Date: Sun, 16 Feb 2003 07:31:26 -0800
From: lapland@cyber-rights.net
Subject: schoolboy dare

Sometimes beauty comes in small packages.

From this park bench I have a great view of a twelve year old boy.  I
should describe Lee to you, particularly since he is lying on the grass
with his shirt off, wearing only soccer shorts and a pair of white socks.
But don't be too hasty for a description of his lithe body, his shocking
blond hair and striking face.  Let us not rush things, dear reader.  He is
not going anywhere for now.  He is all spent from his soccer game and we
have plenty of time to drink him in.

Besides, to describe his soft skin, hairless armpits and flat stomach
wouldn't really tell you what you want to know.  How tiresome some stories
are - with their dull anatomy lessons.  Mind you, he does look particularly
delicious right now, all sweaty like that.  It must have been a tough game.

Anyway, the immediate point about Lee that you need to know is that he has
the look.  THE look.  You must know what I mean -- you've been searching
for it all your life.  I don't mean that he has the looks to make your
little gentleman-in-the-pink-polo-neck-sweater hard, although he does for
sure.  I'm not even referring to the look of the boys you pick out from
others at the swimming pool, or from a photo of a kid's soccer team smiling
at you from the pages of a local paper.  The look isn't about whether you
fancy this boy or that.  This is THE look.  He has it.  What is it exactly?
It's hard to say.  Perhaps it's the boy who is slightly more withdrawn than
the others in the group; perhaps it's the boy who is just a little too old
to be hanging around you.  Perhaps it's nothing more than a turn of the
head or the way he glances at you - but the look is unmistakable.  It says:
"I need to be loved so bad I'll do anything."  It is the look of need, I
suppose, but a raw animal need that will stop a lover of boys in their
tracks at twenty paces.

It's painful isn't it?  The flood of trust and hope and joy that you can
spot in a boy you don't even know - have maybe never talked to.  What
scares you so much I that you can see it so clearly.  You have looked
hungrily at hundreds - perhaps thousands of boys in your time.  Many are
cute, many are sexy as hell, but the boys with this look are in a different
league.  They say to you, without intending to: "With a little effort from
you, all your fantasies might become real with me."  This puts them in a
different league from the boys you download from newsgroups and Kazaa.
They might not even be the cutest kid, maybe even a boy who is a little
plain, but this kind of sexual allure is beyond beauty.

And Lee has both the look and -- which should make your heart flutter -
a beauty to die for.  Moreover he is at the age that just bursts with the
double pregnancy of innocence and sexual discovery.  Do you remember what
you were like at twelve, dear reader?

Right now you'd be hard-pressed to spot the look about him.  He is flat on
his back, one bare arm shielding his eyes from the glare of the summer sun,
that hangs above him in a clear blue sky like.  The grass is tickling his
bare back.  He is breathing hard and sweating from the exertion of the game
he has just played.

Let's swoop up, dear reader, to take in the wider scene.  We are in a park
in the middle of a London housing estate.  Rather drab brick houses fringe
the park, with little gardens front and back.  We can smell the grass and
the sweltering tarmac.  There are noises from construction sites and London
traffic in the background.  To the south are the docks - glittering slabs
of water and the occasional white sail of a small boat.  But it's very
urban, dear reader.  Probably not the sort of place you'd like to live,
although you might consider it if your house looked out on this particular
park.  Location, location, location....

The park itself is just a swathe of grass, with a park-keeper's hut and the
odd scrawny tree.

Lee is not the only kid in the park.  There are small groups here and there
and, of course there is the bunch of his friends who are now dispersing
after the game.  There they go, picking up their shirts that they used for
goal-posts.  It must be time for lunch, don't you think.

But who is this?  Another semi-naked lad is flopping down on the grass next
to Lee.  I don't like this do you?  Who is this punk trying to muscle-in on
our little boy?  Let's get closer.

"Good game".  (Sorry about his god-awful accent -- dear reader.)

Lee replies: "Yeah".  (Oh, soooo sweet.  Isn't that the accent of an angel?
We're not hopelessly biased do you think?)

Well that's it.  Not much of a conversation, but there you go.  Now the
punk is actually lying down next to our Lee and the two of them are staring
up into the blue.

Mind you, the punk isn't too bad looking.  He must be fourteen or perhaps
fifteen.  His body still looks like the body of a boy, but a slight
lankiness about him suggests the shape of the man he will become.  Both of
them are thin as rakes.  Lee, I think we both agree, is just perfect --
this other boy is a little too thin.  As he pants we can see his rib-cage
quite clearly.  These soccer shorts are excellent, I think you'll agree.
On the older boy they hug his thighs and we can see quite clearly the shape
of his thick cock.  On Lee the light material has risen up his thigh a
little showing the cutest tan line.  He obviously wears these shorts a lot
in the summer.  And yes, the little lump is his meat and two veg., dear
reader.

Now, I must say I don't really approve of this punk.  He is at least two
years older than our little Lee.  There's nothing camp about him, but why
would he be lounging about half-naked by a twelve year old unless he had a
scheming perverted mind.  We know people like that, don't we, and we don't
approve.

The great thing about you and I, dear reader, is that we can find out just
what is going on in the head of our young punk.  Let's get down and dirty
with his sexual fantasies.

David, ah that's his name, is a bit of a psychological mess.  We are going
to have to pick through this a little.  His mother dotes on him and he on
her.  His father is in prison for some sexual offense against his
half-sister.  He is bullied at school and compensates by being aggressive
back.  Other boys his own age are tough cookies; he feels soft by
comparison and feels like he doesn't fit in.  Younger boys are just easier
to be around.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

We can fool ourselves, can't we dear reader.  It's not sex with boys we
want, just their company.  Didn't you just cringe when you saw Michael
Jackson on his recent interview - holding hands with his little (rather
plain) friend?  But we both saw THE look in that boy's eyes didn't we, and
we knew.  Jacko's protestations of innocence were just like the ones we
make to ourselves.  We cringed not because he seemed so lame, but because
we saw ourselves a little in his freak-show.  It's just as well, dear
reader, that we have tough skins?

But our young punk knows deep down the hunger he has.  You see - really he
is not that keen on soccer.  He can hold his own with the younger boys, but
there's no way he would be out in this park every day if it wasn't for our
little friend.  It is these moments alone with him that he really likes.

Oh, he's speaking again.  Let's listen in:

"Borin' in'it?...  All we ever do is play football."

"Good game though." (It's our angel!)

"Yeah, your goal at the end was wicked.  Did you see Smiffy's face?"

David has raised himself up on one elbow.  "Would you be up for a dare?"

"What kind of dare?"

A long pause.  David is trying to figure out how to put this.  He is
pulling at the grass and looking away at a group of kids at the other end
of the park.

"... Streakin'."

"You what?"

Almost whispering: "You know, like... when you strip off and run across
Upton Park."

"I ain't running across Upton Park with no clothes on - you prick!"

"No, I ain't saying that -- I mean you remember when that guy did a
streak during that game with Villa.  That's what streaking is.  But we
wouldn't do it there."

"Where then?"

"At school.  At midnight.  I'd dare you and you'd dare me."

Lee turned on his side to look at David.  "You serious?"

"Yeah, why not.  It'd be a laff."

Lee smiled.  Oh, now that is a nice smile -- see how his eyes sparkle
and his button nose turns up a little?

Now, let's freeze time for a moment.  I mean how likely is it that a twelve
year old is going to offer to strip off for his weird friend at midnight in
some inner-city school?  I mean, isn't this stretching credibility just a
little too far?  Well, let's delve into Lee's mind to find out, oh, and as
we zoom in, let's pause just long enough to smell his hair.  An odd thing
to do perhaps, but his straw blond hair is amazing.  It is cut short to the
sides and rear, making it look like a little thatched roof, in some ways.
It's a style a lot of boys like in the East End, and it is quite beautiful
on him.  Close up it smells of shampoo and something else that can only be
described as, well, boy.

Lee's mind is not empty, exactly, but it is remarkably simple in here.
There are just a handful of objects in this mental landscape.  There is his
mother -- covered in love.  There is a big gap where a male figure
should be.  There is football.  There is fishing.  And there is his cock,
erect, with a little glob of semen on the tip.  Perhaps the last object
surprises you, dear reader, but come a little closer to the shaft and
you'll be enlightened.  Last Christmas, just a few days before in fact, Lee
was in his bed having his usual morning wank.  His younger brother, who
shared the bedroom, had gone down-stairs, allowing him to kick off the
duvet and really go at it.  Up until that day these morning exertions would
end by sending a sort of shiver up his ball-sac.  But that morning, the
usual shiver was accompanied by a small white bead forming at his
piss-slit.  To say he was surprised is an understatement.  He was shocked.
At first he thought he had contracted some terrible disease or something
and that his dick was going to drop off.  Then, as he carefully touched the
bead and felt its stickiness, it dawned on him, that maybe this was cum.
With the dawning realization a joy swelled up in him till he felt he
would burst.  The rest of the day was a series of repeat experiments
which confirmed his new ability.

Now, from this moment, Lee had gone from a casual wanker to a serious
student of the art.  He found that he came more the more he imagined
himself into various situations.  Many of his first sexual fantasies
involved girls, but something wasn't quite working.  Then he began to allow
himself to fantasize about his brother, about his friends and, yes dear
reader, even about David.  These latter fantasies were quite raunchy
because he imagined David to be able to spray bucket-loads of cum.
Sometimes they would be tied up by a burglar at his house and wanked till
they came in unison.  Sometimes David would force him to wank him,
sometimes he would find David tied up and at his mercy.  Lee found that his
imagination was very vivid, so much so that sometimes his buttocks would
clench, his back would arch, and his knob would pump out its tea-spoon of
cum onto his stomach without him so much as giving it a single stroke.

To look at him, dear reader, you'd think butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
But we know better now don't we?  The recklessness of youth, combined with
a sexual appetite bordering on ravenous plus a heady imagination is a
powerful cocktail.  If only most of the boys you have known in your life
could have been read so easily eh?  Almost makes you want to emulate that
freaky Uri Geller.  Well, maybe not.  There have to be some standards.

We are heading towards something here, don't you think.

"I'm up for it."

As if there was any doubt!

So now we need to pull back again.  Let's fly up above the streets.  Not
too high now, just far enough to get some perspective.  And let's allow
time to pass.  There they go, leaving the park.  David heading back to his
house and Lee to his.  They are showering, eating, watching TV.  Going to
bed early.

Night has fallen across London.  The street lamps now paint the city in a
yellow glow.  The offices in Canary Wharf are lit up like Christmas trees.
The headlights of cars streaming out of the city are like blood cells
pumping down arteries.  The dry heat of the day has changed into a warm
balmy evening.  The park is empty, the streets deserted.  To the south we
can make out the dull outline of a school campus.

Lee is pulling on his boxer shorts under the cover of his duvet.  He is
listening very hard, dear reader; to be sure his brother and his mother are
asleep.  He is holding his breath, as am I, for that matter.

Before bed-time he got his stuff together -- black jeans, a hooded
sweat-shirt, a t-shirt, his boxers and a pair of white socks stuffed in his
trainers under the bed.  They boys had agreed to meet up at 2am by the park
entrance.  They figured there would be less people about than at midnight.
David had told him he knew a way into their school through a door to the
kitchens which had a broken lock.  Lee had gone to bed early which had been
a mistake.  He had just lain in bed looking at the illuminated bedside
clock.  Minutes ticked by like hours.  Thinking about their little
adventure made his prick stiffen under the sheets -- but he resisted the
urge to pull on it.  He didn't want to spoil his appetite.

His brother stumbled to bed around 11.30.  By midnight the house was still.
The last two hour passed by interminably slowly.

At 1.45 exactly Lee pulled on those boxers, dear reader.  He slipped into
his clothes hardly daring to breathe.  As quiet as a mouse he edged out of
the bedroom.  He took an age to make it down the stairs.  They had a
tendency to creak and he had to step very carefully.  The front door let
him out into the night and he closed it behind him using the key to ensure
there was no tell-tale slam.

As he turned the corner and was finally out of sight of the house he felt
light headed and a big grin spread across his pretty face.

David was waiting for him at the park.  The two boys ran most of the way to
the school.  There they go through the estate, under the underpass, round
the deserted market, past McDonalds still lit up and serving one or two
loners.  Now they turn into the residential street by the darkened school.
They hop over the gate and sprint across the playground.  Now they are in
the dark shadows of the building and David is trying the kitchen doors.
"This way".

Now, dear reader, they are inside.  Both boys attend this school.  They
know it well.  They know its smells, its sounds -- the layout back to
front.  But they have only ever been there when it was lit and full of
kids.  In the darkness and empty, this is a different place.  It is full of
the ghosts of the living.

So here we are dear reader, in the dark, in a deserted school, looking over
the shoulder of two boys planning mischief.

I don't know whether you have ever been in a large deserted building at
night, my friend, but it can spook even the strongest of us.  The boys have
now groped their way out of the kitchen into the hallway.  It should look
familiar to them but it doesn't.  There is some illumination from a series
of windows high up, but the moonlight casts everything into greys,
lengthens shadows and makes strange.

Both Lee and David are scared.  The hair on the back of their necks is
standing up.  They have a strong natural instinct to flee.

"This way."  It's David.  He's whispering which is odd.  It's not that he
thinks there's someone there to hear them.  Rather, it seems better to
whisper in case a louder noise wakes the scary building itself.

It's bloody dark in here dear reader.  Perhaps you and I had better hold
hands in case we get lost.  That's better.  Now then, let's follow them,
they are getting away.

They have reached the school's entrance hall.  From here a double staircase
leads to the three floors above.  Ahead are the swing doors to the
auditorium.  Glass doors from the playground make this lobby quite well
illuminated.

"This is wicked!"  It's our little boy.

"OK, let's strip."

"What are we going to do?"

"Strip then I'll tell you."

I wish we had better night vision, dear reader.  If you squint a bit it's
easier to see.

So now our twelve year old boy is about to get naked in this vast, deserted
building.  He tugs his sweat-shirt and t-shirt off over his head, pulling
by the hood.  He drops them.  The neon glow from the playground picks out
his pale skin and thin arms.  He kicks off one trainer, then the other.
His small fingers are tugging at his belt.  His black jeans are dropping
round his knees.  He steps out of them.

David follows suit.  There's pulling and unzipping and tugging and now both
boys are facing each other six feet apart -- wearing just their boxers
and their white socks gone orange in the neon.

David hooks his thumbs in the elasticized waistband of his boxers and
pauses.  Lee follows his lead.  In one clumsy movement they pull down and
step out.  Then the socks come off.

It was the socks that did it for both boys.  Bare feet on cold linoleum, a
floor that they had only ever walked over before in their scuffed school
shoes.  Now they were standing on it with bare feet.  That, more than
anything, made them feel naked.

Let's freeze time again dear reader.  This is worth a closer inspection.
David's body is a surprised.  He is fourteen, lanky and about a foot taller
than Lee.  His fingers are all long and elegant, his arms thin.  Even in
this light we can see his rib-cage.  His cock is the surprise.  He is
flaccid, but thick and surprisingly long.  Uncut.  A few hairs only, grow
from the base.  His long thighs look pale even in this light. All together
he looks delicate -- almost fragile -- except for that cock that
looks like a serious piece of meat.

Lee.  What can I say?  It is the body of a twelve year old honed by a daily
diet of soccer.  He is the most fabulous mixture of softness and tone.
Pert buttocks, the legs of an athlete, beautiful little feet with perfect
toes stamping a damp imprint on the lino.  A soft tummy that hints at a
six-pack if he tenses it, tiny pale nipples and a throat fit for a vampire,
or better still a lover of boys.  He is the kind of boy, dear reader, you
would love to have on your lap.  You would trace your fingertips across his
skin and shiver.  You would ruffle his hair and be in paradise, stroke his
feet and believe in perfection.  If you slid your hand inside his shirt and
felt his stomach you would know what softness feels like.  If your traced
his lips you would die a little inside.  He is the kind of boy to make you
pause before sliding your fingers towards his treasure.

But hang on there.  You are getting ahead of yourself.  Show a little more
self-control dear reader.

"OK, so here's the dare....  You take my clothes and I take yours.  We go
off and hide them somewhere and then we have to search for them."

"Shit!  OK, but you can't hide them too well or we'll never find them."

"OK, well... you can only put them on the floor somewhere, no hiding them
under something or in a desk or somethin'."

"And you've got to hide them all together, not a sock here and boxers there
and that."

"OK."

The boys bundled their clothes together with their trainers.  They swapped.

So now, there they go.  David is groping his way back along the corridor
towards the kitchens.  Lee is skipping up the stairs to the floors above.

Let's follow Lee.

Lee is heading for the gym on the second floor.  It's his favorite place in
the school because it's the place where, on Tuesdays and Fridays, they get
to play five-a-side soccer.  Around the walls are climbing frames and
ropes, the floor is painted with lines for badminton, basketball as well as
soccer.  There is a vaulting horse in one corner and assorted equipment.

The corridor on this level has no windows.  Our little boy is edging along
carrying David's bundle.  It is very dark and he is thrilled with a heavy
dose of fear and excitement.  Ahead a little moonlight is spilling in
through an open class-room door.  As Lee draws closer he suddenly freezes.

Standing in the middle of the corridor, just fifteen feet away from him, is
a man.

Lee, naked except for the bundle he holds in front of him, is frozen in
fear.  He holds his breath.

The man too is frozen.

Boy and man stand motionless.

A minute passes that feels like an hour.

Lee's little mind is a whirr.  How do I get out of this?  How do I explain
this?  Do I run?  Why is he just standing there?  His thoughts are running
a mile a minute.  He is straining to make out the man more clearly in the
gloom.

His feet look odd.  Sort of round shaped.

Lee inches forward.  Isn't he brave, our little hero?  The figure of the
man is becoming a little more distinct.

Some bastard has left their jacket on the handles of a floor-polisher.
This careless janitor has almost given our beautiful boy a heart attack.
How bloody thoughtless!  I suggest, dear reader, that you and I file a
complaint with the head-teacher after this story is over.  Honestly!  They
should be sacked.

Lee is giggling to himself.  I'm glad he can see the funny side of it.

Lee is at the doorway to the gym.  There are skylights in the roof, but not
much light inside.  A perfect hiding place.  As he enters the gym he
notices the echo.  Playing soccer in there with his mates he had never
noticed it.  He stops in the middle of the floor.  I think he is having an
idea about something.

He places the bundle carefully at his feet and goes towards the wall-bars,
he is having to feel ahead like a blind man because of the darkness.  His
hand bumps into the bars.  He feels his way along them to the ropes.

Oh yes, dear reader, the climbing ropes.  If when you were a boy you never
had to climb the ropes you missed out on one of the greatest pleasures of a
little boy's life.

Lee has taken a firm grip and has pulled himself up.  His feet are
struggling to grip the rope.  There.  He has it.  Now he is pulling with
his arms and pushing up with his feet.  The rope is chaffing along his cock
and balls.  This is a pleasure he has enjoyed many times through his soccer
shorts.  Naked it is something else altogether.  He is as hard as a rock.
His uncircumcised cock, dear reader, is not big, but it is perfectly
formed.  Limp it looks like the cutest little shrimp.  Hard it is
perfection, as soft as a baby's bum, but hard as a nail.  The rope is
actually pulling his foreskin back.  Up he goes.  He could quite easily cum
like this.  If he does, his globs of semen will fall like rain from heaven.
What a delightfully naughty boy he is.

Oh, careful now!  At the top of the rope he has grabbed hold of the cross
bar with both hands.  He is dangling in mid-air with the rope dangling
uselessly between his legs.  If this were a sculpture -- "Boy from
behind, dangling" -- I'd be an art lover.

Coming down is as good as going up, better maybe because he slides a
little, allowing the rope to sizzle over his ball-sac.  We can relax; our
boy is on solid ground again, albeit with a boner to beat all boners.

Now, where to place that bundle?  He gathers it up in both arms and thinks.

In the far corner is a pile of floor-mats.  The teachers have them hauled
out for floor exercises and vaulting.  The rest of the time they live in
the corner in a pile.  Lee edges over until his foot bumps into the edge of
one of the mats.

We now go into bullet-time, dear reader -- just like in the Matrix.

The fingers of a man's hand wrap around the beautiful small ankle of our
boy.  As the fingers grip, a shock of recognition shoots up the legs of our
boy, up his chest to his brain.  His mouth drops open.  His hands let go of
the bundle, which begins to spill downward.  One of David's trainers is
describing its own arc towards the floor.  The hand pulls the ankle.  Lee
is unbalanced; he is buckling, falling forward towards the mats.  His arms
fly out to protect against the fall.  He falls on top of a forty year old
vagrant, complete with unkempt beard, ratty clothes and plastic bags.

Oh dear.

You see, dearest reader, David wasn't the only one to know about the broken
kitchen door.  This low-life thought Christmas had come early when, one day
as he poked around the school he discovered the way in.  The gym was
perfect.  Every night he would take a shower in the boy's washrooms and
then settle down to sleep on the mats.  He had even taken the proceeds of
his daily begging and bought a wind-up alarm clock to be sure he wouldn't
over sleep.  He got out by 5am to be sure he wouldn't be discovered by the
cleaners.

The boy had woken him, scared him to death in fact, by climbing the ropes.
He had no idea who or what was approaching his make-shift bed when he had
reached out to grab.  It was only as the boy fell on top of him that he
realized it was some small kid.

The vagrant fumbled around in his clothing and retrieved a cigarette
lighter.  He thumbed it.

The golden light licked over the contours of our little boy.  To the great
surprise of our vagrant it illuminated the boy's total nakedness.  It
flickered over the shape of Lee's erection that stood out from his body.
It curled around his ball-sac.  It revealed the shocked surprise on his
kissable face.

It's hard to know who was the more shocked, Lee or the tramp.

Now, dear reader, if it was you who had fallen on hard times....  If it
was you who found a naked twelve year old in your arms.... What might be
the first thing that would pop into your head?  Might lust overpower you in
an instant?  Might your cock be instantly at attention?  It's likely isn't
it?

But this is our vagrant: "Got any food?"

Good grief.  He has a sexual banquet laid out before him and he's thinking
about cheese-burgers.

"No, I..."

The lighter snapped off.

But hold back on your disappointment, dearest reader.  All is not lost.
This vagrant has not had sex since the divorce that pushed him into this
despair.  In fact he has not been touched with any affection for the past
ten years.  Sure he's had human contact.  He has been shoved and pushed,
even punched and kicked.  But the solace of a gentle embrace has been
absent for so many years he had almost come to think he didn't need it any
longer.

In better years he had never thought he was gay, let alone a boy-lover.
Sexual preference was not the issue here.  The issue was that the soft
naked skin of another human being was in his reach.  From deep in his loins
the human urge for contact, for love, for sexual release began to stir.
Under the layers of clothes his penis began to fill with blood.  It was
like rain returning after the drought, like the Nile flooding its banks.
The thought of food began to fade.  An altogether more powerful urge was
sweeping up him, making his body -- dead from so many insults and
hardships -- come to life once more.  Fingers used to pulling trash from
the garbage, now gripped the ankle of a boy.

He let his hand move upwards, gripping the boy's firm calf.  His rough
finger-tips felt the downy hairs on the boy's smooth legs.  He traced the
soft fleshiness of the boys inner-thigh.  With a sigh he reached for and
found the boy's soft hardness.

Lee gasped.  The man's fingers had gripped his cock.  Creeping through the
school butt-naked had been electric.  He had never felt so naked in his
life.  The risk, the familiar yet unfamiliar place, the dare had all set
him on an edge that thrilled him.  Climbing the rope had pushed the
experience into a sexual urgency.  But this terrible twist had made
nakedness seem like rawness and sexual tension like a bottomless
vulnerability.  He was at this guy's mercy.

The fingers were squeezing his little rod.  The man was feeling the veins,
the fleshiness, the muscle, the softness of his foreskin.  He was being
peeled back.  A rough thumb was circling over his swollen pink cock-head.
Lee was thrashing his head from side to side on the mat.  It was agony and
ecstasy that had gripped him from his toes to the top of his head.

The man hunched over him.  His beard tickled his cock before it was sucked
into the man's wet mouth.  The tongue pressed and curled and teased.

The vagrant grabbed the boys firm buttocks in his hands and pulled him into
his mouth.  He wiggled a middle finger up the boy's crack, found his tight
pucker, and pressed.

Lee's eyes were wide open.

The man's finger had pushed inside him barely a fraction, yet it felt like
his bum was on fire.  Lee let out a little whelp as the finger pushed
deeper.  He could feel the knuckle.  To the vagrant the feeling was of a
delicious hot, clamping virginity.

The boy tasted fantastic.  As he licked and sucked and worked his finger in
he could feel the boy tense.  Suddenly the boy's cock was spurting hot
tangy spunk into his throat.

Lee was wracked with tension.  His buttocks, his legs, his stomach were
tensed.  He felt the climax building and could do nothing to stop it.  When
it came it was like firing a canon.

The vagrant withdrew his finger with a plop.  With both hands he started
tearing at his clothes.  There were so many damn layers -- odd bits of
string and tape holding it all together.  He was desperate for this little
boy to swallow his engorged cock.  He tore and ripped and cursed.

Lee saw his chance.  He rolled sideways and onto his feet.  The tramp made
a grab but missed.  Lee set off, running.  He saw the dark opening of the
door in the gloom and shot through.  He stumbled, ran and tripped down the
hallway, banging into the floor-polishing machine and sending it flying.
He scooted down the stairs and didn't stop until he was on the ground
level.  For some reason he made his way to his own classroom, 4B, and
slammed the door behind him out of breath and almost out of his mind.

It's at times like this that we'd really like to jump in, isn't it, dear
reader.  He's frightened and we could do so much to calm him, couldn't we?

But now we need to use our ears, dear reader, just like he is.  He is
straining to hear if the man is chasing him.  Let's listen....

No, I guess not.

The only sound is of our sweet boy breathing hard.  Gradually, bit by bit,
he is calming down.

Listen to his breathing.

That's better.

But what's this then?  Our little boy has his fingers around his little
shaft.  Well, blow me down, he's hard as a rock again.  What can he be
thinking?  Oh, I see.  We don't need to get inside his mind again to figure
it out.  He has just pushed a finger into his arse-hole.  The little monkey
is reliving it!

Lee was waiting for David in the entrance lobby when David returned.  David
said:

"I've hidden your clothes on this floor.  Which floor are mine on?"

"Second."

"OK, let's go hunting, this is wicked."

Lee could have warned him.  Should have really, I suppose.



If you like this story, dear reader, send me a picky of what you looked
like at 12, or what you would like to have looked like maybe.  Let me know
if this little story made you cum and at what point.  And if you want, tell
me about your fantasies or experiences.  Perhaps I can work them into my
next story.... Lapland@cyber-rights.net