Boy-writer

Stepdad – Adoption
Tempting the Babysitter

Three short stories

#1
Stepdad

It was after ten, and the house was still. Horace Rath looked over at his wife.

Veronica wasn't pretty any more, even in moonlight. Her body was wasted from drug abuse, so thin she was nothing but bones, her breasts all but gone. She had a beatific look on her face, however – the contented look of a junkie who had just gotten her fix. Soon she would be sleeping, dreaming sweet opiate-induced dreams. Already she was lost to the world.

Horace had administered the shot. It was hard to find a vein in her arms any more; he had started injecting her in the feet. He kept her supplied. She had been a junkie when he met her, but she was worse now. One day soon he wouldn't be able to stand the sight of her any more and would give her just a little too much, end her suffering for good. Then it would only be him and Sammy.

The boy was the reason for the marriage. None of Horace's friends could understand why he, a successful developer worth millions, would marry a white-trash woman on welfare. They would have been even more aghast if they had known about Veronica's drug problem. Of course, they had said, it was time for him to marry – he'd been 36 at the time. About time he found somebody.

And so he had, but it wasn't Veronica. She was tiresome, even during their courtship, even before it got so bad. But Horace was well-bred, the

product of good schools and good parents, and he knew how to deal with tiresome people, how to laugh at their chatter, how to smile inanely, how to seem interested. He swept the woman off her feet, showering her with expensive gifts that always seemed to get lost. He saw her arms and knew. He began to give her money instead; it was more efficient – no sense adding the pawn broker's markup to the price of heroin.

When she discovered Horace's interest in Sammy, Veronica was more than happy to bring the boy on their dates. Those dates were wonderful for all three of them. They went to ice cream parlors, pizza joints, amusement parks. Sammy was full of life, enthusiastic for everything, and he latched onto Horace immediately. They tossed a football in the man's yard, wrestled on the floor, rode roller coasters together, flew in Horace's plane. In fact, it was the look on the boy's face, sitting in the copilot seat, managing the controls, and his smile, full of pride and gratitude together – it was then that Horace decided to marry Veronica. He proposed to both of them at Disney World. They moved into a house in his development, better than most, but still a middle-class house. Horace didn't want Sammy to grow up isolated on some remote estate.

At first, the man told himself that his interest in the boy was pure, that all he wanted to do was to give Sammy a good life. Now he knew that wasn't so. He had been attracted to the kid from the start. Sammy was somewhat darker complected than his mother, the contribution of his long-gone father, but he was otherwise a younger, prettier version of her. But no, it wasn't merely youth – it was innocence. While the boy's eyes were clear and open, his mother's were cold, empty, and devious – a junkie's eyes, looking for her next fix. But Horace had violated Sammy's innocence long ago.

It started shortly after the marriage. Horace and Sammy were wrestling on the carpet in the family room. Sammy was wearing an old pair of light green shorts that were too small for him. The game was going on as usual, with much roaring from the man and giggling from the boy, Horace grabbing Sammy, allowing him to escape, tossing the boy across his back, falling over with Sammy's little pushes. Then Sammy pushed Horace over, and the man rolled onto his back. Sammy jumped onto Horace's chest, his little bottom right in the man's face, his thighs stretched wide across the man's broad chest. Horace began to try to grab Sammy's head with his knees, and the boy fought him off gleefully, bouncing up and down. The sight was too much for the man, and his penis betrayed him.

It was time for Horace to end the playing, to stand up and say he had this or that adult thing to get done, but before he could do so, Sammy, in the course of his struggles, placed his hand directly on Horace's cock and squeezed it. Sammy laughed, still playing. "What's this?" he asked.

Horace thought the best way to handle the situation was to act as if it were not important. "You know what that is," he replied, growling like a bear as he grabbed the boy beneath the arms and pushed him off onto the carpet. Sammy landed splayed out, giggling. Horace started to get up.

He didn't get all the way there. Sammy blindsided him, running full force into his stepfather with his head down. Horace fell onto his back again, and Sammy jumped on top. He sat on the man's stomach, then reached back to feel the hardon again. He turned back to Horace. "Mine gets like that," Sammy said. He was more interested in that than in wrestling.

Time for a new approach. Horace sat up, then picked Sammy up and sat the boy next to him against the sofa. "Guys get that sometimes," the man said. "It's nothing to worry about."

"It gets hard so you can stick it in a woman, right?"

Horace sighed. Well, all right, someone had to have 'the talk' with Sammy, and Horace had married into the responsibility. "Yes, that's right, Sammy," he said. "But you won't be doing that for a long time."

"You do it with Mom, don't you?"

"Yes, having sex is part of being husband and wife. It's the way kids are made."

"I know that," Sammy said. "Are you and Mom going to have more kids?"

"No, we're not planning on it. Sometimes it just happens."

"I think I just happened," the boy said sadly. "When you don't want it to happen, it makes the woman sick, doesn't it?"

"No," Horace said, wondering where that came from. Then he remembered that Veronica explained her addiction to her son by saying that she was 'sick' and needed medicine. "You didn't make your mom sick. When you get sick, it's not because someone makes you, is it?"

"No," Sammy acknowledged. He returned to the point: "Then why do you do it if you don't want more kids?"

"It's a fun thing to do. It's a way for two people to show they love each other."

"Oh." The boy absorbed the point. "Does Mom like it when you put it in her?"

"Yes, she does. It's fun for her too."

"Good." Sammy stood up. "You want to play ping-pong?"

Nothing was really much different in the house after that. They got a maid to take care of the place and a gardener to take care of the lawn. Sammy liked the maid, who was a kindly old Hispanic woman, but he harassed the gardener, a middle-aged white man, something terrible. It would have been all right if the man had been somewhat indulgent, but he was very serious about his work and quite short-tempered, so he was easy to tease. The kid must have known that the gardener, short and skinny as he was, could beat Sammy to a pulp – but he also knew that he was the son of the owner and could not get hit no matter how much he deserved it.

Except by Horace, that is. Sammy was, in fact, pretty well-behaved; he had been used to being responsible beyond his years, taking care of his 'sick' mother. As the boy settled into his new suburban existence, though, he became more natural and carefree – and the poor gardener suffered by it. When Sammy threw the gardener's hedge clippers into the swimming pool, it was the last straw for Horace, who had been trying to deal with the matter by talking to the boy.

So Sammy got his first spanking in longer than he could remember. He was furious, of course, and the spanking lasted longer than Horace planned, since the boy was spouting epithets that, at ten, he shouldn't even know. After all, a spanking can't end until the kid is sorry for what he did. Eventually, Sammy stopped swearing and started crying, so Horace gave him a few more licks and stopped. They had a very long talk after that, during which Horace explained that he had done it because Sammy was misbehaving and it was a father's job to correct him. It didn't mean that he didn't love Sammy, the man emphasized. Sammy nodded like he understood. Horace hoped the boy hadn't noticed the hardon poking into his belly.

The man continued to get hard when he wrestled with Sammy, which was often, since the boy enjoyed it. They didn't talk about it after that first time, but Sammy would grab Horace's cock playfully through his pants or just rub his leg against it. After a while, the man noticed that Sammy would also get hard when they wrestled. He seemed to like rubbing his little cock against his stepfather's, though both of them acted as though it were just in the course of the contest.

Unfortunately, Sammy continued to misbehave now and then, so he got more spankings. The teasing of the gardener ended after three or four more such punishments, but then Sammy would pull a girl's hair or shoplift some candy on a dare and get it for that. A couple times, he got it for not cleaning his room when he was told to. Every time, Horace got a raging hardon.

Veronica sank fast. Her husband urged her to kick the habit, even held out on her once or twice, but he recognized that he couldn't make her stop if she didn't want to. She got so shaky at times when she needed a fix that she stuck the needle right into the bone, causing painful injuries. He began to inject her. Sammy worried about her, trying to bring her food, but she wouldn't eat anything but Corn Flakes. Being ten, his solicitude did not last, though. Soon he was back at his games, ignoring his mother except to ask how she felt occasionally, and Horace was left to care for his wife alone.

The woman ceased to arouse Horace, to the extent she ever had, and they stopped having sex. He did not stop getting aroused, though; his affection transferred to Sammy. The man hid in the bathroom and jacked off, a hermaphroditic Sammy painted on the back of his eyelids. Horace was filled with guilt, but he couldn't help how he felt about the boy. It was love in every sense of the word.

Sammy noticed his stepfather's feelings, though he did not understand them. He noticed how Horace got a hardon around him, and like the curious child he was, Sammy started spying on the man, trying to catch him at it. Sammy caught his stepfather a lot, and the fact that Horace was embarrassed about it only made it more exciting to catch him. It was as if Sammy had a secret kind of power over his stepdad, and the boy delighted in teasing him, though Sammy didn't think of it that way.

The ten-year-old figured out what things he could wear to get a response from his new dad. Shorts were good, but not all shorts; they had to be the shorter ones. A swimsuit worked particularly well, especially the old one that was briefer. And Horace liked Sammy in his jammies, particularly if they had short bottoms and were made of thin material. In cold weather, of course, the boy had to wear long pants, but there were a couple pair of those that didn't have back pockets. There were also certain poses that Horace liked, like lying on his stomach on the floor watching TV, with the man in a chair behind him. Or lying on his back with his hand under his shirt, feeling his chest. Or bent over to pick something up. Or (most of all) sitting in his stepdad's lap in his pajamas, as they did almost every night.

Horace was slowly being driven crazy by the innocent boy. The man jacked off more and more, but it helped less and less. His mind addled by lust, Horace began to wonder whether Sammy was actually trying to turn him on. It was unbelievable that it should be so, but the man had to find out, somehow. And then what if it were so? Well, they would have a long talk, he told himself.

For his part, Sammy was beginning to tire of the game. His new dad was so predictable, after all. He would get hard (and sometimes Sammy would too), but what then? What came after that? He liked wrestling with Horace, putting their penises together through their clothes; it felt good. Was there something more fun that the man wasn't showing him? Sammy was excited and a little scared at the possibility. He concocted a plan.

The plan was pretty elaborate for a boy who was now eleven. Sammy persuaded his father (he no longer thought of Horace as only a 'step') that Martina, the maid, deserved some time off. It was not too difficult, since Horace also liked her and valued her services, but persuading him that she should get two weeks paid was considerably more difficult. Sammy finally succeeded by saying that Martina wanted to visit her relatives in San Antonio, and with only one week she would hardly have time to get there and back on the bus.

The next thing was to volunteer to take on Martina's duties around the house while she was away. That part was very easy, since Horace was delighted that the boy was showing such responsibility. Sammy, thinking ahead, mentioned that Horace would need to help with the cooking, and the man reluctantly agreed (they wound up eating a lot of takeout). After that came a long argument about who would watch Sammy while Horace was at work with Martina gone. Sammy won that with a cheap shot – he pointed out that he had always been alone with his mother before she met Horace.

For several days, Sammy kept the house spotless, but he didn't do any laundry. There were still too many towels in the bathroom, so he removed some and put them downstairs with the dirty clothes. Finally, after Horace took his morning shower (relieving his aching balls as well), there was only one towel left. Sammy took it out and put it downstairs as well. Then he did laundry, but he left everything hanging or folded down in the utility room next to the family room.

That evening, about 7:30, Horace told Sammy to go up and take his bath. The boy took a shower instead; he wanted to be extra clean, and he didn't think a bath would do it – after all, you wash off, but the dirty water is still there, right? And, as planned, there was no towel upstairs. "Dad!" he yelled.

"What is it, Sammy?" Horace yelled back.

"There's no towel up here. Can you bring one up?"

The man walked halfway up the stairs so he wouldn't have to yell so loudly. "Why didn't you wash some? You promised to take care of that while Martina was gone."

Sammy walked out to the head of the stairs, dripping. "I did, I just didn't put 'em away yet. They're in the laundry room. Can you get me one?"

Horace sighed heavily. "Wait a minute. Go back in the bathroom so you don't drip all over." He walked back downstairs. He had only caught a glimpse of his naked stepson, but it was enough to give the man his worst boner yet. He turned on the bare bulb in the unfinished utility room and was amazed at what he saw – piles and piles of clean, folded laundry, rows of clean, starched shirts and pants hanging from overhead pipes. He picked up a towel from the pile, then thought better and took the whole pile, and walked up the stairs.

Sammy was standing on the bathroom rug, stark naked and shivering. The door was wide open. He noted excitedly that his dad's large cock was making its presence known through his slacks (Sammy was too cold to get hard at the moment). Horace set the pile of towels down next to the sink. Taking no chances, Sammy turned and bent over to flush the toilet. He turned back. Well, if anything was going to happen, it would be now.

Horace was unable to speak. This vision of the real Sammy far surpassed anything in his fantasies. In large part, it was because that had been imaginary and this was real. The real Sammy moved and reshaped in ways and places that his stepfather could not have visualized. He was real and alive, unbelievably so. Yet another, more important, part was that Sammy suddenly became a full person in his own right. Not that Horace had ever treated the boy as less than a person, but the man had always subconsciously considered Sammy as a smaller version of his mother. Now the man could see how wrong he was. Sammy did not have his mother's flaws – the too-prominent ribcage, the wide hips that belied a flat behind. He was not his mother at all; he was much more beautiful. Everything on the boy was in perfect proportion, as if sculpted out of fine white marble, not from life, but from an artist's dream of the perfect boy. It had been foolish to envision this perfect creature with a cunt. He was sui generis, the Platonic ideal of a beautiful boy.

Sammy had tried to prepare himself for various eventualities, including angry rejection, but he hadn't thought that Horace would just stand there staring at him. He reluctantly took a towel and started to dry off, looking at his dad the whole time. Sammy dried his hair first, leaving himself uncovered for as long as possible. Then the worst possible thing happened – Horace just walked off, without saying anything.

Sammy was crestfallen. He closed the door and dried off as fast as he could, trying not to cry, trying to be quiet about it so that Horace would not hear. Sammy realized that he had been wrong, that his stepfather wasn't interested in him like that, that the man just thought of him as a little kid. It was immensely depressing – all the games Sammy had played were just that, games. And beneath it all, and more depressing still, was the realization that his stepdad didn't love Sammy like his mother. She was the one the man wanted; Sammy was just – baggage. The boy wrapped the towel around himself and went to his room to change into his pajamas, which, just on this one occasion, he hadn't taken into the bathroom with him.

Horace went into the master bedroom, hoping that his wife would be in that increasingly infrequent interval of sanity between stupor and frantic need. No such luck. She had injected herself, and the needle still stuck out of her arm as she slept. He pulled it out, swabbed the vein with alcohol, and cleaned out her 'fit. Then, inexplicably, he kissed her. She had brought Sammy into the world, so she was worthy of love on that account.

Sammy did not go back downstairs. He got in bed and pulled the covers over his head, but he couldn't breathe like that for long, so he lowered them back to his neck. If his dad came up to check on him, Sammy would say that he was sick. No, if he said that, he realized, there would be an inquiry. He would just say he was tired.

Horace paced the floor, staring at his wife, bitterly angry at her. He wanted his conjugal rights, and he couldn't get them from an unconscious woman. He told himself that it was illogical, knowing that she was in the grip of an addiction she was powerless to break, that even if she were in some sense to blame there was no point – but it did not matter. His cock was rampant with lust, and the smaller head demanded satisfaction even as the larger one attempted to deny it. Horace wanted Sammy, wanted to bury himself in the boy and fuck his brains out, and only the hope of consummating the act with his wife had enabled Horace to walk away from the bathroom. Now that was denied him.

The man walked out of the room and down the hall, his mind seemingly floating above his head, detached from the action. He had no choice. He was going to commit a felony, a crime worthy of death, but he could not stop. It did not matter if he lived another day; Horace had to be with Sammy now. Tomorrow, the man told himself, I'll turn myself in to the police, tell them the whole story, I won't seek any mercy from the judge, I'll die in prison. They'll put Veronica in rehab, and Sammy will inherit everything. Horace did not think of what he was about to do as anything but a rape. He did not even wonder whether Sammy might consent. Horace held the boy completely blameless. But right now, there was only one thing the man could do. He opened the door to Sammy's room and stood in the doorway.

Sammy was not asleep, but he was pretending to be. He was wearing some light cotton 'Superman' pajamas, with the covers pulled up to his neck, facing away from the doorway. He remained as still as possible, hoping that his dad would just go away. Sammy did not want to deal with his stepfather right now; the boy was too ashamed.

When he saw Sammy's little head, Horace lost his detachment. His lust did not abate in the slightest, but the beauty and helplessness of the boy who was its object banished the man's thoughts of rape. Horace walked forward, now only hoping that Sammy would let him near, let him touch his pretty head. It was, if you will, a love as devoted as any Romeo felt for any Juliet, if anything made more profound by the fact that Horace, at 36, had never loved anyone before. But Horace was no stripling easily moved, and this unaccustomed ardency was tearing his soul apart. He wished earnestly to die so that the pain in his heart and loins would stop.

Acknowledging that he would not get his wish, Horace incongruously closed the door behind him (who would disturb them?) and stepped into the moonlit room, making his way to his stepson's bed. The man sat down gingerly, as near to the edge as he could, and reached over to stroke the hair of the seemingly unconscious boy.

Sammy, who was more wide awake than he had ever been, started slightly. It was completely unexpected. Horace withdrew his hand, then put it back. As the man continued to stroke his hair, Sammy started to cry in confusion. His dad was acting as if he loved Sammy after all, and that couldn't be, could it?

Seeing Sammy cry, Horace was more convinced than ever that death was his proper punishment, but the man could not withdraw. He needed to be here, with this boy, now, no matter what. "I – I'm sorry," the man croaked out, leaning down to kiss Sammy on the cheek.

Sammy turned to look up, the moonlight making his dampened cheeks glisten. His eyes were questioning.

Horace bent over and kissed him again, on the mouth but slightly off target, giving them room for denial should Sammy choose that route: they did not really kiss, it was Horace wishing Sammy good night.

For Sammy, though, it was enough. He leaned up quickly and threw his arms around his stepfather's neck, suspending his upper body on the cables of thin arms from the strong support of Horace's well-attached head.

That was enough for Horace as well. The man kissed Sammy directly on the lips, then quickly crawled into bed, kicking off his shoes. His arms roamed over the boy's back, not to catch a feel, but to make sure that every part of Sammy was held close.

They both slept soundly, content to be together.

Arthur seemed glad just to have an ear to talk into. He had a fixation with sex. He was always talking about wanting to see this or that girl naked, saying that he would "slide naked down a razor blade" (his favorite phrase) to do so. He talked about a girl he imagined was interested in sex, saying that he would like to get her in bed, where he would make her "all hot and wet." Finally, disappointed in the way that Sammy seemed to be ignoring him, Arthur poked him in the side and said that Sammy's clothes were really turning on all the girls.

Something clicked in Sammy's head, but he didn't quite grasp it yet. "You think so?" he asked, just to keep Arthur talking.

"Yeah, Teresa over there really likes your shorts, you got her all hot." Teresa was bending over a book and talking to her friend Laura; she didn't look any different. "And that shirt really shows off your pecs." Sammy didn't have any visible "pecs," of course, and didn't know what they were, but he looked down at his shirt. Arthur was delighted; he'd finally gotten Sammy's full attention. "You like her, too, huh? You think she's hot?"

"What would she do, I mean, what would we do, you know, if 3;?" Sammy asked.

"You dummy!" Arthur said, and Sammy looked at him angrily. "Sorry, you're not a dummy, you're the smartest kid in class, just – you really don't know?"

Sammy shook his head.

Arthur's breast grew about two inches – nothing improves one's self-image like a willing pupil. "Okay. Well, first you take off your clothes, real slow. Both of you."

"Why slow?"

"Because it's better that way," Arthur said irritably. "Just trust me. You both strip off down to your underwear."

"Okay."

"Then you take her panties off, real slow, and you lick her vagina."

"Her what?"

"Her cunt."

"Oh."

"Then she takes your underwear off and she sucks your dick."

Sammy tried to imagine the girl across the room doing such a thing. She noticed him staring at her and turned to her friend, giggling. He looked down.

"Then you fuck her," Arthur whispered, since the teacher was approaching. She told them to hurry up and get their work done. Sammy went back to the schoolwork, pasting states onto a large construction-paper map. Arthur, as usual, did not help.

"How does it feel?" Sammy asked when the teacher was gone.

"Are you kidding? It feels great!"

"What about for the girl?" Sammy was still thinking about his mother.

"It's great for them too," Arthur said authoritatively. "Fucking and getting fucked are the two greatest things you can do."

"Have you done it?"

"Well, not yet, but I plan to as soon as I can."

"Yeah," Sammy said, for once joining in his friend's enthusiasm.

The teacher announced that time was up and ordered each pair to hold up their maps. Sammy hurriedly stuck New Jersey and Delaware on, then pushed the map to Arthur, who held it up. As usual, their work was the best in the class, only marred by the fact that Delaware stuck out into the Atlantic a little. A lot of people had mixed up Colorado and Wyoming, but Sammy got that right since he remembered that Wyoming was slightly smaller.

As they walked back to their regular seats, Arthur invited Sammy to come over to his house after school. Sammy said he had to take the bus, but Arthur said his dad would take Sammy home, so Sammy agreed.

Arthur's parents were not home when the boys got to his house. They each got a pear out of the refrigerator and went to Arthur's room. They spent a little time looking at Arthur's model cars, and more time looking at the posters of supermodels on his walls. To Sammy, with only his mother for comparison, their breasts seemed too big, and they seemed too fat, but he didn't voice those opinions to Arthur. In any case, the scantily-clad women didn't do anything for Sammy, though he acted as interested as he could. It was no more exciting that "Baywatch," which was a pretty stupid show.

They didn't stay in Arthur's room long, though. They went back down the hall through the dining room and out the sliding glass doors. Arthur ran ahead to a wooden ladder extending down from a large tree. He had a treehouse! Sammy was full of envy, almost deciding to tell the other boy that his dad owned the whole development. Well, at least he would bring Arthur over to see their swimming pool, which Arthur's family did not have. Sammy climbed up into the tree after him.

"I got lots better pictures up here," Arthur said. He moved an old chair out of the way, then pulled away a loose board and reached into a hole in the tree trunk behind. He brought back several magazines, which he handed to Sammy, then reached back in and got several more. Arthur put the board back and replaced the old wicker chair.

"Cool, huh?" the boy said, taking the magazines from Sammy and adding them to his own stack. He sat down in the chair. Sammy looked around for a place to sit and pulled up a folding chair. "I look at these a lot," Arthur said. He grinned.

"Hurry up," Sammy said. He was worried that Arthur's parents would get home. He was also eager to see the pictures.

"You want to see some fucking, huh?" Arthur opened a magazine and held it out. "Look at that."

Sammy sat with his mouth agape. A woman was lying on her back with her legs up, a man shoving his cock into her. The boy wanted to see more. He turned the page. More pictures of the woman being fucked, with some closeups of the penis entering her. It was the most amazing thing Sammy had ever seen.

Arthur closed the magazine. "You know what's better?" he said. "Looking at these when you're naked."

"Okay," Sammy said. He wanted to see more.

"Cool," said Arthur. He put the stack of magazines on the floor and stood up, removing his shirt. "Aren't you gonna take your clothes off?" he asked Sammy.

"Oh, yeah, right," Sammy said, doing likewise. Soon both boys were naked. Both were hairless, of course, but in contrast to Arthur's long (3½" [9 cm]), semi-hard dick and low-hanging balls, Sammy's soft penis was only about an inch or so [2½ cm] long, his balls tightly held to his groin. Both were circumcised. They inspected each other, Arthur with pride and interest in his new friend, Sammy bashfully, sneaking glances. Self-conscious, Sammy covered himself with his hands.

Arthur would have none of that. "Hey, look, it's okay. I used to be like that. You're just not grown up yet." That made Sammy even more bashful. "Just be cool," Arthur said. That still didn't work. He walked closer, his (to Sammy) large cock waving. "You're still pretty hot. I bet you're just what Teresa wants. She's probably still a virgin, so you'd be just right for her tight little cunt. You might not even bust her cherry. I'd probably bust her right open with this thing."

It was not much consolation, but Sammy took it. He still had no more interest than before in Teresa, but the mention of her name seemed to bring a third party into the situation that made it less tense. Not that Sammy had a clue what Arthur was talking about, except that it involved fucking, which was the reason they were here.

Seeing that Sammy had calmed down some and was letting his hands hang by his sides, although fidgeting, Arthur said, "It's better if we lie down. Pull that beanbag over here."

Sammy looked behind him and grabbed a large beanbag chair, dragging it over to Arthur, who pulled it next to another one. It had taken all of Sammy's strength and both hands to pull the chair over, but Arthur adjusted its location with one arm. Sammy noticed the other boy's strength, which didn't show on his slender body. That would have to be the reason Arthur didn't get beaten up much, as obnoxious as he was. For his part, Sammy was pretty much safe since he stayed away from people and rode the bus home.

The combined beanbags looked very inviting, and Sammy jumped on top of them. "Wait," Arthur said, motioning for Sammy to get up. "We'll stick to them like that." The treehouse owner took an old quilt that was sitting in a corner and tossed it over the beanbags. Sammy helped adjust the quilt so that it covered the bags. "Okay, now," Arthur said, lying down on the beanbags. He moved over to one side, and Sammy lay next to him. There was barely room for the both of them, so they were touching from their shoulders to their toes. Sammy was just settling in when Arthur commanded him, "Get the magazines." Sammy got up and retrieved them, handing them to Arthur, and lay down again.

They sat and looked at pictures for a while, Arthur making lewd comments about each, Sammy asking questions. "What is a 'cherry'?" he finally asked.

"Oh," Arthur said, "when a girl gets fucked for the first time, she bleeds some, so when you fuck a virgin, it's called 'busting her cherry.'"

They looked at more pictures, not talking. For a while, Arthur held the magazines, but that got tiring for him, so then Arthur held one half and Sammy the other, but that didn't work too well since they weren't coordinated. Finally, Arthur reached his arm behind Sammy's head, and Sammy put his head on the other boy's shoulder. That seemed to work best.

"These are hot, I got to jack off," Arthur announced, without warning. Sammy sat up a bit and saw what the boy meant – he had his 4½" [11 cm] hard cock in his fist and was stroking up and down. Arthur saw him looking. "You do it too."

"How?" Sammy had a little 2-inch [5 cm] hardon himself, not from the pictures but from the proximity to Arthur.

Arthur was more than willing to demonstrate. "Here, lick your hand." Sammy did so. "More." The boy again complied. "Now put your hand over your cock like this." Sammy watched as Arthur enclosed his erection in his fist. Sammy tried to do the same, but it didn't work too well – his dick didn't fit all the way up his fist like Arthur's did. The smaller boy wound up clutching mostly empty air.

"Wait," Arthur said, pulling Sammy's hand away. "This is not going to work." He sat up and thought for a minute. "I got it!" he said.

"What?" Sammy replied sheepishly, by now feeling very inadequate, though no less turned on.

"You can't tell anybody," Arthur warned.

"I won't."

"Okay," the other boy said excitedly, "I can do you like a woman does, you know, suck you, and you can jack me off!"

"All right," Sammy replied, smiling. That way his small size wouldn't matter that much. He was all for the idea.

Arthur wasted no time. This, after all, was what he had been after in the first place. He had had many younger boys up in his treehouse, but Sammy was the first one his own age. In truth, Arthur had no more interest in pictures of naked women than Sammy did.

Arthur got up and moved around backwards on the makeshift bed, placing his mouth near Sammy's genitals and his own hard cock at Sammy's shoulder. Sammy licked his hand again and started to stroke. Arthur lowered his face over Sammy's cock and balls and swallowed them in one gulp.

Sammy could hardly keep his mind on his work, and his stroking of Arthur was erratic. Not that the other boy minded – he was intent on Sammy's pretty little cock and balls. Arthur's tongueing skill betrayed his experience. Sammy shuddered, trying to concentrate on moving his hand over the cock less than a foot away.

Then Sammy felt Arthur's deceptively strong hands reaching under his bottom, lifting him up. Sammy became a piece of cake or pizza that Arthur nibbled from. Then, suddenly, Sammy lost all control, forgetting about the other boy's penis entirely, though his hand remained there.

"Oh, man! Oh!" Sammy moaned, delirium flowing through his body like a drug. The boy could not cum, and the feelings, less than orgasm perhaps but on the verge of it, continued on and on. Not sexual satisfaction, but physical exhaustion intervened. "Wait, stop," he managed to pant out.

Arthur obeyed, reluctant as he was to remove his mouth from a willing boy-penis. He set Sammy back down. "You like that?"

"Yeah, that was, like, a mind-blower."

"Do it to me," Arthur said.

"What?"

"You were supposed to jack me off, but you quit in the middle. So do it to me. What I did."

Sammy wasn't sure he liked the idea, but Arthur's logic was impeccable. A debt was owed. "I don't know how," the boy temporized.

"It's not that hard. Just open up your mouth and keep your teeth away. I'll show you something else later if you do." Sammy still seemed wary. "Something really good."

That sealed it. Arthur lay back down the opposite way, and Sammy got up and crawled next to him. He looked at the other boy's hard cock from a few inches away.

"Lick it first," Arthur prompted, "or kiss it then lick it, if you want to."

Sammy decided he didn't want to kiss it. He licked it from about the middle to the end with the tip of his tongue. It didn't seem to have much taste.

"That's good. Lick it some more. Lick it all over."

Sammy did as he was told. It became kind of a job, like mowing the lawn. But he was still conscious of the fact that he was licking a cock. He licked it completely, stopping once or twice to work up some more spit.

"Now put the head in your mouth." Seeing that Sammy did not understand, Arthur corrected: "Put the tip of my cock in your mouth. Keep your teeth off it."

Sammy did so. It made him feel small, but in a pleasant sort of way. He knew he was making Arthur feel really good. He licked it a little, even sucked some, afraid that Arthur would pee in his mouth.

"Oh, that's good. Just do like that for a while."

Sammy kept licking and sucking. He got curious, though, wondering what Arthur's balls, so different from his own, felt like. He reached out and felt them.

The response was immediate. "Oh, yeah, do that. Don't squeeze too hard." Arthur sighed. "Put a little more in your mouth now. Keep licking." There was a faint scraping. "No teeth!" Arthur reminded Sammy.

Arthur kept urging Sammy to take a little more, then a little more cock in his mouth. For Sammy, it fit quite well, at least down to the last half-inch or so; Arthur's penis was no monster. Sammy was very conscious of acting in the 'feminine' role, judging by the pictures he'd seen, but Arthur had done it for him already, so it was okay. Nobody was going to know anyway. Arthur was feeling down Sammy's sides, massaging his bottom – it was not like Sammy was alone here.

"Okay, just," Arthur paused, "stay still and keep your mouth open."

Then came something Sammy didn't expect. Arthur grabbed his head on both sides, covering his ears, and held Sammy's head still while he lifted his hips off the beanbags, thrusting his cock into Sammy's mouth. For a moment, Sammy twisted, trying to get away, but Arthur held him firm.

Finally, the smaller boy calmed down and let it happen, making a furrow for Arthur's cock to plow with his tongue.

It didn't last too long, and Arthur didn't release anything any more than Sammy had. Arthur just pushed his hips up so that his cock was completely in Sammy's mouth, then shook and twisted a bit, after which he relaxed and let go of Sammy's head. Sammy rested against Arthur's hip, not tired but surprised and somewhat confused. "Come here," Arthur said.

Sammy crawled up to the bigger boy's face. "Kiss me," Arthur said.

"Why?"

"Just do it," Arthur replied, smiling.

So Sammy kissed Arthur, but it wasn't like any kiss he'd ever given his mother, since Arthur put his tongue in Sammy's mouth, again holding his head so that he couldn't get away. Finally Sammy was released from the kiss, but not from Arthur's grip, since Arthur had his strong arms around Sammy's back, holding him close. "Thanks," Arthur said.

"You're welcome," Sammy answered softly, not really knowing what to say.

Arthur smiled. "You did a good job. You suck better than most boys."

Sammy didn't know what to say to that for a moment, but then he came up with something: "You suck good too." That made them even. Sammy stretched out his legs and lay down against his new friend. "Do you do this with a lot of boys?" he asked.

"Yeah, pretty much," Arthur said proudly, stretching out the arm that was not around Sammy's shoulders and putting it behind his (Arthur's) head. He amended: "But you're the best." Arthur said that to every boy, but in Sammy's case, it just might be true. This rich kid was definitely the cutest in the whole sixth grade. Sure, Sammy was shy about how rich he was, but everybody knew anyway.

"It's supposed to be boys and girls, though?" Sammy said. It was stated like that, as a question.

Arthur propped his head up and looked Sammy in the face. "It can be boys and boys or girls and girls," he said, grinning.

Seeing Sammy's dumbfounded look, Arthur retrieved the magazines, fished through them, and found a couple. They settled back in their previous position, with Arthur's arm around the back of Sammy's head. Arthur leafed through the magazine, finding a picture of a woman licking another woman's cunt. Sammy wanted to see more, but Arthur closed the magazine. "Two women can do it," he said. He picked up the other one from his lap.

"Two men can do it too," Arthur said. The picture in front of Sammy was unbelievable. A young man – about eighteen – was on his hands and knees on a bed, and an older man was putting his cock into the teenager. For Sammy, this was the hottest picture yet, but Arthur again put the magazine down.

"Where does it go when they do it like that?" Sammy asked.

"It goes in his butt."

"In his butt?" The idea was totally bizarre. Sammy shifted uncomfortably. "Doesn't it hurt?"

Arthur had never thought about that. "Probably at first. It hurts the girl when she first gets fucked, but she likes it anyway. Later it doesn't hurt. Maybe it's the same for boys too." He paused, a thought forming. "You want to get fucked?" Arthur asked, disbelieving.

"No," Sammy said quickly.

"You sure?" the other boy said, pressing his advantage.

"Arthur! You up there?" a man's voice called out from below.

"Yeah, Dad," Arthur called back.

"Just checking," the man said. "Dinner will be in about forty-five minutes. Your mom will be working late again."

"Okay," Arthur said. "Dad?" he called back.

"What, son?"

Arthur got up and walked over to the door of the treehouse, sticking his head out the burlap-covered door, holding the cloth so that only his face could be seen. "I got a friend up here," the boy said in a more normal voice, now that he could see his father's face.

"Arthur, we told you before 3;"

"Dad, he's from my grade at school."

Sammy appeared from the burlap next to his friend. "Hi."

"His name's 'Sammy,'" Arthur said.

"I go to school with him," Sammy helped.

The man looked at Sammy very warily, making the boy uncomfortable, then relaxed. "Sammy, do your parents know you're here?"

"No, Arthur said you would take me home."

That left a hard row for Arthur to hoe, but he did it. "Dad, can Sammy stay for supper?" he asked, changing the subject. Hell, it worked for the Democrats in the campaign finance scandal.

The man shook his head. Well, at least his son finally had a friend his own age. Arthur's father knew what his son had been doing with younger boys, but with the eternal optimism of a parent, he thought that Arthur would grow out of it. And here was proof, in the flesh. "Okay, but Sammy? You have to call your parents right now and tell them where you are."

"Okay, just a minute," Sammy said, diving back behind the burlap, putting his clothes back on as fast as he could.

"We'll be right down," Arthur added. The man waved and walked off. "Whoa, that was close," the boy said, turning back to Sammy.

"We better get down there," Sammy answered.

"Yeah, right," Arthur assented.

The boys got dressed and went down into the kitchen. Horace agreed to Sammy eating over at Arthur's house with no trouble. The man had very much looked forward to seeing Sammy that evening and had worried when the boy wasn't home to greet him. The two men talked briefly, saying little, but it was agreed that Arthur's dad would take Sammy home. Horace gave him the address.

They had sloppy joes, Hamburger Helper. It did indeed take about ¾ of an hour to cook, what with browning the meat beforehand. Arthur's dad, Mr. Fishbein, was Jewish and a bus driver for Greyhound. He didn't get home much, Arthur said, but now he was home and father and son showed their affection by arguing. It took a long time for Sammy to figure out what was going on, but when Arthur smiled at him between trading barbs with his dad, Sammy decided it was all right.

What bothered Sammy more was that Arthur kept feeling his leg under the table, and Sammy couldn't really respond since Arthur was wearing jeans. Sammy kept pushing the other boy's hand away, but it always came back. Arthur really had a one-track mind. Sammy was not averse to doing it again with him, but he wanted to call, 'time out!'

Then it turned out that Mr. Fishbein was the same. He got out a large folded piece of paper and handed it to his son. When Arthur unfolded it, it was yet another bikini-clad babe. "Thanks, Dad," Arthur answered, and they exchanged kisses (on the cheek). Arthur showed the picture to Sammy, who agreed that it was nice.

Dinner was done just in time. Sammy finally gave up on keeping Arthur's hands out of his lap, but both boys were soon using both hands to eat. It was pretty good food. Sammy ate fast, which only meant that he got served another burger.

When the meal was over, the boys washed up in the kitchen sink. Sammy noticed that Mr. Fishbein was standing behind his son, feeling his bottom. Arthur ignored it.

The man took Sammy home. Mr. Fishbein talked a lot, mostly about how bad the other drivers were. He was very funny, and Sammy laughed a lot. The man liked to pat Sammy's leg, but the boy didn't think anything of it.

Horace asked his son if he'd had a good time. Sammy said he had. As they walked in the front door, Horace told Sammy it was time for his bath. The boy didn't argue, just went to the bathroom to get it done.

Horace had thought a long time, sorting things out. It was not hard for him to get away – he spent most of his time in his high-rise office in the city, alone, reviewing plans and financial statements. What was hard for Horace was to find someone to be close to. Everyone seemed willing to tell him anything to make him happy, but little of it was true.

Except that everything Sammy said was always true. That was the closer. Horace knew how he felt about Sammy. The question was whether the boy felt the same. Sammy could be trusted to tell his dad if he didn't want what the man wanted, at least if Horace made it clear that the choice was Sammy's to be made. Sammy never lied, not if he was asked a question point blank. And if his stepson didn't want the kind of relationship Horace wanted, well, Horace would work with that. Perhaps the best thing in that case was to send Sammy off to a boarding school. It might hurt the boy some, but he would certainly get into Harvard. Next year, Sammy would be of an age to apply to the better boarding schools in New England, wearing the traditional application uniform of gray slacks, blue blazer, white shirt, and red tie. With Horace's money, admission would not be a problem. But no matter what Sammy decided, Horace Rath was not about to abandon him. The boy would inherit all his wealth, and anything else the man had to give.

So now was the time for the test, only Horace felt that he was the one being tested. And, in fact, he was. It was a question of whether his stepson considered him worthy of carnal love. The man had some reason to believe that Sammy would, but it was the boy's decision to make. Horace walked into the room where his wife slept, zonked out as usual, and stripped to his boxer shorts. Then he walked back down the hall to the bathroom where Sammy was bathing.

Horace opened the unlocked door and walked in (Sammy, like other children, was of course forbidden to lock the door to the room he was in, in case there were an emergency).

"Dad? Is that you?" the boy called out from behind the textured glass door.

"Yeah, it's me. Your mom's and my bathroom is clogged up. Mind if I use your toilet?"

"Go ahead, it's fine with me," Sammy replied. He stopped washing and started looking. He had never seen his stepfather's naked dick before. Unfortunately, the glass offered no more than a vague shape.

Horace heard the silence with satisfaction. He pulled out his dick and managed a respectable piss, being sure to hold it with his right hand so that Sammy would be able to look, if he cared to, through the glass.

Horace was too nervous to get hard; it was like the first time he had asked a girl for a date. When he was done, he flushed the toilet and washed his hands as usual. Then he turned back and opened the glass door.

Sammy, who had been sitting there, completely silent, listening and watching, was suddenly exposed. Instinctively, he covered his little cock, which was fully erect.

"How's it going?" Horace asked, his voice seeming strange, even to himself. There was no bubble bath, and Sammy was laid out in all his glory. The man's cock began to respond.

"'S okay," Sammy said.

Then Horace saw the flaw in his plan. He didn't know what to say! Here he was, one of the finest wheeler-dealers on the West Coast, but he was speechless before this beautiful boy. "Want me to wash your back?" the man finally said.

"Sure," Sammy said, pulling his knees out of the water, leaning forward, holding his feet. This was much better than Arthur. This was a man Sammy loved.

Horace knelt down, found the Ivory soap floating in the tub :-), and soaped his hands with it. This was too good to be true – he was finally going to touch his stepson's beautiful naked body. If Horace had died at that moment, he would have considered it worthwhile.

But he didn't die. He actually reached out, feeling Sammy's thin little shoulders, and massaged them. His hands moved further down, eliciting a giggle and a slight squirm from Sammy as he washed the boy's hairless underarms. Horace went all over the part of Sammy's back that was above water, then went back, turning harmless washing into a very erotic massage. Reluctantly, he pulled away. "All done," he said.

Sammy dove back under the water in a great splash. Horace's boxers were completely soaked, showing his sizeable boner as if he were wearing nothing. The floor beneath the man's knees was coated as well.

Rinsed off to his satisfaction, Sammy sat back up. He saw what he had done to his dad. "Oh, sorry," he said.

"No problem," Horace said cheerfully. "Since I'm all wet anyway, why don't I get in with you?"

The moment of truth, but it took Sammy only milliseconds to reply, "Sure, come on." The boy was somewhat ashamed of his eagerness, adding, "The water is dirty from me."

Not one to refuse 'yes' as an answer, Horace quickly peeled off his shorts and walked in, stepping carefully to avoid Sammy's legs. The boy pulled them up to make a place for his dad. Horace's hard cock seemed huge to Sammy, who stared at it. It didn't even fully submerge in the water, as Sammy's own hardon did; instead, it poked out against the man's hairy belly. "You're not that dirty. Anyway, I just have to wash off some sweat from this afternoon."

Sammy watched from the other end of the tub while Horace washed out his armpits, then his neck, then his face. It was very hard to remain still. Here was the man Sammy worshipped above every other person on earth, or in heaven, and all the boy wanted to do was jump up and fall into his arms. Decorum prevented it. It was Horace's fault, had he known – he was the one who had started insisting on good manners from Sammy. The eleven-year-old was not put off in the least by his stepfather's large and highly-visible erection, after he got used to seeing it uncovered; by now, it only signified the man's love for him. Beneath the waterline, Horace could not see that his infatuation was returned in full.

When Horace started to wash his arms, still strong from his days as an oarsman in college (he was on a crew rowing team), Sammy jumped up. "Let me," he said. Horace assented.

Sammy knelt between Horace's legs, washing his arms. The man was amused at Sammy's feeble effort to lift his large arms (though Horace did help some), but the man was more infatuated with the movement of Sammy's little naked body as the boy worked with utmost seriousness at making his stepdad clean.

All Horace wanted to do was grab that lovely boy, hold him tight, and kiss him all over. Again decorum intervened. Horace did not want to impose himself on Sammy. Finally, Horace's arms were clean.

"You want me to wash your back?" Sammy volunteered, now sitting on one of his stepfather's thighs in the narrow tub.

"That's okay, Sammy," Horace said, rubbing the boy's damp head. "Did you wash your hair?"

"Yeah, I did that first," Sammy replied proudly.

"Well, it's time for us to get out then," the man responded, standing up. Sammy went to stand up too at the same time, but he was too fast about it and slipped. Horace caught him. "Be careful in here, a lot of accidents happen in the tub," the man said.

"Yes, sir," Sammy said, using the honorific he habitually reserved for when he was in trouble.

"It's all right," Horace replied, hugging the boy's head against his chest. The magnate was somewhat surprised when Sammy grabbed him tightly about the middle. The man didn't know what to say – he just smoothed Sammy's damp head. There was no doubt that Sammy loved him, Horace thought, but the depth of it amazed him. It was evidently far beyond anything that anyone had felt for Horace before, including his own father and mother. For that matter, it was beyond anything Horace himself could remember having felt. Sammy's love was total and complete, and it made the man somewhat ashamed that he could not reciprocate such love, for though he loved Sammy, he could never match this depth of feeling – Horace was too old and cynical for that. But he could give the outward signs, the money and preferments, and he fully planned to do so. "I'll get out first," the man said, his voice breaking.

Horace got out of the tub and dried off, avoiding Sammy's adoring eyes, knowing that he did not deserve that look. The man wrapped his towel around himself, then took another from below the sink and held it out. "Okay, your turn," he said.

Sammy happily stepped out onto the bathroom rug, putting his hands over his head as if he were under arrest. He wanted Horace to dry him off, and the man readily complied. It was, in a way, a long, brisk embrace as Horace dried his son's arms, his fingers, his belly and back, his groin and precious little bottom, and his legs. The feet were somewhat awkward, but they managed it, Sammy steadying himself on his dad's shoulder.

When Sammy was dried off, Horace handed him the towel, and the boy wound it around his waist in imitation of his stepfather. For a moment, they stood there, man and boy, loving each other, but neither was hard. They were father and son, not because they were supposed to be, but because they wanted to be. Sammy looked up at Horace, trusting the man with his life, and Horace undertook the responsibility of protecting that life. It was a very meaningful moment for Horace, though perhaps less so for Sammy, since he had always felt that way. Yet both of them felt more.

"Let's get our jammies on," the man said, breaking the silence. "There's a good monster movie on Cinemax tonight." He looked at his watch. "In about ten minutes."

"You don't wear jammies," Sammy replied snidely.

"How do you know? You've just never seen me in them," Horace said.

"Okay," the boy answered, smiling. "What about Mom?"

Oh, yeah, Veronica, the man thought. It was time to give her a bath and change her sheets. "I'll take care of that," Horace said, wanting to spare Sammy the sight of his mother as she was now. "You just go watch the start of the movie and tell me what I missed."

"Let me help," Sammy replied. "I used to take care of her all the time. I know she's sicker now, but I want to help."

"Sammy, you 3;" don't want to see her now, Horace began, but did not finish. An extra pair of hands would certainly be helpful, and perhaps it would be good for Sammy to get back with his mother again. Against his better judgement, Horace agreed.

It was indeed against the man's better judgement. Veronica was lying, completely zonked out, in her own piss and shit, on top of the vinyl sheet that Horace had placed on the bed. It was evident just from looking at her that she was not long for this world. Sammy struggled with tears, and Horace had to tell the boy twice to get him to do something. Sammy would do it, but he kept muttering, "Mom? Mom?" in a low voice.

Horace knew what was happening, knew what a mistake he'd made, but it seemed impossible to send Sammy away now. The boy was not going anywhere, determined to do anything to make his mother better. Sammy ran the water, and they bathed her in the tub. Horace did most of the work, of course, but Sammy held her head the whole time so that she would be okay if she woke up. For the man, it was routine, but for Sammy, it was traumatic. The boy knew his mother was dying and began to cry, though he tried to hide it and did whatever Horace told him. What was worse, there didn't seem to be any words of comfort for Horace to offer the boy who held the emaciated body of his mother in his arms.

Horace left Veronica in the tub as he usually did while he remade the bed, only this time, Sammy continued to hold her head. The water was not deep enough to drown the unconscious woman should she slip down, but Sammy held her face to his chest, rocking her like a baby, crying and saying, "Momma, please wake up." Horace could hear the boy from the next room, and for the first time he really felt how wrong it was for a kid to have a mother like this, a mother who only lived for her next fix, who cared nothing for her child, or for herself. Horace Rath had always pitied himself because his mother had always been away, flitting about the social circuit, leaving him with a nanny, but this was far worse. Sammy was watching his mother, a woman who had loved him once, who perhaps in her own way still did, die.

Horace went back into the bathroom and picked his wife up. Sammy dried her off, no longer bothering to hide his tears. The man carried the woman back into the bedroom, which smelled badly in spite of the clean sheets. He told Sammy to open the windows. Horace laid the woman on top of the clean fitted sheet, then put a clean top sheet and blanket over her. Sammy lay on top of the blanket, hugging his mother about the neck, naked – somehow his towel had been lost.

Reluctantly, Horace picked the boy up, detaching him from his mother's neck, and held Sammy in his arms. Sammy began to cry in earnest, dampening his stepfather's shoulder and neck. And Horace's eyes were none too clear either.

They were not going to watch that monster movie, and they weren't going to have sex either. Horace carried Sammy back to his room and laid the boy in his bed, then got in next to him. The man held Sammy, face to face, until the shuddering sobs ceased.

"It's all right, son," Horace said, lying through his teeth, but it was a virtuous lie. "It's going to be all right."

"She's gonna die, isn't she?" Sammy said, not looking up from his stepfather's chest.

"It's in God's hands," the man said, though he had no particular faith.

Sammy started in on another crying fit, and Horace held him. He had the words to tell a competitor he was screwed, but Horace did not have the words to give this boy comfort.

"She could get better," Sammy said. "If you give her more medicine, she can get better."

"Sammy, I give her all the medicine I can," Horace replied. "Whether she gets better is up to God, and up to her." He would never tell the boy what had really killed his mother.

"You could take her to better doctors, you could make her get well. You have lots of money."

"I did," Horace said. He wondered whether Sammy was right, whether the right residential program might break Veronica's addiction. But Horace had tried that already. Sammy's mother had gone away on 'vacations' twice before, only to escape. The second time, it had taken the aid of a private investigator to find her again. Now Horace knew that she would never quit, and that she would die. "I got the best doctors there are, they can't cure your mom."

"You're lying!" Sammy shouted, crying harder. "You're lying!" he repeated, the words coming from the depth of his soul. "She's going to get better! She is! You'll see!"

Horace, by now, was crying as hard as Sammy. "I wish she could, Sammy, I really wish." And, at the moment, those words were true.

What was worst was that Sammy could see the truth in those words, could read the truth in his dad's face. Horace had really done everything he could, and if Horace couldn't do it, it couldn't be done. The man watched as the bottom fell out of Sammy's world. Sammy just fell back down on the bed and curled up into a ball, crying so hard that his very life seemed to fly away with each gasp.

Horace didn't know what to do. He lay back down himself, wrapping Sammy in his arms. "I love her too, Sammy," he said, "you know I do. Maybe God wants her back as an angel." The next part was the most determinedly honest thing the man ever said. "But you'll always have me. I will always take care of you, no matter what. I love you, Sammy."

The boy didn't respond, but human beings being what they are, he couldn't cry forever – he fell asleep. This time, Horace did not get up and go back to his wife. He remained with Sammy the whole time, retaining his grasp as the boy tossed and turned, staying awake the whole time.

He was still there when Sammy woke up, remembered, and started crying again. Horace was not going to leave, ever, as long as Sammy needed him. Sammy fell asleep again.

The following day, they both took off. Horace assured Sammy that his mother would be all right, and they went to a park – just a regular park. They walked for a long time and talked a lot. Sammy understood, in the light of day, that his mother was probably going to die of her 'disease'. He was also made to understand that Horace would remain with him.

After that, Horace was more than willing to help Sammy get to sleep at night. Veronica would never miss the man in her bed anyway, and Horace knew the approximate timings of her shots, so there was no problem in giving them, then going back to Sammy. As time went on, Horace began to get aroused again, being next to the boy. The size of the man's cock made it unmistakeable, but Sammy never said anything about the hard penis lodged between his cheeks as he lay in his stepdad's arms.

Children are resilient. Sammy mourned for his mother for about a week, then began to return to normal. The bottom of his world had fallen out, true, but Horace provided a new floor for the boy to stand on. Perhaps, in a way, it was good that Sammy found out in advance that his mother was going to die, Horace thought. The boy got his mourning largely over with, transferring all his affection to his stepfather.

Arthur, of course, didn't know that Sammy's mother was dying and didn't let up in the slightest. He continued to sit next to Sammy in class, making lewd comments, but drawing little response. Sammy started to really detest Arthur but was too wrapped up in his own trouble to tell the other boy to get lost.

Unsatisfied by Sammy's lack of enthusiasm, Arthur broadened his field of topics. Now it was not just which girls would like to suck, or be fucked by, the two boys, but which boys had big dicks and which would suck Arthur or Sammy if asked. Arthur explained that all boys liked to jack off and get sucked, and it was OK to do things with boys as long as you liked girls too. He started to talk about boys fucking each other, but Sammy glared at him and made him shut up.

Arthur repeatedly asked Sammy to come back to his house and play in the treehouse again, and Sammy repeatedly put him off. After about a week, though, he finally assented. Arthur said they wouldn't fuck if Sammy didn't want to, but they could suck each other's dicks again. Sammy did want to do that again, though he wasn't sure about fucking. After all, it wouldn't be fair, would it? Sammy's dick was so small that Arthur could hardly feel it, while Arthur's was medium-sized. When he thought about it, Sammy figured it would probably fit in his bottom since he had made turds bigger than what Arthur had between his legs, but still, not being able to do the same to Arthur made Sammy like the girl in the relationship, and Sammy considered himself and Arthur to be equals. So when Arthur talked about fucking, Sammy disliked it, not because he considered it bad or anything, but because he felt that Arthur was trying to take advantage of him.

They went back to Arthur's treehouse after school, almost bypassing the house proper this time, just stopping to get some bologna slices out of the refrigerator, and a couple cans of soda.

Being back in the treehouse finally brought Sammy out of his depression, as the excitement he had experienced there came to the fore. Arthur fished his magazines out of the tree trunk again, only this time, he just kept one and put the rest back. Once more, they pulled together the beanbags and put the blanket on top. They both stripped naked, then Arthur lay down, then Sammy. Arthur was immediately hard, but Sammy was not.

It had been more or less tacitly decided from last time that the best way for them to look at magazines was for Arthur to have his arm behind Sammy's head and hold both sides. Sammy laid his head on Arthur's shoulder. They were going to suck each other, but neither was in a hurry to get it done and over with.

This magazine was different from the others. There were no girls in it. It was all men. Moreover, unlike the other magazines that they had viewed last time, Arthur turned every page and let Sammy look as long as he wanted. The things Sammy saw were amazing. It seemed that two guys could do everything a man and a woman could do, and more. A boy could suck another boy, just like a girl could, but two boys could also suck each other at the same time. A boy could lick another boy's behind, something Sammy had not seen in the other magazines but imagined was possible for a man and woman, but two boys could arrange themselves so that one boy could suck the other's cock while that boy licked out his bottom. One picture was particularly amazing. There was a teenage boy being taken three ways by three older men. One man has his cock in the boy's mouth; one in the boy's butt; and one was sucking the boy's dick.

After that, sucking Arthur's cock seemed pretty harmless and tame. Sammy did it pretty much the same way as before, but this time he did more of the work, moving his head up and down rather than Arthur shoving into him. It was better that way. Arthur favored Sammy with his dry release.

Then it was Sammy's turn. Arthur remained on his back, motioning Sammy to come forward. As before, Arthur took Sammy's balls and cock into his mouth in one gulp.

After that, Arthur didn't have any further interest in sex, but Sammy wanted to look at the magazine again, so they did. He carefully examined the pictures that showed an older man with a younger one (there were no models Sammy's age in there, of course). In some of them, the younger man was doing things to the older man, or making him do things, like where the older man was sucking the younger one's dick. That just seemed silly to Sammy. It was like – like a kid telling his stepfather what to do. The other way around was more natural. Some of the pictures were almost the same as the ones with the men and women, like where the young man was on his back on the bed with his feet up, and the older man was putting his dick in. Sammy wondered if boys could do that, have a man put his dick in them, or whether it would hurt the boys so they would have to go to the hospital or something.

The idea, though, was intriguing. If Horace did that with Sammy, then that would show that Sammy was just as important to the man as his mother, since that was what Horace did with Veronica. Or almost. It looked almost the same, only boys didn't have vaginas so the man had to put his dick in the boy's bottom. Sammy remembered back to the feeling of Horace's hard cock resting between his pajama-clad cheeks, moving slowly, softly, up and down, as if the man were afraid to let the boy know it was there. Sammy got hard again, and Arthur sucked him off again, but Sammy didn't reciprocate, and Arthur didn't seem to mind.

That evening, there was a scary movie on TV. Every time there was a scary movie on, Sammy would want to see it, and Horace would say it was too scary, and Sammy would say it was not, and they would go back and forth until Sammy won (well, there were a couple times he lost, but almost always he got to see the movie). Scary movies were the best, since whenever Sammy got scared (sitting in Horace's lap as he usually did), the man would hug him really tight. Sammy really thought it was silly to think that he would get nightmares from any movie, when he would be sleeping with his stepfather behind him. OK, maybe Sammy was acting like a baby, but if he didn't mind, and Horace didn't mind, so what?

After the movie, Sammy was sent up to bed while Horace cleaned up after Veronica. As familiar as the two had become, Sammy was very nervous. He took extra long in the bathroom, washing his face as well as his privates and his behind – this after a very thorough bath earlier in the evening. What if Horace didn't want to do it? No, he did want to, would want to, that was for sure. It had to be. Only he, Sammy, had to start it because his dad never would. But once it got started, Horace would take over because he was the man and Sammy was the boy. That was the way it was supposed to be, and Horace was a smart man so he would know that. And after they did it, Sammy would be really equal with his mother; he would know that his stepdad loved him just as much. Only Horace was shy so Sammy had to start it.

Sammy waited in his bed, shivering with excitement. Several long minutes later, Horace, his work as a nurse complete, walked into Sammy's room, wearing his boxers as usual, and got in bed behind his stepson. Sammy grabbed the man's arm and pulled his across his chest, then kissed the thumb. As always, he was both thrilled and contented to be embraced so. This time, though, he was going to return the favor.

Carefully, Sammy reached behind, between their two bodies, and found Horace's cock. He did no more than squeeze it, letting the man know he knew it was there, then withdrew his hand. Horace gasped; he couldn't believe this was happening, but he certainly didn't want to stop it!

Sammy waited for Horace to take the initiative, and Horace waited for Sammy. A Mexican standoff. Finally, Sammy grew impatient. He reached down and lowered his pajama bottoms, then pushed his bottom back against his stepfather's rock-hard cock, squeezing it lightly with his gluteus muscles.

Horace took the hint. He started to move his cock up and down between Sammy's soft, warm buttcheeks, steadily gaining in speed and force. Horace turned them so that Sammy was underneath, then reached down and gripped the boy's hips, pressing those precious cheeks together around his cock, and humped for all he was worth, grunting loudly. Sammy panted in time to the thrusts, his own little cock driven roughly but pleasantly into the mattress.

And then, it came. The greatest wave of pure pleasure Horace had ever experienced washed over him with a shiver as his cock deposited the proof of his love all over his stepson's back. "OH 3; oh 3; oh 3; I love you, Sammy," he said, unnecessarily, since Sammy knew that, now.

Then Horace moved off his son, and Sammy turned over and received a kiss, a real lovers' kiss, for the first time. After that, Sammy curled up into a ball, and Horace curled up behind him, nearly surrounding the boy, and Sammy slept in true contentment.

Horace continued to hump Sammy every night, between the cheeks, or between the thighs, but he refused to penetrate the boy's bottom no matter how eagerly it was offered. For Sammy, this became the new mountain to climb, getting his stepfather to finally put his cock inside. Always Horace would say that it would hurt the boy too much and refuse, and while Sammy clearly knew now that he was loved, never knew it more keenly than when he was forcefully taken between the cheeks like the first time, it was, in a way, an insult that his stepfather did not think he was strong enough to endure a good, manly butt-fuck.

Even so, their relationship deepened. They swam together in the pool (Horace had hitherto considered a pool merely something he had to have as a rich man, rather than something to use). They went to a virtual reality place in a nearby shopping mall and killed each other with lasers over and over again, laughing each time.

And Sammy found something else he could do for his stepfather. Sucking cock was different with Horace than with a boy like Arthur, Sammy discovered, as his mouth was suddenly filled with a rather thick but mostly tasteless substance. He should have expected it, of course, but somehow he didn't put what happened on his back or between his legs together with what would happen in his mouth. Anyway, that first time he got a little sick, but after that he got used to the white paste, even looking forward to its emergence. Sammy never asked Horace to reciprocate, but he did, and while Sammy thought it strange, he enjoyed it immensely.

Sucking, he found, gave Sammy a certain influence over his stepfather. Horace enjoyed having Sammy suck him more than anything, more even than humping the 11-year-old's pretty behind. Hence, Sammy was able to exact a price. One time when the boy was asking for the 33rd time whether Horace would put his penis in his bottom, Horace said (of course) that he wouldn't, but that if he put his finger in Sammy's behind that would loosen it up over time so that the man's cock would fit. So Sammy insisted that if he was going to suck Horace, then Horace would have to put his finger in Sammy to make him looser.

That brought Sammy to new heights. Still years away from the penile orgasm of a mature man, the boy discovered that his bottom could bring him nearer to perfect bliss than he had previously thought possible. As the man's fat finger sawed in and out of his behind, Sammy found it difficult to concentrate on moving his tongue over the cock in his mouth. Each time the finger shoved into him, it brought a wave of giddy, girlish delight to the boy. He became more determined than ever to get himself fucked, not by just anybody of course, but by his stepfather, the man he loved.

Sammy took to listening to Arthur with benign amusement, confident that he, Sammy, knew more about sex than Arthur could even imagine, with all his magazines. Once, when he knew his stepfather would be working late, Sammy agreed to go to Arthur's house for a mutual suck session. But it was only charity; Sammy now felt sorry for Arthur, that he didn't have a man to love him like Horace did Sammy.

When Sammy finally succeeded in getting his stepfather to fuck him, it was a surprise. Martina's trip had caused Horace to decide that Sammy should learn to cook, so the boy had to prepare dinner two days a week, Tuesday and Thursday. Fridays they went out to eat, generally to some fast-food place, though occasionally to a better restaurant at Horace's insistence. The rest of the time, Horace cooked or brought home take-out.

At any rate, one Tuesday Sammy was making a stew. It was oppressively hot in the house, the air conditioning on the blink, all the windows open. Sammy was dressed in a pair of undershorts, it being too hot to wear anything else. He didn't hear his stepfather getting home.

Sammy opened the refrigerator, luxuriating in the cool air for a minute, then bent over to retrieve some near-gone celery from the vegetable bin. We have to get rid of this, he was thinking, when suddenly he was grabbed from behind. Hot, sweaty hands were feeling his upraised bottom through the cotton of his briefs. Startled, Sammy tried to stand, but a strong hand pushed him back down again.

"Okay, you little boy-slut, you want to be fucked, you get fucked," a hoarse voice said behind him. Sammy recognized the voice as Horace's and relaxed; Horace frequently talked that way in bed when he was aroused. Sammy belatedly realized that this was his chance and reached back to pull his briefs down, but Horace had already ripped them down, now lubricating the boy's hole with precum from the end of his dick. Almost unconsciously, Sammy pushed back against it, trying to make it enter his behind.

"Oh, you want it, don't you, you little slut?" the man demanded, in the same hoarse voice. He stroked the boy's hips as he continued to work the head of his cock around the upraised hole.

"Yes, put it in me," Sammy said from below, his voice high-pitched, small, and weak.

"Put what where?" the man demanded.

"Put your cock in my bottom," Sammy said, his voice shaking with excitement.

Without further ado, Horace pushed forward, letting the well-lubricated head of his cock pop past the boy's sphincter. He held his position.

Sammy swayed on his feet, nearly ready to drop. It was in. It was really in. Not all the way yet, only a little, but it was there. His bottom clenched around it, twitching impatiently, then spasming painfully. He was finally getting fucked.

They stood for a long time, waiting for the spasms to stop, waiting for Sammy's bottom to accept what his mind had embraced long before. Then Horace began to move inward. Each millimeter brought new sensations to them both, new levels of pleasure. It was slow, very slow, very deliberate, very planned; Horace restrained himself well. Sammy's underwear fell from his shaking knees to gather around his ankles. He stepped out of them and kicked them away. He wanted to be naked.

At long last, it was all inside. Sammy was fully impaled on his dad's cock. My dad, the boy thought, he's my real dad now.

The boy did not get long to enjoy the sensation. Horace picked him up by the thighs, carrying Sammy, the man's cock embedded in the boy's behind. Pulling Sammy's legs to his chest, the man carried him doubled-up, resting on man-cock.

"You want a horsey-ride, Sammy?" Horace asked. He then began to skip about the room, then out of it, up the stairs, galloping like a horse, his cock thrusting in and out of the boy with each step. "This is the kind of horsey-ride horny little boy-sluts like you like, isn't it?"

Sammy was far past responding. He felt so giddy, feeling the man's cock moving in an out of him, that he was near to laughing. At the same time, however, he felt the shivers of an approaching anal orgasm. Sammy felt helpless and complete, happy to be helpless before the man who now owned him.

Horace took them to Sammy's bedroom and fucked him proper, on his back, bent in two. It was fast, forceful, and over with far too soon.

The stew, of course, was ruined. Fortunately, they had some leftover lasagna in the freezer.

Now, with Veronica nearly gone, it was a nightly habit, as addictive perhaps as the woman's heroin, though hopefully less destructive. The only thing Horace feared was that his true relationship with his son would be discovered – not for his own sake, but for Sammy's.

The man did not fear prison. He considered that he had already been given enough joy in his life to last him for the rest of it; he would be able to subsist on reflections of the past. But for Sammy it would be different. People would tell the boy that what he had willingly done and enjoyed was a hideous evil, an unforgiveable wrong perpetrated against him. He would be scarred for life, not from the act, but from the public knowledge of it. They would induce his candor with false sympathy, then twist him against himself, making him deny his own happiness. It had to be prevented, but only Sammy could do that – though Horace did his best to make him strong.

The man left his wife, no, this stranger lying happily at death's door, and walked quietly out of the room and down the hall. He opened the door to Sammy's room. The boy turned to him, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight. Sammy moved over on his bed, making room for his dad. Horace dropped his boxer shorts on the floor and got in beside the boy.

They kissed deeply, exchanging tongues. Horace placed his hand on Sammy's shoulder and ran it down the boy's side. Sammy did not have his pajama bottoms on. He reached under his bed to get the jar of Vaseline, his little behind already twitching in the man's hand in anticipation of being filled. Horace took the jar and set it on the nightstand. There was time for that later; perhaps many times. Right now the man just wanted to be close. They had all night. Tomorrow was not a school day.

The End

I am so glad I was adopted. Some kids think it's bad, but for me it's great because the alternative is to be an orphan still! Also, I love my adoptive parents, especially my dad.

My mom and dad died when I was 7. I really don't remember them. I remember I cried a lot and didn't want to talk to anybody. Probably that's why nobody adopted me back then.

I went to live in the Spencer School. It was OK there, I had good friends. Richard was my best friend. We both played baseball.

When I was 9 the Mitchells adopted me. It is not that simple, though. First, they come into the office and meet with the social worker, then after the adults talk for a while they bring the kid in. Then if they like you, you go to their house for a weekend for a trial visit. Then if they still want to adopt you you go live with them. Then it is 30 days they are on probation and you can be sent back if it doesn't work out. Then you are adopted.

I went to the office to see a lot of parents when I was 7. But I was still sad and didn't want to talk to anybody so I didn't get adopted. Then when I was 9 the Mitchells came and wanted to adopt me. But by then I wasn't so sad any more and talked to people. So they decided to adopt me! I was very happy. The Mitchells both hugged me and it was very nice.

So then I went to live in their house for the weekend on the trial visit. I was very good during the trial visit so they would adopt me. I even didn't break anything which I would normally do a lot since I am so clumsy. They are rich and have a lot of nice stuff. They don't like me to say that they are rich though.

One thing I really liked on the trial visit was sitting in Dad's lap. Of course, then I still called him Mr. Mitchell. At night I would sit in his lap in my pajamas and he would put his arms around me. There is nothing better than that for a kid! So I would sit in his lap and watch TV and he would hold me. Mrs. Mitchell would just smile at us, and I would smile at her. She was nice too. Dad would kiss me on the head and hug me a lot.

They decided to keep me after the trial visit. I was so happy they actually would adopt me!

They have another son Andrew which I didn't meet on the trial visit since he was away at school. Later he was at home so I met him. He is 15. He is really nice. He plays ball with me in the backyard, which is huge! Like a real ballfield. I am better at catching than throwing, but Andrew is helping me so I am getting better.

He likes me to sleep in his room at night. Which I am not supposed to do since I have my own room. But I don't get punished for it. When I sleep with him we both take our pajamas off and sleep naked. He sleeps behind me and puts his penis in my bottom. Then he hugs me and moves his penis in and out. He puts stuff on it called KY to get it slippery first. At first I didn't like it because it hurt me but now it doesn't so I like it. Sometimes he leaves it in me after he shoots his stuff out and we go to sleep with him in me. That is really nice because he is hugging me while I am asleep and I have his penis in my bottom too. Sometimes I have bad dreams, but I never have bad dreams when I sleep like that.

One time Dad came into Andrew's room while we were asleep with his penis in my bottom and saw us like that. Andrew says he gets hot at night and kicks the covers off. I don't get hot, but when he is hugging me I stay warm even with no covers. So Dad saw us and I thought I was in trouble because I was in Andrew's room. But Dad wasn't mad, he just said I should sleep with him the next night. I thought that was even better than Andrew, since I like sitting in Dad's lap more than in Andrew's lap.

So then the next night I went to sleep with Dad. Dad and Mom have separate rooms since their house is so big. Dad and me got naked like I did with Andrew. Dad has a really big penis, so I wasn't sure I wanted it in me, but he said it would be all right. First he had me lick it, which was different from Andrew. Then he put some KY stuff on his finger and put it in my bottom, which was different also. Then he put the KY on his penis. Then he put it in me. It did hurt some because he was bigger than Andrew but not too much. Dad kept kissing me on the head and cheek and massaging (sp?) my thighs. He went real slow, and eventually his penis went all the way in my bottom and it didn't hurt too bad. After that he hugged me and moved it in and out like Andrew. He didn't leave it in like Andrew, however, he let me lay on top of him which I couldn't do with Andrew, and it was pretty much as good. I didn't have any bad dreams with Dad, either!

Mom was so happy after I slept with Dad I couldn't believe it! She made all of us waffles, which I like more than anything. For breakfast, anyway. She kissed Dad and me and said she was glad for both of us. Andrew kissed me too, which made me blush since he doesn't usually kiss me unless we're sleeping together.

So that is what being adopted is like. If you are not adopted, maybe you can find an older boy like Andrew to put his penis in your bottom. But you don't want to have a man like my dad do it first since it would probably hurt too much. It is a lot of fun to do and then you sleep with them hugging you, which is even better than sitting in their lap.

And that is the end of my report.

The End

12-year old Lance looked into 11-year-old Charlie's eyes. He spoke quietly so he would not be heard by the man down the hall. "I heard my mom and dad before they left. Mom didn't want Uncle Tom to sit for us this weekend. You know why?"

"Why?" Charlie asked, mildly bored, mildly interested.

"She says he's 'too old to be a bachelor.' Know what that means?" Lance asked excitedly.

"No, what?"

"He's gay, that's what. Mom thinks Uncle Tom is gay, and I bet he is, too."

Charlie was taken aback. "You mean he 3; she didn't want him to be with you because he 3;"

" 3;because he likes boys," Lance said, grinning ear to ear, with an exaggerated lisp, flipping his wrist.

Charlie got the joke. "Uncle Tom is a fag 3;," he started, then started laughing – too loud. Lance went up to him quickly and put his hand over Charlie's mouth.

"Shhhh 3; he'll hear you," Lance said in an urgent whisper. Charlie shut up. Lance went on. "He thinks he's so cool, that nobody knows. Why don't we find out how cool he is?"

"How?" Charlie asked. His new friend was only a year older, but Charlie was still amazed at the things Lance thought of. This was their first sleepover. Lance's great-grandmother had finally died after being left unable to speak by a stroke before he was born. He never knew her and didn't care about her – but his parents were out of town for the funeral, and he was going to have some fun.

"What do you mean, how?" He saw that Charlie didn't understand. Charlie never seemed to understand anything, but he looked up to Lance like Lance was a god, and the older boy liked that. Charlie wasn't the first younger friend he'd had – for the same reason. "Look, he thinks he's cool, that nobody knows he's gay. So why don't we give him something to look at? Let's see how cool he is." Charlie still had a blank expression, god the kid was slow. "Why do you think he volunteered so fast to babysit me? He likes to look at boys' butts."

Charlie's eyes opened wide. "He wants to look at our butts?"

"Right," Lance said, "but he acts like it's nothing. I bet we can get him so hot he'll come in his pants. He'll probably give us money to take our clothes off – or beer, or women, or anything."

"Wow," Charlie said. Neither boy knew anything about women or had drunk a beer, but the money sounded good. "How much money?"

"Who knows? Maybe 10, maybe even 20 dollars." To Lance, that seemed like a lot of money; his parents were quite poor, as were Charlie's, and they got by in a small town on $2-3 a week allowance.

"Let's do it," said Charlie, happy to be in on another of his friend's schemes. They shook on it.

The boys came back into the living room after a long absence. Tom didn't think anything of it; perhaps they were playing video games in Lance's room. Charlie seemed to be swinging his hips, and both boys were looking at him as they came into the room, but he didn't know kids very well and didn't think much of it. He turned back to the old Western on AMC.

"It's 8 o'clock," Lance said, as if that should mean something. His parents hadn't said anything about 8'clock.

Tom was a bit taken aback. "Is something important supposed to happen at 8 o'clock?" he asked, trying to make it seem like a joke.

Lance glowered at him, then smirked. "We're supposed to take our baths."

"Oh, well, whatever you normally do," Tom said nonchalantly. In fact, Lance had been right about Tom. He did have urges, but he kept them well in check. Nevertheless, the thought of two naked boys, these two, started to arouse him. He kept it under control. Tom turned back to his movie.

Lance was angry, but he kept that to himself too. He and Charlie walked out of the room. Soon Tom heard water running in the upstairs bathroom.

The door was evidently open.

"Tom!" Lance's voice rang out. "Tom!"

Tom opened his mouth to shout an answer, then decided that something might be wrong and he should go up. The bathroom door was open, and Lance was sitting in the tub alone, and he had used bubble bath, so little could be seen except for the boy's marvellous chest. "I can't reach my back," he said, "can you wash it for me?" He held out the soap.

Tom seemed to hesitate, so Lance lied: "Mom does it when she's here." Still the man hesitated. "Please?" the boy said.

Tom was starting to get a hard on, and that must not happen. Sure, he liked looking at the kid, but that was all he was going to do. And he didn't want to have to explain anything down there. But the kid was looking at him, and he was getting harder and harder, looking at the soft shoulders, the hairless knees sticking up out of the water, the smooth face 3; This had to stop, and there seemed to be only one way to stop it. "OK," he said.

Tom took the soap from the boy's hand, got his hands wet, and worked up a lather. He quickly soaped up Lance's back, trying to be clinical about it. "There," he said, trying to smile.

"Now rinse me off," said Lance, with what looked like, but could not be, a coy smile.

"Just slide down in the tub," Tom said, too gruffly he belatedly thought, and walked off. He went back downstairs to watch his movie. The bad guys were caught, as expected. He tried to forget what he had just seen and felt.

"Tom!" a voice rang out sometime later. It wasn't Lance, so it had to be Charlie, though the younger boy had hardly said a word in Tom's presence since he came over. Once again the man trod up the stairs, craning his neck to see as the bad guys escaped during an Indian attack.

This time the door was closed. "What do you want?" Tom shouted through the door.

"I need a towel," Charlie replied.

"Where are they?" the man shouted back.

"In the linen closet, I think," the boy answered.

The linen closet, where was that? Tom looked around. He found it down the hall and got out a big green towel. He came back to the door. "I'm going to open the door and put it on the counter, OK?" he asked.

"Don't come in, I'm naked," came the reply. There seemed to be a giggle.

"I'm just putting it here on the counter," Tom replied. He opened the door a crack and did so. He went back downstairs.

The Indians, who as usual couldn't shoot straight, had been routed, and the hero was kicking over corpses of braves. One belonged to a boy of about 13 or 14. The hero shook his head at the savagery of these people. The bad guys had gotten away during the fight, however.

"Tom!" Lance called out again. Jeez, I might as well give up on this movie, he thought, trying to pretend his irritation was due to the interruptions. He looked in the bathroom, but it was empty (though a mess). "Tom!" the boy called again, and Tom realized it was coming from the boys' room.

The two boys were standing there in bath towels. "We don't have any pajamas," Lance said, with a serious look on his face. Charlie covered his mouth.

"Well, what do you normally wear?" Tom said stupidly, trying to concentrate on the angelic faces so that his attention would not wander elsewhere.

"That's what I normally wear," Lance said.

"Didn't you bring any?" the man asked Charlie.

"I forgot mine, I was going to wear his," Charlie replied.

"Mom must have forgot to do laundry before she left," Lance said.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Well, put some clean underwear on, then. I'll wash clothes tomorrow." He turned around and started to go back downstairs, then quickly turned and went into the bathroom. He closed the door, then ran cold water over his face. He wasn't up to this job at all. Tom picked up the towels on the floor and put them in the hamper, which was indeed full. He took a piss, swearing under his breath when his cock would not at first soften enough. As he went back downstairs, he heard the boys talking in hushed tones. Charlie giggled.

The hero had sneaked up on the bad guys, who, sure enough, were delivering a box of rifles to the savages. Tom settled back into the movie, trying to figure out what was going on.

The two boys came downstairs shortly. Lance wore a plain white T-shirt and an old pair of briefs that were at least two sizes too small for him. Charlie had on a red muscle shirt and a new pair of briefs that were too big for him and seemed to be constantly on the verge of falling off. Lance brought a blanket, which they spread on the floor, seeming to take exceeding care in getting the wrinkles out.

Tom was getting quite a show as the scantily-clad boys crawled around on their hands and knees in front of him. He watched in spite of himself. Charlie looked over and caught him at it, then smiled and whispered to Lance. The older boy did not smile; he glanced at Tom and whispered seriously to the younger boy. Eventually the blanket was more-or-less straight. Lance laid on his stomach. Charlie sat up on his heels, his too-large briefs falling down in back and exposing a bit of crack. The phrase, "Smooth as a baby's butt," popped involuntarily into Tom's mind. Charlie laid down on his stomach next to Lance, pulling up his shorts so that they rode up into his crack. The two boys seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to get settled, and Tom could not take his eyes off them. Charlie in particular seemed to wiggle his butt more than was strictly necessary.

Lance turned to Tom. "Can I have a pillow?" he asked. "Me too," Charlie said. Tom took a couch pillow and handed one to each boy. Lance glanced at Tom's crotch, evidently noticing the growing bulge there, but said nothing. The boys put the pillows under their chins, again taking a long time to get situated. Lance whispered to Charlie, who reached back and rearranged his shorts.

"Hey! Do you guys want some popcorn?" Tom asked, trying to lighten the mood, which had seemed to become uncomfortably cloudy.

"I'm not hungry," Lance replied.

"Me neither," Charlie said.

"Well, I am," Tom answered brightly and went off to the kitchen. At least, he hoped it was 'brightly.' He had to get out of there. As he made the popcorn, he mused. Those kids seemed to be showing off for him, but that couldn't be so. He didn't know what to think. His cock began to go down – keep it under control, guy, he said to himself.

Tom came back in carrying the bowl of popcorn and almost dropped it.

The boys had taken off their shirts, and Charlie was on top of Lance, rubbing his back. As before, the younger boy's shorts were falling down in back, affording a glorious view.

Tom resumed his seat on the couch. The movie had ended, of course, and the boys had evidently selected some 3-hanky TV movie (the TV Guide and remote were sitting in front of Lance). He wondered at that, but shrugged it off. With some difficulty, Tom held out the popcorn to the boys, whose motions were reminiscent, not of an innocent backrub, but of another activity. "You want some?" he asked.

Lance just smirked and shook his head. He spread his legs a little more. "No, thanks," Charlie said, and giggled, continuing to rub Lance.

Tom tried to concentrate on the movie but found himself looking repeatedly at the show on the floor. Lance caught him at it and looked directly at the man's crotch, smiling. Tom realized he was hard as a rock. He grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the sofa and hurriedly spread it over himself, trying to appear nonchalant. He looked back at the movie.

The movie the boys picked did not help take his mind off other matters. It turned out to be an old TV movie about a boy who was dying of cancer. The boy's parents cried a lot (the doctor even cried once), and half the shots seemed to show the kid in his short little hospital gown. Every glance at the boy-actor's hairless legs seemed to draw Tom's eyes back to the show on the floor, which eventually ended with Charlie lying next to Lance, the younger boy's arm across the older one's back.

"I'm cold," Charlie said suddenly. "So am I," Lance said. Tom was about to suggest that they fold the blanket they were lying on over themselves when they crawled under the blanket with him. Each boy took one of the man's arms and put it around his shoulders. Tom tried unsuccessfully to concentrate on the movie.

"You like us?" Lance asked with a smirk.

"Sure I do," Tom answered, smiling as he squeezed both boys.

Lance reached under the blanket and grabbed Tom's hardon through his pants. "Feels like you do," he said, grinning. Tom did not know what to say; he was mortified and excited at the same time.

Charlie's hand joined Lance's on Tom's cock. "Guess he likes boys," Charlie said, giggling. "Likes to look at boy's butts." He laughed again.

"Guess so," Lance said, turning off the remote. "You like looking at us in our underwear, don't you, Uncle Tom?" The boy started moving his hand slowly up and down, causing a stain of precum to spread slowly around the head of Tom's engorged cock.

"Would you like to see us without our underwear?" Charlie asked.

"Tell us," Lance said, "tell us what you want. Do you want to see Charlie's butt?"

"Ummm," Tom uttered, unable to respond.

Lance undid Tom's belt and opened his pants. The man jumped but couldn't – or didn't want to – stop him. "Do you want to see Charlie's butt? He has a cute one, don't you think?"

"Yes," the man replied, no longer able to think of consequences.

"What will you pay us?" Charlie asked. Lance took his hand away from Tom's cock and looked at him expectantly.

"I, uh, twenty dollars," Tom stammered, staring at Lance.

"Twenty apiece, right?" Lance said.

"Yeah 3;"

Lance threw back the blanket and stood up, as did Charlie. Both boys pulled their shorts off. Tom stared at the two gorgeous butts before him. They looked over their shoulders at him. Charlie shook his rear suggestively. Tom pulled his own briefs down and stroked his cock. "What will you give us to turn around?"

"Ten dollars 3; apiece."

Charlie turned around first. He had a short little boy-dick, his ball-sac not descended yet. Lance turned around to reveal a more well-developed cut dick and hanging balls. Both boys were completely hairless. Tom was stroking in earnest. He noticed that Lance was semi-hard himself.

"Charlie's up too late," Lance said, feeling his power. "You better carry him up to bed; he looks tired." He laughed. Charlie looked at Lance angrily. "I'm going to settle up with Uncle Tom," he said to the younger boy, rubbing his fingers together in the gesture for 'money.'

Tom started to zip up his pants, then thought better of it and took them off. He pulled his boxers up, however. He picked up Charlie, who seemed to be as light as a feather, feeling the hairless thigh and soft chest.

Charlie had gotten a little hardon. Lance watched with interest.

Tom put Charlie in bed, tucked him in, and kissed his forehead. To his surprise, Charlie kissed him back, on the cheek.

Lance was waiting downstairs. He had put the t-shirt and briefs back on and was sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, a broad smile on his face. "That's sixty dollars," he said.

Tom took out his wallet, barely able to count out the money as he stared at the boy's gorgeous legs. He handed the cash to Lance. (Lucky it was a Friday night – most nights he wouldn't have been carrying that much.)

Lance took the money and folded it up in his hand, wrapping his fist around it. "You can have another look for another ten," he said.

"I don't have any more," Tom replied, almost truthfully. In fact, it was his personal rule never to be without at least $20 in his pocket, and the additional ten would put him below the mark. Twenty dollars was enough to get a cab if he was stranded or to buy whatever he might need on an emergency or whimsical basis. Not that Tom was poor; he was fairly well-paid as an air traffic controller. At any rate, the image from the previous display was burned into his mind. Tom thought, half-amused, that from now on the blips on his screen would appear as naked boys; he wondered whether any plane crashes would result.

"Well, I'm going to bed, too," Lance answered with a smirk. "Nice doing business with you."

On an odd impulse, Tom held out his hand. Lance was surprised but shook it, then walked out, resuming the smirk.

Tom's eyes followed him as he went, wishing at the same time that he would stay and that he would get out so that Tom could masturbate, something he hadn't done in nearly five years. When the boy was gone, he sat down on the blanket and closed his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to drive out the images he had seen. When he gave up and opened them, he noticed that Charlie's underwear was lying on the floor. He picked up the briefs and smelled them. They had very little smell, mostly of clean laundry; underneath, however, was a slight smell, mostly soap, but with a hint of boy. He inhaled deeply.

Tom pulled the front of his boxers down and put the briefs over his cock, which seemed to be so hard that it would shatter if touched, like a banana dipped in liquid nitrogen. He closed his eyes and thought of Charlie rubbing Lance's back, moving his little butt back and forth, Lance spreading his legs in contentment. He thought of Charlie pulling his briefs down – no, they fell off him – and Lance's little pecker, now hard, sliding into Charlie's cleft. He came so hard he had a cramp in his thigh.

As he sat rubbing his thigh, Tom was suddenly visited with horrible dread. God, what am I going to do? he thought. I've kept this in check for my entire life, kept it entirely secret, in fact, but now these boys know the secret. My life will be ruined. Someday, maybe even tomorrow, they'll tell someone, maybe just another classmate, who will tell a teacher, who will tell Lance's parents, and that will be it. Tom couldn't bear it. He thought of killing himself – he knew there must be a gun in the house somewhere; Lance's father was an avid hunter. Then he thought of the boys finding his body the next day, his brains splattered over the living room wall. No, that would destroy them, especially Charlie, he thought. They don't deserve that – I'm the one who deserves to die, not them; they were just playing a game.

He found the remote control on the floor and clicked through the channels, finding Little Lord Fauntleroy playing on A&E's late-night movie. In spite of himself, he stopped and watched. The boy's face kept morphing into Charlie's, then Lance's. He found himself crying at the end.

I'm evil, he thought, as the movie ended. I need to get away from them as fast as possible. My car is in the driveway; I can just leave. But that was just it – he couldn't leave. Even in this town, where there hadn't been a crime, at least no serious crime, since 1922, 11- and 12-year-old boys couldn't be left alone. Tom remembered growing up in the town, remembered the time a group of boys had wandered into the abandoned mine outside of town and had had to be rescued. There were old wells, too, that had been covered over with time. He wondered then whether he was rationalizing. Someone else could watch them; he could claim to have fallen ill or something; maybe claim the government wanted him on an urgent errand (most of Tom's relatives only considered him as 'working for the government' and thought it was much more exciting and dangerous than it actually was). But, no, Aunt Charlotte was getting on and couldn't get around much any more, and she lived in Tulsa, over 200 miles [300 km] away.

Tom resolved himself that he had to stay for the full week. In that time, he had to explain to the boys. Explain what? That there was nothing wrong with them, that he was to blame. But if they told, it would still be the town gossip for decades to come, and they would suffer by that, in spite of what he said. He hung his head in dejection.

"Tom?" Charlie said.

Tom looked up rapidly, as if he had been shocked. Charlie was standing at the base of the stairs, naked as the day he was born, and just as unconcerned. Tom was glad he'd pulled his boxers back up after jacking off, but he was still pantsless. "What is it?" he asked, with kindness – and guilt.

"I had a bad dream," Charlie lied, convincingly.

"Well, we all have bad dreams, just remember it's only a dream," Tom said. To his surprise, he didn't get hard, though he was taking mental notes – the masturbation had helped. He quickly kicked Charlie's cum-soaked briefs under the sofa. "You should get back to bed," he added.

"There was a monster in it," the boy said, less convincingly. Charlie was too old to believe in monsters under the bed.

Tom laughed, and the laughter seemed forced, as indeed it was. "There are no monsters in this house," he said, "and I'll take them on if there are any." He wondered about the monster bit, but remembered that Charlie had seemed shy and innocent, certainly in comparison to Lance. Some kids don't mature as rapidly as others.

"Can I stay with you for a while?" the boy asked, sincerely this time.

"Sure," Tom said, not knowing how he could refuse, and, truth be told, not really wanting to. The kid's eyes were melting his heart.

Charlie smiled and ran over to Tom, sitting next to him on the sofa and pulling the blanket over them. Tom stood up a little to let it loose. The boy snuggled close under the blanket, and Tom put his arm around him protectively.

Tom put on Nick at Nite, which seemed to be the best thing on at that time of night from a kid's point of view. He remembered reading something a while back about how the old sitcoms had all been geared to a 10-year-old mind.

Charlie didn't seem to be paying any attention to the TV, though. "I like this," he said, secure in Tom's arms under the blanket.

Tom's guilt came back in full force. "So do I," he said, giving the boy a squeeze, "but what we did before should only be done with certain people."

"With people you like?" Charlie asked.

"Yes," Tom answered, "um, that is, with some people you like."

"I like you," the boy said, "you like me too, right?"

"Yes, I like you a lot," Tom answered honestly, squeezing the boy again. God, this was difficult.

"You mean, like, taking money for it?" Charlie asked.

"Well, yes. When you are in love with somebody, you do things together, but if there's money involved, it's not love."

"You can have the money back," the boy said earnestly. "I only did it because Lance wanted to. I mean, my half."

"You can keep the money, Charlie," the man said, the name coming out with difficulty "– it's nice of you to offer to give it back though. The point I was making is that love is a lot more important than money, and even liking somebody is more important."

"If you like me, does that mean I'm important to you?" Charlie asked.

Tom couldn't resist – he kissed the top of the boy's head. "Yes, it does. Same as Lance and your other friends are important to you. But when you get older, you will have special friends," he carefully added, "probably girls – and with those special friends you do different things."

"Like show them my butt," the boy stated.

"Yes, like that. Only you wouldn't do it like you did. With your girlfriend – or your wife – you show your whole body to each other. It is a way of showing your love. And when a man and a woman get together that way, they can have kids, and the kids become part of their love."

"I know what you mean!" Charlie said, and ran back up the stairs. Tom was wondering what could possibly be going on. Watching the boy's butt shake as he ran up the stairs, Tom started to get hard again, but it quickly subsided. Charlie came back almost instantly, making more noise than he should have, with Lance still asleep upstairs. He was carrying two magazines.

Charlie got back under the blanket and snuggled back up like he had never been gone. On the TV, Mary Tyler Moore was arguing with Lou Grant about something, seeming to lose the argument yet winning it, as she always did. "Lance showed me these, I mean, he showed me this one," the boy said, holding out a copy of Hustler. "His dad looks at these all the time," he added, attempting to appear knowing.

Oh my God, Tom thought, as he looked at the picture the boy was showing him. It was a woman on a bed on all fours, her wrists tied together. A well-endowed man was taking her from behind. She was on her hands and knees, and it was difficult to tell which orifice was being penetrated. Her mouth was curled in lust. Even in Podunk, Tom thought ruefully, remembering all the jibes he had received at the office for his small-town background.

"He's not hurting her, is he?" Charlie asked.

"No, he's not. They're just playing a game," Tom answered, regretting how he had phrased the reply but not knowing what else to say.

"That's what Lance said," the boy answered matter-of-factly. "He said it was a fun game and wanted to play it with me but I said no."

Tom was stupefied. "Well, that's right. You shouldn't play that game. It's only for people who are in love. For a man and a woman."

"But if you are in love you can play that game?"

"If you are in love you can, but you only do it with a person that is very important to you."

"Boys can play that game, too, huh?"

Tom was unable to reply. After a long pause, he said, "Some boys do things like that, but usually it is a man and a woman. That's how they make babies."

"If boys do it, does it make babies?"

"No, it doesn't." He added, "Boys don't usually do it, though. When they do, it is only like practice for when they get older."

"In here, it shows boys doing it," Charlie said, holding up the other magazine, obviously yellowed and much older than the other one. The cover showed a man with his arms around two boys. All were clothed, but Tom did not doubt that on the inside pages they would not be.

"Did Lance show you that?" Tom asked, curiosity winning out over sense.

"No. He showed me where his dad's magazines were, and I found this one." Charlie, anxious to show his new discovery, didn't pause before opening the magazine. The picture showed the man kissing one of the boys. The man was fully clothed, but the boy was naked, sitting on the man's lap. "I wish I had a dad," he said, sighing. "My dad is dead," he added, matter-of-factly. Once again, Tom didn't know what to say. Charlie took care of it. He got up slightly, with the blanket still over him, and sat in Tom's lap, again arranging the blanket over them both. "He would love me like that," the boy added, pointing to the picture.

"There's a lot more to being a dad than that," Tom started to say, but Charlie got up a little and kissed him on the cheek, then sat back down.

"The other boys make fun of me 'cause my dad's dead," Charlie almost whispered. Obviously, it was a great revelation, or intended as one. "Is it because they get to practice with their dad and I don't?"

"No, it's just because they're mean," Tom said. He was about to go on, when Charlie replied:

"Yeah, their dads probably don't even love them. Like that," he said, opening the magazine to a picture that made Tom's jaw drop. It was almost exactly the same pose as the one in Hustler, but in this one, the boy took the place of the woman. True, his hands were not tied, but the pictures were otherwise identical. In this case, of course, there could be no doubt about the orifice.

Tom got hard, and since his own boxers were the only thing between them, he knew that Charlie felt it. If so, the boy gave no sign. "Well," he ventured, "not all dads do that with their boys. In fact, probably most don't. It doesn't mean they don't love them."

"Well, Lance's dad does," Charlie said.

Tom was hornswoggled – no wonder Lance was such a horny little shit, with so little shame. "What does Lance say about it? Does he like it?" the man asked, his voice thick, his resolution of only a few minutes ago forgotten.

"I didn't ask him," Charlie said, seriously. "He didn't know I was watching last night when his dad did it. Mr. Sanders walked in and just touched Lance on the arm, and Lance got up and walked out with him. I followed and watched. They didn't even close the bedroom door," he added, giggling.

"Did they see you?" Tom asked, by now having forgotten all caution.

Charlie giggled. "No, they didn't. It was all dark. I could see anyways."

"Well, that's good," Tom said, now thinking with his cock, which wanted nothing more than to be embedded in Charlie's willing ass. "It's a very private thing that men do with boys, and it's never talked about, because it's too important."

Charlie smiled so as to brighten the darkest cave. "Yeah! That's what it says here!" He read from the magazine. "«Fuck me, Daddy!» Marty cries, as Daddy shoves his cock into his son's most private place."

Once again, Tom was unable to speak. No problem with the schools in this town, he thought ruefully – they must still teach phonics here. He tried to understand what the boy wanted, but found other revelations pushing forward. Lance's dad was fucking his son, perhaps on a daily basis – certainly a regular one, judging by the fact that the kid knew what the man wanted just by being touched on the arm. Furthermore, it was consensual, or at least habitual, since the boy had not complained. The man wasn't worried about Charlie watching, since the door to the master bedroom was left open – perhaps he even wanted him to watch. Tom realized that there was a nightlight in the hallway, and Charlie could definitely have been seen, and both Lance and his father would have known it, so it had to be intentional. Lance had wanted to do the same thing to Charlie.

"Not every boy does that with his dad, you said," Charlie said, interrupting Tom's reverie.

"No, not all of them," Tom replied.

"Mr. Sanders must love Lance a lot, then," Charlie said seriously.

Tom didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say.

"Am I, um, do I 3;" Charlie seemed to struggle with his words. Tom waited. Charlie made up his mind. "You like me, right?"

Oh God, Tom thought, nearly cumming then and there; he knew what was coming, but he wanted to hear it from the boy's lips. "I like you a lot," he said, giving Charlie a fatherly squeeze.

"Um, you think I'm important, right? I mean, am I important to you?" Charlie seemed ashamed of himself then, regretting he had asked the question.

Tom put his hand on the boy's bare chest under the blanket, his thumb and little finger nearly stretching from side to side. He moved it a little, savoring the soft touch, then left it there. "Yes, I like you a lot, and you are important to me," he said softly.

"Well, then, um," Charlie seemed to be working up the courage, "do you, um, want to fuck me? You could, y'know, pretend you were my dad?"

"I will do more than that with you, Charlie," Tom replied, moving both his hands under the blanket to feel the marvellous body sitting in his lap. Charlie sighed as the man's hands roamed over his legs, hips, chest, back and shoulders. "I will do whatever you want, but you tell me if you don't want me to do anything, okay?"

The boy was obviously not paying attention. He had reached under Tom's shirt and was feeling his chest and arms. "Yeah," he said. Suddenly, he hugged Tom so hard the man was nearly unable to breathe.

Tom stood up, took off his shirt and boxers, then gave Charlie both views, his arms held out. Charlie giggled. He wrapped the boy in the blanket and carried him upstairs to the master bedroom. Lance's bedroom door was open; Tom was pleased. His mind was clear. No lights were on upstairs, but the hallway nightlight was shining.

Tom threw Charlie on the bed with a bounce. The boy giggled loudly.

Lance would have to be awake by now. Tom leaned down and picked Charlie up with one hand as he pulled the covers down, then set the boy back down. Charlie watched expectantly. Tom got in bed and pulled the covers over them both – just one sheet and a blanket, though; they would work up enough heat themselves. When Lance got up to watch, Tom thought, he'll only see the blanket moving. Imagination is the best aphrodisiac.

Tom thought he heard a bed squeak in Lance's bedroom, but his attention was elsewhere. He framed Charlie's face with his hands and kissed him lightly on the lips, the moved them slowly down the boy's arms, savoring especially the delicate wrist and fingertips. He held both hands, intertwining their fingers, as he kissed the boy again, licking the child's lips this time. Charlie sighed, and Tom inhaled his breath. He moved his hands up to the boy's shoulders and touched him, just with the fingertips. He moved them down across the boy's collarbone and around his nipples, just touching each. Tom then went back across under Charlie's arms, stopping just short of the ticklish spot. From there, he traced his way along the boy's sides till he came to the pelvis, then followed the prominent edge till his fingers met in the middle. He laid one hand flat on the boy's chest and played with his bellybutton with the other, eliciting a giggle that he smothered with a kiss, running his hands down the boy's sides, stopping as before at the pelvis. Charlie shivered.

Tom smiled. He crawled down under the covers and kissed each of Charlie's feet tenderly, then wrapped his hands around the boy's ankles and started moving up. At the knees, he stopped and looked at the boy's face: his eyes were closed, his mouth open. Tom smiled again and kept moving up, inch by inch, till he got to Charlie's hips. He could hear the boy breathing.

Tom pushed Charlie's knees up. The blanket fell off of both of them. A gasp was heard in the hallway. Tom licked each of the boy's ass cheeks, starting at the hip and working toward the center. Charlie was breathing audibly. Finally, the man reached the boy's hole, but instead of licking there he went all the way down to the base of the crack and licked slowly upward, pausing briefly to lick lightly around the hole, not touching it, however, and continued up to the space between Charlie's legs.

Charlie was going ballistic. Nobody, nobody had touched him there since he had last been bathed by his mother, and he couldn't remember that. He felt like something was building up in him, that he would explode if this went on, but he didn't want it to stop. His breath was coming in deep gasps, widely spaced.

Tom licked the underside of the boy's balls, as if by accident, then went back to the asshole. This time he didn't dance around but licked it directly, moving his tongue around and around Charlie's pucker. The boy's head spun in time with the tongue, then, just as it seemed that the torture would never end, Tom planted his tongue directly at the opening, pressing against it. "Ah-h-h," Charlie said. Tom pressed harder, and the tip of his tongue slipped in. "Uh-hh-uh," the boy continued to vocalize. He twirled his tongue a bit and pushed in further. He pulled out a bit, then pushed in all the way. Charlie squeaked loudly. Tom smiled. "Wow," a voice from the hallway whispered.

Tom pulled his tongue out, then pushed back in again, setting up a rhythm. Charlie was shaking like a leaf. Tom was amazed he could be so effective, when he was just as inexperienced as Charlie – several years of fantasizing was evidently paying off. His amazement turned to alarm when the boy's sphincter suddenly clamped shut, trapping Tom's tongue inside. "Eee-eeee-eeeeee-eee," Charlie screamed. The whole block was awake after that. "Fuck, Charlie," the voice in the hall said. The boy finally let go, and Tom savored the taste, cleaning his tongue on the roof of his mouth and swallowing.

"Did you like that, Charlie?" the man asked, taking the boy in his arms, holding him close.

"Yeah," Charlie said, "do it again."

Tom was surprised. Charlie had evidently cum, yet he still wanted more? Suddenly the man realized that there was no wetness above Charlie's dick, now held against Tom's belly. The boy had had a climax, surely, but it didn't leave him spent as it would a man.

Tom smiled again, more broadly than ever. He kissed Charlie on the lips (the boy didn't seem to mind) and went directly to the little cock. He started by simply breathing on the circumcised head. Charlie arched his back. Tom went down and licked the space between the boy's legs again. Charlie moved them wider apart. Tom let his tongue play with the bottom of the boy's ball sac, making each touch a surprise. He moved up and breathed on the boy's cock again, then licked it lightly with the tip of his tongue, starting at the base, stopping short of the head. Charlie acted as if he had been shocked.

This is too easy, Tom thought, as he moved back down, taking each little ball in his mouth in turn and swirling it around. Charlie was shaking like a leaf, reacting to each touch, no matter how small. Tom moved his lips slowly up the length of the cock, then kissed the head. He licked it lightly, then took it in his mouth.

Charlie shook again, and Tom sensed that he was nearing another orgasm. He decided that he needed to remind Charlie where the center of a boy's sexiness was. He licked the tip of his middle finger and shoved it in Charlie's still-slick ass. Tom then went down and took the boy's cock and balls into his mouth, licking around the tip and down to the base. He sucked a little bit, bathing both in his saliva. At the same time, he moved his finger in a little more, reaching the second knuckle.

"Ohhh-hhhh-hhh," the boy said. Tom pushed the finger all the way in and twirled it around as he moved up and down on the boycock, giving it full suction and licking the little balls on each downstroke. It didn't take long then. Charlie was soon bucking his hips, pushing up into Tom's mouth on the upstroke, pushing onto the finger on the downstroke. "Eeee-eee," he started, then it choked off; unable even to squeak, unable to breathe, Charlie came again for the second time. The pulsation of his cock in Tom's mouth, however, was the only sign of it.

Tom couldn't get enough, however, and kept sucking for a little while. Eventually he realized that Charlie was unable to get his breath, and he stopped. He left the tip of his finger in, however.

"Do it," Charlie breathed, "again." Like all kids, he couldn't get enough of a good thing – which is why a kid will eat ice cream till he's sick if an adult doesn't stop him.

"Wow, hot little shit," Lance said, standing in the doorway, stroking. Tom turned to look at him. The other boy was completely naked but didn't seem to see Tom, his eyes fixed on Charlie's face.

"Okay, one more time," Tom said, looking into Charlie's eyes, one hand roaming over the smooth body, the other with one finger in the boy's ass. "You wanted me to pretend I was your dad and fuck you, right?"

"Yeah, like Lance's dad," Charlie said.

"Shit!" Lance exclaimed from the doorway.

"It will go in here," Tom said, wiggling his finger for emphasis.

"In there," Charlie said, in a trance.

Tom put the boy's hand on his own hard cock. He couldn't imagine how he had failed to cum before now. "This will go in there," he breathed, making sure the boy understood. Even now, he wasn't going to take advantage. "It's big, and it might hurt."

"But then it will feel real good, Charlie," Lance said.

"Like your dad does," Charlie said absently, twisting his hips on Tom's finger.

"Like my dad does," Lance echoed, stroking in earnest.

"Put it in me," Charlie said, his eyes closed. "Do it again."

Tom spat on his hand, though he doubted any additional lubrication was needed, and spread it on his cock, mixing with the precum that was already dribbling down from the tip. He pushed Charlie's legs back again. Suddenly he felt mischevous. He reached between the boy's legs and ran his fingers up over that sensitive space, over the balls, and to the hyper-sensitive tip, which he barely touched. At the same time, he pushed the finger in again to the second knuckle, wiggling it slightly. "Tell me what you want me to do, Charlie," Tom said, huskily.

"Fuck me," the boy said.

It was all Tom needed to hear. He pulled the finger out and pushed Charlie back, his legs over his head. Charlie opened his eyes in fear, as if suddenly realizing what he had asked the man to do. If that were the case, it was too late, for Tom immediately pushed the head of his 6-inch [15 cm] cock into Charlie's 'most private place,' shoving past the sphincter as if if weren't there.

The man felt a slight twinge as the head of his cock was pulled apart, but it was nothing compared to what Charlie felt. "Aaaaa-aaaah," he said (well, sort of 'said').

Lance grabbed Charlie's hand. "It hurts at first, Charlie," he said, "but you will like it more and more. I do," he added, then looked up at Tom, who smiled. Lance looked back down at his feet, ashamed of the admission but unable to take it back.

"I can take it," Charlie said through gritted teeth, "push it in more."

Tom was only too glad to oblige. Feeling close to cumming himself, he shoved it all in in one lunge. "There ya go, kid," he said, feeling evil.

Charlie screamed again, this time not from arousal but from pain. "Go through it," Lance helped. "Relax down there, and it will hurt less."

"Is it all in?" Charlie asked.

"It's all in," Tom answered. "Yeah, that's all," Lance added, and Tom looked sternly at him to be quiet.

"You are like my dad, then, like Lance's dad," Charlie said.

"Yeah, you're my little boy, and I'm fucking your little boypussy," Tom said. Lance heard that and looked at the cock embedded in his friend's ass. He seemed to forget about Charlie then, dropping the other boy's hand, staring instead at the invader impaling his friend.

"I'm your little boy 3;" Charlie whispered with satisfaction, the pain subsiding.

"But you got to give me a good fuck," Tom said, savoring the feeling of the tight virgin ass around his cock, but wanting to get on with it, to share the joy that Charlie had felt twice already.

"I will," Charlie said, but before he had finished, Tom had started pumping in and out, slowly at first, then accelerating. As Lance had said, Charlie was evidently in pain at first, biting his lip to avoid crying out, but he was soon bucking his hips, pushing down as the cock entered him, as pleasure – or perhaps rather the thought of what was being done to him – took over. A man was finally loving him. That thought electrified him more than the earlier times, and, fighting against the pain as Tom's cock shoved in and out, finally he transcended it, and soon had the greatest orgasm of the night.

As before, Charlie screamed, and Tom, had he been thinking, would have been grateful for the fact that they lived well on the outskirts of town. As it was, he wasn't thinking – he was ramming his cock into the boy beneath him as fast as he could. Once more, Charlie's orgasm was unmistakeable.

Tom found it nearly impossible to keep moving as the boy clamped down. At the same time, looking at the boy beneath him, writhing in the throes of what seemed to be the greatest orgasm of all time, feeling the little muscles stiffen as the boy's cock struggled to produce something, anything, to relieve the tension – well, it set Tom off. He started shooting into Charlie, harder that he had ever shot before, harder even than the j/o session he had had earlier that night. It was the greatest experience of his life, as if he had be put on earth only for this. The soles of his feet hurt. He fell on top of Charlie, nearly smothering him, then half-remembered himself and rolled over, still stuck in the boy. Tom noticed something dripping slowly down his side and back – it was Lance's cum.

Charlie was still in the impossible position of having his knees against his shoulders, his feet over his head, though he now rested on his side.

Tom's body was holding him that way, against the tendons in the boy's thighs, and the only thing holding Tom there was his cock, embedded in Charlie's ass. Something had to give, and it did, as Tom popped loudly out of Charlie. They both fell back, Charlie's legs flopping down as if he were a rag doll, both breathing heavily.

Charlie snuggled up against Tom, ignoring Lance, who was feeling Charlie gingerly with his fingertips, as if he feared getting burnt. "You love me," Charlie said, as if stating a fact.

Tom looked at him. "Yes," he said. And, at that moment, he did. He kissed Charlie on the lips.

"Can we do it again?" Charlie asked. Tom rolled his eyes. "God, you're hot," Lance said.

"Another time," Tom said. "I'm all worn out. You boys go at it." He started to get up.

"Stay here!" Charlie said, panicked, grabbing Tom's arm.

"Yeah, stay," Lance said. "You can watch us."

So Tom stayed, lying on his side, his head in his hand, as the boys 'went at it.' And they did – with a vengeance. First, Lance asked Charlie to suck his dick. Charlie looked at Tom to see if it was okay. Tom smiled and nodded, and Charlie when right to it. A couple times Lance had to warn him about teeth, but it wasn't long before a very surprised-looking Charlie was sitting in bed with cum flowing out of his mouth. "Swallow it," Tom told him, and Charlie did. Charlie wanted to "do it again," and Lance was game. This time, Lance sucked Charlie off. Charlie put his finger in his butt, but Lance pulled it out. "That's next time," he said. Charlie came, screaming as always. Next Lance, true to his word, draped Charlie over the edge of the bed and fucked him. Lance was not at all concerned with how Charlie felt and fucked him like a rabbit, but Charlie came again anyway. So did Lance. Lance, by that time, was spent as well, but Charlie begged him to "do it again." Lance laid on the bed as Charlie licked his ass, then fucked him. Again Charlie came. Tom lost count of all the times Charlie had an orgasm; he did it at least twice while Lance was fucking him.

Still he wanted to "do it again."

Finally, Lance told him no, he was worn out too. Lance laid down on one side of the bed, Tom on the other, and Charlie curled up in between.

Charlie put his head on Tom's shoulder. His little prick, still hard, rubbed against Tom's thigh. Lance eventually rolled over and spooned Charlie. He stretched his arm over the other boy so that it rested on Tom's chest. It was going to be an interesting week, Tom thought.

The End