Track and Field

Track and Field 2

by GGDC

Author's Note: This is a tale of a young man's near idyllic existence gone awry as he falls into the clutches of stronger males who use him to gratify their lusts. It is set seven or eight decades in the future where STDs are completely under control, nudity taboos are almost absent from social life, and medical advances have extended the human life span to several centuries. The USA is also fully on the metric system.

It contains graphic descriptions of the male human body, of consensual and non-consensual sexual activity between adult males, the youngest of whom is seventeen years old, i.e. above the age of consent, with scenes with bondage and sado-masochistic themes.

If any of this would offend a reader, read no further. This is not intended for persons younger than an age where they may freely and legally select their reading matter in whatever jurisdiction that applies.

It is offered for entertainment. If it manages to both amuse and to provoke prurient interest, it will have succeeded in its aim. Writing this tale has been the most fun the author has had wearing clothes in a very long time, well since part one.

It is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living or dead.

This tale is part two of a three story arc. Readers who like these stories might also try my Jungle Boy stories in the Gay/Authoritarian section of the Archive or my Daphne Boy stories in the Gay/Historical section.

Comments and feedback welcome.

Chapter 1. Choupinou

The dirt road dipped into a swale for a bit easing the lithe runner's task as he ran in the relative cool of the morning. Inevitably, in these low mountains, what goes down comes back up. So he soon was leaning forward into the climb up the next ridge. His bare feet had thicker calluses than even the natives from the villages in the lowlands, and the soils in these parts had few stones that might inconvenience him. He ran past the slopes planted just the day before with seedlings of fast growing trees. The reforestation program in the low mountains of Haiti was making good progress, thanks to careful monitoring and quality control. That is where young Kyle came in.

He was working that summer after his freshman year in college as a civilian aide for the UN sponsored reforestation of the bare slopes that had for so long been Haiti's environmental shame. From space you could still see the border with the neighboring Dominican Republic which occupied the eastern two thirds of the island of Hispaniola in the Greater Antilles. The healthy forest to the east just stopped at the international border. At least these days, satellite photos showed low greenery to the west where before there had been only grass or mud. In time the new forest would control erosion and silting, replenish the watershed, and help this poor country assume a more dignified place in the family of nations.

Occasionally Kyle passed parties of young men already heading toward the areas to be planted this day. They waved to the cute American, clad only in a sheen of sweat, as he ran past in a pace that really ate up the kilometers. Kyle was into track and field in college and conscientiously maintained his training regime. Quite apart from the competition, he just loved to run. It was so intensely physical. It made him feel strong and alive, and gave him a chance to to exult in his strength and stamina as his feet flung back the dirt as he loped along. He loved to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, the wind in his hair and on his face, to listen to the metronomic crunch of his feet on a dirt road or the slaps his bare feet made on pavement. Even the sweat that poured off him was an expression of life and vitality, making the nude boy seem to glow with good health.

As he neared the base camp, the youth poured it on ignoring the way his unsupported dangly bits bounced about. That came with the territory. All competitors -- males anyway -- went naked and barefoot these days in track and field and aquatic sports, soccer too. He slowed down near the camp and walked the last half kilometer, cooling off while enjoying the runner's high that made the sport so important to him and helped maintained his mental equilibrium. A wise man once said that endorphins were the drug of choice of the physically fit. The staff at the base camp gazed appreciatively at the young runner.

Still four months short of his eighteenth birthday, Kyle was young for a boy who would be a college sophomore when he went back to school in the fall. Though legally of age, he had yet to attain his adult musculature though clearly he would never be taller than his current stature: 168 centimeters (five and one half feet). He had flagged a bit there at the end. It can be hard to pack away energy stores in a frame that carried only 56 kilos (122 pounds), and he hadn't had breakfast yet. His body fat percentage had to be in the single digits. His muscles were well formed, just not very large, and he was boyish slender.

His youth and slenderness was emphasized by a smooth and utterly hairless physique. Like many young men these days, he had used the permanent depilatory cream which meant a lifetime of never having to shave his face or anywhere else including down there. He would spend the next three or four centuries as a beardless and hairless youth, aging arrested in his late teens, thanks to expensive gene tweaking before his birth, a benefit of his social class. Kyle was of the first generation to fully benefit from the advances in the understanding of obscure structures called telomeres in chromosomes; the gene therapy also protected him against all forms of cancer and even let his body generate a pheromone that repelled insects.

It would be some time before all social classes in American enjoyed extended life spans much less the people of what was still one of the poorest nations on earth. This created social tensions within and between nations, but most people realized that the beneficiaries themselves were not to blame. Besides Kyle physical beauty made it easy to forgive him the societal inequalities that meant that his youthful good looks would grace the planet for many decades to come.

Kyle trotted over to the outdoor shower stand and let the rush of water wash the sweat and dust off his lean, evenly tanned frame. His short blond hair flattened to his head and rivulets ran down and off his small body. Then it was time for his stretching exercises. Kyle started with ham-string stretches. With a foot propped on a rail, he bent forward bringing his face almost in contact with the shin; the tanned torso glistened with water droplets highlighting the sensuous curve of body from shoulders, to back, to waist and narrow hips. Like all distance runners he was lean and taut, the tracery of veins on arms and legs testifying that his frame carried no excess flesh and all this complemented by a fine-boned face and pretty-boy good looks. The delicate features on his impossibly pretty face added to the impression of youthful male pulchritude.

Bent over and concentrating on how good that stretch felt in his groin and thigh, Kyle was surprised by the friendly slap on his ass landed by a tall dark skinned Haitian several years older than he. Franois LeClerc was his Haitian counterpart and sometime bed partner.

"You tempt me my young American friend, but we have much work to do this day. Go put some food in your belly; we start in one half hour." The young men spoke in the French that all educated Haitians knew along with the Creole that was the country's other official language. He did not ask the young American to put on a pair of pants like the rest of the crew did. They might go barefoot and shirtless in the planting areas, but few cared to emulate the casual nudity of so many in the advanced countries these days. Of course, even poor as she was, Haiti was a free country, so if foreigners wanted to run around like that at beaches and resorts, well let them. It was rather unusual here in the back country.

A half hour later Kyle reported for duty with his equipment bag and water bottle and planting tool. Kyle did some planting too as well as monitor the results from others' labors. Today he wore a straw hat perched on the back of his head but had not otherwise put on clothing. Global warming had made an already tropical country that much hotter.

There was no need really for clothing, especially in an all male preserve like the project. In the all masculine world of the camp or on campus in the States, clothing was often optional. Kyle was used to nudity much of the time on campus whether in training or at classes held outdoors. Most students at the all male college seldom bothered with clothing in and around the dorm. Kyle and his lovers Tommy and Jean-Michel slept together nude on a long roll out futon.

Males have always gravitated to social spaces where they could mix freely among themselves without conventional accouterments like clothing. Whether at camp, in the dorm, in the barracks, at sea, at the swimming hole, the nudie beach, men's clubs, wherever they could get away from conventional fussiness and female inspired standards of deportment.

Anyway, if ever anyone should be naked it had to be Kyle. He had a beautiful body, slender yet muscular, taut, toned, and tanned with narrow shoulders, eight pack abdominals, and narrow hips. His legs were well muscled with veins prominent under the skin because of his low body fat. Its faultless lines were not marred by body hair. His sex was proportional with a smooth cock, foreskin stretched over the head, and a scrotum the size of an apple and held close to the belly.

Kyle was gratified that his genitals didn't look shriveled like with other guys. His cock wasn't gnarly with veins. Yes, he still had his foreskin; it hung about a finger's breadth past the tip of his cock head. Cock and balls were reasonably sized but he wouldn't be scaring the horses. It took both small hands to cover his erection, but only one when he was soft. That was just fine when you were running cross country naked with your dangly bits bouncing about.

Of course no one expected Kyle to be 'faithful' or abstinent while he was in Haiti and he hadn't been. Actually this sex stuff in Haiti was getting out of hand. The men and boys who sought Kyle's favors were becoming more and more persistent and insistent. They thought the very least the American could do for them was to share his youthful beauty widely. That was only fair since he displayed himself so blatantly ever day, like the worst of cock teases. The men took that for an open invitation, so Kyle soon lost what little say he had choosing his sex partners. Apparently there was a nightly drawing among the several hundred males in the camp. They began showing up at his tent every evening, at first in twos or threes and later a half a dozen at a time, and simply wouldn't take no for an answer.

A sexual submissive anyway, Kyle had not long resisted and had fallen in with their importuning. He had taken multiple sex partners in the States. And really, hadn't he been begging for it running around naked all the time in front of the horny young Haitians, bending over to plant seedlings, brown rump in the air hairless cleavage and all, with genitals hanging freely between his slender thighs. No wonder they thought he was advertising his availability.

Kyle had practically asked for it nude and hairless as he was, and anyway the boy was all alone with nowhere to go, outnumbered, surrounded, tired from a full day's work, and already nude, not to mention small in stature, slender, beardless, and hairless everywhere, so he was hardly in a position to assert his masculinity. But the men were and they did. There was not much little Kyle could do except bow his head submissively as they seized his limbs and bent him over or put him his knees or on all fours, giving them the access they desired to his orifices for endless mountings.

The difference in size and strength between the slightly built boy and five or six grown men could have no other outcome. He was theirs to play with, a toy. His many lovers were not overly rough, but if it were necessary or often for their own amusement they would tie up their prize with ropes on his wrists connected to a loop around his neck to keep them up behind the shoulder blades and to uncover his taut ass.

Why should he complain that the men tied his wrists behind him and laid him over the small table in his tent, tying his ankles to the legs and crosspieces. His helplessness was to everyone's benefit, so that his arousal and ejaculation would be timed with those of the strong men thrusting into his orifices. If his hands were free, he might bring himself off too soon, as randy teenagers were prone to do. How much better than they synchronize their orgasms by their thrusts into his fundament, setting his small boyish body to shuddering as their proud cocks hit his joy spot again and again till the clutching of their cocks by his spasming ass muscles during his own climax set them off in turn to shoot their masculine juices deep into his so much less manly self.

They also liked to spank the little one 'le petit' to get the blond submissive in the mood, enjoying the way the small globes of his ass jiggled under their slaps, and the red color it took on surely signified arousal. Tut tut they admonished. Surely he could not expect to spend his evenings alone curled up with a good book? Time for that when he went back to school.

The men used their long heavy cocks to club and batter his pretty face, thwacking his cheeks and chin, marking his brow with their pre-cum, drumming his straight nose, making him stretch his neck out to the smooch the dark knobs of their rigid cocks, letting him tongue them all around, probing their piss slits with the tip, worshiping their manhood in symbolic surrender of his own.

They teased him happily and mercilessly, stroking and pumping his stiff cock, repeatedly bringing the youth just to the brink of orgasm, then letting him fall back to cool off, torturing him with his own unbridled lusts, chuckling at the poor lad's desperate need to cum.

It didn't help his efforts to assert his masculinity that his erection, though quite respectable for a white male with his slight build, looked pretty puny next to the cocks on most of the Haitians. Blacks really are better endowed sexually, with long heavy cocks swinging pendulously between their thighs. And with a gay boy like Kyle, it's not like he would ever use his modest organs for the purpose of generation.

They liked push their groins together, laying the very next cock to prong him atop his smaller member. He could see for himself how much he was outclassed in length and girth and even estimate how deeply the man would penetrate him. They chortled at how his eyes bugged out at the monster cocks that reached well past his belly button, drawing desperate head shakes from the frightened boy.

With their scorn at his shortcomings ringing in his ears, little Kyle was in no position to object as work roughened hands took control of his limbs, spread him like a wishbone and held him down as cock after cock parried his own smaller erection, then victorious, invaded his orifices. Kyle's manhood looked pretty boyish as it was easily swatted aside in these cock duels the men arranged to humiliate the pretty white boy and make him more pliant. In a very real sense Kyle was simply humiliated into submission.

Then they flipped him onto on his belly, pulling his legs apart. No matter how much he protested, no matter how frightened he seemed at the prospect, it was useless. His fright only spurred them along. Inexorably an alarmingly large virile member, just one of of several that evening, would address his cleavage, the head tracking its length then poking at the inside of his thighs, prodding and playing with this anal ring. Fingers pushed a lubricating oil into his hole, preparing him for the fuck. Nothing could stop it now. The boy felt the monster stretch his anal ring like a gasket as the head penetrated his first sphincter then the next. The shaft slid inside, pushing into him, prodding and probing.

This was the moment he both dreaded and lusted for when the cock touched his joy spot. As the invading shaft stimulated his prostate, Kyle's whole body shuddered helplessly. He felt his guts clutch in an internal orgasm. Kyle's lithe torso rippled in a wave that started at his ass and traveled up past his hips and back and shoulders to his head. His green eyes blinked and rolled sightlessly as they lost focus and he surrendered himself to the good feelings coursing through him. This was one bottom boy who knew how to respond to a fuck. As the shaft fell into a rhythm of penetration and withdrawal, the sensation became overwhelming. Kyle lost the ability for rational thought for the duration. His body was tempest tossed on a sea of sensation, the blood pounding at his temples, his own boy cock at maximum rigidity. So many big ones going up so tiny an orifice, and not just once. Everyone took seconds and most thirds.

Little Kyle knew that his was the submissive and passive role, to accept the masculine essence of his betters down his throat or into his innermost being. That is what a humble bum boy like him was born for. Still it was embarrassing the way his hole would sometime sputter wetly as he bent over at work, sometimes passing gasses bringing chuckles among the crew nearby, yet more evidence of what a shameless 'choupinou' their little blond pet was.

The hapless boy's crinkly brown anal ring had a lot of inbound traffic these days as it was repeatedly stretched like a band of rubber around invading members, not to mention the occasional banana or plantain. Cucumbers were popular too. Some evenings Kyle's suitors literally corn holed the boy's orifice with a large ear of sweet corn. They liked the way its pebbly texture, like the bumps on a cucumber skin, would sandpaper the stretched out rosebud as they worked it in and out, making the slender body shudder in perverse arousal.

Of course the men respected Kyle's need for a good night's sleep, so they left him at a reasonable hour, but what better use had he for an evening before bedtime than to be their playmate or better yet their plaything? Truth was the men were all rather fond of their endearing American 'choupinou' who clearly had no racial prejudice in choosing or at least responding to sex partners. He really was a nice kid, though way oversexed, of course. It was said that gene tweaking was responsible for the large fraction of births of gay males with very healthy sex drives, and Kyle seemed a good example.

Yesterday the camp manager, M. Malherbe and Franois had listened impatiently as Kyle whined just a bit over the liberties the men were taking with him, the way they kept shaming him, mocking his virility. All right, they had him spread-eagled, and he was small and helpless and naked, but did they have to humiliate him with those cock duels which he inevitably lost. It's not like the outcome would change anything. They would do whatever they liked with him. How could it be otherwise with him surrounded, naked, tied up, held down, and spread wide?

"Dr™le de choupinou" 'silly pet'.

Franois simply laid the camp pet over the back of a chair. With a peremptory command of Žcarte-toi, the young Haitian told the boy to spread 'em then tied his wrists and ankles to the legs of the chair, pulling the cords tight over the slender bones of the wrists and the narrowest part of the ankles. A few rope burns afterwards would remind their 'bogosse', their twink, of this evening's lesson.

Some part of his psyche told Kyle that he should stand up for himself, but that was so hard to do while bent over, tied hand and foot, rump in the air, a hand squeezing his tackle, strong fingers squeezing the globes of his buttocks hard enough to leave bruises, fingers pulling the orbs to the bottom of the sac, thumbs stretching his tiny anus. The boy had enough sense not to offer pointless resistance to this latest indignity visited upon his person, a deep sigh at his fate the last sign of feeble rebelliousness. The small bound youth was utterly helpless and would just have to take his punishment for getting uppity.

The manager M. Malherbe tugged his belt off and had Kyle hold it in his mouth while Franois spanked him with his strong right hand. He'd better not drop the belt either, or he would have to take twice as many strokes on his ass. After Franois finished then the manager took the strap to his rump. Kyle responded as he had when spanked in high school, taking what pride he could in bearing up and taking his pleasure in the wild feelings an ass whipping always brought out in him. How pretty it looked all red like that, Malherbe thought, the buttocks all hot and bothered, hole twitching just asking to be pronged, which he did next, thrusting into the tight hole his men had already been exploring.

He reached under his captive and toyed with the hard nubbins of his erect nipples. Turned on then, just as he thought. Then he leaned forward and nipped the back of Kyle's neck, just to let him know who was boss, whispering, reminding the boy of his lowly place in the scheme of things, a fuck toy and joy boy for the entire camp. Franois took seconds. He liked to tongue the shell of his captive's ear. He turned the boy's face toward him, pursed his lips and blew, letting the boy take the scent of his master into his nostrils.

As hormones were released into his bloodstream Kyle felt himself slipping ever deeper into thrall, surrendering himself to these strong males who had given him what, after all, was only just punishment for trying to rise above his station. He signaled his servility afterwards when they stood in front of the beauty they had both just fucked, lifted his chin, and put their cocks to his mouth. Obediently, tonguing and sucking and licking, smooching the knobs and tugging on the glans with his pouty lips, Kyle cleaned them off thoroughly, swallowing their gism and his own ass juices, submissively chewing and swallowing even small pieces of his own shit that, dirty boy that he was, had soiled their fine cocks, finally accepting a piss chaser from both of them. Afterwards, he thanked them for the lesson they had taught him. In turn, they thanked their pretty guest for coming over this evening.

"We must do this again, say once a week at this time, hein?"

The two managers added to Kyle's humiliation by reminding him to douche before he surrendered himself next week for sexual service. Indeed, Malherbe insisted the boy do the same every evening so his men could enjoy their off time in more congenial and sanitary circumstances. Sure enough, each evening before the others showed up, one of his suitors lead him over to the washroom to get him ready. Often with an audience looking on and offering helpful suggestions, Kyle had his bowels repeatedly filled and evacuated till the effluent was satisfactorily clear. The man wouldn't even let him wipe his own ass; they finished him up with a hearty slap to his rump as a seal of approval.

So it was official; Kyle was now the camp mascot, their pet, their choupinou or, in the diminutive, their choupinet. He began to wonder why he had ever thought the manager and Franois might help him instead of reinforcing his submission. Of course they were right, he rationalized. Who was he to try to withhold his charms from so many fine hard working men so much more masculine than his own willowy self. He should have realized by now that his role here to to serve and to submit his pretty body and talented orifices to these fine strong men. What else was a bottomless boy like Kyle good for if not for that?

The camp management were happy that their young males had a sexual outlet, one that was clean and cost free, and someone who conveniently lived in the camp with them. So what if he were a male. Their girl friends were nowhere nearby; his ass and mouth could service the young boys and men just as well as a female, better in someways. He was prettier than a girl, and you didn't even have to take his clothes off. He didn't wear any. Just lay him down, spread those slender hairless limbs to expose him for their delectation, then have at him.

Also, perhaps in this way the blond was making up a bit for the inequalities in their situations. It was a reversal of historical roles when the 'rich white boy' from America now served as a virtual sex slave for the native blacks. They even hoped to make money from the sale of pictures of their assignations with their little blond sex pot. Truth is Kyle got terribly turned on when he was helpless and outnumbered as their hard black flesh took his white boy body for their boy toy. It made him feel incredibly slutty. All in all it was turning out to be one exciting summer for the over-sexed teenager.

Tonight it was just Franois in Kyle's tent. He was exercising his droit de seigneur and would take this white boy alone thank you. As much as the others, the young Haitian liked to dominate his slender blond colleague, to tie him up, to put him on his knees or over a chair, and to tease and taunt him. Tonight he had the boy on his back, slender legs thrown over Franois' strong shoulders. It must be uncomfortable for him with his arms tied behind, pressing into his back. Well, that was good for him, a little pain made for a good lesson in humility and submissiveness.

The boy had such narrow hips and that tiny orifice. Amazing how the slender white bogosse could take a double penetration night after night and still be so tight back there. The tall Haitian stimulated Kyle for well over an hour, driving into his joy spot, making the boy shudder helplessly with each thrust, bringing him nearly to climax then letting him cool off while giving his rump a few well placed slaps.

Kyle begged to be allowed to come, but Franois was having too much fun. The boy wanted come did he. What a greedy little wanton he was. Why the Haitian had already fed him two generous portions through those pouty lips, and the evening was still young. True much of that second helping had not gone down the boy's throat. Franois like to mark his boys and had let his splooge shoot all over those impossibly pretty cheek bones and nose, almost splashing into those green eyes of his. Then he had used the final seepage to decorate his slave boy's brow. Just a male marking his territory.

Finally, after two hours of foreplay, they were both on the brink. Oh well, they did have a lot of hard work tomorrow, so he would finally let the boy come. The boy's internal muscles clutched the man's cock as his own climax took him making Franois spend himself up that by-now familiar ass. Kyle was transported on waves of lust, his slender boy cock thrusting the air, spurting his seed as far as his own face as the older male filled the young submissive with his own gism.

It was delightful to see how much spunk the small white youth had in him. Who would have thought that smooth hairless ball sac of his could spew ropy strands of cum all over his chest which would drain and collect in his cute belly button. Franois liked to dip a finger into it and trace it along the bow of the boy's lips, using the sticky fluid as a lip gloss, or as a rouge for his cheeks or a liner for his fine eyebrows, which were just as blond as the hair on top of his head.

As they both fell back exhausted the Haitian reflected that Kyle was a sexual wonder boy, one he would love to explore forever. Unfortunately, the summer was drawing to an end. Quite a scrap book their young American would have when he went home. Should he ask the white boy to forward a copy of his school essay on how he spent his summer vacation? Kyle really was quite sexually talented, and all the Haitians were glad of the chance to enlarge their young friend's experience in this regard.

Eventually Kyle's work assignment cum exercise in person-to-person diplomacy was up, his ass quite sore from yesterday evening's going away party, where he was the guest of honor. Kyle, wearing a sarong for the first time in ten weeks, was driven to a resort on the coast to meet his two lovers. They would spend a happy ten days together before heading to Colby College for Men in northeast Georgia.

Both his lovers spoke French too. Jean-Michel was Quebecois and Tommy Houlihan Irish-American. Kyle's French had improved dramatically over their past year together thanks to the tall French-Canadian student who insisted that, to perfect his French, they must always speak that language in their room, even or especially in bed. Tommy had to improve his own French just to keep up and in self-defense so they couldn't pull pranks on him. A couple of years older than Kyle, Jean-Michel also taught the younger boy love making techniques. Sometimes Kyle got two lessons at once as when Jean-Michel put him on his knees and bent him over and slapped his ass with a lusty 'Žcarte-toi'. That's where Kyle had figured out it meant 'spread 'em'.

Jean-Michel was the tallest, with dark hair and fine arching eyebrows. The redhead stood over 12 centimeters (five inches) taller than the blond boy at just under six feet (182 cm). He had a strong but lean build. As befits his Irish heritage he had a milky complexion with just a dusting of freckles, though very few on his face. His body was naturally hairless on chest, arms, and legs. Both exuded sex appeal with their good looks, robust health, and fine athletic physiques, both on the lean side.

"So what was all that last night when I called Kyle?" Jean-Michel began. "They wouldn't put you on the phone at first. Said you were all tied up, then giggled about it?"

Kyle reddened. He had been tied up -- literally and spread-eagled. The young Haitians had put a broom stick behind his back and told him to hold in in the crook of my arms. They tied cords around his elbows and the stick and other cords nailed to the ends to bind his wrists. A shorter stick tied to his ankles spread his legs wide. It had an eyelet in the middle to tie his balls to. A dog collar and leash completed the ensemble. He was helpless with his ass and chest and belly and both orifices utterly vulnerable. When they finally held the phone up for him, he had to swallow the last of many cock's worth of cum before speaking. Somehow he had managed to pretend that everything was cool.

"I kept hearing guys in the background shouting in Creole the most outrageous suggestions for what to do with their slave boy," Jean-Michel continued. "One guy joked that the little white boy was more like a party favor than a guest of honor. So, is there anything you want to share with Tommy and me there Kyle?"

Poor Kyle was mortified. Stammering and hemming and hawing he related something of his sexual adventures over the last ten weeks, summing up by saying.

"Yes, it's true. It just happened, I guess, because I was running around naked all the time. Everyone took it as an invitation. Almost before I knew it, I was a sex toy for the whole crew. They told me before I left that they figured I'd been fucked at least a hundred times a week and two hundred the final week."

"Poor baby," Tommy soothed. "I hope they left some for us?"

So to general hilarity, the three lovers had a happy reunion making love day and night, indoors and out, as well as running, sunning, swimming, reading, eating, and windsurfing. The only time they put on sarongs was to dine in the restaurant. After ten days they caught a fast sea ferry back to the States.

Chapter 2. School Days

At Colby College students lived quite simply. In their rooms each student had a desk with a swivel chair, a small chest of drawers, and they shared a single wardrobe -- no closets. They wore little clothing normally and that mostly lightweight and virtually never in their rooms, and seldom anywhere in or about the dorm. So they did not need much storage space for belongings. Indeed they had very few possessions. Materialism went against the turn of the century zeitgeist. The room didn't even have bookshelves since paper books were obsolete. The long padded bench on one side supplied seating for guests and also stored the long roll-out futon all three boys shared. In the daytime it was out of sight and out of the way. At night the futon kept them low to the floor where the air was cooler.

The modern dorms managed to combine comfort with energy saving features like passive solar cooling from thick walls, green roofs covered with plants instead of tile or tarpaper, and those egg-beater windmills to generate electric power. With fossil fuels reserved for chemical feedstock, marine and air transport or the military these days, renewable sources and conservation were a necessity. The room they shared was airy and comfortable with cross ventilation where both ceiling and floor fans turned quietly stirring the air to life. Windows had awnings and trees shaded any south facing walls. Like most dormitories, theirs had no frigid air conditioning but was still quite comfortable. Windcatcher towers exchanged air with underground aqueducts for cooling.

The boys soon fell back into their familiar routine. They helped each other with their homework, library research, and writing assignments. Tommy laughed at how unself-consiously all three boys, could sit before their screens writing, running simulations, taking practice quizzes, looking things up. It was all so intellectual and earnest yet all three of them were buck naked. Kyle shrugged at the thought and said it was clothing that was artificial. Naked was natural, the default status.

In bed Jean-Michel took the lead, and he and Tommy usually double-teamed their little blond roommate. Afterwards, Tommy liked to spoon himself to Kyle's smaller frame, enjoying their physical closeness. He got a warm tingly feeling just listening to the younger boy breathe, feeling his pulse and body heat all up and down the front of his own body, nuzzling Kyle's ears and his hair. He would take a deep breathe to draw in the combination of smells from the soap Kyle used, his subtle cologne, traces of sweat and all those lingering aromas that made up the smell of a healthy boy.

The boys shared chores around the dorm, but this year Kyle had been chosen to work on the farm exclusively because of his interest and skills in the communal vegetable garden which provided them all with the freshest possible produce. Kyle genuinely liked farm chores: planting, hoeing, weeding, pruning, staking, watering, whatever. It found deep satisfaction in tending plants, making green things grow, to grub his hands in the soil piling dirt around celery stalks so they would turn white.

Kyle didn't mind the dirt in the least. It was top soil, the good earth, prefect for growing things. Top soil had a clean smell to it. Kyle actually liked getting down and dirty with it on his knees, brown butt cheeks touching his heels, his lithe torso bent over trowel in hand. So what if his knees and feet and hands got stained reddish brown, or dust settled on his sweaty flanks and chest and back or streaked his face. It brought him closer to the land, establishing a primeval connection to the biosphere. Sometimes the boys threw clods of earth at each other like in a snowball fight only they were all hot and sweaty and naked instead of cold and bundled up. A little more dirt was no bother. He was naked anyway, and a quick shower would take care of it.

Kyle was well regarded by his fellow students. Way oversexed many allowed but in a charming way. He was definitely one of the good guys. Quite a few were glad the little blond was the way he was. He was a boy who loved to be nude and not just so for people to see him, to admire him, but also to run their hands over his chest and belly, to slap his buttocks or slip the blade of a hand in between, and to touch him intimately. Kyle was very tactile and ticklish. He loved to be fussed over, stroked, petted, and fondled. A boy toy some called him. So? He was a boy and he liked to be toyed with. Well, he had a lot of playmates.

Although Kyle was majoring in geography and wanted to work his first career in physical geography, he had taken a couple of art classes. He liked water colors and sketching, but the Philistine in him could never understand the attraction of oil paints. A medium that took 80 years to dry properly and quickly developed crackling held little attraction for him. As far as he was concerned the much vaunted craquelure wasn't an aesthetic effect. It was a defect in the medium. He also had his own ideas about some of the great masterpieces he was supposed to admire. He had seen the frescoes in the Sistene Chapel on a visit to Italy. In his humble opinion Michaelangelo's nudes were grotesque, over muscled and over padded, bodybuilders running to fat, and with those ridiculously infantile genitals. Adam's finger was bigger than his cock and his balls the size of grapes. This was a masterpiece? Go figure.

Still his classes brought him to the attention of the arts faculty who begged him to pose for nude portraits and dramatic tableaux: the Greek runner, the whipped slave boy, waking up, or idealizations and personifications of youth, beauty, and more darkly, submission. Why not? It's not like everyone didn't already know what he looked liked naked, and he liked to show off his sexy body. Maybe one student in twenty had already explored his student body thoroughly.

So when he reported for duty as a model he did not bother with a robe or any such nonsense. He walked over from the dorm to the studio already in the nude. So what if his body glistened with sweat. No point being coy about his physicality or the biological imperatives inherent in being flesh and blood. Isn't that why they wanted him in front of them naked? Surely painting the male nude wasn't entirely an abstract exercise in form, light, and shadow? Sex appeal was at the heart of the genre.

The teacher, Ed Lawson pointed out to his students that their model's smooth physique might deprive them of practice in rendering body hair realistically, but they could concentrate on the structure of his slender physique, its musculature, skin tones, and the delicate tracery of veins on the the forearms and calves. Not to mention an unusually attractive set of organs at the the fork of the legs, with nicer curves and proportions than the organs of generation on many another young male.

Lawson posed his model in the attitude of Prometheus, the immortal from Greek mythology condemned by Zeus to perpetual punishment, chained to a rock on a mountain top for the sin of giving the secret of fire, the inspiration for technology, to humanity. For realism, Lawson actually chained the boy to the couch.

During the first session, his model's virile member accidentally flopped from right to left. This would never do, so the teacher corrected the alignment with a manual adjustment of the lay of Kyle's cock. Kyle managed to restrain his arousal at this blatant handling of his sexual organ, but just barely. Unfortunately his good intentions could not stand up to his sudden intense attraction to a dark haired student who showed up after the first break. It was the proverbial thunderbolt of lust. Dark good looks to Kyle's spun gold and just the same height and build. Their features were different but both kids were devastatingly attractive. Think the youthful Rob Lowe of "St. Elmo's Fire" paired with Mitch Hewer in "Skins."

Ten minutes into the second session, the art teacher had to call a halt. The smooth cock had started to plump up, losing its curvature, straightening and lengthening as the head, the only part of Kyle hidden from view, emerged from the foreskin, to point toward the belly button. Oh no, please, not now! Not in front of this class, not in front of that sexy brunette!

Of course the wish was its own undoing. The more he thought about his swelling cock, the more it plumped up. He tried concentrating on trigonometric functions, but that backfired as his hormone charged brain started calculating the tangent function his fleshy hypotenuse made as it rose, the value of the x and y coordinates varying inversely as the hypotenuse approached verticality.

Then the cock lifted completely off the boy's belly, cantilevered out from the root, rigid but dipping rhythmically with the throb and beat of his heart, all the time leaking a clear fluid which hung as a string from the tip of his cock. The giggles of the two girls in the class from their sister school down the road only added to the boy's mortification.

"Very nice indeed, young Kyle. I'm sure all of us, as artists, are glad for a glimpse of that last hidden portion of your physique and a demonstration of the anatomy of male arousal, but it really won't do for this pose, will it? We paint the aroused nude male in the advanced class."

So saying he gave the purpled head a squeeze between thumb and forefinger then bent his model's erection more than ninety degrees and let it snap back to his hairless belly with an audible thwack. Kyle was speechless and could only squeeze his eyes shut in embarrassment.

"I see the problem... Mr. Chandler isn't it?" the instructor asked the dark haired boy.

"Yes, sir. Jason Chandler." he replied throwing a wink to the captive model.

Sighing theatrically, Lawson released Kyle from his chains and suggested that he step into the office for a bit so he could compose himself, as it were. "Won't you help him out there, Chandler?" he suggested. Both boys turned red, but the effect was even more noticeable on Kyle, a whole body blush. To amused glances the students repaired to the office, with the Chandler boy using the blond boy's stiff prick as a handle to lead him by. As he went Kyle tugged Jason's sarong off to give the rest of the class a good look at his tush as they went through the door. Jason didn't mind in the least. He liked to model himself, after all and wasn't the least bit body shy.

Now Jason was quite talented with his mouth and quickly subdued the rampant erection. They shared the creamy results in a long French kiss, then Jason took both their cocks in his hands and brought them to a simultaneous climax, for Kyle his second in quick succession. Temporarily drained, Kyle let the other boy clean them both up with tissues from the instructor's credenza.

Hardly ten minutes later the two young males returned to the classroom where Chandler did the honors this time placing his new friend in bondage. Just to be naughty he licked his lips drawing a huge round of laughter, applause, and congratulations. At least the embarrassment helped prevent further tumescence on Kyle's part. The teacher later suggested Kyle model for the advanced class as well.

That was how Jason Chandler came into Kyle's life. He and Kyle's roommates hit it off really well. Though he didn't officially move in with them, he did spend most of his time at the dorm in their company. Now there were four on the long futon at night in a constantly shifting constellation of youthful bodies. Since Jason's own room was on the floor above, he kept a few garments in their wardrobe too.

Tommy laughed at how now there were four boys sitting before their screens in the dorm all four of them stark naked. Tommy suspected the reason Kyle used that stool of his rather than a desk chair was because it displayed more of his sexy body from the arc his shoulders to small of the back, to the flare of narrow hips, and the split curvature of the buttocks. Not to be outshone Jason took to sitting right on top of Kyle's desk, leaning toward his screen and keyboard, giving everyone an even better look at his physique, one that matched Kyle's enough they could have been twins.

Jason majored in math. His dad wanted him to be an actuary, a science suddenly important because the gene therapy that granted them their nearly perpetual youth had profound implications for social trust funds, insurance, estate planning, etc. There simply were not enough actuaries to go around. Actually Jason just humored his father in that respect. He really wanted to be a labor economist. Since the college prerequisites were nearly identical, everyone was happy, at least till grad school came around. The government scholarship fund paid for higher education anyway, reimbursed decades later during a man's high earning years, so there was little the older Chandler could do about it.

Jean-Michel majored in history and Tommy in civil engineering. Their differing perspectives made for intelligent conversation. Whatever else you could say about the four, they were all highly intelligent and diligent. All were into sports. Jean-Michel and Tommy into swimming and Jason into volley ball. All of them loved to toss a frisbee too. It was a fine non-competitive sport they could all enjoy at a moment's notice.

That sport must have been designed to show off the male physique with all the running, bending, reaching, throwing, jumping, and stooping. Guys like Kyle loved to clown around by throwing the frisbee between their legs whether facing the other guy, which called attention to the fork of the legs or turning their backs, which called attention to the ass. And if that rump attracted occasional slaps, well fine by him. All young men are into grab ass games, aren't they?

For the loosening of nudity taboos social historians gave some credit to the boys in low saggers early in the century who pioneered public displays of rear cleavage and bellies bared to the groin. Their successor generations gave up their pointlessly hot and baggy pants and shorts in favor of extreme short shorts or hot pants worn just as low on the hips. Then the boys started stripping down entirely for for frisbee tossing or nude volley ball in the park, swimming at clothing optional beaches, etc. The movement snowballed from there, with the clothing optional fad for young guys sweeping away the old rules and becoming the new norm.

Kyle and Jason sat together under the spreading chestnut tree that often shaded outdoor classes. Today they were assigned to opposite sides in a debate class. Neither had seen any of the other's notes or research. This would be a fair test of their skills at forensic argument.

Colleges these days focussed on subjects and skills an intelligent student could not master for himself with help from their comp over the web. For instance, much of mathematics and basic foreign language skills could better be acquired by oneself, especially passive skills like reading or even listening, not to mention grammar and vocabulary. Conversational skill and fluency required face to face exchange.

Similarly subjects in the performing and plastic arts required classes to meet and learn together. Dancing, drama, musical theater, martial arts, and many others. Also lab work and practica in the exact sciences. You could learn field geology only by rock hunting under supervision. For meteorology, you had to go into the field together where the subject matter lay, release weather balloons and maintain automatic instruments, etc.

At the core of today's college curriculum were the arts of rhetoric and logic. Students would learn many technical fields over their centuries-long working lives. What they needed from college was to acquire techniques for lifelong learning, for thinking and reasoning, and for arguing persuasively and to the point. Semantics, epistemology, rhetoric, debate, principles of law, reading for comprehension, expository and argumentative writing were all prerequisites for advanced work. Today's debate between the two roommates, chosen for this task precisely because they were known to be lovers, was just one example of how thoroughly the faculty prepared their students.

Professor Morrisey could hardly remember when had seen either Kyle or Jason on campus except nude as they were today. Well they were very easy on the eyes, even if he did prefer female partners. It was good mental discipline too for everyone to force themselves to concentrate on their ideas and arguments while trying to ignore the alluring physiques which a good many of them had presumably sampled for themselves. Both were just eighteen, Kyle having just reached that milestone and Jason only two months from his next birthday.

Today's topic was the two world wars of the twentieth century. Were they avoidable and if so, how? Both sides were well argued considering each had been assigned to argue against his own initial convictions. By the time the debate was over, most agreed with the view that WWI was foreseeable and probably inevitable given militarism, Social Darwinist ideologies, entangling alliances, and the struggle for hegemony, but that its outbreak in August 1914 was a complete surprise. Even financial markets had not reacted until just days before the actual outbreak of war.

By contrast WW II, as a global struggle rather than a regional one, was eminently foreseeable and avoidable at various points: a better peace settlement at Versailles, more nrealistic demands for financial reparations, better financial management in America in the late 1920s to avoid a world wide Depression, military action to oppose Germany while she was weak and to force the Army to depose Hitler, etc. Jason won and Kyle lost but all the students were the winners for following the arguments back and forth and for their own participation in the Q&A after the formal debate.

Afterwards all four lovers sat together in a semi private bower talking things over, not really making out but with lots of bodily contact. Jean-Michel sat with his back to the bole of a tree, with his legs spread around Kyle's rump who sat in front and leaned back into him. Tommy sat facing them, arms propped behind, with his legs straight out and touching Kyle's. Jason lay his head on Tommy's belly crosswise. Yes, there was some desultory petting among the tangle of sexy bodies and limbs, but mostly they talked, as young men will, about their relationship, the future, their courses, and dorm gossip. They were together like this fairly often, a measure of how comfortable they were with each other's company and physical presence.

Chapter 3. Convicts

A few days later Kyle went on a training run through the countryside. He loped along at an easy pace, the sun beating down on bare skin as he ran a circuit of mostly dirt roads. By now the farmers in the area were used to the sight of students from the college. Still they looked up from their chores to watch the slender blond run past, utterly naked and hairless. They admired his fine lines. He was like a young colt with a long stride, deep chest, strong legs, and from what they could see between those legs, good breeding potential, unlikely as he was to use it. Yes, this was another of those exhibitionist gay boys that were running around all over these days.

At the fork he took a road that led away from the college to lengthen the run a bit and to revisit the scene of his abduction and captivity the year before at the hands of the 'Morlocks', a radical political group. The 'Morlocks' were a new political movement allegedly speaking for the downtrodden working classes and against the idle Eloi or lotus eaters, i.e. his own social class, as in the classic tale 'The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells. Some people were always looking to blame others for their problems, though everyone was legitimately worried about the demographic, social, and political fallout of extended life spans for the upper classes as the end of the twenty-first century approached.

Kyle wanted to face his demons, and this was the first time he had got up the gumption to go by the now abandoned farm. He walked up the long driveway past a screen of trees. You could not see even see the farm buildings till you went past a bend in the drive. Unaccountably he ran into a couple of rough looking men.

"What the hell do you want, boy?" demanded a tall rawboned man in his thirties.

"Oh, nothing, sir, sorry, wrong address." Inane yes, but the best Kyle could come up with on the spur of the moment. This did not look good.

"You're one of those college students, ain't ya?"

"Yes, sir, I am" Kyle admitted trying to placate the man. "A geography major..." he added.

"Change your major kid; you get lost too easy." He and a thickset man with him thought this was quite clever.

"I'm not lost. This place is abandoned. What are you doing here? You're no farmer." he answered hotly.

"So you do know this place, eh. Too bad. I might have let you go." With that both men pulled out pistols and leveled them at the blond youth.

Despite his protests, Kyle was driven at gunpoint into the familiar barn where the Morlocks had held him captive. There he found a young man about his own age with light brown hair chained naked to the same stall he had once occupied. Another man walked in then went back out to bring yet two more. Five bad guys in all. The leader saw the realization in Kyle's eyes. These were the six escapees from a maximum security prison in Mississippi. They had been sought for more than two months. Speculation was they had gone to ground somewhere together. If they had split up, the cops would likely have found a trail of at least one of them by now.

They outfitted their second captive with a complete set of shackles that they themselves had once worn. Leg irons around the ankles linked by a chain up his ass cleavage to one locked around Kyle's small waist with his wrists in handcuffs attached to the waist chain. He wasn't going anywhere. The other captive had welts and bruises on his ass and had clearly been repeatedly fucked. Telling Kyle that they would let the two boys get acquainted, the men went outside of watch the road for any further sign their lair had been discovered.

Meanwhile Kyle learned that the young man's name was Theodore or Theo for short. He had been dragged willy nilly into the escape, so he couldn't give away their inside man who had helped them get free. In prison he had been farmed out as a prostitute for the leader, earning him cred with the other cons as they fucked him and slapped him around. Now he was their sex toy, to keep them amused during their isolation. These guys were a mean bunch. They had already killed a guard and a witness during the escape. He and Kyle could expect the very worst. Survival was unlikely. They were as good as dead if they couldn't get away or at least attract attention.

Obviously someone local was helping the convicts. They wore normal civilian clothing, had adequate supplies plus those handguns and a car in the garage. This isolated farmstead was the ideal hideout. No, Theo did not know where they planned to go next or when. They never told him anything except how to service their lusts.

Kyle hoped the cops would zero in on his RFID chip buried in the muscle of his right forearm or the emergency locator chip in his left buttock, but those had a very limited range. A cop car or aerial drone would have to pass within a kilometer to pick up the weak signal from the locator. The locator was a godsend for finding lost kids or oldsters who had wandered off, but it worked best in the cities and towns where sensors could be activated to query for the specific missing person. The chip in his arm had a range of only a meter or two; it was activated by sensors at stores and banks.

Civil libertarians had successfully argued that the locator system must never track the citizenry routinely. It could only be set to locate specific individuals. This far out in the countryside, it might take a while for him to be found. He hoped the convicts did not think of it themselves. The convicts had somehow eluded the initial sweep for their own locator chips. No doubt that was why they were hiding out in the sticks.

Over the next week, Kyle revisited the hell he had passed through last year on this very spot. This time he had Theo for company. When they weren't abusing the boys, the convicts set them to pleasuring each other, chortling at their awkwardness in their chains. Theo was rather good looking -- a youthful nineteen with a slender build, skinny really and effeminate features. The boys used their mouths mostly in their enforced love play. Actually they were attracted to one another. They just wanted sex between them to be their own idea, not the convicts'. Kyle was good at giving head and Theo had a lot of experience too. The boys sixty-nined and, after they came, French kissed, exchanging bodily fluids and dueling with their tongues. It felt pretty good there if they could ignore their surroundings.

Theo was a sweet kid, though not particularly bright. He had gotten into trouble over a botched hold up that was as much a surprise to him as to the storekeeper some wild friends had drawn a gun on. Security video lead to Theo's arrest, and no one believed his story, that he was not a willing accomplice. Even though he offered to turn state's evidence, the prosecutor did not need his testimony to convict. He wanted all three heads on his trophy wall.

The five convicts concentrated their attentions on Kyle. He was fresh meat, after all. All the other boys they had taken in prison were pale from their incarceration. Kyle had such lovely color all over his sexy body without a trace of a tan line. Obviously this was one of those cock proud college boys who run around stark naked nearly all the time. Well, he had come to the right place. After their years in prison, no one appreciated good boy flesh as they did. Such a taut ass, with cheeks so firm yet so jiggly too. When whipped the boy's cheeks trembled nervously like he was shivering. His body looked so exciting as it arced away from their belts and whips. Too bad he was such a crybaby. Why that tawse they used on his erection couldn't have hurt that much, could it?

They couldn't decide which pleased them more, to rape the slender pretty boy or to abuse him. He looked so beautiful with tears running down his cheeks, even the snot dripping from his nose could not really lessen his impossibly pretty looks. Such nice high cheekbones, like on a model or something. Just look at those sculpted calf muscles; squeeze the slender thighs and feel how firm those muscles were, trace the prominent veins running all the way from groin to ankle with smaller veins just below the surface. Only ballet dancers had stronger legs, and theirs were perhaps a bit over-developed.

They tugged the helpless youth's plumbing out from under his belly and back between his legs. Just cup it in your hand and swat away. Few things turned them on more than making the blond youth take abuse to his swollen sac. And that crinkly brown anal ring. Let's stretch him a bit. So the leader inserted his thumbs and pulled Kyle wide open, shoving three more fingers into his boy hole. They planned to fist him when he was ready. Hard to believe that already the tiny orifice could take two cocks at the same time but it could. He must have had a lot of practice, hadn't he?

"Yes, you bastards, but with my lovers, not jailbirds like you!"

Naturally such defiance was deemed unseemly in a sex slave. Sadly, it was their duty to chastise the rebellious teenager, to put him in his place, to remind him that he was at the very bottom of the social pyramid: a naked pussy boy: their sex toy and whipping boy all rolled into one. Once again Kyle found himself wondering at the imperfectness of human nature. While some people reached for the stars, others stayed in the gutter, just about where he was now. He and Theo both.

Sometimes they laid him fully shackled over bales of hay. For hours they fucked him raw, taking shifts. They took him front and back together or separately. They were big men and big there too and they could slap his ass while they pronged him or take a strap to it between fucks. They seemed to enjoy his howls but slapped his face if he tried to protest.

Sometimes they tied him facing a post and whipped his ass, then turned him around and whipped his front with special attention to his tiny tits and his genitals till he sagged against the ropes that bound him to the post. One fiendish convict liked to cane the bottom of the boy's feet. Calluses or no, this old torture called the bastinado is almost unendurable. The only relief was when he caned the backs of his thighs and his ass. Kyle's light tenor voice was reduced to a hoarse whisper after hours of screams and howls. Then they gave Theo a taste of the same and afterward chained to two boys together in their stall.

At least they let the boys use a slit trench as an outdoor latrine rather than just go in the straw of their stall. They kept him on a leash while they squatted. Just do their business then kick dirt on the mess to keep down the smell and the flies. Even when they fed the boys it was with a plate on the ground like it was dog food. Actually it was a canned stew. Not bad really, plus plenty of water to drink.

Just before their daily hosing, they had to suffer the indignity of a golden shower from all five convicts. After some days of such rough treatment, it looked to the leader that this new boy too was utterly broken. He relished the thought that it had been his hand that had tamed the pretty captive. Such fun they had had. And they still had nearly another month here before making a real getaway to Brazil. Simply marvelous.

Finally came the day when the leader had the full shackles removed. They were five armed men and two slender boys locked in a barn. The kids weren't going anywhere, even if they had any fight left in them, and the chains did get in the way of sex play. Hobbles and hands tied in front were enough to keep the kids under control. While three convicts were abusing little Theo, the leader had Kyle in his lap, stroking him and playing with his nipples. Suddenly Theo gave a shriek and started shaking, frothing, and rolling his eyes up in his head. He was having some kind of fit. The leader stood up, Kyle sliding off his lap, and looked over at the commotion.

This was the chance the boys had been plotting for. Theo's fit was a bit of play acting aided by a tiny piece of soap to provide the foam. Kyle had trained in martial arts since his abduction last year. Nothing fancy -- just some defensive moves: how to break holds and how to put a man in a wrist lock, but no offensive moves except two for really desperate situations. These were deadly techniques just in case you had to sell your life dearly. They had only one use: to take a bad guy with you. His friends might kill you two seconds later, but at least you had evened the score.

Kyle was within the leader's guard, standing right next to him. Instantly and silently he drove his bound arms upward, ramming the heel of his right hand up into the face of his captor driving the nose bone into the brain. The blow killed the man instantly. He fell to the floor as if poleaxed. Kyle had delivered the blow with every ounce of his trim but muscular frame, a force that started with his legs braced on the floor up through hips, back, and shoulder and into his straightened arms. Quickly, with his hands together as if in prayer he drove the doubled blade of his hands into the throat of the second man, crushing his windpipe. The other three were so intent on Theo they noticed nothing.

Kyle pulled out the leader's pistol out of his holster and fired at Theo's tormentors. At such close range and with a laser sight he could not miss. He put two shots into each quickly, before they could recover from their surprise, then slowly fired a third shot into each man's head. He did the same with the first two men he had put down, just to be sure. Kyle wasn't taking prisoners.

After that it was a simple matter of cutting themselves loose, policing up their weapons, and using a phone to call the police. Kyle had offered to give Theo a head start and let him drive off with the car if he thought his chances were better that way. Theo still had a prison sentence to face and new charges for his escape, unwilling though it was. In the end the police in Mississippi were grateful for Theo's part in turning the tables on the bad guys. He was a hero really, and so was Kyle. No new charges were brought, and the governor of Mississippi granted Theo a full pardon, citing the way the boy had fingered the inside man in the escape. No governor wants to look soft on crime, but Theo's actions justified a pardon in the eyes of the public. He was young and otherwise had no criminal record. Theo eventually went to a trade school in the town where he grew up. Kyle's friend Sergeant Harris of the local police in Georgia tracked down the convicts' helper.

Kyle became quite the local celebrity. He and his three lovers cut a swath around town and around the campus. Who'd have thought pretty little Kyle was so tough, so deadly. Actually his experiences gave him nightmares for years. It helped that he had been able to turn the tables and take revenge, unlike his first captivity where he had been rescued. Violent action is often cathartic. Still, although he never regretted killing those men or deliberately finishing them off, he did reproach himself for having enjoyed it. It would be a while before Kyle's normal good humor returned even outwardly. His three lovers, Jean-Michel, Tommy, and Jason were his refuge in those troubled days. Getting back to work on his academics helped too.