Date: Sun, 23 Mar 2008 23:21:23 -0400
From: Jeff A <parrafan@ureach.com>
Subject: A Walk In The Park

A Walk In The Park

a story by parrafan

Dedication: A correspondent who read one of my earlier stories
(graciously archived here at Nifty - "The Mothers Club"),
suggested that he had suffered a similar fate to that
experienced by the characters in that story, at the hands of his
own mother. As they say in the classics, 'That gave me an
idea...' So this is not a sequel, exactly - more like an
episode, complete in itself - an episode in the life of a boy.
Thus, here is your story, Dave - I hope you enjoy it. And any
other reader as well, of course. We all have mothers, after all.

Disclaimer: The locations have been changed to confuse the
guilty. Minors should not be reading this, lest it give them
naughty ideas. Everything else is as true as any fiction can be.

* * *

A Walk In The Park

"Come on, darling, it's time for our walk" Mrs Rawdell called up
the staircase. "I told Mrs Johnson we would be at our favourite
seat no later than two o'clock, and it's nearly half past one.
Now, you know I do not care for being late. It shows a lack of
refinement, arriving late for an appointment."

A tattoo of footsteps clattering down the stairs announced young
Davey's arrival into the parlour. His mother looked him over
with a practiced eye. She frowned.

"You do not seriously believe that I will let you leave this
house wearing that ridiculous shirt, do you?" she declared,
hands on hips, glaring at the bewildered boy. "A blue shirt can
not possibly be worn with green shorts. It absolutely will not
do. I will not have people  thinking I have a tramp for a son,
and a colour-blind tramp at that. Go back upstairs this instant
and put on that nice pink shirt I laid out for you. The one with
the lemon ruff down the front. Go on, up you go. And take that
look off your face, young man."

The footsteps trudged up the stairs they had so recently
descended, as young Davey, resigned to his fate, returned to his
room to change his shirt. He hated the pink shirt his mother
insisted he wear. In fact, he hated going to the park with her.
He especially hated meeting Mrs Johnson, in the park or anywhere
else. She always said strange stuff to him. And when she wasn't
saying stuff to him, she was saying stuff about him. And his
mother was just as bad - but he was used to it from her.

The eight year old ("nearly nine", he thought in a brief moment
of happy anticipation) dutifully removed his blue shirt and
replaced it with the pink one, the one with the stupid girly
yellow frills on the front. He tucked it into his waistband
(because he knew his mother would have another fit if he left it
out loose) and slowly made his way downstairs to take his
mother's hand. She led him out into the bright Autumn sunshine
and they began their walk to the park.

Being a Sunday afternoon, they did not have the park to
themselves. Several families of picnickers had spread their
travel rugs or blankets on the grassy areas alongside the paths
and were now reclining on them, recovering from their packed
lunches. Some men walked dogs. Others played frisbee with
theirs. A few smaller children chased butterflies, laughing
gaily as they scampered around.

In the centre of the park, the four paths that led from each of
the corners met. A fountain stood at the convergence, quite a
large one in the ornate Italian style. A life size Cupid stood
atop the fountain, his arrow permanently nocked on his tiny
bronze bowstring, his dainty feet diverting the spray of water
into several smaller spouts. Around the fountain a wide circular
path ran, and bordering the path, facing the fountain, were a
dozen wooden-slatted benches. It was here that mother and son
usually met Mrs Johnson.

There were no shady trees in this part of the park - the
conservators said that the leaves fell into the fountain and
made it a nuisance to keep clean. The warm sunshine heated up
the circular gravel path, and the benches, making it a less
desirable place to sit than it might otherwise have been. The
sparkling water, however, looked very inviting to Davey, as he
fidgeted uncomfortably alongside his mother, awaiting Mrs
Johnson's arrival.

A man, probably in his early forties, neatly dressed and wearing
a camera around his neck, strolled into the circular fountain
area and sat on a bench near Mrs Rawdell and her son. He took
some photos of the Cupid, then a couple of the fountain, then
got up and moved to another bench, and took some more photos. He
glanced at Davey and his mother, looked as though he was about
to say something, but did not.

A young couple pushed a pram through the circular path, pausing
briefly to look at the cool water before continuing on their
way. The man snapped a photo of the nascent family as they
passed by his seat.

Presently, Mrs Johnson arrived. She carried a small parasol to
shade herself from the sun. Davey wished his mother had thought
of that. The perspiration ("It's not sweat, darling, only
tradespeople sweat", his mother informed him) ran in little
streams down his back, making him squirm on the uncomfortable
bench.

Davey's mom stood up to greet Mrs Johnson, dragging him up with
her. Mrs Johnson cast a disapproving eye over him before seating
herself. Davey was used to that - Mrs Johnson was always somehow
disappointed with him whenever they met.

After a few minutes of idle chit-chat, Mrs Johnson could abide
Davey's wriggling not a second longer. She gave a large sigh and
said "Mrs Rawdell, whatever is the matter with your boy? He
looks as though he has...ants in his pants!"

"He was complaining about the heat, earlier, Mrs Johnson. Boys
nowadays simply have absolutely no forbearance. Why, in my day
we deliberately sat in the sunshine to accustom ourselves to
discomfort", Mrs Rawdell recalled.

Mrs Johnson agreed. "It is not only forbearance they lack, Mrs
Rawdell - the little brutes have no manners, either".

Mrs Rawdell heard a 'click' and glanced over to see that the man
with the camera had taken a picture of their little group. She
smiled and gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. Inclining her
head slightly to indicate that she was referring to the man
taking photographs, she remarked "So nice to see a man occupying
himself with a sedate pursuit on a Sunday afternoon, and not
grunting and groaning on some awful sporting field somewhere".
Mrs Johnson gave a small smile and also glanced over at the man,
favouring him with the slightest of nods of approval.

The two ladies, with Davey sitting miserably alongside his
mother, chatted on for a few minutes about nothing in
particular. Mrs Rawdell saw an opportunity to draw her son into
the conversation - not to speak, of course, but to be spoken
about. "Davey has recklessly contracted heat rash from this
unseasonably warm weather", Mrs Rawdell confided out of the blue
to Mrs Johnson. She turned to the boy and motioned him to stand
up. "Show Mrs Johnson your rash, Davey", she commanded. He knew
better than to argue, sliding off the bench and positioning
himself in front of Mrs Johnson. He untucked the hated pink
frilly shirt from his shorts and pulled it over his head. He had
a slight redness in the armpits, which his sweating - or
perspiration - was doing nothing to help. Soon he stood
shirtless in front of his mother's friend, hands clasped behind
his head, while she inspected the affected areas. The man with
the camera took another photo.

"Talcum powder, that's what he needs", Mrs Johnson advised
Davey's mom. "Plain, unscented baby powder, after each bath.
That'll keep it under control".

"There's a trace of it in his, er, groin, as well", Mrs Rawdell
commented, loudly enough so that the man with the camera could
have heard it, if he was listening. "Show Mrs Johnson your
crotch, darling", she added, holding her hand out for Davey's
shorts.

For the tiniest moment, the thought crossed Davey's mind that he
should object. After all, they were in a public park. Mrs
Johnson was not a relation of any kind, who might be trusted
with a family confidence. The man with the camera was only half
a dozen yards away. Anybody, absolutely anybody, could stroll
past the fountain at any moment.

But Davey knew, even as well as he knew his own name, that his
mother would not brook any opposition to her will. He unbuttoned
the front of his shorts, unzipped, and lowered the garment to
his feet, whereupon he stepped out of it and handed the blue
shorts to his mother.

Mrs Johnson stared straight at Davey's underpants without
speaking. Clearly, she could not make out any redness, and was
on the verge of losing patience with Mrs Rawdell. A 'click'
distracted the two ladies, who glanced towards the origin of the
sound. The man seated nearby was lowering his camera to his lap,
looking at the small group with undisguised interest. Mrs
Rawdell again gave him a polite nod.

"Pull that out of the way and show Mrs Johnson your rash,
darling", Davey's mom urged her son. The boy complied, tugging
the leg hole of his underpants to one side to allow the sun to
strike a part of his body that was normally kept covered in
public.

"I still can't see what you mean, dear", Mrs Johnson sighed.
When he looked back later on that moment, that remark, Davey
guessed that Mrs Johnson said it on purpose, knowing the
reaction it would produce in his mother.

"Oh just take the confounded thing off, you foolish boy", Mrs
Rawdell barked in exasperation, and reached out to the waist of
Davey's underpants, tugging them straight down his thighs.
Without consciously meaning to, Davey automatically lifted his
feet, one after the other, to permit his mother to draw this
final piece of clothing off his body entirely, leaving him
standing there in front of Mrs Johnson wearing only his shoes
and socks. The man with the camera snapped a couple more photos
of the unusual tableau.

"There, you see? Right there, next to his, er, little balls",
Mrs Rawdell declared triumphantly, relief sounding in her voice
that she had been proven right. "And look, it goes all the way
under, er, underneath, to his er, turn around, darling, and bend
over"

Dazed by the surreal sensation of being examined like a prize
puppy at a pet show, Davey turned around dumbly and bent over,
even spreading his bottom cheeks before his mother could order
him to do it. He could feel a finger tracing around the affected
areas, but whose finger it was, he did not know. He heard the
camera click twice more.

"Does it feel uncomfortable, or hot, boy?" Mrs Johnson addressed
him when he straightened and turned back to face the two ladies.
He instinctively put his hands over his crotch, but his mother
gave them a little slap and a glare, as if to say 'Don't you
dare play with yourself in front of Mrs Johnson!' Which was
unfortunate, because that made him think about being naked, in
the middle of the park, with a man also watching less than
twenty feet away. The inevitable happened: his little penis
began to stiffen.

The pointy little purple head poked out through Davey's
foreskin, and the whole organ lengthened gradually to a modest
two and a half inches, as it pumped, pumped, pumped upwards,
stiffening with every heartbeat. Davey felt like crying and
shouting at the same time, but all he could do was stare down at
his cock as it betrayed him.

"Oh, my", Mrs Johnson exclaimed. "Perhaps, ah, a little splash
in the fountain might... er, cool the boy down. And do his rash
the world of good, dear", she assured Davey's mother, who stared
at her son's small but increasingly rampant dick in horror.

"Take your shoes off and go for a paddle, David", Mrs Rawdell
directed, and this time there was no hint of argument from the
boy as he sat down on the bench and pulled his shoes off without
unlacing them. He very well knew what it meant when his mother
called him by his full given name. His socks followed shortly
thereafter, and he scampered, now fully naked, over to the
fountain and began to climb the low rounded sandstone wall.

Davey quickly found that he had a logistical problem: he had
first attempted to straddle the wall of the fountain face-on, as
any boy would do, but his legs were not long enough to permit
this without serious injury being done to his penis and balls,
which would have been crushed against the unyielding stone had
he attempted it.  He withdrew his leg and thought for a second
or two. Summing up the situation, he realised he would have to
go "bum first", like a girl, then swing his legs over, in order
to get into the cool fountain without crushing his still-stiff
tool. He performed this manoeuvre, finally settling first his
feet and then his hot loins in the cool water. The man's camera
clicked away all the while.

While Davey shut his eyes from the piercing glare of the sun,
and revelled in the cool water, behind him the man had risen
from his seat and approached to within a respectful distance of
the two ladies. He gave the seated women a courteous little bow,
from the waist, then, smiling, said "Now there are two Cupids in
the fountain. May I?", inclining his head towards the fountain
and giving his camera a little shake.

Mrs Rawdell, eager to appear urbane before her friend,
immediately responded. "Of course you may. Davey is quite
accustomed to being photographed. There have been, oh, many
times, other gentlemen have said to me that he is quite an
attractive boy. Shall I ask him to stand up?"

"Oh, no need, no need madam - let him enjoy the water
undisturbed. I'll just take a few shots from different angles,
if the light is fortuitous", he replied. Mrs Rawdell smiled at
his answer, mildly pleased by his manner and speech.

Davey made some small splashes, the man took a few photos, and
the ladies busied themselves in small talk, as a few more
minutes passed peacefully by. A small cloud passed in front of
the sun, making the boy look up, squinting, shielding his eyes
from the glare. He noticed the man holding the camera, then
looked back to see if his mother was still on her bench.

"Hello", the man murmured genially. "Your mother-" here the man
nodded in the direction of the two gossiping women - "said I
could take some photos of you in the fountain".

Davey knew he was not supposed to speak to strangers. But this
man seemed to know his mother. And his mother was right there -
if there was anything wrong, she would have called him away
instantly, he knew that from past experience. So Davey concluded
that this man with the big camera must not be a stranger. He
smiled at the man, and said "Okay!"

The man's camera clicked away as the boy frolicked in the
fountain's cool spray. But even as his eye was on the viewfinder
of his camera, framing the naked boy with his lens, in his
mind's eye the man was viewing images of a different kind -
images of ravishing this young boy, of plundering his virginity,
stealing his innocence, debasing him. And how much more
thrilling would that be, right in front of his distracted
mother? He clicked away.

The conversation of the two ladies finally began to falter, so
before any embarrassing silences could intrude, Mrs Johnson bade
farewell to her friend and rose from the bench, departing along
one of the gravel paths. Mrs Rawdell called out to her son
"Davey! It's time we were going! Hop out of there now".

The man stopped snapping his shots as the boy emerged, dripping
wet, from the fountain. He did not want to make it seem as
though the boy was the entire focus of his afternoon, even
though he was. The wet, naked child walked gingerly towards his
mother, somehow expecting her to magically produce a bath towel
from her purse and begin drying him off. Mrs Rawdell summed up
the situation in a second. "Oh, don't just stand there, David -
run around in the sunshine, you'll soon be dry".

Dutifully, the boy retreated to the grass surrounding the circle
of gravel, and trotted about in small figure eights, flapping
his arms as he did so. He resembled an unfledged bird attempting
to take off. The man inclined his eyebrows towards Mrs Rawdell
and looked at the bench, silently asking for permission to sit.
She gave a small smile and moved along the wooden seat, to give
the impression that he should not sit too close to her. He
smiled back and carefully perched on the opposite end of the
seat.

"Thank you for allowing me to photograph your son this
afternoon, ma'am", the man almost whispered, respectfully. "May
I presume to give you one of my cards?" He reached inside his
jacket pocket and withdrew a pale green-coloured business card,
handing it to her. He had to stretch his arm to its full length
to bring it within reach of her timid grasp, but the lady
eventually took it, trying to show some reluctance.

She read the card aloud. " 'Peter W French, Photography.
Portraits & Weddings a Specialty'." Mrs Rawdell gave a modest
smile. "Well, Mr French, even though we have not been properly
introduced, I could tell right away that you were a professional
man the moment I saw you. I am rarely, if ever, wrong in my
judgement of people". At that moment, the now-dry David returned
to interpose his naked body between his mother and the man with
the camera, his back demurely turned towards the man. Since his
mother was talking to the man now, they surely were not
strangers. He knew his mother would never, ever, strike up a
casual conversation with some strange man.

Mrs Rawdell picked up her son's underpants and held them open
for him to step into. Shielded partly by the boy's back, the man
took a couple more shots of the naked boy close-up, particularly
of his exquisite bare bottom. As his mother drew the underwear
up his legs, Davey whined "I need to go wee-wee, mommy".

A look of impatience mingled with disgust flitted across Mrs
Rawdell's face as she pulled the tiny garment all the way up her
son's thighs to his narrow waist, perhaps a little too high for
comfort. "Oh, David! Why didn't you go before we came out for
our walk? Can't it wait until we get home? You could have done
it in the fountain, no-one would have known!" Not knowing which
of these statements required a reply, the boy simply bowed is
head and grabbed at his crotch, wriggling his legs to illustrate
the urgency of his need. Mrs Rawdell continued dressing him,
adding shorts and shirt and making him sit on the bench while
she put on his shoes and socks. As this took up a few more
precious seconds, the boy realised there was now no chance of
getting home without wetting himself.

"I really need to go, mommy. Now", he repeated for emphasis. Mrs
Rawdell glanced around as she summed up her options. Letting her
son piddle in the fountain was now out of the question as he was
dressed; there were no convenient trees to go behind, and she
did not want to encourage that sort of behaviour in any case,
urinating in public like a...a common mongrel. Her eyes fell on
a small brick building, a public toilet, which she had never
noticed before on previous walks. She thought it beneath her
(and therefore also her son) to patronise such a venue, but it
was something of an emergency. Mr French saw her glance, and
immediately offered her a solution.

"If I may be so bold, ma'am, I would be quite happy to escort
young Davey to the public lavatory over there. I will not let
him out of my sight", he added, seeing the trepidation in her
eyes.

Mrs Rawdell bit her upper lip. "David has never been in...such a
place before. May I ask you to...er, show him what needs to be
done?" she asked, clearly reluctant to put the man to any
inconvenience, but having no other remedy to hand.

"I shall see to it personally, ma'am", Mr French replied,
standing up from his seat and holding out his hand for the young
boy to take. "Come, my young friend. We shall see to your little
problem".

Observing no protest from his mother, Davey put his hand in the
man's and walked off with him the thirty yards or so to the
public outhouse. Even before they reached the opening (there was
no doorway, the boy noticed, just a clever arrangement of the
brick walls to produce a U-shaped entry) the strong smell of
stale urine assailed his tender nostrils. "Yuck!" he declared.
"What stinks?"

By the time he made his rather redundant outburst, Davey was
already within the small building and looking at a stained
chrome wall with a gutter at its base. This was obviously the
origin of the awful stench. He had never seen a public urinal
before, and would not have been bothered if he never saw one
again. But the man led him past the strange metal structure,
saying that only drunks and lowlifes used it, and his mother
would not be pleased to learn that Davey had. He led the young
boy to the sole cubicle, closing the door behind them as they
entered the narrow space.

Here, at least, thought Davey, was a familiar object: a
porcelain toilet bowl. He moved his hands towards his zip to
undo his short trousers, but the man beat him to it. "Your
mother told me to show you what to do, and I would not want to
displease her", he stated, and Davey immediately understood what
the man meant. His mother was not a good person to cross, and
Davey was mildly surprised to discover that even a grownup like
this man was afraid to cross her. So naturally, he let the man
undo his shorts and lower them, and also pull his undies down
his thighs. The man pulled the pink shirt up to the boy's chest
and shook it a little to indicate Davey should hold it there.
"So you don't wee on it", the man said, and Davey could see a
lot of sense in that.

The man's next action puzzled Davey a little - he took hold of
Davey's little pee-pee and skinned it back, pointing it
downwards to the bowl. But since both Davey's hands were already
occupied holding onto his shirt, he decided that it made a kind
of sense as well. He relaxed and let his stream go, noticing
that the man pointed the jet of wee-wee towards the side of the
bowl, just like he himself did at home. His mother did not like
the sound of a boy squirting his wee-wee straight into the water
- she had told him it was ungentlemanly, on several occasions in
the past. The man even gave his pee-pee a couple of tugs when
his stream finished, just as he would have done for himself.

"All done now, Davey?", the man asked, releasing his pee-pee.
Davey smiled and nodded his gratitude and dropped the hem of the
pink shirt, reaching for his undies.

"Uh, oh, just a minute, I need to clean up first. Always have to
clean up after visiting a  lavatory", the man said, and lifted
the surprised boy bodily into the air with both hands grasping
his bare hips. He set the boy on the ceramic bowl, one shoed
foot on either side. Davey was puzzled again, but waited to see
what the man would do. He didn't have to wait very long. The man
bent his face towards Davey's bare crotch and took his pee-pee
in his mouth and began sucking on it!

Davey was too surprised to say anything! The man sucked on his
pee-pee like it was an everyday thing to do, but Davey had never
heard of this before! His pee-pee got hard as well, but the man
kept sucking! Davey wondered how much the man had to suck to get
his pee-pee all clean, because it was starting to feel really
nice! He let go his pink shirt and rested his hands on the man's
head, and sighed.

The man kept right on sucking as Davey's hips started to push
forward, propelling his pee-pee into the man's warm mouth. It
felt terrific! Why had his mother never told him about this
before? Was it something to do with public toilets? Could it
only be done by men? Davey's little fingers entwined in the
man's hair as he urged him to keep sucking, his good feelings
mounting until a shower of sensations swept over him! He gasped,
and the man's mouth released his pee-pee. Raising his head, the
man asked "All clean now?"

Davey could only nod in agreement, unable to speak, as the man
pulled up his undies and shorts, and tucked in his pink shirt.
"Good boy, well done", the man complimented as he gave Davey's
crotch a slow grope, stroking his cupped hand in the boy's
groin. "Let's go find your mother and tell her what a good boy
you've been", he said, lifting Davey off the bowl and setting
him back on the floor. Unlatching the door, he led the somewhat
bewildered boy back out into the afternoon sunshine and strolled
hand in hand back to the fountain where Mrs Rawdell sat
patiently waiting for them.

Mr French smiled at Mrs Rawdell as man and boy approached. "All
done", the man declared to Davey's mother as he released the
boy's hand. "Davey was a good boy, and he's all cleaned up now".

Davey was surprised to see his mother smile and nod at this
remark - did she know what the man did in the toilet? About the
'cleaning up'? She must know - he told her that he cleaned me
up, after all.

"Now David, just because you visited a public lavatory today,
does not mean you can frequent them at your whim", Mrs Rawdell
admonished her son. "You must only visit them only when you have
an urgent necessity, and only when you have an adult with you".

Davey mulled this command of his mother's over. Of course, if he
visited a public toilet again, he could only ever get cleaned up
by an adult - a man - who else but a man would be able to do
such a thing? He decided that it was just another example of his
mother's excessive caution, and nodded his head in agreement.

"And now", Mr French murmured to Mrs Rawdell, "would you permit
me to drive you to your home? My car is but a few steps away,
and it is still very warm out".

Mrs Rawdell tittered like a schoolgirl, then made some
obligatory noises of demurral, but finally consented to be
driven home. Mr French took Davey's hand as the threesome walked
across the grass to his car.

Davey sat in the middle of the front bench seat of Mr French's
early model car, between Mr French and his mother. He couldn't
quite see over the dash of the old car, but it felt nice to be
sitting between the two adults. The journey was short, and
sooner than he would have liked, the car pulled up at the kerb
outside their apartment building and his mother stepped out,
letting Davey clamber across the seat and hop out onto the
pavement alongside her. Mr French had already exited from his
side and opened the door for his mom.

"Er, would you, ah, care to take afternoon tea, uh, with us, Mr
French?" Mrs Rawdell stammered, a little overpowered by the
presence of the generous man.

"That is most kind of you, Mrs Rawdell. I would be delighted".
And with that, Mr French again took Davey's hand, the two males
falling in behind Mrs Rawdell as she made her way into the
apartment building and across the foyer to the elevator which
carried the trio to the eighth floor.

Entering her two-level suite, Mrs Rawdell invited Mr French to
follow her inside. Still holding the boy's hand, he smiled and
fell in behind her. "Would you care to, ah, freshen up...before
afternoon tea, Mr French?" she enquired, a sweet smile on her
face.

"I would be most grateful, ma'am", he replied courteously, still
holding onto Davey's little hand.

Mrs Rawdell looked down at her son. "Please take Mr French
upstairs to your bathroom so he can, er, wash his hands, David",
she directed the boy. To Mr French, she said "Tea will be about
fifteen minutes, Mr French". He gave a slight bow from the waist
and turned towards the staircase, with young Davey in tow. Mrs
Rawdell wandered off to the kitchen to busy herself with the tea
things.

Although Davey led the man to his bathroom, it was Mr French who
took the initiative at the doorway and took the boy inside with
him. "Do you need to do a wee-wee, Davey?", he asked
solicitously of the boy, who was caught off-guard by the man's
use of his own childish expression. "I can clean you up
afterwards if you do...", he added. That settled the matter, as
far as Davey was concerned. He raced the few steps to the
commode as Mr French shut the door behind them. Shucking his
shorts and underpants down to his ankles in one movement, Davey
stood in front of the toilet bowl, waiting for Mr French to join
him. The man, however, paused for a moment to pull his camera up
in front of his eyes to take a photo of the boy's half-naked
form.

Davey was not too worried about the man's photographic
interests. After all, his mother had permitted the man to take
pictures of Davey earlier that afternoon when he was wearing
nothing at all. The man set his camera on the cistern and knelt
alongside Davey. "You go first, then me", the man whispered, to
Davey's delight. As he had done earlier, he held David's little
penis between thumb and index finger, but this time he also
steadied the boy by cupping his bare bottom with his free hand.
Having peed earlier, Davey took a little longer to get his flow
started, so the man rubbed up and down his back, under the pink
shirt, to relax him. After a few such rubs, the boy sighed and a
trickle of pee started from the pink head of his penis. "Good
boy", the man praised him, which made Davey happy, not just
because he was peeing while the man held his pee-pee and stroked
his bottom, but also in anticipation of being 'cleaned up' by
him afterwards.

Davey pushed his hips forward a couple of times, trying to expel
the last few drips of his wee-wee, then giggled as the man shook
the final droplet off his hardening pee-pee. Davey knew what was
coming next, and relished the idea. The man smiled as he lifted
the boy by his hips and stood him on the commode, his feet
straddling the porcelain as they did that afternoon in the park.
"Ready to be cleaned, Davey?", the man asked the grinning boy,
who nodded vigourously, pushing his young loins forward in
anticipation. Mr French leaned in to the boy's crotch,
enveloping Davey's now-stiff tool in his mouth. Davey sighed as
the man's hands came around behind and held his bare bottom,
revelling in the sensations of his second blow-job of the day,
indeed, of his young life.

The boy's sensual feelings grew and exploded as they did before,
and it was lucky the man was holding his bottom this time, as
the boy's knees buckled under him when his climax hit. Davey had
been clutching at the man's hair when he rode the man's mouth to
orgasm, but Mr French didn't mind. He lifted the boy off the
commode and set him next to the white bowl, pulling his undies
and shorts up as he did so. "Now my turn", he said, unzipping
his trousers as the boy watched open-mouthed. The man drew his
penis out through the opening, and took Davey's hand to place it
upon the fleshy organ. Davey gasped as he felt the heat of it,
then giggled as the man's stream began.

"I can feel your wee-wee going through", Davey whispered,
chuckling. The man smiled, making Davey feel his remark was not
out of place.

"Shake the last drops off, Davey", the man urged, and Davey
happily complied, stroking the man's fleshy cock to milk out the
remnants of his urine.

"Good boy, Davey", the man praised the little fellow. "Now, I'll
sit on the seat while you kneel down and clean me up".

David looked dismayed for a moment. He had not let go of the
man's big pee-pee, which was getting stiffer now his wee-wee had
finished, but he had not counted on this development.

"It's okay, Davey, your mommy knows this is what men do for each
other after they go wee-wee. You probably never had a man help
clean you before, so it's all a bit new for you. Just kneel down
there, between my legs, and clean off my pee-pee for me, there's
a good boy. Rest your hands on my thighs, that's it". Still
unsure of what he was doing, Davey opened his mouth wide and
lowered his face to the man's crotch. Mr French put his hands
lightly on the sides of Davey's head, to guide him down, and the
boy's lips enclosed on the head of Mr French's penis, now fully
erect. Davey gave the man's cock a few tentative sucks, then
lifted his head.

"Am I doing it right?" he asked plaintively, his wide brown eyes
staring up into Mr French's kindly face.

"You're doing okay, kiddo, just keep at it, you'll get better.
Swirl your tongue around and clean it up good. Bob your head up
and down a little if you want". Davey resumed his task, his
silky hair swishing about as his head rose and fell in the man's
lap. Mr French reached behind him for the camera he had earlier
left on top of the cistern, and flipped a switch to 'VID' mode.
The boy was oblivious to the soft 'click' as the man filmed his
new little sex slave in action.

"Just a little longer, and I'll be all nice and clean for
afternoon tea with your mommy", the man crooned as he felt his
cum barrelling up the stem of his cock and into Davey's little
mouth. The boy recoiled a little when he felt the first jet of
Mr French's warm cum, but kept sucking until the man's pee-pee
was all clean. Despite a little unsteadiness at the point of
ejaculation, Mr French managed to keep the camera on Davey's
fresh young face the whole time, even when the boy lifted his
head up, desperate for masculine affirmation. The final few
seconds of footage of Davey's face, with a trickle of pearly cum
on his red lips that Davey quickly licked off, assured the man
he had found a willing sex slave. Davey had been photographed so
often that afternoon that he thought nothing of it.

"What a good boy you are, Davey", the man congratulated his new
slutboy. "Your mommy must be very happy with you!" He put his
softening tool back inside his trousers and zipped up. Kneeling
in front of the boy to put their heads on the same level, he
hugged Davey to him. "What a great cleaner-upper you are, Davey,
I'm proud of you. You cleaned me extra good!" Mr French took the
boy's shoulders and pecked him on the lips, smiling as he did
so. Davey gave a confused smile and pecked back. he still wasn't
quite sure whether he should be doing this, but it felt okay. At
school they taught him that if something doesn't feel okay, you
should tell your mom or a teacher, but this felt pretty okay to
him, even when he cleaned Mr French.

"Let's go downstairs for afternoon tea, okay?" Mr French
suggested, and the boy smiled more broadly, thinking of the nice
cakes his mommy usually made. He allowed the man to take his
hand again and the pair strolled downstairs to Mrs Rawdell's
dining room.

"And what you two been up to all this time?", Mrs Rawdell asked
good-naturedly. She had no concerns for her son, knowing him to
be a rather timid boy who never got into trouble.

"I was just showing Davey how to clean up", Mr French replied
evenly. "He's a growing boy, and sometimes growing boys need a
little guidance in some special areas".

"I know exactly what you mean, Mr French", Mrs Rawdell replied,
making Davey think that his mommy knew what they had been doing
upstairs, and was okay with it. He was also happy that Mr French
had said he was 'growing'.

Mr French sat at the table, pulling Davey onto his lap. Mrs
Rawdell was about to insist that her son should not bother their
guest, and sit in his own chair, but the afternoon had been so
pleasant she decided to hold her peace. Their conversation
crossed a number of topics, and the little cakes, Davey's
favourites, were especially tasty. Mr French's hands gently ran
up and down Davey's thighs as they chatted, unseen by Mrs
Rawdell due to the dining table. Soon, Mr French indicated that
it was almost time he was departing. Mrs Rawdell made a feeble
protest, but conceded that the afternoon was getting away.
Standing the boy on his own feet, Mr French said "Before I go,
perhaps Davey might like to show me his room?"

Mrs Rawdell agreed immediately, before Davey could answer. "Up
you go, Davey, take Mr French upstairs and show him your room,
I'll clear these tea things away. Go on", she added.

The two males skipped up the staircase, again hand in hand,
making Mrs Rawdell smile. She felt lucky that  they had, by
chance, encountered such a nice man. He seemed to be taking a
generous interest in Davey, as well, she though as she busied
herself with the cups and plates.

At the top of the stairs, Davey half-dragged a not-reluctant Mr
French into his room. Before he could show him his dinosaur
models and his racing cars, Mr French drew Davey over to the
boy's narrow bed and sat down, holding Davey in front of him
between his knees.

"May I have another hug like before, Davey? To keep me going
until next weekend. I won't see you until then, unless you mommy
invites me to supper with you one night. You've got your
schooling, and I have my work".

"Do you do camera work?" Davey asked innocently, allowing Mr
French to caress his bony arms and shoulders.

"I do. I'd like to take some more photos of you one day, too.
But for now, just a hug like we did before, you remember?". The
boy nodded placidly and allowed the man to pull him towards his
chest. Mr French pressed his mouth to the boy's, and gently
insinuated his tongue past Davey's pouty lips. Davey's big eyes
widened in surprise, and he pulled back a little, but before he
could utter a word, Mr French told him what a good kisser he
was, and how delighted his mommy must be in him.

Somewhat mollified, the boy allowed himself to be kissed again,
the man pushing his tongue more deeply into the boy's mouth this
time. Withdrawing again, Mr French moved a hand around from the
boy's bottom to his front, where he carefully felt for the boy's
penis. "Does your pee-pee feel happy now, Davey?", he whispered
in the boy's ear as he grazed his hand back and forth in the
boy's crotch. "Next time I come to visit you, we can have a nice
long play, and a really big clean up of our pee-pees, okay?"

"Uh huh", the boy murmured, his eyes fluttering shut. A dreamy
look took over Davey's face as he rocked his groin over the
man's hand.

"Would you like me to play with your pee-pee some more now? I
don't think your mommy is finished with the dishes yet", Mr
French softly spoke into the boy's ear, still caressing the fly
of the boy's short trousers.

"Uh huh", Davey breathed again.

"Pull your shorts down for me, there's a good boy", the man
urged, and Davey quickly complied, aching with an urgent desire
for the sensations that emanated from his groin to be increased.
His undies came down with the shorts, and the man stroked and
tickled the boy's stiff little cock.

"That feels nice, doesn't it Davey", the man whispered before
kissing the boy again. "Fun to play with your pee-pee, isn't
it?", he added, pushing his fingers between the boy's legs and
grazing along the crack of his bottom, tickling his balls,
stroking his fingers along the boy's inner thighs before
returning to his little cock. "And we can play with each other
again if your mommy asks me to have dinner with you both this
week", he reminded the boy. "Your mommy is really nice, letting
us play like this. She understands what you like, Davey. She
knows you like it a lot when I play with your pee-pee. She wants
you to have all these good feelings - that's why she asked me to
take you to that toilet in the park today."

"Uh huh", the boy sighed, ready to agree to almost anything as
long as his new friend kept rubbing his pee-pee like that.

"But we better go downstairs, now, or you mommy will think one
of your dinosaurs ate me all up" the man chuckled, as he left
off diddling the boy and pulled up the flimsy underwear and
short pants.

A final kiss, in which the man sucked Davey's tongue into his
mouth, before the two mismatched lovers stood up and returned
back down the stairs. "Davey's got some neat stuff, Mrs Rawdell
- I didn't get a chance to see it all, especially his
dinosaurs", the man enthused as Davey's mother appeared from the
kitchen.

Mention of the word 'dinosaur' seemed to trigger a memory in
Davey, because he piped up straight away with "Mommy, can the
nice man come to supper with us one night? Pleeeease?"

Mrs Rawdell's first instinct was to refuse her son's request -
after all, even though he had been a perfect gentleman, she did
not really know anything about Mr French (except that he was a
photographer). She had to be so careful - even though it had
been three years since her divorce from Mr Rawdell, she feared
there were still legal avenues that he could pursue to make her
new life a misery. But Davey seemed very taken with Mr French;
what harm could one meal do?

"Of course, Davey, if he wishes - Mr Rawdell, it appears you
have won my son's heart. Would you care to have dinner with us
one evening this week?"

"Tomorrow, mommy", Davey whined, still thinking with his dick.

"Well, now, really dear, the choice of evening is usually left
up to the guest", Mrs Rawdell admonished.

"Tomorrow evening would be just fine - and you can show me the
rest of your dinosaurs, Davey", the man graciously replied,
again giving his little formal bow from the waist, and made for
the door. "Until tomorrow, then?" he asked, before opening the
door and departing into the descending evening.

* * *

"Welcome, Mr French, and right on time, too", Mrs Rawdell gushed
as the photographer smiled in reply to her greeting and accepted
her invitation to enter. The sound of movement from within the
apartment indicated that Davey was eager for his friend's
arrival - dressed in his pyjamas, the boy hopped excitedly
around the room like the Energiser Bunny, an impression
strengthened by his pink night attire.

"Thank you Mrs Rawdell, and look who's here! It's a giant
rabbit!" he exclaimed, picking the boy up under his armpits and
swinging him around the room, eliciting a gleeful shriek from
the boy.

"I see you have your camera with you, Mr French", Mrs Rawdell
observed.

"I never leave home without it, Mrs Rawdell", he quipped,
grabbing his tool of the trade and returning it to a more
settled position on his chest, after setting Davey back on his
feet. "I told Davey I might get another photo or two of him.
Luckily it functions just as well indoors as outdoors".

Mrs Rawdell smiled to see the easy interaction between the man
and her son. "Why don't you take Mr French up to your room,
Davey, while I finish off preparation for dinner?"

"Is there anything I can do, Mrs Rawdell?" the man asked, even
as Davey dragged him by the hand in the opposite direction.

"No, it's quite alright, it will only be fifteen or twenty
minutes - you two go upstairs and amuse yourselves, I'll be just
fine here", Mrs Rawdell assured him, smiling.

Man and boy scampered up the steps, hand in hand. As the two
passed through the doorway of Davey's room, Mr French slipped
the camera off from around his neck, set it on a chest of
drawers and switched it on 'VID' before Davey could turn to see
what he was doing. "Come here, you little scamp", he whispered
in mock ferocity to the giggling boy, who sidestepped to evade
the man's grasping hands. Having nowhere to escape, and not
really wanting to, Mr French quickly caught the boy, and hoisted
him in the air. Their mouths met instantly for a passionate
kiss, Davey this time taking the initiative.

Setting the boy down, still with lips locked, the man dipped one
hand inside Davey's pyjama bottoms and found an already erect
tool. "Let me clean your pee-pee right now, before dinner,
Davey", the man urgently whispered in the panting boy's ear,
still stroking the fleshy rod. "Take your pyjamas off, Davey,
all of them, and I'll clean your pee-pee really good". Davey
nearly tore his shirt buttons in his eagerness to remove his
pyjama top, Mr French helping with the bottoms as the boy
tumbled naked onto the bed.

"There's a good little bunny", Mr French crooned as he mouthed
the boy's bee-sting nipples and caressed his hot little prick.
"I bet your pee-pee has been hard all day, waiting for me,
hasn't it?"

"Uh-huh" Davey replied, urging his hips up into the man's hand
but wondering why the cleaning hadn't started yet.

"Hey, I got a good idea- if you turn around this way, we can
both clean each other's pee-pees at the same time! You wanna?",
the man asked, lapsing into the boy's careless mode of speech.
Right about then Davey would have done almost anything to get
his pee-pee cleaned, even swallowing that stuff his new friend's
pee-pee spurted the day before, whatever it was. He swung his
little frame around to face the man's legs and reached inside
his zippered fly, which the man had conveniently undone as he
spoke, and glomphed his mouth onto the man's big pee-pee knob.

Davey circled and slurped his little tongue around the man's
prickhead, just like he felt the man doing to him. His skinny
fingers gripped the ample tool and stroked it up and down as he
did so. Mr French meanwhile, given free access to Davey's
upturned bottom, roamed his hands all around the tight globes of
flesh as he suckled the boy's cocklet. When his fingers grazed
along the boy's crack, Davey froze momentarily. Was the man
going to actually touch his bottom hole? Where his poo-poo came
out?

Not just touch it - Davey felt the man's finger rub right on the
dot...right on the place where his poop came from. And he didn't
seem to mind! The finger felt...strange, but not bad - like
itchy, only not. And whenever the man touched his poo-hole, he
sucked harder on his little pee-pee, so that was good. Davey
decided it was okay.

After some more sucking, Davey felt the man's hips start to go
kinda jerky, like they did yesterday just before that stuff
squirted into his mouth. He was a clever enough boy to realise
the two events were related, and sure enough, he got the same
taste as he did before, sort of slimy, like snot, but not
horrible. The man made his pee-pee feel even better than
yesterday, too. Maybe that was because he was playing with his
poo-hole, Davey decided.

Mr French swung the boy around and kissed him firmly, tasting
his own ejaculate as he did so. "What a good little bunny you
are, Davey. Let's get dressed and go down for supper", he
suggested, covertly zipping up. Just before they reached the
doorway of Davey's room, the man stopped before Davey's dressing
table and knelt in front of the boy. He slipped his hand inside
the boy's pyjama bottoms and cupped his little package. The boy
sighed in pleasure. "Now, Davey", the man suggested, "did you
like having your pee-pee cleaned today?"

The boy smiled and nodded vigorously, so the man said "When we
get good feelings in our pee-pee, we're supposed to say some
special words. Can you say them after me?"

"Uh huh", replied the boy, swaying slightly as the man caressed
his still-hard dick.

"Say 'I like sucking dick' for me, Davey, please?" the man
whispered.

Eyes fluttering, the boy repeated "I like sucking dick".

"Good boy. Now say 'Your cum tastes really great' "

Not quite understanding what it meant, but wanting to please the
nice man, Davey replied with the requested words.

"You're doing just great Davey", the man praised the boy. He
slipped the lad's pyjama bottoms down to his ankles and reached
his free hand around to the cleft of the boy's ass and sought
his hole once more. Davey scrunched his eyes shut and chewed on
his lower lip, concentrating on the good feelings generated by
the man's busy fingers. "Now just one more. When someone makes
you feel really, really good, in your pee-pee and your
poop-hole, you say 'please fuck me harder'. Can you say that for
me?"

Davey gasped. His eyes flew open on hearing the naughty word.
His mommy had paddled him once, a while back, for saying it. But
the man was asking him to say it now, and mommy was down in the
kitchen. "Please..." he whispered, licking his pouty lips,
"...fuck me harder".

The man grinned widely and hugged the boy, giving him a big
sloppy kiss as he pulled up Davey's pyjama bottoms. "What a
wonderful boy you are, Davey. I'm really glad we're friends. I
think you might be my best friend", the man added, as he took
the boy's hand and walked him through the doorway. Blocking the
boy's line-of-sight with his body, Mr French reached behind his
back and retrieved his little camera off the  chest of drawers
and pocketed it, flicking its switch to 'off''. He led Davey
down the staircase to the supper table.

"And what have you two boys been up to?" Mrs Rawdell asked, but
there was no menace in her voice.

"Oh, we just cleaned up before supper", Mr French replied
easily, giving Davey a wink that his hostess could not see.
"Isn't that right, Davey".

The boy grinned, pleased that he shared a special secret with
his new best friend. "Yes, we cleaned up real good, mommy".

* * *

Dinner was light and pleasant, the man dividing his attention
equally between mother and son. He amused them with little
anecdotes about life in the big city, about the photography
business and about his travels around the country. He managed to
slip in to the conversation that he hadn't yet had the chance to
take any pictures of Davey, and that he had no appointments the
next afternoon. Mrs Rawdell picked up on it immediately.

"Well, if you're sure you're free Mr French...I have errands
that I normally run on a Tuesday afternoon, and Davey stays at
after-school care until I come and collect him at five-thirty.
To tell you the truth-" she leaned conspiratorially towards the
smiling man "-I'd really prefer not to have him there at all,
even for that one afternoon a week. After all, one never knows
what the, er, staff...get up to, if you know what I mean. One
hears...things, er...all the time".

"I know exactly what you mean, Mrs Rawdell. One can never be too
cautious when it comes to our nearest and dearest. And Davey is
far too precious to be left in...well, the hands
of...employees", he declared, allowing a slight sneer to colour
his voice, playing up to Mrs Rawdell's inherent snobbishness. He
turned towards Davey and held his arms wide. The boy grinned and
clambered off his chair and sat in the man's lap.

His hands hidden by the wooden dining table, he insinuated his
fingers inside the front of the boy's pyjama bottoms and began
diddling Davey's cock right in front of his oblivious mother.
Davey sighed happily and let his head rest on the man's chest.
"Don't you worry about us, Mrs Rawdell, we'll take good care of
each other", he smiled, reaching down a little further to tickle
the boy's balls before gliding back up to the top of the hard
little stalk to lightly squeeze his foreskin-covered knob.

"Mmmm", murmured the contented boy.

* * *

Davey smiled broadly as he ran down the path to the school gate
at three o'clock the next afternoon. Finally, he was going to
walk home with a man, like the cool kids did, and not have to
stay in the after-school jail like a loser, waiting for his
mommy. Mr French was there at the gate waiting for him, and he
gave him a big hug in front of the other boys, just like the
cool daddies did with their sons. He thought he might burst with
happiness. His pee-pee had been stiff since lunchtime, and he
knew he would soon be getting those good feelings again, like
yesterday and Sunday.

The two capered down the sidewalk, swinging their arms wildly,
dodging doggie-do, singing silly songs, skipping, laughing and
generally enjoying themselves immensely. Davey recalled a
fleeting memory of his real daddy, who used to do things like
this with him, before he went away.

Arriving at the door to Davey's apartment, Mr French pulled out
the key Mrs Rawdell had given him the evening before. A moment
after they stepped across the threshold, Mr French swept Davey
up into his arms and covered his mouth with a big kiss. Davey
felt delirious with happiness, just like the night before when
the man carried him up to bed and tucked him in. His mommy had
given him a little peck on the forehead, but when she turned to
the door, the man gave him a big kiss , their 'special kiss' he
called it, the one when they played with their tongues.

He set the boy back on his feet, but still  held onto his waist
with one hand. The other lightly grazed up and down the boy's
inner thigh. "What would you like to do first, Davey,
photographs or...suck each others dickies?" The man had decided
it was time to give up any pretence of 'cleaning', and begin
calling a spade a spade.

"Uh...I don't know...what do you wanna do?" Davey replied, his
big cow eyes glazing over as the man's wandering fingers crept
higher and higher up his leg.

"Well...maybe we should let your pee-pee decide what to do. Is
it stiff?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

Davey grinned shyly and nodded, reaching down to clutch it.

"Hey, I know - let's do both at once! I'll put my camera over
here...and then we can..."

"Suck our pee-pees?"

The man grinned in agreement. "Bet I can get my clothes off
faster'n you!" he challenged his young friend. Davey shrieked
with excitement as he tore his school uniform off, trying to win
the impromptu race. He only managed to beat his older friend
because he ripped his school shoes off without untying the
laces, and because the man took a few seconds to set up his
camera and start it recording.

They came together, naked, in a tight clinch. The man kissed his
way down to the boy's nipples before caressing his groin. "What
do you want first, beautiful? Want me to play with your pee-pee,
or suck it?" he murmured, positioning their bodies on the couch
so that it was mostly the excited boy's body in the viewfinder.

"Umm...", the boy pretended to think for half a second. "Suck
it!"

"Tell the camera", the man urged quietly.

The boy turned his gaze directly towards the small device.
""Suck it!" he repeated.

"Say 'suck my hard little cock'," the man whispered urgently.

"Suck my hard little cock, you...you...cocksucker!" the boy
yelled with glee, using a very forbidden word he had heard at
school, but whose sensual meaning he had not fully appreciated
until that moment.

The man lay on the couch, the boy hovering above him, him crotch
at the man's face, his hands on the padded arm of the seat. The
man took the boy's piece into his mouth and gave it a few
swipes. Releasing it, he whispered "You're a brave boy to say
that! I bet you know lots of naughty words! Say them to the
camera while I suck you!"

The boys eyes closed as the man recaptured his cock between his
lips. "Suck my cock", he murmured to the silent camera, its red
blinking eye the only response. "Suck on my...prick! Eat my
dick!...Uh...rub my...my...titties! Shit! Piss!" the boy
continued, trying to think up all the rude words he had ever
heard. The man's hands busied themselves on the boy's bottom as
he fellated the lad, sliding a finger along the length of
Davey's crack.

"Finger my ass!" the boy yelled, finding inspiration in the
man's exploring digits. "Shove it up my ass! Fuck my ass with
your finger! Stick it in my shit-hole!", the boy shouted
gleefully, remembering the terrible word the man said he could
say the previous night. "Fuck me harder!" he yelled. But there
was still one word, one really awfully taboo word he was never,
ever allowed to say. Dare he say it now? He shut his eyes so he
could savour the sound of it as it rolled off his lips.
"Cunt..."

As soon as the powerful word was uttered, the man's finger,
which had been rubbing his bottom hole, pushed into his
poop-chute. The boy felt as though a veil of ignorance was torn
from before his eyes. He never really 'got' the whole sex thing
before; he couldn't quite fit the jigsaw puzzle of whispered
information together in his mind, but now..."Finger my cunt!" he
shouted. "Fuck me with you finger! Fuck my cunt! Uhhh..."

The combination of sucking, crude language, and a finger up his
hole had brought him to a strong (albeit dry) climax. He panted
as the man drew him back down so they were face to face and
crotch to crotch.

"Wow! What a sexy boy you are, Davey! A real firecracker!" the
man praised, making the boy blush"

"Should I...suck you now?" Davey asked earnestly, starting to
slide down the man's sweat-slick body towards his cock.

Mr French held him under the arms before he could slide down any
further. "You know what would really make me feel good? As good
as you felt just now?" he whispered. "If you let me fuck your
ass with my cock".

The boy bit his bottom lip in consternation. "Uh...will
it...hurt?" he asked shyly.

"Maybe a little, at first...but then your whole body will feel
that good feeling that you got in your pee-pee...your
cock...just now. We'll go nice and slow. I'll bet you'll be
really brave and take my whole cock inside your ass", he added,
and the boy, dreamily, nodded.

It took more than a little effort, patience, trial and error,
and some sobbing on Davey's part, before the boy was comfortably
sitting on the man's prick, still facing the camera. The man had
been in this exact situation with quite a few boys in other
places and times. He was constantly surprised by the ease with
which he was able to seduce boys. Some lads who put on a macho
front turned out to be screaming queens, begging for more of his
cock after the first few fucks; others, who had played the
flirt, proved very difficult to penetrate, as if the boy was
willing but his hole was not. Younger boys, under about eleven,
often turned out to be more flexible and accommodating of his
weapon, while older boys nearer puberty frequently required a
few slaps on the bottom to get with the program.

After the initial shock subsided, Davey began a slow ride of Mr
French's cock. At first he leaned forward to rest his hands on
the man's chest, but soon sat upright to let the man diddle his
little dick as he gently bobbed up and down on the hard, fat
pole.

"Do you remember the words we practiced, beautiful? The little
play we are going to put on for the camera?" the man asked his
little sex partner.

"Uh huh", the boy replied, squirming around on the man's groin.
Mr French had told him it would be fun to make up a story for
the camera while they were fucking, and Davey, in a state of
sexual delirium, had thought so too.

"Okay. Don't forget to keep fucking while you talk, all right?
What is your name?"

Davey looked straight at the camera lens and smiled "My name is
Davey Rawdell. I'm nine years old".

"And what are you doing, Davey?"

"I'm getting my ass fucked by my friend", Davey continued with a
half-smile playing across his lips. "He's a man my mommy invited
over. We met him in the park on Sunday. Mommy gave him her door
key. We've had lots of sex, and I love it!"

"Where is your mommy now?" Mr French whispered.

"Mommy's out for a little while. She told the man to get me from
school, so we could come home and have sex. I like fucking. And
sucking, too. Oooh, I'm gonna have a oar-gazzum now, uhh, uhh,
uh, ohh, aaaaahh....Shit that was good! Fuck me harder next
time! Jam that big cock up my boycunt!"

The boy's prepared lines were all completely true, so he had no
difficulty remembering them. The man's frantic rubbing of
Davey's pricklet had brought the boy off in mid-speech, timed to
perfection just as he had hoped. "We better go upstairs and have
a wash before your mommy comes home, handsome. I don't want you
to wear my cock out!"

"No, you'll wear mine out", Davey retorted, chuckling, as he
carefully eased himself off the man's impaling prong. His first
few steps were a little cautious; most boys walk gingerly after
their deflowering. The man swept up behind him and carried the
naked giggling boy to the bathroom.

* * *

Davey was settled happily on the couch in his pyjamas, watching
cartoons on television, when Mrs Rawdell returned. Mr French
forestalled any belated invitations to stay for dinner by saying
he had a business flight to catch to New York City that evening,
but they would both hear from him again very soon. Davey jumped
up from his seat to give Mr French a goodbye hug, which made Mrs
Rawdell smile.

* * *

Mrs Rawdell took a few weeks to get over the shock she received
on taking her lawyer's phone call the following morning. Her
ex-husband's lawyers had contacted her lawyer, and made a
non-negotiable offer: hand over full custody of Davey, with zero
visiting rights, or the video that her lawyer had played a few
seconds of would be forwarded to Child Protection Services. She
would be branded an incompetent mother, and probably be charged
by the police with procuring a minor for sexual exploitation,
aiding and abetting the statutory rape of a child, as well as
neglect, child endangerment, and a host of other offences her
lawyer could only guess at. Tearfully, she handed her son over
to her lawyer, and booked herself into a clinic for depression.

* * *

Davey had never been to New York City before - or even flown on
an aeroplane! Everything was so exciting, it made it easier to
forget his mommy's sadness. And Mr French met him at the airport
when he got off the plane! The buildings were so tall in the big
city, he had to twist in his seat and he still couldn't see the
top of some of them. There were so many cars, he was glad he was
with Mr French, or he might have gotten lost, Anyway, Mr French
still had not told him where they were going. He only said it
was a surprise.

The car swung into a basement car park, and they got out and
rode an elevator to the twenty-sixth floor. "Are you nervous,
Davey?" Mr French asked him, holding his hand in the lift.

"Kinda, a bit", Davey agreed. The lift stopped and the doors
swooshed open, letting the pair out into a cool, quiet hallway.
There were only two doors, and Mr French led Davey up to the
door with '2601' on it, and opened it. Davey got a big shock
when he saw who was standing in the room waiting for him.

"D-daddy?", the boy cried, running the short distance to throw
himself into his father's outstretched arms.

"Oh, my beautiful, wonderful boy", Mr Rawdell crooned as he
hugged his son, rubbing his hands up and down the boy's back as
though to convince himself he was really there. "Three long
years, and now, finally..."

Father and son hugged for a full minute before relaxing. The man
looked his son over, amazed at how the boy had grown. But there
was a pressing matter that he wanted to broach right away -
something he had already discussed with Mr French. "Davey, did
you like meeting Mr French?" the man asked eventually loosening
his hold on the boy.

"Yes, daddy, I like him a lot", the boy replied  happily.

"Did you like...sucking his cock?" Mr Rawdell asked evenly.

Davey detected no danger in his father's question, so he
answered truthfully. "Oh, yes daddy, we sucked each other's
cocks, it was lots of fun"

"And did you let him...fuck you?" Mr Rawdell continued.

"Yes, daddy - he's my friend, he fucked me really good, it felt
nice", the boy replied candidly.

"And do you think you'd like to let your daddy fuck you too,
Davey?"

"Oh, daddy, do you want to? Really?" the happy boy rejoiced.
Davey hadn't been sure whether his newly emerged sex life was
going to continue now that he had gone to his daddy's place, but
it looked like it was!

"Oh, yes, my boy, really. I'm going to fuck you as much as you
want. if you like, Mr French can visit us sometimes and we can
both fuck you at the same time. What do you say to that idea?"

Davey's eyelids fluttered shut in contentment as he relaxed into
his father's strong grasp. "Fuck me harder, daddy...fuck me
harder..."

End