Date: Thu, 3 Mar 2005 08:50:38 -0800 (PST)
From: Justin Davis <justin0398@yahoo.com>
Subject: Chester the Molester: Chester's Demise by Justin Davis (M/t, no sex)

The following story contains sexual references
relating to young males and an older male. If material
of this nature offends you then you should not read
this story.  Additionally, if you are under 18 years
of age in most states you are not allowed to read this
story by law.

This story is purely a work of fiction.  Any
resemblance to person's living or dead, or to events
that may have occurred, is purely coincidental.
Additionally, the actions of the characters in this
story are in no way intended to show approval of, or
give sanction to, their actions, or encourage similar
actions by others.

The author claims all copyrights to this story and no
duplication or publication of this story is allowed,
except by the web sites to which it has been posted,
without the consent of the author.

Positive comments are always welcome and you may
e-mail them to

Justin0398@yahoo.com

Author's Note: Sadly, the time comes when it is
difficult to develop a character beyond what has
already been done.  To those of you who have enjoyed
the Chester series and told me so I thank you.  This
will be the last story in the series.


Chester the Molester: Chester's Demise
By
Justin Davis


It had been a typical morning for Chester Davidson,
"Chester the Molester," as he had been known by boys
for generations in the neighborhood, and as usual he
had gone out to the front walk to get the newspaper.
He hadn't really been feeling well for several weeks
now, although he hadn't thought anything was severe
enough to warrant a trip to the doctor. Suddenly, a
severe pain, so strong that he screamed, had shot up
his spine and he had slumped to the ground
unconscious.

For a week, the hospital had run tests, and the
prognosis was grim.  The cancer was rapidly spreading
from his pancreas to other organs and was now
attacking his spine as well.  In short, it was only a
matter of weeks, at the most, before Chester would
succumb.  For the time being, there was nothing that
the medical staff could do but keep him comfortable,
which they had done by giving him morphine by IV,
which allowed him to increase the dose on his own when
the pain got too great.

Slowly, Chester opened his eyes from his drug induced
stupor, sensing someone was in the room, and as his
vision cleared he beheld a blonde young man, in his
mid-thirties, dressed in a white doctor's frock
smiling down at him.

"Timmy!  Timmy Smith," Chester said hoarsely, his
voice much weaker than it had been a week before.

"Hello, Chester.  I'm sorry you aren't doing well.
Are they keeping you comfortable?" Dr. Timothy
Anderson asked.

"Oh yes!  My you look so handsome.  You were eighteen
the last time I saw you," Chester said.

"Yes, right after my graduation my senior year in high
school.  I was worried about how I was going to get
the money to enroll in the community college that
fall.  Remember?" Timothy asked.

"Yes, I'm embarrassed to say I do," Chester replied.

"Hey, if not for you I probably wouldn't be a doctor
now.  You helped me get started in college," Timothy
said, and reached out and patted Chester's hand.

"Well, as I remember, you earned it," Chester said,
then chuckled and began to have another one of the
coughing spasms that were becoming all too frequent.

Quickly, Timothy pulled some tissues from the box by
the bed and handed them to Chester and waited for the
coughing spell to subside.  As he did so, he thought
back to the first time he had knocked at Chester's
door.  He had been eleven then and in terrible need of
some money to buy a baseball glove so he could try out
for Little League.  He had gotten the money for the
glove, and left with a tingling hole and peter as a
fringe benefit.

"I'm so terribly sorry!" Chester said, when he
regained his ability to speak.  "The coughing is
becoming worse as the days go by."

"Yes, I'm afraid it will.  If it's okay with you, I've
arranged with the staff here to take over your case,
as it were.  Oh, the doctors on staff will still be in
charge so to speak.  However, my specialty is oncology
and I have made arrangements to be away from my
practice for awhile," Timothy said.

"Oh Timmy!  That's so sweat of you, but really, that's
not necessary.  I'm afraid there is not much you can
do," Chester replied weakly

"Then humor me.  Just a way to say thank you," Timothy
replied, and reached out and patted Chester's hand
again.

"Oh, Timmy!  That's so nice of you," Chester said, and
sighed and sunk back into his drug-induced sleep.

Dr. Timothy Anderson, highly respected oncologist and
surgeon, looked down at the sleeping older man, shook
his head, and again patted his hand before he turned
and left for awhile, shaking his head as he left the
room.  It was a matter of a few weeks at the most
before Chester would be gone.  Already, the cancer was
spreading into his lungs.  Soon, maybe in just a
matter of days, he would lose the functions of most
things below the waist as the cancer invaded the
nerves of his spine.  Timothy had read the reports;
the most rapidly developing cancer known to man was
consuming Chester's body. It was a hell of a way to
go, but a quick one, and Timothy had made up his mind
to keep Chester as comfortable as possible.  He had
even decided to give him "the hundred dollar shot,"
something the medical profession knew about only among
themselves, if Chester wanted it when things became so
unbearable that the morphine didn't help as much
anymore.

Several hours later, as Chester opened his eyes,
through his fogged vision he saw a dark figure
standing by his bed.  Instantly, he wondered if it was
death that had come for him.  Then, as his eyes
cleared, he saw a familiar face smiling down at him.

"Tyrone!" Chester exclaimed softly, finally
recognizing the young black that was standing by his
bed that was now a senior in high school.

"Hello sir!  I understand that your medical prognosis
is not good.  I came as soon as I heard.  I wanted to
thank you, sir, for helping me understand my
proclivities and for assisting me in finding out my
true self," Tyrone said.

"For God's sake, Tyrone!  There you go again!  Talk
normal!" Chester wheezed, then coughed a little.

"Well, bro.  I wanted to thank you for helping my
black azz understand what turns me on, brother,"
Tyrone replied, in his best ghetto dialect and smiled,
showing his perfect white teeth, and prompting Chester
to chuckle and cough a little more, then smile back.
"Is there anything I can do?" Tyrone then asked.

"Just be yourself, Tyrone, just be yourself.  You're a
wonderful kid," Chester wheezed.

"Oh, I plan to do that sir.  You can be assured of
that.  I've already started a support group for gay
students at my school.  So far we have ten members and
we study together and have a marvelous exchange of
intellectual discussion on the whole gay and lesbian
issue," Tyrone responded.

"That's good Tyrone.  I'm proud of you.  Now, if you
don't mind, I'm really tired," Chester replied.

"I understand, sir.  It's nice to have seen you
again," Tyrone said, and stood by Chester's bed for a
moment as he drifted back off to sleep.

Then, with tears streaming down his cheeks, as he
thought about how frail Chester looked compared to
just a few years before when he had first rung the
doorbell to Chester's cottage, Tyrone left Chester's
hospital room and headed toward the elevator.

Over the next couple of weeks, a parade of visitors
came through Chester's room and it filled with flowers
to the point that Timothy had the nurses take them to
other patients, knowing that that was what Chester
would want.  Sadly, most of the time Chester was
sleeping when most of the visitors came by.  However,
he was awake for a short time for some of them.

Chester was halfway lucid when Anthony Montalbano, the
small Italian-American kid with the huge dick came by
and they had a nice conversation, Chester wishing the
whole time that he could wrap his lips around the
kid's huge stalk one more time and regretting that he
never got to do the video of he and Billy, and then
slipping back off into his drug induced sleep.

Chester was somewhat awake, and attempted to
apologize, when Billy came by, but Billy would have
none of it.

"Shit!  I was hoping I could get a truck from yah.
I'd have given my butt to yah my whole senior year for
a black Tundra," Billy said, prompting Chester to
laugh and have a coughing spell again.

Like Tyrone, Billy left the hospital room with tears
running down his cheeks, crying both because of the
dramatic change in what had been such a dominant man
and at the fact that he knew there wasn't a mean bone
in Chester's body.  It had been he himself that had
wanted the bike and all the stuff.  He had sold his
own butt for it and had never been sorry.  He crossed
himself as he got in the elevator, he was a good
Catholic, and hoped Chester would wind up in a special
place.

Carlton came by, and Chester was partially awake for
him.  He had been rotated back from Iraq and he looked
so good in his Marine uniform.  Chester sighed, and
had fallen asleep again, wishing one more time that
Carlton could settle himself down on his cock and ride
it again.  Carlton did seem to love it so and Chester
did as well.

Daily they came by, a litany of grown men, college
students, teenagers, and boys, all who had gotten
their hole eaten and peter sucked, or gone the whole
nine yards for something they had wanted badly enough
to take Chester's huge cock up their butt.  All left
with tears in their eyes, or running down their
cheeks, as they left Chester's hospital room.

Toward the end of the following week, when Chester
began to jaundice and his kidneys failed Timothy knew
it was only a matter of a few days at the most.
Already Chester's breathing was becoming more and more
labored and mostly he slept all the time now, the
higher dosages of morphine keeping him perpetually
knocked out until the pain would get so severe even
the high dosages didn't help.

"Oh my God! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" Chester exclaimed, as the
next wave of pain wracked his body, prompting Timothy
to grab hold of his hand and hold it tight.

"Chester, you know I told you about this.  The pain
will grow so severe you won't even be able to sleep
much even with the morphine," Timothy said.

"I know!  It ain't like taking a big dick up your butt
for the first time for sure!" Chester rasped, and
tried to laugh, but started coughing instead.

"You wonderful man!  I can't imagine the pain you're
in and you're trying to crack jokes," Timothy said,
holding on to Chester's hand even tighter.

"Ahhhhhhhhh!  Oh God!" Chester exclaimed, as another
wave of pain swept over his body worse than the
previous one, causing him to pant heavily and gasp for
air.

"Chester, please!  I can end this," Timothy said.

"I know!" Chester replied, and nodded his head, then
arched upward as his whole body was consumed by pain
again.

"Nurse, I want you to bring me the injection I've
already ordered," Timothy said quietly, Chester having
lapsed back into unconsciousness again.  "Please tell
father Raymond, who's in the waiting room, that it's
time."

Through the fog of drugs and pain, Chester looked
about his hospital room, his eyes focusing on the
young man dressed in black that stood by his bed.

"Oh Raymond!  You dear boy!  May God forgive me!"
Chester said, as he recognized Raymond Garcia, the
cute Hispanic boy from many years ago who he knew had
been a priest for some time now.

"It's okay, Chester.  Don't worry.  God has forgiven
me of all my sins, as he will yours.  Remember that
God is merciful.  He forgives your sins as he has mine
and all the others throughout the ages.  Are you
ready, Chester Davidson, to confess your sins to God?"

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" Chester cried out as another wave of
pain wracked his body.  "Yes, I'm ready," he then
rasped.

"It's not necessary to be specific, Chester.  I know
you're a Catholic, so just do the bit and remember
many love you, in spite of what you may think at the
moment.  Many, myself included, love you for what you
gave them in their lives," the priest said.

"Bless me father for I have sinned," Chester said,
crossing himself.  "I have done things that I
shouldn't have done.  I have done so many things I
shouldn't have done!  I never intended to hurt anyone.
 I-- Ahhhhhhhhh!" Chester cried out, as another wave
of pain shot through his body more severe than the
previous one.

"That's enough, my friend, God understands!  I will
now begin the Last Rites for you, Chester.  God will
have mercy on your soul.  Of that I am sure, " Raymond
said, and began the liturgy.

Dr. Timothy Anderson added the "hundred dollar shot"
to Chester's IV soon after the priest had given the
Last Rites and Chester lapsed into permanent
unconsciousness. An hour later, Chester was gone and
at peace.

"Where do you think he is, father?" Timothy asked, as
the nurse pulled the sheet over Chester's body.

"I would suspect, as all of us who knew him so well
would hope, that he is in heaven, surrounded by more
beautiful boys than anyone ever imagined, hugging
every one of them as they hug him," Raymond replied,
and looked at Timothy and smiled.

"Yes, I imagine so, too," Timothy said, and they both
turned and left the hospital room, tears running down
their cheeks.

The End