Date: Sat,  8 Mar 2003 23:22:20 -0800
From: lapland@cyber-rights.net
Subject: Enjoy

James leaned over his oars.

Sweating.

The sun was just coming up over Sydney.  A mist rose off the water in slow
curling whisps.

All four boys had lifted their oars from the water, so that the boat seemed
to slide silently over the mirrored surface.

The coxswain said: "Come on you buggers, time to go again."

The fourteen year olds braced themselves, oars poised just millimetres
above the surface of the water.

"Pull!"

The four dipped their oars and pulled, their bodies unfolding, then tensing
-- knees in, arms extended. The pull... the reach... the pull....

"Leg drive...  Sit back, spring back, ac-cel-er-ate"

The front of the boat slipped through the water, seeming to hang - then
drive forward.  Only a little ripple, and the still pools where the oars
had been, showed where the boat had passed.

As they swept past the boatyard the coxswain called:

"OK, half way there... We're gonna push for 20 strokes... get ready... This
one...now!"

The crew dug deep, their young muscles burning.  James' eyes were fixed on
the shoulder-blades of the boy in front.  He was almost in a trance,
concentrating so hard on the rhythmic motion of his whole body, the twist
of his wrists, the burning pull against the water, the sting in his young
thighs.

From the edge of the boat-house a solitary figure watched the boys across
the water.  He wasn't a teacher or a coach, nor was he one of the
passers-by who often stood and watched.  He wasn't watching the sleek boat
with the interested stare of a spectator.  He was watching it with the
glittering eyes of lust.  And although the boat carried five youngsters,
his stare was fixed on only one.

James and his mates hauled the boat out of the water, turning it with a
practised move above their heads.  Then, holding it aloft, the coxswain
scampered around the boat, hosing it down.

"Get a move on!"

"Bloody hell!"

Holding the boat above their heads was hard work.  Chip, the tallest of the
boys took more than his fair share of the weight.  All four stood there in
their black and red lycra rowing suits, zoot suits they called them,
sucking in their stomachs -- heads bowed, arms straining.

The spectator drank in their young bodies -- defined by the wet material
that clung tight as cellophane to butts and thighs, thin trembling arms and
limp cocks.

"OK, done!"

They marched the boat into the boathouse and set it onto the rack.  It was
still early in the morning and the boys were in a hurry to get showered and
get off to school.  They scampered upstairs one boy slapping the butt of
the young cockswain and Deaning about as they entered the changing room.
The lycra suits were peeled off leaving the boys stamping damp footprints
on the tiles.  They stood in their undies waiting for another coxed-four
that had finished before them to get out of the shower cubicles.

James caught a look at himself in the mirrors.  At fourteen he was
positively bursting with the charm and innocent beauty of a boy.  He was
sports mad, the rowing being just one of many things he did.  He tensed his
stomach to show off his little six pack.  It was not the rippling hard
stomach of a body-builder, but he was proud of it nevertheless.  He had
been cultivating it for ages with endless reps at school and in his bedroom
at home.  Now that at long last he could definitely see the outline of his
stomach muscles it was a matter of great pride to him.  With his brown hair
and chestnut eyes and his tanned olive skin he was simply breath-taking.
James was beautiful, and he knew it.  He was also at the age where he got
horny at the slightest provocation.  Usually he found showering with the
other boys a risky business.  It was strange.  He didn't think of himself
as gay, he sometimes fancied girls and certainly acted like he did around
his mates.  But his hottest moment's were stealing sly looks at the cocks
of his friends.  He wanked off about them, fantasized about them, dreamed
about them.  Since the day he was first able to cum he realized that he was
a confirmed wanker.  He loved to do it whenever he could - he was
constantly horny -- and he loved it.

Usually the idling around the showers after their workout would have been a
good time for him to live on the edge of getting a hard-on.  He loved the
feeling of risk as he stole glances at the young bodies around him.  He
would have been galled if any of his friends had suspected him, but that
didn't stop him from coming perilously close to a hard-on almost every time
he came rowing.

But today was different.  Today he was just keen to get out of there.

"Hurry up you dorks!"

The showers were spraying a fine mist that billowed out of the cubicles,
washing the river slime off the young bodies that turned and soaped and
shook hair and scrubbed legs and armpits.

"Fucking hell!"

"James!"  The reprimand was from a teacher who was overseeing the boys.

It was his turn soon enough.  He spluttered under the water.  It ran down
his firm chest, and ran in rivulets down his butt crack, wrapping around
his hairless calves and pooling at his feet.  His armpits were still
hairless, and he soaped them up thoroughly in the steam.  At the base of
his young cock a few hairs licked around, suggesting the puberty he was
into.  He soaped his dick, pulling back the foreskin and rolling his silky
nuts around in his hand.  He squirted shampoo onto his head and massaged it
into a lather that dribbled down his soft cheeks.

"Come on James!"

His mate was already dressed and ready to go.  James hurried.

This scene had been repeated many times.  James and the other boys trained
hard.  They trained on Monday and Wednesday mornings and on Tuesday and
Thursday in the afternoons.  They gave up a couple of lunchtimes a week and
raced on Saturdays.  They pushed themselves hard doing weights, practising
on rowing machines and on the lunchtimes they were not rowing they were
usually doing weights.

James' life right now seemed to be this routine.  But today was far from
routine.  It was a day that James suspected would be etched on him for a
life-time like a tattoo.

James' sexual appetite had led him on-line.  He had a computer in his
bedroom and with it he was free to roam.  He had discovered ASSGM and Nifty
and used the stories to jack off to.  A month earlier he had read a series
called "Schoolboy dare" by an anonymous author called Lapland.  They had
touched some of his own dark sexual fantasies and he had cum with a new
sort of power when he read them.  Lapland had asked readers to write back
and one day James had fired off an email.

James was not dumb.  He knew the risks of talking to perverts on-line, but
over time the emails had become a sort of delightful, if pervy friendship.
They swapped stories, and grew to care about each other.  A fourteen year
old and a forty year old drifting into a sort of sexual disembodied
love....

As time moved on and the two of them became firm fantasy partners James
began to wonder what it would be like to turn fantasy into reality.  At
first it creeped him out, but curiosity is a powerful thing.  In the end
James had written, half joking:

"Why don't you come to Sydney...".

A day later there was an email sitting in his inbox.  "OK.  I Will.  What's
your address?"

James had almost stopped breathing.  It sent a shiver down his spine.  He
sat for almost an hour, staring at the email that he was about to send in
reply.  He was scared shitless, but his cock was rock hard.  He had to make
a decision.  Do I let this happen or do I chicken out?

Minutes, almost an hour ticked by.

He typed in his home address.  Deleted it.  Typed it in again.  Deleted it
again.  Re-typed it.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!...."

The mouse hovered over the send button.  He closed his eyes and clicked.

The following day he had not been able to concentrate on a thing.  He hated
Chemistry and that night after school he couldn't bear to think about it.
His work was a scribbled mess.  He kept checking and re-checking his email.
Empty.

Suddenly there it was.

"I got your note.  I am flying in.  On Wednesday night next week, after
your parents go to bed, go downstairs and put the front door on the latch.
Buy some baby oil and have it by your bed.  Put a sock by the door to your
room so I know which room to enter."

He had almost freaked out then and there, but again, reading the note both
sent shivers down his spine and lit a red hot rage inside his cock.  All he
could think to himself was, I don't believe this, I don't believe it!

As he left the boathouse to go to school all he could think was -- Fuck!
Today is Wednesday....

The school day passed by in a haze for James.  It was filled with the usual
things and the usual people, but he felt as if he was walking around a
movie set.  The lunch-time workout on the rowing machines came and went.
Classes ticked by painfully slowly.  The later in the day it got, the more
time seemed to drag.  Chemistry seemed to last longer than the half-life of
uranium.  One of the teachers told him to go to bed earlier, taking his
lack of interest for tiredness.  But finally, just as he thought he
couldn't bear it any more, the bell let out it's shrill alarm to sound
freedom.

Suddenly James came alive again, gathering up his books and rushing to get
out.  His goodbyes to his friends were hurried.  He clattered down stairs,
bumped past people and was out.  Sydney had lost the harsh heat of summer,
and had settled into the fine warm days of autumn.  The harbour glittered
like shook silver and the opera house sat on its edge like an open desert
flower.

James' parents were wealthy enough to live in an apartment on the
waterfront.  He reached home in record time and let himself in.  As he did
every day, he zoomed up into his room and pulled off his school uniform.
He pulled on a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt and fired up his computer.

Nothing.  No email from Lapland, just a bunch of crap from game-site
mailing lists.  It had been like this for the past week.  James didn't
really expect to get one, figuring that if Lapland was flying in it would
be unlikely that he would have access to the internet.  So the last email
was all there was.  He opened it again.

"I got your note.  I am flying in.  On Wednesday night next week, after
your parents go to bed, go downstairs and put the front door on the latch.
Buy some baby oil and have it by your bed.  Put a sock by the door to your
room so I know which room to enter."

Today was Wednesday, THE Wednesday.  James felt a tight knot in his
stomach.  Did he have the balls to go through with it?  Why not just keep
the door locked?  The man would try it, find his way was barred and would
slip away again into the night.  He could just ignore any angry emails,
erase the man from his mind and carry on with his life.

So why had he bought the baby oil?  And why was it sitting there on the
floor by the bunk-bed?

No, he figured he would be nuts to open the door.  What if the guy was some
crazed axe murderer?

Then again, what if he did open it?  They had got to know each other pretty
well over the months via email.  Lapland didn't sound like a craxed
murderer, in fact he sounded pretty romantic and gentle.  He seemed
trustworthy.

If he did open the door to the forty year old he could be about to have the
most amazing sexual experience of his young life.  He was hard just
thinking about it.

What to do?

He sat staring at the email.

Oh and what if his parents heard something and came to investigate?  Jesus
-- he thought.  Nightmare scenario.  No the best thing would be to keep the
door firmly locked.

His mother had returned with some shopping.  She called to him: "James,
darling, come and give me a hand."  Helping his mother put away the
shopping in the fridge helped to get him back to reality.  The whole thing
with Lapland was nut - this was reality -- plastic milk bottles and
burger-meat, his mother smiling at him from across the room.  He would
think no more about it.

Afternoon became evening, evening became homework and a night in front of
the TV.  Some dumb show made him laugh.

It was time for bed.

James shut his bedroom door and turned on the light by his bed.  He stepped
out of his jeans, pulled off his t-shirt and paused.  He could see himself
in the mirror.  He loved the way he looked now.  So sleek inside his own
skin, so smooth and so full of energy.

He couldn't help himself.  He was thinking -- is this the way I look on the
day I have sex for the first time?

He pulled down his boxers, stepped out of them and looked in the mirror
again.  He stood like that in the middle of the room for almost ten
minutes, his mind racing and turning over and over.  He only snapped out of
it when he heard his parents turning out the lights and making their way to
bed, quickly hopping into bed, naked, turning out the light and pulling the
sheets tight around his neck.

What makes us take breath-taking risks with our lives?  As James lay there
in the darkness deep down he knew that the decision had already been made.
Although he rehearsed over and over the reasons why he would be crazy to
open the door he knew, simply, that he would.  The risks were real, but
human beings are hard-wired risk-takers.  At the top of the tree:
astronauts and explorers, maybe.  But all of us come alive when we step out
into the unknown.  Opening the door would be, for James, "One small step
for man, one giant leap for mankind."

In the dark he lay still, listening to his parents getting ready for bed.
He heard the light switch, the low murmur of their conversation.  He
listened to the silence.  He waited.

He waited.  He had no idea how much time had passed.

He needed to be sure, so he lay there a little longer as the moon rose over
the harbour.

He pulled back the sheet and swung his legs over the side of the bed.  He
sat there completely still, straining to hear.  The sound of his own
heart-beat was deafening.  He tried to keep calm.  The knot in his stomach
was fierce.  He eased himself down from the bunk-bed.

His young cock was hard as a rock.  He felt more naked than he had ever
felt in his life. He moved over to his bedroom door and opened it,
grimacing at the slight sound it made.  He paused again to listen.

Jesus H Christ -- he thought.

He slipped into the living-room.  If his parents caught him he'd say he was
going to the bathroom.  So why was he creeping about like a burglar?  Fuck.

His bare feet tip-toed across the room.  The apartment was on one level.
All he had to do was get to the front door.  He wondered why he had never
noticed before just how wide this fucking room was and just how fucking
squeaky the fucking floor was.

He made it.

Using both hands he eased the lock open, and pressed down the little button
that kept it that way.  He pulled the door to see if it would open.  Fuck.
Fuck.  Fuck.  They had dead-bolted it.  He reached up and, gritting his
teeth, twisted the dead-bolt as carefully as he could.  He pulled the door
again and this time it moved a fraction.

A cold shiver ran up his spine.

As he turned away from the door he could have cum right then.  Instead, he
crept back, quiet as a mouse, to his room.  He fished a white sports sock
off the floor and put it outside the door.  He found another one and used
it to keep the door slightly ajar.  Then he hopped back up into bed, his
ears on fire.

James' body was tense, cold and naked under the sheet.  It wasn't a cold
night, but the concentration and tension was making him shiver.  He grabbed
his dick and pulled down on the skin, rolling his foreskin back.  - God he
could cum without even having to think about it -.  He let go and put his
arms by his sides.  - Better not -.  He listened hard to the night.

Somewhere in the harbour a boat sounded its horn in two shirt blasts.
There was a low hum from traffic that even at this time of night was
circulating around Sydney's arteries.

He was warm in his bed, it was very late, the sounds around and inside the
house began to meld into a repetitive drone.  He tried ever so hard to keep
awake, to keep alert, but the arms of sleep were reaching out to him.  He
had spent more nervous energy than his body would allow him.  He drifted,
started, drifted again -- and soon was fast asleep.

The flight from England had been hellish long.  Richard had watched the
movies, paced up and down to get his circulation going and tried to avoid
looking at his watch -- hoping the time would slip past.  The cabin crew
had tried to make life easier, but it had been an ordeal.

Most of the way across the oceans of the world, Richard had simply stared
out of the window lost in his thoughts about James.  He remembered the
pattern of emails that had brought things to this head and smiled.  The
stewardess noticed his often blissful appearance and had said to him, as
she served dinner, "Visiting a loved one?"

"Yes.  Yes indeed."

The terrible secret never failed to put butterflies in his stomach.  From
taking the time off work - the lies he had told friends and colleagues
about the reasons for the trip - to the packing for the journey -- all of
it had created a surreal atmosphere that had hung around him for weeks.

Richard's love for boys in general stemmed from his own childhood.  His
private boarding school had been a form of licensed abuse he had endured
from the age of seven.  The only mental respite from the bullying had been
the snatched sexual comfort in the arms of other boys.  As he had grown
older in the school, his sensitivity to the loneliness of the younger boys,
plus the powerful pull of his sexual appetites made him continue to seek
out the arms of other boys, most of whom were now younger than him.  A
sexuality forged in such heat had simply stuck with him, as had his
sensitivity to youngsters.  His life had mostly been spent avoiding
temptation, but James had opened up a whole new world of possibilities.
Here was a youth seeking sexual exploration.  James was horny as hell and
not afraid to talk about it in his emails.  For Richard it had been like
putting an outboard motor in his blood-stream.

The glittering lights of Sydney lay below the plane as it banked for its
approach.  Richard brought his seat to an upright position. His cock had
assumed that position some time earlier.

It was his first visit to Australia.  He took a Taxi in from the Airport to
his hotel by the waterfront.  His room was stylish, ridiculously large and
close to the action.  He hit the pillow and slept for eighteen hours.

Four days later he had adjusted to the time zone and felt fresh. He had
found a swimming pool for his daily routine and felt fresh and full of
life.

It was Wednesday evening.  That morning, wearing his usual black, he had
wandered down to the water to watch the rowers.  Unknown to young James he
had guessed which of the boys he was from across the water.  He had
relished the sight of the boys as they pulled their boat from the water and
had to pinch himself to believe he wasn't simply dreaming.  All day he had
been unable to eat.  He sat in restaurants drinking coffee until late in
the night, studying the map with the boy's house circled in red.  He had
watched Sydney turn from a working city to a night-time playground.
Eventually it was time to leave the caf and head back to his room to
freshen up.

James was asleep when the front door slowly swung open.  A black shape
slipped inside and the door was gently shut.  The shape stood still,
silent.  Listening.  Then it inched its way into the living-room.  Even had
he been awake he might not have heard it.  The darkness moved until it came
upon the white sock, shining fiercely from the floor in the moonlight.
Another long pause, then a black gloved hand reached out.  Finger-tips
pushed the door to James' bedroom ajar, then, like liquid mercury, the
shape flowed inside without making a sound.

In the darkness Richard now stood just feet away from the huddled shape of
James.  The boy had turned over, facing away from the door.  One bare arm
lay splayed outside the sheet.

Richard stood quite still, looking down.

An eternity passed.

Finally, Richard bent down and pulled off his shoes.  He peeled off one
sock, then the other.  He pulled a black sweat-shirt and t-shirt off over
his head in one smooth movement.  The black jeans took longer as he lowered
the zip frustratingly slowly.  His boxers were the last item to come off.

A forty year old man stood naked in the moonlight in James' room.  Toned
from a lifetime of swimming, exuding a strong masculine presence - easy in
his skin - Richard stood silent, with his cock swelling to a full erection.

He reached up and slid the sheet from James' young body.  The fourteen year
old stirred slightly as it slipped away.

On the bed lay the picture of young perfection.  A boy lying on his back, a
firm body toned from rowing and endless weight training.  A pale limp young
cock flopped to one side: darkened slightly at the base with a few wispy
hairs.  One arm flopped down, the other: wrist up by his face.  Firm young
thighs.  Beautiful shapely feet.  A boy -- simply - to die for.

Perhaps it was the change in temperature as the sheet had been pulled back,
perhaps it was that intuitive sense we have when someone is in the room.
Whatever the reason, James stirred and his eyes blinked open.

He froze.  He lifted his head from the bed, trying to see in the dark, to
be sure his eyes were not fooling him.

In whispers:

"Hello James."

"Jesus Christ!"

Richard stood by the bunk-bed.  James realized he was completely naked.  He
made to grab the sheet.

"Leave it....  Let me look at you."  James lay back, his heart pounding fit
to bust. He was fully awake, adrenaline pumping round his small frame.  He
couldn't take his eye's off Richard's body in the pale light.  This man was
naked in his bedroom.  HE was naked in his bedroom.  Jesus, the man had a
HUGE hard-on!

James felt the man's hand on his thigh.  He looked down to see the dark
shape just inches away from his cock.  Christ, HE was getting a hard-on.
Oh my god.

"Come and lie on the carpet."

James obeyed, quietly slipping down onto the floor.  He spread himself on
the carpet looking up at the shape that towered over him.  Richard knelt
down.

The hand, the fingers rubbed gently around the softness of his inner thigh.
Then down, cupping his knee, tracing down the soft hairs of his shin.
Lightly gripping his ankle.  Fingers tracing along his foot, tracing his
toes.  Back up the other leg, swirling fingers on his inner thigh, almost,
but not quite brushing against his nuts.  Then the man put both hands on
his waist, squeezing lightly, brushing up his soft flat stomach, tracing
the ribs, feeling the pounding of his heart.  His nipples caused the
fingers to linger, to circle.  They seemed to grow hard under his
touch. Now the man's right hand was gently feeling his soft throat, now
fingertips tracing the outline of his jaw, stoking his soft cheeks tracing
like cobwebs across his forehead.

"James.  I never imagined you could be so beautiful."

The hand was back at his inner thigh again.  A knuckle brushed against one
of his balls.

They both froze for an instant.

Then the man took James' hard young cock between thumb and forefinger.  He
squeezed.  James lifted his butt off the bed.

James couldn't believe it.  It was happening.  A man was wrapping his
fingers around his cock.  He was pressing, pulling down gently, pulling up.
Bloody hell. The guy was starting to wank him.  He stared down at the guy's
hand.  It looked dark against his pale skin in the moonlight.  He could see
his cock-head as it emerged and sunk into the guy's fist.  Richard was
going faster.  Faster.  He stopped.

Richard put one hand on Jame's chest, the other pulled his foreskin back.
He leaned over the boy, pulling his prick to 90 degrees from his stomach.
He licked the sensitive head, swirling his tongue across and around it.
James gasped.  Now the tongue was tracing down the veined sides of the
shaft while Richard's hand squeezed at the base.  He took the boy's penis
fully into his mouth, made his lips into a tight "O" and pulled up and
down, his tongue dabbing against the boy's cock-head.  James gripped the
back of Richard's neck, arching his back.  It was driving him nuts, almost
to climax.

"The oil."

James fumbled about under the bed.  Fuck, where was it?  The guy had his
hand on his butt.  There!  He pulled it out, flipped open the lid and
handed it to Richard.

Cold oil dribbled down his cock, then a warm hand grabbed it again, this
time slipping smoothly up and down his shaft.  The pace quickened.

"Fuck.  I'm gunna cum."  He whispered urgently.

"That's OK."

"Are you going to fuck me?"

"Yes, but not tonight.  Tonight you get to enjoy a wank.  That's it."

James lay back.  It was crazy, there on the floor in his own bedroom, just
across from his sleeping parents, he was getting an awesome handjob in the
middle of the night from a forty year old.  The man was really going to
task on his cock now, it was slipping in and out between the guy's fingers
in a blur, the cock-head bouncing against his stomach.  He felt the onrush
in his balls, felt the point of no return, felt the final strokes that took
him there to an orgasm that sprayed out in five furious pulsing
convulsions.  His buttocks were clenched, his whole body shook with the
spasms.  Again.  And again.

Silence and darkness swirled back around the pair.  They stayed still.
Richard kneeling, easing out the final drops of cum from the boys' dick.
James, spent, splayed out.

Richard lay down beside the boy, holding him in his arms.  His fingers
rubbed around in the goo on the boy's stomach.  His cock pressed against
the boy's thigh.  James could feel the man's hairy legs against him, felt
the fat cock pressing.

"Do you want me to... wank you too?"  James whispered.

"No, not now."

James felt the warmth of the man around him, possessing him.  He was
wrapped in the hairy arms of a forty year old.  He could not believe it.

"James... I have a plan.  You will get to have sex with every one of your
crew-members, and the cockswain I saw with you today.  At the end of my
trip you will let me fuck you, but not before.  Are you up for it?"

"Er, ... OK.  What do I have to do."

In the half-light Richard whispered his devilish plan to the boy, who's eye
grew wide with astonishment.  "Will you help me?"

"Sure, I'll do it."

They lay for a while in the silence.

James whispered: "I don't know that I want you to fuck me though..."  His
small hand crept down.  He took the man's twitching meat in his young hand.
"You are too thick.  You'd hurt me.... I kind of want to, but I'm scared
shitless."

"I know you are.  When it comes to it, I have a plan that will get you past
your fear."

Jesus.  This guy and his plans!  James felt the cock in his hand, felt the
girth.  He couldn't imagine cramming that up his butt.

"OK then..."

They lay in the gloom awhile longer before Richard slipped away with the
shadows into the dawn.


Thursday morning was bright and fresh.  James hopped on the ferry to cross
the harbour to school feeling light-headed.  The night before now seemed
like a dream.  He played it over in his head and smiled to himself.

On the boat, on the seating across form him, a young girl sat with her legs
splayed provocatively.  She looked his way a few times as if to dare him to
look up her skirt at the black panties she so obviously wanted to display.
James seemed to think he had seen her sometime before but couldn't place
it.  He looked away, gazing around the shoreline of the city, listening to
the steady hum of the boat's engines.

The school day passed quickly.  James was in fine form, Deaning with his
mates, needing to make a quick escape from time to time because of his
banter.  He was willing the afternoon to roll round so that he could head
off to the boat yard.

James, Dillon the cox, Chip, Ben and Dean raced most of the way.  As they
turned the corner Jame's heart leapt as he saw Richard in conversation with
their coach, Graham.

"Hello boys."  It was Graham. "James, I understand you invited Mr. Williams
to join us!"

"Yeah, I hope that's OK?"

"It sure is.  You kept this very quiet James."

"What is it sir?"  Chip asked.

"Well boys, it seems that young James wrote a letter to Mr. Williams,
telling him about our school and about your crew in particular.
Mr. Willams is a sports Psychologist.  I should say, THE sports
psychologist, since he has worked with the very best."

"Really?"

"Yes, Mr. Williams has coached Sir Steve Redgrave in the UK, amongst
others.  He is a top rowing expert."

Mr. Williams broke in.  "Actually, coach, Steve Redgrave is the expert.
I've never won a race in my life!  No, my expertise is simply to fine tune
the mental part of the sport -- to add focus and concentration."

James pitched in.  "Yeah, well coach I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.  I
thought I'd email him and ask for some tips about how we could get better
as a team. I had no idea Mr. Williams (ah, that's his name -- he thought)
was coming to Australia for a conference.  He said he'd like to drop by."

"We are privileged to have him here. Mr. Williams has asked to see you boys
row, then has offered to give you a little coaching.  Hurry and get ready."

The boys flew into the locker-room.  "Fuckin' hell James.  A sports psycho
-- rologist?"

Lycra replaced school uniforms.  Bodies that had spent the day hidden
behind shirts and trousers were now proudly on display.  The boat flew off
the rack, they held it aloft, managing it down the ramp to the pontoon at
the water's edge.  James had to concentrate hard to avoid an erection.

"Careful you don't fall in again James!"

"Yeah," said Chip, "What's the sport psychology of a guy who is expert at
the backward-dive-off-the-pontoon trick?"

Out on the water the performance was less than stellar.  The coach and
Mr. Williams followed in the launch, talking together and watching the boys
closely.  The team was nervous and Dillon fucked up a couple of times by
not being clear with his instructions.  The coach called a halt.

With the boat back on the rack the boys gathered around the two men, still
in their wet zoot-suits.

It was Mr. Williams who spoke:

"Boys.  It's clear that you have a lot of talent.  Your coach tells me you
train hard.  I am very impressed by your determination and dedication.  But
at your level the barrier to improved performance is mostly mental.  Other
youngsters in the Gold Cup will be training just as hard as you.  Hard to
believe, but true.  The difference between the team that wins and the team
that loses is 80% technique, 20% mental attitude.  Get the unit thinking
and breathing as one and you'll have the edge.  That kind of team is put
together by building trust and focus.  I'm guessing you are all pretty good
friends, am I right?"

"Yes sir!" in a chorus.

"But you have to become more than friends to move to the next level.  Today
we'll do some exercises to get at the basics."

Richard had the boys positioned all over the boat yard. They were
instructed to keep their eyes closed, The cox was told to give orders:
Forward, stop, turn left.  Dillon had to guide all four boys blind so that
they would end up standing in line in the order they rowed in the boat in
front of him.  When he gave the order to stop a particular crew member,
that boy was only allowed to stand still for five seconds.  Then they had
to walk slowly forward.

It was chaos.  Chip was off in the distance before Dillon called him back.
James banged into a bench and grazed his shin. But eventually, like a
shepherd, Dillon had the boys in place.

The second time it was quicker.  By the fourth time Dillon was getting the
hang of it.

Then they moved on to trust exercises.  Chip and Ben had the job of
catching. James had to stand rigid in-between them as they let him fall
forwards and backwards, catching him at the last minute.  They howled with
laughter as James tried to prevent himself falling.

"This game is about trust. You have to trust these guys absolutely.  And,
catchers, you have to be absolutely trustworthy.  At school you can Dean
about all you want to, you can play tricks on each other.  But not here.
Here there has to be a sacred bond of trust between you."

At first they found the trust very difficult to achieve.  But in the end
they all felt a great sense of exhilaration as they began to know that as
they fell they would be caught.  Trust was beginning to grow.

The day session ended with them on the water again.  This time they
clicked.  The boat slipped through the water with the boys in good time and
the oars in a steady rhythm.  Dillon held them together.  Graham was
delighted.

After they had changed and were leaving Graham was nowhere in sight.
Mr. Williams however was there to greet them.

"Well boys, how did you find that today."

"Great."

"Yeah, it was very cool.  Helpful."

"Good," he replied.  "But let me put something else to you.  Pinsent and
Redgrave didn't get to their level, none of the greats do, without working
on another aspect of the sport.  This is the aspect I am expert in and it
is very -- highly - controversial.  But if you guys would like an
introduction to it I'd be willing to offer you a session at my hotel.  You
would have to sign confidentiality waivers, because much of this sport
psychology is patented and a trade secret.  I own the patent."

"What does it involve?" asked Chip.

"Well, I suggest, if you are all interested, you visit my hotel tonight and
we'll go into it.  It needs to be the entire team, so if any one of you
pulls out the deal is off.  I just think it may be what you need to get the
edge."

"Well I'm in!" said James.

"So am I."

"Yeah OK."

"Is that all of you? Are you all agreed?  Good, then, shall we say 6pm at
the Sheraton on the Park?  I'll meet you in the lobby."


The boys left the Grammar School and headed across the park.  They made
their way through the imposing arch of the hotel off the busy street.

In the lobby Richard was there to greet them.

"Hi boys, glad to see you are on time.  Let's go up shall we?"

In the elevator Richard stood next to Ben, noticing his light brown hair
and golden skin.  He still had the smooth skin of a boy, not too advanced
into his puberty.  As he stared at Ben he noticed Dean's cute face looking
up at him, framed by dark brown hair.  He and James share the same
fantastic olive coloured skin, tanned and healthy and, he bet, soft to the
touch.

The lift had climbed to Richard's floor, so they piled out and followed
Richard along the corridor and into the hotel room.

Room is not quite the right description.  The suite was large, with a wide
set of panoramic windows that looked out over the park.  The room they
entered was the living area, with two large sofas facing each other across
a coffee table.  Chip whistled under his breath, smirking at James.

"Didn't they have a bigger room?" It was Dillon.  The boys laughed.  "This
is bloody enormous."

On a side table were two silver framed photographs one with Richard
standing by Steve Redgrave and Matthew Pinsent, the other of him standing
beside Mike Tyson.  (Each carefully created using Photoshop!).

"Wow!  You trained Mike?"  Dean asked.

"Well, sort of.  I helped him with the psychology in his rise to become
Heavy Weight Champion.  I don't work for him now.  He should have quit
years ago, when he was at his peak....  OK boys well take a seat on the
sofas."

They flopped down and sank into the soft cushions.

"Now boys, this session is confidential.  I need you to sign these legal
forms to commit never to speak about what goes on in this room."

He handed out copies of a document in tiny print with some legalese all
over it and passed round a gold pen.

"This is simply to protect these methods of training, I hope you
understand."

The boys signed on the dotted line.

"Good, that's that.  Now let me describe the training to you.  I remind you
that you are free to go through with the training or to leave.  If one of
you leaves, however, the others will also forfeit the training.  You either
do this as a crew or not at all."

James answered for them.  "We're up for it.  What do we have to do?"

"One of the unspoken aspects of all sport is sex."

The boys leaned forward.

"Men in competition with other men, trying to achieve physical perfection.
Men offering a physical display of their power to spectators.  It is
hard-wired into us as our way of attracting the opposite sex.  Sport and
sex are not different things; they are aspects of each other.  To get to
the roots of sports Psychology you have to understand sex: what drives us,
our lusts our passions, our drive to orgasm."

Dillon sniggered.  Chip started to blush.

"To excel at team sport requires the members of the team to establish a
sexual bond so tight it can underpin athletic performance.  This insight is
highly controversial in the world of sport, but it is also the key to
unlock stellar performances.  This session, boys, is designed to turn you
into one, living and breathing sexual unit.  If you engage in this training
you will have a major edge over your competitors..... When we first
developed this training with Steve and Matthew I can remember Steve saying
to me: "Hey it's win win.  You get to train and get to have an orgasm.
What's not to like about it?!"  Chip looked over at James, still blushing.

"So, boys, you have to make a decision as a unit.  Are you willing to
undergo this type of exceptional training and push yourselves to
exceptional limits, or will you settle for ordinary training and being
ordinary rowers?  While you think about it, I'll be in the other room."

With that Richard went into the bedroom and shut the door.

Ben broke the silence.  "Jesus H Christ!  Did I hear that right?"

Dillon was giggling again.

Dean said "I think I've heard of this somewhere, like on CNN or something."

James said: "Well I'm up for it if you are."

Chip looked over at James: "Really?"

"Sure, why not.  Geeze, it's not like I haven't seen all you guy's dicks in
the shower a billion times.  What's the big deal?  I mean we all like sex
don't we?  Well this is training and sex.  Like he said, win-win.

"But I'm not gay."

"None of us are, but we are a crew.  If he is right maybe this is what we
have to do.  Training doesn't make us gay; it just makes us better rowers."

Dillon was laughing again.  "Oh so that's why they call me `Cocks'!"

They all started smirking.

James said: "So are we in?  Raise a hand."  He raised his.  Dean raised his
next, then Ben.

Dillon raised his hand.  "You guys always have boners anyway..."

Chip hesitated.

"Come on Chip."

"OK."  His hand joined the others.

James went to the bedroom door and knocked.  As Richard came out he said,
winking so the others couldn't see him, "We're in."

"OK.  I'm glad you have made that decision.  I know it's a tough one to
make, particularly for a group of fourteen year olds.  But I think you'll
enjoy it.  Boys your age often quite like getting their rocks off, but more
importantly, you will notice a big improvement in your rowing technique."
James thought to himself: `Yeah right...' and smiled.

"OK boys, first things first.  I want you to strip off and put your clothes
by the door.  Then go and sit down again on the sofas."

The five boys began to tug and unzip and wrestle out of their clothes,
stealing glances at each other, not wanting to be the first to be naked.
They were all down to their boxers.  Dillon was wearing Y-fronts.  James
hooked his thumbs into the waistband. The others followed suit, looking
from one to the other as if waiting for the command.  James pulled down and
all the others took a deep breath and shucked off the last stitches of
their clothing.

Five nude boys standing in a hotel room, looking embarrassed.

"Now, the first step is to overcome your embarrassment.  God gave you those
bodies - you need to be proud of them.  Dillon, it is Dillon isn't it?
Well Dillon, put your hands by your side, don't hide your dick, we all know
it's there..."

Dillon took his hands away.  His pricklett was smaller than the others, but
all in all he still looked pretty sexy.

Chip was easily the tallest of the boys.  His ruffled blond hair gave him a
very boyish look.  His legs were smooth and long and his cock was the
largest, quite thick for a fourteen year old.  James found it hard to take
his eyes off him.

All of the boys except for Dillon had a dusting of light brown hairs at the
base of their cocks, cute little wisps that licked around the small shafts.
James was beginning to get a hard-on.  Dillon noticed and said: "Oh my god,
James' got a MASSIVE boner!"  All the others looked.

"I have not; it's just got a little life of its own is all."

"Well boys, soon you will all have boners.  OK, time for our first
exercise.  We have to get over the awkwardness with each other.  We feel
awkward when we are naked, because we feel as if we are in competition.  In
real life we often are, but you are a crew.  Dean -- you need James' body
and Chip's height.  You need Ben's muscles and you even need Dillon's
lightness.  Their bodies are your strength and power.  So, in a crew you
should not feel in competition with each others bodies, but in complete
harmony with them.  You need to know if James is hurting, or if Chip's
muscles are tired.  So the purpose of this exercise is for you to get to
know the bodies of all your crew mates as well as you know your own --
better in fact.  I want you to run your hands all over the bodies of the
other boys; I want you to explore them intimately.  Get to it."

James scooted over to Chip on the couch.  "I'll do you first."  James'
smooth young hands began to fondle Chip's long legs.  He ran his fingers
along the shin bones, smoothed around behind the calves and up behind his
knees.  "Just relax."  "That's the idea James.  No Dillon, start to explore
Chip's chest and face.  Ben, start getting to know Dean."

Soon the boys were engrossed in the fondling, squeezing and touching.
Hands were everywhere, well not quite everywhere.

"James, don't avoid his cock.  I want all of you to squeeze and fondle each
other's cocks.  There is no way around it."

James looked into Chip's eyes and saw -- what.  Was it fear?  Pleading
perhaps?  It looked a lot like love.  His hand swept down Chip's tummy.
Chip gulped.

James' fingers curled around his friend's young cock.  It felt smooth and
silky, like a warm tender sausage.  He felt Dillon reach between his own
legs and take hold.  All of a sudden James had Dean and Ben on him too.
Hands were all over his body, feeling his feet, stroking up and down his
stomach, fondling his pecs and rubbing between his thighs.  He had two
hands on his dick, no... three.  They were grabbing his balls, pulling back
his foreskin, feeling his stiffness for themselves.

A scrum developed of gently heaving bodies.  Boys touching and feeling and
stroking.  Chip joined in.  James could feel a hand, bigger than the
others, wrapping around his cock.  A leg was in his face; his hand was on
someone's firm buttocks, exploring the butt-crack.  Was it Dillon?
Someone's finger was poking in his own butt, Ben seemed to have his
buttocks in both hands, he was pulling them apart to let Dean, oh it was
Dean, probe around his anus.

"That's it boys.  You are starting to get the idea."

James found his head in Chip's lap; he was staring at Chip who now sported
a stiff erection.  Dillon was gripping it with one hand, and had Ben's cock
in the other.

"OK boys.  Now stop."

The five prised themselves apart and flopped down, sprawled on the couches.
Hair was a mess.  Every one of them had a hard-on.

"Now boys, the second exercise is to learn how each other get to the peak
of performance and how to help each other stay at that peak.  All of you
are able to cum, am I right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good.  Now I want you to gather together on the couch.  Dillon, you sit on
the coffee table.  OK.  The idea of this exercise is to wank each other
almost to climax, but not to cum.  You do all know how to masturbate don't
you -- I keep forgetting I am with youngsters."

James smiled to himself.

"Well, notice as you wank off your crew member that as he gets close to
cumming, his nut sack tightens.  The cock-head flares and tightens.  At
that point you need to pause or slow up.  Do you all understand?  Right
then.  Chip, I want you to wank James.  James you wank Ben.  Ben you wank
Dean.  Dean you want Dillon on the coffee table and Dillon you wank Chip.
OK, you got that?  Begin."

The boys were pretty close to cumming as it was.  Chip took James between
his thumb, index and middle finger and began a slow steady rhythm.  James
arched his back trying to offer more cock for his friend to jack.  James
reached for Ben's circumcised cock and played with the cock-head, squeezing
it and rubbing it tenderly with his finger-tips.  Dillon was pounding
Chip's cock in his small fist.

"Easy does it Dillon.  Don't slam his meat like that, you won't know when
he's about to shoot."

James felt his nuts tightening, felt the building pressure.  Chip
whispered: "Are you about ready?"  He nodded and Chip stopped, keeping a
grip but letting the moment subside.

"That's good Chip.  You are getting it."

Ben was moaning with James attention.  He couldn't concentrate on Dean's
cock, so he pulled on it with stiff jerking motions.  Dean's flat stomach
started to heave and globs of white spunk squirted from the tip, looping
over and landing on the coffee table.

"Oh fuck!"

"OK boys, you have to pay attention not so much to your own pain or
pleasure, but to the pain and pleasure of your crewmate.  This will take
practise, but you'll get there.  Well done Chip.  You managed to
concentrate despite Dillon's hard pounding.  Concentration is the name of
the game.  OK now we need to wait for Dean to recover enough to be able to
cum again.  While we wait I want Dillon to come and help me move the desk
into the middle of the room.

Richard unplugged a desk lamp and he and Dillon lifted the table into the
new position.

"Now Dillon.  As the cox, you have the job of bringing these guys to the
height of their performance at exactly the right time.  This exercise will
help you to be able to concentrate on every one of the rowers at the same
time.  It will teach you to know exactly how to bring them to a peak
simultaneously."

"How did I know I was in for some special treatment!?" Dillon joked to the
others.

"Take this lube, put some on your middle finger and gently insert it into
your butt hole."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely!  Lie on the table with your feet up to get comfortable."

Dillon was too far in to go back now.  He did as he was told.  The others
watched as he lay back on the table in the middle of the room, one slick
finger pushing into his arse-hole.  Dillon's young cock was stiff and
sticking up.

"OK Dean are you ready?"

The boy nodded.

"Excellent.  You guys recover your sexual function so quickly at your age.
Ben -- stand on one side of the table.  Dean -- you on the other.  Now
Dillon, take Ben's dick with your right hand and ... yes you got it."

Dillon had both boys by the cock.

"Now James, you go to the top of the table by Dillon's head, and Chip, you
go to the bottom.  Now Chip...."

"Yes sir."

Squeeze some of that lube on your dick.

James watched as Chip eased out a little squirt onto the tip of his swollen
cock.  Chip smeared it down the length of his meat, swirling it around to
make sure it was fully coats.  James gasped as Chip edged closer to Dillon,
aimed his cock-head at the boys crack and began to push.

Dillon said: "You better not hurt me."

Chip had found the hole.

"OOOOOwww!  Fuck!"

"Gently now Chip."

Chip pushed, the tops of his white thighs were trembling as he forced his
way in.

"Come on Dillon, take James in your mouth."

The crew were in their new racing position.  James had the cox's mouth hot
and tight around his dick.  Chip was deep inside the boy's butt.  Ben and
Dean were being gripped by his small hands.  Chip started to hump the boy.
James started pushing deeper into the lad's throat.  Dillon began to pull
on the dicks in both hands.

"Now Dillon, I hope you can hear me.  You have to sense when Chip is close
to cumming, work on James and the other boys to get them to the same peak
at the same time.  The aim of the training is to get all four of your
rowers to peak at the same time.

The table was rocking.  Dean and Ben were tweaking Dillon's nipples and
groaning as their dicks received a hard pulling.  Chip was flicking his
blond hair out of his eyes, beginning to sweat as he pushed in with a
rhythm that got more and more frenzied.  James was staring at Chip,
watching the lust take hold of his friend, seeing his sweat, his long legs,
his meat squeezing into the boy on the table.  He himself was starting to
move to the same pace, Dillon's throat was taking almost his entire length.
In this weird ballet the boys were wound higher and higher by their cox.
Each one of them was now standing on tip-toe leaning in to the table.
Buttocks were clenched, all concentration was on the powerfull pressure
building in their nuts.  James could see Chip tip his head back.  Chip
grabbed Dillons legs and pulled him down, deep onto his cock, James lunged
forward to keep his cock in the warm slippery mouth, Ban and Dean nearly
fell.  Deep in his bowels Dillon felt Chips h
 ot spunk spurt once, twice, three times in fast hurried pulses.  Ben and
Dean shouted "Oh fuck!" at the same time, shooting looping strings of cum
across the table

James climaxed, unloading into Dillon's mouth.  The boy writhed on the
table.


The crew, in black and yellow, stunned the Gold Cup crowd.  They won by
five clear lengths.  Those who saw the race saw a sport raised almost to an
art form by a boy's crew.  The young coxswain seemed to breath with the
rowers.  They flowed as easily as the water around them.  Their bodies were
an organic machine that reached, pulled and reached again.  It was like a
ballet, a painting, it was like eating chocolate or better -- having sex.


Richard watched the boys haul the boat out of the water at the end of their
training.  Later that night his plane would take him back to England.  A
heavy weight lay in his heart.

Graham waived as he left.  "Thanks for all your help, Mr. Williams.  Don't
know what you did to lick them into shape, but it sure worked."

Ben and Dean were the next to leave, Dillon and Chip weren't far behind.
They smiled and waived their goodbyes.  He was heavy-hearted to see the
boys leave.

Finally James emerged from the boat-house.

"Are you the last?"

"Yeah.  They told me to pull the door shut when I leave.  They have all
gone."  "Well, don't shut the door just yet, let's go inside for a moment."

Richard and James went back inside the boat yard locking the door behind
them and stood by the racks of boats, amongst the piles of oars and
equipment.

"Come and sit by me while I look at you."

Richard and James sat on the stairs, Richard gently brushing the hairs from
James' face.

"You are so beautiful."

"You really think so?"

"You know it."

They sat in silence for a while, Richard tracing his fingers over the boy's
soft cheeks and his puppy soft neck.  He rubbed his back.  Sitting there
with his arm around him, one of his large hands resting on the boy's thigh,
Richard felt tears welling up.

"We've come a long way together in a short time, haven't we?"

"Well you have.  All the way from England!"

"You know what I mean...."

They sat together in the dying light of the afternoon. Richard held James
close, smelling his hair, feeling the warmth of the boy against him, slowly
and lovingly caressing him though his school uniform.  The sunlight fell
like gold across James' olive skin.  He looked like a young lithe god,
visiting earth from Mount Olympus.

Richard asked: "Are you hard."

"Guess...."  James smiled.

Richard reached down and felt the boy's stiff cock straining against the
material of his trousers.  He squeezed it slightly between his fingers,
feeling it twitch under the material.

James reached down too, his small hand sliding in between Richard's strong
thighs.  He had never felt a man's cock before, but there it was, lurking
under the cotton trousers.  He could feel its heat. His fingers traced its
girth. He rubbed his thumb over the trapped cock-head.

"You are so much thicker than me."

"Well, I have a few more years than you.  Anyway, James, your cock is just
perfect.  Feel how muscular it is, how sleek it feels."  Richard was
squeezing and pulling slightly.  "People would die to feel a cock like this
between their fingers.  I am the luckiest man on the planet right now."

James squeezed too, and fiddled with Richard's cock, trying to ease it out
of the trouser leg where it had become stuck.  It was now sticking up
straight - the tip poking out of the waistband of Richard's trousers.

"Can I suck it?"

His young fingers undid the belt; squeezed open the button, slid down the
zip, and let the cock swing out free.  James knelt down at the bottom of
the steps.

"Lift up."

Richard did as he was told and the fourteen year old pulled his trousers
and pants down around his ankles.

For a while James just held the penis between his fingers, staring at it.
Seeing the veins and the power of the pole he had in his small grip.  The
skin was soft as he pulled on it, but the muscle was straining and hard.
The cock-head was purple and bulbous, like an angry fleshy mushroom.  Some
pre-cum was at the slit.  James put his fore-finger to it and tested the
viscosity, pulling it like liquid chewing gum till it snapped.  He put his
finger to his lips and licked it.

Leaning forward, he put his mouth just millimetres from the head.  He
pursed his soft lips and kissed it with the delicacy of a butterfly in a
summer field.  Then he opened his mouth wide, straining his jaw, and
plunged down.  The pole slid inside his mouth, veins rushed over his
stretched lips and were coated with his spit, the mushroom head was bumping
against the back of his throat.  It was gross, it was heaven, it was making
him gag, making him want to push it in deeper.  All the frustration of so
many young years of being so close to other boys yet unable to touch -- all
the frustration and passion of his young teenage years made him want this
man.  He pushed the cock deep into his throat, over and over again.  He had
to have this inside him, had to do this gross thing, had to be dirty,
filthy, wide open, stuffed full of cock.  Here was where the control of his
piano lessons could end, where there was no crew to be in sync with, where
there was nothing but abandon and lus
 t, bare flesh and spunk and shit and fucking orgasms.  Here was freedom
and slavery all rolled into one.

He pulled off, spit joining his mouth to the cock still.

"Will you fuck me?  I mean really fuck me?  I mean you gotta tie me up or
something because I'll scream and want to get away, but you can't let me.
I have to do this with you, right here, right now."

"Jesus!"

"I mean it."

Richard looked down at the boy, at the deep pools of his brown eyes, at all
the hope and life that filled them.  He ruffled the boy's hair.

"You sure now?"

"For fuck's sake!"

Richard got to his feet.  "Strip off then."

James got to work, hopping on one leg as he tugged off his shoes and socks.
The shirt was pulled off as soon as he had opened a couple of buttons and
could drag it off over his head.  Trousers and boxers soon joined the pile.

Richard was rummaging around in the sports equipment.  He returned with two
oars and a roll of duct-tape.

In the middle of the club-house floor, alongside the boats that still
dripped water, he laid the oars, one on top of the other in the shape of an
X.  Where they crossed he looped the tape to tie them together.

"James -- lie down on top of the oars.  Stretch your arms and legs out.

James lay, face down, over the oars while Richard bound first his wrists,
then his ankles to the wood.  Splayed out on the oars, James was immobile.

Richard walked to the top of the oars by James' head and lifted them up.
He dragged oars and boy towards the boat-rack, propping the oars up, so
that they were angled at 35 degrees.  James' feet were off the floor; his
whole weight was now taken by the tape, braced by the oars which splayed
him out in an erotic crucifixion.

Richard walked behind the helpless boy and started to run his hands all
over James' body.  Richard traced and fondled the silky smooth skin, felt
the toned muscles and soft stomach.  Ran his fingers over James' panting
ribcage and gripped the boy's strong thighs.  He reached around the oars
and grabbed the boy's cock, feeling it leap in the palm of his hand.  He
cupped the balls and dragged down on them, gripped the small shock of pubic
hair at the base of James' cock.

"God I love you..." he whispered as he wanked his young friend, pulling the
foreskin back. He moved around to the front, between the oars and the boat
and knelt down, taking the boy's urgent cock in his mouth.  He sucked and
slavered away, rolling and licking and pulling on the foreskin with his
teeth.

Then he was round the back again.  He took the twin globes of James'
buttocks in each big hand, massaging them, spreading them, pulling them
apart to reveal the pink puckered hole that winked out, twitching in
anticipation.

Richard spat on his palms and copiously lubricated his thick rod.  He
grabbed the oars up by James' wrists to steady himself and lowered his body
onto the boy.  His cock slid in between James' buttocks.

"Oh my God!  That will never go in!  You better stop."

But now the enraged cock-head was at the puckered hole.  It was pressing.
It was slick and there was pressure behind it - building pressure that
would not be stopped.  James tried to keep his butt hole closed, but all of
a sudden it winked open the tiniest fraction and the cock-head had
purchase.  It forced the ring apart, pushing it, pushing until James could
feel it giving way.  The monstrous cock-head was a millimetre in.  Now with
the weight of the man on his back the pole forced James wider and wider, he
could feel the shaft as it widened and slid and pressed in.  Felt the
veins.  Felt the hairs, felt the sliding relentless shaft as it took away
his virginity until the man's meat was lodged deep inside him.

He was pinned to the man's cock, strapped to the oars, helpless, fucked.

Richard pulled out a little then pushed in.

"Oh my God!"

Out and in.

Out and in.

Out and in.

James was squirming, his wrists and ankles pulling helplessly against the
oars.  His buttocks were slapping against the man's hairy thighs, his cock
was swaying in the air, bouncing off his tight stomach, hitting against the
wood of the oars.

Out and in.

Out and in.

It felt like he had a telegraph pole up his butt.

Out and in.

Out and in.

Deep inside him he could feel the mushroom head probing his guts, stroking
the walls of his anus, stretching him wide.  It pounded against his
prostate sending a shiver of sexual tension from his butt to the tips of
his fingers and toes.

Out and in.

Out and in.

Richard was taking the boy, tearing into him, half-crazed with lust and
with a burning love that made him feel like his brain was on fire.

Out and in.

Out and in.

He looked at the boy's wrists, strapped to the oars, looked down at the
little feet dangling off the floor, saw the boy's olive skinned back, his
white buttocks contrasting to the hairy darkness of his thighs as they
pounded against him.  He reached around to grab the boy's dick, so hard and
silky between his fingers, so young, so bursting with boyhood.

There in the boat-shed, in the dying light, a fourteen year old boy took a
man's cock - took all the pounding he could give him and as he did so, felt
his own young cock swell and strain and felt the burning in his nuts, felt
the man's hand squeezing and pulling, felt the cock deep inside him
increasing in tempo until finally he couldn't hold it back a second longer
and the oars, the boats and the whole round world shook with the simple
orgasm of a boy.


This story is based on the Fantasies of James, 14 years old, from
Australia.  The fiction is the work of Lapland.

If you liked our collaboration let us know by emailing
James on: asdfzxcv55@hotmail.com
Lapland on: Lapland@cyber-rights.net

Lapland would love to see a pic of you as you were or are in your early
teenage years.