back to our room he'll want to mess with me."

They drank their second beers walking along the causeway, past the hangar where driver Tom worked late washing his shiny new e-tank, then past the power plant where electricians installed a second generator to run the museum's air conditioners. On the north wing, as they neared room 182H, Joe said, "Good luck with your bro. This is where I turn off."

"Uh, you don't have an extra bed available, do you?"

"Dude," Joe laughed, sticking his key in the lock, "if you're worried about being molested my room is not the place you want to be. My donger's been rigid since you described Caleb jacking you." Joe opened his door, turned on the light, and picked up a note on his desk.

"What's it say?"

"That my roomie's sleeping at the lodge. He's an artist. They want him to do a flamingosaurus-poster."

Standing in the doorway, Orrie asked, "Could I sleep in his bed?"

"Orrie," Joe sighed, "you would not sleep at all. I'm attracted to guys with builds like you and Jeff Michaels. I find you foxish." Joe took off his tee, hung it in the closet, kicked off his shoes. "I am about to take off my shorts, so either come in or go out, but close the door either way."

Hesitantly, Orrie stepped inside the room, shut the door, and Joe dropped his shorts.

Pushing his hardon away from his stomach, Joe said, "I told you the scarlet stallion was stiff." In the bathroom, Joe showered, brushed his teeth, and returned to find Orrie naked, perusing the Hustler Joe had loaned Matt. As Joe watched him read, Orrie's dick reared.

Joe complemented him, "Good angle of erection on a great- looking rod. Were you standing up or lying down when you and Caleb did incest?"

Flinching, Orrie answered, "Neither one. I kind of sat between his legs."

Joe sat on his bed, spread his legs, and asked, "Like this?"

Orrie glanced up from the magazine. "Lean back against the headboard."

Joe leaned back, Orrie sat in the vee between Joe's thighs still reading the Hustler. He panted as Joe greased his meat, then settled down as Joe jacked him slow, using fingertip strokes up and down Orrie's cumtube.

Minutes into the hand job, Orrie set the magazine on the floor, saying, "Nothing's in focus." Another few minutes and his cock-snot flew high.

Wiping his hand on his leg, Joe said, "That wasn't so terrible, was it?"

"At least you didn't try to fuck my ass," Orrie conceded, watching Joe stroke himself. When Joe speeded up, he asked, "Are you cumming?" Joe croaked, and Orrie cupped his hand under Joe's tip, collecting the final few dribbles.

Next morning, Joe dreamed he had been caught in a rainstorm; he woke to the sounds of a running shower, got out of bed, entered the bathroom, and as he crowded into the stall, Orrie asked, "You're already horny again?"

Orrie's swelling dick contradicted his professed disinterest, so Joe did what he had wanted to do the night before. He nipped Orrie's shoulder, dropped to his knees, and sucked Orrie's cock. When Orrie grabbed Joe's hair, attempting to pull him away, and protested, "Cut that out!" Joe distracted the grad student by slipping his fingers between Orrie's cheeks and prodding his bung.

Penetration imminent and apparently less desirable than what was happening to his prick, Orrie let go of Joe's hair, reached behind, grasped Joe's wrists, and pulled away the intrusive fingers plying his butt-crack. He said, "Leave my asshole alone and you can finish me."

Shortly, tolerance became eagerness; Orrie held Joe's head stationary and rammed his dick. As with Matt, Joe could not have avoided a mouth full of sperm had he wanted to, which he did not. He swallowed three times while Orrie was cumming.

Standing, he heard the shaken guide say, "Twice in eight hours -- my God."

Joe led Orrie out of the shower, dried him off, and helped him dress; Orrie needed to be inside the museum when it opened at eight. After sending Orrie to breakfast, Joe put on his uniform, and he was walking toward the outdoor cafe when Matthias ran up to him.

"Yo, Yo," Matthias pleaded, "kommen mit uns, for me und Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus, we needs you."

Joe followed Matthias to the tank hanger where a crowd blocked their way. The tourists had gathered to see the celebrities file out to the museum. "We sits on your shoulders und we watches the many famous peoples leavings," Matthias explained.

Joe stooped, Matthias climbed on, Blitz leapt onto Matthias, Joe stood. Matthias's bulk did not matter -- the boy weighed less than the weights Joe handled at the gym -- but his excitement literally gave Joe a headache, because whenever Matthias recognized someone prominent he pounded the top of Joe's head, exclaiming things like, "Frau queen! Frau queen! Bestest mornings!"

When the exodus finished, Matthias hopped down, tugged Joe's T-shirt, and said, "We thanks you very very much, Yo. You ist nicest. I treats you und Mattster at twelves for das shellfishes."

Tousling Matthias's blond curls, Joe said, "Thanks buddy, but Chez Hommard isn't open for lunch."

"No no! Nicht Chez Hommard. Todays opens the museums nicest restaurants. They sells Taschenkrebs, was you calls crabs, und we alles eats Lukas's lusciousest filbert cakes fuer unser desserts!"

Chapter Fifty-one

Ryan in Love

Although Ryan Roberts had had crushes before, he had never experienced the emptiness he experienced when Matt Devon left him after their Thursday night dinner dates. They had taken the girls to their room, Ryan had invited Matt to stay with him, and Matt had declined, saying, "I would except I have to tee off at dawn."

All that night, asleep or awake, Ryan had seen visions of Matt: Matt grinning at a joke, Matt taking his shirt off, Matt taking his shorts off, Matt nude, Matt yanking his dork, Matt's straining muscles just before he spewed, Matt's translucent white dick-juice Ryan had wiped from the rug.

Friday morning, hiding his lust, Ryan attended the opening ceremonies, standing beside his mother while his father made a typical faux pas by telling Doctor Mueller, "I'd be happy to recommend Alpha's admission as the fiftieth state."

Doctor Mueller smiled slightly, "The offer may surprise your Hawaiian peoples, nein, Dan?"

In the rotunda, employees had covered folding tables with white damask linens. Atop the tablecloths they had set platinum trays of rolls, Danish pastries, and toast. Ryan took a slice of rye toast, smeared it with butter, picked up a glass of orange juice, ate, and drank while exploring Dino Hall. His parents preferred to teleport before the crowds arrived, so Ryan toured Dino Hall by himself. As he studied the hundred-foot Brachiosaurus skeleton, he felt a tap on his wrist and heard, "Gut Morgen, Herr Ryan."

"Hi, Matthias," Ryan said. "Hiya, Blitz."

"Cheep," Blitz answered.

Matthias asked, "Wo ist Mattster? I no sees mine Freund Mattster what rescues geliebte Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus von das cages." When Ryan said that Matt was golfing, Matthias nodded, "I thoughted he says he comes here, howsoever I ist mistooken. At twelves, I treats you for shellfishes at Chez Crabe mit Mattster und nicest Yo. Kommen mit mir, Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus."

Glad for the chance to renew Matt's acquaintance, Ryan floated through the morning, regretting only the pre-cum seeping through his dick-slot whenever he thought of Matt naked.

At 11:50, Ryan walked past the teleport booths to the end of the corridor and looked into Chez Crabe. He saw fifty or so identical tables, each covered with the same damask tablecloths as the folding tables in the entry. Well-dressed tourists sat at all but one of the tables, and blond waiters bustled in and out bringing them bowls heaped with steaming crab legs,

Ryan's friends arrived at 12:02; when Matt smiled, more goo oozed out of Ryan. The group went to the room's only vacant table, sat, and a boy brought them French rolls. The boy said, "Guten Tag, Freund Matthias."

"Guten Tag, Freund Lukas," Matthias said. "You meets mine other friends, Mattster, nicest Yo, und Herr Ryan. Lukas feeds us his lusciousest filbert cakes for our desserts."

While he realized the bread, crab, and cake must be remarkable, Ryan ate little of any. Food could not satisfy his primary appetite, but he hung on every word Matt spoke, learning that Matt's father bought men's sportswear, that Matt's mother, a registered nurse, worked at the university medical center, that Matt had no siblings. When Matthias had snatched Ryan's uneaten filbert cake, Ryan asked Matt, "Is there any chance you'd have some free time this afternoon?"

"This afternoon I have a one o'clock tee-off, but I won't be too late and my evening's free," Matt answered.

As giddy as a schoolgirl interviewing Leonardo, Ryan walked with Matt to the south course's pro shop, agreed to meet Matt at the eighteenth green at five, then went upstairs to his room. He sat at the desk, opened his laptop, and connected to Hotel Alpha's official website. He clicked on 'employees,' 'recreational,' 'Matt Devon.'

The official Matt photograph showed Matt sandwiched between two friends, all wearing gray tees. Matt's mini-bio read: Don't let this heartthrob's happy-go-lucky grin fool you, boys and girls. Matt is a serious biology student who spends his spare time studying when he isn't tearing up the links. Matt's best friend here is the equally radiant Joe Lang. Lucky fans often see them together, having dinner, attending a movie, or leaving Matt's room."

Nothing else on Matt's page told Ryan anything he had not known already; he changed into his swim suit, went to the teen pool, and he daydreamed facedown.

At 4:45 he dove in the water, swam a length, climbed out, and went to the nineteenth green. He saw Matt crouched twenty feet from the cup, inspecting the lie. Matt looked at Ryan, winked, and sunk the putt, bringing applause from Ryan and Matt's three fellow golfers.

Matt shook hands with the others, hefted his golf bag, and walked to Ryan. Laying his arm across Ryan's shoulders, he asked, "Have you made any plans?"

Returning Matt's smile, Ryan said, "To suck on your dick till you run out of squirt."

"That's one way to spend the evening," Matt laughed, "but before we get nasty I've got things to take care of."

They went to the locker room adjacent to the pro shop, Matt stored his clubs, and Ryan watched him shower. Spellbound, Ryan dried Matt's back, leaking annoyingly, and when he slid the towel between Matt's cheeks, he leaked worse.

Ryan asked, "Can I have an extra shirt or something I can wrap around my waist?"

When Matt saw why he needed one, he chuckled.

Matt put on a clean uniform, Ryan hid his trunks behind a towel; they went to the administration building where Matt signed a letter Paul Hogan had written inviting twenty pro golfers to play in a hotel-sponsored tournament. Back on the causeway, Matt said, "One last errand and I'm yours for the night."

Matt's final errand involved the museum; walking north past Alphaland Entertainment, he said, "If I'm not being too nosy, what's your experience with the Mueller Progression?""

"Dad met Doctor Mueller when we lived in Washington, and Doctor Mueller gave dad an autographed copy of a book he'd written. Dad never reads anything but the sports section, so he stuck the book on the shelves and forgot about it. We moved back to Indy, I started boarding school, and I saw Doctor Mueller's name on the stationary. He's a trustee." His next time home, Ryan had found the book, dusted it off, and in one sitting had read it cover to cover. "I skipped the technical parts, but the examples he gave were so strong, I yanked it five times."

Matt asked, "You've never done the progression?"

Ryan said, "I never met anybody before I wanted to do it with."

In the museum, Matt took Ryan to the wing devoted to dinosaur holograms. Referring to the behemoth labelled Albapinatosaurus mentonensis, Matt said, "Matthias named this the baddest Bechtel bird, but Menton made him change it. Matthias and I still argue about the damn thing." Moving to the adjacent hologram of a man-sized dino labelled Phoenicosaurus fortunatus, Matt said, "Poor Lucky gives this dino a great name, but nobody uses it. Every time you read a newspaper it's called a 'flamingosaurus.'"

"It does look like a flamingo," Ryan said.

In the curator's office, Matt examined a picture showing him riding a bone-head. "This is for a promotional calendar," he explained, initialling a piece of paper attached to the photo. "The day I rode Dancer I had an asshole so sore you'd have thought I'd been dicked by an Eiger. Okay," -- Matt set down the pen -- "let's go to Chez Ryan."

They crossed from the museum to the hotel, climbed to 303G, Ryan opened the door. Inside, door locked, Matt pushed Ryan onto a bed, lay on him, and asked, "Have you shot since we did it together?"

Shaking his head, Ryan asked, "Have you?"

Matt shook his head too, rubbing his nose across Ryan's. "Up till now Joe's been kind of my partner, but he had a grad student spending the night." Matt stood and as he pulled off his T-shirt said, "Joe's great in bed as long as you don't fuck him. When your knob goes in him, he cums."

Shedding his own clothes, Ryan asked, "What's wrong with that?"

Matt dropped his shorts, lay on his back on the spare bed, answered, "Because your dick hurts his hole after he fires, so you've got to pull out."

Stripped, laying next to Matt, Ryan kissed his way from Matt's mouth to his cock. As Ryan sucked Matt's dick, Matt breathed deeply, and he stroked Ryan's hair. In the shower, Matt's sac had hung low, the left side especially; now, the sac had drawn taut; Ryan massaged each ball alternately.

Matt's smooth chest had no hint of hair between the muscles, no hair anywhere between his waist and his pits excepting only the triangle between his navel and pubes.

Ryan tasted Matt's closeness, heralded by a cessation of pre-sem, followed quickly by groans and hard squirts. If Ryan hoped to empty this boy, his work was cut out for him.

Chapter Fifty-two

Orrie Conflicted

From eight a.m. until eight p.m. Friday and again on Saturday Orrie North escorted tourists to Kreisland, repeating the same lecture every time: "Alpdruck gottfreiedi, literally translated Jeff's nightmare, was named somewhat accidentally when Ryan Dials, expedition leader, asked photographer Jeff Bahn to name the horror you're looking at. Jeff replied, 'I wouldn't have any idea what to call a nightmare like that,' and the name stuck."

The Alpdruck held the tourists enthralled, sometimes racing after herbivores, sometimes slaughtering them, sometimes grabbing a small hypsie in their talons and carrying it off into the surrounding jungle. When only male tourists were with him, Orrie expanded his speech to include, "You all know that Alpdruck are from eleven- to thirteen-feet tall, weigh half a ton, and can fly. What you may not know is that male Alpdruck have redeveloped a penis, allowing them to breed in a conventional fashion."

One more-knowledgeable tourist said, "On earth, flightless birds have penises too. I remember reading that ostriches do."

"True," Orrie said, "but on earth no flying bird has a penis."

After sleeping Thursday night in Joe's room, mentioning the word penis on Friday meant nothing; by Saturday afternoon, the word brought that well-known tingle. Unfortunately, when Orrie signed out Saturday night, Joe Lang was waiting in the rotunda.

Orrie asked, "How'd you know when I got off."

Joe snickered, "I know a lot about you getting off."

Orrie said, "I'm on my way to Alphabrau to find me a lady."

"Excellent, I'm thirsty," Joe said.

Despite his faults, Joe was the man to be with when girl- hunting. His boyish good looks, sparkling smile, affable disposition attracted women like Pennsylvania watermelon attracted flies; Orrie had seen him in action at the teen pool.

At Alphabrau, eating bratwurst while splitting a pitcher of potent gold label, Orrie sought vixen while ignoring Joe's prattle. Since they had taken an outdoor table surrounded by other tables Joe kept his voice down.

Joe finished his sausage, poured Orrie the last of the beer, and said, "I've got to go use the bathroom."

"Don't get arrested," said Orrie, but midway through the second pitcher he loosened up, admitted to himself that Joe was more than just a decorative idiot, and suggested a nightcap. "If I buy us one more beer at the bistro will you go to your room by yourself?"

Joe's eyes also sparkled. "Nope."

"Okay, you can have the beer anyway."

Walking east along the trail separating the golf courses, Orrie admitted, "I'm conflicted."

Behind him, squeezing the nape of Orrie's neck, Joe said, "Let's hear about your confliction."

"On the one hand I like girls, I usually think about girls when I stroke -- on the other hand, you sucking my dick was intense."

Rubbing Orrie's uniform shorts where he shouldn't, Joe said, "You have a really nice ass. I want to be inside it tonight when I cum." When Orrie spun around, Joe's hand, already midlevel, brushed Orrie's hardon. "Yesss," Joe hissed.

"Give it a rest," Orrie said, stepping up onto the causeway.

Joe said, "I've heard that before."

At Bistro Alpha, located between the video arcade and the bowling alley, floods highlighted the onstage ballet featuring an epicene young man dancing opposite a bullemic young woman. Sitting at one of many empty tables, Orrie commented, "You should have gone into that business. Ballet dancers are mostly queer too."

Sliding his toe up Orrie's calf, Joe chortled, "Yeah, but they're not nearly as cute." Nudging Orrie's ankle, he asked, "Are you working tomorrow?"

"No, and I'm not spending the day with your cock inside me either."

Joe grinned, "A Princetonian would say 'your thick-hung cock way deep up inside me.'"

"That neither," Orrie replied. "Were you gay as a youth?"

"No, it's a recent improvement," Joe said.

Dim lights, another beer, a Chopin waltz, and Orrie was yawning, "It's lights-out time for this kid."

"I've learned how to give backrubs from the master, plus my roomie's still at the lodge," Joe said.

Walking north toward the employee's quarters Orrie concentrated on Alpha's night-sounds: dove's cooing, owls hooting in the distance, crickets chirping. Breezes whispered through the citrus trees, spreading their flowers' perfume.

At 182H Joe opened the door, waited for Orrie to enter, and followed him inside. While Orrie undressed, Joe collected his paraphernalia: oils, a clean sheet, and whatever else he would use. Joe spread the sheet, Orrie lay down, and he was almost asleep when something slid through his butthole.

He said, "What weirdness are you currently up to?"

"I'm giving you an enema to relax you." Joe filled Orrie full.

Stomach bulging, Orrie went to the bathroom, disposed of much water, and returned to the bed, where Joe, now bare, instead of administering the promised massage, played around with Orrie's rear before he stuck his tongue through Orrie's cherry, which sent significant chills down Orrie's spine. When those chills ebbed, Joe resurrected them by driving his greased thumb up Orrie's ass.

Wiggling the thumb, Joe asked, "Do you want me to fuck you yet?"

Whether through horniness or insight, Joe had reached the heart of Orrie's conflict. The idea of having a man's hard prick lodged in his guts excited and repelled. Though the fascination may have always been latent, it had become concrete freshman year college. Following Penthouse-Forum advice, Orrie had jacked with a hot dog up his chute. He had told Caleb, and Caleb had called him the Oscar Meyer Kid for a while, but eventually Caleb had done it too. He had never mocked Orrie thereafter.

"Getting close," Orrie conceded.

"Turn over on your back," Joe said.

Orrie supine, his feet on Joe's shoulders, Joe's forefingers loosened him, entering Orrie and stretching him, then stretching him further by climbing on top of him and shoving stiff dick in . . . way deep up in Orrie.

Joe said, "Now change your legs so they're around my chest, not my neck."

Orrie slid his legs between Joe's arms; he used his thighs to pull Joe farther inside him. Joe's tongue and his fingers had opened Orrie enough that Joe's penetration caused no pain, but rather an excitement outside Orrie's experience. An internal glow spread like a fire, originating in his ass, filling him, and finally flickering across the outside of him, raising goosebumps on his skin.

His piston within Orrie pumping evenly, Joe asked, "Am I doing all right?"

"You're doing incredibly," Orrie answered.

Joe no longer smirked, nor grinned, nor snickered. His eyes looked into Orrie's without seeing them. Every muscle on that wonderful face had gone taut. Joe grunted, "Gonna squirt pretty quick."

Holding Joe close, stroking his back, Orrie said, "Okay."

"Oh," Joe groaned, "Here it goes."

Joe's final lunge bumped something so sensitive that Orrie creamed while Joe's was unloading. Snot gushed from his prick, creating a milky pond on his belly.

"When do I get my backrub?" Orrie demanded when Joe lay exhausted on top of him.

"Tomorrow most surely." Joe smiled, kissed Orrie's lips, and dismounted.

Orrie lost more than his virginity and his backrub, he lost his day off. Next morning, pre-sunrise, Caleb pounded on Joe's door, calling, "Open up, bro -- it's important."

Fearing a death in the family -- their grandmother's heart had been misbehaving -- Orrie threw back the sheet, forwent dressing, opened the door bare-ass naked, and breathed a sigh of relief when Caleb laughed.

Caleb asked, "Is that thing ever soft?"

"You didn't wake me up to inquire about my dick. Whuz goin' down?"

Caleb's smile faded. "Paul's mammal-man broke his leg last night, and you're elected."

"But I hate mammals. They're repulsive," Orrie protested.

"You may hate them -- who wouldn't? -- but you know a whole lot about them, and you're doing the Alpha Mammalia tours today."

Uintatheres and brontotheres weren't so revolting, and Indricotherium had been downright cool, but none of these interesting genuses had evolved on Alpha. "Damn it, Cal," Orrie said, lacing his shoes, "the shrews, voles, and possums they have here make me sick."

"You're preaching to the choir, bro." Looking at the bed Orrie had slept it, Caleb said, "Hey sweet-cheeks, pull on your shorts. I'll take you to breakfast."

PART XIV

Paul's Column

Well, boys and girls, after two weeks of organized chaos things seem to be returning to normal. We'll be losing the Hyatt Regency soon, and the museum's air conditioning is finally up and running. The captains, kings, and most of the biologists have left, so as I say, we're just about back where we were with a few notable exceptions.

The museum requires a staff of forty-eight plus anybody we have to bring in for special events -- click on 'museum.' These people have been living in the Hyatt, but when the Hyatt leaves we'll need to relocate them, so we're improving the temporary quarters the construction workers used when they built the brontosaur lookouts. We've addressed the transportation issue by placing a teleport depot in the courtyard; by teleporting workers can travel to and from the museum at their convenience. To see a detailed floor plan of the temporary quarters, click on 'maps.' This complex will be occupied from now on, so the name temporary quarters isn't good. If you want to win a free trip to the hotel, think of a good name for the complex and click on 'free contests.'

Several of you have inquired why the personal pages don't list explicit sexual details for the employees. I would answer by saying that if you want to know something, Matt Devon's dick- length for example, you can e-mail the employee directly. It seems inappropriate to post graphic material on a family-values oriented site like this one, and speaking of family values, we've got a great addition to the staff. Ryan Roberts, son of the beloved family-values proponent, Dan Roberts, will be serving as liaison between our travel agency, Alpha Excursions, the hotel, and the museum. Ryan has been on earth a few days now tidying up his personal affairs, but he'll report ready for work early next week. To read more about Ryan, click on 'employees,' 'administration,' 'Ryan Roberts.' Now on to your questions . . .

From Gari in Abilene: Q. If I fold my thumb against my palm I can't do things very well with my four fingers. Blitz has only four fingers, so how can he throw a tennis ball. A. Blitz's first digit isn't as fully opposable as human thumbs are, but it's rotated away from his three remaining fingers. BTW, Blitz can perform many more-complicated actions than throwing a ball, like eating an ice cream cone (French vanilla's his favorite,) drinking from a glass, and picking up coins. You try picking up a penny with just your fingers -- it's difficult.

From Jake in Terre Haute: Q. I was reading a brochure my folks got in the mail about the museum. It says that all the bowls, dishes, and silverware at Chez Crabe are made out of platinum. Isn't that kind of expensive? A. Not here. Remember that on Kreisland we have a lake full of platinum, so much that we don't dare export all we could or the price would collapse. For us, platinum is almost cheaper than silver, prettier too.

From Vanessa in Detroit: Q. My brother Lucius, he became most irate with me when I told him to neat up his room, and he dropped my remote-controlled Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus out from our twenty-eighth story window. I need it patched. A. All authentic remote-controlled Blitzes are unconditionally guaranteed for one year. Take your smashed-up toy back to any reputable store and they'll exchange it, then stick your brother's dick in a light socket. Turn on the switch, and you'll never have this problem again.

From Clark in Oakmont: Q. I stroked myself sore thinking about you doing the Mueller progression with your friend. Is he an actor and are his initials BP? A. No, and it didn't happen in LA. It happened my second year on Alpha.

From Althea in Valley Forge: Q. I agree that Lukas's filbert cake is exquisite, but isn't there any way I can make it without hand-grating the nuts? A. I doubt it. For the cake to rise properly, the filberts have to be the reduced to the size of flour particles. If you grind them mechanically, two things will happen -- you'll end up with chunks and they'll be oily. The good news is the cake will still be delicious, just not as unbelievably light as the real thing.

From Jarrod in Carthage: Q. I haven't heard much about Brad Greenwood's toboggan rides lately. Are they a success? A. Absolutely. Gay, lesbian, bi, or transgendered scientists enjoy taking them downhill to see the Albapinatosaurus, plus tourists are using them constantly. Brad, who as you know is a fox, will be turning the toboggans over to his roommate Ethan Oliver for a week. Brad's moving into the temporary quarters. He's a superb cyclist and wants to explore the possibility of travelling between the temp. quarters and the museum by bicycle as an alternative to teleporting. Brad claims he can pedal faster than an allosaur can sprint. Let's hope so.

From Regina in Mobile: Q. The batteries on my Dino-Dildo wear out every two or three days. Do you sell plug-in varieties? A. No, and besides, the Dino-Dildos weren't designed for females anyway.

From Timmy in Montpelier: Q. Have the bad guys that used to be the directors for Precious Playthings been re-educated yet? Did the Dino-cop stick hot wires up their stiff, throbbing cocks? If I can get a ticket to the Boston teleport depot, can I visit you and torture them? I'm truly creative. A. I'm sure you are, Timmy, but Dino-cop Jim Morrison has the matter well under control. Just because you can't torture people doesn't mean you shouldn't visit us, though. Click on 'free contests.'

From Kirstie in San Diego: Q. You should be ashamed of yourself, Paul Hogan. I am a junior in high school and I'm in love with this wonderful senior on the football team, but he won't have normal sex with me because he's worried about catching Peroni's disease. A. Your boyfriend is wise beyond his years, and I'm assuming that because he is so intelligent he knows that the minute he turns eighteen if he so much as touches you he's headed for twenty-five years in San Quentin State Penitentiary under California's mandatory sentencing laws. He should be hanging out with his teammates, not consorting with children.

From Sherry in Pinehurst: Q. I am deeply concerned about possible violations of workers rights on your planet. What programs do you have in place to protect them from sexual harassment? What is the minimum wage there, and is Matthias a resident alien? A. No earth laws apply de facto to this planet. Our justice system is based on the ten commandments, which you will soon find posted on the wall of your second-grade classroom.

From Zack in Spokane: Q. I am an avid fan of your column and I jack to you nightly. Could I have a clean copy of the autographed picture you sent me last Christmas? A. I'll be glad to send you a new autographed photo. I'll also send you a dozen Dino-mite condoms so you won't need to replace the next picture so fast.

From Millie in Pittsburgh: Q. I bought a package of tomato seeds from the Alpha Agricultural catalogue. They germinated perfectly, but when they got to be the size of a basketball they split open and rotted. Am I over- watering? A. Possibly, but that isn't the problem. Dino-Girls have to be picked when they're the size of a cantaloupe. Any larger than that, they're unstable. Under highly controlled conditions here, I've seen fruit produced two feet in diameter, but I wouldn't recommend trying for the record. There are too many variables.

From Jersey in Glendale: Q. When I click on 'calendar' all it says is that the millennium edition will be released October 8th. Is there any way to get an advance copy? Will I finally be able to see my idol Matt Devon's stiff cock? A. As always, readers of this column will have first crack at new merchandise, and Ricky Wilkins, who's producing the calendar, tells me I can have a thousand advance copies September 1, so reserve yours now. You will not see Matt's erection -- this is a g-rated production -- but you will see a great picture of Matt riding a bone-head.

From Thomas in Houston: Q. The way I understand it, Dino-marks are worth about a buck, and Dino-pfennigs are worth about a dime, so if I wanted to buy my girlfriend an engagement ring from Alpha Fine Jewelry, wouldn't I need about ten pounds of change? A. After you've reconsidered committing the rest of your sex life to a female (click on Peroni's) click on 'money' where you will see the following new coins now in the design process: 1 allosaur (silver) = 5 Dino-marks 1 brontosaur (silver) = 10 Dino-marks 1 stegosaur (silver) = 20 Dino-marks 1 pachycephalosaur (a three-inch silver coin) = 50 Dino-marks. 1 Triceratops (platinum) = 100 Dino-marks 1 Eiger (platinum) = 500 Dino marks.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Mammal-Man

At six o'clock, Sean Canton left Alpha Mammalia, hopped on a bicycle, and rode to the Sanctuary, his home for the rest of the summer. In the courtyard, he stopped to talk with the North brothers, laughed when they called him mammary-man, asked if they had seen his roommate, Brad Greenwood; Orrie and Caleb said they had not, and they invited Sean to sit with them at dinner.

In Sean's room, fresh white paint covered the walls, white curtains covered the small barred window, new beige carpet covered the floor. The museum had refurbished Sean's room and all of the other rooms, occupied previously by workmen building the brontosaur lookouts. Nothing survived from that era but the lone double bed. Initially, Sean had doubted two six-footers could share that bed comfortably; after two peaceful nights next to Brad he no longer worried.

As he took off his T-shirt, Sean recalled Brad's telling him that he might be back late. Sean hoped that he would, because after three days without privacy Sean felt great need. He dropped his shirt in the laundry, shed his shorts, his briefs, and entered the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, he watched his cock stiffen.

Smiling at his reflection, Sean wondered whether the girl he had lunched with today would like him better without clothes. Would she admire his tan? His stomach? His dick? Though Sean did not understand women, he understood that when one of them had rubbed his hard rod he'd shot bullets.

That episode also had happened in a bathroom in front of a mirror, and as Sean put his hand to his meat he relived it. Gina, a friend of his sister's, was spending the night. Sean had showered and was brushing his teeth when Gina entered the bathroom. Standing behind Sean, she had gripped his dick as he gripped his dick now, four fingers caressing the underside, her thumb across the top. He had seen flashes of light at the end; his load had peppered the mirror.

The memory so absorbed him that he barely noticed the outside door opening and failed to register danger till Brad said, "Are you here, Sean?"

Uh oh, Sean thought, letting go of himself. "I'm getting ready to take a shower. I'll be out in a minute." He turned around, twisted the faucet marked C, stepped under the water, and had lost most of his hardon before Brad came into the room.

The German boy, Niklaus set sliced roast beef, horseradish sauce, fresh bread, and Caesar salad on the sideboard. Forty- eight museum workers filled their plates; they sat at one of six picnic tables lined up between the gate and the fountain. At dinner, Sean endured the good-natured taunts of the North brothers. Dino-men were all alike, admiring their oversize reptilians while considering mammals inferior. "By the K/T boundry," Sean pointed out, lifting an Alphabrau, "earth had mammals the size of a beaver."

"Don't say that word," Caleb groaned. "My brother hears beaver and his hand goes in motion."

"My brother hears cock and his does," Orrie countered.

Brad, beside Sean said, "I hate to interrupt, but I've got a predicament. Assuming I'm right and we can ride bikes faster than allosaurs can run, that still leaves raptors." Spreading his napkin, Brad drew a square representing the Sanctuary, a second square representing the museum, and a squiggly line representing the forest outside. "We're four miles from the museum. Sean's done the best time at seven minutes twenty-five seconds, but that's less than thirty miles an hour. Raptors run twice that fast."

Caleb drew an arrow between the two buildings. "Velocity isn't the only factor, Bradster. Raptors do have cheetah speed, but they also have cheetah endurance. A quarter mile tops and they're winded, so if surf-puppy here covers a quarter-mile in thirty seconds, to catch him the raptors would have to leave the forest before Sean leaves here, in which case, he wouldn't."

Sean finished his beer, set down the bottle, and tapped Brad's arm. "Don't keep imagining problems. Your bikes are the only serious exercise we're going to get during the week."

Caleb took two beers from an ice chest, gave Sean one, kept one for himself. "This weekend," he said, "when the temporary staffers take over, would anybody be interested in seeing Camp Wilkins?"

Everyone at the table said yes except Brad who had to return to the lodge.

After they ate, Sean was washing dishes in the kitchen when Caleb came in, picked up a towel, and drying a plate, asked, "What were you doing when the first mammologist broke his leg?"

"Lifeguard at El Camino," Sean answered. "that's where I went to junior college my first two years before I transferred to UCLA."

Caleb asked, "Because of their biology department?"

"Zoology, I'm a zo-major."

Brad, from the doorway, asked if they wanted to take a ride before sundown. He helped stack the plates in the cupboard, wiped the stainless steel countertop, then rode with Sean and the brothers to the lookouts and back. During the ride, a wind blew in from the west, becoming fairly strong by the time they reached home.

Brad had designed racks mounted alongside each doorway. After asking Niklaus what he was serving for breakfast, Sean hung his bike above Brad's, entered the room, and saw Brad studying an x-rated picture on the monitor.

"I was here before they fixed this place up," Brad said. "The walls were dirty, the rugs were torn, the dresser drawers didn't open right." When Brad pressed 'page down' the woman licking a dick became the same woman sucking the dick. "We stayed here the night the raptors came chasing the proto. Matthias called it the temporary quarters back then. Some kid from your part of the world renamed it the Sanctuary."

Brad hit the 'page down' key; the new picture showed the dick blowing its load on her cheek. "My other roommate, Ethan, loves this stuff. We stayed in the hotel for a week, and he used the 'bator booths repeatedly."

Gingerly, Sean asked, "Are you and Ethan, uh, extra close friends?"

"Yeah, but don't worry -- I won't start anything." Brad tapped the key; the next picture showed another woman jacking an uncircumcised prick. "You're good on a bicycle."

"I never owned a car till I was in grad school. I hate the damn things." Unsettled by the pictures, Sean wandered outside where the fountain's splashing played in counterpoint to raindrops hitting the roof. He listened awhile, then walked to the gate, looked out onto the moon-swept prairie, and imagined velociraptors lurking. Shuddering, he returned to his room.

Brad had gone to bed, leaving the bathroom light on and the door ajar. Sean undressed in the bathroom, hung his clothes on the back of the door, and joined Brad in bed wearing his gold chain and briefs. Matthias had given Sean the chain the day he arrived, had promised it would protect him from dragons.

At home, Sean normally studied until one a.m., and the ten o'clock curfew observed here seemed strange. Unable to sleep, Sean considered the one exercise that would relax him. Should he chance doing it here, or should he hide in the bathroom?

Brad's bisexuality proved the deciding factor. If Brad might have been straight Sean would not have risked embarrassing him; since, however, Brad had admitted being bi, the worst that could happen would be Brad's laughing at him. The benefit of getting off comfortably outweighed the possible disadvantage of ridicule.

On his side, his back toward Brad, Sean pushed his shorts to his knees. His hand again around his cock, Sean wiggled the bottom, imagining Gina. Soon, his cumtube massage had provided as much pleasure as that method could, and he shifted to his standard five-knuckle shuffle.

Progressing toward ecstasy, Sean's fantasies kaleidoscoped into a montage of those he'd had and those he wanted: Gina, his surf buddies, the girl at the museum today, Matt Devon, the North brothers, Brad Greenwood, who interrupted his frenzy by shaking his shoulder.

Brad asked, "How close are you?"

"Feeling great," Sean said, resting his fist.

"Want a maximum shoot off?" Brad's fingers slid into Sean's ass-crack, one finger poised at his hole.

"Thanks," Sean answered.

As Brad entered him, Sean marvelled at how a finger increased his excitement more than anything else except possibly a dick but he had never yet had a dick. Who would take his cherry, he wondered, and would it happen on Alpha or when he returned to his friends? He was imagining Jeremy standing where Gina had stood but with Jeremy's cock up his rear when things got wet, really wet.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Sanctuary

Paul Hogan had given Ryan Roberts a choice: he could live in the hotel with a roommate or he could have his own room in the Sanctuary. Since Matt Devon had a roommate, the second choice offered the best chance for Ryan and Matt getting together; Ryan opted for the Sanctuary.

Monday afternoon, Matthias met Ryan at the teleport depot. Carrying Ryan's laptop, Matthias led him north along the western causeway toward the hangar. "For to goes to the Sanctuaries where mine good Freund Nicklaus works, we firstest goes to the museums und from the museums we teleports."

Ryan asked, "Have you seen Matt?"

Matthias nodded, "Mattster, he golfs."

They went through the hanger, crossed to the museum, and as they walked down the passageway toward the museum's teleport depots, Ryan looked into Alpha Mammalia. Seeing a blue-eyed blond holding something that looked like a cross between a mouse and an opossum, Ryan asked, "What's that thing?"

"He's a Morganucodon," the blond said, "an Ur-mammal."

"Ist manyest verdammt Morganucodons alles places -- they thieves mine breads und they ist rattish," Matthias said.

"They are not rats, Matthias," the blond said.

"For they looks so, Herr Sean, very most rattish."

In the teleport booth, when Matthias pressed 250, the door opened into a courtyard. Matthias took Ryan across the courtyard to room 144, opened the door, and set Ryan's computer on the desk. "Und now I goes und sees mein Freund Nicklaus," Matthias said.

When Matthias had left, Ryan explored his new quarters, finding the top dresser drawer stocked with uniform T-shirts and shorts, the middle drawer full of sox, boxers, and briefs, the bottom drawer empty.

In the bathroom, Ryan set his shaving kit next to the sink and was debating taking a shower when the telephone rang. In the main room he picked up the wall phone above the desk. "Hello?"

"Welcome back, Ry," Matt's voice said. "How went earth?"

"A couple things I couldn't put in the letters. When can I see you?"

"Wednesday afternoon I'll be back. Lucky and I are taking two ornithologists to Camp Wilkins. They want to classify the waterfowl. I don't like the plan either but Menton asked personally."

Disappointed but anticipating Wednesday night, Ryan said, "Behave yourself at the camp."

"Don't worry -- Lucky isn't my type. I prefer a guy my own age who has reddish-brown pubes and a dick that sticks straight up when he's hot. I'll find you as soon as I'm back."

Ryan hung up the phone, chose to postpone his shower, and plugged his computer into the wall jack. Connected to the hotel via Alphasat, the planet's satellite link, he checked his mail, finding a message from Paul: "Hi, Ryan, They remodeled the room across from mine today -- it will be ready for you in the morning. We'll be having dinner with the president of Alpha Excursions tomorrow, so mark your calendar. Sometime this week, I'd appreciate a short bio I could add onto my next column. See you, Paul."

Having nothing better to do, Ryan started his biography, relating his first ten years in Indianapolis as the son of a newspaper publisher turned senator, enduring puberty in Washington, and returning to Indiana midway through high school. Ryan had finished describing transferring from a co-ed school to an all-boys boarding school when he heard a cough, looked up, and saw Sean in the doorway. Sean had changed from his uniform tee into a collarless tee with a picture of a hamster on the chest.

Ryan laughed, "Morganucodons, very most rattish."

Sean smiled, "Since we're neighbors I was going to invite you to dinner, but I may reconsider."

Realizing he had not eaten since breakfast, Ryan went with Sean to the sideboard where he loaded his plate with baked ham, sweet potatoes, biscuits, and gravy. They ate at a picnic table across from the North brothers; unless Ryan's intuition was failing, Caleb North wanted Sean, whom he called surf-puppy.

After dinner, Sean invited Ryan to test a prototype road bike. Aboard one of two ultra-light plastic bicycles, Ryan raced to the museum and back in twelve minutes, twenty-five seconds, thirty-two seconds behind Sean who was bent over panting and laughing when Ryan caught up to him.

"Honest to God," Sean gasped, "I think I was doing forty down the stretch."

"You were flying," Ryan agreed.

Hanging their bikes outside their rooms, Ryan noticed that no bikes occupied the upper racks. "You don't have a roommate either?" he asked.

Sean answered, "There was this great guy named Brad living here for a week but he had to go back to his regular job." Ryan opened his door, Sean looked at Ryan's laptop, and said, "Matthias tells me you're a stud with computers. Could you teach me how to use Dinoword?"

At his desk, Ryan showed Sean how to use a word-processing program dependent on keystrokes rather than clicks. "Let's say I want to move this paragraph about our house in Georgetown aside temporarily, but I don't want to lose it. I go to the beginning with scroll keys, hit F6, scroll to the end and hit F8. Now that I've marked it, I hit Control-T. That creates a transient file that you can access by hitting Alt-T. Unless you save it as a permanent file, it disappears when you shut down the program." Sticky from the hot, humid day, first in Indiana, now on Alpha, Ryan stood. "I've put off a shower long enough."

Sean asked if he could practice on Ryan's computer, Ryan said yes, and entered the bathroom. Leaving the door open in case Sean had questions, Ryan bathed, dried off, and went to his dresser. As he was stepping into a pair of clean shorts, Sean commented, "My best friend's name is Jerry too. Before I bought my car I'd ride to the beach with him, and sometimes, after we'd surfed, we'd take his truck up in the hills, sit on the hood, and watch the sunset."

"Indiana doesn't have much in the way of sunsets," Ryan said. Or anything else, he thought. "Press F4, type 'Private- school buddies' with a hyphen between private and school, then hit enter."

Sean followed directions, read about Ryan and Gerry yanking side by side in the dressing room, and said, "Jacking off with somebody is how relationships start. I guess if a guy picked me up and took me home we might skip jacking off and go straight to something different, but it seems like for kids two-way JO is the most common way."

Standing behind Sean, fingering the gold band around Sean's neck, Ryan asked, "From a girlfriend?"

"Matthias gave it to me to protect me from dragons."

Opening the vee neck of Sean's shirt, Ryan saw a smooth, tanned chest, developed pects. His hand in Sean's tee, circling a nipple with his finger, Ryan asked, "When you're watching sunsets on the hood of Jerry's pickup, do you jack?"

"Lately we have been -- actually, more than just lately."

Sliding his hand to the top of Sean's abs, Ryan asked, "Does he blow you?"

"Only in dreamland," Sean answered. "Does your friend blow you?"

"Do the search-routine again and type 'oral release.'"

While Sean read, Ryan kneaded his biceps and watched his neck redden.

"You peoples," Matthias called through the door, "mein other Freunds und I, we wishes to races you new bicycles von here until the gross brontosaurus lookouts."

Ryan put on trike-shorts, sox, shoes, and accompanied Sean to the gate where Matthias sat on the smallest bone-head surrounded by seven other riders on bone-heads twice the size of Matthias's. When Sean and Ryan had climbed on their bicycles, Matthias swatted his mount's flank, crying, "Nun Dasher! Nun Dancer! Nun Prancer und Vixen! Voraus Comet! Voraus Cupid! Voraus Donner und Blitzen!" The bone-heads tore off into the twilight, heading south toward the lookouts; the cyclists finished far behind.

Back at the Sanctuary, Sean suggested Ryan share his room. "Before Brad, I wouldn't have thought two guys could share a bed comfortably, but it was excellent."

Ryan brushed his teeth in his bathroom, undressed in Sean's bedroom, and slid into Sean's bed. Sean came out from the shower, lay next to Ryan; naked, they held each other's stiffening pricks.

Sean, squeezing, asked, "When you started blowing Gerry, was the taste a problem?"

Slow-jacking Sean, Ryan answered, "It didn't take long till I got to where I look forward to it. It was never the exact same taste twice. It depended on what he'd eaten."

As Ryan slid under the sheet, he shuddered at the thought of Sean's fat cock up his chute. Sean's dick fit well in his mouth though, filling it fuller than Matt's or Gerry's average- sized rods had.

When Ryan had been sucked, he had received the best rewards when Matt or Gerry had rubbed between his legs, so he rubbed between Sean's legs: Sean's balls, his skin, and his asshole.

This last spot worked best; when Ryan touched it, Sean groaned, "Go inside. Put your finger in me there."

Chapter Fifty-five

New Job

After reading in Ryan's bio how he had sucked Gerry, Sean had hoped for this moment; he had prepared for it by smearing his ass-crack with hand lotion after leaving the shower, so when Ryan swallowed Sean's cock and stroked Sean's butthole, he said, "Put your finger in me there."

Ryan's finger slid into him easily. The finger in his ass added an extra dimension, which combined with the blow job produced an all-too-quick cum. As Sean's dick pumped out load, Sean contemplated busting Ryan.

Ryan slid from under the sheet, rubbed Sean's stomach, said, "Explain why you asked for my finger."

Sean explained his request as best he could, telling of reading a Penthouse Forum letter describing how the writer's girlfriend's finger in his ass had made him cum harder. Sean had experimented with his own finger, but he been unable to penetrate himself very far; then one night, after some beer, he had convinced Jeremy to help him.

Ryan asked, "This was on the hood of his truck?"

"No," Sean said. That would not have been possible; jacking on the hood of Jeremy's truck they had always pulled their dicks through the flies of their jeans. They had shot off in towels so as not to spew spunk on their shirts. "We were on a surf trip down in Baja, sharing a tent. He came before I did, and I asked him if he'd lube up his finger with his junk and stick it inside me. We were both virgins -- it was safe."

On his side, stroking Sean's chest, Ryan asked, "Didn't he want to stick his dick in you? I sure did, up that smooth, velvet tunnel."

Sean jacked Ryan's cock using Ryan's pre-cum as lube. "If you'd ever seen Jeremy's hardon you wouldn't ask. It's a monster, great for stroke-fantasies, impossible practically."

Ryan smiled, "Yours was big enough to scare me. Has anybody besides Jeremy been in you?"

"Another friend I hang around with named Byron. When we get together it's strictly for sex." Sean rolled on his side, slipped his hand between Ryan's knees, and said, "Lie on your back, Ry."

Changing positions, Sean knelt between Ryan's legs, coated his forefinger with Ryan's goo, spread Ryan's cheeks, and stroked Ryan's pucker. Each time Sean's finger crossed Ryan's bung, Ryan's dick jumped. Bending forward, Sean put his lips around Ryan's dick, and Ryan's hole fluttered.

Entering Ryan, Sean searched for and found the swollen prostate. As Sean dragged his fingertip across it, he tasted the salty result. The swollen gland indicated a large load inside; when Ryan shot off Sean was ready.

Afterwards, lying side by side holding hands, Sean said, "You tasted cool -- how did I taste?"

Squeezing Sean's fingers, Ryan answered, "You tasted real good, like a surf-puppy should."

Next morning they rode the new plastic Alphacycles across the prairie, Sean turning left toward the museum while Ryan entered the hangar. Sean unlocked Alpha Mammalia, wished his exhibits good morning, and fed them. However proud the dino-men might be of their reptiles, only Sean had live attractions.

As usual, traffic before lunch disappointed Sean as the tourists spent the bulk of their time in Dino Hall. Early afternoon, though, two college men, business types, stayed for an hour questioning Sean about Alpha's animals. Roommates at the University of Charleston, now roommates here, they admired Morganucodon and three other basal marsupials.

They introduced themselves as Craig and Marty; they asked Sean if he would meet them for dinner, and since Ryan would be eating with Paul, Sean agreed. Midafternoon, Jeff Michaels, whose JOP Sean had been intending to visit, arrived with a camera. When Jeff had taken Sean's picture holding the Morganucodon, he also invited Sean to dinner.

Sean said, "I'm eating with a couple guys from the east. Why don't you join us?"

At seven that evening, shaved and showered, Sean parked his bike in the tank hanger beside Ryan's. He took the path between the golf courses to Alphabrau Microbrew, drank a lite beer while he waited for the others. Jeff arrived first, giving Sean a half- ounce bottle of Dino-Balm. When Craig and Marty sat with them, Jeff gave them samples too, saying, "If you like it, stop by Alphaland Entertainment and I'll give you a refill."

The taller roommate, Craig, asked, "What's it good for?"

Jeff answered, "Anything that needs lubrication, hands, pussies, or bungholes."

The slimmer roommate, Marty, turned pale.

At eight, Sean told the others good night, went to the hangar, and saw Ryan's bike missing. Pedaling fast, he hurried to the Sanctuary where he found Ryan sitting at a table with Matthias and Nicklaus, rolling dice.

Matthias waved Sean over. "Yes yes, Herr Sean, for you must plays mine nicest Wuerful mit uns und loses your coins as last weeks."

Tonight, however, Sean lost only four Dino-pfennigs. Leaving the table, he squeezed Ryan's arm. "Same bed as last night?"

"I'll be there," Ryan said.

In his room, clothes hung, Sean sat on the chair, his legs apart. He squeezed a drop of Dino-Balm on his finger, reached between his legs, and greased his asshole. Dino-Balm resembled the K-Y Jeremy used more closely than Byron's Astroglide.

Sean went into the bathroom and took out a disposable enema kit, one of several that had been under the sink when he had moved in. Reading the label, he saw "The solution in this bottle has been prepared from only the finest mineral waters and herbs. Formulated by Alpha's Scarborough Fair division, this product should be used in preparation for prostate examination, oral-anal contact, or anal copulation. For best results, inject into rectum and retain five minutes. Ingredients: water, baby oil, essence of peppermint, parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme."

While Sean was reading the ingredients label, Ryan entered, took the kit, slid the plastic nozzle into Sean, and squeezed the contents up his ass. The peppermint stung Sean's hole as he stood in front of the mirror, waiting the recommended five minutes talking to Ryan. "Who won the money?"

"Matthias." Ryan peeled off his shirt baring his sweet upper body. "He says he thinks he has enough now to buy new props for his tricks." Ryan dropped his shorts and his boxers baring a hardon less chubby than Jeremy's, thicker than Byron's. As with Jeremy, developed muscles held Ryan's dick nearly vertical. Though untouched, Ryan's cock pointed high.

Sean asked, "Do you want me standing up or lying down."

Rubbing Sean's cherry, Ryan answered, "Whichever's most comfortable for you."

Sean considered his options as he emptied the enema. Every position he imagined made him sweat; finally, he decided on one he had tried unsuccessfully with Jeremy. In the bedroom, he lay on his back, spread his legs wide, and when Ryan climbed between them to grease him, he wrapped his legs around Ryan's arms.

Shoving a slippery finger in Sean, Ryan said, "I'm too hot to be subtle."

"I'll handle it somehow," Sean said.

Ryan's dick seemed much larger when it began stretching Sean's hole than when Sean had sucked it. Fear that Ryan was splitting him open competed with the need to have Ryan inside him. Ryan lunged, searing pain washed over Sean, and Ryan was in.

"Was that as terrible as it looked?" Ryan asked, his face above, his prick within.

Dizzy, Sean panted, "It's just bad for a second -- it's getting better already."

Ryan asked, "You're sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, but maybe we ought to rest a minute before you start pumping."

Dropping his face onto Sean's, Ryan began a lingering kiss that filled Sean's mouth with Ryan's tongue as completely as Ryan's rod filled his tail. The kiss's magic soothed the fire; grabbing Ryan's butt, Sean pulled him deeper.

Sean said, "I'm ready as I'll ever be."

Ryan's thrusting set in motion a repetitive chain: Ryan's jabs caused pleasure to sweep over Sean causing Sean's asshole to tighten and Ryan to groan. Sean himself did not moan; he gasped, unable to inhale oxygen fast enough to replace what Ryan's cock was consuming.

"Gonna cum," Ryan grunted.

"Me too," Sean rasped.

Chapter Fifty-six

High Finance

Craig's platinum-exportation formula had won him and Marty interviews for summer jobs. They had landed those jobs, but Alpha had produced disturbing changes in Craig. Late Wednesday afternoon, in their office next door to Paul Hogan's, Marty glanced sideways; he saw Craig studying the bottle of Dino-Balm Jeff had given him yesterday.

"The restroom has a door you can lock," Marty said hopefully.

"Why? Did I keep you awake last night?"

That was the change. In Montgomery, West Virginia, where they had grown up, and later in Charleston where they had been and would be soon again be dormmates, they had never discussed masturbation, far less done it with the other nearby. Yet on Alpha -- on Kreisland and now here -- Craig had begun abusing himself more and more blatantly.

They had teleported from Charleston to Kreisland on Thursday. Two days later, Marty had seen Craig's sperm in their shower, a load of white slime that had clung to the tile. The following day, Sunday, after work, as they were returning to their room, Craig said, "I'm tired of jerking off standing up. I'm going to do it lying on my bed. You can watch or you can give me ten minutes alone." Craig had got his ten minutes.

The same thing had happened the next day. Then, yesterday they had teleported to the hotel, had eaten dinner with Jeff, and Jeff had given them samples of lubricant. At eleven o'clock in their room, no sooner had Marty turned out the light than he had heard Craig pushing his shorts down, throwing off the sheet, oiling his manhood, followed by groans of great pleasure. Craig had proclaimed the impending finale, "Yeah . . . yeah . . . yeah . . .Yesss!"

As Marty mused on the changes in Craig, a boy as handsome as Craig entered the office. Nearing Craig's desk, he said, "Hi, I'm Joe Lang. I need to transfer money out of my Alpha account to a Princeton account. Paul sent me here."

"That's our job." Craig entered Joe's name into his computer, saw his account information, and asked, "How much do you want sent where?"

Joe said, "One-hundred dollars to the Sigma Chi fraternity's beer fund."

Marty asked, "Is that for the semester or the year?"

Joe snickered, "Dude, that's for September."

As Marty looked at Joe appalled, Craig said, "You'll have to forgive my roomie. Marty's straitlaced."

Joe said, "That's okay, I'll buy you guys ice creams instead of Alphabraus."

Quitting time having passed, Marty shut off his monitor, followed Craig and Joe out of the office onto the causeway. They turned right toward Alpha Ice Cream, and as they were passing Alpha Memorabilia a blond teenager ran up to Joe.

"Nicest Yo, Nicest Yo," the boy said. "I saves mine coins und now I needs mine three spears."

Patting the boy's head, Joe said, "What do you need spears for, Matthias? Are you going hunting with Hogarth?"

"No no," Matthias answered, "Spears for to juggles."

"I think he means spheres," Craig said.

"Yes yes! I means spears. Kommen mit mir, nicest Yo und you brothers what are friends." Pulling Joe's T-shirt, Matthias led them inside to a booth with a sign reading Dino-Yuletide that sold Christmas tree ornaments. In a fluorescent-lit glass case, Marty saw ten exquisitely engraved balls. Three-inches in diameter, the globes depicted planet Alpha.

Coins had been heaped on the counter next to a broken piggy bank. "For I gives him my coins," Matthias said, "und he gives me no spears."

The swarthy clerk spoke with a grating Brooklyn accent, saying to Joe, "You tell the little foreigner that these [pronounced 'dat deez'] are pure platinum, that they weigh two ounces apiece, and that they cost one-thousand Dino marks per."

"But I has only two-hundred und I needs three spears," Matthias pleaded.

Patting Matthias's shoulder, Joe said, "I'll get you three tennis balls, Matthias."

"No no! I must has these for mine tricks for they dazzles."

Finally in a venue where his expertise surpassed Craig's, Marty said, "Suppose I give you six ounces of platinum and you give Matthias three globes."

Gesticulating with a cigar, the proprietor said, "You're forgetting the craftsmanship -- that ain't chopped liver."

"Compare your craftsmanship to my craftsmanship." Marty reached in his pocket, and he brought out six of the ten commemorative coins he had struck on Kreisland. The coins showed an Eiger on the obverse, the statue of the brontosaur stomping the allosaurs on the reverse. The print beneath the statue said 'One Ounce Troy Weight.'

"These are gorgeous," [Deez ah gaw-jus] the man exclaimed. "You bring me more, and I'll give you four-fifty each."

"I'll have to get back to you," Marty said.

Jubilantly, Matthias chose three globes, the proprietor bagged them, and Matthias gave the sack to the small dinosaur on his shoulder. "You learns these to juggles, Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus, thanksgivings of our good freund . . . Wie heissen Sie?" Matthias tugged on Marty's sleeve.

"I'm Marty McGuire and this is my roommate, Craig Keller."

Matthias scowled, "Why you brothers different names has?"

"We're not brothers -- we just look alike," Marty said.

Shaking hands somberly, Matthias said, "Und I ist Matthias und this is mine pet, Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus, means lightning-quick piglet dinosaurus for he ist hungrish alles times. How you has nicest coins?"

Marty explained that Will Menton had commissioned him to design Alpha commemoratives. "There'll be six, four silver, two platinum."

Matthias frowned, "How you knows designs coins?"

"Dad's a jeweler. I've been doing medallions since I was a kid," Marty answered.

Turning, Matthias asked Craig, "Was you do?"

"I type numbers into computers," Craig responded, much too modestly.

Joe said, "Come with us, Matthias, and I'll buy you and Blitz ice creams too."

"No no! For I buys alles us iced creams." Matthias transferred the coins from the countertop into two bulging smock pockets.

Walking from Dino-Yuletide to Alpha Ice Cream Joe asked Matthias where he had got two-hundred dino-marks. "Das tourist peoples, they puts coins in das cups what you gives me, und some coins I wins mit mine Wuerfuls. I does not needs them now, howsoever, und I returns them."

In the ice cream parlor the waitress brought Blitz a double decker French vanilla and told the others, "Our special today is fresh peach." They all ordered peach cones to go, and taking their ice cream, the group walked north toward the employees' quarters. They picked up Joe's friend, Greg Spencer, at Alphaland Entertainment and Greg's brother, Jared, at the tank hangar.

"I've got an opening Saturday morning if three people want to play golf," Joe said.

Jared smiled, "I'm not playing for money with you."

Matthias pulled a handful of coins from his smock, gave them to Jared. "Now mit nicest Yo you plays, Yared, und also mit Herr Craig und generoust Marty."

When Craig and Marty entered their room they saw an envelope on the dresser; Craig read the message on the face aloud, "Hotel Alpha's board of directors has passed a resolution requiring all employees hired after July 10 to submit sperm samples. Unroll the enclosed Dino-Mite condom onto your penis, move your hand up and down rapidly across the latex, and when you have successfully ejaculated bring your sample to Dr. Stef's office on the second floor of the administration building."

"Cripes," Craig laughed, "they write like you talk."

Still horny from hearing Craig masturbating last night, Marty said, "Give me a Dino-Mite and I'll do what I have to in the bathroom."

Marty locked the bathroom door, tore the foil packet open, and took off his uniform. After a week without sex, hearing Craig read the word 'masturbate' had gotten him stiff; consequently he needed none of the advance work he often needed whenever he played with himself more often than daily.

He lowered the toilet-seat lid, sat on it, and stuck his rigid member into the condom. He was pulling his wire at a moderate pace when Craig opened the door.

"Hey, I locked it," Marty squawked, no longer masturbating.

"Hey, I unlocked it," Craig grinned. "Show me how you hold your dick."

"I will not."

"Suit yourself."

Out of his league athletically, Marty never had a chance. Craig lifted him off the toilet seat, dropped him onto the bath rug, and knelt on his legs. One hand on Marty's chest, pinning him, Craig stimulated Marty's organ with his hand, doing to Marty what Marty had been doing to himself, only faster.

Craig's hand a blur, he said, "I bet your dick is feeling pretty great about now."

"Oh, Jesus," Marty groaned, "I'm starting to climax!"

PART XV

Paul's Column

Well, boys and girls the summer's winding down fast. Lifeguard Andy Sexton left yesterday, Joe Lang leaves a week from Wednesday and Matt Devon leaves the following Saturday. Luckily, we've been able to persuade some of the men to stay for a year. That group includes the entire JOP crew (Jeff Michaels, Greg Spencer, Clint Walker) plus our Lambda Lodge men, Brad Greenwood and his roommate Ethan Oliver.

Our new travel coordinator Ryan Roberts has come up with a special package for the readers of this column. In order to make Ryan's plan work financially we have to put four people into a Hyatt Regency room, so the best way is for you to find three friends who want to come here with you. Anyway, the four people will get a room for seven nights, twenty-one meals, a day trip to Lake Borogovia, all for only $200/person. In addition to what I've already mentioned, Lucky Bender will give you a special museum tour on Monday. Also, you can go tobogganning at Lambda Lodge (but only if you're gay, lesbian, bi, or transgendered) and Jeff Michaels will hand out samples of our various lubes. Don't miss out on this truly great value.

In other news, you'll find fresh contests on the 'contests' page, plus you get a chance to win one of five proof sets of our spectacular new coins by clicking on 'money.' There's one major contest we're looking forward to having fun with. Jeff Michaels, who runs the JOP, asked Marty McGuire, who designed our new coins, to design a new token for the 'bator booths. If you have a favorite employee you'd like to see on the face of the token, click on 'contests.'

Now on to your questions . . .

From Katie in Danville: Q. My boyfriend gave me a Dino-mouse for my birthday, but when I click the middle button my computer connects to the internet and starts downloading jpegs from alt.binaries.pictures.gay.hunks. I am not interested in gay hunks. A. The Dino-mouse middle button is fully programmable. You can change it to do whatever you want. Go to the sitemap and click on 'product information.'

From Paul in Ogden: Q. When we have our circle jerks we jack off the guy on our right, but I'm left-handed. A. In between round-pounds practice with your right hand on a friend or yourself. You'll be surprised how quickly it comes to feel natural.

From Lilith in Tempe: Q. Will the summer hires be returning to Alpha next year? Particularly dreamy Matt Devon and foxy Joe Lang. A. Matt will for sure, and we hope Joe will too.

From Kurt in Miami: Q. What's the most times you've ever seen anybody squirt? A. On Kreisland, Aaron Yost and I took the tank on several field trips, observing raptors. There was nothing to do after sundown one day so just killing time, Aaron bet me a backrub that he could keep an erection longer than I could. As you can guess, that's tricky because you have to stay close without going off. After about forty minutes, Aaron couldn't stand it any more and he climaxed. I counted sixteen separate shots and I may have missed a couple because he was firing so fast. P.S. Aaron gives a heck of a backrub.

From Rita in Yonkers: Q. I am a lesbian who is interested in working with my sisters at the Gondwana Inn. What jobs are available down there? A. The Gondwana Inn is heavily oriented toward water sports, the g-rated kind. If you're a competent fisher, snorkler, surfer, or scuba diver, contact my friend Ken Halstead via e-mail khalstead@alpha.org/gondwanainn.

From Matt in Foxboro: Q. I love that picture on Jared Spencer's website showing his beautiful buns, but who's that wrong-gendered person he's on top of? A. Jared tells me that a fraternity brother snapped that picture of him and his girlfriend, Della. Jared has since mended his ways although he still fantasizes Cherise lap-dancing him. And speaking of Cherise, she will be back here on Alpha soon for the premier of her new bisexual video, 'Adam and Eve Meet Insatiable Steve.' Just like the first time she was here, we'll have a drawing after the movie, and Cherise will lap dance the winner.

From Gioconda in Reno: Q. My Godfather owns The Reno Casino here, and he says people shouldn't game at your hotel because he pays better odds, plus he maintains a state-certified brothel next door for his clients' convenience. A. If he pays better odds than we do, he's unique among Nevada mafiosi. Here at Hotel Alpha we return a minimum 90% on everything, even slot machines, plus we have only one zero on our roulette wheels. As far as opening a whore house, I'll mention it to the management. Just out of curiosity, is your grandad's house exclusively hetero-oriented only or does it also serve the gay, lesbian, bi, and transgendered communities?

From Donnie in Brattleboro: Q. Is humpy toboggan-man Brad Greenwood going to be featured on your upcoming calendar? A. Brad and his toboggan will be Mr. December pictured with Matthias's feathered brontosaur Albapinatosaurus mentonensis. In another snow scene, Lucky Bender will be Mr. January with his flamingosaurus. We have taken orders for 624 of our 1,000 advance copies so reserve yours today if you haven't already.

From Kelly in St. Cloud: Q. My dad installed Netcensor on my computer, so now, if I want to write you I have to go to a friend's house. A. On your own computer go to our subsite, praisehim.org., click on 'freeware,' and download 1st_amendment.exe. By installing it you will not only disable Netcensor, but you will prevent anyone from abridging your constitutional right to freedom of expression in the future.

Chapter Fifty-seven

Longhorns

After two weeks working in Alpha Mammalia, Sean Canton had grown used to tourists saying things like, "Let's get out of here and go see the good stuff," or "Damn, but those critters are ugly," so Friday late afternoon when a young man wearing a U of Texas tee with a nametag reading ADAM drawled, "Ptilodus is a cute little thing -- puts me in mind of a chipmunk," Sean beamed.

"Ptilodus does look a little like a chipmunk," Sean agreed. "His wide feet make it possible for him to run down a tree head first without falling. Notice the prehensile tail, like a monkey's."

Another boy in Adam's group, also in a UT tee nametagged LANCE said, "C'mon, Adam, let's check out Lambda Hall before it closes."

Sean saw them again twenty minutes later as he locked mammal hall for the night. The Texans were standing across from the doorway leading into the Lambda Hall of Alternative Sexuality, talking quietly. When Sean nodded, Randy asked, "Is there anywhere a man can go to be alone for a bit?"

"Follow me," Sean replied.

They entered the hotel through the tank hangar, turned right, and walked south. At Alphaland Entertainment Sean said, "The booths are in there."

Lance went in, but Adam continued walking with Sean. Nearing the corner, Adam said, "I'm a mite nervous about pulling my possum in public."

"The booths have doors," Sean pointed out.

"Even if nobody can see you they can hear you," Adam countered.

At the administration building, Sean left Adam on the steps and went inside. He examined then initialled the calendar photograph showing him holding the little Morganucodon.

As Sean was leaving, Paul Hogan asked, "Could you work overtime tomorrow? There's nobody else."

"Sure thing," Sean answered.

Outside, he saw Adam on the causeway talking to tour guide Jared Spencer. Jared was saying, "We had two cancellations for our dinner run, so if you and your friend Lance were still looking for a tank-ride, you could go with us. Matthias has a cooler full of porterhouse steaks."

Adam said, "I expect Lance will be plum tuckered out when he finishes up, but maybe Sean would want to go."

Sean, who had never ridden in a tank, accepted the offer. "I'll teleport back to the Sanctuary and shower and change. I'll meet you guys in half hour," he said.

But since Adam wanted to see the Sanctuary, he and Sean teleported together. In the courtyard, unlocking his door, Sean asked, "Did you want to wait out here or see my room?"

Adam followed Sean in, and as Sean undressed, asked, "Have you been in Lambda Hall yet?"

Sean laughed, "It's bizarre, all those holograms of celebrities."

"And you can pair them up however you want so long as it's not a man and a lady."

Pulling his shirt off, Sean said, "Very most lewdest for lesbophiles."

"That's my Lance," Adam said.

Sean had been dateless since Ryan had moved in with Matt Devon on Wednesday, so he may have read too much into Adam's inspection when he came out of the shower. Sean had been in enough locker rooms to know that straight guys did look at each other's dicks, and Adam's remark, "You could qualify as a Longhorn yourself, boy," might have been perfectly innocent.

Testing for deeper interest, Sean asked the tall, well-built Texan, "How would Lambda Hall play down in Austin?"

"Too many men would skip too many classes." Looking at the double bed, Adam asked, "Do you have this room to yourself?"

Sean answered, "Since Wednesday I have."

Sean dressed in clean clothes, choosing to wear levis tonight instead of his uniform, mainly in order to monitor any interest Adam might show in his crotch. He regretted his decision during the tank ride, however, when Adam, his voice muffled by the panzerfaust's roar, spoke of his freshman year.

"I was an eighteen-year-old youngster off the farm," Adam said, "a stranger to big-city ways, and like most boys my age I'd always believed my organ had been given me so's that I could insert it into a woman, so you can comprehend my discomfiture when boys in our dormitory routinely would insert it one into the other."

Squirming, Sean asked, "For real?"

"Indeed they did," Adam answered, tapping Sean's knee. "Why my very first week, I was taking a shower, and a young man in the stall next to mine was using his mouth on a friend."

Picturing one stud kneeling and sucking another, Sean swelled in his jeans uncomfortably. Adjusting his rod, he asked, "Did you ever see good-looking guys buttfucking?"

Nodding, Adam glanced at Sean's swollen pants. "I did for a fact. Our coach cancelled practice one day owing to a thunderstorm, and when I got back to the dormitory, my roommate had his dingus stuck in a mutual friend, all the way to the hilt."

"Was the guy he was sticking enjoying it?" Sean asked.

"He was purely loving every moment," Adam answered.

Dinner excursions travelled from the hangar to a picnic area outside the brontosaur lookouts. While the steaks were sizzling on the grill, Sean asked Matthias, "After what happened at Lake Borogovia, aren't you afraid of Eigers coming after the meat?"

"No no! For Eigers, they lives only near lakes. It is allosauruses what lives near streams, howsoever not here, for they fears that die gross brachiosauruses, they jumps on them und makes them flattest." Matthias reached into the pocket of his smock and brought out a handful of Dino-pfennigs. "Herr Sean, I wins these from you mit mine Wuerfuls, but I needs coins no more, so you takes."

"You keep them, Matthias -- buy ice cream cones for you and Blitz."

"Yes yes! I does that, und thanks you. How works you necklace?"

"It's kept me safe from dragons so far," Sean answered.

Sliding the meat onto a platter Matthias called, "Comes und gets it! Savory porterhauser mit salads und succulent breads."

Eating across from Matthias and Blitz, who picked through his salad and set the tomatoes off to the side, Sean asked Adam, "Are you really interested in mammals or were you just being polite back at the museum?"

Adam swallowed, then said, "I find mammals much more interesting than dinosaurs, present company excepted. I kept a prairie dog for a pet when I was a youngster."

Matthias nodded, "Und in Hamburg, at St. George's home for Wayward Boys, Lukas, Hansel, und I, we has ein junger Hund, what you calls puppies. We sleeps mit him."

"I could do with a puppy to sleep with," Adam said, his toe tapping Sean's ankle.

Riding back to the hotel, Sean asked, "What's Lance going to say when you're gone overnight?"

"He knows I think you're real cute," Adam said. "Lance is the roommate I mentioned."

At the hanger, Sean took a rain check on Matthias's offer of ice cream, crossed to the museum, and teleported with Adam. In Sean's room, untying his sneakers at the foot of the bed, Sean asked what Adam liked to do.

"I'm versatile," Adam said.

Barefoot, Sean stood in front of Adam, encouraging Adam to take off his jeans, but before Adam had dropped the pants to Sean's shins he had his mouth around Sean's cock, sucking Sean skillfully while massaging Sean's balls. When Sean's knees threatened to buckle, he gasped, "Let's trade places."

They had switched places twice more before Sean went off in Adam's mouth as Adam shot his load between Sean's legs.

Lying next to Adam afterward, Sean rubbed his chest. "Were any of those stories you told me true? I've never seen anything like that in my dorm."

"I hoped you'd respond," Adam answered. "They were fantasies only, except the one about walking in on Lance getting poked. That happened."

"Maybe you'd want to poke me after while," Sean said.

"No doubt about that," Adam answered.

Sean said, "I have to work overtime tomorrow. There's nobody else here except Orrie North who knows anything about mammals, and Orrie's working overtime too. They have to have somebody manning my hall. I'm supposed to be getting a new guy in late this week to take part of the load, but until he gets here I'll be working every day."

Squeezing Sean's dick, Adam remarked, "It must be frustrating when people don't appreciate your exhibits."

"It's understandable," Sean said. "Compared to dinosaurs, Alpha's mammals just aren't impressive. On earth, when the dinos got wiped out, mammals evolved into awe-inspiring animals, but with dinos around, my little friends don't have a chance. What Alpha needs is a bolide."

"I'm feeling the urge again," Adam said.

"The lube's in the nightstand drawer under my cumrag," Sean answered, rolling onto his stomach.

Chapter Fifty-eight

Joe's Sunday with Friends

A peremptory rat-a-tat-tat on his door woke Joe Sunday morning. He glanced at his roommate, Tim, asleep in the other bed, at Tim's cousin asleep on the floor, then pulled on his trike-trunks, hiding his hardon, but since the trunks did not hide his wood very well, he called through the door, "Who is it?"

"Ist Matthias, mit mein pet Blitzenschnell ferkelosaurus," Joe heard.

Joe wrapped a tee around his waist, opened the door, and saw the curly-haired blond with Blitz on his shoulder.

"Why you leaves, nicest Yo?" Matthias demanded.

Pulling on his golf shirt, Joe answered, "My classes are starting."

Matthias shook his head, "Yeffster five, he no leaves -- Herr Greg, he no leaves -- und Bradster, he no leaves neither. Why you leaves?"

"I'm committed to too many things," Joe said, "plus my dad's paid my tuition. Those other guys, they haven't started college yet, so they can take a year off, but I can't." Rummaging through the mess on his desk, Joe found an orange he had saved and gave it to Blitz. "Don't look so sad," Joe said. "You're leaving too pretty soon."

"Yes yes," Matthias agreed, "for these peoples here -- they ist now orientals. You kommen mit mir und we rides gross pachycephalosauruses."

"I tee off in an hour. You kommen mit mir und I buys you breakfast," Joe said.

At the outdoor cafe they sat with five charter employees, Jeff Michaels, Dave Butler, the Spencer brothers, lifeguard Dennis Wilson. His plate heaped with whole-wheat pancakes, Matthias announced, "For this afternoon, we alles rides gross pachycephalosauruses und mit mein Freund Hogarth we hunts."

After agreeing to meet near the east portal at two, Joe and Jared Spencer went to the clubhouse where they rendezvoused with the University of Charleston roommates, Craig Keller/Marty McGuire.

On that unusually hot and humid Saturday morning, while waiting for MBA Craig Keller to line up a fourth-hole putt, Joe told coin-designer Marty McGuire, "I ought to be on the face of your new JOP token -- I certainly stroke more than anybody."

"Strange how Brad Greenwood beat you and Matt out," Marty said. "Paul told me it's because Brad works at the lodge. That makes him an out-gay, so Paul thinks he picked up all the gay votes."

Joe snickered, "I suppose that's the price we straights pay."

Tour-guide Jared snickered louder, "Joe Lang -- the boy who never met a cock he wouldn't suck."

Slapping Jared's back, Joe asked, "Have your shorts dried out from the last lap dance, Yared? Will you be going back on Tuesday?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Jared said. "I'll be saving my junk. You want to sit with me and Greg?"

Joe laughed, "I'll be safer sitting with you than on you."

Nowadays, since he knew the north course backward and forward, Joe should have easily avoided the twelfth hole's hazards, but he landed square in the sand trap. "Goddamit," he swore, chipping onto the fairway. "It's your fault," he barked at Jared, "for making me think about sex."

Jared teased, "If you want to go in that rest room over there and lower your stress-level, we'll wait."

Joe finished the round with an eighty, his worst score of the month. Handing Jared ten Dino-pfennigs, he said, "Double or nothing that you can't take a shower with me and not sprout."

Pocketing Joe's coins, Jared replied, "Forget it -- this weather gets to me. I'd sprout with a mummy."

As the foursome walked north toward the clubhouse, Matthias ran up to them, exclaiming, "Nicest Yo, Nicest Yo, I talks to Paul und we does not wishes you leaves!"

"Not until Wednesday." Joe replied. "Make Jared buy you an ice cream with his ill-gotten gains."

Matthias offered to buy everyone ice cream, but the quartet preferred sodas, which they drank in the park while watching Blitz juggle.

Matthias had been right to insist on the platinum globes, Joe realized as the balls sailed high overhead flashing gold in the sunlight. Joe asked, "Could Blitz learn how to juggle four?"

Matthias replied sadly, "We wishes to tries, howsoever they costs two Eigers eaches, und I has only twenty Dino-marks yet remainings."

Squeezing Matthias's shoulder, Joe said, "You must have bought too many people too much ice cream."

"Yes yes, I does that, und also mein Freund Hansel needs ein newest coats, what I buys."

"Let me see what I can do, Matthias," Joe said, and when Matthias had gone, Joe took the others inside Alpha Memorabilia to the Christmas tree ornament counter, Dino-Yuletide.

"Yo, Bernie," Joe said.

The olive-skinned proprietor who needed a shave waved his cigar. "Yeah, blondie?"

"How many of those globes have you sold since Blitz started juggling them?"

"Maybe a dozen -- they've become a hot item," the proprietor said.

"They'll be even hotter if Blitz juggles four," Joe pointed out. "Loan me one more."

Reluctantly, the proprietor opened his case, "Will you be good for it if the little kraut doesn't return it?"

Marty McGuire gave the man two mis-struck Eigers, "You can hold onto these till he does."

On their way from the building, Joe purchased a Dino-mop from Housewares Alpha. In the park he threw the mop head in the trash, and while he and his friends ate their Dino-burger lunch, Joe whittled a point on the end of the handle. At two, Joe presented the handle and the globe to Matthias. "This is a spear," Joe said, giving Matthias the handle, "and this is a sphere." He gave Matthias the globe.

"Yes yes! Nicest spears from nicest Yo. Now we rides."

For Joe, no memory better summed up the summer than Matthias galloping Cupid across the prairie, brandishing his orange- painted spear. They rode to the forest, joined Hogarth, and prowled the woods. Matthias stuck nothing livelier than two dozen figs, which they shared for a snack.

Trotting homeward, Joe asked Jared, "Have you started saving for Cherise?"

"I will tomorrow," Jared said. "Three days is my limit."

"I can get us a suite at the brontosaur lookouts," Joe said, "if two more of you guys want to go."

Jeff said, "I can't. I swapped schedules with Alex."

Dennis Wilson said, "I haven't been there for a month. Count me in. Roomie?"

"As long as we're back here by eight tomorrow morning," Greg said.

The travellers went directly from the east portal to the depot and boarded the flatcar bound for the lookouts. During the hour-long ride, they talked about how Alpha had changed their attitudes. Joe said, "I'd imagined having gay sex before. The opportunity had never come up with somebody I liked."

Dennis said, "Jacking guys off was acceptable, but that was as far as it went."

"At college I was afraid I'd lose my friends if I hit on them. Here, we know we're all fags," Jared said.

Greg said, "I would have started lots earlier if my brother hadn't been in denial."

At the lookouts, Joe went into the adjoining room, stripped and showered. Rather than put his sweaty uniform back on, he wrapped a towel around his waist and joined the group in the first room, drinking Alphabrau at the window, watching brachiosaurs feeding.

Reaching beside him to stroke Joe's thigh, Jared asked, "Do they have JOP's in Princeton?"

"Sure, down on Nassau," Joe answered, "but they passed an ordinance that made them take the doors off the 'bator booths, and I'm too shy to spank publicly."

Saying, "Every bit as shy as you are straight," Jared turned, gripped Joe's arm, and led him into the adjacent room. Jared took off his own sweaty clothes, lay on the bed, and pulling Joe down beside him, asked, "What's the first thing you're going to do when you get home?"

"Stroke to the porn my bro's downloaded." Petting Jared's sac, Joe asked, "How about you?"

"I'm going out with my girlfriend to see if I still react to her or if I've been ruined."

Jacking Jared's stiffy, Joe said, "Nothing ruined down here." When he felt the first drop of goo, Joe slid down the bed, put his lips around Jared's cock, his hand in Jared's butt-crack.

"You keep away from my asshole," Jared said, "Nobody's ever been in my hole."

Then you're in for a treat, Joe thought, and when Jared's hole quivered, excited by the blow job Joe was giving his dick, Joe speared him, pressing Jared's prostate, making the tour guide cum hard.

Chapter Fifty-nine

Reflections, Remembrances

Sunday night when thunder woke Jeff he reached for his roommate, then remembered Dave Butler was spending the night at Lambda Lodge. Thoughts of the lodge reminded Jeff that Brad Greenwood would be visiting the JOP, to rehearse the ceremony inaugurating the new tokens. Cherise would attend the ceremony too, and she would lap dance someone later. With hopes of winning the lap dance sustaining his resolve, Jeff kept his hand by his side and went back to sleep.

Monday morning, rain pouring down, Jeff met Brad outside the Lambda Lodge teleport depot. They ate at the employees' cafeteria, indoors, across the causeway from the outdoor cafe. Waiting in line Brad said, "There must've been six feet of snow on the summit this morning."

Jeff said, "It started raining here about sundown and it hasn't let up. Did you see my roommate?"

"Yeah," Brad answered, spooning eggs onto his plate, "Dave said you were out riding pachys yesterday. You wouldn't want to be doing that this morning."

"No lie, but it's supposed to clear up after noon," Jeff remarked hopefully.

They took their plates to a window booth and sat with the North brothers who were expecting a busy day at the museum; the golf courses, pools, and parks would be closed.

Jeff asked, "Will everybody be at the lap dance tomorrow?"

"Unless I wet dream tonight," Caleb said, "which is a distinct possibility."

After breakfast Jeff and Brad went to Alphaland Entertainment where Paul Hogan took a practice Polaroid snapshot of Jeff handing Brad the first token. Waiting for the film to develop, Paul told Brad, "We'll shoot the real ones tomorrow with you and Cherise. You ought to stay here tonight, Brad. Your toboggan runs are shut down and you'd be on site for the lap dance."

"You can sleep in Davey's bed," Jeff said. "He'll be at the lodge until Wednesday."

"That's cool," Brad said. "My roommate's off skiing cross- country, and I'm tired of living alone, but what can we do in this weather?"

"Go someplace sunny. Teleport to Kreisland and see the Alpdruck," Paul suggested.

At the museum Jeff/Brad waited until their breakfast companion Orrie North was available, then entered the teleport booth behind him. The door closed, Orrie pressed 39, and the door opposite the door they had entered through slid open.

"You couldn't have timed it any better," Orrie said.

Outside the steel bars protecting them a twelve-foot-tall Dino-bird was fighting with a medium sized carnivore over a duckbill carcass. Though the carnivore's size should have given him the advantage, when he snapped at the Alpdruck, the Alpdruck flew up in the air, landed on the carnivore, and slashed his flanks with razor-sharp toe-claws.

Over the combattant's snarls, Jeff yelled, "I know the Alpdruck, but what's the other one."

"His name is Dumbechtelosaurus," Orrie answered, "The dumb- Bechtel dinosaur."

"Two guesses who named him," Jeff said.

From Kreisland, they went to Gondwana where they entered an underwater, glassed-in enclosure. At first they saw only schools of small fish and an octopus below them half under a rock. Then suddenly the fish scattered, the octopus hid, and a huge, black something emerged from the depths. "Kronosaurus," Orrie whispered.

"He's enormous," Jeff said.

Orrie nodded, "Forty-nine feet snout to tail with a twelve- foot-long head. He's more than twice as big as Jaws and lots scarier. You could stand up in that mouth, not that you'd want to." As they retreated into the booth, Orrie said, "I'm going to show you two sites we haven't opened to the public yet because we don't have viewing areas in place. Don't worry. We won't be seeing tyrannosaurs." He pressed 193, and the door opened at the entrance to a cave, ninety feet up a cliff. "The only thing dangerous here is the fall."

The men looked out on a forest canopy. In the treetops below, green, red, blue, and yellow parrots screeched.

"Those are fig trees," Orrie explained. "The birds add fifteen percent to their body weight in two weeks, then fly on to their breeding grounds at the coast."

Jeff asked, "Where are we?"

"Across from the original compound. When we install the guard-rail, we expect this to become one of the most popular destinations. Last stop coming up." The door slid shut, Orrie pressed 243, and the door slid open on famous Lake Krater, located in the center of Kreisland. Ten yards offshore, shirtless boys bent down scooped up sediment, and dumped it onto small rowboats floating beside them.

Orrie said, "We need cages here to keep tourists from stealing the platinum. The mud the kids are scooping up is worth more than its weight in gold, literally."

Surveying the idyllic backdrop -- the tropical setting, the colorful birds, trees laden with fruit -- Jeff asked, "Why didn't they build the hotel here."

"The ground is too unstable for a large building," Orrie answered. "This place is a marsh. The workers live in the tents over there."

When the nearest boy dredging turned and grinned at them, Jeff's jaw dropped. "Matthias, what are you doing here and where's Blitz?"

"I comes here for I needs platin, und Doktor Mueller, he tells me to takes it. Mine pet, he ist in that plantation boxes over there where I grows chards."

Jeff asked, "What do you need platinum for, Matthias?"

Matthias's grin vanished. "Two days more und nicest Yo, he home goes, Yeffster Five."

The booth's door slid closed, they returned to the museum, and on their way down the corridor, Brad suggested they visit The Lambda Hall of Alternative Sexuality. In a room twice the size of Alpha Mammalia, they had their choice of left-side cubicles labelled boys/boys or right-side cubicles labelled girls/girls.

"Dykes aren't my thing," Jeff said.

"Mine either," said Brad.

They entered an unoccupied boy/boy cubicle, looked at the small stage across from them, and heard a voice through a loudspeaker. "Speak the name of your favorite actor clearly and distinctly, please."

Although John Wayne was Jeff's favorite actor, he did not want to see the duke engaged in gay sex, so he said the name of the actor he found most attractive physically, "Brad Lorentz."

Brad Greenwood chose another Brad, and the voice asked, "What would you like to see them doing together?"

Brad Greenwood asked Jeff, "Want to watch your Brad blow my Brad?"

Jeff did, and the resulting hologram proved so arousing that after the imaginary Brads had busted each other, and Jeff was at Dino-burger, eating Allosaur Appetizers with the real Brad, Jeff said, "I hate being this horny. We saw more amazing things this morning than some people see in a lifetime, and all I could think about was blowing my junk."

"The odds we'll win the lap dance are slim to none," Brad said.

"Want to watch her new movie and whip it?"

"Screw the movie -- I'd rather watch you."

They went north to Jeff's room, Jeff hung a 'DO NOT DISTURB' sign on the door, and as they were undressing, Jeff asked, "How do you keep that tan at the lodge?"

"I've been swimming down here on my days off," Brad answered.

Naked, Jeff took a bottle of Dino-Balm from the desk, asking, "Do you know Chris Taylor?"

Brad nodded, "We spent a night at the lookouts."

"He's the guy got me started." Jeff lay on his bed in the same position Chris had lain on Jeff's North Dakota bed three months ago. Jeff greased his hand and formed a fist. "You kneel on top of me and fuck my fingers."

"I'd rather lie beside you and jack you." On his back next to Jeff, with his arm under Jeff's shoulders, his hand holding Jeff's cock, Brad asked, "Did you have second thoughts about signing on for a year?"

"Yeah, another twelve months here and I'll be permanently bi, but the offer was too good to turn down" Slow-stroking Brad's hardon Jeff voiced his single reservation. "I hope they don't give me some dweeb to replace Dave. Davey's been the best roommate ever."

"I don't have that to worry about since Ethan's staying too."

"How can you beat me off so effectively left handed?"

Brad answered, "Like Paul said in his column, it takes practice."

Brad could do everything with his left hand Jeff could do with his right, even speeding up when Jeff groaned, "Goddam, that's feeling so excellent."

When both men's loads lay drying on their stomachs, Jeff said, "Well, if we do win the lap dance we'll last longer than Jared did."

Chapter Sixty

Bon Voyage

His last full day on Alpha Joe slid into the breakfast booth across from his fellow golf instructor. "Morning, dreamy Matt Devon," Joe said.

"Morning, foxy Joe Lang." Matt filled Joe's coffee cup from a carafe on the table. "As offensive as you are, I will definitely miss you. The schedule says your first appointment's at one. Would you want to play the south course with me and two college kids this morning?"

Smearing apricot jam on his toast, Joe said, "I'll never beat you."

"Maybe not, but you'll sure beat the kids," Matt said.

Their opponents were two upstate New Yorkers, who had won deluxe trips that included golf privileges. Had Joe been staying longer, he would have enjoyed teasing them; since he was leaving, he forewent his standard stroke-humor and concentrated on his golf game, resulting in a three-under-par sixty-nine, only one worse than Matt.

After lunch Joe played the easier north course forgettably, barely managing par, but he would always remember his return to the clubhouse; his friends had set up a picnic table out front on the grass, had brought ice chests full of sodas, and had piled the table with gifts.

"You must opens mine presents lastest," said Matthias.

Joe's roommate, Tim, gave him an oil-on-canvas showing Joe sailing a drive over the trees at the dogleg. The JOP boys, Greg, Clint, and Jeff, gave him an autographed copy of Cherise's new video. Matt gave him a putter Joe had admired, Jared gave him a sports shirt.

Matthias's friend Hogarth gave him an allosaur-skin briefcase, but before Joe could open Matthias's present, Paul Hogan said, "I've got the first new calendar hot off the press, if you guys want to autograph your pictures for Joe."

Matthias led off, signing his and Blitz's picture on the back cover, TO NICEST JOE, YOU FRIENDS, MATTHIAS UND BLITZENSCHNELL FERKELOSAURUS.

Jeff autographed February, "Thank God for clients like Joe -- your friend always, Jeff Michaels."

Clint wrote across the picture of himself hiding in the Camp Wilkins courtyard with the T.rex prowling outside, "To the only guy I ever met who's hornier than me -- Clint Walker."

Below the picture of Matt riding the bonehead, Matt wrote, "To a really great friend, on the fairways and off -- Love, Mattster."

Sean signed the picture showing him holding the Morganucodon, "To Viagra's nemesis -- from your pal, Sean Canton."

Lastly, Brad signed the picture of himself and the feathered brontosaur, "To my buddy, Joe Lang, who should have had his face on the token -- Brad G."

Calendar stored in his briefcase, Joe reached for Matthias's gift. He lifted the heavy box, raised the lid, and saw three necklaces. Attached to one was a four-inch medallion with Matthias's face on the front and Blitz on the rear.

Matthias asked anxiously, "Does you likes?"

"They're beautiful," Joe answered.

As Joe put on the necklaces, Matthias said, "I gives Sean one und he likes it. I hopes you likes yours ones also, nicest Yo."

"I love them, but where did you get so much metal?" Joe estimated the combined weight of the chains plus medallion at nearly a pound.

"I collects at Lake Krater, und I trades mit der Araber what makes mine spears. You keep theys mit you alles times, Yo."

"I won't even take them off when I'm sleeping," Joe promised.

Paul invited everyone to meet later for a lobster dinner at Chez Hommard. In the meantime, Joe went to his room and began packing. The rules allowed him to take home one uniform and one pair of trike-trunks; he put those into his suitcase first, followed by the gifts he had received. On top of the gifts he packed a summer's souvenirs: golf tees, balls, score cards, menus, and photographs. He left the suitcase unzipped so he could add any mementos acquired tonight, shed his clothes, and entered the shower. After bathing, Joe went to Chez Hommard, arriving early and spending half hour in the park playing dice with Matthias and Hogarth before Joe's other friends joined them.

After dinner Joe went to Bistro Alpha with the Spencer brothers and Dave Butler, masseur. Watching Cherise's new film, 'Adam and Eve Meet Insatiable Steve,' Joe leaked when Steve Katz pronged Rod Long, and he wondered, as had Jared, whether he would straighten out once back home.

Mammal-man Sean Canton won Cherise's drawing but gave the winning ticket to Caleb North, explaining that he, Sean, had worked fourteen days in a row and could hardly do Cherise justice. Lap-danced Caleb did Cherise justice, hardly and quickly.

When the crowd's laughter died down, Jared said, "Don't go running off. We want to buy you a beer."

Intent on avoiding a hangover, Joe sipped two Alphabrau lites; at eleven, he wished everyone a good night and promised to meet them for breakfast. "Eight o'clock in the outdoor cafe," Joe said.

"I'll go with you," Matt said. "I wouldn't want you getting lost."

Walking north along the causeway they shared memories.

"The day we met, I thought you were a stuck-up prick," Matt said.

"The day we met, I thought you were the best golfer I'd ever seen, and I was right," Joe told him.

Outside his door, hugging Matt, Joe said, "We'll room together at the Fort Worth Open next month, okay?"

"You make us reservations. I'll call you from Phoenix when I get home Saturday."

"Night, Mattster."

"Night, Yo."

Matt kissed Joe's forehead and walked west to his room, pausing ten yards away to turn and salute. Joe went inside, played a game of hearts with Tim and his cousin, then went out into the night.

As he wandered the causeway he thought about things he would miss: Dino-burgers, Alphabrau on tap, swimming in trike-trunks, the teen pool, free Dino-balm, Camp Wilkins, the brontosaur lookouts, and most of he would miss Matthias, the little boy with Blitz perched on his shoulder, galloping darlingest Cupid across Alpha's flower-strewn prairies.

Wednesday morning, Matthias knocked on Joe's door at six- thirty, insisting he carry Joe's suitcase. He had made Joe one final present, he said, a set of three dice so Joe could play Wuerful Matthias with his Princeton fraternity brothers.

After breakfast, walking from the outdoor cafe to the teleport depot, Matthias insisted, "For you must promises me you will comes here next summer und I will also returns. Mine friend, Herr Paul, he tells me he wishes it."

"I'll try but I might have to work for my dad."

"No no! You works here -- you teaches the tourist peoples how they golfs. You must promises."

In front of the teleport depot, Joe took his suitcase and shook hands with Matthias. "All right, I'll see you next June. You take care now."

"You takes cares also, Nicest Yo, und I sees you next Yunes."

-- THE END --