Aka: 24 hours of Python on Tour.
By Ganymede
Dedicated to the memory of William S. Burroughs.
William Seward Burroughs II (February 5, 1914 – August 2, 1997). Burroughs, heroin and hashish addict and Beat Generation author, was a literary subversive. His seminal work Naked Lunch (1959) was a sodomy masterpiece. Banned in Boston and L.A., and deemed obscene by the U.S. Postal Service, it ranks as one of the 100 best English literary works from 1923 to 2005 (Time Magazine).
Also: A Fly on the Wall (unlisted)
2:35 pm. Boys in the Grass.
Swagger queer in the making, sitting in grass.
“So like how often do you get one? Honestly?”
Diamond Python. Ten years, seven months. Seventy-eight. Four-nine. Fraternal twin with a big ego. Three-point-eight-inches of flawless prepubescent boyhood. Snake dancer with attitude. Guitar solo with Royal Python on drums for the short version of Boys are better in Bed, and bongo drums on the closing song.
He’s William S. Burroughs’ ‘red-haired, green-eyed boy, white skin with a few freckles’. Existential clothes make perfect attire for a preteen hipster at Woodstock ’69, yet on closer inspection he’s a 21stcentury homo-boy with Harley pinstriped brown knee-shorts, Vilebrequin coral-pink boxers underneath, Birkenstock sandals, and fag-fashion-model hairdo.
Pansy queer with guitar, plucking in grass.
“Damn near every time... when I was little.”
Tiger Python. Ten years, seven months. Seventy-three. Four-seven. Fraternal twin with self-esteem issues. Two-point-six stubby inches is tiny on a boy to die for. Snake dancer par excellence. Guitar duo with Rock Python on the refrains for Snakes Come Alive, and electric harmonica on the closing song.
He’s Burroughs’ ‘little blond French Boy.’ Dirty blond with a dirty mind. A happy little bottom, tending to fem when given a chance. From across the street, he looks like a curly haired, blue-eyed angel. Up close, he’s a girly boy with sexual hang-ups, confidently, if scantily clad in Armani-kids button-front blue jeans. Nothing else. No shoes, no shirt, not even the side-lace pink bikini he usually wears underneath. He left it in bed, splattered with semen.
“I mean like now, doof-ass?” Diamond asks, body aware and shimmering ginger with a toss of his head.
“Fuck, I don’t know. “ Quasi-queer boy soprano; US choir masters call Tiger’s voice ‘treble.’ “Maybe twice a week if I’m lucky.”
“You fake it when he goes too deep,” Diamond whispers, making sure no one can hear him even when no one’s around.
“Like you don’t.” Tiger whispers back. Defensive, yet certain it’s not only him who pretend-shudders during sodomy to simulate climax.
Boy prostates are rectal pleasure zones. Prostate, from the Greek, meaning ‘standing in front’! The Greeks knew what boys do best. Plunder his butt long enough, deep enough, and hard enough; there’s an endless ‘point of no return’. If he’s lucky, a Gatling gun of intense sphincter spasms brings his world crashing down.
“Fucking scrunch up your face and groan.” Smirking know-it-all Vilebrequin love-boy. “Squeeze your ass a couple of times when you want them to finish.”
“Pretend you’re shootin’ blanks and let go some piss, guaranteed they think you’re cumming like crazy.”
Giggling blank-shooting boys, hairless with dry little balls and boner pressure that won’t go away. Despite a 46-percent bigger dick, Diamond’s no different than Tiger. They both get high on rectal ecstasy.
Two master pedophiles groomed the womb brothers—they’re fully trained catamites in the buggery sense. Learning the fine art of boylove while they were too young to be anything other than virgins. Using fingers and sex toys, they learned to clamp down to increase a man’s pleasure. And the number one lesson learned: a few well-timed sphincter muscle squeezes are all it takes to send a man over the edge.
“You get a hands-on cum most times, right?”
Tiger glares, especially not going there. “Don’t you?”
Diamond patented the dumb-shit shrug, refined it for three years after his ass wasn’t tight.
“What about the other? I mean without touching your wiener. A real ass-cum."
“Not like I used to. When I was eight, it made me go ape-shit.”
“You act pretty good.”
Tiger looks up, fresh-faced innocence. “If he pumps and stays plump, and he’s where I want him, it’s cool. “
Boy back against man’s front, standing up to be pounded. What works for men, works for little kids, too. Go hard and fast, clenching as the rectum swells, a sensation that turns moans into grunts; closer and closer, never quite getting there until the one-in-100 total surrender. Enough churning gut spasms, and the pleasure core delivers, sometimes.
“Mostly, he squirts in my colon.” Tiger’s sixth sense kicks in. “Hey Blood!”
Blood Python. Forty two. One hundred-eighty. Six-two. Plus eight, a real mother-fucker. Python bass. Ex-music teacher from Woodrow Wilson High School, Little Rock, Arkansas. Progressive Democrat who proudly voted for Obama in ‘08. Hope and change going nowhere! Unofficial Python photographer with a Nikon, sneaking up and snapping candids of Python’s pre-teen dizygotic snake-dancers.
“Hey Blood,” Diamond bumps fists with the middle-aged faggot, still smirking at Tiger. “I’ve seen you cum bending over, again and again , Bottom Boy.”
“Not as often as you, Hoover. I get off when he does it the way I like. You cum when you suck man cock.”
Diamond breaks out in smug self-esteem. “I only get hands-free when I’m on top.”
“Because you like being in control, asshole.”
“What’s that make you, girlfriend?” Diamond smirks at Tiger, perfect white from ten months of orthodontia.
Tiger sours at the slur. “He’s into bottoming, ‘specially when I’m flat on my belly.”
“You’re his bottom boy. He’s supposed to bottom out, Dude.”
“You like colon sex too. Admit it, dude.”
“Sometimes. Deep dicking fuckin’ hurts if I’m not ready.”
Tiger shrugs off the results of sexual excess. Being loose, feeling empty, anal fissures, diarrhea, constipation; all normal. Worse are abdominal aches from colon abrasion. The deep-down need in his rectum makes up for it.
“Who are you texting?”
Diamond looks up. “Some chick-fan of Royal’s. She says you’re way cuter than Bieber.”
“Asshole!”
“It’s not me that goes apeshit.”
Blood presses the shutter again. “Apeshit sounds about right for fag boys.”
“You’d know! You ever fuck cunt, Blood?” Diamond taunts.
Irresistible, inexplicable charm whenever he opens his mouth.
Stretching back in long grass, a meadow around the freeway rest stop like a Saharan oasis. Watching fluffy clouds overhead. Gossamer seeds like ghosts in the ether. Phoenix, Arizona, in the haze. Cars hitting eighty on the blacktop. Trucks and campers all headed north, can’t get away from Mexico sleeze fast enough.
Blood grins. “I almost spooged your mom, Hoover. That count?”
“Your invitation got lost in the mail, huh?” Diamond belly laughs, poking out text. Tiger thinks something similar, yet too shy to say it.
“I was in the pokey when Cindy got basted.”
Cindy, high school lesbian, was in lust with her music teacher, Blood’s half-sister, Maggy-Jean. Zero-self-esteem Pippy-Longstocking dykette with no affection for males, gay, straight, or other. Sweet sixteen and bent on proving her love by bearing their girl child. Immaculate conception by turkey baster, with sperm donated by Python, their favorite rock band. Not Blood; he spent three weeks in the slammer before a queer judge in Miami expunged his arrest record for repeated sodomy of a drugged and gagged 15-year-old Haitian-refugee houseboy.
“Smile faggots.”
Blood snaps the shot the same way he fucked Judge Randolph Lawson. Quickly, without passion. A week to the day after the snake boys’ conception. Eight fat inches wrapped in translucent black latex, slammed all the way up pale-pink judicial ass-pussy, two minutes of unpremeditated fucking before he squirted his semen. Then, the middle-aged judge bent over so the Haitian-refugee houseboy could take photos for later. The next day the house-boy moved into the legal mansion.
“How many more fucking photos?”
Tiger’s the photogenic twin. Cute with charisma, and an endearing smile, however, he’s always the first to complain when he’s in the viewfinder.
“Rolling Stone wants candid shots of Python between shows. Say cheese…”
Even trying, Blood can’t take his eyes off the twins for more than a heartbeat. Magnetic attraction despite being used merchandise. He wishes Tiger was still wearing his Vans. Something about a boy in red canvas sneakers…
“Cheese is moronic.” Diamond brushes ginger hair from his eyes, still poking out fan-text. “Say ‘fuck’ and we’ll do it.”
“How about fuck me?”
Diamond returns a bored-to-death smile.
“If they want ‘candid,’ let’s show ‘em boy-ass!” Tiger snorts giggles, lifting his hips like he’s going to strip.
“Pretend I’m grass,” Blood chuckles, slapping at gnats as he clicks.
He’s seen bare boy-ass so often it ought to be boring. In the mood, he licks his lips anyway. Hoping the boys will go farther, yet wise enough to know when they’re teasing. Diamond keeps the perpetual smirk on his face as he smooches his iPhone, waiting for the tell-tale camera click.
“She wants to know how big your dick is, Tiger.”
“Big enough to fuck her junkie cunt.”
That from a pouty potty-mouth Cupid with red cocksucker lips, and a prehensile tongue to match.
Blood snaps again, framing Tiger alone. He brushes gold curls from his eyes. Petulant preteen preening, little pink tongue poking out, trained to slurp up whatever comes out.
“Show some more tongue, Scum Monkey.”
Scum Monkey opens his mouth wide, savoring imaginary middle-aged sperm. He’s been sucking down mouthfuls of man milk every day of his life.
“Lick your bottom lip,” Blood presses.
Tiger’s girly-boy queer, too ‘out’ for public consumption; however, Python fans will pay $199 plus shipping and handling for a signed-by-Tiger gloss 8x10. A one-off photo of juvenile Python prick goes for 20 times that, not signed.
Eager for a second posterity photo, Blood refocuses. “Now, look like you gulping it down.”
“I’m telling her you don’t know where to put it,” Diamond guffaws, two finger typing.
“Tell her his dick’s too tiny for cunt,” Blood butts in.
Up-front rudeness works for a precocious prepubescent. Like spending a day at Cozumel, Tiger matches a beetroot.
“Your dick’s too big for ass.” Tiger repartees without pause. His face is memorialized in millions of pixels, deviant art for New York’s homosexual elite.
Cackling, Diamond high-fives with the progressive pervert.
Twin males born with zero probability of fucking the opposite gender. Python boys have yet to see a vaginal cleft in the flesh, let alone touch one, except for the lesbian one they came out of.
Instead, Python boys watch late-night porn-movies. They thrive seeing gay men fuck each other’s brains out with envious cocks.
Blood taunts for effect. “I bet I could fuck your bottom-boy ass.”
“You might not fit. He’s never tried a 99th-percentile cock,” Diamond snickers, tossing a handful of grass seeds in Tiger’s direction.
Two ten-year-old boys talking queer smut, grinning at Blood, watching and knowing the effect it will have. Already he’s bulging in front.
“He takes Rock without squealing. I’m only 30 percent bigger.”
“He’d have to Fleet flush for an hour to fit your oversized prick,” Diamond jeers.
It’s a standing joke between Python boys. Neither of them can remember who said it first. The basic premise instilled through experience: when an adult cock goes into a boy, it’s best proceeded by Fleet’s saline, two pints of ‘extra cleansing and relief’ to flush out the turds.
Tiger shakes off grass seeds. “Not worth the trouble.”
Blood’s into boy-banter, especially with the littlest Python.
“With a cock like mine, you best shit before you sit.”
“In your dreams, maybe,” Tiger switches to coquette, batting his angel-blue eyes.
“Getting fucked is best when the boy’s in the saddle.”
Diamond’s sexy snicker does wonders for Blood’s libido. Bronco-buster or juvenile jockey, he loves riding his dad into the night.
Blood is Python’s self-proclaimed anal sex expert. Rectal plumbing professional, half his life spent honing his penetration proficiency, the other half on the receiving end.
“I’d rather be on the bottom,” Tiger scowls, out of wit for the moment.
He’s bounced on his partners enough to know what he likes. The difference between cuddle-sex and having no control is life changing for a preteen submissive.
“Horsey fuck’s a waste of jizz with a kid,” Blood proclaims. Turns to Tiger and licks his lips. “You know why?”
“When he pulls out, it runs out; most of it anyway,” Tiger chirps, smirking like William S. Burroughs’ little French boy.
Diamond does his eye-roll, practicing his patented New Orleans hoe-boy look, fail-safe turn on for anyone Catholic.
“You ought to see Rock gasping for air when he’s playing at jockey. Oooh, Tiger, work that pansy pussy!”
Young and carefree, Tiger giggles falsetto. “It’s fun wriggling around on it.”
“It don’t mean shit if the bum-boy’s not gasping.” Blood’s hot, feasting his eyes on bare boy-torso, kid-nipples like pinpricks.
Diamond shoots poison arrows. “I fucking gasp, man.”
“Riding’s a waste of effort unless he’s into it, too.”
“There ya go! It takes two for a gallop.”
Blood slaps Tiger’ knee, a thigh away from mauling his groin. His hand lingers like a pedophile priest who’s lost count of the choir boys. Enough Hail Marys and he still goes to Heaven.
Tiger shrugs, ignoring the pawing. Been fondled too often. A few times are unforgettable, one with a black busker, hiding his dick under his Jets’ jacket on the New York Subway, people all around while he whimpers his pleasure.
“If anyone knows what feels good in the rear, it’s a cute little homo.”
It’s true, still humiliating for a preteen pervert to hear from a grownup.
Murmurs, “Fuck that.”
Tiger can’t remember when he wasn’t the go-to-kid. Too many adult cocks spearing his sphincter, stabbing his prostate. It never ends before his rectum turns to jello—something like that changes a boy. Night after day, doing the in-out floor show while he searches for the Holy-Grail anal orgasm.
Grumpy blond boy mangles a thistle. His twin lover-brother takes over.
“How many boys have sat on your tool?”
Blood chuckles. “Just the one, Ace.”
“Like getting reamed by horse cock, did he?” Diamond jeers.
“Manuel done great till we dropped him. Just a couple of whimpers, same as you guys.”
Haitian-refugee houseboys usually don’t protest when they’re on the receiving end.
“Yoyo homo, huh.”
Haitian homosexuals are genetically anal, like Python boys. Born to do push-ups on man-phallus. Being cock-dropped isn’t preprogrammed. All-the-way slam takes patience and practice.
“He wasn’t a boy. He was fucking fourteen,” Tiger chirps. Licking his lips with more tongue than normal. “You should’a done him standing up.”
“Time you started standing up, dude. You’ve had your ass stretched enough to like a grownup fuck.” Staring at Tiger and thinking obscenities. “Anyone ever tell you your cute little boy-ass is to die for?”
Tiger flips the bird to the long-haired Obama supporter.
Diamond mocks both of them with a mock-satisfied groan. “When he’s all the way up your rectum, riding’s cool.”
“For him, yeah.” Tiger’s not buying it, sitting, standing, or flat on his back. He knows what he likes after years of lying face-down, snoozy-woozy at night.
Blood keeps smirking, listening to twins while he’s focused on boy flesh. He’s been around long enough to know Tiger’s had cock in his ass so often that he lives for cock in his colon. He’s 100-percent fag, a born-bottom-boy.
“You know you like getting dicked from underneath,” Diamond persists.
Everyone on the bus knows Tiger can take seven fat inches in as many positions, and smile about it.
“It’s better when I lay on my belly.”
“Even for a kid your age, it goes in easy, butt-up or butt-down; especially when you’re fucked on a regular basis.”
Blood’s smirk says a lot more.
The twins share boy-grins. A kid with queer inclinations knows fact from fiction before his balls drop. A flexible ring and copious KY, anointed with slimy seepage; it makes for laid-back penetration. Afghani boy breeders call it ‘Heaven in the blink of an eye.’
Still, Tiger retorts, “I tolerate sitting on dick.”
A ladybug on his arm. Lying in the grass with a tingling ass. Therapists ponder the inevitable question. If Tiger dislikes penetration, why does he do it?
Despite his acerbic tone, he’s addicted, a catamite kid no different to Diamond. Ten years old with a permanently dilated asshole to prove it. Gaping boy ass is proof beyond reasonable doubt, plus his pushed-in pucker is perpetually purple.
“You love being fucked face up. Admit it,” Diamond laughs.
His twin has a telltale starfish and smudgy butt-cheeks. The Diamond sex hole is smaller, a shade darker, not nearly as loose.
Tiger relocates 2.6 inches of erect boy-dick. Sticking out into his button-up fly. He gets pulsing hard from talking anal. Not as if he didn’t like pulling up his knees. He’s Kermit for Burt and Ernie, a frog on its back, waiting for tadpoles, wide open and unprotected! The classic boy-fuck position. For his man, it’s better than bending him over, doing doggy, or being rammed face down in the bed. Passion and pleasure combined.
So close to home base, Diamond presses on. “Admit it, you like seeing him do you.”
Tiger loves watching faces, the curious smile of exultation when his sperm donor’s cock squashes into his anus, grinning momentary triumph when his boy-hole gives way. It’s the same when he quivers at impending eruption, when he feels the swollen stake squashing his bladder.
“Sometimes,” he wavers.
“Good ass-sex takes concentration.” Blood sermons are short, to the point.
Diamond’s concentration lasts as long as it takes him to be skewered on man cock. Tiger stays focused until euphoria sets in, feeling both lust and affection. Sex therapists know an anal orgasm is satisfying for gay men; for a gay boy it’s life-changing. Those very same therapists would be shocked to learn Tiger’s sex urge persists beyond orgasm.
Tiger shrugs, all contradiction when he’s disguising arousal. “It’s okay if he goes slow at the start.”
“Boy sphincters are flexible; it still takes time to stretch.” Blood gives the same lecture to every queer boy willing to listen.
Tiger grins—he’s playing a game he can win. “Exactly a-minute-45-seconds for my sphincter to gape, dude”
Diamond eye-roll. “Exactly?”
“A twelve-year-old can take a grownup cock in a minute with enough Anal Ease. Any faster and it hurts at your age, fag-boy.”
Diamond scatters grass seeds, used to taking a man’s cock inside his bowels in less time than it takes to boot his Asus laptop. “You ought to tell Rock the next time he fucks Tiger to go in slow and he’ll thank him.”
Impetuous Tiger laughs. “How slow if I want to stay hard, Blood?”
“Erect during fucking—almost never for a kid. You ought to jerk off like Diamond does.”
Tiger tosses his head in dissent. “Fucking can’t on my belly.”
“Then, tell him the slower his entry, the better your chances of keeping a stiffy.”
Diamond interjects, “Real slow so his balls don’t bounce on your ass.”
Blood disagrees. “His balls bouncing against your ass is the best part.”
Diamond leans back, absorbing the sun. He grins at his disconsolate twin. “Which is why you don’t want to fuck with a eunuch.”
“Been there, done that,” Blood smirks. Common knowledge, he fucked a Filipino transvestite in Chicago. “No balls, no fun.”
Tiger smiles like a girl. “When Jagger got neutered, that’s what Rock said.”
Jagger, two-year-old pedigreed Doberman Pinscher, tenaciously loyal, devoted to little blond boys. Ninety-five pounds. Cropped ears, docked tail, seven-point-five painful inches.
“You ever fuck him afterwards?” Blood asks with the sun in his eyes. Mostly, thinking about the lady-boy. Squealing like a piglet with each downward thrust.
“You saying I still smell like dog?” Tiger giggles are like glass-crystal Tinker-bells.
Despite cajoling, he won’t sing in public, mostly because his voice is treble-soprano. On the high notes he sounds exactly like young Michael Jackson. Band groupies twitter the smallest Python is missing a pair.
Tiger had undescended testicles at birth. Five pounds one ounce, he spent his first two weeks in a neonatal ICU humidicrib.
“You said the knot was hot.”
“You know it.” Tiger strips a stalk and flicks grass seeds into the air. “Fucking hurt, but.”
“Your ass was a mess when Jagger pulled out!”
Boy-crap, dog spunk, Vaseline Intensive Care hand lotion, and blood for an hour were minor inconveniences compared to being caught in the act.
“I’m so not doing that again.”
Talking to the voice-over director, a red-eyed Cuban chicken says, "Show me how to emphasize the word, ‘that,' and I'll go down on you.”
Diamond giggles are like breaking glass bells, twanging the endangered treble of a country-western boy idol who’s deep-throated cock once too often. “It’s better when I fuck you, huh?”
“Not even close. If Jagger still had nuts, I’d be so pregnant by now.”
Tiger, laying back with his head on his guitar case. Pushes out his belly. So skinny that three months pretend-pregnant is the best he can manage. He arches his back for extra effect. Strains until his face turns red, like he’s giving birth or taking a massive dump.
“I’m having puppies… UUHH! One! UUHH! Two! Uhhh…”
Diamond laughs until Tiger reaches eight, then back to poking his finger at his iPhone while Blood hovers nearby, breathing like he’s running on high octane moonshine. Still hoping for the plu-perfect photo.
“What now?”
“I’m texting her your cell number, Sugar Boy.”
“Asshole!”
Diamond flicks grass seeds at his twin. “I won’t if you stop pretending you don’t like dick.”
“Dick’s great if he’s barely inside.”
“Tells us again about boys and butt sex?”
Blood takes a breathe. “A preteen’s prostate gland is about two inches beyond his anus.”
“There’s not a lot of feeling in the rectum, so deep penetration is unfulfilling,” Tiger parrots.
“Duh! Shallow is best.”
“Get your man’s glans in the zone, it’ll drive you insane.”
Tiger grins at Blood; he’s been there before. Bumping the gland hard takes him beyond ecstasy, sometimes.
“Rock goes balls deep,” Diamond observes, although Tiger never complains until afterwards.
“All six inches for immutable reason,” Blood adds, no longer able to keep his mouth shut.
“Mostly it’s okay; if he does what I tell him.”
Tiger plucks notes, picking random verses from Snakes Come Alive. Finger dexterity of a teenage virtuoso, ready to perform live with Diamond as soon as Rock and Royal agree to it.
Diamond laughs out loud. “He likes sitting on it. He does it way more than I do.”
“Twisting around on it loosens your guts. For most guys, it stirs up the juices,” Blood adds. “One out of five fucks, you get a full-blown anal orgasm when the head of his penis rubs over your prostate gland.”
“Duh! Turning’s to die for.” Tiger erupts in crystalline giggles.
“Rocking or rotating his glans on your prostate doubles the changes of anal orgasm,” Blood continues. “Like with Burroughs.”
“What about Burroughs?”
“I gotta remember how it goes… He ‘pulls an American boy, red hair, bright green eyes,’ like Hoover, ‘down onto his cock with ritual motions. The boy sits impaled, facing the dancer who propels himself in circular gyrations, lending fluid substance to the chair. ‘Wheeeeee!’ screams the boy...’”
Tiger raises the obvious question. “How the fuck do you remember all that?”
“Shit. If the dick’s in the right spot for longer than a minute, I dry cum,” Diamond smirks.
“You dry-cum with my finger up your ass.” Giggling, Tiger turns right. “We doing Tijuana tomorrow night; huh Blood?”
“Just one gig. A private party for some techno-fags in Zona Norte.”
Tijuana’s red-light district. Women and under-aged girl prostitutes. Boys as young as eight on the streets looking to entertain American pedophiles; not Democrat politicians—they go to a dude ranch in Colorado.
Blood snorts make-believe coke. “We’ll be back in the homeland by the time you guys go to sleep.”
He frames photos, kneeling in the grass so he’s looking right at preteen heart-throbs, decides the view is better higher, looking down at the grass.
Tiger eye rolls. “Enough with the photos.”
“Pretend I’m not here, Queer Boy.”
“You want us to jerk off?”
Blood gets a thrill from hearing Diamond say ‘jerk’. Horniness elevates five degrees.
“You guys can jack yourselves raw if you want.”
Having watched Python twins fuck each other, nothing surprises him. Sharing a bed in NYC’s Marriot, bare-ass naked under spotlights, with two high definition video cameras. They were shameless after that.
“You heard him,” Tiger giggles.
Putting aside his guitar. Tugging at brass buttons. Only two inches come apart, yet there’s enough pale skin to see he’s bare underneath.
“Christ. We’re next to the fuckin’ freeway, guys.”
Diamond’s hand is down his front, feeling boy-junk. “You said pretend you’re not here. If it was just me and Tiger, we’d be doin’ near seventy.”
‘Near’ is one less. Twin boys’ favorite position is Yin-Yang, not unexpected since they’ve sucked each other since they were babies.
Grinning at Tiger. Tiger grinning back, poking at boy-boner. Both of them excited by the thought of licking each other, little tongues giving frenulum massages, savoring his womb-brother’s hot throbbing flesh.
“Faggots!” Coming from Blood, it’s a compliment.
“Uh huh.”
Both boys droop their wrists in unison, Village-fag style, shameless and smirking together. Blood rolls his eyes, snaps the shot, goes back to staring as Diamond paws his boy-cock. Both hands massaging his junk.
“Too fuckin’ sexy for Rolling Stone! Come on guys, I need one good photo to send off. Python boys relaxing between shows, not two horny homos.”
“They allow hards in the Stone.” Diamond mocks the magazine, smirking down at his crotch.
“You perverts are fucking way under-aged.”
Tiger grins. “Twin boys are born queer, man. Everyone knows it.”
Psychologists know fraternal twin boys have sex so often it’s not considered aberrant behavior. For identical twins, it’s aberrant if they don’t copulate.
“You’re always saying experience should count for something, Blood.”
Tiger perks up. “What’s so bad if people see we got boners? At our age, having a stiff is normal.”
“Seriously, a stiff at your age ain’t that big a problem,” Blood laughs.
“Meaning they aren’t that noticeable?”
“They’ll photoshop what’s too obvious. How about Tiger pretends to play something, and you make like you’re singing with him? Something hot without in-your-face sex.”
“Hey Ace, what if Diamond does his impression of a Hollywood hustler,” Tiger jeers.
“Sure, just look casual.”
“Real fuckin’ casual,” Tiger mutters under his breath, making a sigh sound like KGAY 106.9 just announced the US Republican Congress voted queer was illegal south of Mason-Dixon.
He picks up his practice guitar, lays back in the grass, and strums a few notes, followed by the opening bars for She Loves my Cobra. An acoustical rendition more soulful ballad than rock. All innuendo; it’s really about uncircumcised cocks.
“Hey Tiger, move your thighs apart a couple of inches.”
The youngest (by seven minutes) and smallest member of Python glares at the oldest and largest member of Python. There are streaks of gray in Blood’s shoulder-length hair. Like a boy’s anus after sex, his nostrils are crimson and gaping. Twenty years of snorting cocaine.
“You want to see my bulge?”
Blood nods.
Tiger poses, mid refrain. Boy-crotch centered in the viewfinder. Focus precise, right on the small but obvious bump in his $150 jeans, enough to show he’s boned for the camera. Naked torso still covered in marker. Red, green, and black phallic vipers, explicit reminders of the concert in Albuquerque. Thousands of men will masturbate to that photo if it makes it to print.
“I need psycho-fucking-analysis,” Blood said, squatting on his haunches. “One more, without showing your boners.”
Tiger jerks his jeans sideways, relocating boy pleasure. Blood smirks, framing his next photograph so that Diamond’s equally hard dick hides behind Tiger’s guitar. A moment before he presses the shutter, Tiger gives him a petulant, ‘fuck-off’ look. Snake-boys never looked better. Page 15, Rolling Stone, August 4th issue.
Perfect light in a perfect setting. A coiling serpent covers half of Tiger’s face. Only fans know that the semicircles are stylized cock heads. Venomous semen going into his mouth. More snakes on his chest and belly, one swirling down under his jeans. More on his back. As arousing as snakes are, Blood can’t take his eyes off Diamond, still acting the part of a juvenile buffalo working the truck stop outside Albuqueque.
Staring and licking his fat pedo lips. Imagining spit glistening on tight ten-year-old boy dick.
They circumcised Diamond in New Orleans, as soon as his chubby birth mother was out of the picture. Parental enthusiasm lasted six months post partum, squelched by 85 extra pounds on a Dairy Queen with auburn pigtails. The last straw for her lesbian lover was birthing two tiny dicks instead of a daughter.
”Fucking awesome!” Blood huffs, though he’s seen it often.
Diamond got the standard queer cut; high and tight. Four Pythons were present, yet scarcely witnessed the boy being circed. They were high on hallucinogenic Psilocybe mushrooms when a transvestite voodoo priest called on Papa Legba, pushed down to show off the baby’s own mushroom head. Then, ‘she’ rotated a razor blade around a thin bamboo tube to trim Diamond junior. What’s left is pink and skintight, The epitome of pederast’ perfection.
Putting the Nikon aside, Blood silently hopes the boys will suck. Photographs of sexed-up twins won’t piss off Python’s private-issue fans. Rolling Stone’s editors would have a fit.
He can’t see Tiger’s crotch without craning his neck, yet he knows what the boy is doing from the jerk of his wrist. His cock throbs from watching Python boys masturbate. Defiling themselves with their hands. Fucking crazy word for something that feels so good.
Blood first saw the boys masturbate in Cincinnati. Just turned five, already vaselining their dicks to reduce friction. A daily event, getting sexual relief in the back of the Python ‘Spare Some Change’ tour coach. At the time, their sperm-donors were drumming the ass of a blond teenage waiter in Golden Lions’ bar. On a well-intentioned pederastic whim, Blood spent a half-hour teaching little boys about orgasm. Their dicks were bone dry, but Blood came hard, ‘Pouring buckets of pearls into a trough.’ Stolen right out of Burroughs’ Naked Lunch.
Five years later, still no pearls from Python boys. Likely another year before anything more than clear diamonds appear. Tiger’s on a different trajectory. His balls are so small, his first ejaculation might never occur.
Juvenile hands fluttering like leaves in a breeze. Diamond’s mouth drops open. Eyes nearly closed. Concentrating on a fistful of pleasure. His penis is measured every Friday like an ongoing science experiment, close to a third of a 12-inch wooden ruler. Nine centimeters, exactly, for the rest of the world. Too small to churn rectal juices, yet ample to fuck his twin brother, delectable pleasure for both.
Blood resists the fondling urge, fascinated by the well-endowed, if underaged homo, watching boy-nuts dangle underneath, already starting to fill out his bald little purse. Big enough for boy sex. Watching the twins fuck overdosed with Viagra is better than Broadway theater for spectators.
Beside Diamond is another precocious, sexually charged boy with plenty of practice. Tiger smirking, back to picking at notes. Stopping, squeezing his kid-crotch. Not poking it out his zipper like his twin brother. Keeping himself covered because he’s so much smaller down there. Undescended testicles have something to do with prenatal testosterone. Sexually aroused 24-7, just not into masturbation as much as his brother.
Tiger leers at Blood. “You oughta jack him.”
“No fuckin’ way.”
“How about I take a photo of you making him cum?” Tiger the tease, strums a chord out of key.
“Yeah, and end up like Phil. Fuck that!”
Two years later and Diamond still laughs, his right hand a blur as boy-balls slap thighs.
“Jackin’s okay. So is suckin’.”
Ten Commandments for Christ, only one on the bus. No fucking Python boys, except in the family.
Blood risks one more glance. Masturbation and oral isn’t a problem if the boys ask for it. Precious precocious moment as Tiger smirks right at him. Beside him, Diamond balls make a walnut as his hand jerks faster.
Blood gets to his feet. “The bus is leaving any minute.”
Boned to the max with a wet spot. Twins grinning like pansy-boys, tickled by the size of his obsequious bulge. Thinking thoughts that belonged in Morocco with Paul Bowles, they get up to follow. He’s hung like a quarter horse. Bigger than either sperm-donor. Palpable thrill, smirking smut-boys all the way back to the bus.
3:15 p.m. Boys in the Bus.
The Python Bus is a Prevost H3-45 shell, outfitted in Eerie, PA. Giant green and red anacondas cover the outside. Inside, eight recliner seats in mock-snakeskin leather, fold-up bunks for four, kitchenette, two mini bathrooms and a 16-foot-long ‘stateroom’ for Rock, Royal, and their catamite sons. A semi-trailer recycled from Federal Express and a seen-better-days school bus for roadies comprise the rest of Python’s American mini-tour.
“I just set it up, Hoover. We’re getting you decorated in Tijuana.”
Royal Python. Thirty-three. One-sixty-eight. Six-one. Nearly seven. Wild man drummer, Python’s artistic director, and part-time choreographer. Masters degree from Harvard Divinity School. No shit! Stainless-steel-reinforced cock and the sex urge to go along with it. Fucks boys, teenagers, white, black, anything with a dick under 20. A bonafide Python sperm donor. Diamond’s cherry and favorite sex partner.
Diamond is still in shock, yet he still smirks at Tiger. A few minutes older, but always first. First to suck. First to fuck. First to fist-fuck his breeder. First to show bare boy-dick on stage. Now, it’s official—he’s first to emit boy jizz.
“You are so fucking high!”
“He says you made spit this morning.” Coming from Twinkle, the guy at the wheel, it’s a public announcement.
Ted Hammond, driver and bodyguard. Camden, Maine, town pervert. Arrested six times for indecent exposure in McDonalds’ restrooms. One testicle. The other shot off in Iraq. Too much like LeBron James not to hire.
Diamond proud, yet pretending otherwise. “It was only a droplet.”
A solitary cloudless droplet is sufficient to get a boy decorated, ass-tattooed and pierced where it counts.
Halfway to horny, Royal gives his offspring an envious look.
“It’s time to turn my little cum monkey into a man. It’s happening tomorrow. We’re marking your ass to show what you are. The ring in your weenie you get to choose.”
“Anything?”
“Spit it out, Fag-boy.”
“I want a barbell, on the end, like yours.”
“Show me!”
Giggling Diamond yanks down the zipper of his Harley pinstriped brown knee-shorts. One hand finds the gap in Vilebrequin coral-pink boxers, pulls out plumped-up boy dick.
Royal grins, reaches out. Diamond feels with a sigh, adult fingers as familiar as his own inspecting his boy-sausage, tugging, working silk skin on the little flesh tube underneath. Stiffening his boy-dick in front of his twin, rubbing up and down on the hardening core. Diamond squeezes, tensing inside, making it jump. Pumping it up just a shade bigger. Turning it into a fistful of pleasure for Royal.
“That tiny thing really squirts?” Blood jeers.
Diamond bounces back. “Wait till my balls drop.”
“He jacks off so often, it won’t be long till he stops shootin’ clear stuff.”
Royal licks his lips and teases the enviable bulb on the end. Plump and red with a pronounced rim, a junior version of his own phallic bludgeon.
“A year before you can taste it, guaranteed,” Blood laughs. “Not like blank-boy, right Tiger?”
Tiger shrugs back. Tired of dry spasms, he doesn’t need this.
“It’s big enough for Prince Albert, that’s what counts. Sure that’s what you want, Hoover-boy?”
Prince Albert: ‘a ring-style piercing that extends along the underside of the glans from the urethral opening to where the glans meets the shaft of the penis’
Tiger glares in frustrated envy. “Why not me?”
“Your dick’s not big enough, Baby boy.”
Heard it before. Wanders down the aisle. Pissed at Royal. Behind him, Diamond shucks his knee-shorts before doing the hug-thing. Boned and snuggling up to his sperm donor. A requisite french kiss before sucking up to his full-time-boy-lover. Pleading for a pederast joint to celebrate. Momentous moment.
Tiger muttering, “It’s not fucking fair.”
“What’s up, Babe?”
Sand Python. Aspidites ramsayi , commonly found in Western Australia. Typical Aussie: eats roots and leaves. Low profile, Python second guitar rumored to be a gang-bang homo in a feature article in PUNk Magazine. Joined the band after Phil Graham made a badly timed attempt to enter Diamond’s off-limit ass.
Tiger relies on a shrug, as good as saying he’s pissed.
“So tell me something really funny when I start coming. You can tell by certain premonitory quiverings of the prostate gland...”
“Fuck Sand. Beat is so fuckin’ 60s.”
Sand knocks fists with the smallest Python.
“What’s with the fucks and the fucking, Cuteness?”
Tiger growls. “Fuck off.”
“With all those fucks, you must be pretty good at it, mate?”
Tiger breaks down and grins. “Duh.”
“So how many times? I bet it’s in the hundreds.”
Tiger keeps the grin, hangs his feet on the seat back in front. Used to being teased about entry-level sodomy; however, boys will do it as often as men.
“Way fuckin’ more.”
“Royal said you and Diamond lost your cherries when you were real little.”
“I remember taking dick before I was four.”
“What about your sex life when you were two or three?”
“You into toddler ass?” Tiger mocks. “If you must know, I was still wearing diapers when they started fingerin’ my heiny.”
“Fuck that for a joke!”
“Little kids sphincters are really elastic.” Tiger smirks from first-hand experience.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“They say it was just his head for a couple of years.”
“Until you got stretched, huh?”
Tiger shrugs. “Taking dick is easy when you’re young. Only if it goes in too far it messes up your guts.”
“I didn’t bottom till I was fifteen.”
Tiger shrugs sympatico. “So long as it doesn’t go too long, it’s good. Plus you get over it pretty quick.”
“Blood reckonned five-year-old boys can go from ‘Ow’ to ‘Wow’ in under five minutes.” Sand cocks an eye at the cutie pie sitting next to him. “How about today? Since you got up?”
“Not since I woke up.” Tiger tightens his ass, closing his sphincter like a virgin baboon. “Mostly, they keep off us until after the show.”
“I was wondering.”
“Because I’m walking funny?”
“Because you’re in a shit-mood.” Sand points to boy chest. “New song?”
Naked Lunch, page 33, inspired the lyrics for Rock’s current composition. It’s printed all over Tiger’s bare abdomen, some letters faded and difficult to read against marker-pen phallic snakes. Other writing is vivid, freshly made. There are more black and gray letters hiding under his Armani Junior jeans. Tiger knows the new song by heart.
He sits up, points at the words as he says,
“So close I could reach out and touch them…
They wear shorts… I can see the goose pimples
on their legs in the cold Spring morning….”
Sand peers to read, shifting between tiny-dot nipples. “Nice.”
Tiger half turns, twisting skin wrinkles at his waist. “And on my back it says,…
“A ghost in the morning sunlight…”
Sand squints at innie boy-belly-button. Thinking it might be the most beautiful navel he’s ever seen. “Fucking inspiring.”
“It finishes on my ass.” Tiger grin because he senses the young guitarist is a minute from sin. “Torn with disembodied lust…”
“I can guess where ‘lust’ ends.”
Royal stands as the bus lurches onto the on-ramp headed to Phoenix, holding onto the seat back across the aisle. Draws Diamond up beside him, stiff little dick poking out for everyone to admire.
“Listen up. Diamond’s got a big announcement.”
Diamond grins at Tiger. Soul mates splitting up. Deep breath. Quick glance down to make sure he’s erect. He’s skinned, about 75 percent glossy foreskin plus a shiny pink knob.
“I’m a homo.”
Gives a nervous smile. Saying it aloud makes it official. Coming out is life-changing for most kids, predictable for a Python boy.
“Louder,” Royal orders, grinning. The second-most important time in a young queer’s life. Proclaiming to the world he likes guys.
“I’m a homo.” Sounding awkward, yet still glad he said it.
“Fucking shout it out, gay boy.”
“I’M A HOMO!”
Python cheers ‘YEAH!’ Including Tiger. Tears in his eyes; he’s ready to bawl.
“Y’all know he made a droplet this morning, so…tomorrow, the Hoover is getting tattooed... with a harlequin.”
“On his ass, right?” Blood jeers through smoke haze.
“Where else? And our little faglet wants a Prince Albert like mine. Fuckin’ cool, huh?” Royal clasps his boy tightly from behind, showing off Python jewels.
The high point comes later, the next time Diamond does Boys are better in Bed with Royal. Right at the end, he’ll yell, ‘I’m a homo,’ to an applauding crowd.
“It’s not fucking fair!” Tiger mutters. He thinks worse things to himself.
Sand leans to whisper. “Go ask Rock.”
“He’ll say what he always says. I’m too small for public consumption.”
“I can’t blame him. If you were mine, I wouldn’t want anyone near your cute little puss.”
“I don’t want anyone else fuckin’ me. I’m not like Diamond. It’s not fair that I have to wait.”
“I bet he’ll let you get a butt tat.”
“I want an Albert too. Diamond’s dick isn’t that much bigger than mine.”
“Size counts for Albert. Get something else.”
“What’s yours?”
It’s hard being a fan of an off-limits pretty-boy. Sand shifts, so close he trembles.
“I’m building a ladder.”
“No shit! Show me.”
Sand winks and opens his zipper, exposing red briefs. Boys are like hummingbirds: attracted to red things. Glancing about, he extracts a circumcised cock to be proud of. Big, red, light-bulb glans tops a six-inch shaft. Finger-licking juice seeping from the tip. A crystal in the eye of the snake. The first time Tiger sees it up close. All male, average thickness, and hairless. Porn-star boi, doing his best to look prepubescent.
“Smooth!”
Tiger is used to shaved groins, giving blow jobs to sperm donors with a haze of bristles like 100-grit sand paper under his cheek.
“I wax twice a week,” Sand admits.
A permanent stainless steel ring passes through the man’s tightly stretched frenulum, another through the beginning of his hairless scrotum. Alpha and omega of a Jacob’s Ladder. Tiger swallows saliva. Can’t shift his eyes from it.
“Nice!” Tiger whispers. The hungry feeling swells in his belly.
“What’s nice is your cute little dick.”
Tiger’s sour look takes him by surprise.
“Little boy cocks are a fucking turn-on, Babe.”
“Meaning you want to see it again?”
Sand is unable to stop himself from looking around. The rest of the Pythons are settling in for the afternoon traffic jam into Phoenix; Royal and Diamond making out in the front of the coach; Blood perving at gay porn on his laptop computer; Rock in the stateroom, composing, already high on crack cocaine. A perpetually contrite Phil Graham-turned-accountant is flipping through fucking Business Week. Willoughby, Python’s drag-queen organ player on loan from Simulation, is sending text messages to his boyfriend in Laredo, Texas.
“If it’s okay?”
Tiger smirk. “It’s my ass that’s off limits, dude.” Opens his zipper. Extracts limp boy-dick.
“Fuck!” Always the same imaginative expletive.
Tiger was circumcised in Reynosa, Mexico, two years to the day after Diamond was cut. The unlicensed Hollywood plastic surgeon was tripping on Mescaline, homemade from peyote cactus. He cut Tiger on the diagonal; low on the dorsal and high on the ventral, drum tight and biased to exaggerate the small helmet head. Maximum sensitivity on the frenulum side.
“Fucking awesome, mate.”
“Fucking weird is what it is.”
Admonished by a ten-year-old queer, Sand gives an unrepentant shrug. “I’m attracted to weird!”
“I’m not.”
“I’d suck your dick every day, if you wanted. It looks like your fucking ball sac goes right up your dick.”
Tiger groans, preteen angst weighing him down. He’s different; no matter everyone tells him it’s pretty.
“You know, what looks really hot on small dicks is a frenum piercing.”
A piercing perpendicular to the shaft of the penis, made through the frenulum that connects the head of the penis to the shaft
Tiger returns an unconvinced frown. His pronounced frenulum is like his extravagant choker--attention grabbing.
“Put a horseshoe barbell around your cock-head and your cums will be awesome.”
“It’ll get in the way, won’t it?” Breathy Python boy, getting a tight little hard-on in exactly ten seconds.
Sand touches stiff boy-dick with a fingertip, where the glans begins, delicate stretched frenulum skin forming two tiny folds before Tiger-dick straightens out.
“It’s not like you’ll be fucking ass anytime soon.”
“He’s right about a frenum being a turn on,” Blood calls out from two seats ahead.
“More than an Albert?”
Tiger’s been a Python long enough to know Prince Albert improves anal sex, but pissing’s a problem.
“You want to blow your balls out your ass? Go all the way and get a wedding ring, mate, a nice tight one around the head.”
Wedding ring for a queer, inserted through the frenulum, sized to compress the glans of the penis. A bulging penile head provides maximum stimulation, front or rear.
“With a captive bead, so it rubs the sensitive part underneath. Fucking or jerking off, you’ll love it.”
Not sure he likes the idea of a bead, Tiger tosses preteen angst out the door, and grins.
“Tiger, I need inspiration. Get your pussy in here.”
Rock Python. Thirty-two. One-eighty-four. Six-even. Lead guitar and Python’s composer. Bachelors degree from New York’s Juilliard. Honorary doctorate from Berklee College of Music in Boston. Python sperm donor. Tiger’s cherry and primary sex partner.
Tiger closes his zipper. Smiles at Sand. He’s good looking; however, the boy has no interest in Python’s new member. Funny how quickly he loses interest in men who paw at his genitals.
Leaving the stateroom door wide-open, the one-man boy flops on the foam-mattress bed, opposite Rock, with his back to the window.
“So fucking inspire me, Spunky.”
Grumpy Rock Python strums disarrayed chords on a Line 6 DT50 amp as Tiger mocks a beauty queen in a Texas whorehouse. He divests Armani Junior blue jeans in a single gymnastic motion. Bare and lying back on the bed, play-masturbating as he slides around on satin-black sheets. The bed is his stage, his lithe prepubescent body moving in sync with Rock’s peripheral music. Keeping time with pelvic thrusts.
Frustrated Rock when the notes stop. “Show me my favorite boy-pussy.”
Tiger quickly rolls onto his belly and assumes the ass-up position, spreading his buttocks apart. Ass crack close-up generates four more notes. Rock backs up and plays the last line again.
“Fuck! Face down and spread ‘em, Sugar boy.”
Lying down, arms extended—stretched full length makes Tiger look skinny more than wiry. Inhaling the scent of Rock’s last cum still damp on his pink boy-bikini.
“Now hump it.”
Tiger snorts and goes through the motions. Disbelieving the dark smears of ass juice on the hard-as-rubber butt-fuck pillow. His and Diamond’s bowel fluids mixed together-- their sperm donors buggered them side by side that morning
When no more notes come, Rock grumbles, “Turn over!”
Flipping onto his back. Belly curved up and pulled taut as a drum, like carved, hand-polished maple, hard muscle under a creamy skin veil. A boy doesn’t dance on stage and practice for hours each day and not be in shape.
Rock looks him over, twanging the same half-dozen chords. No breakthrough, yet he likes seeing his Tiger-boy bare, naughty, nasty, naked.
“Get horny!”
The man gazes with bloodshot crazed eyes, befuddled by crack and prescription pills. Queer boy in sexual cue. Getting off to Rock’s music. How HOT is that? LITTLE FEET with toenails painted purple and manicured, courtesy of Willoughby. Slender legs. Lean thighs. Lithe and lissome. Firm, small boy-butt with a deep crack in the center hiding a gay boy’s most important asset.
“Fucking sweet.”
Tiger smiles and improvises to please his creative sperm donor. His magic flows, acquiescent, assuming one butt-fuck position after another until Rock stops playing all together. Stare after stare at his son’s small ass, temptation running amok.
“Fuckin’ gorgeous boy-body.”
Totally naked artist-canvas, sweaty skin inviting bad touches, yet too chaotic for more permanent markers. Lyrics and snakes layered all over, some precise and intense with color, others like hills in the distance, eventually fading into pale boy skin. ‘LUST’ written in big bold letters on his right buttock. Inspiration demands bizarre eroticism.
“Do something dirty.”
Too perfect not to be depraved, Tiger sticks his forefinger in his ass and farts like popping the top on a Mexican Coke. Funny shocked expression too, which earns him a smile.
“Fuck!” Rock mutters, still trying to find the crescendo, working notes and chords back and forth as he follows Tiger’s lurid display, little forefinger stroking his innards.
“Me?” Tiger says brightly.
‘FUCK ME’ and an arrow on his left butt cheek, a Royal addition that very morning.
“You wish!” Rock runs through the last line, fingers flying on frets as Tiger’s finger tries to keep up.
“Better?” Tiger asks when Rock pauses to record changes on Walmart score paper.
Rock looks up, eyes glazing with decadent desire. “I’ve got a hankering to see you in leather.”
“Whatever,” Tiger sighs, jaded.
Unleashed, Rock harnesses the youngest Python. Pony-boy style for a sexual sadist. Tiger needs Control, a tight neck collar, black leather, wide buckle and sharp shiny studs, a restraining strap down his bare bony back, uncomfortably tight waist belt, groin halter, and a curved horn that fits in his ass. Stainless-steel wedgie, instantaneous domination without saying a word.
“Tighter?”
Tiger just nods as Rock cinches the back strap. Two notches. The curved horn levers into prostate-position, designed by Chinese pimps to keep any boy horny. Tiger can’t move without trembling. Even breathing causes pressure inside him. Waddles out the door and into the toilet. Splatters his piss because his dick is utterly rigid. He can’t concentrate longer than a handful of seconds with the horn skewering his butt.
“When you’re ready.” Impatient to get back to working as soon as his queer offspring returns.
“You can if you want,” Tiger mutters, unable to stop the ache in his colon.
Rock looks him over. From head to toe, his little boy lover is erotic, pale slender body strapped in leather.
“SEX ME!” Whimpering ten-year-old homo, so boned up he can’t stand it.
Boy cock glistening tight, sticking straight out, weird and pulsing with sex-starved need. Suckable like his shriveled scrotum underneath. Red and hungry for Rock’s masticating mouth.
“Why would I want to do that?” Rock plays the refrain again.
“Because I’m horny.”
“Maybe later.”
“I need it *now*.”
Tiger looks hopefully at the SentrySafe DS3410.
Blue pale eyes, lips pouty, lavender-pink like the knob of his boy-dick when it’s cold and floppy. Needing his MDMA fix for the day. Kiddy-porn pills, 3,4-Methylenedioxymethamphetamine and sugar. Mild psychedelia. Visual distortion. Music madness. Enhanced senses. Physical exertion. No inhibition. Unbendable erection.
“Maybe tonight. You got school shit to make up when I’m finished.”
“Fuck school!” Pissed off and blinking, on the verge of crying.
“You do tonight’s show, make it really hot; there’ll be a bonus pill at half-time.”
“Now? Please?” Tiger has to plead every time.
He groans frustration as Rock picks up the tune, harsh notes reverberating through his head. Tiger tries to ignore the compelling pelvic-thrust beat, thumping inside like his heart. Instinct drives his lower abdomen and thighs, shameless jerking that mocks a juvenile erection. The constraining harness arouses him, straining child-sized sex organ, heart pounding more than it does with two tablets of Ecstasy.
Shameless in front of his sperm donor, he reaches under his butt to feel-up his aching-hard dick. Still gyrating his pelvis to the rhythm, he pushes at his belly strap, forcing it down until the head of his cock slips underneath.
When he looks up again, Rock’s amusement makes him scowl.
“What’s so funny?”
Rock stares at his offspring’s strapped groin, mutters, “You’re so fucking sexy. “
Tiger leers back. “Hungry for boy-cock, aren’t you? Fuckin’ suck it; you know you want to.”
Rubbing his thumb on the most sensitive spot, the prominent groove under his glans. No give at all. Feeling his captive penis begin to throb. Getting impossibly hard. The metal horn in his ass makes him quiver, enough that he mauls his glans with his thumb and first finger.
“Tonight, before I screw your ass to the bed.”
“Promises, promises…. Can I get my dick pierced too?”
“You’re a Python, aren’t you?”
Tiger looks hopeful. “I mean the same time as Diamond?”
“Maybe next year, Baby Boy.”
“Why not now?”
“Because you’re too fucking small for an Albert.”
“It’s not that small, see?” Hands on his hips to show off. Boy dick standing proud under his belly strap, undeniably undersized for his age.
Rock watches his catamite with incestuous eyes. Little fingers tantalizing the swollen red tip. Diagonal circumcision makes it exotic.
“Stop whacking off like a baby.”
“It’s itchy.” Tiger keeps pinching. Twirling the exposed tip makes him shiver.
“So fuckin’ do it properly. The way you’re jerking it, we’ll be in Phoenix before you get off.”
“How do you want me to fuckin’ do it?”
“Same way I do, Pussy Butt.”
Rock plays what he’s got. Tiger picks up the tempo and jacks boy-cock, sexual excess for two minutes and ten seconds. Not one of Rock’s worst compositions. Not one of his best.
“I want you pretending to fuck. Act like you’re older.”
Queer teenager time! Bare-assed snake boy having pretend adolescent-sex on the bed. Passion isn’t part of it, not strapped in a harness. Glad when it ends. Gets his breath back as Rock writes notes he wants to remember when the crack wears off.
“You done for now?” Tiger asks tiredly.
“I could fuck you now,” Rock suggests, leering.
Tiger sits awkwardly, doing his best to keep his weight off his ass. Just right, the metal horn hits his gland. He squirms, trying to get the about-to-burst feeling back.
“I’d do better at Calvert if I got pierced.” Tiger knows better, yet keeps trying. “You always say Diamond and me should match more than we do. We would if we both got our cocks done…”
Rock shakes a ‘no.’ Tiger glares back.
“It feels better pierced.”
“You already fuck and suck on metal!” Rock laughs strangely. “Anyway, I don’t want you fucking around.”
“I’ll only ever do it with you and Royal. I promise.”
“I don’t want you carrying on like Diamond. Once he’s pierced, he’ll fuck anything with a dick.” Plucking notes for emphasis. “How about a belly-button ring?”
“NO!”
“Nose ring?”
“Fuck no!”
“How about your nips? You’d look sexy with tit hoops?”
“No. They itch.”
“Balls?”
Tiger considers it. “In my dick, or nothing.”
“No fucking way, Fag-boy!”
“A horseshoe.” Tiger flip-flops onto his back and points at the tip of his finger-dick. “Here!”
“Horseshoes don’t come that small.”
“A wedding ring, then. Pleassse? I’ll do anything you want.”
“Anything?”
Tiger nods like the eager kid at the ice-cream truck.
Rock smirks like the Good Humor man, He’s had his next depravity figured out for a while. He pauses, not pondering, not about to start pandering to his perverted son.
“Might be cool seeing a wedding ring on my favorite chickadee.“
Tiger nods in hopeful agreement.
“Anything huh?”
“Sure.”
They hear voices, laughter that keeps getting louder. Diamond is doing the celebratory sex act with his sperm-donor. Buggery in public. Groaning as Royal opens his ass with two fingers, gasping as adult cock-head slides in.
“Sounds like he’s enjoying his last butt-fuck as a kid,” Rock says with a grin.
Tiger shrugs. He wants the same; however, it isn’t his time. Being initiated into Python is a game with socially reprehensible rules. No shame. No privacy.
“How do you feel about letting Jagger knot with you?” Rock says, caught between cunning and curious.
Caught off guard, the little Python is lost for words until he figures the chances of Jagger getting an erection. Nutless, it’s got to be less than a hundred to one.
“Just one time,” Tiger said, looking appropriately sour
“You won’t fuck outside the family, and you do Jagger instead.”
“How often?”
“As often as I want, Sugar Boy.”
“No way!”
Both of them know Tiger doesn’t mean it. After a few moments, Rock leers at his precocious offspring, as much as saying, ‘you know you want to.’
“That’s all?”
“The first time we videotape it for the Internet.”
“You’re fucking crazy!”
Rock laughs. “You want your prick pierced. I want the pedo-world to see a Doberman dick stuffed up your cute little ass. It’s up to you, Sugar Boy.”
“How long?” Deals have expiration dates like two percent milk.
“As long as it takes.”
“l mean how long do I have to decide?”
Rock smirks at the bare-assed boy on the bed. Preteen Priapus, playing with his defective dick. Ever hard. Ever little. Every boy masturbates, yet his boy does it better. Practice hones skill. Boy-cock boned as hard as a poker. It fits Tiger’s tiny hand like it’s meant to be there. Wrinkled spermless nuts knotted beneath, very much a kid where it counts.
“A butt-tat and wedding ring would make you even sexier,” Rock muses. “You got till the next time you suck me.”
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8:00 p.m. Boys on the Stage.
“Python Python! Python! PYTHON! PYTHON! PYTHON! PYTHON! PYTHON! PYTHON!”
Audience reaction before Python is introduced by its manager, from restrained intellectual chant in the northeast to gut-churning foot-stomping shouts down south. Phoenix surprise, overwhelming Rock’s warm-up fretwork, amplifiers screeching with chords, drums picking up the rhythm and passing it on to the bass guitar and organ. No lights, not yet!
Strobe from right. Red lasers fire up. One spotlight. Rock homo-signs the crowd with a mock-limp wrist, He shows four fingers and thumb to his band before the roar dissipates.
Stage manager repeats the call in case anyone missed it. “Slither Fuck Five. Warm up for two.”
Part-time roadie from Wichita flying on crack falls off the stage. Ten bucks an hour and still hanging on, doing anything for a chance at joining the permanent crew. A quiet, studious queer who was doing an undistinguished degree in Romance Languages before he saw the snake boys dance. Slither Fuck Five blows his pedophile mind.
“Foot lights on… Bring up the rest… Lasers… NOW!”
Fucking hot! Slither Fuck Five brings Python alive! Two fucking minutes.
Diamond and Tiger hurriedly exchange costume components as the band starts to play. Like the roadie, the boys expected Slither Fuck Three, but Royal always calls the opening dance at the last moment. Three would be Hot for Phoenix. Behind the high-school proscenium, they smear on shiny stuff, as each Python name is called. The audience noise is inconceivable.
Diamond checks in the mirror. The roadie behind him tightens straps and switches to Tiger.
“You ready, Baby Boy?”
Slither Fuck Five is outrageous, usually reserved for private parties when the boys strip down to tiny gold-foil G-strings—a few times they are nude by the end.
Tiger nods and holds his breath. It already hurts in his chest.
The audience stomps, screaming ‘Rock Python,’ again and again.
Pedophile roadie smiles, nursing a sprained ankle like a fracture, taking care of his beloved twin boys.
“… Four… Three… Two…. One…. You’re on!”
Ecstasy-powered, Python boys burst from behind the black proscenium at the very instant the music switches to Naked Lunch.
For Slither-fucks one-thru-five the boys launch onto the stage wearing identical waist-high ballet-tights covered with tiny shimmering iridescent scales. Each boy buttock-is adorned with a button—’THAT was easy’, $0.99 from Staples. Only for Slither Fuck Five do they sport a plastic codpiece, eight inches long. Massive curved erections on two lithe dancing boys.
Bare torsos glistening, copious what-looks-like-KY slathered on boy-bellies and chests.
The audience screams ‘FUCK’.
The boys slither and slide together. Only KY is slippery enough. The stage isn’t near big enough.
Mouth-dropping juvenile eroticism as they writhe and gyrate across the stage. Thrusting pelvises, rubbing obscene oversized bulges, contorting wiry bodies into grotesque positions, each with latent sexual symbolism. Like playful puppies, they chase each other across the stage, spotlights locked onto pseudo-man-sized erections barely constrained under glistening tights.
The first time the boys performed Slither Fuck Five they stripped naked and improvised with gymnastic fervor. A private show for Colorado Rainbow Alliance! Elsewhere, translucent nylon meets the legal requirement of preventing nudity.
“Take it off, Diamond,” someone bellows out of the crowd.
Diamond twirls, raises his arms, thrusting his pelvis into time to the music. Teasingly, he shoves his tights lower, not enough to get him in trouble. Royal pounds cymbals; there’s plenty to give the audience heart palpitations.
“Fuck him, Diamond!” screams a 20-something in the front row.
Diamond points at Tiger and raises both eyebrows. Comic relief that drives the noise level 32 decibels higher. He steps behind Tiger and they lock together. This is the moment that everyone’s waiting for. They dance as one, like St. Vitus and shadow, with laser lights zapping overhead, guitars and drums thundering. Madness on ecstasy. William S. Burroughs unleashed—it’s why Python’s theme song is Naked Lunch.
Five hundred homosexuals from Arizona and Utah go wild, including three dozen registered pedophiles who drove from Albuquerque to see Python’s private show for the second time in two days. For Python’s last three performances the same three red corvettes, a Porsche Cayenne with ‘luvboyz’ plates, and two Harley Fatboys have been in the parking lot. There’s even an Arlo Guthrie-style VW van with hippy flowers from a nudist commune in Colorado.
Middle-aged faggots and pretend-teenage boiz scream the lyrics back at the band as Python boys simulate copulation with each other—the uninitiated believe they are watching twisting serpents. White lights pulsing with orgasmic frenzy as they mount each other in rapid succession. A queer mix of orgiastic Shiva and African tribal rituals. Worth every penny of $100 a ticket.
Naked Lunch lasts exactly 3:38. At three minutes, Rock is under the spotlights, alone and screaming, playing his guitar with abandon as the rest of the band carries the song. Making eye contact with Tiger as he coils closer. Timing is everything. A few seconds early could get him arrested. Tiger, high on Coke Classic and sugared-ecstasy, kneels at the precise instant he’s supposed to. His sperm-donor bucks his hips wildly as the spotlights go out.
Tiger hurriedly drags down the zipper, and for a full 34 seconds in near-complete darkness slurps on Rock’s huge erection. Reaching a crescendo as strobe lights flash with mind-numbing erratic intensity. At the front of the stage, Diamond is dancing with an inflatable-swimming-pool anaconda, having more fun with KY than any kid should. It takes a queer imagination to see him masturbating a huge pretend-penis. Spinning, squirming, around and around.
Fourteen state courts have deemed Slither Fuck Five obscene. Not Arizona. No complaints for a year, not since Python donated to the Governor’s election fund. Not even a single vice-squad cop shows up in Phoenix.
Sometimes, Rock’s ejaculation splatters Tiger’s crotch and he has to leave the stage afterwards. There are even times when Tiger has carried a mouthful of semen off the stage. Mostly, he swallows. This time, he barely has time to get Rock’s erection covered up before the song ends. He falls face down on the floor, still gulping cum, licking his lips to get the last of it, heart thumping inside his chest. He’s close to fainting, yet his sperm donor’s right foot presses him down. Waiting until the strobe lights stop flashing, the audience roar dies away.
Only then, Rock reaches down, grasping Tiger’s small hand, boosting him up from the stage and into his arms, hugging his flesh and blood, before tossing him over his shoulder.
“And the two youngest Pythons, Rock and Royal’s sons, Tiger and Diamond. Ladies and Gentlemen… PYTHON.”
“Python. Python. Python. PYTHON. PYTHON.”
Rock gives a right fist salute to the fans. Looking over the crowd. Smaller than last year. He used to blame George-fucking-Bush. Demorats aren’t any better.
Curious about the second row on the right. The only business-casual in the entire auditorium. Four men sitting together, but a lot of fans come to the show straight from work. The bigger bombshell is two women staring right at him, one with coal-black hair, eyes like the devil incarnate. The other woman, like a legal secretary, using a video camera she isn’t supposed to have. Not that Rock worries. It was too dark to see anything.
“I told you before I went down,” Tiger confides, upside down, writhing in pretend-agony and jabbing his little stiff dick at Rock’s shoulder.
“You knot with Jagger whenever I want?”
“What if he can’t get it up?” Giggling because he’s wasted hours playing with Jagger’s cock after his neutering.
“Your mouth can take care of any limp noodle.”
Tiger’s shocked, although he’s done it before!
“Wedding ring, right?”
“Though your frenulum. And you don’t fuck outside the family. Otherwise no deal!”
“Deal,” Tiger says quickly.
Rock stalks to the microphone, bouncing and swinging Tiger like he weighs 40 pounds.
“PHOENIX! We love you. On behalf of Python, I can tell you it’s a pleasure to be in queer Arizona. Tonight, Python’s honoring one of Arizona’s sons. Corporal James Edson died last week in the service of his country in Afghanistan. He was married with two kids, one of them about the same age as my little snake boy here. So fucking what if he wasn’t one of us. Straight or gay, he was one hell of a soldier. Give it up for Corporal Edson. And the next time you vote, don’t think about queers in the military, think about Edson and the other men who’ve died needlessly!”
It’s time to move on before the intellectuals revolt.
“Coming next, Boys are Better in Bed. This is a special performance. Diamond with Royal. Y’all listen at the end.”
At the end, the applause is so loud only Diamond’s sperm donor hears him yell, ‘I’m a homo.’
*!two hours pass...what the fuck!*
Naked Lunch again at the end of the show. Guitars, drums, and wailing electronic organ begin building expectations until the Python boys emerge on stage again. This time they’re high on MDMA, covered from neck to ankle in skin-tight scaly silver jumpsuits. With Diamond on electronic bongo and Tiger on electronic harmonica, Python moves into high gear. Naked Lunch is nearly eight years old and still the fan favorite, especially when Python boys perform it. Rock wrote it the same day he officially deflowered Tiger. Men have orgasms hearing it.
The Grand Finale, but one. As Naked Lunch ends, the lights dim. Erratic red and green lasers continue to zap through thick smoky air. Let-down phase. The lasers cease abruptly. In utter darkness, the boys move quickly to the corners of the stage. Rock plucks reverberating notes. The bass comes in, booming, drums rolling, cymbals clashing.
The audience stands simultaneously, screaming ‘take it off’.
Laser cannons fire up again, a Gatling-gun salute to homoerotica. Power turned low as the lasers focus on snake boys. Scintillating shards of ruby and emerald light bouncing off metallic snake scales.
As the boys writhe sensuously, scales flutter to the floor. Lasers pulse brilliant dots on bare skin. More and more bare skin, arms, chests, bellies, thighs, and legs. Their lithe bodies are criss-crossed with glistening netting, still snake-like, yet increasingly human.
Two nearly nude boys merge in a glittering shower, pelvic thrusting at each other. The audience roars encouragement at the Python twins, now in a mating frenzy, mock-copulating in time to Royal’s wild drumming. Both boys frantic for sexual release, Viagra penises engorged, finally emerging as more scales fall away, yet even the first row can’t see more than vague shadows.
Blue neon erupts from floor spots as Tiger dry-orgasms. A few moments later, Diamond climaxes, shuddering savagely. Under spotlight so the audience realizes the peak is occurring. Community standards are preserved-- they lock so close that no one sees actual penises. A pulsating red glow from the stage grows as chords become discord. Only a few scales remain around their groins, when the music ends and the lasers stop.
“WE LOVE YOU, PHOENIX!”
The woman in the second row sticks her video camera back in her handbag, going out of her way to make eye contact with Rock. Unconcealed, congealed hatred. If she reads lips, ‘fucking lesbian.’
10:15 p.m. Boys Back on the Bus.
Back on the bus, two sweaty, sexually aroused boys draped in silk dressing gowns, slowly calming down from the finale. Heads buzzing with sugared ecstasy. Boned so hard their penises physically hurt. Unable to sit still for Xbox or Wii. Pestering the other Pythons for joints. Rock up front, glazed eyes and swigging champagne from Andre, talking to Teddy, bus driver. Phoenix to Tijuana, 365 miles. They’ll arrive in the morning.
“Jack me,” Tiger demands. Opening the front of his robe to reveal his nearly bare body to Royal.
His little erect cock protrudes proudly above the remaining three silver scales. The rest of him skinned in white shiny mesh. Hundreds of tiny Velcro tabs secured scales until the boys peeled them off.
Royal licks his lips, ready for metronome appetizer. Boy-dick bouncing rhythmically, marking the beat for the upcoming performance. He bares Tiger in front of the other Pythons, robe tossed on the seat across the aisle, unfastens plastic clips that hold the mesh in the rear. Peels it away from lithe arms and legs. No G-string. Totally nude with serpents and writing all over. Rock gives an approving nod to his junior homo-lover from the front of the bus.
Rock and Royal exchanged vows in Cleveland, Ohio. ‘Rock, do you take Royal as your life partner? Promise to love and cherish him till death? Oh yeah! And Royal? Do you…. ‘
It took a DNA test and a court order from a gay judge in Baltimore to list them as fathers on their boys’ birth certificates.
Royal fingers boy-flesh, like a beckoning finger, sticking up, always aroused by Tiger’s biased circumcision. Tiger oblivious to his smirk, not caring because everyone’s seen his erection. Outer skin along the top of the shaft, pink inner skin underneath, a work of surgical art intended for maximum sensitivity and his sperm donor’s pleasure. An adult finger traces the diagonal incision from behind Tiger’s glans down to his undersized balls. Bizarre, yet ideal for prolonged masturbation.
Royal’ finger and thumb stroke slowly, tantalizing Tiger’s dick, focusing on the tender tight frenulum. Tiger twitches, inhales, closes his eyes as Royal fellates him. Cock sucking delight with adult lips nibbling on the acorn, tongue spreading saliva down the small throbbing shaft. Royal’s other hand slides between his thighs, forefinger curled up. He twitches again when it touches what remains of his pucker, again when it penetrates, gently rubbing the sweaty loose rim. Both man and boy ignore Blood looking back.
Two seats away, Willoughby giggles as he undresses Diamond. Not his first time stripping a Python boy at the end of the show, grinning, carefully unwrapping tight Lycra-stretch mesh. It still gives him a raw thrill. Under the lattice, a sleek young boy-body. Turning him around and flaunting his plump little ass at Phil, splitting his crack like a Marrakesh kid-whore, buggered boy-hole tempting any queer man.
The coach lumbers away from the theater’s rear door, passing dozens of cars still parked past midnight. Nearly nude men making out. Four–way in the Porsche Cayenne, a Maserati owner with ‘BL4ME’ plates and a bumper sticker that reads, ‘God loves Gays’ blows kisses and mock masturbates as the Python bus passes. A Mexican teenie being ass-fucked by a middle-aged Negro on the back of a Harley.
Royal’s spit-slick forefinger slides all the way up Tiger-ass, grinding the sweet spot, sweet scent of hash drifting down the aisle. Sex mood as lights dim through the bus. The ten-year-old Python gets his own ice-cold Andre, relaxes his sphincter and sips nose-tickling bubbles as he stares out the window.
Two black mini-limos parked side by side. Two women standing outside talking. Watching the Python bus exit the parking lot.
“They were in the second row,” Tiger points out.
“Fucking lesbians,” Rock growls, still hoarse from screaming the lewd lyrics of Naked Lunch.
Royal squeezes boy balls, too stoned to care when Tiger whimpers and pushes at his hand. “Our duty to the human race is clear… Keep the best, fix the rest...”
Rock picks up the theme. “Don’t pop ‘em, man; he might fuck a girl one day…”
Everyone laughs except Tiger. He squirms, spilling ice-cold Andre, but Royal doesn’t let go of his testicles. Painful pleasure building up inside.
“Bitches never fucking clapped,” Rock grumbles.
From the driver. “Fucking Feds is more like with them Stinkin’ Continentals.”
Rock turns, watching, gulping Andre. The Lincoln Continentals gleam like limos. Two antennae per car. Extra-wide wheels. Government plates.
“Lesbi-fucking Feds!”
Ted hauls on the steering wheel, roaring onto the road, heading west.
Rock’s too horny to worry about Lincolns and lesbians. Careens down the aisle as the bus hits sixty. Hauls Diamond out of his seat.
“Both of you flushed before the show, right?”
Diamond nods with a drawn-out, “Duhhhhh.”
Prerequisite enema for every performance, same as for spick-and-span sex—Python boys have reduced bowel control.
“Stop bugging Willoughby for a blow job, you little ass-licker.”
Willoughby pretend pouts, fat lipstick-red lips perfect for the role of a titless cocksucker. He grasps Diamond’s hand and pulls back in play.
Rock jerks the biggest catamite away. “McDouble to celebrate boy-ass open season. Bring Sugar Boy with you, Royal.”
Royal, with Tiger in hand, brings up the rear, slapping Diamond’s bare butt all the way to the stateroom. Door left open with nothing to hide.
11:35 p.m. Boys in the Bed.
“Vaseline high?” Royal queries with a leer at Diamond.
Crack cocaine in Vaseline, aphrodisiac Python style. Baste the man’s cock with it, or push it up the boy’s rectum. No free-base five-minute zinger. Fucking high for an hour for both of them, lube job included!
“It’s Sugar Boy’s turn in the middle,” Diamond reminds him.
“Do I have to?” Tiger whines like a spoiled suburb-brat.
“You know you like taking dick.”
Sugar Boy glares back.
“You or me, Tiger?” Royal asks. Holds out the lid of the Vaseline jar, crack grease pre-mixed and ready to apply.
Tiger glances at Rock, realizing no support there. With a thick seven-inch cock, either way he’ll be sore.
“You!”
Diamond hands him his iPad before they get on the bed.
“What’s doing?”
Tiger fast forwards through game options, picking up from six hours earlier. “Angry Birds.”
“Get your ass ready first,” Rock announces, more pimp than sperm-donor.
“You’re not even ready,” Tiger complains.
But Royal is ready before the game begins. Ass flushed out with a vaginal douche, already naked. Applying liberal sex-grease to his half-erect cock.
“Fuck and suck time, Sugar Boy.”
Smirking at Tiger. The only one in the room whose ass is itchy with lust. He can’t remember when it was tight.
Diamond and Tiger assume the position, side-on face-to-crotch boy-fun. They started as toddlers doing mutual blow jobs.
“Grease him up good, cause we might want seconds.”
“I’ll get most of it off before he sticks you,” Diamond whispers as the boys pet each other.
Two grown men watch with amusement. Fascinated by boy-foreplay, a preliminary to the primary event. Masturbating each other to maximum stiffness, skinny-soft fingers feeling tight little balls, no-longer-innocent hands exploring silky smooth skin. Licking at each other’s dicks, one puny morsel, the other a proud handful. With orgasms looming, they move on to smooching immature gonads. Eventually, Tiger latches onto Diamond’s boy dick. Over an inch longer than his when they’re hard. Still not a mouthful, yet sucking with his cheeks pulled in. No taste except sweat, and in an instant, that’s gone.
“Cocksuckers, both of them,” Rock laughs.
“Preteen boys enjoy sucking cock,” Royal declares. “I read it in a Kinsey report. Statistical fact, boys who try oral sex before ten are 95 percent likely to perfect it.”
Diamond sucks Tiger-dick, using his middle finger to tease Tiger-ass. His sibling’s hole is deeper in the crack than it should be. Elastic muscle easily dilated. One finger from each hand, pulling apart, wasting precious minutes doing the stretch-wider thing. Both whizzes at sex, but Rock still issues instructions.
“Open his ass up. Go right up his pussy. Two fingers apart! Stretch that boy-hole.”
Diamond just nods and keeps his mind focused on what’s he’s doing to his twin. Sparing the lube, only where it’s really needed to stop friction.
Tiger’s doing his best to stay calm. Ecstasy after-effects slowing him down. Aches in his back and legs. Irritable and tired, but he would be anyway that late at night. Dizzy, head buzzing, sure he can smell hotdogs cooking.
“What’s taking so long?” Grumbling. Wanting Royal to hug him from behind for a while.
“Just relax.”
Diamond holds Tiger’s buttocks apart as Royal settles in. Twin brother-lover gets an up close view of Royal’s big plum poking into relaxed boy-hole. Diamond grasps the thick greasy shaft, getting as much of the lube on his hands as he can before he inserts Python cock into Tiger.
“Go in slowly,” Tiger entreats.
Wasted words. Royal breathes over his head. Pulls the small naked body against him. A horny man’s version of the hug that Tiger’s been waiting for. Fitting together, boy in the fetal position, man spooned up behind, timeless man-boy pairing. Diamond grinning, aroused from musk and sweat. He’s a whiz at using Royal’s cock to paint precum. Gut churning thrill from getting Tiger-ass ready. If he’s loose, lubricated, and hungry for penetration, he’ll probably enjoy it.
“Hurry up,” Royal growls.
Quickly, Diamond realigns cock and hole and Royal slides home. Tiger whimpers. His supple sphincter is breached in an instant. A single omnipotent thrust, yet it’s only the start. Python boys always get more than two inches.
“Fuuucckkk.”
Tiger wriggles on thick adult cock, letting sodomy happen. Trained to loosen his ass, mindless relax and push out, tuned into endlessly repeating angry birds on his iPad, not even hearing Diamond’s breathy awe as adult cock spears his bowel. It’s all he can do to suck Diamond’s dick, his own short penis as hard as can be. Not about to be left out, Diamond mouths his twin’s undersized testicles and gnaws on boy-scrotum.
Suddenly, Royal lurches against Tiger’s back. Bottoms out before Tiger can squeal ‘fuck!’ He pulls away sharply and does it again. Grunts like a Taekwondo kick in the gut. Camera cutaway to show Python drummer’ ass impaled on every thick inch of lead guitarist’ cock. Both men groan as they start to fuck. Tiger and Diamond grip each other’s hips, boys along for the ride, busy fingers spreading spit. Python cluster-fuck #2,156!
After one crushing thrust from behind, Royal pushes deeply into Tiger. Swollen cockhead slams the turn in his colon.
“Aarrggghhh. Fucking hurt me why don’t you!”
Tiger wails around Royal’s throbbing erection, unable to move until the pain fades enough that he can breath. Not hearing his sperm donor cackle.
“You know you like it.”
Cocaine in his ass starts making him numb. Anaconda cock deep inside. Sometimes it’s better not feeling the monster. Lunatic Burroughs’ images float through his head; desire has nothing to do with it.
‘… two Arab women with bestial faces pull off the little blond French boy’s shorts and screw him with red rubber cocks. ‘The boy snarls, bites, kicks, collapses in tears as his cock rises and ejaculates.’
“Harder,” Tiger begs.
He knows all too well that penetrating deeper into his rectum affords him only a dull, full sensation. He needs pulverizing thrusts by his partner to achieve orgasm.
With eight years of practice, Royal torments boy-hole. Popping Tiger! Wet sloppy bursts of sheer pleasure as the distended head of his penis repetitively pumps in and out of Tiger’s dilated anus. Driving Tiger to preteen madness. Boy-writhing on the end of adult cock. Gasping as Royal turns his ass into a gaping hole as big as a quarter.
Only then does Royal apply direct pressure on the juvenile prostate gland. He works his cock to and fro. Right motion, right depth, Tiger starts trembling, feeling like he’s the star at a boy brothel in the Bronx. The one with the ‘Klinic’ sign outside the door. Most clients are esteemed medical practitioners.
He breathes like he’s running the mile, Then, it’s jabbing, because erratic movement through Tiger’s sphincter provides most of his sexual pleasure.
“Fuck me!”
Instantaneous ecstasy when Royal pulls him back, gripping hands on his pelvis secure him on the end of the thick hard cock. Gigantic cock embedded in twitching small boy, leaking its juice into the rectum, pumping the start of the colon. Shards of pain merge with overwhelming fullness.
“Don’t fucking stop.”
“Don’t stop fucking?” Rock teases, not moving. Making it last with Royal fucked in the middle.
Throbbing relief on the way as Royal squeezes, flexes, tests the quivering little sphincter clamped on his cock.
Tiger flinches and groans. ”Please… Higher.”
“Anal orgasm is all about angle,” Royal murmurs.
“Hitting his magic spot just right,” Rock adds. “Fuckin’ bump’s like a pea.”
“You know it. The trick’s feeling the pressure when he squeezes down.”
Bumping boy-prostate every second or third stroke. The squirming kid groans. Tiger soars towards orgasm. Shuddering spasms rip through his perspiring slim abdomen. Then, Royal’s cock reaches the end of his rectum. Tiger winces, shudders under a different kind of pressure. Writhes, twisting his pelvis to force the turn.
“Ngggghhhh… Ahhhh.”
“Take it,” Royal grunts. Thrusts hard into the juvenile colon.
Another inch enters.
“Go easy on Faggot Boy.”
Tiger’ balls back where they came from. Tiger’ dick jumping in Diamond’s mouth, desperate to spit seed that won’t exist for three years. Being colon-ized takes his breath away. His anus quivers, contracts, expands even more. More sensitive than cock head.
Tiger’s body is trim and taut, yet inside his rectum is a shuddering, sloppy mess. He can’t stop groaning. Electronic harmonicas. Ecstasy head spinning as his rectum sucks up cocaine.
‘...fifty ratty looking junkies squealing sick,
Running along behind a boy with a harmonica,
And there is THE Man on a cane seat’
”Fucking too deep,” he complains.
Only noise, words garbled as he pants. Carnivore throes as his pelvis thrashes. Pubic bone grinds against disemboweled boy-cunt. Grunting boy.
Endless panic. Ahhhhh ahhhhhh aahhhhhh ahhhhh...”
‘Throwing bread to the swans,
A fat queen drag walking his Afgan hound.’
Fucking William S. Burroughs. It’s all Tiger can think about, only he can’t hear the music. The first song Rock wrote with an adult-sized dildo shoved up Tiger’s ass. Barely four and groaning like crazy. That dildo all but eviscerated the kid, yet within an hour, it’d become part of his bowels.
There’s a rush deep down in his gut that precedes the slippery slope of immature climax. Ecstasy bearing down like an 18-wheeler on ice. Slippery slope turns to throbs, back arches, pelvic thrusts at his womb mate. Jerking his spit-covered loins while Royal’s blunt cock pulverizes his lower intestine. He still pushes back, little rump slapping adult groin.
“Sucking you,” Diamond splutters around less than three-inches of pistoning Python prick.
Man-boy love turns into frantic fucking. Abandoned to cock and ass pleasures. Beyond being joined, inseparable sex.
“Fuck. Fuck…Hhhhhhe hurts…..”
Always the same, on the edge, deep inside. Despite what he says, Tiger always goes apeshit. Muttering incoherent obscenities, he starts to orgasm mightily. Shaking and writhing as his tender boy-core bears the brunt of Rock’s desperate thrusts into Royal. Diamond dutifully drinks boy-piss dribbling out. Not a lot; it’s sweet and sour, and hot. Tangy like Mexican lemon-pop, swallowing more than he usually gets.
Set off by boygasm spasms, Royal tightly clutches Tiger, implanting his massive maleness deep inside ten-year-old ass. He erupts in the shuddering youngster. Thick molten gobs blast into boy-colon. Tiger feels nothing, no blistering thrilling rush, no cum-explosion. He does feel Royal’s spiky bristles crushed against his buttocks, well aware of the burning ache of his tightly stretched ring gripping the grease-coated base of Royal’s erection. Squeezes on cock with every muscle he’s got. Thicker than normal. Pulsing sporadically with each spurt of Python sperm .
“You did it already?” he murmurs when Royal groans loudly.
Triple climax with hair- trigger moments between them. Sodomy’s never been better. Unforgettable fuck; however, it’s one of many Tiger will never remember. It ends too soon for him. He loves the fullness until Royal extricates his softening shaft. Sucking noisily, a sure sign of sodomy over.
Diamond licks his lips, smiling as he studies the messy state of the union. After anal sex, semen and ass juice leak from his twin’s brutalized hole. Equally entertaining is his sperm donor’s penis. It droops, wet and shiny, not quite as huge. Shriveled, shaved balls. Fingering his still-impaled ass like a boy.
Diamond smiles now it’s over. Leans in and kisses his twin brother’s still erect cock. Licks the plump cherry-knob. Inhaling anal-aphrodisiasc, savoring slime leaking from boy-crack. Turned on by the wide-open hole.
“Your ass is a Federal disaster area, Tigger.”
Tiger feels it without touching, like a Louisiana swamp between his buttocks. Stretched anus like worn-out elastic. Sex slime coating his thighs. Cum oozing out. The Python bus is a condom-free zone.
“Fuck….”
“You want more cock, Python Boy?” Rock teases.
Royal grips his lover’s organ and splurges on kisses, tender pecks on Tiger’s bare shoulder. Again, Diamond sucks in his favorite boy dick. One finger inserted and another rubbing his brother’s greased crack. Tiger murmurs ‘nice’. Post coital bliss in the dark. Gurgling air escapes from Tiger’s aching rectum. He crawls away, still shaking. So loose inside, so fucking big. Nude little fem boy, finding solace in his part of the bed. Can’t stop from watching shadows.
Still joined, Rock and Royal are necking, making romance by proclaiming their love like teens in the back of a red Honda Civic.
“Deep?” Diamond asks, voice sotto.
“He fucked up my colon.”
Diamond brushes back dirty blond locks. Patience is a virtue for Python boys—colon sex takes time to get over.
“You’re beautiful.” Strokes his thumb across his twin’s sweaty forehead. “I mean it… really.”
Tiger smiles weakly. Diamond’s thumb touches lips, and he nibbles. Zany smile, licking the thumb and lying back like girl, letting man sperm discharge from his ass.
“Still hard, babe?” Royal snickers, out for an hour if not the rest of the night.
Diamond eyes shine bright. Gazing down. Boy-dicks are like little steel tubes. Naked twin, blinking tired, still up for more. He leans in and over, kisses. Plants his lips on Tiger’s sweet mouth, tantalizing fingers playing with sticky boy-cock, while they smooch at each other. Wet little tongue just poking out. French Hummingbird kisses, soft and gentle. Boy sex the way Tiger needs. Nose, cheeks, chin, lips, brow, eyes, lips, ears. Red straight hair merges with dirty blond curls.
“Fucking faggots.” Coming from Rock, it’s a term of endearment.
“Can I fuck you?” Diamond asks, thoughtful quiet.
Tiger shrugs, half undecided. He’s as loose as Burrough’s well-used Moroccan catamite, too tired to say ‘if you want.'
Diamond mounts his twin as soon as Tiger’s knees touch his shoulders. Musky goop greets the plump red knob of the underage lover. Diamond’s penis is fully extended. Excruciatingly hard, flesh can’t resist. In a heartbeat, his slender near-four inches slide into his brother’s slippery-cum heat. Up and pressed tight, in their favorite position. Boys in love, hot bare skin and obscene snake graffiti bond them together. In silence, smooth boy groin melds with smooth boy buttocks. Diamond’s penis is completely inside—Tiger didn’t even feel it go in.
They hug, synchronized breathing, conjoined by cock and still-distressed bowel. Gazing at each other in drug-induced haze. Starting slowly and sharing the feeling. No fervor in the early hours of the morning. Tightening in and around the other. Squishy, squeezing sex. Face to face fuck with flickering smiles. No shame being queer with each other.
“Slack ass,” Diamond teases.
Submissive Tiger smiles weakly and uses his boy-cunt the way nature intended. Clamps his ass on his brother’s erection. Sloppy seconds make his inflated bowels gurgle.
”You’re full of jizz, dude.”
Royal cum leaking out. They feel it between them, oozing more every time Tiger pushes down. Groin and crack, then inner thighs and perineum, finally streaking Tiger’s back. More proof that they’re Pythons. Their boy-loving sperm donors share everything.
Royal and Rock watch their offspring copulate, ‘red-haired, green-eyed boy, white skin with a few freckles’ playing at the dominant male, ‘little blond French boy’ offering his vaselined ass like a tart on a tray. Only his hands and arms move as he clutches the hyper-sexualized boy above him. Little knobby knees shift out, skinny frog thighs spread wide, Tiger’s normal position. Grasps handfuls of buttocks, forcing in Diamond’s cock. He likes it smaller, deeper.
Beautiful boys perform slither fuck six on a king-size bed lit by passing truck lights. Writhing naked boys with slender limbs, both too pale for midsummer night’s dreams. Earnest writhing in a full-body fuck, no skin left untouched as they pump penis and rectum together. In-out rhythm, slapping wet, sticky middles. Slippery thick Python semen lubricates the young rectum like no other. Pleasure fuck, pumping fast, making up for what Tiger missed as a sperm bank.
“Fucking rabbits,” Rock admires.
Near-four inches of boy-cock falls short filling Tiger’s boy- pussy, yet he clenches and winces as his twin stabs through his ravaged sphincter.
“Do his ass harder,” Royal encourages.
Hard and fast, not deep, is the key to boy orgasm. Tiger’s rectal spasms arrive recklessly, within moments of Diamond’s almost-dry cum, his pelvis bucking with little boy jerks. For a few frantic seconds he feels life is good, yet not what he needs to be a satisfied queer. Shivery trembling, they hold each other tightly, erect boy-cock still throbbing, comfortably embedded like a finger stuck up his ass. In the darkness, they kiss as courtesans. Boy love is gentle. Sweet sharing. Tongue and lips, saliva smearing on faces. Slowing down to pleasure pecks, hands barely moving on naked warm skin.
“Both of us are getting pierced tomorrow,” Tiger whispers. “I’m getting a wedding band, only I got to do Jagger whenever he wants.”
“Knot with him?” Diamond murmurs, breathless.
“Duh.”
From the other side of the bed, Rock chuckles. “Next time do him doggy, Diamond. So he gets used to backing up like a bitch.”
Boy anal sex in sloppy hiatus. That’s what happens when a boy’s ass is stretched by a man. Diamond stroking Tiger’s face. Underneath, little hands caress lean flanks. Tiger’s knees move out as his heels bump Diamond’s buttocks. Encouraging nudges, but the need to fuck dissipates fast at one am. They’ll do it again in the morning. Watched by their sperm donors, they kiss like Parisian whores, though more often than not they tongue wrestle for the sheer joy of it.
“Stay in him,” Royal says softly.
Too tired to argue, Diamond rolls off and curls up behind Tiger. His twin acquiesces to the change in position. Sleepily lifts his uppermost buttock to grant renewed access. He needs it as much as his twin. Angry red cock head rubs the length of his slimy crack, finds the hole, and jabs in. The second thrust reaches home base. He drifts off with his favorite boy-dildo.
10:20 a.m. Boys in Mexico
The outskirts of Tijuana in a Mexican summer. Been there done that, the magic is gone.
“Same old,” Tiger mutters.
Hills covered in hovels and smoldering heat haze is what he remembers from 13 months earlier, that and knotting with Jagger when he thought he was alone in the bus.
BEGIN FLASHBACK
Entre Corazon Y Mar (Between the Heart and Sea) Park, nine-year-old sexually impulsive Tiger gazes out at the deep dark-blue Pacific Ocean. Everyone else is doing music video retakes among sculptural slabs along a path proceeding up to a portal. Tiger’s portal is never so abused as that sticky-hot evening, when 96 pounds of over-sexed Doberman straddles his back, inserts his crimson-purple dog-dick. Fucks Tiger’s boy-bitch-ass faster than ever before. Then, it expands so much inside the delirious youngster that neither dare move… Tiger knots with Jagger for close to a half hour. Dog spunk dribbling down his trembling thighs, worrying about bleeding, or worse, instead of keeping watch over his shoulder. |
END FLASHBACK
“His cum’s making a mess in my pants,” Tiger complains when Diamond eases down in the seat beside him.
Wake up fuck just before dawn, but he never complains. Gentle sex has him whispering ‘more.’ He thrives on Rock’s careful thrusting. Incestuous sun-rising love with his sperm donor, sleepy tow-head with a smile. He’s tender, however, Rock is patient, barely moving for long minutes, never more than a few thrusts at a time. Waiting for his boy to adjust, discombobulating deep penetration without as much as a whimper.
Diamond sorely shifts position beside him, one leg bent, foot lodged under his thigh.
“You usually smile about that.”
Mocking twins share the same gentle jaw. Tiger’s nose is wider, his lips fuller.
“It was sweet. Like a ten.”
“For me too,” Diamond whispers.
Copious pre-cum coating Tiger butt-cheeks as the fat Python glans pops in and out of its hole. Bible thumpers would never believe how much a young boy can enjoy being pinned to the bed. Big, beautiful cock making a ten-year-old writhe.
Diamond writhed too, but on Royal’s Coke-bottle boy-dildo. The old fashioned classic Coke bottle, a stylized contoured cocoa pod, conveniently thinner in the middle. Distracting impersonal penetration, trying to force the shoulder inside. Anything but perfunctory plugging of a juvenile queer, ideal for a Python boy finally making boy-jizz. As intended, Diamond’ ass was impossibly wide afterwards. The same Bible thumpers would be shocked to know how much stretching young boys can take.
“I went apeshit, actually.” Tiger smirks, gorging on sticky bun.
Long slow sodomy, most of it with the head just inside, the same way Rock fucked him when he was in sex-kindergarten. Five years later, he pushes back and rotates his pelvis to get the pressure near perfect. Cock-head pumping right on his tender trained node, ecstatic impulses, strung out on anal delight. Plaintive little yelps letting everyone on the bus know he’s being fucked the way he likes.
“Sore ass?” he asks when Diamond wriggles again.
Of a thousand things a boy might say on a bus on the outskirts of Tijuana, ‘sore ass’ is hardly surprising. Diamond chews Marshmallow, the plant not the candy. More Althaea officinalis root in his rectum, sticky gelatinous mucilaginous herb. Blood’s surefire cure for an over-used ass.
“About like yours,” Diamond replies.
He can’t help smirking about the celebratory fuck; the last time Tiger is fucked as a kid even if his nuts recede into his crotch.
“Willoughby and Sand watched through the door.”
“Fuckin’ homo addicts. Ain’t no shame in the anal sex act.”
“Duh!” Tiger smiles about it, yet again.
Nothing wrong with a ten-year-old boy being pleasured by thick adult cock, and losing his childhood in the process. He even rocked his hips so they’d know he’s into it, twisting his rectum on Rock’s stubborn cock. Royal focuses Python’s Go-pro-cam on Tiger’s pretty smut-face, records it all for a cold winter night, from Burroughs’ little French boy, French kissing his sex-partner, to father and son in a fucking queer frenzy. The highlight is high definition footage of Python’s lead guitar player licking cum from his boy’s nether end, big tongue lapping Tiger’s crack, slipping into wide open boy-hole to make him giggle.
Rock even pulled out his snake so they could see how far it went in.
Now, Sand and Willoughby are sitting behind the driver, joking about Tiger’s backdoor performance. The video playing on the overhead monitor sets a new standard for boy pornography. The climax is Python’s newest homo-addition ingesting man cock…
“Wheeeeee!” Tiger giggles, seeing himself on screen.
“You hoovered spunky dick,” Diamond giggles.
Close up of Tiger licking off his very own ass juice is as haunting as witnessing a virgin boy’s deflowering. Sweet and sweaty, tired after being impaled on the end of his sperm-donor’s cock, yet he sucks energetically. Thrilling for a boy to do that. Hot slimy man-cock, still half-hard. It smells and tastes like pizza with anchovies.
“Positive reinforcement, Ace.”
Right up there on the overhead for all to view. Tender little tongue going back and forth from head to shaved base. Anyone can see it’s distracting for Tiger’s middle-aged playmate. Rock’s hard-on returns with bloated vengeance. Mouth fuck underway, the end of his love-tool bumping Tiger’s tonsils. Mouth full of pervert-cock for close to a traffic-jammed hour.
All the while, Python’s drummer switches the camera back and forth, providing views of his offspring’s rectal condition through the end of the half-inserted coke-dildo. Fluttering green eyes as he pumps it in. Diamond grunts with each plunge. Offering himself with his cheeks spread apart. He’s ready to squat and finish impaling, only Royal won’t let up plugging the young homo. Deeper, until the red-haired boy groans. Turning boy-ass into man-pussy while Diamond orally stimulates his womb-mate’s shriveled balls. Sucks silken skin wrinkles, both boy-beans behind razor-sharp teeth. Gnawing on testicles and gawking at his twin’s gaping sex hole.
Just outside the doorway, Willoughby masturbates throughout the spontaneous orgy, thinking about his overdue colonoscopy to delay spraying his seed. Sand just watches, mesmerized by the boy he loves from a distance.
1:00 p.m. Boys in Tattoo Parlor
Downtown Tijuana is a blur, raucous, crowded, and dangerous, made worse when Royal directs Teddy down the wrong street. Barrio drug thrugs on their corners of turf watch the Python entourage pass. Tiger and Diamond press noses to bullet-proof glass.
Two middle-aged American pederasts stop trolling for brown-skinned Mexican boys when they see two familiar dark-tinted faces, wave and shout and run after the bus. Python boys smirk at each other and pretend to leer back, sending elated shivers through the infatuated pedo fans. Flirting until Rock looms over them with a knowing smirk of his own.
“You’re looking happy, Sugar boy?”
Tiger looks up and grins. “Your sperm’s still leaking out.”
“You know you fuckin’ love it.”
Bizarre junior rock star with dusky Emo eye shadow. Iridescent glitter flecking his cheeks. Tight shiny black latex mini-shorts and a camo-USMC tee shirt. Underneath, the youngest Python’s wearing a skimpy black two-piece Spandex bikini. The top’s almost halter. The bottom is g-string, so tight in his crack it stops sex slime from slicking the latex.
“Last chance, Pretty Boy. You want your dick pierced, you know the deal.”
“I knot with Jagger whenever you want,” Tiger says brightly.
“And?”
Tiger smiles. “I promise to fuck only you.” Happy and hopeful now that it’s out in the open. He giggles, “And Royal can do me too.”
“Not that.”
“He means shout it out, homo,” Diamond says, still making goofy faces at touristas.
“Probably shouldn’t fuck with their heads,” Rock chides with the bus stopped at traffic lights. Tousles dirty blond hair. “Ready?”
Tiger breathes deep and bellows at the top of his soprano voice. “I’m a homo.”
“I can’t hear you,” Royal calls from the front of the bus.
“Drumming’s fucked up his hearing,” Diamond snickers, mocking shell-shock and ruefully rubbing hands on his ears.
Before Tiger gulps a second deep breath, Rock leans over Diamond and hoists his progeny up from the window seat. Hands on his shoulder steer him up the aisle to the front of the bus. Adoring Pythons chuckle as he passes. When the prepubescent queer stops his march to manhood, he makes eye contact with a much-amused Royal, whose lascivious eyes quickly lower to the bulge in black latex girl-pants.
“Show us what you got underneath, Sugar boy,” Royal rasps.
Obedient Tiger pops shiny five nickel-plated studs in slow motion, opens the front of latex mini-shorts. Stiff Sugar-boy Junior pokes into daylight.
Royal grins at Rock. “Fucking small for a Python, ain’t it?”
“What he’s missing, Bro, he doesn’t need.”
The bus door concertinas into sin. Tiger flashes boy-junk and screams the requisite vow.
Pubic Temptation is THE body-art destination south of the border, numero uno for no-questions-asked, no-paperwork tattoos that adorn private places. American tourists queue for recycled dentist chairs with chartreuse vinyl. Each chair comes equipped with a flouncy Mexi-tattooer, working magic on a Martini machine, $199.99 per hour. Choose among 5,300 different designs or unique art done with Photoshop. Nowhere is off limits, in high definition and 1024 colors.
Extreme piercing is priced at $250 per hole (starter jewelry included) by the skilled Maxim, a bearded want-to-be-Satanist with pedophilic pretensions. He’s preceded by Manuel, his creepy black-eyed fem-boy assistant, pushing a shiny bain-marie with a portable steam heat autoclave underneath. Fast, efficient and sanitized prep, like a fast food franchise run by the FDA.
Side by side in a backroom suite, Tiger and Diamond lie face down, vanilla butts up for their tattoo artistes. Two hours in, a dancing Harlequin decorates Diamond’s right buttock—Royal’s nickname at Harvard Divinity School was Joker.
Tiger’s tummy is growling after he’s been tattooed. His posterior is marked for posterity. Nothing fancy or as intricate as Diamond’s Harlequin. A Vasarely-inspired VORTEX is pedophile Op-art. It covers his boy-butt and then some with black quadrilaterals spiraling into his crack. Spread apart, four black rotated squares define ‘target.’ Its meaning is clear for a bottom-boy lying on chartreuse vinyl—rectal rapture lies just inside.
Finally, Tiger takes his turn in the laid-back recliner. Black latex shorts and Spandex micro-bikini bunched at sockless feet. Thighs hiked wide and strapped for maximum access. Manuel slathers his penis with antibacterial spray and a liberal coating of pre-procedure anesthetic cream.
“It’ll keep you from getting a stiff,” Rock says in jest.
His heart is still doing palpitations after watching his boy-lover’s butt transformed by Martini. He can see erogenous black spirals appear and disappear whenever he wants.
Anxious for the premature finale, every glance down restores Tiger’s erection
“Like a boner is remotely possible after that,” he quips, butterflies jiving in his unsettled belly.
Thinking he ought to be used to strange fingers grasping his privates. Luckily, Manuel’s an expert at hand jobs.
“You know you’ll like it once you’re used to it, Sugar-boy. ”
“What’s not to like, except my ass being sore the rest of the week?”
He still can’t believe Diamond already has a stainless steel barbell stuck through the end of his boy-dick. His sibling has spent the last 35 minutes sniffling in Royal’s lap, Cerulean chinos and skimpy skin-tone boxers still pulled down to his knees. Part of him wishes he hadn’t had it done. Itching like crazy now that the Sustaine Blue Gel is wearing off. At least the bleeding has stopped.
Having finished a double labia piercing in the adjoining room, Maxim returns, chewing Mexican jelly babies.
“This one gets a wedding band under the head, right?”
Before Rock can affirm, he wipes Swipe across Tiger’s little dick, cigar-stained fingers massaging it in. It’s a long way from being a fistful, not like his twin.
“Takes a while for the Lido to work.” No point in stating what’s obvious; Maxim is floating on meth. “Verily, I say unto you, look at Junior!” He gives the little tiger a squeeze.
Not unbiased, Rock responds nippily, “It’s a baby ass-fucker.”
“I’ve seen toddlers with bigger equipment. Cute though, how it got cut on an angle.” Maxim tantalizes the minuscule glans, checking the stretched-out frenulum. “Sure as shit, it’s tight underneath.”
“What’s Tiger lost isn’t worth having,” Royal jokes, giving his boy-lover an extra hard cuddle.
“Skinned is the best thing for a bottom.” Rock thumbs through a catalog, looking at modified cocks and balls. “I want him to have a head-collar with erotic impact.”
“No problem. I’ve got starter rings for babies on up.”
“Yeah verily, I say unto thee, the little Harlequin screams sexy,” Rock admires.
“You get many kids in here?” Royal asks between perving on Tiger’s freshly tattooed boy butt and cuddling Diamond.
Whispers between them are like a father and son sharing secrets about Mommy’s bad moods every month.
“Hell yeah! You’d freak if you knew how many Hollywood kids have genital jewelry. Their parents bring them in for clit and dick studs. A lot of boys end up getting a glans band.”
Maxim twirls latex-sheathed fingertips on the undersized flesh-tube, getting a buzz from feeling up Python’s Adonis.
“Nervous?”
Tiger glances at Diamond. “I am now.”
Maxim laughs before fingering puny boy-nuts. “It’ll look neat when I’m done.”
Tiger works up a half-hearted smile. “Cut dicks are ‘neat’. I want to look queer, dude.”
“Trust me, it’ll be raging homo. Juvenile dicks are hot with a collar.” Maxim steals a sideways glance at his half-witted helper. “I nailed Manny’s phallus when he was no older than you. That’s what the Aztecs used, you know.”
Jigsaw-puzzled at meaningless words, half-naked Tiger mutters, “Nailed?”
“I stuck a gold spike through his pecker. Like a nail, it was. My archeologist-friend says the Aztecs used them for tongue-holes. He loaned me one he found at El Tepozteco. It wasn’t sharp, so we heated it on the stove. Manny said it hurt like a bitch. Show ‘em Manny.”
With a shy giggle, Manuel unfastens brass buttons, drops his fag-flower jeans in the glass-windowed studio.
Rock leans to look at teenager-prick. “Holy fuck!”
Manuel shows it off, giving the pretty boy in the chair the longest look. Tiger gulps, lips parched in a flash. Twelve holes circle the foreskin, each fitted with a tiny barbell.
Royal chews it over. “Right there’s a reason to leave a kid’s foreskin intact.”
Maxim flicks Tiger erection, looking at Rock hovering nearby. “Who snipped your kids?”
“The horny red head over there got cut by a voodoo witch doctor. A Hollywood plastic surgeon did the cutie.”
“Bugger me! I never seen a dick that stretched.”
“He gets off rubbing it on the pillow.”
Diamond grins. “I heard real tight underneath is s’posed to make cum shoot out farther.”
“Guess you’ll find out in a couple of years,” Maxim snickers. “Feeling numb yet?”
Tiger ventures a glance at adult fingers pawing his privates. “I guess.”
Maxim pinches boy-dick under the glans. “Yeah, you’re ready. I’m supposed to ask if you’re sure you want to be pierced, like anyone gives a crap,” he adds, already reaching for the swivel tray.
This time, the only things laid out are sterilized forceps, a bottle-cork and a 12-gauge surgical steel needle, hollow center so it punches through the skin.
“He wants it,” Rock says, smirking down. “You’ll look hot with the head in a collar.”
In case Tiger flinches, the forceps pinch delicate frenulum skin, constraining a fold under his glans.
“What’s your name?”
“Tiger.”
He barely feels the needle jab through his frenulum. It sticks into the cork nearly an inch. A quick twist and it’s out again and there’s a 12-gauge hole punched through Tiger-dick.
“Cute nickname. Your real name, I mean.”
“Tiger Python.”
“Seriously?” Already swabbing the puncture with coagulant cream.
Tiger nods. It’s the only name he’s known. His birth certificate is yuppified, Skye Ryder. Tiger looks bewildered. Diamond, aka Shane Masters, mutters ‘mother-fucker’ from behind.
All twelve eyes are watching the hands at Tiger’s bared groin. Deftly inserting starter titanium, a thin ring with balls, one on either side of his freshly pierced penis, choking the glans for masturbatory delight.
“So you’re the snake boys? I heard about your show in Phoenix. Some hot fucking shit!”
“We’re playing Club Extasis tonight,” Rock says.
“Calle Larroque. I’m there, man. How cool is that?” Maxim asks, dabbing away a spot of bright red blood, rubbing blue gel to stem after-effect sensation.
Tiger fashions a smile from a frown, glad he’s bleeding nowhere near as much as Diamond. The collar is so tight against his glans it makes it bulge out. A little red ball like a cherry perches on the end of his undersized prick. Obscene to the max.
Boy dick begins to erect and he panics. “Fuck!”
The adrenalin rush is over before Maxim applies gauze and a red rubber band to hold it in place.
“It’ll stop in a minute.”
Rock helps Tiger get up from the chair, grinning and as proud a father could be. “I told you it wouldn’t hurt.”
“I wouldn’t mind if it did,” Tiger smiles, equally proud, trying to look over his shoulder at the tattoo on his rear.
Rock fondles dirty-blond curls before he stoops to pull up his offspring’s bikini and shiny short pants. Close up view of limp Tiger-dick. Licking his pedo-lips at the suckable morsel. Like a miniature cock-ring, titanium crimps his glans enough that it turns crimson, definitively enhancing his stubby shaft. With beads either side and a bias-sliced foreskin, the kid will nut faster than ever.
“I won’t be able to leave you alone.”
“So, no Jagger right?”
“Wrong, Sugar-boy. You’ll be knotted as soon as we get back to Memphis.”
Unamused Tiger growls, “My butt won’t stop itching.”
“You ought to be used to itching,” Rock laughs. “The good news, your tattoo will get you a late lunch at Elementos.”
Elementos is on Calle Sonora, a charismatic house behind a filigree gate. The best osobuco in town, with a tree growing right through the main dining room.
Outside, the sun is past overhead. There’s no sign of the Python tour bus. Calle Sonora is too far to walk in 92 degrees. Local buses are crammed full. Taxis weave in and out of the traffic, siesta-headed in the opposite direction.
With the tour bus parked at Parque Morelos, Rock and Royal are considering transportation alternatives when a black Lincoln Continental pulls up at the curb. A dark-tinted window slides silently into the door. Smirking nappy-head leans out. Beaver teeth vie for Colgate abuse.
“Lesbian bitch.” Royal sounds like a pissed-off marine.
“Looking for your bus, Mr. Ryder?” ‘Lesbian bitch’ has never felt passion. Her lips kiss mirrors when she dates herself.
“I changed my name when I stopped renting trucks,” Rock replies, pointing his middle finger at azure sky.
“Due process requires your real name.”
Like a boy drawn to red things, Rock steps up the limo. “What due fucking process?”
“Consider yourself served, Mr. Ryder. You have a court arraignment on Monday. Federal Court, Central District of California. Magistrate Judge William Bolt presiding.”
“Fuck you. What are the charge?”
“Tax evasion for starters.”
“Since when have I not paid taxes?”
“Since two years ago, Mr. Ryder.”
A bald little man with Gestapo eyes gets out from the other side of the limousine, along with the driver, a towering Tutsi imported from Rwanda on a one-year perpetual Obama visa. He stands by the limo, one hand on his 9mm-equipped hip.
“I have court papers for Ryder and Masters.” Gestapo eyes has Heinrich Müller lips.
He hands Rock a wad of legal documents, another destined for Royal. “Mr. Ryder, you’ll also be charged with reckless behavior, child endangerment, providing minors with dangerous drugs, and malicious intent to commit bodily injury. We witnessed all of that personally. You might need a lawyer.”
“Go fuck your mother in Israel!”
Two meters of towering black bodyguard steps between them, upper arms as thick as Rock’s thighs. Glaring at the band of musical deviants, right hand over his holster making his personal pledge of allegiance to Beretta.
“Tell that to the judge on Monday, Mr. Ryder,” lesbi-bitch snarls like a pit bull.
“Our accountant pays fucking quarterly estimates for both of us,” Royal interjects. “He never misses a payment.”
“Nothing sent to the Department of the Treasury for two years, asshole. NOTHING! Nine a.m. sharp, That’s Spring Street in L.A., by the way.”
“No fucking way.”
“Blow it off and I’ll get a directed verdict, asshole, and a warrant for your arrest.”
“If I was you, I’d plan to be there,” Gestapo eyes sneers, seemingly enjoying a private joke.
“You better get moving. Your bus is on the way to Texas. It left an hour ago.”
Rock glares back at the bitch, grim disbelief as he reaches for his iPhone, custom made in Taiwan from silver-grey titanium. Tutsi-boy reacts like Rock’s pulling a pistol. His right fist sends Rock’s head spinning into stunned delirium. The cellphone clatters on cracked concrete paving. For a moment, Rock stares. Tutsi’s Doc-Marten stomps it to trash before it steps back to chauffer-mode.
“You impounded our shit?”
He’s greeted by a giNger smirk. “Your *shit* is partial security for your unpaid taxes, Ryder.”
“We have a show in San Diego tonight.” Quiet calm, yet Rock’s fists clench to white knuckles.
Sensing impending fury the equal of what happened in Kalamazoo, Tiger and Diamond step back, twin-brother-huddle like they did in the womb.
A moment before the dark-tinted window slides silently up, the nappy-head lesbian bitch snaps back to her Harlem heritage. “Get a lawyer, ass-hole! Oh, and good luck proving your kids aren’t abused. A Child Protective Services doctor will be taking a look at them.”
“Fat fucking chance!”
“Lesbian fucking bitch,” Royal bellows after the departing limousine.
Royal catches his breath after the limo is out of sight. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Phil Graham is a fucking cunt!” Rock snarls. “He won’t be able to fuck shit when I’m done with his dick. What are you looking at?” he growls at the tourist audience. He turns to the twin-huddle. “Stay the fuck here.”
2:10 p.m. Boys in the Church
Python boys sit in pitiful shade, under a candy storefront overhang. Watching and waiting as pedestrian traffic dwindles to tourists.
“Should’a brought your iPhone, dumb-ass,” Diamond grumbles.
“I had it under the pillow while he was doing me this morning,” Tiger snaps for the third time. “You shouldn’ta busted yours.” He extends his hand down to his thigh. “My thing stings like crazy.”
“No shit. Mine hurts something awful.”
“That blue stuff’s wearing off.”
“You didn’t get a huge fucking hole punched through your piss tube,” Diamond grumps. He turns to glass, looking at Mexican candy while he scratches his crotch.
His needle went in the meatus and came out the frenulum. The barbell is curved, nearly blocking the urethra. Every piss will be intense, every orgasm mind-blowing sexual pleasure.
“They’re pissed.” Tiger-balls are tingling, wrinkled and tight, demanding a fondle.
“That black bitch, now I know why cunt stinks!”
“Fucking Phil Graham screwed us over!”
Across the road, three pure-white minivans disgorge the San Diego Salvation Choir. Nineteen men and women lug battered instruments and equipment, including a Sony Studio IV Betacam from the 90s. They form a semi-circle, paying homage to Jesus-crucified-in-plastic; blue and white fiberglass mannequin nailed to a four-by-four cross.
They play a set of six Gospel favorites, a choir of ten singing their hearts out.
“They can’t fucking sing.”
Tiger parodies between sets, skipping about, mixing rock and Holy Roller until Diamond joins in.
“Jesus loves me, yes I know,
Because the Bible tells me so.
Jesus squeezes, he’s my guy,
Every hug leaves me asking why.”
Sweet Hallelujah! Python boys get a lot more interest than the San Diego Salvation Choir.
2:35 p.m.