WARNING: This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts between men and MINOR boys. It is not true! The story is not intended to promote illegal acts against minors. I do not condone child abuse, however the love of boys is a different matter. Despite the prevalent attitudes of western society, men have loved boys throughout recorded history. It is my goal to help readers appreciate that love can exist between men and boys. If the subject of man/boy love offends you, if this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if you are under the legal age for such material, do not read further!
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Any similarity to individuals, living or dead, is entirely accidental. The sexual acts described in the story are the result of my imagination. I have not performed these acts, and I do not encourage others to perform them with minors.
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FINAL WARNING: If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't your thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin!
According to research being undertaken in a random sample of ten California schools, as many as 30 percent of the nation's male school teachers may be pedophiles. This startling revelation was made by Doctor Albert Burke of the Free Children From Abuse Center in Los Angeles. Data collected by the FCFAC over the last twelve months indicates a high probability that many male teachers in elementary and primary schools are sexually attracted to the children they are teaching. Pedophilia has become a crisis of epidemic proportions, said Burke, further reinforcing President Holly Denton's campaign that pedophiles are terrorizing America's children. "Everywhere we look we keep finding pedophiles who have taken on jobs that place them in close contact with children, but we were shocked to find so many of them in schools. Every parent in the land need to realize that it's not just priests who threaten our children."
Teaching children brings a pedophile into a position of power, from where it is a relatively easy matter to force a child into a sexual act. It is well known that pedophiles tend to focus their efforts on children who are having difficulties at home and school, establishing trust and achieving a rapport with offers of affection that troubled children find irresistible. From a friendly hug or a slap on the back, it is only a short step to sexual activity. Burke pointed out that the recent situation in the Santa Monica School District was probably symptomatic of a the larger problem addressing the entire country. Only two months ago it was revealed that several male teachers had recruited as many as one hundred boys from three public schools in the Santa Monica area. The boys were engaged in illegal sexual activities with a network of highly placed pedophiles. The network was known as LAB for L.A. Boys and even received funding from the U.S. department of Social Services. The boys, mostly from low income families, were introduced to pedophiles as part of a mentorship program for disadvantaged youth. The boys received expensive gifts for their services.
In addition to the problems lurking in our schools, Burke also indicated that coaching sports teams remains the most popular way for pedophiles to gain access to children. "Trust no one!" Burke offered as counsel to parents. "Tens of thousands of pedophiles are out there on the soccer fields and baseball diamonds waiting to get their hands on your sons and daughters."
"I'm glad you could come at such short notice, Congressman Lane," Hackman said as eloquently as he could manage. It sounded as if he had been practicing the opening line for some time for his usual manner of speech was very different.
"Not a problem," Lane answered.
Even though the appointment had been set up the previous day, and he had concluded that it was very likely he was going to be asked to serve on the President's Education task force, Lane was still wondering what the meeting was about. Hackman's secretary, the middle-aged spinster whose job it was to make appointments and organize the Vice President's schedule was both suitably friendly and competent. She had said that the meeting was not urgent, yet she had also made a point of telling him that he had been given the only available opening in Hackman's schedule for the next three weeks. Had she been trying to warn him?
Since early Saturday afternoon of the previous week, Lane had been bothered by a disquieting sense of foreboding. It was too late to change what had happened, not that he wanted to, but it was very apparent that he needed to be very careful in the future. Perhaps it was merely his residual guilt because there was nothing definite that he could put his finger on. Still, he was left with the nagging suspicion that something was very wrong. Jeff had not telephoned and he had promised that he would. Equally, Lane's attempts to reach Jeff by telephone had been to no avail. It was not a matter of having the wrong number for he had personally copied it down from the telephone just before he left. He had called five times in three days well after school was out, but before most people came home from work. He called to speak to Jeff, but he also enjoyed listening to the boy's amusing welcome and invitation to leave a message. Much as he wanted to, Lane did not dare leave a message on the answering machine. Putting his worries aside, he followed Hackman across the room.
He took the proffered seat that left Vice President Hackman with his back to a vast window with a spectacular view over the Mall. Lane never tired of looking down the axis at a symmetrical if overly formal arrangement of institutional buildings that was enhanced by the judicious use of landscape elements. It was all about power and prestige, but then so was Hackman's position. His seat ensured that he would be surrounded by the glare from outside. He sat behind a desk that was first used by Theodore Roosevelt in 1902, a tradition in a way but also trying to associate himself with one of the nation's finest leaders. Lane smiled. His impression of the Vice President was being confirmed again and again.
"I s'pose you're wonderin' why I got ya in `ere?" Hackman queried. He paused before adding, "Congressman Lane." It sounded sarcastic, and it was entirely in character,
He relaxed in his chair, a cloth-covered relic of the mid 18th Century that had been used by one of the nation's most influential statesmen.
"I've been giving it some thought," Lane answered with a glance to the side.
"Well now,... We'll get to tha' `fore long. D'ya think there's a chance in hell fer them Sox?" Hackman was never one to come to the point quickly.
Lane shrugged. He watched Hackman closely. The man was delusional. He was something of a joke in the nation's capital. It was common knowledge on the Hill that Hackman considered himself to be the equal of Machiavelli. There was even a rumor that having tried to read 'The Prince', the Vice President could not fathom why the man had acquired such a reputation. Admittedly, the story went, he had only perused it, because to do otherwise would have meant expending intellectual effort that was beyond him. Even then, people resented him less for his mediocre intelligence and the manner in which he had gained the Vice Presidency than for the bold-faced liar that he was known to be in political circles.
"A `course it's too soon to tell. We could do with some rain, don' ya think," he added, changing the subject without warning.
Beyond the window, the grass was vivid green. Lane shrugged again and waited while the Vice President continued to review the weather forecast for various parts of the country and then went on to talk about his last trip to the Mid West. In particular, he focused on his visit to a struggling black college and how the faculty was having trouble recruiting a minority president, as if it would be of vital interest to Lane.
"Mind if I call you Doc? I hear you got two of `em," Hackman asked, deliberately referring to Lane's two doctorates to show how little he was interested in education.
"Do I get to call you Reverend?" Lane quipped.
Hackman laughed. "Only if yer in my congr'ation, `n frankly, I don't think you white Midwestern' types be fittin' in. `a course it would be int'restin' ta see, Doc."
"I do have things I need to do," Lane said pointedly after Hackman had stopped talking for a few moments.
Hackman glared at him. "Well, I `spose you congressmen's busy `n me," he laughed feebly. "So I'll get to tha' poin'." He scratched the back of his head, endeavoring to look thoughtful. "I gotta tell ya' Lane,...."
"Tell me what?"
"Tha' President was mighty teed off `bout what you done to Hana. The H.N.A.," he added as if Lane was insufficiently versed in Administration jargon to appreciate the acronym for the Healthy Nation Act.
"Was she indeed?" Lane asked cynically. "I didn't mean to upset her."
"Tha' Hill's diff'rent to bein' in ac'demics. Sorta thin' you done to Hana can do real damage to a man's career. You plan on quitting pol'tics?
"I haven't given it any thought," Lane answered flippantly. He had not intended to antagonize the man but Hackman's expression was one of irritation.
"You oughta think more `bout tha' long term."
"Perhaps I do. I was thinking about another term."
"Yeah? It's goin' to take more'n you got tha next time." Hackman laughed. "Yer wonderin' what this is `bout, ain't ya?"
"I have a few ideas," Lane replied.
"Like what?"
"Hm,... well for one,..."
Lane paused. Hackman smirked, waiting. Whatever he thought, he was wrong. He could tell something was going on from the way Hackman was playing with him. It was not about the Education Task Force that much was certain. He took a wild guess, basing his response on Hackman's reference to the ignominious fate of some sections of the H.N.A.
"Go on!"
"I heard a rumor that the Administration was working on some interesting legislation," Lane continued innocuously after Hackman leaned forward to listen.
"Ya heard what?" Hackman demanded huffily.
He appeared surprised and he leaned closer to the Congressman from,... what district was it that Lane came from? Indiana? Illinois? Probably Illinois, because some reporter had once likened Lane to Abe Lincoln. Not that it mattered much. Lane was an independent, unaffiliated with either political party, so while he owed no allegiances to others, few people owed him support in return. However, given the close balance of power in both the House and Senate, political independence made Lane a very dangerous man.
"I have very high regard for our civil liberties," Lane said flatly, wishing that he knew more of what was being rumored. "I believe that the Administration is eliminating individual sovereignty piece by piece."
"In'vidual wha?"
"Our freedoms. Our rights to live as we chose." Lane stopped.
What did it matter? There was no point in explaining the original goals of the founders of the nation. Talking to Hackman was a lot like talking to the gardener where he lived, except that the gardener was honest and forthright in his opinions. With Hackman, it was impossible to know where the man stood on any issue, not because he did not have opinions, but simply because he could not be trusted in any view that he expressed. In Lane's experience, such failings were typical of flagrant womanizers. With Hackman's record of siring bastard children, the reputation was well deserved.
"The way I hear it, what's happening is not very nice," Lane added circumspectly.
The legislation was closely guarded, but it was referred to as NICE in the vague rumor he had heard. Although the acronym had not been defined, he had presumed two of the words were `National' and `Equality'. It was likely based on the leanings of the Administration.
The other man glared at him, hiding his surprise remarkably well under the circumstances. The simple reason behind his anger was that the President had deliberately charged him with stopping leaks. NICE was supposed to be a secret.
"So,.... Ya know `bout NICE. Yah, I thinl ya do, don' ya?" he asked carefully.
His eyes narrowed as Lane nodded slowly. The President was 100 percent right about this man. He was too smart for his own good.
"I know something of it," Lane remarked a little haphazardly. "Not a lot, but enough."
In truth, he knew very little beyond the vague rumor of an Administration initiative to mount a campaign against sexual discrimination. However, a long time ago he had learned that it was often beneficial to appear fully informed. He waited patiently, hoping that Hackman would fill in the missing details. Some fifteen or twenty seconds passed. His bluff worked.
"Tha country needs us to take drastic action 'fore it's too late. What we're doing is fer tha best, fer tha kids."
Lane nodded encouragingly and folded his hands to appear relaxed. What Hackman had just said seemed unrelated to sexual discrimination.
"Our most important resource," Lane countered ambiguously. It was a standard phase in the nation's capital.
Hackman studied him with a bored expression. "What d'you thin' `bout `em?"
"About who?"
"Pedos. You think pedo-philes are protect'd by tha' Cons'tution?" Hackman demanded arrogantly.
Lane shrugged, harboring an uncomfortable feeling inside. At least he knew more than a minute earlier. One important detail had been provided. It was not about sexual discrimination. Instead, it was sexual aberration that was under attack. Worse, the Administration was focusing on people like himself. It was politically correct to attack pedophiles. He shuddered.
"I don't think they were excluded," he answered calmly.
Hackman laughed suddenly. "Not so far they ain't. You think it's okay, what them pedos do to boys?"
Lane's eyes lifted up. He swallowed and endeavored to control his rising panic. There was a reason why he had been singled out for Hackman's pleasure.
"No," he answered simply.
"Tha's good. I cain't help wonderin' `bout you Lane? What mot'vates a man like you?"
"Can we get to the point?"
"Well,... I am, see. It's disgustin', what they do to boys," Hackman said bluntly. "You know what they do?"
"Not really," Lane answered. He swallowed, anticipating the worst.
"Ya know, Doc, I got a tape that shows it," Hackman leered. "Maybe if you seen it, you'd feel more like s'pportin' NICE. It stands for Natural In'vention to Control,... Curb Evil, `n what's on the tape `s evil."
"I'll take your word for it," Lane replied abruptly. He began to rise.
"Better sit and watch," Hackman said, tapping the remote controller that lay on his desk.
Lane sat down as he recognized the image appear on the large flat-screen television that was built into the bookcase on the opposite wall. He could barely breath, but breathing had been almost impossible for him when the video had been made. Then, he had been incredibly excited both by the situation and by a young boy who exceeded his wildest dreams. Now, he was confronted by his worst nightmare.
Despite common sense, they had gone to Jeff's home directly from playing laser tag. Jeff lived in a condominium in a neighborhood that was very similar to his own. There was a pleasant view from the living room. They had sat there, looking at the distant trees, at a group of children playing, talking about laser tag, about nothing in particular. They were a few feet apart, yet close enough that it seemed to Lane that he could feel the boy's body heat. He found it difficult to take his eyes away from Jeff. He had always been attracted to blond-headed boys, and the boy beside him was so good-looking that Lane was easily infatuated.
They stayed side by side on the expensive grey leather couch for nearly half an hour. For a long while it seemed innocent. Certainly nothing sexual happened, not until Jeff had giggled and without further ado, climbed onto Lane's lap and then there was no stopping what followed. The video showed them `making out' like two hot-blooded teenagers instead of a middle-aged man and an eleven-year-old boy. Jeff had some initial hesitation in French kissing although he instigated it in the first place. Lane had often read about boys were reluctant to kiss so he was not all that surprised, yet after the first few wet kisses, the boy settled down quickly. Indeed, it seemed to Lane that the boy enjoyed being kissed, willing offering his mouth to Lane's persistently invading tongue and stabbing with his own tongue as far as it could reach.
After a few minutes, Jeff had groped his groin then began to tug against his zipper. The camera zoomed in with a close-up of the boy's hand reaching into the opening, fondling under the cloth, then carefully pulling the man's engorged penis out and into the open. The photography was equal to anything that had ever been seen on the highly rated, `Suburban Voyeur', a popular prime-time show which used amateur videos to amuse a live audience. Lane's penis filled the screen, its head crimson and swollen and dominating the boy's deft small fingers.
Lane sat still, unable to respond as he watched it happen again. Jeff stroked his penis, working the skin with languid ease. Slowly travelling up and down, pulling the skin tight so that his glans bulged and darkened, and beads of preseminal juice oozed from the gaping hole. The camera slowly panned up Lane's body, stopping only when their faces could be seen. His tongue looked as if it was halfway down the boy's throat. Vaguely, he wondered where the camera was located until he remember that he had thought it strange how many mirrors were in the condominium. There had a small gilt-framed mirror on the wall opposite the couch. From the angle, the mirror concealed the camera, yet even as he realized that, he remembered that there been a huge mirror that filled the wall behind the couch. The scene faded only to be replaced by a new scene and a new angle, a close up of Jeff leaning down, kissing the man's thick erection, quickly lifting up, drawing a delicate silver thread on his tongue. His hands worked with unsettling impulsiveness, kneading the man's plump testicles. By then, Lane had begun to take Jeff's clothes off. He remembered how his hands shook with excitement. It was so bad that he had difficulty unfastening the button on the boy's jeans. He breathed heavily, barely able to resist tearing the clothes off and making contact with warm bare skin. Jeff had pulled his belly in to make it easier. Both of them had difficulty in concentrating. Jeff giggled continuously, which only served to make Lane more aroused.
"You havin' fun I see," Hackman said sarcastically.
Lane grimaced. "I've seen enough."
"So far it's only oral, `n by some `counts oral ain't even sex," Hackman joked. "Though I bet Holly don't `gree wid tha', given what her pussy-lovin' husband used to do in her office," he chortled. "Watchin' yerself bother you? Would me."
Lane realized then that he had no choice but to let the situation run its course. Hackman was finally playing the part of Machiavelli and he was not about to back off and allow Lane to save face. His reputation was well-deserved. The man thrived on power. Lane eased down into his seat, wishing that he had exerted more self-control. He would never forget the overwhelming awe he had felt when Jeff finally wriggled out of his jeans and he saw the boy's sex organs in the flesh, so to speak, and in the light. At the time, despite his best efforts he had been unable to restrain himself. They were both intensely excited. If he had any doubt it was removed when he saw that the boy's penis was fully extended. By the time his jeans came past his feet, Jeff had leaned over and taken Lane's penis inside his mouth once again, yet the video remained on the boy's small organ. Lane gazed at it, still disbelieving that what he saw was real and not a dream. Eventually when lust conquered his inhibition and reason, he had reached out. It naturally came into his hand, bobbing up and down, alive and vibrant whenever the boy enthusiastically flexed his inner muscles. It had been very hot to touch, and both harder and softer than anything that Lane could remember touching.
The tape had been capably edited and it faded to black. The momentary lull in action was replaced by a view taken from a different angle. It showed Lane's head and shoulders, and the boy's body from navel to knees. He could not remember how they had gotten into the sixty-nine position, but somehow they had. He remembered the first taste, savored in the privacy of the room. There was no flavor except sweetness. Mind numbing sweetness. His lips slipped down the short rigid shaft and his tongue swirled over the distended spike of flesh. He stopped when he could go no further. By then, he held Jeff's reproductive organs inside his mouth. Penis, scrotum, testicles, all of it, easily containing Jeff's succulent boyhood. Then, without further ado, he had sucked Jeff to within seconds of orgasm, backing off only because the boy had stopped sucking on his penis. Jeff whispered something in his ear about being more comfortable on the bed. Like a groom carrying his bride, he carried Jeff's almost nude body into the bedroom, feeling a thrill that made him tremble as he walked.
"Now fer tha' good stuff," Hackman snickered.
Lane tensed. At Jeff's instigation, they had gone into his mother's bedroom. The much larger bed was unmade, but not untidy. Amid an array of cosmetics on the dresser, there was a photograph in a chrome-plated frame of Jeff. It had been taken a year or two earlier and his hair was longer. The woman next to him, obviously his mother, reminded Lane of one of the receptionists who worked in the Capitol Building, although she was better dressed.
There were mirrors in the main bedroom as well. There had been one mirror on what he thought had been the closet door. Another mirror covered most the wall behind the bed. It reflected them as Lane carried Jeff across the room to the bed. Jeff's arms lifted up and Lane hurriedly pulled the last piece of clothing from his body. Like a randy Latino lover, he flung the tee-shirt across the room, making both of them laugh.
Now, Lane watched himself from behind, watched as he peeled off his shirt, removed his jeans, took off his underpants. He saw his naked back, the paleness of his buttocks, and from the side, the beautiful boy grinning up at him, inciting him to take everything off. Again and again he had tried to resist but Jeff had seduced him.
Lane heard Jeff's voice in his head. Soft, sensuous, alluring, urging Lane to take him, to show him what he could do. He needed to distance himself. He tried to close his eyes, but the darkness lasted only for a few seconds. The man in the video stepped forward until his knees touched the mattress and Jeff reached out, giggling and making funny faces. The camera hidden behind the mirror above the bed showed Jeff as he eagerly took hold of the man's penis. Lane swallowed, unable to resist looking at the television as the memories overwhelmed him. His brow sweated.
"Pity there ain't no sound," Hackman said. "Bet you were doin' a lot `a heavy breathin' `bout now."
Lane shook his head in denial. Sound changed everything. He had tried so hard to talk to Jeff, to talk him out of it, several times offering to leave, trying very hard to avoid the intimacy that was going to occur if he remained in the same room as the boy. However, with competent editing and the haunting silence of the video it looked as if Jeff was the victim.
At Jeff's adamant insistence, Lane had climbed onto the bed next to him. Jeff's hands reached up, brought their lips together, sucked the breath from Lane's lungs until he was ready to collapse. Then, as Jeff lay back into the down-filled pillows, he pulled Lane with him. Lane straddled the naked boy, his knees pressed either side of two slender hairless legs. He remembered kneeling, still awed by the utter perfection of the nude boy, his huge penis looming out over the recumbent child like a thick wooden stake ready to be driven through the sleeping vampire's heart. Instead, Lane quieted his demon by leaning down and gently kissing the boy on the bridge of his nose. He worshipped Jeff as he had worshipped a million other boys from a distance, with respect and restrained love.
"G'damn faggot stuff," Hackman growled. "Lemme fast-fo'wad."
It had lasted for the best part of an hour. Sixty minutes of kissing and touching, of building familiarity, of giving infinite untrammeled pleasure without taking back. By then he had kissed or licked every part of Jeff's body, every nook and cranny, every orifice but one. Jeff wanted more, even urged the man to `do it in my ass' with words that were obscene, yet still Lane managed a modicum of self-control. Again and again he had focused his attention on the sensitive nipples, sucking them to hardened tiny points. He was amazed by the boy's multiple orgasms, the ability to writhe and shudder for what seemed minutes at a time. And above the rest, the immature penis entranced Lane, twitching, pulsing without ejaculation, turning redder and redder beneath his lips and fingers until it seemed to glow. Lane lived a lifetime of frustration in a single hour, absorbing everything for he knew it would never happen again.
Finally, Jeff's persistence broke through Lane's resistance. The boy had orgasmed shamelessly for what seemed like the tenth time. Still gasping, yet showing few signs of being tired, Jeff rolled onto his back and pulled his knees to his shoulders. His buttocks lifted up, spread apart, revealed what Lane had longed to see for as long as he could remember. He had seen similar sights before but only as photographs, photographs of virgin boys whose anuses were still puckered or Russian boys whose bodies had been violated so often that the flesh surrounding the gaping opening was purple-brown. Lane did not ask the boy how often or who he had been with. He simply accepted the reality that the faint discoloration around Jeff's anus meant that one of them knew what to do.
There was a half-full tube of K-Y conveniently placed in the drawer of night stand next to the bed. Jeff's instructions were urgent and Lane responded equally urgently. He was unable to stop from realizing his dream. Hurriedly he lubricated the little opening, easing the way inside. How often had he fantasized about doing that, inserting his finger into a small anus, pushing through the outer muscle into the tighter confines, feeling the inner muscle that pulsed and grasped his finger and tried to push and pull against it. The muscle was ever so much stronger than he had imagined, and it opened much faster than he had ever thought possible. All it took was a few gentle strokes and Jeff's body relaxed and allowed his finger to slide back and forth. And the look that slowly changed from discomfort to bliss, to sheer unrepressed delight that lit Jeff's face, an expression that was hard to believe because of its intensity. It eliminated the few reservations that remained to Lane. He felt the muscle loosening, the movement easier, becoming increasingly slippery until his finger glided in and out and Jeff was unable to stop shaking. Jeff was insistent that he did not stop. A second finger was tight, but not so tight that it could not move back and forth. After a while, even that felt loose and Jeff had no reluctance in telling Lane that he was ready.
That was when Jeff rolled over onto his back and lifted his legs close to shoulders, bringing his buttocks up into a position that might have been called `presenting himself for inspection' or `showing the target'. He looked over his shoulder, still giving instructions in his throaty whisper and Lane kneeled over him panting with pent-up arousal as Jeff slide his hands up and down the man's erection, to make it stiffer and harder than seemed humanly possible. Lane stared down between them, fascinated by the boy's thin hands, the contrast of age and size, and the opening that was no longer as tight as it had once been. It glistened with the copious KY, some even oozing out of the boy's anus as if there was too much inside and there was nowhere else for it to go.
Lane was barely cognizant that there was a condom conveniently placed in the drawer although he laughed when Jeff said something about 'putting a wet-suit on Mr. Cock.' He watched as the boy, giggling with mirth, expertly nipped the cellophane covering with his teeth and extracted the cream-colored ring. He rolled the latex sheath down the thick veiny shaft as if he had been doing it all his life. With that out of the way, Jeff resumed his position, lifting his knees high, this time beyond his bony shoulders. Again, Lane gazed at the exposed hole. At times, when Jeff pushed down with his inner muscles, he could actually see inside, into the vivid crimson tube where a man and a boy joined. In silence that was punctuated only by the pounding of his heart, he pushed a finger loaded with the crystalline gel back into the heated canal. He was promptly greeted by a lusty sigh. Jeff twitched and nodded. Lane used his fingers to spread even more of the cool slimy gel inside where it was going to be needed. He was awed as he watched his shiny fingers disappeared once again into the boy, the glistening slick rim of his anus, opening so easily, yet still stretched impossibly tight and less than a half-inch from his knuckles. It looked as if it would hurt but Jeff showed no sigh of discomfort. He lay quietly, sighing when Lane's fingers pushed all the way in or started to withdraw.
"Sooner we cut the fuckin' balls offa you perverts tha' better," Hackman taunted loudly to get Lane's attention.
Lane resisted the urge to respond, wishing that he had also resisted the urge to have sex with Jeff, if that really was his name. However, he had not. At the time, he not realized that he had been entrapped. Even now, it was difficult to grasp the reality of the situation. All along he had believed that his companion was a willing eleven-year-old boy, a boy with the face of a child but the desire of an adult. When Lane finally extracted his fingers, Jeff had leered knowingly at him, wriggling his bottom temptingly. He was fully aware of the effect that he had on the man, and he was out to enjoy every second. However, he had also been as cunning as any whore who knew how to take advantage of a situation.
`Come on. Put it in,' Jeff had demanded in a low desperate voice that pleaded, even begged. It sounded so distant to Lane's lust-filled mind that it seemed hard to believe what was happening. And all that Lane had been able to do was try to shake his head, knowing full well that he was going to do everything that the boy wanted him to do. Without saying a word he moved into position, reached down and clasped Jeff's skinny knees so the boy could not get away even if he wanted to. Then, barely realizing what he was about to do, he moved even closer until he felt his penis bump against the boy's buttocks. He paused there, aware of nothing but the pounding of his heart. The camera recorded what Lane had seen first-hand. A close up of a man's enormous penis nudging a tiny gel-covered opening. The head was crimson and it looked huge, far too big to fit through the pink dot of the boy's anus.
Jeff urged him to do it, 'to put it in', but `just go slow, okay', and Lane's left hand moved back to clamp his ankles together. He held him tightly, pushing the boy's shoulders down into the pillows while lifting his buttocks higher. His right hand, assisted by Jeff's right hand positioned his penis where it needed to be, the angle not too steep, just right. `Push when I push out', Jeff advised. And Lane, having heard the boy's guttural command had pushed. It was not hard enough the first time, nor the second time, but he was learning very time as he tried to force his way inside. However, on the third attempt, he squeezed down instead of pushing with a sudden jerk, and he felt the boy's anus open up. It was as if the head of his penis had been swallowed and for a few seconds he was shocked. Shocked by the heat, the pressure, the surge of emotions that came from knowing he was inside a boy's body for the first time. Jeff whimpered and closed his eyes to shut out a momentary pain. Lane felt the cramp, a spasm that seemed to travel through the boy as a tightening shudder.
`Don't stop!' Then a sudden gasp as another spasm clamped against his penis. Yet, Jeff was fighting back with erratic pushes of his own, forcing more inside before it could be ejected. The last thing either of them wanted was for Lane's penis to come out. Lane followed instinct and kept very still as the boy struggled to accept the presence that was now lodged inside his body. A minute passed. A minute of video that captured Lane's awkwardness, his fearful expression, and the wonder of it all because during that minute he achieved the impossible. Jeff relaxed well before the minute passed. He nodded encouragingly and Lane felt the pressure begin to diminish. He hesitated, but Jeff did not. The boy smiled and breathed deeply and whispered to Lane what he needed to do next.
Afterwards, a hundred times during the next day, Lane had tried to explain the sensation of penetration to himself. Certainly it was very hot and incredibly tight inside Jeff's body, but such words failed to capture what had occurred. Instead, Lane decided it was a lot like forcing his penis into a hose, a garden hose that had been lying in the sun. Despite the lubricant he had used, there was very little slipperiness at first. The pressure was extreme, overpowering his will and reason, restricting his ability to continue at the same time as it became impossible to hold back. Lane was barely able to keep from succumbing to his deepest desire, a longing to thrust as hard and deep as he could.
The boy's grimace was enough to suggest it was painful, if not agonizing, at least until the head of Lane's penis passed through the sphincter and into the comparatively loose void of his rectum. The garden hose remained, clamped around the base of the man's penis. It had the effect of making it even stiffer, thicker, larger. He remembered Jeff's head shaking, his eyes wide open and imploring as he whimpered and gasped. `Yessssss. Ohhhh God. It's big. So fucking big. Do it slow. Oh, oh, man'.
On the television it appeared as if Jeff was shaking his head in anger, denying that there could possibly be any pleasure in it for a boy. Yet, the truth was otherwise. Lane had seen if for himself. Jeff's hands moved to Lane's hips, pushing, pulling on him so that he began to thrust. Very slowly at first, because Lane was fearful of hurting the boy beneath him. Another minute passed before Lane's penis bottomed out. It was impossible for him to penetrate any further. The boy gasped and groaned and muttered obscenities under his breath, vulgar adult words that only served to encourage Lane. It amused him to hear a boy demand to be `fucked'. Is seemed impossible, but the powerful spasms that had tortured the little body had been replaced by deliberate contractions that made both of them shudder uncontrollably.
By the time Jeff suddenly became tense and gasped frantically with the parched spasms of prepubescent orgasm, Lane had a new appreciation of why men loved boys. Simply knowing that an eleven-year-old boy had been able to achieve climax without his penis being stimulated was sufficient to increase Lane's own pleasure to the point where he began to thrust in a frenzied effort to fill the cramping bowels with his semen. He slammed against the boy, cognizant of his wails and whimpers, yet no more able to stop himself than he ever had been capable of interrupting masturbation seconds before he ejaculated.
Vaguely, Lane was aware of the boy writhing underneath him, of small heels hammering against his shoulders and back, and a rectum that was no longer tight trying to strangle his penis as it surged relentlessly back and forth. He had often read about anal climax, even studying a medical encyclopedia to confirm the exact location of the prostate gland just in case he ever needed to know, but he had never expected the act of intercourse to be so thrilling. He began to pump, for that was what his thrusting had become as he churned the boy's innards. Each powerful lunge, each grunting retreat sucked loudly in the sloppy seething bowels. When had that happened? It took a while before Lane realized what had caused the sudden increase in wetness. His penis was discharging copious fluids, thankfully lubricating the way just as nature had intended.
Again and again the boy's face contorted, squeezing as hard as he could on the thing that possessed him. It was strange, Lane realized as he watched the video, how often he had read stories that talked about the man's penis as an `invader', implying that there was assault, an undesired incursion when in fact it was really a matter of belonging, of two people being joined together to become a single being. But was it love, that awesome feeling that made him feel that he was finally alive? There was no doubt that he had triumphed, that some part of the boy's desire had been temporarily satisfied, even vanquished, that both of them had enjoyed it. But was it love?
"Thin' we seen `nough," Hackman sneered. "Tha' kid's ass must `a hurt like hell after you got done wid `im."
He used the remote controller to switch off the television. Lane's face was crimson with shame. The two men glared at each other until Hackman had to speak to regain control.
"You're finished, Doctor Lane. You oughta be fried fer that, but so far boy-fuckin' ain't a capital crime. Just a crime `gainst nature `n God, `n with two strikes, it'll cost tha' rest of yer life. Reckon the D.A. could find two counts in tha'? Sodomy of a minor? Anal rape? What ever they call it?"
Lane sighed. What was happening was as difficult to believe as what had happened with Jeff . They had spent just under two hours together in the bedroom. They had `done it' twice, both times because the boy wanted to, even insisted. He did not believe it was humanly possible to be consumed by lust, to feel such intense pleasure, to be so satisfied from having sex. Then this! There was only one reason why the video tape had not been sent to the police. He was going to be blackmailed. Yet, in the guilt-filled reality that loomed before him, his mind continued to replay the events in the bedroom. Even before Lane's erection had softened, Jeff had swivelled around like a gymnast and suckled on his penis. Barely a minute after it had been carefully extricated, still wet, still slippery with slick strands of semen, and soiled with unpleasant streaks, and Jeff had licked it clean. He had licked it without a word of complaint. He looked back up at Lane and smiled obscenely as he devoured the remaining traces of their orgasm. Then, they had kissed like two animals, sweating and hot from the passion of their rutting. Jeff was beyond uninhibited. He was shameless. For a few days, Lane had actually wondered whether all boys were like that.
"Okay, get to the point Hackman," he muttered.
Hackman smirked. "Ain't no point, Doc."
"What do you want?"
There was a reason why Lane was a force to be reckoned with on the `Hill'. His reputation after less than two years exceeded that of most lifelong politicians. He could read people's motivation with uncanny accuracy and he had learned quickly that people with principles were few and far between.
Hackman shrugged. "You wanna know `bout NICE, Lane? Well, it's ta' stop g'damn ass fuckers like you. We're gonna cut their balls off, Lane. We're getting' rid `a pedo-philes fer good. We're talkin' castratin' of all men and boys whose got it, that gene they say causes it. Your kind ain't goin' t'be passin' on that der Vinci gene, and you sure as hell ain't gonna be fuckin' boys aft'wards." He paused.
"Then I plan to do my best to stop you."
"Ha! You'll be long gone `fore it comes up fer vote. Long gone, Lane. Then there ain't gonna be no one to protect you perverts. We git rid'a tha' der Vinci gene `fore long. In a coupla gen'rations there won't be a pedo left," Hackman rebuked.
He smirked at Lane. Although he enjoying toying with his victims, he was almost ready to play his trump card. What would that Machiavelli dude do? `Cat and mouse', that was it! Wear the opposition down using superior intellect.....
"What I don't understand is how you pulled this off?" Lane asked thoughtfully, yet appearing confused. He did not refer to the video. There was no need to.
In truth, he was finding it difficult to concentrate. For most of the video, he had been fortunate not to be erect. Yet in the end, as he watched the frenzied copulation like a voyeur, his penis had stiffened until it was impossibly hard. He was consumed by thoughts of Jeff, of that beautiful lithe body climbing onto him, positioning himself to achieve the ultimate physical contact between them, shamelessly uniting their genitals, then giggling and pressing down, relentlessly moving again him. The boy's penis remained as stiff as before, as if his multiple orgasms had merely liberated his desire instead of draining his energy. Lane had enjoyed every second, grasping the boy's rounded buttocks, feeling the oozing slime along the deep crevice. It was his male juices, his seed, and it filled with him pride. Lane's masculinity had been delightfully reaffirmed when he became erect again.
He glanced at the television, wanting to see more of what had been recorded even as he realized that he should have been more anxious about his future. The second part of the video tape would be even more arousing. The second time, Lane's penis slipped into Jeff's still dilated opening. It was a lot larger than it had been earlier. With a single slow thrust, the young body had absorbed him until he could go no further. Jeff had squatted there with Lane's manhood totally contained. As he rested, poised above him, he closed his eyes and relished the feeling of being full, his inner muscles pulsing around Lane's thickness. They had changed position several times, finally ending up 'doggy style' so that Jeff could watch the action reflected in the mirror behind the bed. The thought of seeing that on video sent Lane's mind into turmoil. Jeff, with his head burrowed into a pillow, his buttocks lifted high, looking underneath and back at the mirror behind him. And Lane, kneeling behind him, his knees outside, crouching over the smaller body. The concealed camera would have captured it all, the long deep thrusts, Lane's huge penis sometimes even pulling out and splattering wetness in the suction until it plunged back inside and Jeff shuddered and shrieked with ecstasy.....
"Yer s'posed to be the genius. Figure it out. It weren't tha' hard to come up with it," Hackman boasted. He sat forward, studying Lane with amusement.
It had been done by experts, edited carefully to present the situation in the least favorable light. The absence of sound made Jeff the innocent victim and Lane the abuser. Yet, in a court of law, with the video tape and lip-reading experts to examine it, the matter would very likely be considered as entrapment. To Lane, even as inexperienced as he was with subterfuge and trickery, there were signs it was set up by professionals, that he had been duped. Yet, as he considered the possibilities he decided that it was very likely that the FBI had not done it. Simply, they could not have managed it with the ongoing emphasis on counter-terrorism. The nature of the operation was illegal and far too risky for them. That left Lane in a quandary. The CIA perhaps?
"The condo?" Lane asked curiously as he considered the uncanny sense he had at the time that something was wrong. It was too perfect. The photographs of Jeff and his mother, the abundant toys and boy's clothes, possessions everywhere he happened to look.
"A safe house," Hackman answered without volunteering more.
"Really?" Lane said in an exaggerated voice."I can't believe that,...."
Hackman interrupted him. "It don' matter what you b'lieve."
"I know I screwed up but it's obviously entrapment. The courts won't sit still for this," Lane said in a tense voice. "It's clear I didn't force him to do anything. In fact, I tried to talk him out of it."
"I heard tha' on the 'riginal tape. It don't matter thou'. See, it ain't goin' ta' court," Hackman said in a silky voice that aroused Lane's suspicions.
"What then?"
"Tha' President wants yer resignation pronto."
"Does she indeed?" Lane asked cynically. "Perhaps I'll to go to the news media as soon as I walk out of here."
"You won't," Hackman said confidently. "Not unless you want to see excerpts of this on the evening news," he added with a gesture towards the television. "fact is, ass'ole, yer political c'reer `s jus' finished. Yer done fer good, Lane."
"I was thinking about another term."
Hackman laughed. "Tha' ain't happenin'. Here's wha' ya got, Lane. And there ain't no deals. This's take it or leave it. You resign today and get tha' fuck outta politics. You plead guilty in a Wes' Virgina court fer a s'pended sentence. Tha'll get you on a' list`a sexual predators. You're reg'sterd as a pedo- phile. One fuck-up and you're covered by two-strikes fer life. You shut up. We keep tha' video. Nuthin' more happens if you stay clean."
Lane nodded slowly. There really was no choice but to accept whatever deal was offered. He was lucky that the tape was not in the hands of the police already. It would be a simple matter for a prosecutor to make a case for multiple offenses. Despite what he had said, it would be difficult to prove entrapment.
"That's it?"
"I ain't done. You keep yer mouth sut 'n you cain't go back ta' teachin'," Hackman added. "We don't wan' you spreadin' yer poison."
"Okay." Agreement came surprisingly easily. There was no choice.
"I hope you got some money saved, `cause you ain't workin' after this." Hackman smirked. "What you plan on doin'?"
"I always thought it would be fun to own a bookstore."
"Whatever. I ain't much fer readin'."
Lane started to rise. He hesitated. "Who was he?" he asked softly.
Hackman laughed. "Tha' kid? I don't know `is name. His uncle you prob'ly heard about. Malone? I hear tha' kid's awesome on a ska'board 's well as lyin' in bed with 'is butt up."