Date: Mon, 3 Mar 2003 23:04:37 -0600
From: Tom Emerson <Thomas@btl.net>
Subject: ONE FISH AT A TIME CHAPT. NINETEEN

ONE FISH AT A TIME

                    CHAPTER NINETEEN


        Dale Carmichael did a Bud Bundy in front of the mirror in his
bedroom, flexing his biceps and looking over them, but not so narcissistic
as to blow on the manly bulges beginning to bilk his upper arms.  Other
males looked at him when he swam at the pool, and, as he looked down over
the sculpted curves of his belly and thighs, he half-understood why. His
skin was baby soft and he was fuller than flat-bellied kids, with just a
quarter inch of flab sheathing the taught muscles of his athletic pre-teen
body.  He had an almost painful erection and looked in the mirror from his
stomach down to the monstrous-seeming bulge tenting his underpants inches
out in front of him.  If it wasn't ten inches it was (just) over half of
that, and number one, though he balked at thinking of himself so crudely,
in not just his own seventh grade gym class, but of all the twelve and
thirteen year olds in his school of two hundred boys.  Something totally
heavy was going on with his ten-year-old sister, and for some reason it
made him want to posture in front of the mirror; posture and get the
biggest, hardest, longest-lasting boner of his twelve-year life.  They
lived on a farm, they had cats, female cats, and female cat acted a certain
way at certain times -- weren't particularly shy about it.  He thought of
Vicky as ten, but she wouldn't be until the next day, and ten seemed kind
of young to be all feline and purry.  On the other hand, she wasn't a
little little kid, and, compared to the girls he heard about in school, she
was hardly little at all.

		Wayne was coming.  Dale liked calling him Uncle Wayne,
always, even after the long shower and the shock of hearing his voice, low
and husky in the bathroom door.  Vicky had changed, not dramatically or
anything, but still very notably on that first of his long visits.  He was
just beginning to become aware of a durability to his younger sisters
softer, gentler ways the night they left him alone with the man, I mean,
she hadn't started baking him cupcakes or leaving forget-me-nots and
buttercups on his pillow, but she'd stood closer, sat closer, laughed and
giggled more, and been more playful.  And it had lasted, Uncle Wayne
visiting more often and seeming to recharge the social batteries of the
entire household.  His father was out of it, one of those things, but his
mother had lost an easy twenty pounds, was looking better all the times,
and, not that he had some one, in his tall, athletic uncle, he'd stopped
hanging with the goofs, stopped scoffing at his sister's literary ambitions
-- Uncle Wayne made plenty off his word processor -- and begun to read,
even dipping into the literature of the gender challenged -- they were
still GIRLS -- and, in summary had gotten out of bed most morning a happier
kid, and gone to be the same way, life somehow easier, calmer, and most
importantly, more focused -- even better grades which had made Vicky
practically purr out loud.

                    Still liked his body though.  Good thing.  His face
wasn't anything special, just a kid, maybe even a little surly and quick
looking, but any time he wore a cut-off tee there's be more looks and
they'd last longer.  Mixed feeling there.  There was a sleaze factor out
there, openly salacious -- let me do ya in the john, kid -- leers, winks
and body language; fatties and dirty old codgers, all amounting to a minor
nuisance and occasional self-consciousness, he thought, but wasn't sure,
was free of self-esteem issues.  The most it had done was to cause him to
review self-esteem in the first place.  He'd begun hanging with the jocks
just before his uncle had arrived; they, in retrospect, seemed like nothing
more than disease on a stick, for all their warhead stories and bullying,
fill-of-themselves posturing.  Self-esteem, they had.  Meanwhile, the
shadowy nerds haunted the library, the labs, and the workshops, often
seeming not to posses the god-given moxie to fight off their own mothers..
The defended themselves by avoid them, and avoided them by concentrating on
alternatives.  He was glad to come into their society by choice, not as a
defense mechanism; to have been led to them, not pushed.  And to think it
included what had happened in the shower in the hour after hearing his
uncle's on word as he'd entered the bathroom of the otherwise empty house
(Edna comatose).  It included that hour.  How could it?  The reading, the
better grades and engagement of his two good teachers, the softening of his
sister, weren't they enough miracles for a boy his age?  Wayne Shirley, his
mother's favorite brother, behind it all, but starting, on the first page
of Genesis, behind him.  The rustle of the shower curtain, his heavy
breathing as he asked if he could stay or should come back for his shower,
later, his quiet talk in a trembling, husky voice that had followed, all
from behind him, his modesty protected by standing close to the tiles under
the shower head.

                    "Dale," Wayne said, assured the boy was, yes,
embarrassed, but did, defiantly, want him to stay, "if you let me stay in
the shower with you awhile, I don't want us having any secrets.  Physical
privacy, yes, covert psychology, no, okay?"
                    "Yes," the ten-year-old male whisper into the wall of
the shower tub.
                    "Vicky and I were in here," the young adult said, "and
we spent some time together, but she's still a virgin.  We did the same
kind of things I'd like to do with you if you think you're ready to start
experimenting."
                    "I think so," the boy murmured nervously.
                    "We can start very slowly," Wayne whispered to the
skittish boy, "Vicky and I did.  I just massaged her bare chest under the
water for a long time while we talked, and, I might add, talked about you,
okay?"
                    "Yes," the boy said
                    "I'd like to put my hands on your waist and get close
enough so you can feel me against your back, would you like me to touch you
that way?"
                    "Will you be really gentle?" Dale asked.
                    "Yes," the man whispered softly, "very, and you can
trust me and give yourself to me, completely, as soon as you're ready.  I'm
not going to try to try to enter you, and I'm not into any kind of kinky
stuff, okay?"
                    "Yes," the boy whispered.
                    "Are you ready to be touched in a sexual way --
molested " -- Wayne asked in a toad's whisper.
                    "I think so," Dale said.
                    "Can I ask you something very personal?" his uncle
said.
                    "Okay," the naked boy said.
                    "Do you have a boner?" came the husked question.
                    "I think it will get bigger when you touch me,
especially if you do it a little in front," the boy said.
                    "Okay," the man said.  The nineteen-year-old student
bent over the child in front of him, gently fitting his hands low to the
boy's already heaving flanks.  He fondled the silky, warm skin, pressing
gently though his naked nephew's half-inch of baby fat and hissing softly
as he sensed the hard muscles of the athletic young male.  Slowly the young
man straightened in the tub, bringing the circumcised head of his big penis
against the boy's round, smooth bottom, then slowly pulling himself into
the wet, soapy youth until they both stood in a solid embrace.  "Okay?" he
whispered.
                    "Yes," Dale choked.
                    "We've got lots of time," the older male said, "so why
don't we turn the water off.  You can stay against the wall and I'll dry
you off, how does that sound?"
                    "Good," Dale whispered.
                    "Okay, in just a few minutes," his uncle said, gently
thrusting against the young boy and beginning to molest his naked body with
both his hands.  "This is the way it usually starts, in the shower," he
whispered.
                    "I can see why," Dale said, gaining confidence from the
almost girlish tenderness of what was happening against his back and the
feelings of the adult's strong hands slowly circling his belly and then
roaming very high on his heaving chest.  Wayne was as good as his word and
after depleting the hot water supply for a few minutes as he desensitized
the soapy boy they rinsed and Dale turned off the water while the adult
retrieved a towel and gently dried him.  "You do under your belly," he
said, releasing the terrycloth to the boy and using a second towel to
quickly dry is own tall, muscular frame.  When he was finished, Dale handed
back his towel, Wayne piled them on the end of the tub, and was thrilled to
see the boy's hands reach back for him as he stared shyly at the shower
wall.  The adult took the boy's hands, again stepping close and pressing
himself against the silky heat of the immature body.
                    "Oh, that feels nice," the boy murmured in welcome as
his uncle surged fully against him "I peeked while you were drying off,"
the youth said, "but I didn't see you in front.  You look like our best
high-school swimmer."
                    "Thanks," Wayne said, "you look so sensational I
thought I wouldn't mention it because nothing I could say would add to the
shape of your body, and wouldn't be one tenth as important as the fact that
you seem to be turning into a pretty nice kid, unless, of course, you get
fat, then you can be nice as daylight, and you'll still have something
missing, and that's doing the kind of thing we're doing with an attractive
and willing partner."
                    "I'll try to be nice and I won't get fat," the boy
said.
                    "It may be easier, the first part, " Wayne observed,
"because I think you'll find your sister is nicer to you.  I should
emphasize the fact that luck plays a role, because you're older than she
is, so she can look up to you for that reason, first, as a little girl, to
an older brother, but, in a couple of years, maybe, if you stay gentle and
nice, as an older male, period."
                    "What do you mean?" the boy stammered.
                    "As a male, Dale," his uncle whispered, still molesting
the child on his sculpted soft belly and gently panting chest, resisting,
gently the boy's hands on his urging him below the child's belly, adding,
in a soft voice: "Remember how much time we have.  Hours, okay?"
                    "Yes," the boy responded, and his hands became less
urgent, though they still signaled his yearning
                    "It will be complete," he whispered in promise to the
boy, "I'm not trying to tease you, but just get you experienced with going
slowly and not forcing it to last but letting it last.  You'll find out
why, before the others get home, okay?"
                    "I'm sorry," Dale whispered, letting his hands ride
softly on those of the tall athlete standing close behind his naked young
male body.
                    "It's not always this way," the older male said,
"sometimes it is hot and fast.  That's called closet sex.  For example,
boys that get addicted hang around public rest rooms, and if they stalk an
adult male into a stall, what happens is usually pretty fast and wild.  The
other kind of relationship is bedroom sex, where you have lots of time and
privacy.  Then you try to make it last, not for its own sake, but more
because you like your partner and are happy just hanging out together and
talking, about like you might while you were playing cards, only on
alternative subjects.."
                    "I'd think it would be nice if it were just an
alternative," the boy said, "seeing as how the status quo is more guts on
credit than anything else."
                    "Well, there's some Lotto, too," the man noted.
                    "Vicky hasn't been the same since you molested her,"
Dale said, "she's turned from a cactus to nothing like a pansy, or
anything, but she's softer and nicer."

                    "The fact you noticed and responded is why I'm
molesting your beautiful young ten year old body," the senior teen said,
"and why I'm suggesting alternatives to your decently moral brain.  You
have a dynamite younger sister, she may be your willing partner when you
mature enough to be attractive to her as a male partner, and, you're about
as lucky as a kid can get."
                    "Too bad about the pervert uncle," the child mused
comically, half to himself.
                    "Waiting, with an aroused male," Wayne intoned, "does
not continue with a giggling child in one's arms."
                    "If it happens, turn me around so I can watch you do
it," Dale said.
                    "I will, " the man whispered in promise, "and I need to
know how you feel about getting my semen on your body, especially in front
of you, because mature males like to ejaculate on the thighs and belly of
their young victims."
                    "You'll have to teach me to be a `victim' first," the
boy responded, apparently willing to throw caution, in the giggling
department, to the wind.
                    "How will you feel after that?" the man played along.
                    "I'd like to lie on my back with a pillow under my head
so I could watch you get it really, you know, on me."
                    There was a pause.  "On your penis?" Wayne husked.
                    "Yes," Dale said in a soft whisper, warming with a
blush in the tall athlete's strong arms.

                    "You have two choices," Wayne said, "if you want to
watch yourself, I can use my hand on you, but if you want a more mature
experience, I can rape you with my mouth.  I haven't touched you low enough
to know if you're starting to get a little fuzz over your penis, but if you
have any, you're probably mature enough to ejaculate when you climax.  Just
thought I'd tell you."
                    "You need a microscope," Dale said, not giggling, his
voice a whisper laden with all he was thinking of and picturing in his
mind, and, what he knew was superficial, but, present time, present place,
present company, nonetheless a Very Big Question.  Would being touched by
this gentle, athletic male make him spray, he'd heard it called that at
school, though cruder expressions were more common.
                    "I'm curious," Wayne said, "how much are other boys
your age developed.  Started puberty.  You can tell by looking between
their legs.

                    "I guess I'm kind of the biggest," Dale whispered, "and
I haven't noticed any other boys growing down there, and I am, just a
little, you know, in the last few weeks.  Of course, "he added, "I don't
look very much."
                    "Is there any boy you kind of like to look at?" Wayne
quizzed.
                    "Only one, Andy Frankenheimer," Dale whispered over his
should.
                    "Do you think he looks at you?" the man asked.
                    "I think so," the boy said, "we're kinda friends, so
that may be why."
                    "How about the other boys?" the inquiring mind wanted
to know.
                    "Sometimes.  I guess quite a bit.  Maybe it's because
I'm bigger."
                    "It's the shape of your body," the inquiring mind
already knew.
                    "I just look like a kid," the ten year old responded.
                    "It's a subtle thing," the older male explained, "it
has to do with the shape of you body, especially your belly and thighs.
Kind of like sculpture, the difference between crude and classical as only
a tiny percentage of the overall mass, but, when you think of what sanding
wood does, you come to see that subtleties are important.  So it's a subtle
thing with you, enhanced by the fact that you have maybe five extra pounds.
That gives you a soft, touchable look that's like the juice in a perfect
steak -- hard to describe, but definably there."

                    "Isn't Vicky kind of like I am?" the boy asked.
                    "She is," Wayne said, "very much and very beautifully.
The trick is maintaining it, and that's why I wanted to become active with
you, to give you a reason to stay trim, no matter what smells come from the
bubbling pot, and no matter what the stresses and strains of an almost
ludicrously lopsided educational system.  Stay cool, like you are now, and
I'll molest you as much as you want, and if there's any way I can help you
be with other boys or men you want to experiment or have affairs with, I'll
do everything I can to promote the relationship, no jealousy or subversive
motives, but yes, the same counsel I'd give over friends and peer group to
anyone I cared about."

                    "If Andy did come over," Dale asked, "could we, you
know, like both sleep in with you, at least at first?"
                    "If you're very sure he'd like to, yes," Wayne said,
"that's very common in our type of relationship, even s small number of
partners.  The secret is to be satisfied with the number you have, and not
waste time and take risks by seeking more.  That's where the addiction
comes in.  Some boys get seduced by a mature male who gives them a big
physical thrill, but doesn't talk to them, and isn't around for them.  Kids
with that background sometimes go off the deep end."
                    "The way they do with booze, glue, and about twenty
other things," the fourth grader observed.
                    "In a way, yes," Wayne allowed, "but there's an
important difference.  With all the other addictions, the more you partake,
the more serious the problem gets, sex included, with this great exception:
if you do find an appropriate partner, you can make passionate love for
hours every night, and the only long-term result will be a slight increase
in your physical fitness.  The more you get, in a sense at least, the less
you want, and a full relationship with an individual, or a small group, is
more satisfying, both proactively and passively, than the thrill of the
hunt, and that just means strictly limiting the hunting time, not
eliminating it.  If you want to stalk a cute bowler into a stall at the
bowling alley, two times a year, you're cool, if `strange' becomes an
obsession, you've got a major problem that may not be temporary."

                    "All kids should at least have this option and
opportunity," Dale commented.
                    "The church survives by maintaining an extreme
position," the man said, "and inheriting the legacy splinter of the
population that believes in dated concepts and often ridiculous ideals.
Has often done so.  They've been peddling the same misinformation as a
sales tool for eons, and admitting they were very substantially wrong would
slice and dice thousands of empires.  You have to fear it as an enemy with
more eyes than brains, while, at the same time, violating its taboos is
what we're doing here in the shower, behind two locked doors, and I don't
think it would be quite the same in the pulpit on Sunday."

                    "Can I just giggle a little?" Dale asked.  Wayne pushed
away from the beautiful young body, just in time.  "Yes," he said.  The boy
recovered quickly.
                    "How long did you talk with Vicky?" he asked.
                    "Hours," the man said, "I told her about Jeffie, and
she told me about a girl she looks at in the locker room, like you and Andy
look at each other.
                    "Have they tried touching?" the boy asked, his voice
yet lower and huskier
                    "No, but she thinks they'll develop a friendship.  One
of the secret benefits of homosexual activity as a youth is sometimes it
leads to platonic friendships."
                    "Is that true with us?" Dale asked.
                    "I think so," Wayne said, "but it's not like pieces of
a puzzle.  There are perfect fits, yes, but there are imperfect fits that
are better than no fit at all, plus, the pieces are complex to begin with."
                    "I like you having a perfect fit with me," the
short-haired, athletic boy said, reaching behind him and pulling the adult
hard against him.
                    "You and your sister are my imperfect pieces," Wayne
said, "Jeffie is my perfect one, but, when it comes to being naked in the
shower with a warm, friendly ten year old, the fit is good enough to last a
lifetime, and, more importantly if I'm to support you through school and at
least while I'm starting out, the only pieces I need."

                    "Do you think you'll marry her when she's eighteen?"
Dale asked.
                    "Yes," his uncle said, "and you are invited to the
wedding, on the honeymoon, and to live with us any time you want."

                    "How about Annie, she'll grow up, too," the boy asked.
                    "That will be up to her, there usually isn't room for
one more, on a permanent basis, but without flexibility morality becomes
the toy of the despot and zealot, so, when the time comes, it will be up to
the young lady in question."
                    "And Andy?" he asked, "and the girl who looked at
Vicky?"
                    "A homosexual and incestuous alpha group has the same
friends and associations as any group," the pedagogue explained, "which
means, sure, overnight guests, weekend guests, parties,
best-friends-on-trips, same-old-same-old, with some of them being what
might be called Night Friends, and some being just boring old folk."

                    "Uncle Wayne?" Dale said, his voice pure dusk.
                    "What?" the man asked, panting from the lust radiating
from the child in his arms.
                    "I remember what you said when you first came up close
behind me, about going inside me, but I want you to, even if it hurts.
I've been, you know, I needed a laxative a couple of times last year, and I
know you feel really big against you, but, you know, I don't want to change
the subject, even here in the bathroom with the door locked, but, you know,
I think it would be possible from what happened after the laxative."

                    "Oh," Wayne whispered softly into the boy's left ear.

                    For five minutes they said nothing.  Dale experimented
with leaning against the tile wall of the shower and moving his feet a
little back and apart.  He felt his uncle swell and harden as the adult
leaned over to run his hands gently over the boy's taut muscles and down
lower to the baby softness of his lower belly.  "Is my right hand really
close to you now?" he whispered after awhile.
                    "I think about half an inch," Dale said.
                    "You're really long," the man noted.
                    "Not half as big around as your penis is, though," the
boy responded, now fully accepting the intimacy and carnality of verbal
voyeurism.
                    "That's why I don't want to mount you," Wayne said,
"whatever happened with, you know; an adult's penis affect you differently
and it can be more than painful, plus, a boy's body is extremely tight
against a full-grown male, and that tension cam be irresistible and make a
man rape a boy, in the real sense of the word, even if he doesn't intend to
hurt him at all."

                    "I still want to be that close to you,"
                    "I want it, too," Wayne said, "but I also want to
molest you in this shower for six years, except to get in pizza."
                    "As long as we wait a year before the first one gets
here, I want the same thing," the cutie said.
                    "What we could wait for is Andy," Wayne suggested, "I
haven't touched you yet, or looked at you, but if you're reasonably slim
you could probably be successful with him, and I'm almost sure he wouldn't
hurt you, especially if you had a friend with you who could guide him and
protect you by holding his penis, at least for his first entry into you."

                    "You're a little bit scary," Dale allowed, "sometimes I
think you could talk me into bad things, just by the way you present them."

                    "Writers are like that," Wayne admitted, "otherwise,
forsooth, we should not exist at all, for a wee output brings wee response,
except for Salinger, whose wee output got put in the box called
`literature' by urban liberals, who love their boxes so dearly, they never
scrub them out."
                    "He belongs in the sewer," the boy responded, "not the
garbage.  All they have to do is flush the toilet."

                    There was a long pause during which Wayne molested the
arching boy with both hands, leaning against his back, his huge adult penis
thrust far up between the silky inner thighs of the panting little boy.
"We can only do it once in awhile," he whispered very softly into the boy's
left ear, maybe two or three times.  I mount Jeffie on Christmas and his
birthday, which is in may, then on Columbus Day.  I've let two adults take
him that way, while I was with him, so, just like the rest of what we're
doing, the answer is a pretty severely rationed Yes, if you still want me
inside you."

                    "Yes," Dale whispered, "yes."
                    "And," the man said, immediately attaching a string,
"I've got to cum, first, otherwise, I don't care how much I love you, the
sensation of entering you, all wet and slippery, might make me hurt you.
So, yes, if you still want it to happen, maybe we can slip down in the
basement and find a comfortable place, and we can bring some baby oil and
candles and at least experiment a little.  Okay?"
                    "What time?" the boy asked.
                    "I'll come in a two in the morning," the man said, "if
you want to be with me when I wake you up, that will be reassuring, but, in
any event, I want you to wait, and not make the decision in the heat of the
moment."

                    "Okay," the boy whispered, "but you could tell better
about Andy and me if you touched me..."
                    "Touched my..." the man interrupted, gently.
                    "Penis," the child responded.
                    "Yes," Wayne said, slowly standing the boy and gripping
him firmly with his left arm around the slim, panting chest.  He moved his
right hand to the child's five inch, slim, circumcised erection, first
fondling the boy down low, then gripping his long, slim boner and stroking
him gently.  "I think Andy has about hit the jackpot in the lucky-boy
of-the-year contest," he said.
                    "I think he might be even bigger than I am," Dale
responded.
                    "Then make that a double," his uncle said.  "It's nice
to have a big penis in you, but it takes getting used to, and if you take
your partner's semen inside you, the added hormones, especially of a mature
boy, or an adult, can cause changes."

                    "What kind?" the boy asked.
                    "I'm not an expert on the subject," Wayne answered,
"but I've seen pornos with males whose organs reached nearly to their
knees, soft.  My guess is there wasn't enough blood in their whole bodies
to allow them to have an erection, unless, of course, they showered with a
certain silky soft and perfectly sculpted child, but then all that blood
there would have to come from somewhere, and there's nothing funny about
gangrene."

                    "If we know each other like for fifty or sixty years,"
Dale wanted to know, "am I going to have to ask permission to giggle the
whole time?"
                    "You just have to wait for me to say something funny,"
the man replied, "and I don't think you'll find that very amusing."
                    "There's always something up with a child molester,"
the boy said, off the cuff, proving to his uncle that he knew what funny
was and could bet it, at least once in awhile.
                    "Except the ones who tackle giggling, naked boys,"
Wayne noted, now masturbating the boy openly, as Dale arched and reached
back to hold his uncle's handsome head.
                    "If you hold be I can put my left leg out of the tub,"
Dale said.  Wayne adjusted his grip, and in a moment the young boy was
spread wantonly, thrusting urgently into the mature male's soapy fist.
After five minutes, the child began tensing and Wayne eased his rhythm and
slowly released the gasping child.
                    "Remember where you wanted me to cum on your body?" the
young uncle asked.
                    "Yes," the boy said, quickly recovering his breath.
                    "I want you to watch it happen before you climax,"
Wayne said, "because, especially when you're starting out, there can be a
sharp letdown after you spray, and if a mature male's ejaculating all over
your inner thighs and your belly, it can be gross and messy, not hot and
passionate.  Okay?"
                    "Yes," Dale nodded.  "What position do we use?" he
asked.
                    "The first time's usually more clinical than romantic,"
Wayne said, "experiencing the sexual part without confusing the feelings
with petting and kissing.  So all you do, when you're ready, is lie on the
carpet and spread your legs, the way you have them now.  That's a welcome
sign to your partner.  I'll kneel between your knees, then get in close.
I'll jerk off on you and get you wet with my sperm, then you raise your
hips, and I'll pull you up on my knees and masturbate your dripping white
boner with my wet hand.  If you have semen, it will splash with mine all
over your belly and chest."

                    "And that's meant to be against the law?" the boy
asked.
                    "People are funny," the adult admitted.
                    "People are left out is what people are," the youth
retorted, getting no argument from his uncle.

                    Since this ten year old is not likely to be left out of
anything, it's time for a break.  Over seventeen thousand words yesterday,
written and edited, plus a trip to town, where I found extra loot in the
bank, plus various and sundry scenes of the domestic font.  I guess this
could be an excuse for typos and glitches, but I did a little reviewing
and, at least for a work of Web fiction, didn't find too many.  In fact, as
a kid I expressed my frustration at deprivation (more accurately, relative
deprivation) by building sloppy models and doing sloppier homework, so I'm
a bit amazed at the level of craft that exists, especially in view of my
convoluted style, which, though undoubtedly fascinating to each and every
reader, is hell on wheels to proof.  Because I'm a writer, I never pat my
own back for long due to the chance of injury.  That's my way of saying,
since there are no longer any benches in essay land, it's back to the ten
year old on his back, and the tall, athletic uncle beginning to masturbate
on him.


                    "Can I do it to you?" Dale asked.
                    "Yes," Wayne said, "to Andy, too.  And if you're ever
with a stranger, doing this to him with your hand is the safest way for
something to happen."
                    "What are the other ways?" the boy wanted to know.
                    "You can use your mouth and tongue," the adult said,
beginning to pant freely, "or, in special cases, you can take your
partner's seed inside you.  But this is the way most male relationships
begin, because boys like to watch adults cum, and men love to watch young
males cum."
                    "I guess it can't be both ways at once," the boy mused.
                    "Somewhere, someone's working on it," Wayne assured
him.
                    "Yeah," the boy said, his eyes hot on his uncle's waist
as the stretched his arms far above his head, arching his back as he had
done while being molested from behind in the shower, "the Throat Cam."
                    "I think the wearer might gag on a device like that."
                    "But they should still work on it.  They have a biology
video of it happening inside a girl, in color, and you can see every tiny
detail, so the technology is off-the-shelf."

                    "What I'm especially glad of," Wayne remarked, "is that
you and Vicky and Jeffie all have your lifetime's work cut out for you, and
they're similar enough to give you something in common over the years."
                    "When Annie grows up, I'll get her pregnant, then we'll
have even more in common."
                    "Just keep that sublime young body of yours at a
distance enough that I can earn our living, that's all I ask," the man
said.
                    "You mean the same one you're going to teach about
sperm by cumming all over?" the boy asked.

                    "I'm going to cum off on you," the nineteen year old
male rasped, quickly moving his left leg wide and rolling on his left side.
Dale responded instantly by thrusting his hips to the swelling hotness of
the adult, and in seconds they had fit themselves tightly to each others,
the man's penis hot along the sculpted contours and silky flesh where the
child's thigh met his young, panting belly.  Both stared down between their
bodies.  Wayne moved his right fist one last time, skinning down slowly and
gripping hard.  He held still against the satin white skin of the boy's
belly, then began shower his nephew with his strong, fast pumping, gushing
white fluid over the boy, and not forgetting to move slightly in order to
thoroughly wet the child pressed against him.  Before he began to ebb, the
athletic teen raised to his knees, quickly pulling Dale to him.  He thrust
his showering boner up between the boy's young legs, gripping the
youngster's fiercely hot and hard penis to his own more massive cock.  He
stroked, soaking the already slick boy, and gripping firmly.  As his
pulsing spray began diminishing, the child in his hand began ejaculating,
spurting three thin jets six inches in the air, then shuddering through the
long, hard orgasm that beat into him after his physical release.  Even a
minute later when he began to come to, the ten year old could see the
watery swirl of his juvenile semen mixed with the heavy, white seed of the
adult.

                    Two years had passed.  Vicky and Betsy Molino had
become friends, but had never spent time alone together.  Andy
Frankenheimer had spent the night a week after Wayne's arrival and had
coached the boy successfully.  They had been frequent partners, since,
almost exclusive to each other, and, as Wayne had suggested, had become
ninety-nine percent friends, one-percent lovers, seeing more of each other
than ever.  With everything changing with the arrival of Wayne and Jeffie,
he might make a good partner for Jeffie, leaving him more time for his
seven-year-old sister, Annie.  Thus he completed his report to his uncle
and the others gathered in the borrowed lakeside cottage.

                    Vicky, up on her knees between her uncles legs for the
whole of her brother's story, to the slight puzzlement of the others, now
stood an punctuated the story in a way most children wouldn't think of.
She stood, slightly spreading hers legs, and turning slowly so all could
see the heavy white sheeting of cum slicking her inner thighs, and,
although somewhat clotted, wetting her half way to the kneels of her long,
school-girl legs.  In addition, the white semen of her mature uncle was
offset by a pair of long red socks she'd quietly slipped into while the
others had been diverted by the more graphic sketches in her brother's
narrative.  The effect of her nakedness, what her handsome uncle had done
with her, and the long, silky stocking was to create a murmur all around.
She sat demurely, after a minute, this time well back in her uncle's lap
where she wriggled gently against his still huge, hard boner.

                    The murmur became focused.  "How do you feel about it,
Rusty," his sister asked, "do you want to listen to another one, or tell
one, or be the first boy in the entire world to make be look like Vicky?"
I never get blocked as a writer, but I do get choked.  Now Rusty is.  Three
perfect choices will do it to a guy.

                    "I guess I could tell one," the boy said, staring into
the pretty brown eyes of his brunette younger sister, "I just want to stay
here looking at your breasts, forever, like Dale and Uncle Wayne wanted to
stay up against the wall of the shower, forever."
                    "We've got hours," Audrey whispered, "and it will
happen with us, just like it did with them, only, of course, inside me."
That's how the whole world should get along, every day, all day.


                    "I think it's a pretty typical story," the eldest
Griswold child began.  "You know, little league."
                    "Did you initiate it, or did he?" Wayne asked.
                    "He did," the boy replied.
                    "How old were you," Wayne asked the fifteen year old.
                    "Two year ago," the boy said, "I was thirteen."
                    "Did you spend a long time together," Audrey asked, "or
was it the closet kind."
                    "The first time it was," the boy said, "I didn't even
see anything."
                    "Why?" the curious sister asked.
                    "It was raining, so we'd worn raincoats to the
theater," Rusty explained, his voice getting low and froggy.
                    "Were there a lot of people around," Audrey asked,
everyone delighted at watching her gently lead her shy brother.
                    "We sat up back," Rusty said, "it was a matinee, and
there was nobody near us.
                    "So you could whisper?" the girl said.
                    "Yes," Rusty said, blushing.
                    "Did you do that a lot?" she wanted to know.
                    "Yes," the boy admitted.
                    "Did you like it?" Audrey asked.
                    "I was up-tight at first, but he'd molested boys my age
before, so he knew how to make it so I trusted him.  He asked me if he
could ask me some personal questions, and I said it was okay.  Then he
asked me if an older male had ever sat beside me in a theater, you know, by
myself, before.  I told him that hadn't happened.  He told me it might,
sometime, and that he'd like to teach me what might happened, so if it
happened sometime for real, or, for reel, since it was in a cinema, and I
said it would be okay.  The first thing he told me was what to do if it was
a creep.  First of all, to recognize where accidental touching would lead,
and then to decide if I wanted to happen, or wanted him to stop.  `Little
danger of it being a her,' he added.  By that time he was touching me
inside my knee.  I was wearing shorts, so it was exciting feeling his hand
against my skin.  He made me practice pulling away a few times, so I'd be
creep-resistant, and we even changed seats, so I wouldn't be afraid to do
that, if I wanted to.  I really liked him, and he'd been our coach for a
year, so I let him put his hand up pretty high under my shorts, then we
talked some more about what would happen if I liked the male who was doing
this to me.  He said we could go all the way under the raincoat, or, if I
wanted to be a little more daring, I could follow the male down to the
men's' room, and, if I was just wearing shorts and a tee-shirt, the adult
or boy could get me naked in the stall, and maybe get naked with me.
Cliff, that's my coach, he's athletic without any body-builder stuff
sticking out, said if it happened in a stall, and I was wearing any
clothes, to be sure, if I was with a mature partner, that they didn't leave
anything from them on me, and also to be sure I didn't have any in my hair
or anywhere where other people could see it and know what had happened to
me.  In other words, to be really careful.  I asked him a lot of questions
about what a man would do to if he had me alone, and he told me about using
my mouth, and guys who might want to jam inside me, but he said most mature
males want to be very gentle with a boy to romanticize what's otherwise a
biological sidebar.  After awhile, he stopped touching me.  I moved to his
left side, so it would be more comfortable, and put my right hand on him
under the raincoat.  He asked me if I'd started jerking off, and I told him
I didn't know how.  He said he'd like to have me spend a weekend at his
camp, sometime soon, so he could teach me more and I told him I was sure
Mom and Dad would let me go.  By this time I had my hand pretty far up his
leg and I could feel his shorts straining because he was hard.  It was a
long movie, so we relaxed for awhile.  After awhile, he reached across with
his right hand.  I knew what he wanted, so I unzipped myself for him.  We
had a date for the movie, kind of a real one, and, for some reason, when I
was dressing, I left my underpants off.  That made him really happy, and he
doubled-up on his invitation.  I doubled up on my acceptance, then he took
my hand, looked around to be sure no one was spying on us, and he showed me
how to pull his foreskin down and get him wet.  `Sometimes there's a musky
odor when you expose an uncircumcised adult,' he said, warning me the way
about getting wet on my clothes in a stall."

                    "We spent half an hour touching each other," the
fifteen year old went on, "and he asked me a lot of questions about my
sister.  He told me I was too young for that kind of experience, you know,
with a girl, but when I got older I might feel differently, and, in the
meantime, if I was at least a pretty nice big brother, I'd make it more
likely that something might happen between us when I was old enough to be
attractive to her, as a male.  He said he'd partner with me a lot, because
it was good for boys who had any experience to have a lot, and I was right
to trust him, because he was always there for me, and even introduced me to
two older teenagers whom I could hang around with more freely than I could
with my coach, so, that's why I've never dated, and, not to put too fine a
point on it, why I've never taken my eyes off my beautiful sister over the
last two years."

                    "If you'd been fifteen when I was eight, I would have
had a total crush on you," Audrey said, "but thirteen and fifteen probably
isn't the latest start in the history of Kansas."
                    The group in the house moved by consensus.  Gently they
surrounded the brother and sister, eased the female onto the carpet of the
floor, and Jeffie guided the handsome boy between Audrey's widely spread
legs.  "Annie, come here," Audrey whispered as her brother experimented
against her.  The seven year old snuggled happily at her older cousin's
left breast, staring intently as Rusty, shuddering over her with the wet,
soft heat of his first contact with a receptive female, as he began
thrusting his sic-inch circumcised penis with hissing deliberation.  Audrey
responded avidly cuddling Annie with her left arm as she showed the little
girl how to welcome a male.  They were successful in a matter of five
minutes, and the athletic teen lowered himself, first just until his sister
swollen nipples grazed his taut and sweating chest, then, after a minute,
settling against the thirteen year old as her legs and arms embraced him.
"Tell your story," he whispered, so I can stay with you longer."

                    "It's just a fantasy," the girl said, but she was
willing to oblige, especially if it would keep her suddenly beloved older
brother with her for even a minute longer.  "Like what if Betsy had come
over for a sleepover, and my brother was fifteen, like he is now."
                    No one objected, and Annie, especially mewed approval.


                    "I'm really sorry," the nine year old said, "I didn't
mean to look at you in gym."
                    "I didn't mean to look at you, either," eight year old
Vicky Carmichael said as they sat under an umbrella at recess, "and I think
I kind of started it."
                    "I thought you might be mad," the girl said, a shy
smile breaking out on her gamin, wide-eyed face.
                    "Same here," the younger girl said, returning the
smile.  "I guess we have a lot to learn, eh?"

                    The girls, tentative as befits new friends, changed the
subject, quickly discovering that, while they didn't like trendy market
fiction, they did like Willa Cither, especially, "My Antonia" with it's
horrific wolf scene, and other B-list artists one found by combing the
library, a place they'd seen each other in passing, and were happy to
realize they'd never pass again.

                    There was a pause in the conversation and both young
females were quietly thrilled that they didn't need to talk to feel
comfortable together.  Weird, because now, a month after her uncle's last
visit, it was how she felt about her twelve year old brother.  Of course
silence was golden, not the whole monetary system.

                    "Did you like looking at me?" Vicky asked, feeling
instinctively that it was the role of the younger female to show she was
interested.
                    "Yes," the black-haired beauty said, "I tried not to,
but you're developing and I couldn't help it."
                    "I couldn't either," the younger child said.  "I even
wanted to touch you."
                    "That's what I wanted, too," Betsy said.
                    "Have you done it before?" Audrey said.
                    "I wasn't even in school the day they brought on the
dolls," her new friend giggled.  "I don't know anything.  One day I hear
`stork', the next day `cabbage patch', so my mind is as blank as it can be.
                    "How about you?"
                    "I have a cute older brother, Rusty," the eight year
old said, "he's fifteen."
                    "Yeah," Betsy said, "I've seen you guys together before
I knew you.  He's cute, alright."
                    "He'd think you were, too; we play games like that in
restaurants, and we usually agree.  It's a little scary."
                    "I don't have any brothers," the girl said wistfully,
"but I'm trying to get my dad interested in me, half because he's a fox,
and half because he's super, and I'd want to be close with him even if he
looked like the fat, bald guy on "Seinfeld."
                    "That would be love," Audrey allowed, and both girls
giggled happily.  Recess was over and they agreed to meet after school,
spending the remaining hour and a half with magnets the size of trucks on
full power, and practically knocking each other down twenty seconds after
the final bell.

                    "What do you want to do? Betsy asked.
                    "Rusty's working on a model ship," Audrey said, "we
could go to my house and help him."
                    "Then my dad could pick us up around seven and take us
to dinner," the girl added, "Rusty, too."
                    "That would be enough camouflage to buffalo even one of
the world's great culinary chemists," Audrey said, "and my mom's the stone
fox of all time, so you'll like her, plus Rusty hangs out mostly with his
little-league coach, so he's never dated, and I don't think he's looked at
a girl as much as you and I looked each other after gym."

                    "You've never accidentally let him see you?" the girl
asked.
                    "I want to wait until I'm more interesting," Audrey
said, "because I don't want it too misfire and get him tired of me or
anything.  How about you, have you let your dad look?"
                    "I've tried, you know, leaving doors open, but he's
careful not to ogle his flesh and blood, which is sweet beyond honey mixed
with sugar, but not much of a diet all by its lonesome self."

                    "How about your mom?" the younger girl asked.
                    "She split two years ago with a guy into her brand of
liquor, Lots, so it's just dad and me."
                    "My mom will pinch hit," Audrey assured her new friend.
Technology may not have been developed with trysts between little girls,
but nonetheless two cellular telephones appeared, two girls talked for two
minutes, each, and, before they got on Audrey's bus, the t's had been
crossed and i `s dotted, leaving the girls relaxed, happy, and acting very
maturely to hide the giddy excitement straining their eight and
nine-year-old nervous systems.  They didn't talk about boys on the ten
minute ride, and were a bit stunned to realize they might never.  This
brought up the subject of not talking about boys, which satisfied them
both.  The brakes hissed, the door swung open, and they walked to Audrey's
spacious home.  "Hi, Dad," Audrey said, introducing Betsy Molino.  "Going
upstairs to watch the Moosiest Moose," Clark Griswold asked, and the girls
said Yes, pretending to giggle, becoming identical twins in the process,
and after a few minutes chat, headed up the stairs of the rambling
contemporary.  "Four squeaking steps," Audrey whispered as they mounted to
the second floor, "we used to have one until dad fixed it."

                    "What do they let him put in food?" Betsy asked.
                    "Things to fatten women, and it's not `let', it's
`make', or we end up under a bridge with hobo wishes and wino dreams, or
the other way `round."
                    "He's very successful," Betsy allowed as the two girls
entered Audrey's room and sat on the bed.
                    "Books, I might have know," the nine year old said.
                    "One month's supply," the girls said, nodding at a
laden shelf.

                    Audrey paused in her story.  Rusty was tensing in her
arm and everyone sensed it.  "Watch carefully, Annie," Dale said, his naked
body lying half over his little sister's as she lay against Audrey fondling
her cousin's pretty teen breasts and nipples. Jeffie, who'd been kneeling,
legs widely spread, over the girl and masturbating deliberately, also
tensed.  Wayne had been molesting Vicky during the girl's recital, but
quickly moved behind his young ward, taking the ten year old from the rear
in the classic way, and holding him still and tight as he sprayed on
Audrey's swollen breasts.  The sight of the young boy's watery sperm on his
sister's breast brought a feral growl from Rusty and he thrust rigidly
against his sister, rising on shaking arms so Annie could see everything.
"He's being a man with her like Uncle Wayne was with Vicky," the girl
reported.  Everyone could see it was true and watched avidly until the
handsome, coltish boy ebbed and sank back into his sister's very happy arms
and she held him tight, fully a woman, against her happy, heaving breasts.
Some minutes passed and everyone got comfortable again.  Audrey took them
back to her make-believe bedroom five years earlier, with Rusty still
fifteen year old in her tale.

                    "Do you want to experiment with kissing and making out,
first, or just see?" Betsy asked her slightly younger friend.
                    "Just see.  Is that okay?' Audrey asked.
                    "That's what I want, too," the black-haired, brown-eyed
Italian sylph replied.  "But I do want to kiss you, you know, later."
                    "Me, too," Betsy said, "or, I guess, `me, you.'"


                    That reminds me to add a note on punctuation.  Even
with intricate styling, I use a lot.  It's deliberate, like the minor-key
overtones in music; a contrast between a stilted syntax, and less stilted
storyline.  It's fun for me and I guess if it was too irritating, you
wouldn't be reading.  It's also dangerous, because nothing is more
amateurish than even a single superfluous comma.  I suppose this makes me
the bravest writer in the world, on top of everything else.  I wonder if it
will ever get ho-hum.

                    "How do you want to do it?" the eight year old asked
the nine year old.  "I mean we could leave the door open.  If Dad comes up
we'll hear, well, actually seven stairs, and he probably won't, he's got
that new computer to fool with, and Rusty usually goes to the kitchen and
uses the bathroom at the end of the hall, but we won't be able to hear
him."
                    "Would he freak out?" Betsy asked.
                    "No," Audrey assured her friend, "he'd just think we
were being kids."
                    "Do you think he might come in?" the older girl asked,
wide-eyed.
                    "I don't know," Audrey allowed, "but I do know the best
way in the world to find out."  This was so obvious Betsy merely nodded her
head, and kept nodding it to show her agreement was a full one-hundred
percent.
                    "Just our chests, or all the way naked?" Audrey
whispered, her voice low and strained.
                    "I want to lie back on your bed and spread my legs for
you," the older girl replied.
                    "I'd like you to look at me that way, too," the second
voice said, equally laden with soaring excitement.
                    "Do you want to do it all at once, or a little at a
time?" Betsy needed to know.
                    "Let's take off our tops for awhile," Audrey said.
                    "Should we watch each other or pretend we're good
girls?" Betsy said.
                    "Let's pretend," her cute little friend replied.  The
two girls turned their backs to each other and rustled out of their school
blouses.  "We kinda needed to change, anyway, "Audrey rationalized, "so we
might be doing this even if we were just going to play with dolls."
                    "We could even stop if we wanted to," the older female
noted.
                    "I won't say `that's the last thing I want,' because I
don't want it," her friend responded.
                    "Me, either," Betsy whispered, "this is my first time
and I'm totally glad it's with you, even if I only met you a few hours
ago."
                    "If it was love at first sight," Audrey said, "what do
you think it will be when we turn around and look at each other?"
                    "Some of the high-school jocks use steroids," the older
girl said, "so maybe it will be some kind of super love."
                    "I feel that just having you in my room and hearing
your voice," Betsy responded.
                    "Maybe there's no such thing as true love on earth,"
the young hostess observed, "because any couple that finds it floats away."
                    "I'm ready if you are," her visitor whispered.  Slowly
the turned, faced each other at arm's length, whispered Hi, looking into
each other's eyes, then let their pretty eyes drop.  Neither wore bras, but
it wouldn't be long.  Betsy was the more mature with obvious swelling, her
pubescent nipples standing tautly, the size of half a man's thumb, from her
honey chest.  Her little friend could have been a boy, but her flat chest
was graced by two pretty pink penny-size breasts, as delicate and touchable
small flowers.  They said Hi, again, nervously, you flushed with pleasure
and excitement.  "I don't know why there's more than this," Betsy mused.
                    "So the church will have more to take away, probably,"
Audrey responded.
                    "Ten percent of your money, and all of this," Betsy
added.
                    "Plus ruining Sunday," the younger girl said.
                    "But if it was acceptable, we wouldn't be panting like
this, do you think?"
                    "The lord taketh away, and the lord giveth," Audrey
replied.  It was a novel slant, but this is a novel.

                    For a long time they stood two feet apart looking each
other up and down.  Finally Betsy gently took the lead by guiding her
younger friend's hands to her chest, then leaving them to display by
raising her arms high above he head.  Audrey's touch was shy and
experimental at first.  She looked at her older friend, then into her eyes,
then again down at her own hands as they toyed closer to the sensual
centers of the universe.  "There must be a god to give you two," she said,
as her older friend began panting openly at the delicacy of her friend's
fondling and her warm, ragged breath."

                    "Close your eyes," the younger girl suggested as she
found Betsy's breasts with her fingers, "and pretend it's your dad."
                    "You're psychic, Daddy," the girl whispered in reply,
arching to the growing maturity of Audrey's gentle touch and hot breath.
Slowly the younger child moved to her nine-year-old friend, then her lips
found the girl's bare chest and in a minute her lips and tongue were
experimenting with Betsy's left nipple.  "Oh, Daddy," the girl hissed,
lowering her arms so she could run her fingers through her young lover's
hair.  For several minutes Audrey kissing, licked, and gently sucked
Betsy's breasts, the older girl sighing, running her finger's through the
younger girl's hair, and mewing welcome.

                    "You're beautiful."

                    Both girls were startled at the voice from the open
door, but instantly regained their composure, Audrey standing at her
friend's side, the two holding hands, facing the lanky, cute teen male.
"Really beautiful," Rusty whispered, his voice husky.

                    "We're pretending we're going skinny dipping," Audrey
said shyly, blushing beautifully.
                    "We want to practice floating on our backs," Betsy
improvised in support of her half-naked friend.
                    "And we need someone to support under our backs and put
his hand on our tummies while we get used to it," Audrey embellished.
                    "But we don't want him to get his clothes wet," Betsy
said.
                    "Should I keep my underpants on?" the long-legged teen
beauty asked.
                    "It would help us concentrate," his sister allowed.
                    "I'll be right back," the boy said.  Before he left,
Audrey introduced her brother to Betsy Molino.  They shook hands shyly, and
the boy disappeared for half a minute, reappearing in his sister's bedroom
in white briefs, bulging hugely.  He shut and locked the door and stood
against it while the three stared panting softly at each other.
                    "Betsy's a guest," Audrey finally whispered, "you
should teach her first."
                    "But you've got to teach me, too, the male said in his
raspy voice, "because it's just pretend and I might pretend the wrong
thing.  That seemed fantastically impossible to both girls, but the boy's
graciousness under extreme pressure impressed them, so the eight year old
agreed to help.  Betsy lay down on her friend's pink bedspread and the
brother and sister knelt at her right flank, the male to the left of the
female.

                    "You can't touch her here," the younger girl
instructed, "because females are sensitive and she won't be able to
concentrate."  So saying, she proceeded to teach her brother where not to
touch a young girl, taking her time, making sure he understood completely.
Rusty hissed at the hot swelling of the long-legged beauty, but behaved
like the gentleman he was and followed his sister's lead as she taught him
that a female's belly is also sensitive and that he shouldn't draw tender
circles around her belly button, no matter how cute, and, especially, not
to run his fingers softly along the top of her uniform skirt.  The boy,
normally an ace student, suddenly seemed very stupid, and it took a lot of
patient coaching and review before he began to learn right from wrong.
Audrey didn't mind; his hot, male body felt sensational against her left
arm, even though pressing her little-girl nipple against his sinewy triceps
did seem to distract him and intrude on the lesson, making it take longer
and longer.

                    "Audrey?" the boy husked after ten minutes.
                    "Yes?" the girl whispered in response to the sick sound
of her beautiful brother's froggy voice.
                    "I think the problem is her skirt.  At this rate she's
going to be at the bottom of the pool forever.  What I thought might be an
idea is if you let me teach you, without your skirt, and see if that's the
answer to floating."

                    "Simplicity, elegance, common-sense, and practical,"
the fairy princess agreed.  There followed a lengthy review of the arching,
panting beauty's naked chest, and slowly, helping each other very much, the
females changed positions.  Rusty unbuckled his kid sister's skirt and as
the child raised her hips, pulled it over the girls legs.

                    "See how much lighter she is?" Betsy said as she traced
the panting male's finger from the right knee of the girl slowly up her
silky inner thigh to the hem of her yellow panties as Audrey raised her
hips in welcome.  For ten minutes the boy and girl molested the supine
eight year old.  "It's hopeless with her panties on," the visiting girl
said, placing her hands on her friends hips.  Audrey bucked high, and in a
few seconds was naked.  She spread her legs wantonly, and Betsy moved to
the foot of the bed, Rusty in panting pursuit.  "Being naked makes a bit
difference," she said, and, indeed, most of Audrey' body was off the bottom
of the pool as she arched in welcoming display.  After some minutes at
ogling the panting child, Rusty moved to her chest, finding her nipples as
Betsy began masturbating the boy's little sister.  Audrey arched doubly to
the combination of her brother's touch and the smooth stroking high between
her legs of their beautiful houseguest.  By accord, the kneeling couple
changed places, and Rusty's male fingers wet and hot on his virgin sister
caused the girl to arch like a ballerina.

                    "She's safe, now," the older female noted, but then
Audrey shrieked aloud, thrust hard and fast to her mature brother, shook
violently and collapsed back to the bottom of the pool.
                    "She needs air, after all," Betsy observed, and Rusty
again changed places, this time so he could find his sister with his lips
in order to save the pretty child's life. The treatment worked instantly,
the naked girl remained pretty and pink, and in mere minutes her breathing
was restored to a healthy-sounding, heavy panting.

                    "If I ever eat peanut butter with my mouth open,
again," the cute kid said to her brother, "you and Dad can use me for
target practice with the pellet gun."
                    "But no sickening stuff," Rusty responded, "Dad and Mom
are too nice, we've got to act normal so we don't go around setting issues
on fire."
                    "Dad and I rattle around in three thousand square
feet," Betsy remarked, "so you could come and visit anytime.."
                    "That would be awesome," the fifteen year old enthused,
his sister nodding happily as they eased her from the bed, making room for
their new friend.  She was six inches taller than Audrey and the sister and
brother spent half an hour with her naked in their gentle hands, leaving
her a sweating, lank-haired, panting wreck.  Both girls anchored the teen
male to the bed with every pillow on it, dashed to the shower so they'd
have an excuse for their wet hair, then returned to their male captive.
They removed the pillows and stared down at his beautiful coltish body,
legs too longs, feet too big, hands too big, and they even worried that he
was too big.  "But girls have babies," Betsy remarked, and, for sure, there
was nothing infantile about Rusty Griswold.
                    "And cats have kittens," Audrey added, settling the
matter.


                    There's a line in "Amadeus" that goes, "I think that
went rather well."  Same tonality: "I think this is going rather well."  A
seventeen-thousand-word day followed by fifteen thousand, plus a
two-thousand word letter to my dad.  And I'm not even selling anything.

                    Kids are kids 24/7 X 18 or 20.  Rhagheeda was over with
Samantha.  She wanted to look at my new watch, so I took it off and handed
it to her, ostensibly so she could a, look and it, and, b, try to fit it
back in the case.  I turned and talked to Samantha for not even a minute,
and when I looked around, Rhagheeda was rubbing the crystal against the
table as hard as she could.  By some fluke it didn't scratch.  Grr.
Elston, who is possibly the nicest kid I've met in my life, twelve, manages
to do simply everything in the worst and most thoughtless way possible.
Nothing is to be assumed.  Lend them a bug bomb, and in two minutes they'll
take it downstairs and spray the entire contents into a single small room
to kill a few flies, then close the shutters to be sure it works.  Last
night I let Tonton light the mosquito coils on the stove, and went out half
an hour later to find the burner on full, boy long-since gone.  These are
but highlights of bumbling and fumbling that give me pause a time or two
each day.  With delightful kids it's a challenge maintaining one's cool --
the other day I opened the freezer to find zero of my beloved ice bottles,
and I have seven (some are plastic liter-size milk bottles, which work
well) -- with the American variety it must double hell in both intensity
and duration.  A real-time case in point.  I left Queenie to cook while I
went to town.  She burned the rice badly enough to ruin my favorite old
pot, and absconded with half a gallon of expensive sauce, where she was
meant to use a pint or so.  (I think my theme of the utterly beautiful and
very charming Louise living with a finicky Philbin type is cool, and half
living it might give me an edge over other writers.)  On the other hand,
the gang does mellow me out.  If I'm going to live to write another day, I
can't be inviting a stroke over every shenanigan and misadventure.  I don't
smile when they take every last spoon in the house, costing me two-hundred
words over a cup of tea, but I don't go through the roof.  What they teach
most poignantly is how useless it is to be an adult.  I've always had what
I considered to be ample reasons not to grow up, and it's a pleasure to
have them confirmed in my mid-fifties.

                    Speaking of the new watch, I had the classic Belizean
experience this morning.  The salesman asked if I wanted the watches (one
was for Samantha) set.  I said Yes and paid the cashier, then took the
merchandise.  Later in the day, I found mine was twelve minutes fast.
Because it IS Belize, yes, Samantha's was equally fast.  (If it had been
Haiti, her's would have been correct, if it had been Cuba, the clerk would
have asked: "What's a watch.")

                    The watches, two for seventy-five (U.S.), are
remarkable.  Heavy, Movado-style face, solid stainless bracelet, new style
clasp that's a little tricky to close, but simpler, stronger, and less
likely to snag or open accidentally than the traditional design.  Chinese,
sold under the brand name Manhattan.  If I can find someone to remove a few
links from the band, mine will be perfect, meantime, I haven't owned a
watch for five or six years, so I kind of like having it rattle around.

                    Casting around for a stone to throw, since I've grown
by having them thrown at me, you understand, I came across a particularly
jagged and hefty missile suitable for one of my favorite examples of
leftist reality.  I've sketched the story elsewhere, and it begs repeating.
The example of the ruthless cruelty of the left is the Big Brothers of Los
Angeles.  Two-hundred-fifty big-brothers / little-brother couples a
metropolis of eighteen million (1988).  Yet the box of the urban socialist
is filled.  Problem: fatherless kids.  Answer: Big Brothers of Los Angeles.
Tidy and neat in a sealed container like Linda Kanner's Festive Evening,
you remember, where the guests left at eight-thirty?  Socialism.  Neat
stuff.  Tidy, too.  And, since it's done so well all over the world,
possibly a back for the whip of sarcasm.  Sarcasm, mockery, and coming
across as a wise-guy.  In my mind, with its measured IQ of four hundred, I
engage in none of these unless deliberately, tongue-in-cheek, as I think it
might be seen by the reader as funny.  Very big groups doing very bad
things.  To point them and their things out in plain talk isn't any variety
of mockery, it's simply telling the truth in fewer words than a diplomat
would use if he was trying to convince the Russians that there was some
point to their existence.

                    How would I run the Big Brothers?  Socials.  Mixers.
I'm not so sure about sock hops, because the sight of males dancing is
bred-in offensive.  Yes, the adult males would be carefully registered;
photo, print, DNA sample, voice print, and signature; and that's about it.
In my Alternative Brothers the slogan would be: "Let's Try It."  Entry
requirements would be reasonable stability, and passing a super-polygraph
profile, plus a medical check up.  Men would have to spend ten hours in the
center before they could take a boy to a cubical, and another ten hours
with access to cubicals before they could date a boy from the center.
After that, there would be a short list of restriction such as not
marketing the boy in any way, not sodomizing him, or letting anyone else,
more than four times a year, plus maybe a few additions as the institution
developed.  I am a conservative.  If nationwide, five million boys became
Alternative Brothers, I would feel the system overly restrictive if less
that a dozen were killed by their male partners each year, and perhaps two
hundred seriously injured.  That's life.  That happens with fathers and
sons, uncles and nephew, everybody running around loose as well those as in
the asylums and prisons.  Liberals have reduced what should be a commonly
used social vector to a hollow husk of a token which creates false hope in
thirteen thousand boys on the waiting list for the two-hundred-fifty it
matches.  It's filthy, it's foul, it's liberal.  And hear my story: when I
went to the orientation the lady described the dating profile, two hours,
four hours, eight hours, and, after some weeks had passed, the -- she's
giggling now -- first overnight.  She said the word "sex", I think in
context of it being the first (or best) opportunity to talk about it.  If
there was a non-pedophile in the room, I'll eat my hat, and, as mentioned
elsewhere, they were a drab and portly lot, brokers and the like though
they were.  (Of course, this was SoCal, where you want drab because the
only other option is noisy.)

                    I'd orient Alternative Brothers toward truckers,
long-haul and local.  Get the misfits out of school early, nominal minimum
age, eight years, and get them with a driver.  Certainly the boys should
have a bolt hole if it doesn't work out, but they should also be thoroughly
desensitized by watching video of a graphic nature portraying typical
sleeper and motel activities.  This, plus the availability of cubicles
under the supervised umbrella of the centers would probably result in so
few significant problems that there'd only be a dozen or so crimes of any
nature between big and little brother, maybe a dozen a year out of five
million matches.  But that's not how you measure it.  You measure it by the
five million, and feel empathy for the minority so indoctrinated as
homophobic they're not exploring the fullness of life.

                    The BBLA has an application form which would do the CIA
credit.  Single males must provide a letter from a girlfriend willing to
state that the male functions normally.  (Most pedophiles do this at the
drop of a pair of panties.)  I'll bet the intelligence agency doesn't ask
that.  Successfully completing the form leads to, as I recall, two six-hour
interviews.  As a final and inclusive cruelty, the charity is part of the
United Way and advertises heavily, stimulating ever more sad dreams.
Liberals.  You can't live with `em, you can't live with `em.

                    The last time I graced an essay with fiction I ended up
exceeding the parent of my script, in fact, we're still in it, and will be
`till we bid adieu to Kansas.  I'll keep this one short.  The scene occurs
at an office water cooler.

                    "Phil, my god, look-at-you.  Dude!  You've
lost... don't tell me... seventy pounds."
                    "Seventy-four, but with some ounces," the
thirty-year-old account executive responded.
                    "But I only spent six months in Ireland," Clark, his
contemporary, said, "so it has to be impossible, plus you look how many
years younger... six...eight?"
                    "You tell me," Clark laughed.
                    "You got that wrong, dude," Phil replied, "you tell
me."
                    "His name is Kendrick," Clark said.
                    "Dude!  Yeah, you told me about the ABs just before I
left for the sod.  So it worked out?"
                    "You seem to have noticed."

                    We'll leave it at that.

                    The medium does not allow the message.  I thought that
one up earlier today, you know, word count.  (319, 041, by the way.)  I
interpret this as New York not allowing anyone to hear anything from me
because I'm anti-Semitic.  Such deviants are relegated to the box labeled
"Loathsome."  I think I drove a president out of Harvard with a long,
loathsome letter, and hope he dies of his attitude toward my repugnant
prose.  I can use the medium, too, and, as its god, if I deem New York a
parasite, guess what.

                    There's a little housekeeping and a breather, so I vote
for Kansas.


                    The girls slowed down.  If a little giddy with each
other in the begging, there was now, so to speak, meat on the table, and a
feast to be savored slowly.  The real deal, where the rubber meets the
road, no wooden nickels, stuff like that.  It took them ten minutes just to
look.  Rusty, a quiet, modest boy, fine athlete though he was, didn't hide
his light completely under a basked, and did display for the, placing his
hands behind his handsome head and arching as his sister and her pretty
friend perused his taut young body from all angles and at considerable
lengths.  The boy had never been examined by two naked nymphs before, and
knew it was something he'd remember as long as he had a pair of contiguous
brain cells still working.  Bright though the teen was, his mind was not
able to grasp even the rudiments of what it was going to be like to be in
their arms, to have dinner with them, knowing both were swimming with his
seed.

                    Though the physical was extraordinarily thorough, Rusty
passed.  The girls eased down onto him, their backs to his chest.  The boy
brought his hands from behind his neck, molesting both the children on
their bellies and chests.  "Tell us all about being with your little-league
coach," Audrey suggested.

                    "Cliff Ratinsky," Rusty replied.
                    "Definitely cute, kind of wild looking, like Nureyev,"
Audrey said to Betsy.
                    "We just experimented a little in the theater," the
teen said, summarizing a previous conversation on the subject.


                    "How do you feel about a stall, Rusty?" Cliff asked.
                    "Will you be really gentle?" the boy asked.
                    "Yes," Cliff said, "the only kinky thing I like to do
is talk, but some boys would rather be whipped than tell secrets."
                    "Okay," the shortstop said, and the two left the
auditorium of the older theater, the older male stunning his player by
executing a perfect cartwheel down the long marble staircase to the
labyrinth of the basement.  The men's room was at the end of a long, tiled
hallway and the door squeaked plainly.

                    "I've never been here before," the older male said,
"but it looks tailor-made; no one can sneak through the door, and with an
open transom above it, you could hear most anyone coming from fifty feet
away.  Entering, they found six stalls and both males instinctively
crouched to check.  They double checked by nudging each door and found they
were alone.
                    "I think we can talk a little more, first, if you
want," Cliff said.
                    "It makes me nervous but I like it, too," the boy said.

                    "I'll bet a lot of boys even younger than you are have
been molested here," Cliff said, looking around at the open space of the
per-war, pre-union room; the well-built, generous stalls with heavy wooden
doors reaching within an inch of the floor.  They chose the second to last
and entered.  "Hooks on both walls," Cliff noted, "must be for winter with
all the coats and scarves."

                    "How many boys liked it and how many didn't, do you
think?" Rusty asked.
                    "I think why they didn't like it is a more salient
question," Cliff said "Natural disinclination or the great social tut-tut,
that's the crux of the matter; don't make it happen less, well-proven
impossible even with draconian measures, make boys and girls like it more."
                    "But not everyone is you with a dancer's body, and dead
cute, too," Rusty observed.
                    "But the answer is still not No," the man said, "the
problem can't be solved, it's one of those challenges where you never look
ahead, only behind, to see what you've accomplished.  Teaspoon or steam
shovel, Mt. Everest is still going to be there, but the shovel operator
sees a nice chunk of it behind him at the end of his shift, where the
liberal with the spoon sees a boot full.  The more standards are relaxed,
the more tolerance reigns, by each and every degree, the more boys who
won't have to be sneaked into the basement of a movie house, but, instead,
can have a full and sanctioned relationship with anyone their heart desires
subject to only the dilemmas indigenous to all relationships."

                    "There's quite a bit that goes on, though," Rusty said.
                    "In deep shadows off dark streets," his coach
responded, "with all the scaring deplored by the left caused by the left.
I think it's safe to say all males, if gently introduced by an attractive
partner at age five, will grow up to enjoy being alone with other males
from time to time.  Kids that get punked under the church-based system end
up either repressed or neurotically inclined, essentially cut in half.
Kids brought up in the Tyne Daley blowtorch and pinchers school go proudly
out and accomplish great deeds, living half lives "
                    "Unwholesome, on both counts," Rusty noted.

                    "But you're right," Cliff said, "lots of boys who've
matured in this stall probably found the experience frightening,
embarrassing, and degrading.  Suddenly getting wet all over your belly and
clothes from an adult has to be almost the definition of a nightmare,
especially if the male gets you wet in your mouth.  If you desensitized
males in the early school years you'd reduce the trauma factor by nearly a
hundred percent, and by a hundred percent for boy's who'd been instructed.
At the same time, you'd increase the chances for establishing meaningful
relationships, to use that leftover from the Sixties, by a wide margin."
                    "Sort of win-win with religion playing the spoiler,"
Rusty summarized.
                    "And," the man sighed, "supplying half the thrill."
                    "Go figure," the teen remarked.

                    As they talked, the males quickly stripped, then turned
shyly to face each other, reaching down to touch their partner's rigid
penis.  They leaned together, resting their heads on each others shoulders,
gently masturbating the strange penis hot and new in their hands.
                    "We can do this a long time, if you want," Cliff
whispered.
                    "Do you think other guys will come in?" Rusty asked,
loving the semi-public place facet of no-no-no-no.
                    "Probably," the twenty-five-year-old athlete said, "but
the cracks in the door are just wide enough to keep an eye on things.
Here," the man continued, reaching into his pants' pocket, "I brought a
condom.  If anyone official comes along tell him your coach is teaching you
how to use it."

                    "Will that fly?" Rusty asked.
                    "If you say it," the man replied, "yes.  If we start
blocking the restrooms during intermission, that's another story, but, no
harm, no foul? ninety-nine out of a hundred cops wouldn't intervene, and
the hundredth would come in and join us."
                    "Do you think a man might come with a child?" Rusty
asked.
                    "Better than even," the older male said, "there were a
hundred and eight people in the theater, sixty three of them boys under
fifteen."
                    "You're kidding," the boy said.
                    "How do you think I kept from cumming all over you
under the raincoat?" the senior partner asked.
                    "I don't know," Rusty said, "you mentioned a certain
television actress who'd do it for me."
                    "She's always helped when she was needed," the adult
agreed.
                    "Have you molested lots of children?" Rusty wanted to
know.
                    "You're the seventh," Cliff said, "and two of them were
girls, both eleven."
                    "Did it happen to you when you were a kid?" Rusty
queried.
                    "I was very lucky," Cliff said, "a very beautiful young
priest moved into my town just when I turned twelve years old.  Talk about
getting religion, as you Americans say, I got it hook, line, and sinker.
Father Kranz picked me as an altar boy.  I'd heard the usual stories, and,
while the old priest was nice enough, and completely non-aggressive with
his boys, he just wasn't for me, or my friend Capsy, who was just my age.
Both of us suddenly took a whole new look, and we talked each other into
hanging around after mass and seeing if we could talk to the new father.
He was as glad to see us as we were to see him, and in half an hour in the
rectory he'd told us about the special Garden of Eden some priests indulged
in with their altar boys.  We both kept nodding like a couple of puppets.
I mean, he didn't tell us anything specific, just that the experience would
be very mature, especially as he had two friends due to arrive any moment,
classmates of his at seminary.  We sent notes to our parents telling them
we'd be staying overnight at the rectory, and he took us into the dressing
room behind the altar and showed us, in a secret drawer, the Garden of Eden
costumes, which, naturally, were fig leaves.  Canak, Doodge, and Veepear
arrived and it turned out they'd all been champ swimmer for their
university.  All four looked like Olympians, even in their collars.  We ate
lunch and talked, then he made sure that we knew we were going to, you
know, sin, upstairs, if we still wanted to stay.  We nodded again, and he
told us what to do.  Capsy and put the costumes on with our backs to each
other and then ran upstairs to the Garden.  There was a paper-mache tree,
and we were meant to stand close to it, with our heads hung in shame.  We
waited for half an hour, because anticipating sin is half of what the devil
is all about, and the moral purpose of out being in the Garden of Eden was
teaching us that sin is often a minor thing, and that there's something to
be said for not worrying about it to save resources for doing good.  You
know, religious."

                    "It sounds that way," Rusty said as the two remained
bent to each other, gently stroking away the reels of film unwinding
upstairs, "though who knew there was any sense to any church."
                    "They can be good in a civic sense," the coach
cautioned his player, "but essentially, you're right; secular institutions
could replace them on that score in the time it takes the pope to get out
of bed."
                    "So, tell me more about what happened," Rusty said.
                    "It was prosaic," his coach responded, "they came in
and took turns molesting us from behind, pulling us away from the tree when
we were ready, an adult behind each of us, then turning Capsy and me so we
faced each other.  Father Kranz held him and Canak held me.  The other two
took our fig leaves off, and the adults were naked when they came in to us,
so we stood looking at each other for a minute, then Doodge and Veepear
stood at our hips and showed us what older boys do in the shower.  Then the
men were doing it with us from behind, starting off really slowly and
gently.  They asked us questions about how experienced we were, and Father
Kranz asked if there were any males in the congregation that we'd like to
know better.  We said each other.  In all I guess it was what you guys call
a circle-jerk, but it lasted a long time and didn't seem rude or crude in
the least.  Doodge and Veepear made us wet for the hands of our partners,
then, since I was a few weeks younger than Capsy, Father Kranz made him cum
first."

                    "Were you looking down so you could see?" Cliff asked.
                    "Yes," the boy replied, "when they said it was going to
happen, we looked down, but mostly we looked into each other's eyes,
thinking, in American: "Can you believe this?"  Of course, it was the
Garden of Eden, so we didn't say anything so crude, but an hour before we'd
been two numbs in search of a skull, and now here were four cute guys who
thought we were cute, and that was, as you guys say here, your basic
change."

                    "It went all the way?" Rusty asked, "it wasn't some
kind of trap to find out you were pervs?"
                    "Not a Jesuit order," Cliff said.
                    "Too bad," Rusty said, "you could have done a little
verbal slicing and dicing to make it last longer."
                    "I don't think it would have helped if the Madonna had
arrived in labor on Christmas morning," Cliff said, "not with two tall
swimmers holding two scrawny pre-teens."
                    "Do you want to hold me the way the way Canak held
you?" the teen asked.
                    "Yes," his coach said, turning the naked boy in his
arms and assuming the classis stance with the willowy beauty.
                    "Did it feel really nice when his hand got wet?" the
boy whispered, thrusting firmly into the tight palm on his five-inch penis.
                    "Yes," his coach said, "but watching them shower on us
was the most exciting part.  They'd all been celibate waiting for their
reunion, and what they did went all over Capsy and me."
                    "Did it happen to you right after that?" the boy asked
                    "With Capsy, right away," the man explained, "but Canak
held me back for a minute, then he let me spill all over my best friend."
                    "Did Canak and Father Kranz do that, too, spill?" Rusty
asked with a blush.
                    "We used a different position with them, standing at
their hips.  We held the tips of their penises together, with some help
from Doodge and Veepear, so it was really intense when they got up on their
toes and started shaking all over.  But it ended up perfect, even though
Capsy and I couldn't tell whose sperm was spraying from where we held them
together."

                    "Do you want me to try that position with you?" Rusty
asked.
                    "Yes," the adult whispered.  In the confines of the
stall, the males shifted so the boy was at the adult's right hip, his left
arm around his coach's slim waist.  The lanky teen was tentative at first,
the adult's circumcised six-and-a-half inch erection so hot and alive in
his hand, his inexperienced muscles responded as if they'd been holding a
charged wire, but instinct quickly took over and his stroking became
deliberate as he jerked off the young adult.  "You better take me all the
way," Cliff whispered, "because it would be asking for trouble to hang out
here too much longer."
                    "Okay," Rusty whispered, and then there were footsteps
and the door squeaked.  "Cool," the boy whispered, holding the athletic
coach firmly, then gradually loosening his grip as the two naked males
positioned themselves at the crack in the stall door.  Cliff dipped into
the pocket of his shorts to retrieve the foil pack, just in case, and then
pressed gently against his shortstop, easing his boner up between the boy's
long coltish legs as they bent to spy through the crack at the edge of the
door.

                    "You don't have to keep asking me, Granddad," the
pre-teen said as they pushed through the door, "you've been great to Mom
and me, and I even think you're cute, sixty or not.."
                    The man stood something over six feet with the build of
a Marine general.  The boy, who looked twelve, shared his grandfather's
tall, hard build and an obvious family resemblance.
                    "They're going to check the stalls," Cliff whispered to
Rusty, "so, if you want to take a chance, we could open the door."
                    "Cool," Rusty said, so excited he was shivering in the
arms of his adult partner.  Cliff worked the latch and swung the door.
Rusty, inspired, stretched tall, reaching behind his coaches head and
arching, his legs slightly spread, Cliff's hugely swollen penis jutting up
nearly vertically from between his still child-soft thighs.  The adult held
the boy gently by his flanks as the twelve year old panted against the
athlete's bare chest.  The new arrivals froze and stared for a long minute,
wordlessly.  The old-fashioned rest-room stalls were big, but not that big.
Rusty's excite-o-meter went into the red.  They'd have to stay out here, in
the open, and who knew when a passing SWAT team might stop in to use the
semi-public facility?  As long as there were no women, he mused to himself,
as long as there were no women, the frantic excitement of being stared at,
of having and attractive couple watch as he was being molested by an adult,
would keep building like a fire where they bottled oxygen.
                    "There are hooks for your clothes in the stalls," Cliff
finally said, breaking what was not an embarrassing silence, and realizing
the military appearing granddad would not be one to toss clothes on the
floor.
                    "Thanks," the man said, adding: "funny how you can be
wrong, even at my age.  I thought I wanted privacy with Nills."
                    "He's a beautiful boy," the coach said, now openly
fondling the highly excited child in his arms.
                    "Your child is, too," Keef Mellinger said, introducing
himself and his grandson, then suggesting to Nills that they `change' in
separate stalls.  "Wait a minute until we're all in front of your door," he
whispered to the twelve year old, "that way it will be more embarrassing."
                    "Okay, Granddad," the child whispered back, closing the
door.  Cliff continued molesting his player in the minute it took the new
couple to get naked.  The sixty year old emerged first, saying Just a
minute to the hidden young boy.  "I hope I look as good as you when I'm
forty," Cliff commented, and, indeed, the fit male in front of them, even
without his massive, knobby erection, would have held his own with teen
swimmers.
                    "We're ready," the man said as they positioned
themselves in front of the door, "and you can come out backwards if you
want, or get your clothes back on, if you change your mind, okay?"
                    "I want you to look at me," the boy said, "I'm just
kind of nervous."
                    "Do you have a boner?" the grandfather whispered.
                    "Yes," the boy said.
                    "Well you wouldn't if you were a pervert," the older
male observed, "you'd be having kinky thoughts instead of natural ones, so
that's a good sign."
                    "It's just a lot bigger," Nills said, his stage whisper
clear through the top of the three-quarters door, every tremor and hitch
clearly audible to the three males awaiting him.
                    "Bigger than it gets when you're with Christopher?" the
man asked.
                    "It's always private with him," Nills said.
                    "I think you're just finding out you're a very
attractive young male animal," Keef said, "and you half want to share and
half want to hide."
                    "What if someone comes in?" Nills asked.
                    "It will be their luckiest day of the year," his
grandfather comforted.
                    "But we could get in trouble."
                    "If someone came in and saw or heard a man misusing a
boy," the sixty year old responded, "he'd probably go to the manager, if he
sees four reasonably attractive and even beautiful males taking advantage
of what privacy there is, he'd probably understand.  Besides," he added,
"there's no law against a man teaching a boy to use a condom, and Cliff has
one in his hand, and a boy has to be excited to have one fitted onto his
penis."

                    "That sounds like a stretch," the twelve year old
whispered through the door.
                    "Rusty's the one who's stretching," Keef said, "he's
way up on his toes and his legs are stretched wide."
                    "Is Cliff, you know, up between his legs?" the boy
asked.
                    "Yes," the grandfather said.
                    The door opened and Cliff, Keef and Rusty saw
immediately why the pre-teen was embarrassed.  Except for a tentative
growth below his belly, the child was fully an adult, very thick and nearly
six inches in length, bent sharply to his left.  Even uncircumcised, he was
dramatic, his pole-like shaft jutting up until it almost rode against his
slim belly.  Looking down at himself, he murmured, "It's because of what I
like doing when Christopher gets excited."
                    "What do you do?" Rusty asked as Keef moved behind his
grandson, the boy emulating his age-mate's stance by spreading his legs and
arching in the handsome man's arms.

                    "When he tells me it's going to happen, I sort of kiss
him there," the boy explained, "you know, with my mouth open.  He gets
excited with me quite a lot, so getting it in my stomach changed the way I
grew."
                    "Lucky," Rusty observed.
                    "I'm just getting used to it," the slim schoolboy said.
"But when school opens, it's going to be really embarrassing, because all
my friends will be the same, or you know, maybe a little bigger, and
suddenly I'm big and thick."
                    "You're surviving here with strangers looking at you,"
Keef said.
                    "I know," the boy responded, "but that's the trouble,
as soon as I knew they wanted to look I got bigger than ever, so, if I know
the kids at school want to look, something might happen."
                    "Is there fluid when Christopher makes you cum?" his
grandfather asked.
                    "Yes," the child replied.
                    "Then what you do," the older male suggested, "is tell
them that you're not a fag, but you'll let them watch what happens to you,
just once.  Gauge their reaction.  If they're enthusiastic, you can tell
them you were lying about the `once' thing.  If they're really nervous, you
can ask if they can't tell when you're joking, and if they're just sort of
half-nervous, that would be normal, and you can ask if anyone wants to
learn, or if they just want to watch you.  It's totally common for boys to
masturbate together in the shower, so you're not inventing the wheel"
                    "Would they touch each other?" Nills wanted to know.
                    "They'll make a circle around you," his grandfather
explained, "with their left arm around the boy next to them, then reach
across with their right hand and do what Cliff's doing with Rusty.  If a
boy wants to jerk you off, he'll come and stand beside you and do what the
other kids are doing, or you can do it by yourself while they stare down at
you.  When you feel it starting, you lie on your back on the shower floor,
because young boys' best part is watching what happens at the end with a
mature boy."

                    A patter of footsteps approached and the door squeaked
as it opened a few inches.  Braids and blue eyes peered around the edge.
There was a pause.  "Daddy," a child's voice said, "we'll be safe in here.
You don't have to take me in the ladies' room."

                    A handsome, rugged face appeared above that of the
blond child.  The door opened slowly, and a trim thirty-year-old-male
followed the slightly built eleven-year-old girl.  She looked like the
`floured' girl in the silly cell phone ad, her father towering above her,
lean, muscular, and a match for the two adults already in the bathroom.
"We better be quick, darling," the adult said, "because something like this
shouldn't be abused."  The girl zipped into a stall, pulling her dad.
There was a minute of rustling clothing, and urgent whispering, then the
new couple emerged, naked, the female shyly leading her handsome father to
Keef.  "Chrissie has never been held by a man with chest hair," the father
said, speaking for his child.  "Would it be okay?"

                    The ten year old's nipples were not only swollen to the
size of small strawberries, they protruded from breasts that would have
half-filled a teacup.

                    "Yes," Keef whispered, and Nills reached for the girl,
pulling her to his grandfather.  "Thanks," she grinned to the boy as her
father lifted her into the arms of the gray wolf.  "Are you grown up?" she
asked the grandson looking down at his adult phallus, "because you're with
a man a lot, like I am?"
                    "I think so," the boy said, blushing.
                    "Dad's a doctor," she said, "and he told me about
hormones.  We have to use a condom together most of the time, so I won't
develop too much."  [The author has no medical training and assumes certain
clinical facts, which may be unfounded, for their entertainment value.]

                    The girl was quiet as she slowly brought her pubescent
chest against that of the older man.  "Oh, Dad, it feels exciting," she
said, and the males present recognized in the child a girl who knew what
exciting meant.
                    "Can he spray in me?" the precocious girl asked,
"because it will be like the time I got raped, then you were with me all
night because of what had happened inside me with Officer Washington, plus,
this time you'll get to see and hear what happens."
                    "Yes, darling," the athletic father agreed, "but I
liked quizzing you about Kal Washington, too, you know."
                    "I liked it too, Daddy," the sweetie ten-pies said,
"but I'm growing up and it's time to move on."
                    "A six-six, athletic black who had my daughter in the
back of his prowler for two hours, is not easily replaced when it comes to
story-time," the doctor said to Cliff.  All the males nodded, picturing the
willowy young body hugging to a tiger, their building and easing of
tension, her belly and thighs immediately after his feral grunting over the
child, and understood how the image could perpetuate itself.

                    By accord they moved half into one of the stalls, Keef
standing close to the john as her father lifted the pretty ten year old to
the man.  The girl wrapped her legs around the powerful waist of the older
male, lolling back in her father's arms as he found and entered her.  Nills
climbed on the toilet, and mounted his handsome, boyish granddad from the
rear, thrusting gently against him until he was fully mounted.  Cliff and
Rusty helped the young father hold his pretty daughter, and they were also
kept from falling by the structure of the stall door.  It looked awkward,
they all supposed, but it was comfortable, and, with Nills setting a rhythm
against his athletic grandfather, the sixty year old began having his way
fully with the child panting in her father's corded arms.  The gray wolf
surged gently against the slim thighs of the pixie for ten minutes before
the girl tensed and gasped: "Oh, he feels just like you, Daddy," she mewed,
and there was the faint sound as his heavy spend in the child gushed from
between their sweating bodies and streamed to the tile floor, accompanied
by the feral grunts of Nills as he climaxed along with the mature male
against his naked boy's chest.  The doctor eased his wet child to the
floor, and they were guided into a stall.  Nills joined his grandfather in
another and both couples whispered as they dressed.  Cliff tore off a
length of toilet paper and quickly mopped the heavy white pool on the
immaculate floor of the well-maintained theater.  "Would you like me to
jerk you off with his cum on my hand?" he asked his young player.  Rusty
nodded, and they shared some of the thick semen, then entered their stall.
Rusty masturbated Cliff quickly, and he came within half a minute, his
thick semen splashing noisily in the bowl of the old-fashioned porcelain
stool.  Rusty arched as the tall athlete moved behind him, and in a minute
there was a long series of splashes, the sound of flushing, the whispering
as coach and player inspected each other, then dressed.  They all met in
the hall outside and shook hands warmly, then returned to see the rest of
what Hollywood had to offer.

                    Rusty had ejaculated a second and third time as he told
his story, and his sister was mewing like the world's happiest cat.  They
slowly separated, sitting back against a sofa, Audrey with her knees widely
spread so Annie could lie between them and stare at her wetness.  Slowly
Dale moved onto the back of the seven year old girl.  Since she was too
young to tell a story, he concluded his own.

                    Uncle Wayne was due midday on the morrow, sure, she
should be excited, he was, too, and tomorrow was Vicky's tenth birthday, so
that added to the tension -- but what tension?  His mind roamed over the
last few days.  Without being in the least cloying or phony, his
ten-year-old sister had merely been closer.  She didn't reach for him or
bump him, she was just ever nearer, ever less distant.  A few inches at the
dinner table, a single inch as they worked side-by-side on their homework
at the desk in his room, elbows almost but not quite touching.  She was a
few seconds quicker to respond when he called her, a few minutes earlier
down from sleep so they could hang out at breakfast.  She giggled a little
longer at his jokes, smiled more easily, pranced and danced more
effortlessly, kept her hair trimmer without going all cover girl, and
somehow, in a hundred small ways, bettered herself over she who was already
the world's best kid-sis.

                    "Dale?" came her soft voice at his door.  The twelve
year old finished his Budster posturing, slipped into a white shirt, and
opened the door.
                    "Hi," the girl said, her eyes huge.
                    "Hi," he replied, unable to summon more than a soft
whisper.
                    "Are you busy?" she asked, her voice as thick as his.
                    "No," he said.
                    "Can we sit on your bed and talk?" she asked.
                    "Sure," the boy said.  The little girl took her
brother's hands, and he guided her to his bed, She sat on his left.
"What?" he asked.
                    "Dale," Vicky began, "I've been thinking a lot about
tomorrow.  Uncle Wayne.  Having him in my bed instead of what we do in the
bathroom."
                    "He's going to be very gentle with you," Dale said.

                    "I know," the girl said, "but you know what's been
happening more and more?" she asked.
                    The boy knew a lot but it was all a bit complicated to
distill into a sensible answer so he just replied in the negative.

                    "It's you," she said, "how you've changed, not that you
were particularly gross, or anything, before our uncle's long visit, but
you... different... so many small ways, you know, without giving me
thoughtful gifts or sentimental cards, but just sort of more solid and
easier to get along with, like you want to say yes, and it's hard for you
to say no."
                    "I didn't notice," the boy responded, "I thought it was
all you."
                    "I think that's the point," Vicky noted, "that it's
`us'."
                    "I like that word," Dale murmured.
                    "I love it," his sister said.
                    "I love you," the boy responded in his softest whisper.
                    "That's what I want," the girl blushed, "her, now, with
you, before Uncle Wayne comes, I want you to make love to me, and I want to
sleep with you all night."
                    "It's really special between you and him," the boy
said.
                    "I know," the girl responded, "and I thought it would
be him, tomorrow, but, it's not that I don't want to wait, it's that I do
want to be with you, completely, for hours, no clothes, no condoms, boy and
girl, male and female, and your seed swimming in be when I wake up in the
morning, and the taste of you on my tongue if we ever get to sleep,
tonight."
                    "Do you want to try kissing?" the older sibling asked.
                    "I'm not trying to be fair, or anything," Vicky mused,
"like he did this so you can do that, it's more personal and intimate.
I've done a lot of grown-up things with him," she continues, "he was the
first one to see me naked and to molest me, and he showed me what happened
when a male gets excited, but I've never had his cum in my mouth, and he's
never sprayed any inside me.  Those are the things I want with you.  And I
don't know about kissing until after he's been with me again.  Then, for
sure.  What I want now is to just have the sex part.  No romantic stuff, no
passionate stuff, just to lie on the floor under you and have where we have
to touch for you to be successful be the only place we touch.  I've watched
Uncle Wayne cum off lots of times, so I'll know what's happening inside me,
and I just want to feel that, nothing else, you know, like there's one sun
in the sky."

                    "Vicky," her brother whispered, "if you want we could
keep most of our clothes on."
                    "It's not that extreme," the girl said with a shy
smile, "it's just sort of a whim.  I think you're beautiful, and I want it
to happen while we're both naked so I can look at you even if we don't
touch, you know, and imagine how it will be when Uncle Wayne leaves my
bedroom and I come in here with you for the rest of the night, and we can
make love instead of just having sex."

                    "If you put your hands way up over your head it will be
easier for me not to touch you," Dale said.
                    "You don't have to promise or anything," the girl said,
"and if you have to feel me up or kiss me while it's happening I won't be
upset or disappointed."
                    "No," the boy said, "I want the same thing.  Just one
sun."

                    They were very careful.  Vicky went to her room and
stripped as dale peeled off his clothes and stepped out of his underpants
with not a glance at the mirror.  He brought a chair onto the rug in the
middle of his room and dropped to his knees to experiment with bracing
himself so he could guide himself to his sister without making any
extraneous contact with her beautiful young body or requiring her to guide
him with her hand.  It was a little awkward, but bracing with his chin at
just the right angle allowed him to simulate supporting himself on his
extended left arm while he touched himself with his right.  His head might
bump the chair afterwards, but only if he did what males usually did with
females, and they both wanted something different.  She tapped shyly and
entered blushing a soft pink.  Dale nodded at the carpet and watched as the
beauty dropped gracefully to the thick rug and lay back, arms stretched
past her head, spreading her legs widely.  The male adjusted the chair,
knelt between his sister's knees, and lowered himself to his left arm.  She
wriggled gently beneath him as he supported himself on his improvised
brace, wishing his handsome uncle was kneeling to hold him, and, by
watching his sister carefully, and moving very slowly, was able to find
her.  As he felt her hot, buttery yield Dale nudged the chair away and took
his weight on both arms.  They didn't even look at each other.  The boy
stared blankly at the wall of his bedroom while the girl closed her eyes
and lost herself in fantasizing over the beautiful young buck succeeding
with his first fawn.  Dale penetrated the ten year old with a dozen firm
strokes, the athletic girl not resisting his entrance as do sedentary
virgins.  She lay still as he thrust firmly and fully again and again, his
body shaking and his breath becoming ragged and dusky.  The female felt the
tension rise in her boy and fought the inclination to pull him to her and
bury her face in his neck, coaxing him and urging him and telling him how
she loved him.  Silently, motionlessly she choked back her most feral
drive, so strange because it was also the most romantic, and did not beg
and plead with her beloved brother to leave her with a child.  She lay
panting but otherwise almost motionless, her senses straining to receive
every nuance of the thrusting penis of her brother.  She tried even not
listening to his deep, steady panting, tried to block every foreign
sensation, and, to her delight found that Dale's masculinity rapidly took
over and she had no longer to try, and indeed, even the memory of trying
not to feel this and not trying not to be distracted by that was swept away
by the dominating surge of his big penis deep in her sweating, panting
belly.

                    They mated on the carpet for half an hour, each
mandating restraint in an effort to thrill his partner.  Their uncle had
taken them both many times over the past two years, and, while never
teasing or frustrating (too much), had taught them both the beauties of
waiting at least awhile before fully satisfying their partner.  She could
not believe him, the rugged resilience as he maintained his rigid mounting,
on and on, while thrusting fast and hard in a rhythm that coursed through
her like a strong drug on steroids.  Dale could not believe his little
sister's angelic stillness, her allowing him to be all and only boy.  It
was like a good Western, no mushy stuff, and if straight-shootin' gunplay
was over the top, there was a focus and lack of confusion that made every
thrust into Vicky's wet, still body an equal to the entirety of his twelve
years and slightly exceeding the touch of his handsome uncle.

                    The twelve year old's sperm came in a sudden, hard
rush.  He thrust, now tenderly, fully between the girl's widely spread
thighs.  Carefully they brought their bodies tightly together and she
accepted him with an almost imperceptible bucking of her hips, each trigger
another hard release from his pubescent male body.  For the last half
minute of their time they lay panting but otherwise motionless as the last
of his seed flowed in gentle spasm to the child.  Carefully he eased from
her, still almost motionless, she let him go.  He shoved to his knees,
backing away, shocked at the size of the slick, white pool between her
thighs.  They cleaned up carefully, and the naked child went to her room to
dress, returning in a minute to stand with her forehead against Dale's
still gently panting chest.  "I don't want to sleep with you tonight," she
whispered, "that was so fathomlessly perfect I want to have it my whole and
my all to dream of and remember so I'll never forget the feeling of what
happened between us at the end."

                    "I feel the same," Dale said, kissing her on her hair.
They parted and resumed the world of sister and brother while the fixed
their aunt tea.  One intimacy passed between them later in the evening.
"Since I won't be with you tonight," Vicky took an opportunity to whisper,
"I want you with me when Uncle Wayne comes into my bedroom."
                    "It's your birthday," Dale observed, "so I shouldn't be
getting the presents."  That was a Yes.

                    The group at the borrowed cottage had revived during
the conclusion to Dale's story.  They went to the kitchen for a quick order
of sandwiches and milk, Annie riding on her brother's shoulders and
listening to every word of his story.  Now they were back in the living
room huddled around Dale, helping him with the seven year old.  Vicky
helped and soon the little girl was spread eagle on the floor, her brother
panting over her on his elbows, thrusting carefully with Vicky's hand both
masturbating him skillfully and protecting the delicate body of the sixty
pound child.

                    "Be with me like you were with Vicky," Annie whispered,
feeling her brother huge and fully inside her.  Dale rose on his arms and
his older sister rearranged his younger sister's arms high over her head.
The boy helped an in a minute was looking down into the angelic child's
huge eyes.
                    "Do you like it?" he whispered.
                    "It's beautiful," the little sweetie replied, "a whole
boy inside me."

                    Sensing the rapid tensing in Dale's body, his thirteen
year old sister urged him to tell the birthday story.  Annie cooperated by
lying, finally, completely still, only her birdlike chest heaving.  "Oh,
please," she almost whined, blushing at her childish ways and repeating,
"Please, Dale."

                    It was the now twenty-one year old's first visit with
the throaty bus.  Vicky was enough of a girl to love it as much as Dale was
enough of a boy to love it.  "Time can be money to a writer like anyone
else," Wayne explained, "and I do a lot of articles in the Western states.
It's heavy enough to survive hitting an antelope at ninety, and will go a
hundred and twenty five in really open country."  Dreams of Montana filled
two young heads, hold the sugarplums.  Inside was a studio trimmed in the
stark beauty of the Shaker style save for a large sofa crafted into the
bus's interior.  The floor was carpeted in light gray wool and the entire
effect was like the west, don't love it, am a guy, so what?  Indeed, some
accessories and fixtures had a maritime provenance, and the roof, paneled
in rough canvas bordered with heavy old rope (line), hinted of sails.
There was a small salt-water aquarium at one end of the work table running
back from the driver's seat.  Wayne found a plastic bag in a drawer and
pointed to the fish and shrimp.  "If you have an accident, try to save
them," he said, handing his nephew the keys and going off with Jeffie to
share a beer with Eddy.  "Happy Birthday," he repeated as the new driver
operated the door lever.

                    "Yesterday before dinner and now this," Vicky mused as
her brother eased the rumbling vehicle onto the state road, "did we die
somewhere like the couple in "Beetlejuice"?
                    "It feels alive in my hands," Dale said, "but you can
drive on the way back, so you can tell me."
                    "That's what's so strange," Vicky said, kneeling
comfortably on the carpet at her brother's right hip and shifting the six
speed when Dale hit the clutch, "feeling so alive, feeling the most natural
thing in the world has happened, and that most of taboo is death.  I'm
still thrilled about what happened in your bedroom yesterday, I hardly
slept last night.  I think you sprayed me full of champagne, which was kind
of underhanded since you were inside a little girl who was trusting you for
nice, warm sperm."

                    "I couldn't jerk off until midnight," Dale blushed as
Vicky changed the last gear and relaxed against the dash, "so you must have
some."
                    "I tried to keep count," Vicky giggled softly, "so I
could keep still, but after you'd fucked me a thousand times I lost count."
                    "I felt you push against me eleven times," Dale said,
"before you held still."
                    "I remember eleven, too," the girl said, "but numbers
seven, eight, and nine were the most potent and it was hard to count after
that, even to add two."
                    "You were so awesome not to cum," the boy said, "it
went on so long and I was being so free about it, I thought you almost had
to."
                    "I had to think of the actress," Vicky confessed, "no
offense."
                    "If it took her to keep you under control, that's a
compliment, so no offense taken," Dale said.

                    They drove on in silence, the boy's right hand reaching
out from time to time to tussle his sister's hair.  After some miles, Vicky
spoke her mind, whispering as lowly as possible over the muted purr of the
big engine.  "Dale," she said, " I know it's really romantic, and probably
silly, but I think it really would be possible, you know, to have a baby
with you guys, or maybe Jeffie, and at least it would be nice to talk about
it."
                    "That's what I was trying not to think about,
yesterday," Dale said, "you know, hearing you in the shower and as I go
into the bathroom, Uncle Wayne is coming out, and I get in the shower
behind you and quiz you a little, then rub your belly with soapy hands to
see if I can be the first one to know for sure."
                    "And with a whole house to fuss over her, and Uncle
Wayne's money, I would think even if UPS brought her she'd be a welcome
addition for like twenty years."
                    "No television, no couch potatoes," Dale added, "those
are the kind of families that need an extra mouth to feed like a hole in
the head."
                    "How old do you think I'll have to be for it to happen
from one of you guys?" the girl mused.
                    "Safely," the boy said, "probably twelve or thirteen."
                    "And the waiting is so awesome," the girl said, "like
waiting for tonight has been the last two years, minus one beautiful
afternoon."
                    "There'll be so many people in the delivery room we'll
have to rent a power fan from the fire department," Dale said.
                    "And think how drop-dead it will be when the results of
the paternity test come back," the girl added.  That gave them both pause,
and they drove in silence for miles, not deceiving themselves.  They were
the happiest kids in the world, and they knew it.

                    "That's me, sillies," Annie whispered, arms and legs
now wrapped tightly around Dale as the fifteen-year-old stallion surged
gently between the little girl's soft thighs, the muscles on his lower back
tensing and releasing twice a second.  The teen hissed and thrust rigidly
against his baby sister.  "Oh, Vicky," the girl mewed, "Oh, Vicky, Vicky,
Vicky."

                    As with his older sister, Dale kept the tyke just under
control, not thrusting as his body pumped hard and fast into her slim
belly.  After lowering himself gently against his baby sister, the two
rested until a soft voice urged him to finish his birthday story.  Still
panting, the fifteen year old continued.

                    It was ten at night.  The house was moony and quietly
creaking as it cooled in the night.  Wayne Shirley tapped on Dale's door
and a soft voice bid him enter.  "Hi," he said, as the boy patted his bed
in welcome.

                    "How do you feel??" the twenty one year old asked the
teen.
                    "Like I'll sleep any months now," the boy replied.
                    "Would you like to talk a little?" the young man asked.
                    "Yes," Dale said.
                    "I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I talked it
over with Jeffie, and he agrees," Wayne said.  "We both think you should be
Vicky's first lover.  You deserve it up one side and down the other."
                    "I don't know what to say," Dale mused.
                    "Nice thing is, you don't have to say anything," the
older male noted, "anything that happens with you, so long as it doesn't
involve spinning machinery, is going to be fine."
                    "I don't need to tangle with a mower," Dale said,
"because my head is spinning already."
                    "One word from you, and nothing happens," Wayne said,
"I have Jeffie, and he's ten times enough."
                    "No," the boy said, "you misunderstood.  I'm not
confused, just relieved.  I didn't want Vicky to have to be the one to tell
you, not that there's any `have to' about it, and I didn't know how to tell
you, myself, and, after two years, we thought, you know, you're cool and
all, that there might be some like issue or something when you found out,
and we didn't want to keep it a secret, because you've been the best
friend, time tens, like Jeffie, that this family ever had, except when
Uncle Clark takes Aunt Edna to Phoenix."

                    "I've hoped all along, and especially since my last
visit, that you would have a secret," Wayne said, "and I just hope it's an
absolutely spectacular one."
                    "I know understatement is the successful writer's stock
in trade," the fifteen-year-old boy said, "but you don't have to overdo
it."
                    "That narrows it to the one and only," the older male
whispered, "and I'm thrilled and delighted for you both."

                    :"Thanks," the boy said, "but I hope you guys don't
expect a wedding gift as nice as what you just said."
                    "There's one wedding gift we'll want from you," the man
responded, "as long as you'll allow me to contribute toward the bottles and
diapers."
                    "And dawn's early feedings," the boy added helpfully.
                    "That's why she'll have a mother," the writer laughed,
advising the boy that if the money was going to roll in, he had to roll out
in his timing and at his convenience.  "You may be able to be tired and fly
a plane," he said, "but you can't be tired and write a line."  They nodded
to their future with the man promising the boy the finest alarm clock money
could buy as a more traditional gift, one half-groom to another.

                    "Will you come in with me?" Wayne whispered softly.
                    "Yes," Dale said.  "She didn't cum with me, and I want
to share her first time, and she hasn't taken a male in her mouth, so
that's another reason, if it's what you want."
                    "I do," Wayne said, "and it sounds like you've left me
a lot, not that I care beyond it's being kind of nice, not to mention, more
exciting by the minute."
                    "Me, too," the boy said, standing.  He lit two candles
on his bureau and handed one holder to his handsome uncle.  In the golden
light, they stripped, and the boy led the man to the ten year old down the
hall.  They eased open her door and found the child naked and kneeling on a
pillow a foot from the wall.  Wayne eased his hugely erect nephew in front
of Vicky, lowering his boner from his belly to his sister's mouth.  He
knelt close behind the girl, molesting her as she experimented with taking
the mature twelve year old in her mouth.  Dale leaned against the wall,
spreading his legs wide and lacing his fingers hard behind his neck.  He
thrust his hips to his sister and she moved against him, tentatively for
two or three minutes, but soon settling into the deliberate rhythm of a
purposeful lover.  Two more minutes passed and the arching boy whispered,
"I'm going to cum off, Vicky."

                    "Darling," Wayne whispered in the girl's ear as he
thrust himself gently between the ten year old's thighs, masturbating her
from behind with the shaft of his penis, "use your hands take him on the
tip of your tongue and on your lips."
                    Vicky's hands were on her brother hips and as the man
whispered in her ear she took her brother as she'd taken the adult, using
her hands firmly and skillfully as she licked and sucked Dale's swollen
glans.  Wayne molested the girl low on her belly with his left hand,
guiding his penis high against her in the process, and, with his right hand
he gently fondled her throat.  The tableau lasted more than a minute, the
man behind the girl, gentle but firm with her, the girl with her brother's
penis just brushing her mouth as she experimented with licking and sucking
him faster and faster, and the twelve-year-old male child, hands behind his
neck, legs splayed wide, leaning against the girl's bedroom wall as she
knelt on her pillow.
                    At the sudden flood of salt in her mouth, the girl
fastened her lips firmly to her mature brother, sucking him actively and
avidly.  Wayne pulled the young, naked girl firmly against his tall,
athletic body, caressing her budding breasts with his left hand while with
the fingers of his right he felt the urgent bucking of the girl's throat as
she knelt for the boy, her knuckles white on his trembling hips.
                    Dale suddenly doubled over his sister and his uncle
braced him.  He began grunting harshly, the sound translated immediately
into the urgency of the hot mouth getting wilder on him and making him
grunt and moan the louder.  Grasping Wayne's shoulders as he began to ebb,
the boy guided the man to his position against the wall.  Dale grabbed a
second pillow as his uncle arched and spread his long, muscular legs.
Vicky had her hands on his hips and lifted herself for the pillow.  Dale
knelt close behind the pretty girl, his face on the right of her's as he
watched the pixie welcome the hugely swollen adult.  Her hot tongue found
the young man and her hands moved to him after a minute, Dale fondled the
child from behind, his penis still hard against the baby-smooth skin of her
back.  Vicky took her handsome uncle low with her left hand and high with
her right hand, her brother steadying her as she fought to match the
adult's thrusting.  Dale loved his uncle, but when he found out the writer
was holding back, he could sort of tell, to give him time to position
himself behind Vicky, find her, then enter her from the rear, love turned
to a passionate adoration, which is pretty much where it had started, in
the first place.

                    The tableau.  The tall, lean artist against the wall,
hands behind his neck, legs widely spread.  Vicky, kneeling on two pillows,
her hands in place, the right moving on the long shaft of the adult, her
head moving now rhythmically over four inches, leaving ample room for her
stroking and fondling hands.  Dale kneeling close behind his kid sister,
his twelve-year-old hands massaging the girl's juvenile nipples as he
bucked solidly against her pretty little bottom.  For ten minutes the only
thing that changed was the breathing of the man and two children.  Their
tension might not have been outwardly obvious, but each felt it in their
own body and those of their partners.  They loved being together this way.
It was gentle, didn't take up all that much time, and, in many respects was
similar to a game of cards, with exercise.  Loving each other helped,
although the writer in the trio, as well as his two brilliant understudies,
did wonder if a person who got impatient in such a situation could possibly
have anything better to do with an hour or so of their free time.  Imagine,
for example, working out on a Soloflex, instead of kneeling in front of
your nice older brother and panting from his penis stroking high between
hour legs.  Imagine the yearning for a repetition of the blistering gush of
hot salty semen, not from a beautiful boy, this time, but from an athletic
adult.  Imagine imagining what was going to be happening on the soft rug of
a little girl's bedroom floor in just a few more minutes, and yearning for
that as she did for what she was panting and sweating for as her mouth and
tongue danced and played ever more ardently in response to the adult's
rapidly building tension.



                    Speaking of which, Randy came over by himself this
morning.  Came right in and sat down next to my bed.  We chatted for a few
minutes.  As soon as I lifted my hand he came to me, eagerly turning to be
kissed and leaning into me.  He was wearing loose clothing over his
sensationally soft, warm body.  We played for ten minutes, his hand going
up inside my shorts.  He seemed eager to get me hard, but Samantha arrived.
I looked at him for the first time, and he's smaller than he felt, and not
even the `hot pencil' boys sometimes talk about.  It was doubly cool
because he wanted a basketball, which was a great excuse to give him twenty
dollars.  He's friendly, smiling, happy to hang around when Samantha came
(not scuttling off), and stayed for two hours playing computer games with
Austin, Samantha younger brother and a ten year old who would make any
football coach go slightly insane.  Voice coach, too, as he has the most
interesting vocal style I've heard outside the top professionals.  He's a
non-player, and, even if he was slim, is simply one of legions of nice,
healthy boys who wouldn't be interested; likewise, Elston and Tonton.

                    Although they write books and contribute at the highest
levels of the intellect, pedophiles have no certain lock on who is and who
is not interested.  Some boys obviously are not, a rare boy obviously is,
and in between is the sixty-percent slice who have no opinion.  It depends.
But on what?  I think the alternative written by a swimming teacher who
became active with his entire class of twenty seven-year-old boys told the
truth, and this would not be unusual, boys or girls, assuming a nice and
attractive older male, privacy, and an on-going relationship.  Ten year
olds would probably divide at about the fifty percent mark, but by this age
peer pressure becomes strong enough to deter boys who would want to `if no
one ever knew', so the numbers become muddled.  At thirteen, the peer
issues have intensified, but, assured of privacy and secrecy, two or three
boys would probably submit willingly and repeatedly.  One in fifty would
display and act as the aggressor.  Something like that.  When you get to
the mid teens, it seems to me, hustling becomes an element, and boys will
become active for a quid pro quo.  Late teens are so filled with issues and
conflicts, a difficult playing field becomes im