J.O. Dickingson

The Gargoyle of Male Fecundity

Chapter 24

The secluded campground in the Tetons operated by fifty-five-year-old Ray Buchanan and his twelve-year-old boymate Michael had become a welcome retreat for the special group of boylovers and boy menlovers and their little sons. It was a place where they could openly express their special kind of love without fear of discovery, a much appreciated opportunity in that they had to hide their relationship most of the other forty-nine weeks of the year. The small, private campground had been reserved for three weeks exclusively for them and they could openly walk around hand in hand and kiss and embrace without anyone giving them a second look, and they could openly discuss the secret, forbidden love and the very special miracle that bound them all without fear of anyone overhearing. It was no surprise that everyone from the previous year had returned that July, several bringing along new members to their very unique and growing community. The campsite had begun three years ago with six electrical sites and a tenting area and had four boylovers, their boymates and their children in addition to their campground hosts. Now three years later it had doubled the number of electrical sites and unserviced tenting sites and added five full-service sites. Including their hosts there were seventy men, boys, toddlers and babies enjoying the expanded facilities.

As it is with all parents with young children, whether it be renewing old acquaintances or making new ones, the conversation invariably got around to their children and their children's activities over the past year. Of particular interest to everyone this year was what the oldest toddlers in the group, the five boys now over the age of three, had been up to what with the discoveries one of the campers, Harold Marlow, the sixty-one-year-old doctor from England, had made about the ability of their unique toddlers to permanently change the anatomy of boys they fucked, and the consequences those changes had for those boys and their boylovers. That included the four very pregnant boys happily bobbing in the lake like four round, pink beach balls and everyone was particularly eager to hear their stories.

"I don't think there is any sight more beautiful or more natural than a naked boy," observed Cy Keegan, the boylover of one the pregnant boys in the lake and one of the new campers this year, glancing at the painting one of them was doing of the four boys and then looking over at the boys happily bobbing in the water.

"Unless it is a naked pregnant boy," observed another of the new campers sitting on the shaded patio down by the lake where a number of the men had joined their campground host and were enjoying a cold beer, a glass of chilled wine or a soda. To that they all agreed.

"I have to admit, much to my surprise I've become an avid maeiusophiliac myself," observed Anton D'Escauteau, the artist, as he studied the cluster of four boys in the lake.

"A what?"asked Bobby, one of the original campers. This was the six-foot four [1.93 m], two-hundred-and-seventy pound [122 kg] trucker's fourth summer at the camp, and his son, Billy Bob, at four years and eleven months, was the oldest of the toddlers at the campground.

"A maeiusophiliac. One who is aroused by someone who is pregnant. Though normally the term refers to a man being aroused by the sight of a pregnant female," Anton added with a smile as he returned to his painting.

"I admit I am one of them too then," observed Cy. "I don't know what it is, but the huger Mark gets the sexier he looks. Which is really saying something considering he already had me feeling hornier than a horn dog before he got pregnant," he added with a smile.

"The same with Timmy," observed another of the new campers and the lover of one of the pregnant boys in the lake, a school counsellor by the name of Phil Fabret who had a body more like a lifeguard than an educator. "I can't help popping a boner just looking at him and that protruding belly of his and knowing that he is carrying our baby." Phil was one of those who had opted to go naked in the clothing optional campground, to provide Timmy moral support in going bare-balled along with the other pregnant boys rather than having any inclination toward nudism himself. The broad-shouldered, muscular twenty-eight-year-old was well endowed and twelve-year-old Michael, the boymate of their campground host who had just joined the men on the patio with a cooler of ice, was not the only one who pictured what the handsome young school counsellor would look like with an erection. Like any normal preteen boy in the beginning months of puberty, the dark-haired, darkly tanned youngster popped an instant boner himself, which was clearly visible in his flourescent nylon Speedo and immediately noticed by more than a few of the men, who could not help beginning to swell themselves.

"I know exactly what you mean. The moment I saw Randy I felt an overwhelming lust for him like he was giving off some sort of pheromones or something, and since he's gotten pregnant it's been impossible to keep it down. It's like being a horny teenager again," observed the fourth of the new campers gathered on the patio, a darkly handsome, hirsute oceanographer by the name of Jack Foster who'd been watching his boymate in the lake and had not noticed the arrival of Michael nor the physical reactions of the others. "Not that I'm complaining," the thirty-four-year-old added with a sly grin as he began turning around to face the others. "It's great getting it up as often as I used to. I just wish I was able to come as often as I could when I was sixteen." Suddenly spotting the handsome, darkly-tanned twelve-year-old standing there in his shiny blue Speedo and obviously erect, the adult immediately turned a bright red. Although the campground was filled with boylovers and their boymates and despite the openness and frank discussions, Jack, like many of the others, was still not used to engaging in such earthy talk in front of teenagers and young boys. Michael, who knew he was good-looking and had been a cock tease as far back as his early elementary school days before meeting his boylover Ray, was used to such reactions by men and he gave Jack a suggestive wink and smile, putting the man at ease but also, to Michael's amusement, causing a stirring in the man's swimsuit. That the boy had noticed and his subsequent suggestive leer caused the adult's dick to swell even faster as randiness overpowered his embarrassment.

"So do I. Trying to keep up with Zachariah is exhausting me," observed the painter, glancing out at his pregnant boymate lovingly, also having not noticed the arrival of Michael and oblivious to the reaction between Jack and the twelve-year-old boy. "He's been a randy little cock lover from the day I met him, but since he's become pregnant we've both become even randier, and lately, he's been having multiple orgasms whenever we have sex." The other three fathers-to-be observed that to their surprise their boys had also been having the same experience.

"That's one of the great consequences of their pregnancy. But don't worry. Before long you gentlemen are going to be able to experience something just as great," observed Ray, "and not just for a few months." The four soon-to-be-fathers looked over at their campground host curiously and needless to say with obvious interest. "Harold can explain it better than I can," he observed, nodding to the distinguished, bearded, white-haired individual beside him.

"Well," he began, taking a long sip of his gin and tonic, "when your sons are born, they are going to need a regular diet of two things. One is their little father's milk so they can grow and remain healthy, just like infants born of a woman need their mother's milk. As I've already explained to the four of you, what I've coined the Tripartite Stimulus Packet or TSP, or what we all have more commonly come to refer to as the seed, that was planted up your boymate's rectum before you began having sex with him has done several things. For one it resulted in the formation of a chestnut sized gland that produces a reproductive cell, or gamete, containing a w-shaped chromosome, which is released into the intestine when flooded with an alkaline chemical found in semen. For another, it modified the boy's appendix to accept the W gamete after it has been fertilized by a sperm in much the same way as a woman's uterus accepts a fertilized egg. Once the fertilized W cell became implanted in the appendix, hormones were released to begin modifying the boy's breasts so they can begin producing the milk his baby will need and which they will continue to be able to do for up to two years after the baby's birth."

As if on cue, Ray's second and youngest son, seven month old Saul, who had been peacefully sleeping in his cradle beside his father, woke up and began to cry. After checking his diapers to ensure that was not the reason for his discomfort, Ray handed him over to his boymate Michael, who pulled up a chair and sitting beside his lover, offered his teat to their infant, who immediately fastened his lips about the proffered nipple and began to suck. Their oldest son, Davey, now four years and seven months old and the second oldest toddler in the group next to Billy Bob, had been the result of the suppositories that Ray had been given by an ancient oriental one summer while on holiday and had used on Michael. Davey had been butt fucking the preteen regularly shortly after turning three and it had been six months after he'd begun, a year ago that summer, that Harold had ascertained that engaging in water sports with his lover Ray had prevented Michael from becoming pregnant. Temporarily stopping the practice, the preteen had become pregnant a second time, this time as a result of the seed, or TSP as Harold called it, that his son Davey had planted up his ass and that had permanently altered his internal anatomy.

"It's a totally awesome experience," Michael observed. "It's just like having an orgasm over and over and over, like when you squirt your stuff, except it's your tit that's squirting and not your dick, and you only squirt each time your baby sucks on your nipple."

The men squirmed, some with embarrassment and all with arousal, hearing such sexual talk from a twelve-year-old boy, a good looking, dark haired, darkly tanned twelve-year-old boy nursing his baby, and with the idea he'd just expressed, each imagining what it must feel like as they watched his little baby happily sucking on his exposed dark brown teat. The idea that breastfeeding was like having an orgasm wasn't something any of them had considered, even those who were married and had children, and the idea that they were sitting there watching a twelve-year-old boy in a sense having an orgasm had them all swelling with arousal. They all tried to be inconspicuous as they lowered their hands to hide their arousal, especially those who had taken advantage of the campground's clothing optional policy. Michael joyfully observed the reactions and the twelve-year-old cocktease could not suppress his smile which only accented the stiffening of the men.

Ray, with his rugged masculine looks despite being white-haired and fifty-five, had chosen to wear his boxer trunks and despite the number of times he'd already observed Michael breastfeeding, his dick began to rise as he watched his boymate suckling their little baby. He'd fallen in love with Michael five years ago the moment he'd spotted the dark-haired, darkly tanned seven-year-old building a sand castle on the beach at Big Sur in California. Having learned he could turn certain men on, the young cocktease had gotten turned on himself when he'd spotted Ray admiring him, and after suggestively rubbing himself the seven-year-old boy had suggested the two of them wank off together. Ray's love for the boy had grown daily ever since. Michael had turned twelve in the spring and his voice had begun cracking. Only a few weeks ago he'd had his first wet orgasm and so knew what it was like to squirt with his dick besides with his teat. That had been a momentous moment in the boy's life and Ray was delighted to have been present and to have been able to share it with him, something, he sadly reflected, few men and even fewer fathers were allowed to experience in today's society. There were many momentous events he had shared with his young boymate that most men would never have the opportunity to. Ray smiled as his thoughts drifted back to another event earlier that spring.

The snows had been melting and they'd ridden the horses to the high country on a day trip to check out how far the snowline had receded, Davey already proficient enough to ride his own little pony, and Saul securely and snugly strapped in his backpack. It was a beautiful April day, the air fresh and clean and still with a bite of a possible late spring snowfall. They'd returned to the campground late and he'd started up a big fire in the fireplace and they'd warmed up over several mugs of homemade soup and toasted muffins Michael had baked the day before. Their snuggling in front of the fireplace afterward turned to lovemaking, as it often did. He and Michael had disrobed each other as they had kissed and caressed and spotting his two daddies, Davey, who was four years and three months old then, had put aside his toy horses, his favourite toys, and had stripped down and joined them with Saul sleeping in a bundle of blankets beside them.

Grasping Ray's stiff dick by the base, Michael had begun to lick the knob like he was holding an ice cream cone, swirling his tongue over the blood-engorged knob and causing his white-haired, fifty-five-year-old lover to tremble with pleasure. Young Davey quickly copied his twelve-year-old daddy and had wrapped his little fingers about Michael's dick, which by then was rock hard also, and pulling back his foreskin, began to lick his knob with his hot little tongue in an identical manner. That left Ray to squirm over on the carpet and to slip his lips over his toddler son's little dicklet. The four-year-old's dick was no thicker nor longer than Ray's little finger, but he was just as hard as his two daddies and just as eager for sex. It was not the first time they'd formed a threesome and the three eagerly and unashamedly lay there on their sides in the erotic triangle in front of the blazing fireplace sucking on each other's throbbing, aching knob, each delighting as much in the pleasure he was feeling as in the pleasure he was bringing as a light snow began to fall outside.

They had delayed climaxing twice and were approaching their peaks for a third time when little Saul woke up and began to cry. Reluctantly slipping his lips off Ray's throbbing cock, and drawing back and slipping his own throbbing preteen cock out of Davey's mouth with disappointment, Michael rolled over and pulled Saul out from his blankets, the baby's needs coming before his. Checking that his diapers were dry, he cuddled and comforted the then four month old infant, who discovering his little father's nipple, immediately fastened his lips to it and began to suck, and seconds later to swallow his sweet, warm milk. Seeing his little son sucking on Michael's teat caused Ray's stiff cock to wag with arousal. Davey giggled and observed that his big daddy's cock wanted more sucking. Squirming back into position with an inspirational grin, Michael resumed sucking his lover's thick, throbbing cock, continuing to suckle their four-month-old son at the same time, and Davey quickly snuggled back into position also and resumed sucking Michael's still stiff and throbbing four inch [10 cm] bone. Ray completed the triangle once again, slipping his lips about the stiff little dicklet of his four-year-old son.

It did not take long for the three of them to reach the peak they had been at before their interruption and to pass it. They could not possibly delay the inevitable for a third time. Their three cocks were rigid and throbbing with arousal and their nuts were drawn up under their aching cocks. Davey had exceptionally large nuts for a four-year-old, a characteristic all boys born of boys had. Michael had always had huge balls, much larger than other boys his age, and lately with his pending puberty they had been getting larger yet and beginning to darken. Ray had always been well hung himself, and since Davey had begun sucking him off his nuts had gotten even larger, a characteristic of all boylovers who'd been getting the unique blow jobs from their sons conceived with their boymates.

Ray had always found engaging in a three-way with the two loves of his life hot, and the inclusion in their lovemaking that evening of his youngest son, although not involved in anything sexual himself unless you considered breast feeding a sexual act, made it even more erotic. Mumbling Michael a warning that he was cumming without taking his lips off his little son's stiff little cocklet, he inhaled deeply through his nose and closed his eyes in ecstasy as he felt his cum begin to race up the core of his swollen, numb sausage. Spurt after spurt erupted out of the tip of the rugged outdoorsman's thick, throbbing prick with delightful slowness as he had become accustomed to it doing ever since young Davey's spit had worked its miracle and he sighed with the delightful pleasure. Michael began to swallow his lover's thick, creamy load, each spurt seeming to coincide with the spurting of his baby milk and he pictured in his mind his lover's thick, slimy cum spurting into his mouth and down his throat to his breast to combine with his breast milk to spurt out together into baby Saul's eagerly sucking mouth.

Of course he knew that was not possible but the idea was so hot that he reached his own climax and he shuddered and twitched convulsively as shard after shard of exquisite pleasure ripped through his swollen preteen cock making it feel like it was being shredded by jagged glass. As his body was racked with his violent, dry orgasm and as his hot baby milk spurted out of his burning teat, the twelve-year-old eagerly swallowed spurt after spurt of his lover's thick cum. Davey, knowing intuitively that his two daddies were climaxing, eagerly sucked on his little daddy's numb, throbbing cock while his big daddy eagerly and desperately sucked on his little dickey. His own dry orgasm hit moments after his little daddy's, sending spasms of pleasure through the four-year-old's groin and swollen little dink while his baby brother sucked on his little father's tit. The four-month-old baby's little dink, no more than half an inch [12 mm] long, was just as hard as the others and tingling just as pleasantly, which did not go unnoticed by Michael nor Ray thanks to Davey's subliminal telepathic messaging.

"You said our sons are going to need a regular diet of two things?" asked Jack, bringing Ray's thoughts back to the present. He shifted uncomfortably, a dark wet stain having appeared in his swimsuit where his pre-cum had soaked through.

"Sucking teat is a natural instinct, a survival instinct," continued Harold. "But unlike babies born the heterosexual way, your little sons are going to need a supplement to their diet, a steady supply of semen from their big daddies." He paused to gauge their reaction and was not surprised by the looks on their faces. "I know a man having sex with a baby is one of the strongest, if not the strongest, taboo of all in our society, and as far as I know in all cultures. Regardless of their age, race or faith, almost everyone's first reaction to the idea of a man getting his cock sucked by an infant is one of repugnance. Even in our very unique group, even though we all are sexually attracted to young boys and teenagers, I doubt if there would be a single man among us who would not balk initially at the idea of having sex with an infant."

"I certainly did," offered Bobby in support and everyone turned to look at the burly truck driver. "Billy, my boymate, had gone into the kitchen to feed our baby, Billy Bob, his lunch, strained peas, and the little tyke had put up a fuss, preferring his little father's breast milk," Bobby explained, and those who'd gone through the stage of weaning their babies off of milk understood, especially with the alternative being strained peas. "When I stepped into the kitchen and discovered our fourteen-month-old son sucking strained peas off my eight-year-old boymate's dick, I was horrified, believe me, and my initial reaction was to stop them, though I have to admit, it was an erotic sight. The possibility that he'd ever suck my cock was totally out of the question, or so I thought at the time. Society had done a good job of brainwashing me into thinking such a thing was sick."

Everyone had met the cherubic, energetic Billy Bob and they could not help imagining him as a fourteen-month-old sucking the cock of the six-foot four [1.93 m], two-hundred-and-seventy-pound [122 kg] truck driver. The immediate thought of the four fathers-to-be was that an adult engaging in sex with his fourteen-month-old son was immoral, but they also found the image of the cherubic toddler sucking the burly truck driver's massive cock conjured in their minds erotic. Of course the more experienced fathers in the group knew exactly what Bobby was saying.

"Fortunately Billy and Billy Bob had different ideas and before I could stop them Billy Bob was happily sucking on my knob. I quickly realized just how wrong others are about sex with boys that age, just as they are about a lot of things we do. Harold said sucking teat was a natural instinct. Well, I think for boys, sucking cock is a natural instinct too," Bobby said with a smile, and the others laughed. Those who had experienced what Bobby had knew very well the emotions he'd felt, and they knew those who had yet to experience toddler sex and were looking at the big trucker with surprise and the conviction they would never do such a thing would be thinking differently a year from now.

"So you said our babies need this, ah, supplement to their diet?" asked Cy as he looked out at his pregnant boymate, Mark, bobbing in the water with the other pregnant boys. As a wildlife photographer, the forty-one-year-old had seen a lot of strange behaviour in the animal world, besides in human societies, and of the four fathers-to-be gathered on the patio, he had found it the easiest to follow what Harold was saying, and to accept what Bobby had revealed.

"Yes," continued Harold. "I believe that semen provides the nutrients and chemicals that are needed between the ages of one and three to stimulate our toddler's little balls to produce that special seed, the TSP, that only they are capable of producing. You might have noticed the two and three year olds running around here bare-butt naked have nuts considerably larger than a boy born by traditional means." Several of the men nodded. "I've managed to interview a considerable number of men, thanks to the network we've established amongst ourselves and to the Bernstein-Fields Mission for Boys, in my efforts to understand this new physiology. Every man I've talked to has started feeding his baby semen at the age of one or shortly thereafter, and in every instance it was initiated by the baby or the man's boymate. Perhaps Bobby is right about cock sucking being a natural instinct," he said, smiling over at the hefty trucker.

"Beginning sometime after their baby's first birthday makes sense. That is about the time most parents, heterosexual or otherwise, begin to phase out breast milk and gradually increase their infant's diet of mashed and strained food. If they were any younger I don't think they'd be able to break down the complex proteins in semen. It seems by the age three or a little later these babies who have been receiving a steady diet of semen reach what I'm calling their first, or seminal, pubescence, the point where they are capable of producing the TSP, the seed. I also believe it is at that age that we see the first instance of sexual awareness in our toddlers. I don't have to tell you that statement would throw most of my colleagues and psychiatrists into frenzy of denial, most of them unwilling to believe anyone before puberty is capable of being aware of their sexuality, and many-no, most-supporting the idea they can't be legally accountable for their sexuality until the age of sixteen or even older.

We've never had a situation of a toddler being able to produce TSP at a younger age, at least not to my knowledge. How long they can produce seeds we don't know. Billy Bob is the oldest boy we know that has been born of a boy, and he is almost five and still capable of producing seeds. I'm guessing the ability will continue until their second or spermatic pubescence when they begin producing semen instead, though of course that is total conjecture at this point in time."

Michael had paused in his nursing to burp his son and he and Ray suddenly exchanged glances which appeared to be apprehensive to Bobby, who had been distracted from Harold's comments by the sight of the twelve-year-old's erect, milk-moist nipple. The others, paying rapt attention to Harold, had not noticed the exchange.

"Ray said something about experiencing something just as great as multiple orgasms?" asked Anton, Zachariah's lover, his painting forgotten for the moment.

"Oh, yes. When you begin suckling your little sons, they're going to give you a very unique blow job," continued Harold with a smile. "They will quite literally blow their baby spit up your cock. I examined my son Charles's saliva and identified three chemical agents unique to their spittle which I believe are absorbed by a man's body and are responsible for a number of marvellous changes. One chemical is a form of muscle relaxant which is absorbed by the cock and permanently prolongs and delays each ejaculation spurt so it feels like you're spurting in slow motion. The second is a neural agent which permanently alters the synaptic connection to your genitals so they receive repeated stimuli thereby extending a man's ability to ejaculate to up to three minutes. The third is absorbed by the testicles giving them the ability to produce a hormone which increases your semen production five fold or more and increases the size of your balls accordingly so you can ejaculate for such an extended period of time without shrivelling up your nuts." He paused and smiled as several men grimaced, having had that experience as horny teenagers jerking themselves dry.

"I haven't found the chemicals in my second son's saliva yet, but James is only ten months old. I suspect once he turns one the chemicals will appear. It is purely conjecture on my part, but from what I've seen of other traits of our young progeny, I'm guessing that these changes in us induced by their spittle will occur naturally for them when they reach puberty and begin producing semen themselves. As I've already mentioned, we can already see they have much larger balls than boys their age born of women."

Bobby again noticed the strange exchange between Ray and his boymate Michael.

"Well," observed Anton, "I will certainly be looking forward to having such abilities."

"You can also be looking forward to changing diapers, and feedings at three in the morning," observed Harold with a smile.

"But they'll outgrow that," observed Bobby, "just around the time they start teething."

Those who had been through such joys of babyhood all nodded knowingly. Having babies was not all fun and sex.

"Well, it will all be worth it to be able to have a baby with Timmy," observed Phil. "I just hope our baby will be healthy." The other three fathers-to-be all nodded their agreement with that sentiment.

"I'm sure he will be," Harold observed. "Three things I've noticed about all the children that have been born our way besides that they've all been boys are that they've all been healthy, they've all been exceptionally attractive, and they've all been rabid man and boy lovers." Others quickly concurred with that observation. "So, I'm curious," he continued. "If you don't mind my asking, how did your boys get the ability to bear children, and how did you meet up with them?"

"Two are Davey's fault," said Ray with a smile as he glanced over at the playground where his four-year-seven-month-old son was playing with several of the older toddlers and their young fathers. "He's seeded three boys since last summer actually, a boy visiting from the Yukon who couldn't be here this summer and Mark and Zachariah out there in the lake, besides his father Michael," he explained as he gave his boymate a smile, using the phrase they'd all come to use to refer to the process by which their toddlers planted the tripartite stimulus packet up the rectums of other boys.

"I wouldn't refer to it as Davey's fault," observed Anton as he poured himself a glass of wine. "I'd call it Davey's gift."

"An excellent way to put it," agreed Cy. "If it wasn't for Davey, Anton and I wouldn't be in this rapturous state we find ourselves."

"All three boys Davey has seeded were camping here with their parents," Ray explained. "Mark's mother is the editor of a travel magazine, and his father writes for an outdoor life magazine. They were here on a skiing holiday over Christmas."

"A reconciliation holiday actually," observed Cy. "It was their last attempt to resolve their differences and save their marriage, for Mark's sake, or so they told me. It didn't work. She is somewhat of a bitch and ambitious as hell while he is laidback and somewhat juvenile. I suspect part of their marital problem was because there was more than a little jealousy over her professional success and fame on his part, and a bit of envy regarding his contentment to be mediocre and his stressless carefree attitude on her part. How the two of them fell in love with each other and felt they were suitable candidates for marriage I'll never understand. Their entire marriage was just one argument after another. Neither was prepared to be a parent. That was for certain. Her career was more important than having children, and he wasn't ready for the responsibilities of being a father."

"That was what it was like when they were here," agreed Ray. "Constantly arguing, and though I could see they both loved their son, I could also see he was not their priority."

"So you're a friend of theirs?" asked Harold.

"Not really. I know them both professionally. I'm a freelance photographer, wildlife mostly. Larry, Mark's father, had seen my work in the National Geographic and had contacted me over some photos he was interested in to accompany an article he was writing on Bengal tigers. I was on assignment and about to fly out to Cambodia but I managed to arrange a stop over in New York City to meet with him at his home. That was how I met his wife Ellen, who looked at my work and bought some of my photos of Calcutta for her travel magazine. When she found out I was heading to Cambodia she hired me to do some travel photos specifically for her of Phnom Penh. Since then I've done some shoots for both of them off and on. I got the feeling early on that there was even a rivalry and jealousy over my work, each trying to outdo the other. Not that I was complaining, mind you," he said with a smile. "Between the two of them I was living quite comfortably."

"And your present relationship with their son? How did that happen?"

"Now that is a most unusual story, and one I think this group will find particularly interesting. While Mark's parents were here skiing in the Tetons, I was on a photo shoot in the Amazon, photographing emerald tree boas. I'd been passed along from guide to guide so many times and canoed up so many tributaries and made so many portages from one valley tributary to the next I had no idea where the hell I was other than that I was in deep, and the wettest time of the year was about to commence. The guide I was with by then was a story teller and trader and most of our conversation was by hand signals and mime as we travelled from tribe to tribe, each one with a tale of even greater nests of snakes in the next valley. Well, after a particularly heavy downpour, he took me up a branch that normally would have been too shallow for us to travel, which I understood would take us to another river valley which would be a shortcut back to Manaus and civilization.

On the way we were surprised by a hunting party from the local tribe, whose name I have no idea. Each river valley has its own small tribe, and each tribe tends to be hostile to every other tribe around it and especially hostile to strangers. My guide appeared to be unfamiliar with this particular group and although they were on friendly enough terms, I could tell he was nervous and I suspected we were subject to the whims of their chief. After staying with them for several days, we were, I believe, being taken to another tribe. By that time I had surmised we weren't guests but rather were captives and were being traded. On the way to wherever we were going we were attacked and I and a young boy of about six or seven by the name of Accota who appeared to be the son of the chief, and whom I assumed was accompanying us as part of his education, became separated from the rest in our escape. When everything quietened back down, the boy led me back to where we'd become separated from the others. Those of our party we could find had all been killed, including my guide who I recognized by his loin cloth, all the bodies having been beheaded and the heads missing!

Now I've found myself in some pretty frightening situations in my line of work, but nothing as frightening as that! We continued hiking through the jungle for what I estimated to be another two weeks, by which time I was able to ascertain through sign language and what few words I'd come to learn that we were neither heading back to his tribe, nor heading to the tribe we'd been destined for. To return to his tribe with me would reveal the mission had not been accomplished and would bring shame on him, and his father. To continue to the other tribe, they'd have simply taken me from him, and likely have enslaved him also. In either case, it would be revealed we had run and hidden rather than staying to fight and be killed, which would have brought more shame on him. So what his plan had been I have no idea, and I suspect now he didn't have one. I'm guessing he didn't even know where we were, having crossed several river valleys by then. It didn't much matter at any rate as at that point we were discovered by another tribe and taken along with them to their village.

I noticed right away that we were being treated differently, and I suspected it was because it was unusual to come across a white man, and compared to their size, a giant on top of it, and not only that, one travelling alone with a child. I eventually discovered there was an even more significant reason for our treatment. Arriving at their village, we were treated remarkably well, and with tremendous curiosity, especially myself. I noticed a number of peculiarities quite quickly. This was by far the largest tribe I'd seen. Generally the farther I'd travelled into the jungle the smaller the groups had gotten. It also had a remarkable number of children, and an abnormal predominance of males. Although they appeared healthy enough, almost all of the boys that appeared to be between the ages of six and puberty, which in most cases was around the ages of ten or eleven, had protruding stomachs one normally associates with malnutrition." Seeing the supposition on the faces of some of the men, Cy paused dramatically and took a sip of his rum and coke before continuing. He was a story teller himself besides a photographer.

"The next night there was a big celebration, to commemorate our discovery I suspect. A pig had been captured, which was roasted along with some roots that are similar to yams in taste, and after a diet of grubs and bark the previous couple weeks it was a most welcome meal whatever the occasion was. A log drum with the skin of some animal stretched over it was brought out and the women all dismissed and then the men and boys began chanting and dancing, and their shaman or whatever brought out a crude idol made of clay, a statue that looked like an ugly frog with six legs, an exaggeratedly large mouth, and an exaggeratedly large erection." He glanced at the others and smiled, knowing that most if not all would recognize what he'd described.

"Well, one of them, a skinny, wrinkled old man, began to beat the drum and everyone danced forward and reached out and stroked this idol's penis, and then touched themselves, and the shaman motioned for me and the boy to do so also. While they danced a foul-tasting, white, lumpy concoction that looked and smelled like curdled milk was passed around. I have no idea what it was but after a couple sips it didn't smell nor taste so bad. It had to have been some sort of hallucinogenic drug and an aphrodisiac, because everything and everyone started turning into weird shapes and colours and I'd never felt so horny in all my life.

It was easy to see the others were feeling at least the latter effect also what with all of them being naked, the boy and I being the only two with loincloths, and those totally ineffective in hiding our erections. The dancing finally stopped and as we formed a circle three of the boys, one that looked to be about six and the other two eight and ten, the only elder boys who didn't have distended stomachs I noticed, dropped to their hands and knees. Three of the men stepped forward and to my surprise dropped to their knees and mounted the three boys from behind. The shaman turned to me and the boy Accota and motioned for us to join the three pairs in the circle.

Now, never in my life had I ever considered having sex with another male, and even though I knew some cultures, past and present, both primitive and advanced, engaged in man-boy sex, as a man I'd certainly never considered having sex with a boy, and I'd watched the three men and boys with surprise and a tinge of revulsion. I also had an ache between my legs that I hadn't felt since my early teens that was far stronger than any feelings of revulsion and any moral reservations I had, whether from the aphrodisiac I'd drunk, the scene I was witnessing, or some other influence I don't know. There was also the fact I'd been drugged and my reasoning ability impaired, and most important of all, the fear of repercussions if I and the boy didn't join in. The boy appeared to be feeling the same arousal as I was as he looked at me with a dazed glassy-eyed look, his little pecker sticking straight up and jutting out from the side of his loincloth.

There was really no decision to be made. As I removed my loincloth and dropped it on the ground, the boy did likewise and we joined the other couples. Surrounded by a dozen men and almost twice the number of boys, I dropped to my knees and mounted the boy there before them. Although neither of us had ever done such a thing before, and even though I'm well hung and the boy was a virgin and tight, we seemed to unite without the slightest difficulty and without any pain, largely I suppose because of our drugged state and our heightened arousal. The moment we united, the boys with distended stomachs and the men who'd been watching paired up, the boys dropping to their knees and taking the men's stiff erections in their mouths. The remaining boys, toddlers that looked to be between the ages of two and six, squatted before the boys giving the men blow jobs and began to suck them.

The skinny, wrinkled old man beating the drum continued to beat out a rhythm while being blown by one of the boys with a distended stomach, and in my drugged and prurient state it seemed to me that the beat was corresponding with the beating of my heart and the throbbing of my erection, both of which were throbbing in time with the throbbing of the rectum of the young boy I'd plugged. And so there I was, naked, my body streaked with sweat and jungle mud, savagely fucking the ass off this six or seven-year-old black boy in the middle of the jungle with three other men just as eagerly buggering the boys kneeling before them to the wild beat of this drum, surrounded by thirty men and boys eagerly engaging in oral sex with each other while this ugly, obscene idol perched on a rotting tree stump leered down at all of us. It was like a scene out of some perverse Indiana Jones movie. The flames from the fire cast fleeting shadows across the clearing and in my drugged condition I wasn't sure if they were shadows or spirits. I was sure I could see the shining eyes of jungle animals lurking in the darkness of the jungle as the full moon overhead silently slipped in and out behind the building rain clouds, adding to the eeriness of the scene. I madly rutted with this young boy whom I barely knew, this child, like a wild animal, my blood burning in my veins and my cock never having felt so swollen nor so on fire.

The two of us grunted and snorted like the jungle animals we were, the beasts watching in the undergrowth and leaping from branch to branch high above us, growling and chittering warnings and mating calls in the darkness. The jungle was rank with an earthy, dank odour and I sucked in the fertile air deeply as I thrust my cock in and out of the boy like a crazed man, the pressure in my loins building and building with delightful pleasure until at last I burst. Shot after shot of my semen erupted and filled the boy's rectum to overflowing, flooding back over my swollen cock and oozing out of his tight anus as around me grown men shot their slimy loads down the throats of young, pregnant boys and three others filled the rectums of their boy partners as I was doing. My body was flushed and my cheeks hot and my boiling blood throbbed through my burning cock as I emptied my balls, and not having come for the past six weeks, I made up for my abstinence. The boy I was tightly grasping was squirming and twitching with his own orgasm and I numbly realized that I had his stiff little cocklet in my hand and had to have been jacking him off while I had been fucking him without even realizing it.

My chest heaving with exertion and my vision blurred from the drugs and my powerful orgasm, I stared straight ahead, amazed to see one of the boys with the distended stomach laying on his back, his hips raised on a rotting log and one of the man wildly plowing his ass as their shaman knelt beside them, his own cock erect and dripping with cum and his fingers rapidly beating off the young boy. There, before my eyes, I watched as the man withdrew his cock and dropped back on his back in exhaustion, and the young boy gave birth to a little black baby covered with cum and shit and ass slime before I passed out.

When I awoke it was morning and I was back in the lean-to I'd been sharing with the boy Accota. My eyes felt like they had been used for pincushions and were about to pop out of my skull, and my mouth felt wooly and as if I had a sock stuffed in it. I slowly realized the sock was my tongue. My young companion and last night's sex partner was squatted before the chief and shaman on the other side of the compound, the two in deep and animated conversation. As I weakly got to my feet and stumbled out into the clearing, I spotted the child I'd hallucinated about having given birth the previous night. A newborn that I was sure I'd never seen before was cradled in his arms, and he was nursing it! As I stumbled across the clearing, I was motioned to join the chief and he and the shaman smiled up at me knowingly. Through the few words the boy and I shared and the few we'd learned from our adopted tribe, and a lot of sign language and pantomime, I learned an unbelievable story.

Over the past dozen years or more the tribe had been slowly dwindling, the women giving birth to dead fetuses and badly malformed babies, I suspect the result of years of inbreeding. So they prayed to their gods and one appeared, a man-sized frog with six legs and a huge mouth and a perpetually erect penis. This god had sex with two of the young boys, and then had the chief and the shaman have sex with them, and the two boys gave birth to boys. Three rain cycles later, these toddlers had sex with several other young boys who then had sex with their fathers or uncles or honoured warriors of the tribe, and these young boys also became pregnant. So now the men only have sex with boys, and the tribe is again growing and healthy. Occasionally they travel great distances to far away tribes and trade one of their young women for young boys as their god had proscribed. The other tribes are happy to have new women to bring them babies, and to be rid of boys who will only be a burden on their supply of food, and the boys are happy to come with them where they can grow healthy and become great warriors and have sons from their own bodies, sons who will grow up to be great hunters and warriors too and will trade the skins of animals they kill for other young boys with whom they will make babies. Some day they will become the mightiest tribe in the entire jungle.

Well, it explained a lot as fantastic and impossible as it was, but I knew how a single fact becomes distorted with repeated tellings so didn't put any credibility in the tale and figured they were all suffering from the same hallucinations I had the previous night. Not surprising, the boy Accota wanted to join the tribe. The chief was under the impression that the boy belonged to me and wanted to barter for him as a gift for his son who had recently become a man and a warrior and wanted to begin a family. Of course they could have taken him by force but it was considered dishonourable to take a boy from another man that way. The boy could have explained that I had no control over him and that in fact I was his captive, but being bartered for raised his esteem in the tribe, particularly if I drove a hard bargain. When I told them the boy was actually the son of a chief himself, their desire for him doubled, as did my bargaining power.

Well, I'd had plenty of experience bartering in my job and had spent enough time with my trader guide that I easily got the best of them, though I'm sure from the things I'd demanded as payment they figured the other way around. That evening I witnessed what I thought was perhaps their induction into their tribe, young Accota being buggered by one of the toddlers and that night I received the first of many awesome blow jobs from a toddler still being breast fed by one of the boys. Several nights later I witnessed what I had assumed at the time was the marriage between Accota and the chief's son, a teenage boy in his very early teens, complete with consummation of their vows before the men of the tribe. Of course I know now that the two ceremonies I'd witnessed were much more than what I'd assumed. I continued to receive daily blow jobs over the next two weeks, during which time I was taken to some of the most beautiful waterfalls and river valleys imaginable and with their help got hundreds of fantastic pictures of not just tree snakes but other plants and animals, many of which have never been seen by the outside world and far beyond my expectations while I'd bartered with them.

The best of all the things I'd bartered for was one of their women and a man to take me to a distant tribe they had traded with whom they said lived beside a stream that joined a still larger stream that would take me to the end of the world. It didn't of course, but it did get me back to familiar territory, and eventually back to Manaus, having traded the woman, who was quite eager to leave her deranged boy-loving tribe and whom the new tribe was just as eager to accept, for a sturdy canoe and a two-year-old boy who was just as eager to leave his impoverished tribe and whom I sent back with my guide as my gift to Accota, which I knew in his new tribe would elevate his position considerably.

When I returned I contacted Mark's father about some of the pictures I'd taken. When I went to see him, I found him and his wife in the middle of a bitter divorce argument and neither had the slightest interest in my photographs. They were unable to agree on the most minor of things never mind something major like having custody of Mark. Both wanted full custody and giving custody to another member of either side of the family was totally out of the question. Their differences had even gotten down to having her friends and his friends which even eliminated them from being given custody. Well, I looked down at Mark and he looked up at me and sort of slowly reached over and took my hand. It was like magic. I'd never felt such a rush of love and caring for another person in all my life.

His parents were having a royal fit, right there in front of their six-year-old son, so I suggested I take him for a walk while they cooled off. That was when he told me he wished he could come stay with me. Now I've never settled down and considered a wife, what with my job taking me all over the world, but I could immediately see the possibility of taking Mark along with me on my travels. Then he said he wanted to have my baby, and you could have knocked me over with a feather. If I hadn't had my recent experience in the Amazon, which I still chalked up to the wild drink I'd been given, I'd have passed his comment off as some goofy idea he'd gotten from the TV.

Well, I'm one who acts on impulse, another reason I've never considered marriage. Needless to say his parents were surprised by our solution to the custody part of their problem, and reluctant considering I'm not married and constantly on the move, but they also came to realize it was workable, and the best, and only, solution they had. I think it was the first thing they ever agreed on since they'd agreed to get married," Cy said with a chuckle. "So, they have joint custody over Mark but he has come to live with me, and as you can see," Cy continued, glancing over his very pregnant boymate, "things have worked out great for us. As I said when I began, it's a most unusual story. At first I just chalked it all up to a weird bunch of coincidences, but once I had time to think about it, you have to wonder if there isn't some divine plan or something in operation here."

"I don't think Zachariah's parents would call it a divine plan," Anton said with a wry smile. "They are staunch southern Baptists and the most conservative couple you could ever meet. They'd say it is more like work of the devil."

"His parents holidayed here also you said?" asked Bobby, glancing over at Ray.

"Yes," replied Ray. "Though I don't know if you could call it a holiday, for them or their son. They are both big shot lawyers from San Francisco and strong opponents of gay rights legislation. The whole while they were here they were constantly on their cell phones discussing the cases they were representing and organizing anti-gay rallies. I'm sure you've all met the type, the type that go away on a vacation to relax because that is what they are supposed to do or because their doctors told them they had to, but who can't function without bringing their work along with them. A working holiday they call it," he said with a snort.

"That was how I met them, at one of their anti-gay rallies," observed Anton. "They'd organized a protest against an art exhibit of mine about gay love and took me to court on an obscenity and child pornography charge over a painting I'd done of a gay wedding because I'd included a three-year-old ring bearer in the picture whom they claimed I'd painted with an erection and the hand of the groom down the back of his pants."

"And did you?" asked Michael as he put Saul back in his cradle.

"Well, not intentionally," replied Anton with a smile, "though when you look at the picture I can see now how someone with such a mind could interpret things that way. Maybe it was an unconscious thought, or a divine prophesy of things to come." The others chuckled.

"So tell us how you and Zachariah became a couple," said Tom, another of the original campers from three years ago who, as was the quiet accountant's nature, had largely been silent during the discussion.

"It's nowhere near as dramatic or interesting as Cy's experience," Anton replied.

"All stories how we met our birth fathers are interesting," Ray encouraged, not just as a gracious host but because he sincerely believed so, and the rest all heartily agreed.

"Well, both events, the protest and the lawsuit, ended up to my benefit. The protest gave me free publicity of my exhibit and I'm sure increased the attendance, and the court case was dismissed as frivolous but not before it gave me free advertising of my art work and resulted in consignments to do several more wedding pictures. The biggest benefit of all though was that both gave me an opportunity to meet Zachariah, whom they took with them both to the protest and to the court, thinking his presence and innocence would sway people over to their propaganda, especially with his sweet, angelic looks," he said, glancing out at the pod of four boys in the lake. With his long, curly, golden locks, Zachariah did look like a sweet, innocent angel, a very pregnant one.

"Instead, you've ended up fathering his child," observed Ray.

"Yes. Ironic, isn't it? I've been gay as far back as I can recall, preferring the company of males to females. As a teenager while other boys were doodling boobs and dreaming of bedding nymphets, I was doodling wide-eyed boys and penises and dreaming of bedding my buddies and their kid brothers. I've always had a particular fondness in my heart for boys, an appreciation of their beauty and charm and of all those things that make a boy what he is, and yes, I've always felt a sexual attraction to them. Teenagers, pre-adolescents, toddlers, they've always been a predominant part of my art, and though I don't draw shotacon professionally, I love the art form and have developed an extensive collection from other artists which I sometimes use as an inspiration for my own art. So, understandably, when I first saw Zachariah I was immediately struck by his beauty and look of innocence, the very things his parents knew would play on the heartstrings of people, using their own child for their own ends and feeling fully justified in doing so. I was actually more incensed that they were doing that than I was over their inane accusations against me and my art.

There was always a crowd of reporters at the court house during the trial. Child porn is big news these days, and besides, I'm certain Zachariah's parents made sure there was a media presence to further promote their cause, particularly since they were certain they were going to get a conviction. Of course the day the judge threw the case out the media swarmed Zachariah's parents for a statement, which they were eager to give considering their anger at the outcome. I hung back with my lawyer, wanting to make my own statement about freedom of speech and artistic expression, letting the press have their go at the parents first. Nobody noticed Zachariah slip away from his parents and slip over to me. He said that he was sorry and that he thought his parents were all wrong, and that he liked to draw and paint too and that his grade two teacher at Webster Private Academy said he was good at it. Then he was gone and back at his parents' side just as suddenly as he'd approached me. I remarked that it was too bad the press hadn't been able to hear that, and my lawyer, cynic that he is, said he wouldn't be surprised his parents had put him up to it so they could claim my art had corrupted him or some such thing, and he strongly advised me not to say anything about what the boy had said.

Well, of course I didn't, knowing from the way they'd used him previously that his parents could very well be using him to set me up. I couldn't help thinking about it though, and despite my better judgement I found myself looking up the address of Webster Private Academy and stupidly hanging around the school hoping to catch sight of Zachariah being dropped off or picked up. I know, it was the perfect set up to catch a perverted child molester, which his parents thought I was. I persevered though and eventually I did spot him, and he saw me, and the moment his parents had driven off he headed over to me. We talked, briefly, and met a few times in the school yard after that, and he gave me a few pictures he'd drawn for me.

He was picked up and taken to a daycare after school until his parents could pick him up and I began sending notes with him to the school and the daycare on his parents' letterhead notepaper that he snuck to me saying Zachariah had this or that appointment after school and that his uncle would pick him up and then take him to the daycare, giving us an hour or so before I dropped him off, sometimes only minutes before one of his parents arrived at the daycare to pick him up. Then we began meeting on the weekends or early part of the evening at playgrounds and parks near his home. At first I worried his parents were putting him up to our meetings and were setting me up, but I could not resist the temptation. I knew I was taking a big risk, and the more often we met the bolder I was getting and the riskier it was becoming, but I could not help it, and I kept justifying my actions by just talking to the boy and photographing him, fully clothed and innocent of course, and telling myself there was no harm in that even though I knew in reality I was lusting after the boy and wanted to do much more intimate things. Unable to help myself, in time I found myself giving him a greeting and a parting kiss, and the occasional embrace, all perfectly innocent, like a father might give a son, so I told myself though my feelings were not so innocent.

Then one day, the first of April, he told me he wanted to make a baby with me, and that a boy he'd met last summer had fixed it so he could when he found the man he wanted to do it with. I thought it an elaborate and rather sophisticated April Fools Day joke for a seven-year-old and it caught me by surprise, but when he described how Davey had planted a seed up his bum while Zachariah was camping here with his parents there was no doubt in my mind that he'd had anal sex from the detail of his description despite the fantasy of having received a seed that could make him have a baby. Well, the idea of him and a boy that he just said was younger than him and called Davey having anal sex was erotic, and when he said he wanted a son that he could spend time with and to teach him things, and knowing his parents were much too busy to do that themselves with their son, how could I resist indulging him in his fantasy?

The afternoon of April seventeenth, Easter Monday, while his parents were at work thinking Zac was at the daycare and the daycare thought he was with his grandparents, he and I were at my home in my bedroom and I was as nervous as a groom on his wedding night. We had been meeting each other for just over three months by then and what had begun as a furtive half an hour once a week had escalated to two hours a day every day Monday to Saturday. I had debated what we were about to do for seventeen days, seventeen days of constant erections thinking about it and worrying and trying to convince myself not to while I was aching to throw all caution to the wind. That had been pure hell for me. I had been sexually attracted to the boy right from the beginning and had over the past three months grown to love the boy as deeply as any man can love a boy but in all the time we'd been seeing each other, as I've said, we'd done no more than kiss, the innocent kiss between a father and son on the forehead or the cheek, and occasionally embrace. What we were about to do was major, and not something I was taking lightly. What made the seventeen days even more agonizing was knowing that Zachariah really wanted to have sex with me in his innocent, seven-year-old way, and was feeling hurt and rejected by my procrastination though of course he'd never said as much. In fact, after revealing to me his secret experience with Davey and his most private and secret desire, he'd never mentioned it again, and I knew his little heart was breaking.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying I did it with him because it was his wish, or that it was his fault. I wanted it just as much as he did, and take full responsibility for what I did. I think it was because those seventeen days were so difficult for both of us that the day we did it was so beautiful. It didn't start that way. While he sat there on my bed, I unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, and then unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned the top of his jeans and drew down his fly mechanically. I know such actions should have had me feeling horny as hell, but to tell the truth, I was wracked with worry and guilt, and I could tell Zachariah was just as apprehensive. As he stood, I helped him lower his jeans and step out of them. He had stripped down to his underwear before and posed for me, but I'd never dared go any further than that, and I was especially sure not to have any physical contact during those photo sessions. Now I nervously reached out and slipping my fingers under the elastic band of his tight whities, I slipped his briefs off over his buttocks and down his legs and held them as he stepped out of them.

He stood there in only his socks, exposing to me for the first time his beautiful, limp, uncut little wiener and beautiful, tiny balls, each no larger than a robin's egg. His beauty was overwhelming and I could not help squatting down and kissing this delightful, almost naked boy in a most unfatherly manner and reaching out and gently touching the body I'd been aching to touch all those weeks. His skin was so smooth and soft, and his lips so fresh and sweet. As I dared to slip my fingers about his little cocklet I could not believe how silky smooth the skin felt, nor how small it was.

As I slowly began to stroke him, Zac unbuttoned my shirt and removed it and delightedly ran his fingers through the hairs on my chest. As you can see I'm not a particularly hirsute man but he was delighted nonetheless. As he reached for my belt I reached down to help him but he wanted to do it himself, so I stood and watched silently as he struggled with my buckle, and then slowly drew down my fly. As I watched his fingers slowly pulling down the zipper I felt a surge of lust flash through my loins and my cock immediately stiffened and throbbed painfully with desire, my arousal overpowering my anxiety and doubt. He struggled with the top button of my trousers, and then drew them down and I stepped out of them. As he reached up and began to tug on my boxers I felt like a blushing bride on her wedding night, his inexperience and awkwardness and his difficulty freeing my underwear from my throbbing erection making it all the hotter. He immediately reached over and wrapped his fingers about the base of my aching projection, his eyes wide with wonder and admiration and his lust overcoming his timidness and apprehension, and a dollop of pre-cum oozed out the tip.

I explained what it was and its purpose, and he grinned up at me and observed that "it" was eager to do it. Well "it" certainly was and his comment elicited another dollop of pre-cum. Opening up the tube of KY I'd bought for the occasion, I lubed up his anus and rectum, by which time my knob was slimy with pre-cum. As he lay on the bed with his hips raised on a stack of pillows, I knelt between his legs and placed the tip of my cock against his lubed opening. Between the lube and my pre-cum and the eagerness of both of us, we united with no difficulty. I could not believe how hot I was, and how I didn't come on the spot I have no idea.

There I was on my knees with my aching cock up the hot, tight ass of the seven-year-old son of the two biggest homophobes I knew! If they only knew what their son and I were up to! I loved the boy dearly by then and was randy as fuck, but knowing the circumstances regarding his parents' attitudes made it even hotter. It was all I could do to stop from blasting off a load right then and there! After ensuring that Zac was all right, I began to fuck him, easing my cock in and out of his ass slowly, relishing every second of it, amazed how hot and moist his asshole was and how tightly it was gripping my cock, and even more amazed at how totally fantastic it felt. I kept stopping every couple strokes to delight in the pleasure, and to be assured by Zac that he was still all right, and of course to fight back my urge to spurt. Gradually pure pleasure replaced my awe and concern for Zac and as Zac smiled up at me the curl of his lips and the sparkle in his eyes was all the assurance I needed that he was feeling the same pleasure as I was.

His rectum was throbbing in time with my swollen cock, the two pulsating as one as I thrust my hips to and fro, pumping my cock in and out of his hot asshole as the pressure gradually built in my loins. We were both breathing heavily with our arousal and with the excitement of our first fuck and dripping with sweat. The feel of his hot, moist ass enveloping my cock, the sound of his laboured breathing, the sight of his flushed face and damp, curly hair, the smell of our sweat, it was intoxicating. Without realizing it I began to thrust my hips forward harder and harder, plowing Zac into the pillows and the mattress with a lust I'd never felt before, a maddening, all-consuming lust. It felt like I had a giant penis, swollen and numb and the knob tingling and burning as if the skin was being pealed off. Zac's little pecker was rigid and he was laying there on his back madly wanking on it as I plowed his ass, the pressure building in his loins too.

We were both snorting and panting and sweating like pigs and I don't know which was greater, my pleasure or knowing the pleasure I was bringing him. Finally I erupted and shot my cum deep up his rectum, spurt after spurt erupting out of the tip of my cock, my pisshole burning and the rim of my knob itching with that sweet pain, and Zac was thrashing about on my bed, his right leg jerking uncontrollably as he whimpered with his first ever orgasm. It was the most delightful experience I'd ever had, and as I knelt there with my throbbing cock buried up his asshole and my thick, hot cum flooding his rectum, I hoped he wouldn't be disappointed when he found out what we'd done was not going to result in a baby. It was I who was going to be in for a surprise as it turned out," he observed with a chuckle, and the others laughed knowingly. "I 3; I'm sorry I was so graphic," he said as he realized what he'd said, especially in the presence of twelve-year-old Michael. "It was just so awesome I get carried away every time I think about our first time even though it's been three months now."

"That's quite all right," Bobby said as he thought about the first time he'd plowed Billy's ass up in the boy's bed up in his bedroom. It had been pure luck that they hadn't broken it in their frenzy. "I think we all get carried away when we think of our first time." The others around the patio all nodded agreement.

At that point another of the new campers, a quiet, rotund, double-chinned fifty-year-old man who had introduced himself as Gregory joined them, having gone for a walk in the woods with his boymate, a pale, fine-featured, fallow-haired nine-year-old boy with a strange waddling gait who had gone down to the lake to join the other youngsters. They all greeted him as he sat down heavily and accepted a glass of wine from Anton.

"It looks like your boy is about at the beginning of his last trimester also," observed Harold, glancing over at Phil.

"Yes, he is," replied the twenty-eight-year-old school counsellor as he looked lovingly over at his boy happily chatting with the other pregnant boys in the lake. "I've never seen Timmy so happy, except maybe when I agreed to make a baby with him." He looked over at Anton. "When Zachariah said that Davey had fixed it so he could have a baby, did he say how a conversation about making babies came up between the two boys in the first place?"

"Actually he did. As Ray mentioned, Zac's parents spent more time on their cell phone talking business than they did holidaying or spending time with their son, which needless to say saddened but didn't overly surprise Zac. Davey evidently noticed his parents' behaviour and commented on it, and Zac evidently told him that when he had a child he was going to spend lots of time with him and teach him things like other dads did with their sons. Zac said he also told him his parents were getting a divorce and that it was possible he wasn't going to have anyone to love him at all. According to Zac, Davey told him he didn't have to do it with a girl to have a baby, and that he didn't have to wait until he was grown up. That was when Davey told him he could fix it so he could have a baby to love when he found a man who loved boys and who he wanted to do it with, and that he'd know when he found the right man. Even knowing what I know now, I still find the whole conversation surprising in that Davey would have been just over three and a half back then."

"Davey is a remarkably insightful child," Ray observed proudly, "and has an amazing empathy, as it would appear is true of all of our toddlers."

"Sometimes I worry just what trouble Billy Bob's empathy is going to end up getting us in," Bobby said with a smile as he glanced over at the playground where Billy and Kevin were pushing Billy Bob, Korby and Davey on the swings, and then over at the cluster of men, boys and babies relaxing on the nearby meadow and enjoying the sunshine and sweet fragrance of the wild flowers and ponderosa pines bordering the lush, grassy area. "First of all he gave Nick over there a blowjob under the table at a restaurant under the noses of his parents and then turned the bewildered boy onto boylove," he said, nodding to Nicholas Billingsworth, the handsome, dark-haired thirteen-year-old boy happily playing peekaboo with his five-month-old son on the grass with his boymate, seven-year-old Kerry Kilpatrick. "And then he seeded the other three boys over there with Nick, Kwame and Joshua at his daycare and Stevie in the men's room in the local park." The three boys were sitting in the shade of the ponderosa pines with their boylovers, Kwame and Stevie nursing their five month old sons and Joshua and his little son playing with a rattle. All having Billy Bob to thank for their introduction to the joys of boylove, all having five month old sons, and it being their first time at the camp, the four threesomes had naturally gravitated toward each other.

Bobby's youngest, Nathan, who had been born there at the camp the previous year, woke up from his nap and the burly truck driver picked him up and cuddled him. The little tyke began to happily twine the big man's thick chest hair about his stubby little fingers. "Besides that, there were Roberto and Benito who were both attending the same daycare as he was that he seeded before they moved away," Bobby added proudly as he looked over at his son, now a month away from his fifth birthday, happily playing with Davey and the other boys on the swings like any typical preschooler. "Roberto moved to Mexico and Benito to Sicily where they both found men who love boys and got pregnant. We received word just before we left to come here that Benito gave birth to a healthy eight pound two ounce [3700 g] baby boy. Roberto should be giving birth any day now."

"Pretty soon you're going to have to start up a campground just for those Billy Bob has seeded," Ray said with a chuckle and they all laughed.

"He is certainly keeping you on your toes," commented Phil. "I don't know how you manage, or any of you for that matter. They are all amazing toddlers. Timmy had an almost identical conversation with Tom's son Willie as Davey and Zachariah had and Willie had barely turned three," Phil observed, glancing over at the shy, quiet accountant. That the quiet, mild-mannered, average-looking forty-three-year-old with the hairy chest and hairline receding at the temples and the handsome, smooth-chested, extroverted street-wise seventeen-year-old with the earrings, nose stud and silver eyebrow, lip and nipple rings playing frisbee with the lovers twenty-year-old Calvin Bernstein and eighteen-year-old Jimmy Fields were love partners and that Tom was the birth father of their oldest child Willie and Derrick the birth father of their year and a half old toddler Jace came as a surprise to everyone who met them.

"Really? How did you come to know Timmy, if you don't mind my asking?" Anton inquired.

"I'm a school counsellor in a large elementary city school with just over nine hundred students from Kindergarten to grade six in a fairly middle class area of Houston, generally young, middle-income families, a mix of blue and white collar workers, your average, typical American families in the suburbs with a split-level, one and a half baths, two and a half children, a dog, and a mortgage. I seldom deal with the gang, drug and violence problems of an inner school or the teenage angst and identity problems you find in junior and senior high schools. A plush job, you might think," he said with a smile, "but you'd be surprised the number of kids under the age of twelve who have emotional and social problems and how many of those typical American families are hiding some severe family issues, particularly in these economic times.

Adults often have no idea that children are very much aware of their parents' problems, that they know Dad and Mom are worried Dad might be laid off and that they might not be able to meet the bills next month, that Gramma is ill and might not be with us much longer, that Dad has a gambling addiction, or that Mom is seeing someone on the side. Most of the issues I deal with in my job are issues of severe depression or anxiety, brought on by worries about the family or from the daily bombardment of negative news from the media, besides of course issues involving relationships with friends or handling the pressure we place on children to succeed. And of course being middle class doesn't automatically mean parents have the skills they need to raise children, or the temperament. My job can actually be very depressing when you see how some kids are being treated by supposedly educated, loving parents.

Timmy is a good example. He will be eight in August and going into grade three in the fall. Quiet and shy, and small and underweight for his age, this past year he's suffered some big problems for a little guy. His pup that he'd had since a toddler was hit and killed by a drunk driver who never was charged with the crime or made to pay for his actions, a big blow for a seven-year-old. Being small and nearsighted, he's teased and bullied by his classmates for wearing glasses and his timidity, and being poor in sports and a guy, he has a low opinion of himself. His parents both work to provide the necessities for him and his younger sister so don't have money for little extras like going to the zoo or taking holidays, experiences that give other kids an edge over others when it comes to academics, and when they are not working his parents are too tired to spend any time with their kids. Besides, the father was raised by a cold father himself and sees things like setting aside time to spend with his son and things like school counselling as coddling.

Timmy's depression and anxiety began to result in failing grades this past year, which just added to his depression and anxiety as doing well in school was the one thing he had excelled in the previous year. Both parents blamed his grade two teacher for the change and blindly think next year will be better, ignoring everything I've said, which obviously were things no parent wants to hear about themselves or their child. They have already said, in front of Timmy, that if things don't improve next year, then the problem is evidently the school.

Those are pretty big problems for a seven-year-old to handle, or for a school counsellor to solve. But not for a three-year-old toddler," Phil added with a smile. "Tom's son Willy is in the daycare Timmy goes to after school. Evidently he could sense Timmy's sadness and anxiety. Children are often a lot better at that than adults, since they don't have the same preoccupations adults have I suspect, though as Ray has said, you seem to have a unique group of toddlers here who have a particular insight and empathy for others. According to Timmy in one of our counselling sessions, Tom's boy told him that what he needed was a man who loved boys and a baby to love and who would love them, and that he could fix it so he could have his own baby boy when he found a man he wanted to have a baby with, and, that he'd know when he found the right man."

"And it is evident Timmy found the right man," observed Tom with a smile, pleased for the boy and for Phil, and proud of his son William.

"Yes, he did," agreed Phil, "though I'll tell you I'd have never thought in a million years I'd be sitting here in the Grand Tetons saying that."

"You a married man?" asked Ray, looking at Phil's left hand.

"Yes," admitted Phil as he looked down at his wedding ring. "Happily married for three years. And like Cy, not once in my life had I ever considered having sex with another man, and never with a boy, not even when I was a boy myself. In fact I've had to personally deal with two molestation cases in my job prior to meeting Timmy, one involving a girl and her father and the other a boy and a friend of his family, and I have to be honest with you, until meeting Timmy I found the act of having sex with a child the most abhorrent and incomprehensible behaviour I could imagine. Whenever I read in the paper where a child had been sexually abused by someone in authority, someone they trusted, like a teacher or a coach, or a school counsellor, I'd become so angry I'd become physically sick, and I still do when I read about such things," he said, staring across the meadow at the collection of motorhomes, trailers and tents pensively. The irony that he was a counsellor having sex with one of his students himself and making such a bold statement in a campground of twenty-three boylovers was not lost on him, nor on the others.

"I can understand how you felt, and how you're feeling," said Tom softly. "The incidences you read about in the papers, most of them anyway, are situations where the adult has taken advantage of the child, tricked them, used them or even forced them, and often hurt them and kidnapped them. That upsets me too. That's not really boylove. Situations where there is a true love between a man and a boy and where the boy has been treated with respect and care usually never come to the attention of officials, and so never get in the papers. In the few situations in which they do, it's usually because of some uninformed or misguided righteous third party, a social worker or some busybody neighbour too closed-minded to see the love in such relationships. With the bias and prejudice in today's society against men like us there's never a fair trial, and usually the boy is so torn between loyalties and so manipulated he doesn't know what to say or think and ends up against his lover because he's been told by everyone that is the proper thing to do."

"Or the boylover, if he is really a boylover, confesses to the accusations against him to spare the boy," added Harold.

"And of course there's always those boys who begin feeling shame later in life because they can't handle the guilt laid on them, so twist things around to accuse their former lover in an attempt to ease their conscience and get some peace. And unfortunately there's those who later in life see their past man-boy relationship as a way to make some easy money. Even though they might have been quite willing and agreeable at the time, later out of greed or pressure from others or whatever reasons, they lie about how the relationship affected them in the expectation of getting big bucks," added Ray.

"Those cases seldom involved true love in the first place," observed Bobby. "More often than not the love was one-sided."

"True," agreed Ray. "Not like you see around here."

As Phil looked out at Timmy happily chatting away with the other pregnant boys in the lake, he thought about their past six months. Timmy had been referred to him after his Christmas report card. The boy's marks had been dropping consistently since the beginning of the year, and were markedly low compared to his marks in grade one. When the boy had first begun seeing him he sat on the edge of his chair like a frightened little sparrow ready to take flight for the slightest reason. He didn't say more than two complete sentences the entire first session. Over the next three months he'd come to know a lot about the shy, timid, seven-year-old and had been able to provide him with coping strategies for the bullying and teasing he'd been receiving and with each session Timmy had opened up more and more to him though he could do little about his grief and anger over the senseless loss of his pet and the lack of any retribution, and he could do little about his anxieties and neglect at home without the acknowledgement and support of his parents. That had been particularly frustrating for Phil and he swore that when he and his wife decided to start raising a family he'd never shirk his own responsibilities and blame others for his own failures. After meeting Timmy's parents, he realized that Timmy was seeing him as a substitute father. He knew the danger in that and when they got to the point of both of them looking forward to their sessions he knew he had gone as far as he could and they had to stop even though he had not resolved the big issues troubling the boy.

That was when Timmy began talking about having his own baby and having a man to love him and have a baby with him. Of course Phil's ears immediately perked up and he suspected first that Timmy was being abused, and then that the boy Timmy had been talking to had been abused, which got him even angrier when he found out the boy was only three. Of course he had no way of proving that and he'd had enough workshops on such matters to know the harm of making such accusations if they turned out to be false. He asked Timmy a few pointed questions and the answers only increased his suspicions, but he still had no proof, and considering the boy's fanciful conception of making babies and his blatant hints about the two of them he decided not to pursue his suspicions. He couldn't win and he couldn't encourage the boy's fantasies.

When he didn't respond to Timmy's hints and reduced their sessions, his relationship with the boy began to deteriorate and the boy's marks began declining again, resulting in an angry reaction from his parents and insinuations about his effectiveness as an educator and a further decline in Timmy's marks. Fearing the boy was going to regress back to the point he'd been at Christmas, Phil had a long session with him after the Easter report card. It was a session like no other he'd ever had with any student, and one he would never forget.

The boy was totally depressed and unresponsive, having concluded the one man whom he'd thought really loved him and understood him had rejected him. Everything he tried failed to bring the boy around and he knew the only thing that could was against his professional code of ethics and every piece of advice he'd ever received as a counsellor and educator. Looking at those sad eyes and knowing in his heart that ten years from now the boy sitting across from him could be another suicide statistic, or another school shooter, he did what the textbooks and legal council and his own mind said he shouldn't do. He got up and came around from behind his desk and pulling up a chair beside the boy he took him in his arms, and when the boy began to cry he wanted to cry with him. He cancelled the rest of his afternoon appointments and just held the boy and let him cry and cuddle.

When the boy's hand fell to his crotch, totally by chance, warnings flashed through his mind. Despite his upbringing and his moral beliefs, the innocent touch of the boy's small, hot hand caused a physical reaction, which in turn caused a corresponding reaction in the boy's trousers. When the boy cautiously and tentatively stroked the growing bulge, Phil knew he should stop him but he could not bear to do so. Any hint of rejection now and he could lose the boy forever. Feeling the bulge in his school counsellor's trousers swelling, Timmy was encouraged and stroked it more firmly and more blatantly, and Phil found himself caressing the boy's back. Those caresses became longer and firmer and slowly lower until he was caressing the boy's backside, by which time Phil was fully erect and the boy's trousers were tented out. He'd never considered that a seven-year-old boy would be capable of arousal or having an erection. His own earliest recollection of having an erection was waking in the morning with a full bladder, and he was eleven or twelve by then, perhaps even in his early teens.

"Feeling better?"

The boy nodded and sniffled. "You don't want to do it, do you?"

"It isn't something a man is supposed to do with a boy, and especially not a counsellor with the person he's counselling."

"That's all right," he said, but Phil knew he didn't mean it. He drew the boy closer to him, not knowing what to say, knowing he should remove the boy's hand that still rested on his erection but hesitant to do so. They sat like that for a moment. "Can a counsellor do it with a person he's not counselling?" he asked softly. Phil had to smile at the boy's attempt to find a solution.

"No," he said, kissing him on the forehead.

Timmy slid his hand up and grasping the clasp of his zipper, he slowly drew the zipper down. Willy had said sometimes a boylover had to be helped. Phil's heart speeded up and he knew he had to stop him, but he could not. As if immobilized, he watched the boy's fingers slip into his open fly. His stiff cock throbbed hotly. Inexperienced, the seven-year-old boy searched awkwardly for the opening to his boxers. Finally finding it, his fingers slipped inside and he clumsily searched for what he knew had to be there. Phil shifted and drew in his stomach, trying to make it easier for the boy. Finding his erection extending down his left thigh, he tried to draw it up and out the two openings. Phil could not just sit there and ignore what the boy was doing any longer. The boy's attempt was painful and his intention too obvious, and he was not going to succeed. The man was at the point of no return. He had to stop him, as gently as he could, or proceed, and if he proceeded, it would have to be all the way. Despite all the warnings and the perils that he knew lay ahead, despite twenty-eight years of moral indoctrination from the moment of his birth, he began to unbuckle his belt.

Never had he felt such a rush of desire as he watched the seven-year-old boy pull down his trousers and his boxers to expose him, and as the boy wrapped his hot little hand about the base of his erection and squeezed as he looked upon it with wonder and admiration, he had never felt so rigid, not even on his horniest virgin teenage day. His mind screamed what he was doing was wrong as he unbuckled the boy's belt and drew down his little fly and unsnapped the top of his jeans. His mind reminded him of the taboos he'd been raised with and warned him of the punishments awaiting him in the legal courts and in the afterlife as he pulled down the boy's trousers, and then slowly pulled down his tight, white briefs to expose his privates and reveal beyond any doubt that even at the age of seven he was indeed capable of having an erection. The look of apprehension and anticipation on the boy's face, uncertain and yet eager, frightened yet curious, virtuous yet not completely innocent, sent a surge of lust through Phil's loins never before felt, not even as a horny teenager, not even on his wedding night, and as he reached out and slipped his fingers about that tiny, slender boy pricklet, hard as a nail and red hot, and saw the boy's lips curl with delight, his heart told him that he was doing the right thing.

To his surprise, the boy dropped to his knees and before he could stop him took his aching cock in his mouth, slipping his lips about the knob and sucking as he swirled his tongue around it. A dollop of pre-cum oozed out the tip and the thought of the boy licking up that clear droplet of nectar caused his cock to throb and another dollop to follow the first. The boy worked up a mouth of spittle and swallowed the cock-flavoured saliva and pre-cum, his little cocklet jerking with excitement. He quickly worked up a second mouthful which he drooled over the surprised man's stiff, aching cock, and seeing the boy's bubbly, slimy drool oozing over his knob and down his shaft caused still another dollop of pre-cum to ooze out of the tip of his swollen organ. He had never felt so fucking horny in all his life.

Working up a mouth of spittle himself, he squatted on the floor and turning the boy around, he placed his lips against the boy's smooth, pink pucker and blew his spittle up the boy's rectum. He worked up another mouthful and drooling his spit over his index finger, he slowly and carefully inserted it up the boy's ass, and followed it with his middle finger, lubing the boy's rectum with his spit and stretching apart his anus. Removing the boy's shoes and helping him step out of his trousers and underwear, he lay on the carpet and had the boy face him and straddle his body. Placing his hands on the boy's delightful, smooth ass cheeks, he supported the boy as the youngster reached down between his legs to find the counsellor's rigid, spit-slick cock and then slowly lowered his body until he was sitting on the tip of the man's throbbing prick. Ever so slowly he continued to bend his legs and Phil continued to guide him and he gradually impaled himself on the man's rigid, throbbing cock, pushing out with his abdomen to open his sphincter to the penetrating flesh as Willie had told him.

Phil could not believe his delight as he felt the boy's anus opening slowly but surely and as he saw his knob gradually disappearing between the boy's ass cheeks. He held the boy's smooth, compact ass with both hands, supporting him as he continued to lower himself, and his thick, slimy cockhead slowly stretched open the boy's sphincter until at last it popped inside his delightfully hot, moist rectum. The boy continued to ease down, lowering himself on the rigid pole until his ass was pressing the counsellor's open hands against his thighs and his little boy balls were nestled in the thick hairy bush of the man's crotch, his counsellor's cock buried up his rectum. Flexing his leg muscles, he slowly raised his body, with Phil's help, until he felt the man's knob beginning to stretch open his anus, and he stopped and began to sink down again. His face was a picture of total concentration as he recalled what Willie had told him and focussed on what he was doing. Being penetrated was not new but being penetrated by a man was, as was being penetrated this way. He concentrated hard, wanting to do it right, for the man he'd chosen to be the father of his baby, for the man he knew would always love him. Willy had said he'd know the man, and he did.

Having lowered himself as far as he could, he slowly began to rise again and he quivered with the delight of having his anus stretched and with the burning sensation rippling out from his asshole. Reaching the summit, he slowly lowered himself again, delighting in the undescribable pleasure of having his ass penetrated, of having his rectum stuffed with the thick, throbbing cock of a man. Willie had said it would be more pleasurable than he could imagine, and it was. Willie had said the man would enjoy it too, and the look on Mister Fabret's face told him that the man was. He slowly began to smile, grinning down at the man who would be his lover and the father of his child as he slowly rose and fell on his rigid cock.

Phil sighed unabashedly with the pleasure of the boy's hot, moist, pulsating rectum. It felt so hot, and so velvety smooth. His cock throbbed and the knob burned with acute pleasure as the boy rode up and down his shaft, and when he saw the boy begin to smile until he was looking down at him with that pure, open-mouthed, toothy smile that only boys can smile, he was glad he'd decided to follow his heart and not his mind. He'd not seen the boy smile all year, and this was worth it. Continuing to support the boy with his left hand, he reached around and slipped his thumb and the first two fingers of his right hand about the boy's stiff little pecker, marvelling at how rigid it was, and how small it felt, and he slowly pulled the boy's skin back, totally exposing his little, tender knob, and then slowly pushed the skin back over the little red plum. The boy quivered and arched his back with delight and his eyes sparkled with the erotic pleasure ripping through his little cocklet, and with the delight knowing he'd found a man to love him and to make a baby with him.

Laying there on the carpet in his office, his trousers and boxers about his ankles, a seven-year-old boy impaled on his stiff, throbbing cock and riding up and down on it, Phil Fabret closed his eyes with a delight that he hadn't ever felt, a delight more powerful and more erotic than he'd ever felt with his wife, or with any girl before his marriage. His cock throbbed and ached like it never had before in his entire life, and he gasped and panted with the exquisite ecstasy of his first experience at buggering a boy. Timmy was gasping and panting also, with the exertion of riding the man's cock, and more so with the pleasure pulsating through his abused rectum and the thrills shooting through his swollen little cocklet as his lover drew his foreskin back as far as it would stretch and then pushed it back over the burning little knoblet.

The two of them snorted and grunted as the pressure in their loins built stronger and stronger until at last they felt a twang deep in their loins. Phil gasped and threw his head back as he felt his cum race up the core of his swollen, benumbed cock and gush out the burning tip, flooding the boy's rectum. Timmy sighed and arched his back as that strange twang, like a spring uncoiling, sent a shock of weird, burning pleasure like he had to pee but couldn't up the core of his little cocklet and caused his body to twitch uncontrollably as he felt the hot, wet flood of the man's baby-making juice filling his rectum. Like Willie had promised, it was fucking awesome, even more awesome than when Willie had planted his seed up his bum. Squirt after squirt shot out of Phil's throbbing, aching cock and into the boy's rectum, shooting deep up his asshole as the little counselling office filled with the unmistakable musky fragrance of fresh cum. The two sucked in the spunk-laden air with unabashed delight, their heads spinning while deep up the boy's rectum events were put into motion that would change their lives forever.

That evening, at home, the heat of the moment long past, Phil's brain once again took over from his heart and his balls. He realized with a sinking feeling how foolish he'd been, and the risk he'd taken. He'd had sex there in his office behind an unlocked door in the middle of the afternoon, sex with one of his students, sex with an innocent seven-year-old boy. He was fortunate he'd not been caught in the act. And now what? Suppose the boy told? Suppose the boy had been hurt in their wild, unbelievable passion and had been taken to a doctor? A doctor would know without the boy needing to say anything. What had he done! How could he have risked his career, his marriage, everything, so foolishly? He fretted and worried all night.

The next morning, before classes began, he sought Timmy out. As he stepped up to the classroom door, the boy spotted him, and broke into the widest, happiest grin he'd ever seen on the boy's face. He smiled back, gave a discrete wave, and headed to his office, relieved, but no less worried. He fretted and imagined every imaginable negative consequence of his action. Each buzz of his intercom, and each knock on his door, caused him to jump and imagine the worst. He went through his morning appointments mechanically, unaware of what was being said, unaware of his responses, working totally on rote.

Timmy came to see him at noon and though he had appointments, he squeezed the boy in for five minutes. The boy's extreme happiness was a joy to behold and his exuberance impossible to constrain, but it provided the guilt-ridden counsellor only momentary relief. That afternoon he scheduled another appointment with the boy for the next day, assuring Timmy's classroom teacher that it was urgent. He had to tell him what they'd done was-well, not wrong. That would make the boy worry and perhaps tell, not that he could blame the boy, nor that he'd prevent him. He would not even tell the boy it was a secret between them. He would not influence the boy in any way. He just had to tell him 3; that what they'd done was special, and impulsive, a one time only incident. He had to tell him he loved him and he was a good boy despite what they'd done, and that he hadn't done anything to be ashamed of or worried about, but that they should not do it again. Of course he couldn't use the words despite, shame, or worry. That would indicate wrong. But then what they'd done was wrong, despite how it had felt, and how it had made the boy feel and what his heart was saying. Phil spent another sleepless night trying to put into words what he'd say the next day. As he headed off to school, he still didn't know how he was going to say what had to be said.

Timmy arrived at the meeting the next morning promptly, and they did it again, just as hotly, just as passionately, with just as much lust and just as much pleasure, the boy on his back on his desk with his slender legs raised in the air, him with his pants and boxers about his ankles, ramming the boy so hard he moved the desk. He could not believe it. At least this time he'd locked the door to his office. That night his brain and his heart argued nonstop until morning. It was a tie. By the end of the month, Timmy reported his early pregnancy symptoms. By the end of the second month he was clearly gaining weight. He said that Willie's parents would know what to do. The next day Phil found himself waiting outside the daycare and following Derrick home when he came by after school to pick up his two sons, uncertain what the relationship of the spike-haired, pierced seventeen-year-old was to the two boys and if he should approach him, even more uncertain what he was going to say. He waited outside their home until Tom arrived from work and debated if he should approach him and the teenage boy together, or the older man alone. Timmy had said nothing about there being two men and he'd just assumed it would be a single parent or a man and his unsuspecting wife. He really had no idea if one or both or neither was abusing the three-year-old, and he wondered if the man had abused the teenager first. He had read case histories about such triangles of abuse where the abused became a molester himself.

Knowing he had to do something, not just because he'd be totally useless at work after another sleepless night but for Timmy's sake, he screwed up his courage, and inhaling deeply, approached the house. Tom answered the door, which Phil found, was to his relief. He introduced himself and explained he was a school counsellor, and that one of the students he was counselling attended the same daycare as Willie, whom he was assuming was his son. When Derrick joined them, he suggested that what he had to say was sensitive, and perhaps it would be best just between himself and Tom. The look in the eyes of the man and the teenage boy confirmed his worst suspicions and he suddenly realized the foolish risk he'd taken and the dangerous position he'd put himself in. From the looks on their faces both men were child molesters. If they chose to silence him, he'd be no match for the two of them.

Before any of the three of them could say something, Willie squeezed between his parents' legs, looked up at him with all the innocence and charm of a three-year-old, and obviously having overheard the conversation, happily announced to his parents that this was the father of his friend Timmy's baby. Of all the scenarios he'd imagined, he'd not once thought that he might be the one fingered as the child molester! The resulting conversation about gargoyles and suppositories and ancient Chinese, about three year olds seeding six year olds, and about boys having babies was the weirdest and most unbelievable conversation Phil had ever had, and watching Derrick open up his shirt and breast feed his eighteen-month-old son was even weirder and more unbelievable. He left totally bewildered and wondering if he'd just met the two biggest con men in the world. The changes in Timmy the following weeks, however, were undeniable.

"I can't tell you how good it has been for me to come here and meet all of you, and to have your understanding and support. It has been just as important to me as it has been for Timmy."

"Well, I know I speak for all of us when I say we're glad that you're here and that we've been able to help the two of you," Ray replied and the others quickly nodded agreement.

"Same for me and Randy what Phil just said," said Jack. "Kyle and Kevin have been a wealth of information and support and without them neither of us would have made it through to this summer, but to hear your experiences and to meet others who are actually experiencing this, this. . . ."

"Miracle," supplied Kyle. The handsome, dark-haired twenty-three-year-old marine biologist had accompanied Jack that afternoon for moral support, recalling how intimidating his first meeting of other boylovers at the campground had been. He also knew how supportive the group was and how, once given the opening, the others were eager and relieved to tell their stories and so he had kept silent during the conversation.

"Yes, miracle," agreed Jack. "To see other boys who are actually really, truly pregnant, and to talk to the men who impregnated them, well, you have no idea how important it is."

"Oh, I think all of us here know how important," Ray said with a smile.

"I know exactly what Phil is saying and can relate to everything he's said. After I first did it with Randy, I was sure I was the sickest, most vile man on this planet. A pedo, a pervert, and a married man on top of it! And like Phil I was worried sick about being found out, not just because of the loss of my job and my marriage and because of my family and friends finding out, but mostly because what such a disclosure would mean for Randy, who I never wanted to harm in any way. Being jailed and totally despised as the scum of the earth I could take, and I could even accept that my accusers were justified in their actions and opinions, but I could not take Randy being shunned and rejected, or even ridiculed and vilified over what I'd done. I know from what I've read in the media that is often the way boys who have been abused are treated, by their own parents, by other adults, and especially their own peers."

"Sadly that's very true," agreed Phil, "regardless if the boy had participated willingly or had been forced."

"Since you mentioned Kyle and Kevin, I'm assuming it was their son Korby who gifted you?" asked Anton.

"Oh yes," Jack said with a grin. He looked over at Randy in the lake with the other pregnant boys and sighed. "What a perfect word that is, gifted. And what a precious gift, and an unexpected one," he added with a chuckle. "Randy is a most precocious boy, but I suppose that is only fitting as I was also when I was his age. I had my first sexual experience with a man when I was just a year older than he was, shortly after my seventh birthday with a neighbour down the street. I was out riding my new bike and he spotted me and called me over. He invited me in for cookies and Kool-aide and we ended up in his bedroom. We had sex off and on for a year until one day he suddenly up and moved away. I was angry and hurt that he'd left without saying goodbye, and sad because I'd thought that he'd really liked me. I was in a pissy mood for months and nobody knew why and I couldn't tell them because I wasn't exactly sure myself. He was a kind man and quite frankly I missed engaging in our little secret, which was really a large part of the reason for my anger.

He actually contacted me a few years ago and apologized for leaving without a word. He'd been exposing himself to boys in the park and one of the fathers had tracked him down and figuring the courts wouldn't do anything had threatened to take matters in his own hands so to speak unless he left town. It was too bad really because I'd really liked him. Sure, he took advantage of my innocence and curiosity, but I never felt I suffered any harm from the experience. In fact I considered myself luckier than most boys to have had the experience. And he had liked me, in his way. That he'd risked contacting me after all those years because he was sorry for having left me, and because he wanted to be sure I was all right, showed that he did care.

Not much happened over the next six years, some show me yours and I'll show you mine sort of stuff, with both sexes, some messing around with my brother who is four years older than me, and some experimentation to see what it felt like to do stuff with another guy with a couple close buddies when we hit puberty, the sort of stuff a lot of adventurous boys go through, and once I entered my teens a lot of attempts to make out, finally succeeding shortly after my fourteenth birthday with a girl two years older.

I knew by then that women and a certain type of man found me attractive, and I used that to my advantage. When you're fourteen, fifteen years old and the hormones are flowing, it doesn't much matter who you get it off with, at least it didn't for me. I was just as happy to ball the prom queen as I was the neighbourhood queen. The summer between grade ten and eleven I was getting it on regularly with the forty-five-year-old guy who was running the bowling alley and a nine-year-old up the street who was getting paid by strangers to expose himself on his older brother's computer cam. He even had a bank account that he'd check online to make sure they'd made a deposit before he did anything! He's probably a millionaire by now," he observed with a smile. "Except for one of my buddies and a cousin who got all twisted out of shape over a couple mutual jerk sessions, they were all positive experiences for me and whoever I was doing it with when I was a kid.

At university I swung both ways, making out with whoever hit my fancy, and on holidays back home making out with my older brother. Then I met my wife and fell in love and my roaming days were over. Whenever I saw a particularly cute guy or attractive woman or a sexy-looking boy, it was hard to resist the temptation, especially cute preteen boys who have always been my favourite partners, but I persevered thanks to having great sex with my wife and with my hand whenever she was not available or I was extra horny.

So, when Randy came along, I'd been a one cunt man for ten years but my eyes were still wandering and I was still fantasizing. Randy is the son of the director of the Seaport Marine Research Institute in Maine, where both Kyle and I work, though in different departments. I'd seen Randy around off and on and found myself occasionally fantasizing about him. After my experiences, I had no qualms about sex between a man and a boy, and anyway, they were only fantasies, and as you can see for yourselves, he has the looks and the personality to make it impossible for men like us not to fantasize.

About five months ago I and several others were at a late afternoon meeting with his father. Randy was sitting at the far end of the conference room playing with some action figures and waiting for his father to take him home when I looked up and saw him grinning at me and realized that in my boredom I'd been siting there stroking myself under the table. None of them could see me, but where I was sitting Randy could see everything reflected off the glass on one of the paintings on the wall. When I realized that, I turned a bright red and the boy giggled, and then impishly spread his legs and stroked himself. A few days later I met him in the corridor and he grinned up at me and his hand immediately dropped to his crotch, and a few days after that when I saw him waiting for his father outside his office I teased him, suggestively running my hand down my thigh. To me it was just some innocent kidding around, but in retrospect I guess you could say we were coming on to each other. I guess those who oppose our type of love would say I was enticing him, or inviting him for sexual touching.

Then, about four months ago, I was sitting in one of the offices going over some photos of an area of the ocean we're charting when Randy came in, closed and locked the door, and sitting down beside me, reached over and pulled down my fly. Well, I asked him what he thought he was doing, and he looked up at me with those big brown, innocent eyes and replied, 'I think I'm taking out your dink so I can jack it off.' Six years and four months old! Well, that just blew me away. After ten years of boy abstinence, I could not say no, and after ten years I shot off faster than a teenage boy after his first date. Only a couple weeks later he was bending over the drafting table with his pants and briefs down and telling me he wanted me to fuck his ass so we could have a baby together. The sight of that beautiful compact bottom and those big innocent eyes, how could I possibly refuse? Mind you," Jack added with a laugh, "I had no idea at the time that he was attending the same daycare as Kyle's two sons, and that we'd actually be making a baby, thanks to Kyle's son Korby."

"When Randy began puffing out, it was Korby who told me I'd better talk to Jack," Kyle said with a grin. "As Jack said, we both work at the same Institute but in different departments. I'd seen him around and we'd attended a few meetings together, but there's not that many reasons a marine biologist would be working directly with an oceanographer and it's a big institute, so I didn't really know him. As you can imagine, approaching a fellow you barely know and telling him you suspected he was screwing the director's son and that he'd gotten the boy pregnant because your four-year-old son said so was no easy task, and resulted in a rather weird conversation."

The others all laughed at that and Phil said he could understand very well having had the same strange conversation with Tom and Derrick. By the time Kyle had related his conversation with Jack the group of men were doubled over with laughter. By then everyone in the water and the meadow had enough sun and began heading to their campsites or the patio, including the pregnant boys who emerged from the lake and waddled over to join their boylovers.

"Sounded like you were having a good time," Randy observed as he and Jack retired to their fifth wheel to get ready for the barbeque and potluck supper that night.

"Yes, I was. Looked like you were having a good time yourself."

"Oh, fuck yeah. It is like so fucking cool talking to other guys who are pregnant, and guys who love men like I do. I'm like so glad we came here."

"So am I. It's great talking to other men who have the same beliefs and values, and who know all about what we are going through and what is happening to you. And it's great to be able to be so open about our relationship and to laugh." As the changes had occurred to Randy as his pregnancy had progressed, and as they'd had to become more and more secretive about their relationship as they grew closer and closer to each other, there had been more than a few tense and worrisome moments.

"Fucking right," Randy agreed, "about being open and being able to laugh." He put his arm around Jack. He'd had a particularly hard time with morning sickness and what with the changes going through his body, their worries about people finding out about their love for each other, and concerns about the future when he gave birth, there had not been much laughter. Jack slipped his arm about the boy and kissed him fondly and gently on the cheek. "You missed," Randy said impishly. Turning, he planted a long, hot kiss on his lover's lips. Jack returned the kiss with a second just as passionately. "You know that stuff we're supposed to do when the baby starts to come?"

"Yeah."

"Think we should practice?" Randy asked with a sparkle in his eyes.

Jack smiled. He'd love nothing better, though it was hardly something they had to practice. He'd been screwing the boy's delightful ass regularly for the past four months. "They said it could be dangerous, doing it the last two weeks," he said, turning to face the boy and running his hand over his protruding stomach. Upon emerging from the lake, Randy had wrapped a large bath towel about himself but had discarded it upon entering their fifth wheel. His nipples, which had grown larger and darker were especially sensitive to touch, and the way his chest had rounded out his nips were sticking out like two sore thumbs. Besides, he was carrying their son high and up front so he had absolutely no waist and the only way he could keep his baggy pants up was with suspenders, which he hated because of his sensitive nipples, and not only that, his baggy pants were always brushing up against his dick, which was just as sensitive as his nipples, so he was almost always in a state of erection, which as delightful as that was, could sometimes be awkward and was not always something he could take care of. So, he much preferred going naked, which he did whenever he could, another delightful thing about the campground.

Jack ran his fingers over the boy's bulging stomach gently with a feather-light touch, causing the boy's little dick to begin to swell. He knew the boy's stomach was sensitive to touch, but he also knew the boy loved having it caressed, and he loved caressing it. As he'd told the others, like Anton, he'd always felt a special attraction toward boys, and with Randy's pregnancy, his attraction to the boy seemed to increase proportionately with his increase in weight. There was something about his protruding stomach and the fact there was a little baby, their son, inside it, that was especially erotic. It was a constant and obvious reminder of what the two of them had done to result in both.

"You want to do it too," Randy observed. Jack was still wearing his swim suit and it was impossible to hide the result of his thoughts and the sight of the pregnant six-year-old standing beside him. How could he resist?

Pushing his swim suit down and stepping out of it, he lay down on the bed and Randy lay down beside him. Phil ran his fingers over the boy's belly once again, following the curvature from right to left, and from his protruding belly button, which had popped out several weeks ago, over the bulge and down the abrupt slope to his smooth, hairless pubes and tiny dick and balls, looking even tinier dangling under the boy's ponderous stomach. As he gently caressed the firm, protruding abdomen, he saw the boy's little pecker quickly rising until it was jutting up in the air rock hard and jerking about with excitement and impatience, just like its owner. Anyone who said six-year-old boys didn't have sexual desires evidently had never made love to a six-year-old boy. He ran his fingers up again over the boy's protruding belly, never ceasing to be amazed how firm and solid it felt and how erotic it was to caress it. Randy looked like a big pink puffer fish with tiny, slender arms and legs and a little head, and a tiny stiff pecker. Jack's cock jerked with arousal and impatience itself.

Hefting himself up and turning around so he was in the opposite direction, Randy reached out and grasping Jack's large, thick, erect organ by the base, he leaned over and took the knob in his mouth. He knew the man was better hung than most men as his knob filled his mouth and he hoped their baby would be as well hung as Jack. He sucked eagerly on the man's knob, delighting in its taste and the musky fragrance of his crotch. As he sucked, he reached around under his belly and wrapped his fingers about his stiff dicklet. With his expanded stomach he could barely reach it, and other than in the mirror, he hadn't been able to see it for the past month and a half. He loved looking at himself in the mirror, standing sideways and admiring his bulging stomach. Of the four boys in the lake his belly had been the biggest, but then he was the furthest along. He could not wait to give birth. That was going to be fucking awesome, not just the being fucked and jerked off bit and the contractions that the older boys had described, but having his very own son to love and to cherish. His stiff dicklet throbbing in his fingers, and Jack's big cock throbbing in his hand and in his mouth, his entire body ached with arousal, right from his swollen, darkened nipples to his tiny, hairless balls and from his supersensitive skin to the depths of his loins.

Jack was aching with arousal also as he lay there on his back, his stiff, throbbing cock being sucked by the pregnant six-year-old boy that in a couple weeks would be giving birth to their son. Randy gave awesome head, better than anyone he'd ever known, and as the boy swallowed his dick-flavoured saliva, Jack quivered with desire. He reached down and caressed the boy's swollen boobs, now as large and as firm as a pubescent girl's. He squeezed the firm flesh and a quiver ran up his cock as he imagined them being firm and full of milk and recalled what Michael had said about what it felt like to nurse. That was so erotic! He'd seen the other boys nursing their babies around the camp and the sight of the young boys, some as young as six, sitting there with their little baby's lips fastened to their swollen teats and sucking out their breast milk was so erotic he was in a constant state of semi-arousal. As he thought about Randy nursing the baby in his belly, their baby, he felt a twang deep in his loins and he had to fight back the urge to shoot off a load right then and there.

Randy clamped his lips tight below Jack's blood-engorged knob, cutting off his impulse to squirt. He'd sucked his lover's cock enough times to know the warning signs. That Jack was feeling so hot pleased him. There was nothing that he wanted more than to please the man, to return the deep love that he knew the man felt for him. Adults, like his parents and their friends, were so funny about sex. It felt so great, and it felt so much better doing it with someone else, it made no sense to keep it such a big secret, and to make it for adults only. That was stupid. Fortunately there were people like Jack and like Korby who didn't believe in the dumb rules. He closed his eyes and focussed on the tangy flavour and musky fragrance of Jack's cock and his balls. They were particularly strong when hot and sweaty.

Jack oozed out a dollop of pre-cum and Randy eased his lips up to the tip of his cock and sucked up the sweet, clear nectar and savoured it, delighting in its delicate flavour and stickiness. He slipped his lips back down and clamped them below Jack's spongy knob once again, closing his eyes with delight. His stiff little cocklet was numb and so swollen it was difficult to pull back his foreskin. He knew he'd be reaching his climax any second now, just as he'd know from the tremble on the underside of Jack's cock that he'd released a dollop of pre-cum. Everything he knew and did had been taught to him by his lover, or by Korby under the blankets at the daycare, and he wanted so much to please Jack, just as Jack tried so hard to please him. He swirled his tongue along the sensitive rim of Jack's knob, knowing how pleasurable Jack found it, knowing it would bring him off but unable to hold back any longer.

Nor could Jack. He warned the boy as he felt the twang deep in his loins and his cum begin to race up the core of his cock. Randy began jerking his hips to and fro and twitching uncontrollably with his own orgasm, his right hand still grasping Jack's stiff cock and his lips still tightly clamped about his knob. As the first spurt of Jack's hot, tart cum spurted into his mouth, the six-year-old eagerly swallowed the thick slime and as it oozed down his throat he quivered with delight. Spurt after spurt erupted into his mouth and he eagerly swallowed his lover's delightful baby-making juice as it filled his mouth and oozed out of the corners of his lips and down around his chin. Knowing even at the age of six what he found a pleasure and saw as an expression of their love many condemned as perverted and disgusting, the fact that what they were doing was forbidden and unknown to most boys his age made it all the more erotic and he jerked and thrashed on the bed in ecstasy, his little cocklet tingling and his peehole burning as his young body was wracked with his dry orgasm.

As they cuddled together afterward, their organs limp once again and their heart rates back to normal, Jack leaned over and kissed the young boy, tasting his semen on the boy's smooth, moist lips. His breath smelled of cock and fresh cum. Jack placed his hand gently on the boy's protruding stomach and caressed it. They glanced at each other as they felt a rhythmic series of small bumps. "I'm afraid we've given the little guy the hiccups," Jack observed with a smile.

"I think it's cuz he's just finished drinking all the cum I swallowed and is burpin'," observed Randy, looking down at his protruding stomach seriously and then up at his lover with his big brown eyes as the corners of his lips began to curl. The two laughed. That was the best of all. It felt so good to laugh, and to be open about their love for each other.

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