Date: Sat, 14 Nov 2009 15:52:12 -0800 (PST) From: William Rush Subject: The Times I Remember Disclaimer The content and opinions expressed in this story are not necessarily the personal view of the story's author and not necessarily those of anyone responsible for this archive or website. This story contains depictions of sexually explicit erotic acts. In some cases these acts may be of a homosexual nature, if this is illegal where you are at, please stop reading now. This story depicts simulated sexual acts between adults and minors. If this type of material is offensive to you, then stop reading now. By reading further you declare or affirm that you are not a minor or in the company of a minor and are entitled to read this material, furthermore you declare that you will not hold the author and the archive or website publishing this story liable for any damages incurred from reading this story. The author grants permission for this work and all his other works to be reposted on any site as long as the site does not charge for membership and as long as it is legal to post the story on that site and that there is no illegal intent when posting the story. If a site charges membership, permission must be granted prior to allowing the story to be published. The author retains all rights to the story and permission to publish this story does not alter or transfer those rights. I also want to make my normal speech now. This is a work of fiction and as such, should be treated as that. I do not endorse anything that happens in this story, nor do I encourage anyone to participate in any activities like this. This is fantasy. If you feel that you are in danger of molesting or harming a child, then you should seek immediate psychiatric help. Remember in most countries there's nothing illegal about having those thought, but if you act on them that's an entirely different matter. Any similarities to real people or places, is completely coincidental. This story is a work of fiction. The Times I Remember by William Rush I think we all come to a point in our lives when we believe that thing could've been better, that life has somehow cheated us. I'm not different. I think about it all the time, wondering if, somehow, I've lost my chance to do something other than just live my life day to day. When I was a child things were much simpler. I lived day to day, never wondering about yesterday, but only that moment, and for the most part I was happy. People who know me, who really know me, have asked me time and again what made me the way I am and I honestly can't answer them. Whether it was genetics or predispostion is not for me to say, and I would not even begin to suppose. Instead I believe it's easier just to tell you what happened and have you decide. It began a long time ago, at least it seems to be a long time now. I suppose time like most other things is relative. I can still close my eyes and see those moments in my life that I think have defined me as a man and perhaps as a boy. That's the funny thing about humanbeings, we have the ability to see our past with such clarity, but rarely do we take the time to examine it honestly. What you read now is true and honest, as least as honest as any man can be with himself. Perhaps I should feel more shame for what I am and what I have done, but I will let you decide that. As most stories go, I will start at the beginning, or at least what I believe was the beginning. I was the last child my parents would have and I had two brothers and a sister, all older than me. My father lived with us, off and on, constantly being driven from our lives by my mother, who lapsed between insanity and lucidity like waves washing up on a beach. My father, in most respects was a good man, but was also a deviant by nature. My family was the product of his second marriage, his first ending when he was sent to prison for seven years for smuggling marijauna into Canada. I was born when he was forty, an afterthought in my parent's marriage. My mother, as I've mentioned, was a woman suffering from her own demons, a woman who was terribly opressive and completely oblivious to the world around her. She rarely saw the things that were happening in our house for what they were, but rather what she wanted them to be. My brother, Lenny, was born seven months after my parents were married. It was almost scandalous at that time, but his birth came in the late sixties, so things like that could be forgotten, especially when they brought a first born son. When my own life deviated from the norm, I was only six, my brother Davie was eleven monthis older than me, we were born during the time when my parents believed they loved each other again. For several years befor that, they had slept in seperate beds, staying together only for the sake of my oldest siblings, my sister Lauren who was six years my senior, at the time twelve, and my brother Lenny, seven years my senior, who was thirteen. Everyone in my family, except for Lenny, had dark hair and green eyes, Lenny, somehow cursed with a dormant gene, had light reddish blonde hair with blue eyes. In those days children weren't chubby, we were allowed to enjoy the world and play. In fact my brothers and I were perfect little specimens of childhood, slender, with just a hint of boyish muscle. We lived in the country, on a small trailer set down on three acres by a lake, the perfect place for a child to work off all the excitement of the day. The trailer had three bedrooms, one for my brother's and I, one for my sister, and one for my parents. When I first learned about sex, I was five and sitting on the couch in my living room, looking at a magazine showing a woman with her lips wrapped around a man's impossibly large cock. She was staring up at him and I couldn't help but think she enjoyed it. There were other magazines as well, one cover showed a man with a teenage boy who was nearly a man. I looked inside the magazine and found the teenager also had the man's cock in his mouth, but he didn't seem to be enjoying it as much. On the next page I saw the man's cock push inside his bottom, each picture showing it going deeper, the teenager's reaction confused me, I couldn't tell if it was hurting him or making him feel good. I examined the pictures closesly, trying to figure out what was going on and why, learning for the first time that penises could be used for more than just peeing. If I had not been caught perhaps I could've continued my education then, but my mother found me and beat me, as she was often prone to do. "You're just like your father," she said, after she was done. I danced in her grasp, sobbing, rubbing my bottom. I thought it strange that the magazines would be left out in the open if I wasn't supposed to look at them. I had no way of knowing, as I do now, that it was my father's attempt to pervert us and twist us in his own image, that his lust was not for our bodies but for our innocence. Having come from a family rife with incest and perversity, he saw no point in hiding those things he believed were already in plain sight. It would be a month between that beating and my first taste of sex, my birthday would pass and with another year under my belt, my curiosity only grew. I had gone to my room to collect my toy pistol, intent on hunting down the imaginary Indians roaming my backyard. When I opened the door I saw that Lenny was leaning back on his bed, a stack of my father's magazines sitting beside him, his circumcised penis, which looked like a larger version of my own, sticking straight up, gripped tightly in his fist. I was slightly awed by the size of it. He was already six inches long at thirteen. His cock was still on the slender side, though, and unlike the men in the magazines he only had a a few thin reddish colored hairs around the base of his dick. "What are you doing?" I asked, watching as he continued to stroke his cock up and down, oblivious to my presence. "Get out," he hollered, pulling his shorts up as he suddenly realized someone was watching. "Why aren't you outside?" "This is my room too," I said. "I can play in here." "Fine," he said, looking nervously into the hallway. "Just get in here and close the door." I closed the door, wondering why he had been tugging on his penis, then, realizing I didn't understand why my brother did half the things he did, I let it pass and walked over and grabbed a magazine from the stack. My father's tastes were obviously becoming more and more sordid. On the cover a woman was being mauled by several men, their hands grabbing her breasts, shoving fingers inside of both of her holes, one of the men's penises was even in the woman's mouth. "They have big pee-pees," I said. "Give me that," my brother said, his futile attempt to shield my young mind from the confines of my family's lurid world. "No," I said, but he had already pulled the magazine free. "You're too little to look at these," he said, pushing me away, his slick hand leaving spittle and something else on my shoulder. I wiped it off and gave him a dirty look. I walked over and sat on the bed I shared with Davie and sulked, watching him flip the pages of the magazine he was reading. I couldn't understand why no one would let me see what was inside those pages. What was so special about what they were doing? My brother looked at me for a second, then back at the magazine laid out on his bed. He did this for awhile, glancing at me and then the magazine, rubbing his crotch through his pocket. I could tell he was thinking of something devious. "I'm sorry," he said suddenly, breaking the silence, "if you want, you can look at this one with me." I stared at him for a second and then said, "No. You're mean." "Fine," he said. "I don't care, but this is a really cool picture." My curiosity got the better of me and I walked over and stood next to my brother's bed. In the picture, a man and a teenager were sitting together, holding each other's penises. "Why are they doing that?" I asked. "Because it feels good," my brother said. "They're jerking off." I had no idea what he meant, but not wanting him to think I was stupid, I just nodded. "You want to try it," he asked, this strange look on his face. "Does it really feel good?" I asked. "Yeah," he said, reaching out to unbutton my cut-off jeans. "Really good." I tried to pull away, but he grabbed me by one of the belt-loops and held me still. "Quit squirming," he said, slipping my shorts and underwear down past my slim hips. "You'll like it, I swear." "I don't want to," I said, as his finger softly pulled my tiny penis away from my body. "It'll be fun," he said, letting me go so he could slide his shorts and underwear off. I watched as his stiff teen prick popped back out into the open, a drop of clear fluid leaking from the tip. A shudder ran through my body, something inside me knowing that this was naughty, something forbidden. I felt his hand tug on my tiny little prick again, stimulating the sensitive nerves, causing the blood to coarse into my immature sex. He pulled me down on the bed so I was laying next to him, he smiled as he spit on his fingers, then rubbed it on my penis until it was slick, shiny, and stiff, standing barely two inches long. He watched me, curious whether or not it would have any effect on my slim little body. It did. Almost immediately I began to feel a slight tingle, almost as if someone was tickling it inside. It felt good, but also uncomfortable, like I had to go to the bathroom. "Stop," I said, trying to sit up, but he pushed me back down. "It's okay," he said. "Doesn't it feel good?" "I don't know," I said. "It itches." He laughed and started to stroke my penis faster, even as my own hands clawed at his, trying to protect it from his firm grip. "Take your hands away," he said. "No," I said. "It tickles, stop." "Just a little longer," he said, slapping my hand away. "Don't hit me," I said, rubbing the back of my hand. "Keep your hands away and I wont," he said. I stopped looking at him, closing my eyes as I laid back on the bed, resigned to my fate and the increasing urgency of his fingers. I wasn't sure how it felt, because I had never felt anything like it before. I wasn't even sure if it felt good, all I knew was that he was causing my little body to become overwhelmed with unbearable tingles. "Do you feel it," he asked, looking down at me, my eyes squeezed shut, a pained expression washing over me as the sensations grew almost too much for me to bear. "It hurts," I said. "It doesn't hurt," he said in his defense, "Just wait." I raised my head to look at my little penis caught between his thumb and fingers. He leaned over and let a thin stream of spittle drip down onto the tiny acorn shaped head. He smiled at me, obviously happy with my reaction. He continued to stroke me, even as I felt the muscles in my tummy and thighs start to stiffen uncontrollably. As the sensations grew, I closed my eyes shut, my mind trying so hard to escape the overwhelming itch spreading throughout my body. And then it happened, just like he said, I felt my little dick begin to twitch and suddenly a sensation unlike anything I'd felt before shot through my body. I cried, literally, tears streaming from my eyes as I begged him to stop, the feeling too much for me understand. My hands tried to pull his fingers away, but he kept stroking my little rod, deaf to my pleading. "There it is," he said in an excited voice. "Doesn't it feel good?" I couldn't answer him, I just thrashed around, raising my hips off the bed, trying to escape his grasp, even as a part of me wanted it to continue, caught in that small glimmer of pleasure forcing it's way through the unbearable sensations, spasm after spasm washing through my body, like a flood. I cursed my body and pleaded with it to stop, not understanding why it was betraying me. It seemed to last forever before the feeling finally started to slip away, leaving in its place that itching sensation I knew I couldn't scratch. "Stop," I finally said. "Please, it tickles too much." He patted me on my stomach and smiled. He looked down at my stiff, sore little two inch penis, and ran his finger over the tip. "You had a good one," he said. I didn't know if I would call it good, in fact I wasn't sure what I would call it. "My turn," he said, as I laid still, trying to recover. He knelt beside me on the bed, getting his cock ready, smearing it with spittle. He looked at me, then at my softening little rod, my fingers tenderly squeezing it, to make sure it was still okay. "Did you like it," he asked as he stroked his dick in his adolescent fist. "It felt really funny," I said. "I don't want anymore of those." He smirked, certain that I didn't know what I was talking about, not understanding how overwhelming a dry orgasm can be for a small child, only thinking about the sensations his own sperm filled orgasms brought to his young teenage body. "Do me," he said, grabbing my hand and placing it on his impossibly stiff dick, "stroke it." I obeyed my brother, he was bigger than me and forceful, dominant even, he had always been that way. He was the kind of boy that would sit on your chest until you told him he was right, I knew that I wasn't going to get out of that room until he got his way. Uncertain what to do, I just pulled on his penis, gripping it roughly with my hand, my fingers barely wrapped around it. "Not like that," he said, as if I should know what to do, "slide it, that's why it's supposed to be slippery." I nodded and did what he said, sliding my hand along the soft skin, stroking across the large pink head, which seemed out of place on his still barely teenaged frame. He shuddered, gripping my hand to make me stroke faster. I thought it took him forever to cum. I looked at him, his furrowed brow and intense stare, almost as if he was angry. He groaned, thrusting his hips. I thought I was hurting him and pulled my hand away. He gripped me by the wrist, almost painfully, and pulled my hand back to his slippery cock. "Don't stop," he said, panting, "I'm almost there." I watched him, slightly awed by the effect that I was having on his body. He moaned again, and again I thought I was hurting him, it was this soft moan, almost as if he was going to cry, then he arched his back and lifted his bottom off his legs and cried out. A spurt of juice shot from his body and landed on my arm, I took my hand away in shock, thinking he was peeing on me. "Don't stop," he cried, frightening me even further. He gripped his stiff rod and pointed it at my body, his mouth hanging open as more juice shot from the tip and landed on me. "Oh god," he said, panting as he began to regain control of his body and mind. "You never stop until it's over." "Sorry," I said. "It's okay," he said, smiling, as if he had just gotten a brand new Christmas present and perhaps he had. That was the beginning of our relationship together. That same day he caught me in the field while I was playing with Davie, and asked me to come see something. I knew what he wanted me to see and told him no. He insisted, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me back to our bedroom. My mother lay on the couch, half asleep from pills and wine. "You boys play nice," she said slurring her words, barely opening her eyes. "We will," Lenny said. In just a few weeks the unbearable nature of my boyish climaxes diminished and I learned to look forward to our little games. They became more insistent. I wanted to feel that almost painful bliss and even though I had learned how to bring that pleasure to my body by myself, it always seemed more naughty and mischievously good when I shared it with Lenny. I loved to see his face screwed up tight, his body thrust towards me as his cum showered across his body. More than once it had landed on my face and lips. I was becoming familiar with the slightly salty taste of his juice. What was once a disgusting act, became more like an inescapable circumstance. On those occasions when we were especially naughty, he would stand above me, stroking his angry penis, I laid still, watching his sticky seed shoot out and cascade across my pale chest and dribble down my tummy, until it pooled in my pubis, slickening my own stiff little rod. It was only a month or so after that first time that the games escalated. He showed me a picture of a teenager sucking on a man's thick cock, the man staring down at the boy with a look of awe and lust, something I could now identify with ease. "I want to try that," Lenny said, clearly not asking me. "I don't know," I said. "I don't want you to pee in my mouth." "I'm not going to pee in your mouth, dummy," he said. "Besides I'll do you first." I watched him as I laid back on his bed, my penis standing up stiff. Even though I was nervous, I felt a longing to feel this new sensation, wondering how it would compare to the bliss of his fingers. When his mouth enveloped my rod, I groaned, it felt so good, the warmth, the almost rough sensation of his tongue as it ran over the ultra sensitive tip of my penis. He removed me from his mouth and asked, "does it feel good?" "Don't stop," I squealed, putting my small hands on his head, pulling him back to my body. He giggled as he took my tiny penis back in his mouth, looking up at me with these evil young eyes, relishing the control he had over my body. He stroked my stomach even as his tongue ran over the length of my cock. I felt him suck on it, like it was a lollipop and my small toes curled. I thrust my hips up towards his mouth, trying in vain to push deeper inside of his mouth, oblivious to the fact that he already had all of my penis in his warm grasp. My moans became more insistent, that familiar rise of pleasure and pain building like a crescendo, ready to crash over me. My legs stiffened, my stomach muscles convulsed, my hands gripped his hair so tight, I'm sure it hurt, but throughout it all he didn't let up on his tyrannical assault on my throbbing penis. He had learned he could keep me in a state of bliss if he wanted, poised on that precipice of pleasure and pain, and he did that then, causing my eyes to water. In one breath I prayed for it to stop, only to beg for it to continue with my next. He removed my slick penis from his mouth and attacked my balls, taking the small olive-sized spheres in his mouth to suck on them one after the other. He grabbed my prick in his fingers and stroked it ever so slowly. "Please Lenny," I begged. "don't stop, it feels so good." He removed his mouth from my balls and with an evil glint in his eyes, asked, "are you sure?" I urgently nodded my head and begged him again, "please put it back in." Without warning he enveloped my cock in his mouth, sucking as hard as he could, as he viscously attacked the tiny head with his tongue, thrashing the most sensitive parts of my cock with an urgency I hadn't felt yet. I cried out and shook, a sensation building inside me with such intensity I didn't know if I could handle it. His hands roamed my stomach and chest, I felt his finger circle my tiny nipple and I whimpered, gripping his hair in my tiny fists, trying to grasp what was happening to me. It was the most intense orgasm of my life, it shook my body and pulsed, my tiny cock throbbed uncontrollably, it throbbed in my brother's mouth with abandon, until the sensation died down, leaving me with the familiar unbearable itch, I tried in vain to remove my brother's mouth from my oversensitive rod. My brother, for his part, did not let up, knowing full well the torment he was causing me, he kept up his attack and I could see the look in his eyes, one that sent shivers down my spine as I realized what was in store for me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I tried to pull away from his mouth. He held my wrists in his hands, my legs locked beneath his arms as he continued his assault. "Please stop," I cried, "it hurts! It hurts!" H didn't stop he just watched me, like a scientist watching a lab rat, absorbing my actions, examining each twitch my body made, learning exactly how much he could control my small frame. It happened suddenly the second time, the throbbing beginning and then coursing through my body, causing me to convulse and thrash around, hating and loving every moment of my climax, my body trying in vain to produce juices that weren't there. He still didn't stop, I could feel him laugh around my tiny penis, I glared at him, my cries for pity turning to anger, enraged that he would do this to me, force my body to betray me. I shook my hips viscously, trying to free myself from his monstrous grip, but in return he bit down on my penis, causing me to scream, holding me in place. I sobbed once more, not understanding the pleasure one can gain from dominating a small boy, thinking his cruelty was caused by malice, rather than lust. He did not stop until I was completely exhausted. My body felt horribly sensitive, not just my penis, but my arms and stomach, even my toes. Sobs wracked my small frame and bounced around our small bedroom. I lay there, my arms held out to my sides, my legs locked beneath his body, his mouth merely covering my sore little penis, his tongue taking tentative swipes across the head, causing me to shudder and squeal. When he removed my penis from his mouth, I thought for sure he had damaged it somehow, but all I saw was a sore little willy with a slight imprint at the base where his teeth had held me still. "Did you like it," he asked. "No," I said. "It was horrible. You hurt me." "I'm sorry for biting you," he said. "But you were hurting my chin." I looked at him shocked that he didn't understand, the biting wasn't that bad, at least it took my mind off the unbearable tickling sensation. I realized then that he thought it was fun, that it really was a game for him. He wanted to see how much he could make me thrash around. "You do me now," he said. "No," I said my voice filled with boyish outrage. "I don't want to play with you anymore." "I did you," he said almost whining. "Now you do me." I knew the rules of boy sex well, that one does not give without getting, but I didn't see what had been given to me as something that deserved a reward. My little mind worked overtime with anger and humiliation. I tried to climb off the bed but he grabbed me and pulled me back down. "I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you were having fun. I thought you liked me teasing you." "Not like that," I said, sobbing. "I'm sorry buddy," he said, wrapping his arms around me, holding me to him so I couldn't get away. "Let me go," I said. "I hate you." "No," he said, insistently, "You have to do me now." "I'm not doing you," I said trying to struggle free of his grip. "If you do me," he said, "I'll get you that machine gun you wanted at K-Mart." I looked at him, stopping my struggles. I knew my brother had money, he saved it up from when he mowed yards. That machine gun cost two dollars and I couldn't imagine how I would get that much money. "Okay," I said, "but you can't shoot your stuff in my mouth." "I wont," he said. "I promise." I watched him shuck his shorts and underwear off, climbing up on the bed to lay on his back, getting in the most comfortable position he could. He watched me as I gripped his teenage cock in my hand, still debating about the necessity of this action. "Come on," he said, urgently, "put it in your mouth." I frowned at his command, but obeyed, leaning over and taking the head into my mouth. I looked at him as he cooed, his mouth forming a small 'o'. He was still very much a boy with a man's penis, his smooth body hairless, the only signs of maturity, were the sparse hairs around the base of his cock and a few hairs that had started to appear on his balls, his under-arms and chest were still smooth. I suppose his relative lack of hair made it easier for me, I doubt if I could have performed this act on one of the hairy men from my father's magazines. I was relieved to find there was no taste to his penis, except for the occasional hint of pre-cum as it trickled out onto my tongue. My brother gripped my hair, as I had gripped his before, perhaps it was a universal act of desperation, that attempt to ensure nothing stops the pleasure that was building. It made me nervous, I was afraid when his stuff came out, that he wouldn't let me up, that he would try and do it in my mouth. For weeks he had been trying to get me to put his stuff in my mouth, even going so far as to eat some of his own milky white juice to prove it wasn't so bad, but up until now I had stood firm against tasting that stuff on purpose. His urgency increased as I put more and more of him in my mouth. I moved his stiff cock in and out slowly, running my tongue across the head, pushing it against his pee slit, hoping that I wouldn't have to stay in this position long, hunkered over his dick, slurping on his pole. I felt very submissive, remembering the women and teenage boys performing this same task in the magazines. My brother thrust his hip up to meet me, driving more and more of his cock in my mouth. I could take half without gagging, but when he tried to put more in, I had to pull back. I could feel his cock throb in my mouth. I believed if I put my hands on his stomach I could tell when he was going to come and pull off, in case he didn't want to warm me. I continued to suck him, feeling the occasional twitches in his belly, as he moaned more and more, always so much more vocal than I was. I looked up into his face, his eyes barely slits, his mouth pouting, his soft smooth chest rising and falling with urgency. I reached up to touch his nipple, like he had done me and he gasped, holding onto my arm as I circled the little nub, feeling it stiffen underneath my touch. He touched his other nipple himself, shocked at the reaction it brought his penis. "Lick my balls," he begged, trying to delay the inevitable. I obeyed, removing his spit slick rod from my mouth and taking my brother's large nuts into my mouth one at a time, rolling them around, like he had done mine. I was surprised to see my brother pushing a finger in his bottom, lost in his moment of euphoria he was letting me know the extent of his knowledge, even if I didn't understand why, I knew he was doing it. "Suck me again," he moaned, guiding my mouth back to his cock. I pushed my mouth down over the thin adolsescent rod, feeling it fill my mouth once more, I missed the first twitch of his cock as he cried out, the only knowledge that he broke his promise came with his rough grip on the back of my head and the surge of salty fluid shooting into my mouth. "Swallow it," he cried out, his eyes wide, watching his dick twitch, still caught between my lips. I tried to pull away, but he held me still fucking himself in and out my mouth to keep up with his desperate twitching. When he was done, my mouth was full of his cum, I had not swallowed. He let me off and I held it there, feeling very much like I was going to throw up, not knowing what to do with it, but not wanting it in my tummy. All I could think of was that he had promised he wouldn't. It was my first lesson about promises made in the heat of the moment. I learned to question those that word very carefully in the future. Realizing I wouldn't swallow, my brother got an old sock and had me spit in it, the long strand of thick fluid oozed past my lips dripping into the white cotton. The taste was still in my mouth though. To be honest, I didn't mind the taste so much, it was the sticky and slimy feel his juices left behind that disturbed my stomach, my body reacting as it would to anything else with that consistency. "I'm sorry," he said, "I couldn't help it." "You said you wouldn't," I said, a disgusted look on my face as I wiped my tongue with the back of my hand, trying to to clean the stuff out of my mouth. "You promised." "I know," he said, "but it wasn't that bad, don't be a baby." "Let me pee in your mouth and see how you like it," I said, my face still red with humiliation and anger. "I didn't pee in your mouth," he said, "that's what your supposed to do when you suck someone, take it in the mouth. I forgot you were little, I shouldn't have done it." "I'm not little," I said, "it's just gross." "I know it's gross to you, but when you get older it's not that big a deal," he said and as if to prove his point he lifted the sock upside down and let his juice fill his mouth, then swallowed. "See?" I nearly threw up again. I couldn't believe he had done that. My face must have shown my disgust. "You'll get used to it," he said. "No I wont," I said, positive I would never let that happen again, how wrong I was. By the time my eighth birthday had come around I was swallowing cum like a pro. I never pulled out anymore, I drank my brother's juice without so much as a grimace. He was bigger now, not only his body, but his cock, it was no longer the meager six inch prick of a thirteen year old, no he had the thick seven inch cock of a fifteen year old between his legs, more than a mouthful for me. I loved sharing blow jobs, so much in fact that I not only performed them on my brother, but had made it my mission to teach my friends about it on the school bus. As we sat behind the bus driver, we would crouch on the floor, each playing the part of the doctor and patient, certain that we were hiding ourselves from the driver, not realizing he was watching us and waiting, how poor blonde haired Vincent was the recipient of the lust we stirred up in that effeminate man's loins. Vincent's house was the last stop on the bus, I learned about what was happening one day, when the fifth grader had gotten off at my stop to come visit. He wanted to avoid staying on the bus, because the man had been forcing him to suck his cock. He showed me how long the man was and I laughed, my brother was bigger than him. We agreed about the taste of seed, how disgusting it was, but that it couldn't be avoided, even though I thought, that like me, Vincent probably got a rush from feeling it come out into his mouth. We took turns on each other, bringing our smooth little bodies to orgasms, sharing that joy between us, him feeling my warm mouth, and I feeling his. Vincent was a consummate professional, sucking steadily, licking the length, teasing me just enough to make it feel better, but not enough to cause me to suffer. He watched me intently, ensuring I felt every stroke of his velvety soft tongue as it fluttered across the tip of my little cock, but then in my mind my cock was no longer little, in a year it had grown from two inches long, to just a little over three inches in length, and more than a mouthful for Vincent. It was a cute little penis, slender and slightly curved, a slightly pink head that contrasted so nicely with my pale skin. I did not equate our lewd actions in the front seat of the bus with the sudden moral decline of the bus driver. I thought it was strange that this man would want to do that with a child, even though I was having sex with my fifteen year old brother on a regular basis. As most children, I accepted that it was another one of those things I just couldn't figure out and let it go, even as poor little Vincent knelt before him over and over, resigned to his duty as the last child on the bus. Three months later he lucked out, another child, a girl, moved in next door to Vincent, saving him from the man's further abuses. He cried when he got on the bus with her that first day and realized what was happening. I smiled and gave him a thumbs up. Vincent wasn't out of the water completely of course, the girl would be sick some day and then what would he do? We devised plans to save him from having to taste the man's vile seed, even as I wondered exactly what it tasted like. I don't want to give the impression that my life was that of a young catamite, constantly having sex at the whims of others, that isn't true. I lived the life other boys lived as well, playing with my friends and my toys. I loved my little metal cars, I also had a stuffed Ernie doll that I cherished, even a the age of eight. I would talk to my Ernie doll and have him talk back to me. I also loved to sing, in fact I sang all the time. My mother taught me to sing "Hound Dog" by Elvis Presley. She would have me stand in front of her, freshly dressed in my pajamas, my hair still wet from taking my nightly bath. I would belt out the song, swaggering my hips and curling my lip, just like Elvis. I sometimes thought she wished I was Elvis. Of course that was the good side of my mother and like most people, mother had a bad side as well. I remember clearly the nasty words she called me, words I knew full well the meaning of, but never let her know. My mother punished us according to some ancient family ritual, hands placed on the wall, our pants and underwear pulled down, she would let us stand there for awhile, anticipating the thrashing, explaining the wages of our sin. Sometimes she used switches, other times a belt, depending on the mood and severity of the offense. For awhile she used a wooden spoon, but she broke it one night while she was beating me and stopped, it seemed a waste of good money. Like most children caught in that place, I thought it was normal, that other children's mothers were doing the same thing to them. I had no way of knowing the lengths of my mother's madness, or that it was even madness. I would flinch when she reached for me, not knowing whether she was going to hug me or beat me. Perhaps that was one of the reasons I enjoyed sex so much, at least it brought with it brief moments of pleasure, even when there was pain. Even without sex I learned to find joy in other things as well, children are resilient if nothing else, rarely breaking, always trying to bend. Halfway through my eighth birthday my brother had made plans to escalate our games to the end of its frenzied state. Stuck in the house, him staying home with a hangover, me as punishment for hitting the car with a rock, we were alone. I knew there would be sex, it was just too good an opportunity for my brother to pass up, I didn't however, understand just what he had intended. I had seen pictures like the one he showed me before, you couldn't miss them in the gay or straight porn. The women and teenaged boys with huge cocks stuck up their ass, apparently lost in a rapture that could only be gained from that type of penetration. "Lets just try," he said, "if you don't like it we can stop." I knew better than to trust my brother in that regard. I knew that once he started he wouldn't stop until the deed was done. He had little self control in that department, his penis seemed to think for him. "No," I said, "I don't want to do that. I'm not a girl." "You don't have to be a girl," he said. "You can do it to me first." First off, I didn't think that was a fair trade off in discomfort, second I really didn't want to get crap on my penis. "No," I said, "lets just do blowjobs." "Come on," he said. "I'll buy you something nice." "No," I said. "It'll hurt, you're too big." "Don't be a wimp," he said, grabbing me by the arm, trying to drag me to his bed. "No Lenny," I said, trying to break free of his grip. "I don't want to do it." I tried to fight him, but he was persistent, before I knew it my t-shirt and jeans lay on the floor. He stood over me, trying to calm me down, telling me it wouldn't be so bad. I just whimpered and begged him to stop, not wanting to even try to take his seven inch cock in my hole. He wasn't a little thirteen year old anymore, he'd grown a lot and I'd only grown a little. The differences weren't lost on me. I looked up at him, undressing and I didn't see my brother standing there, I saw a man, he was six and half feet tall now and there was no point in fighting, I knew that. I closed my eyes and a deep whine started inside of my throat, the sound that rose from a child when he is sure he will get a beating and there's no way to escape it, but this wasn't mother making me place my hands on the wall, preparing to work out her anger on my body with a strap, this, I knew, was going to be much worse. "Shh," he said. "I wont hurt you." There are lies we tell ourselves in that moment when we cannot resist temptation anymore, lies that convince us that what we are doing needs to be done. My brother was so certain that if he didn't do this to me, that I would give myself over to someone else, that he was desperate. He wanted so much to be the first, to make sure that I remembered him as the one who had taken the last vestiges of innocence, not knowing that innocence was the one thing I would still have to cling too, perhaps the only thing that would bear the wait of this fear and misery. He pushed me down on my stomach, my legs draped over the back of his bed. I closed my eyes and hid my face in hands, for the first time in a long time feeling that shame that came with knowing you were descending further into depravity. I felt his fingers at my hole, that was nothing new, he had toyed with me there before, but this would be different, there was no escaping that fact, the subtle, almost gentle, pushing against my hole, did nothing to ease my worries. He forced his finger past my my tight ring and the sudden sharp pain of his entry sent spasms around my hole, causing me to gasp. "Relax," he said in a soft voice, "just relax." Tears were streaming down my face, one last time I begged, "please Lenny, I don't wanna." "It'll be alright," he said, "you're a big boy, you can take it." I liked to believe I was a big boy, but at that moment I realized I wasn't a big boy, that I was a very small boy and that this shouldn't be happening, even though it was. I whimpered as his finger pushed against the muscles inside me, the same muscles that would soon struggle against something much larger, and then there were two fingers, and another pinch as they entered. I sobbed, shaking my head, not out of pain, but out of disbelief, wondering why this was happening to me, not able to understand the lust one can have for the helpless. When he removed his fingers, I heard the shuffle behind me, the squirt of lotion as he prepared his cock. I could hear him breathing, almost panting, as he leaned over me and kissed me gently on the back of my neck. "Push out," he said. I didn't, I fought him, not knowing how much worse it made it. I felt the head of his cock against my hole and I was sure it wouldn't go in, that there was no way it would fit inside me without tearing me to pieces. He grunted and I cried out at the almost unbearable pressure pushing against my hole. He struggled and stopped, stroking himself more, trying to get his cock even harder than it was now. This time when I felt him push, my hole gave in, too small to fight against the strength of my brother's penis. I howled, a searing pain surging through my bottom, sending sparks straight up my spine. I tried to climb away from him, but he grabbed by my shoulders and held me down. He leaned over my body even as I screamed, his cock pushing deeper inside of me, much more painful than anything I'd imagined. "It's in," he said, believing that would ease my woes. I sobbed uncontrollably, my body shaking and trembling. The pain did not go away, my hole felt like it would tear at any moment, his cock pushed in further, my brother, inexperienced in the ways of anal sex, had no way of knowing he needed to wait, to let me stretch more. I felt a blinding heat wash over my body as the pain continued to coarse through my insides. "God," he said. "You're so tight." "Take it out," I begged, "Please take it out. It hurts. It hurts so bad." "Relax your muscles," he said. I tried, I was willing to do anything to relieve myself of the burden of pain that was searing it's way inside of me. "Jesus," he said. It was probably best that I could not watch his entry, that I could not see that his cock was now streaked with my blood, or it would've been worse knowing that, even though he had damaged me, Lenny would not give up the fight. "Please," I sobbed. "You're killing me." "I'm not killing you," he said in a raspy voice. I could feel him pull out and for a moment I thought he was done, but he wasn't, he pushed back in causing me to cry out. "Stop," I screamed. "No more! No more!" He didn't listen, instead he became even more insistent, believing that what he'd seen in my father's magazines could be done to my own small body, that he could possess me completely and fill me up with the entirety of his seven inches, not happy with the five inches he had already forced inside of me. "Just a little more," he said. When he lunged forward once more, my body unable to give up the fight, caused the muscles inside my bottom to tense up and then release as they tried to push his cock back out, to find some kind of relief from the sharp full spasms wracking my body. I thought he was in my chest, that his cock had literally found its way inside my body and lodged in my lungs, I couldn't breath. I gasped through my tears, beating the mattress, tearing the sheets from the corner of the bed, screaming as loud as my boyish voice could. The sound seamed to stir him on. I knew my brother enjoyed causing me pain, but I didn't realize that my struggles in this moment of absolute helplessness would churn the lust inside him to an almost fever pitch. He groaned, bottoming out, lodged deeper inside of me than I could have ever believed. I felt his balls hanging against my bottom. There was no relief in my mind, I knew more was to come, that this was not the extent of his desire, that he would push in and out, as he had done in my mouth and hands all these years. "It's all in," he said, the sound of amazement not escaping me. "Take it out," I begged. "I'll do anything. It hurts Lenny. It hurts so bad." Lenny groaned, grinding his hips against my bottom, his teenage mind unable to fathom the danger he might be placing me in, instead feeling only the building climax, the tightness of my insides. I felt him pull out and there was an emptiness, a release of the fullness, even if the pain was not lessened, and then when I thought he was letting me go, he pushed back inside of me. The pain surged through me once more. I cried out. It seemed to take an eternity before the uncontrollable spasms lessened and the sharp pain turned instead into a dull full throbbing pain. I could not see his cock, spreading the cheeks of my bottom, stretching my hole 'til it was pale white and thin. I did not see it pushing my ring in and then pulling it back out. I did not know how the strangling tightness of my bottom was causing my brother to experience the most intense sensations in his life. His urgency increased, even as I grunted and groaned, my screams diminishing to pitiful sobs. I looked over my shoulder, trying to see what was happening, but I only caught a glimpse of his hips thrusting and the bushy hair around his crotch. "Almost there," he said. "God you feel so good." I said nothing, instead I tried to hide my face in my arms, to escape this moment in the darkness. I concentrated on the sound of the bed creaking. I prayed, asking God to take me away from there, but he didn't, instead the Devil was kneeling behind me, raping my poor bottom, even if I didn't realize that it was rape. I had given in to my brother's sordid requests for so long that it never entered my mind that I had any say in what he did to my body. Years later I would look back and see that moment and wonder why? Why me? I've been told by other men who were in that place, that you never forget the first time you're fucked, regardless of how old you were. I can say I never forgot that moment, it was imprinted into my memory with such burning clarity that it only took closing my eyes to be there again. Years later, I heard the sound of a little boy scream when his fingers were caught in a car door and I felt my brother again, his weight on my back, the sudden shift of entry, and then the throbbing of his member as he filled my bottom with his juice. When he pulled out I lay there not moving, instead touching my tender bottom, feeling the damage. When I felt the wetness and looked at my finger, I saw the bright red blood coating my finger tips and I panicked, knowing he had torn my insides as I had feared. He had to drag me to the bathroom to clean me. He forced me to kneel in the tub as he ran a dark colored washcloth over my ass, trying to wash away the blood that was trickling from my hole. For three days I could not use the bathroom, when I finally did, it hurt nearly as bad as when my brother had fucked me. My brother fretted, afraid that the damage to my bottom would be found out, that my parents would see that my hole was no longer pink, but instead black and blue and swollen. That didn't happen. I healed up well enough, at least my body. If I can point to any one thing that finally broke me, it was that moment. Sex, which before then had been a game, for a brief time took on the image of a monster. I shied from his games and hid myself away, afraid that he would force me to do that task again. A month later he did and it hurt every bit as much that time, as it did the first, but there wasn't as much blood. He continued to fuck me, as often as he could get away with. I had no way of knowing that Davie was experiencing the same fate, that on those days when he left me alone, he was ravaging his poor little body as well. My mind, working as a child's does, sought to accept this new act, and as time went by I began to embrace it as I had learned to do with the others. I began to look forward to the fullness, the spark of pleasure that could be felt if things were done just right. My brother believed it was his skill that turned me over to his lusts, but it wasn't, it was the simple fact I had no place else to turn to. I did not resist my brothers advances, in fact I was a willing partner by then, holding my legs up or bottom open, as the position permitted, bracing for that initial pain and then the fullness that always came. I was always fascinated with the passion that burned inside of him, violent and rough, then gentle and soft, waxing and waning like the moon. I thought my brother would always play his games with me, I had no way of knowing that the beatings my mother imposed on us would one day be the catalyst for my loneliness. One night shortly after my brother's sixteenth birthday, he finally broke as well. My mother in the grips of rage, approached him with a strap and told him to put his hands on the wall, preparing to beat him, but he said, no. He looked at her, his eyes bright with anger. She swung at him, he caught her wrist and then he began to cry. He called her names, told her she would not beat him anymore, that he wouldn't let her. He told her she was mean and spiteful that he hated her and that he hated God for making her his mother. She looked at him, her own rage overwhelmed by the realization that we were not required to lover her, simply because she gave us birth. She kicked him out, threatened to call the police. My brother, left with no place else to live, was forced to move to Florida to live with my grandmother. That first night he was gone I cried. Not understanding why the world could be so cruel, how the one person who ever showed me any kind of attention could be taken from me. As the days wore on I ached for those things that were missing. The smile my brother would make as he worked his tongue across my body, the times when he would hold me and rock me when I cried, the moments when I could lean my head against his chest and hear his heart beat. I would not see my brother again until the next year and by then he had found that he didn't need a little boy to keep him warm or provide those pleasures he desperately wanted, at least he didn't need me anymore. He would touch me, but only to hug me or mess up my hair. He had met an older woman with a young daughter, I found out years later she was my brother's newest playmate. The woman, much like my mother, didn't understand the reason my brother paid such attention to the child, she loved him and my brother seemed to love her as well. My mother hated them both. With my brother gone, I had to look elsewhere to fill that emptiness. I tried to play those games with Davie, but he lacked the size to really do the one thing I missed the most, for that I needed a man or at the very least a well endowed teenager. After awhile Davie began to have enough of the games, one day, after I finished sucking him to an orgasm, he looked at me with tears in his eyes and said he didn't want to play them anymore, that he wanted to forget that he had ever done anything like that. I never understand his guilt or why certain boys were different from others. Over the years I learned the different ways men possessed boys, some coerced them, others forced them, and then others found boys like me that didn't know they should feel guilty. Those times with Lenny messed with my Davie's mind. Davie tried hard to be as masculine as he could, so afraid that he would somehow become gay. I still shared a room with Davie, so there were still incidents. I tried very hard to stop playing with him, but sometimes, when those feelings surged inside of me, it was hard to not to seduce him and he was so easy to seduce. Oftentimes just the sight of me naked and bending over would send him into his own youthful frenzy. He would drive his tiny three and a half inch prick inside of my bottom, or, if my parents were still awake, he would have me suck on it, then afterwards he would sit on his bed crying, smacking himself on the side of the head, hard, punishing himself for giving in to the pleasure. I finally stopped, I couldn't stand to hear him cry, see the torment that filled his soul, so certain in his young mind that he was going to hell or that the acts we shared were driving him that much further from the straight and narrow life he wanted to live. One day, after I had brought him to an orgasm, he pulled on my hair and called me fag, told me to get off him. In my anger I bit him. He cried out and held his tiny penis, examining where I had drawn blood. He ran from the room, certain I had doomed his tiny penis. He didn't squeal on me though, instead he told my mother he caught himself in his zipper. She and my sister consoled him, assuring him he was fine and it was merely a cut, but that would be the end of our games. Without Davie to play with, I had to find other things to satisfy that itch inside of me. It didn't take long for me to search for things to put up my bottom. I stole the plunger from my parents bathroom and took it in the woods. I dug a hole with my toy shovel, almost a foot deep, so I could wedge it into the ground and sit on it. I played a game, seeing how much I could take inside of me. Without a ruler, I could not be sure the exact length that entered me. The plunger helped satisfy my lusts, even though it wasn't very thick, it was long enough to reach those places Davie couldn't. I spent most of that summer sitting on one thing or another, driven into a frenzy to fill my bottom to its fullest. The summer after I had turned nine I was practicing with a new plunger when my neighbor caught me. His name was Harley and he was older than my brother, in fact he had gone to college and was forced to come home after they found him with another student, a male student, in his dorm room. His parents weren't happy, but he had convinced them that he wasn't gay, rather he was horny and experimenting. His father reacted better than his mother, who was certain that their eldest would never bear them children. Harley was kept home and they watched him, making sure he didn't disappoint them again. The young man spent his time working on his car, a Barracuda that he loved. As I said before, I was in the middle of testing my limits on my private peg, when he happened upon me. At first he wasn't sure what was happening, perhaps thinking I was taking a dump in the woods, then he saw my bottom and the pole and the length of that pole dissappear and then reappear as I slowly worked it deeper into my nine year old bottom. The sight of my depravity stirred him, something he didn't expect. He saw my firm bottom, tight and young. He hadn't had sex in nearly six months, he was horny and desperate and in that moment he knew that he wanted, more than anything else, to be that pole. My heart skipped a beat when I heard him say, "what the hell do you think you're doing?" I jumped off the pole and scrambled for my pants and underwear, trying to get dressed, but he was on top of me before I could even reach them, holding me by the back of my shirt. "I wasn't doing nothing," I said, doom struck that someone had found out my secret. "You were fucking that pole," he said. "Please," I said. "Please, don't tell my mom." "You could hurt yourself doing that," he said, even as he used a free hand to shift his stiffening cock in his pants. "I didn't get hurt," I said. "Please let me go." "Does your Mom know you're doing this," he asked. "Please don't tell her," I said. "Jesus kid," he said. "Why the hell were you doing that?" I looked at him, shaking with fear, and just shrugged. He looked me over, still naked from the waste down and saw my little cock, slightly curved and sticking out in front me, in all of its three inches of glory. "Do you like doing that," he asked. I could see in his face something growing, that look my brother would get when he could barely contain his desire for me. I turned away from him, I couldn't look him in the face or say anything at all, I just started to sob uncontrollably. "Don't cry," he said, rubbing my back now. "It's alright. You don't need to cry." "My mom will kill me," I wailed. "I wont tell her," he said. "I promise." "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to do it." "Oh," he said, licking his dry lips. "I'm pretty sure you did." "I... I... I...," didn't know what to say. "This will be our little secret buddy," he said, his hand now stroking my bottom. "Okay?" I looked up at him, trembling at his touch, not sure what was in store for me, but having a good idea. I looked at the large lump in his pants, barely containing his lust and I felt that itch inside. I don't know why, but I reached out and touched it and looked at him. "Jesus," he said, grabbing my wrist and pulling it away. "Who got to you?" I started to sob again, certain now my fate was sealed, only the fumbling of his fingers on his zipper settled me down. I saw him pull out his cock, the first adult uncircumcised cock I had ever seen. It was long, nearly as long as my brothers, probably seven and half inches easy, and much wider. "Do you want to play with this," he asked, waving it in front of me. "Touch it." I looked at him, wondering if it was some kind of trap, only to see that hunger burning in his eyes. I would find out later that it was only after I grabbed his cock that he had made up his mind to have his way with me, certain that I would not tell on him. "Come on," he said. "I want you to." I reached out and felt the soft skin of his stiff cock, wondering if I could get it in my bottom, wondering what games he wanted to play. I pulled the skin back and forth over the head of his cock, amazed at how easily it moved. Harley moaned and watched me, his adult frame dwarfing my tiny body. When I saw his juices form at the tip of his cock I instinctively leaned forward and licked it up with my tongue, causing him to grasp the back of my neck and hold my head still as he pushed his dick at my lips. I opened my mouth and let him in. "Suck it buddy," he said. "Oh yeah." It had been so long since I heard anyone talk to me like that, a little thrill filled my chest and for a moment I felt very happy. Unlike my brother's slender penis, Harvey's was thick and stretched my mouth, almost painfully. He made soft thrusts inside of me, trying to push as far as he could with each thrust. "I want to fuck you," he said. I looked at him, a little frightened. He would be the largest cock I'd ever had in my short life. I worried that it might hurt, but I did not think of saying no, having grown accustomed to my lack of say in such matters. "You're so cute," he said, running his hands through my dark brown hair, smiling. I continued to kneel in front of him, sucking his cock, which periodically leaked fluid across my tongue, filling my mouth with his taste. "If I go to my house," he asked. "Will you wait here for me?" I thought it was a dumb question, I mean, if I was going to leave, would I tell him? I didn't say that, I just nodded and said, "yeah." He pushed his spit slick cock back in his pants and headed off towards his home. I waited for several minutes before he appeared again, breaking through the brush. He pulled a tube of KY out of his pocket and smiled. I could see his cock hadn't gone down. "You're still naked," he said, noticing I hadn't gotten dressed in his absence. "You didn't tell me to get dressed," I said in my defense. "No," he said. "I'm not mad, it's kind of sexy." "Are you really going to fuck me," I asked, half out of desperation, half out of fear. "Yeah," he said, grabbing my shirt and pulling it off me. "God you're so cute. I bet your tight as a vise." "Will it hurt?" I asked, even though I had a pretty good idea that it would. "We'll go slow," he said, "and if it starts to hurt, I'll stop. I promise." I smirked when he said that, remembering full well all the times my brother had made a promise. He poured some of the lube on the plunger handle still stuck in the ground and told me to sit on it. I did, slowly inserting it in my hole and allowing it to enter my bottom, allowing myself to slide down as far as I could go. "Jesus," he said, obviously impressed. "Did I take a lot?" I asked, unable to see how much was inside of me, just knowing that no more would fit inside of me without a great deal of pain. "Yeah," he said stroking my back and pulling me up. "Get on your knees little man, I want to get inside of you." "I need something to kneel on?" I said, not wanting to get grass stains on my knees, realizing how hard that would be to explain to my mother. He pulled his t-shirt off and placed it on the ground, then said, "there." I knelt on the shirt, and took the position I was most comfortable with, my bottom raised up high as I rested my cheek on my forearm. I felt his finger probing my bottom, easily slipping inside. In no time at all he had two fingers inside of me. I whimpered at the sudden shift in girth. "You ready," he asked, thrusting his fingers in and out of my bottom. I nodded, thinking it really didn't make any difference, he would fuck me when he wanted to anyways. I felt him crawl up behind me, and the head of his thick cock push against my tiny dilated hole. It found purchase easily and pushed inside on the very first try. He entered me slowly, it still nearly knocked the breath out of me. The pressure on my small ring was almost unbearable. I had no way of knowing that a year out of the sport had tightened my hole up tremendously. If I had not expected the pain, I probably would have tried to break free, but instead I took a deep breath and hissed. "Almost in," he said, stroking my back. "It's so big," I said, trying as hard as I could to relax my muscles. "It's not that big," he said, "you can take it." I was certain I was going to take it whether I wanted to or not, perhaps that was part of the thrill for me, the knowledge that for this brief moment this man possessed me completely. As he finally slipped inside, I gasped, banging my forehead on my wrists as I felt the sharp painful spasms inside my bottom as my anal muscles fought in vain to repel this new intruder. He was breathing heavy now. He had a firm, almost painful, grip on my tiny hips, moving my small seventy pound body around effortlessly. He held me still as he slowly pushed in, then withdrew his cock, testing his limits. "Man," he said, in a low voice. "You're so tight." The pain let up slightly as my my small ring gave up most of the fight, now it just felt impossibly stretched as it was pulled forward and backward by the friction from his entry. He was big, and felt bigger than I thought he would. I believed that by now the pain would pass and I would be able to enjoy the fullness, but that wasn't what was happening. Davie and the plunger could not prepare me for this man. My bottom stretched miserably. "You're so big," I said. "God," Harley said, squeezing my bottom in his hands, "you're going to make me cum if you keep talking like that." "Don't cum yet," I said, almost panicking, wanting to feel more of him, yearning to get the most out of the experience. "Oh dear Lord," he cried, instinctively thrusting his cock deeper inside of me, causing me to cry out from the sharp painful intrusion, "you're so sexy. How can you be sexy?" I couldn't answer him, I never considered my tiny body to be sexy, rather I considered it to be pale and smooth and hairless. I stroked my tiny dick, keeping it stiff, feeling his much larger cock slide across the little spot inside of my bottom that gave me such pleasure. Lenny had to search for that spot, his slender slightly curved cock not able to hit it unless he fucked me while I was on my back, Harley's thick straight rod pushed against it each time he went in and out of my bottom. As he struggled to push deeper inside of me, I cried out, feeling his cock slide almost painfully across it. "You like it," he said, "tell me you like it." "Fuck me mister," I said. "Oh jeez," he said, thrusting in and out of my bottom, "who taught you to talk dirty?" I didn't think I was talking dirty, I thought I was just telling him what to do to make me feel better, so I just replied, "no one, I want you to fuck me." I felt the sudden thrust inside as he forced the last inch of his cock inside me. His balls slapped against my own tiny balls, causing me to wince. They were heavy and it was like two oranges banging against my own tiny grapes each time he pushed inside of me, not horribly painful, but still a dull uneasy feeling. "I'm gonna fill you up boy," he said, increasing the tempo of his thrusting as he leaned over me now. I grunted each time he bottomed out, relishing the pain mixed with the pleasure of my prostate being massaged by his stiff leaking cock. He groaned, slapping my ass, causing me to jump. "Sorry," he said, rubbing where he had spanked my bottom. "You feel so big," I said. "Oh man," he said, "you keep talking like that and I'm going to make your insides sticky." "Cum in my bottom," I said. "Fuck," he said, as he began to fuck me at a feverous pitch, pushing in as far as he could go, then pulling out 'til only the head remained, only to thrust in again. I whimpered, as my insides bore the shock of his lust, trying hard to endure his frenzy. "Almost there," he said, believing I wanted him out of me, when that wasn't the truth at all, in fact I was happy to have a man inside me again. "God," he screamed, as he pushed in as far as he could and held still, "here it comes." I felt his cock spasm inside my ass, shooting out thick wads of his juice, filling the empty spaces in my bottom. I cooed, loving the feeling of his warm cum coating my insides, praying that he had as much stamina as my brother and perhaps would be able to do it once more before he went home. "Take it," he cried out, pulling out now, only to thrust back in, trying so desperately to squeeze the last bit of sensation from his cock. "Oh yeah, take it." After he was done, I looked over my shoulder at him panting, and said, "I can feel your stuff." "I had a lot of it," he said, finally slowing down, keeping his softening dick inside of me. "Thanks mister," I said, as his cock flopped out of my bottom. "Jesus you're a strange kid," he said, "how long have you been doing this?" I shrugged and didn't answer, my fingers felt at my bottom, I could feel the sticky wetness dripping out, but there was no blood, only his cum dripping out of my hole as it still gaped open in shock, unaware that the monster that had forced its way inside wasn't going back in. "What have I done," he said, looking down at me as I stroked my cock. "You're just a kid." "Make me cum," I said, as I turned over, pushing my hips forward. "Suck me." He shook his head in disbelief, but did as I asked. He knelt down between my legs and took my stiff little prick in his mouth and sucked me with expertise. Unlike my brother he did not tease me or try to wrench the pleasure from me slowly, Harvey instead tried to bring me as much pleasure as he could, his face lighting up as I moaned from his ministrations. I looked at the man and could see he was handsome. I worried about whether or not he had a girlfriend, not realizing that he was gay and that out in the country, there was very little chance he was going to find anyone to fuck, other than me. When I came, I cried out in my high pitched voice, clinging to his head as my tiny dick throbbed inside of his mouth, trying to release juices that would not arrive for years to come. When I was done he pulled my cock out of his mouth and looked up at me. "how was it," he asked. "The best," I said, smiling, suddenly very happy. "Do you want to do it again?" "Man, you're a strange little boy," he said, stroking his half hard cock. He couldn't get completely stiff the second time, I guess it was too soon after his first orgasm. He made do with what he had and pushed his half hard cock inside my already stretched hole. He fucked me for what seemed like forever. When he came inside me the second time, there wasn't much juice and my inside burned a bit from all the friction, but I didn't complain, I liked the way he rubbed across my special spot, bringing those strange little tingles to life in my bottom. We talked for awhile, him trying to find out how I became such a little horndog, and me trying to make sure he would want to play again. I shouldn't have worried. The next time I went to the woods to sit on the plunger, he was waiting, sitting on a blanket spread out on the ground, his cock already hard. I have to say, the third time with Harvey was more painful than the first, he was rougher, more urgent. I enjoyed it all the same. Even though I was ecstatic to find a man to take my brother's place, I know now that Harvey was much luckier than me, how often does a man find a pre-teen boy who loves to be fucked? I didn't realize that I was the reason that Harvey became a boy-lover. Yes he still liked men, but he lusted for boys after me, my tight bottom spoiled him. Harley was a kind man, sometimes I wondered if he was really a kid, his body a mere disguise. He would sit beside me for hours at a time talking about things that bored other adults. He never bought me gifts or promised to do things with me, instead he gave me something much more precious, his undivided attention. He laughed at my knock knock jokes, he tickled me 'til I thought I would pee, he'd play hide and seek. Today our relationship would've been viewed as something much more nefarious, but my mother had no problems with me hanging out with him. Harley's brother, Donald, was twelve and usually hung around with us when I was at his house. I asked Harley if he ever did anything with Donald and he said he hadn't and made me promise I wouldn't either. I promised and kept that promise, I would've done anything for Harley. Sometimes he would take me on drives, we would speed along the country roads, his radio blaring. He would take me to the laundromat so I could play Space Invaders and Asteroids. I was never very good at those games. He would feed quarters into the machine and buy me soda and candy, things that were rare in my house. We had sex, lots of it, but rarely was it done in the field anymore, rather he would drive to some secluded place and park, then have his way with my body, which was fine by me. Lenny was the first, but Harvey would be the one I remembered. I spent a year with Harvey before life pulled us apart. His parents, happy with the change they saw in him enrolled him into a university in New York City. The day he left I cried and wouldn't let go of him, he had to pry me from his body. "It's all right little man," he said. "I'll come and visit you." "No you wont," I said, remembering Lenny and how he had left and never came back. He tried to console me, but nothing could. I believed I had done something wrong, that perhaps he was leaving because I made him feel bad or guilty too, I could not know how little control he had over his future. I found out Harley came out of the closet, one night at the kitchen table. My mother mentioned it to my father, saying how horrible and disgusting he was, calling him a faggot. She grilled me asking if he had ever done anything with me and I denied every accusation. She continued to interrogate me for weeks to come, but I held firm, even though I knew she would never let me be alone with Harvey again. That didn't matter, before Harvey had a chance to come back and see me, my mother told the family that we were moving. My mother and father had decided to start over in another state. We ended up moving to a small town in New Hampshire. It was upstate near the Canadian border. It wasn't that different from where I had lived before. The only nice thing was that I finally got my own room. It was the first time in my entire I life I would sleep alone. I had my toys in my room and my own clothes. Before Davie and I would share our clothes, being so close in size it wasn't that hard to do, now I I had my own shirts and pants and even underwear. It was heaven. If there was one thing missing, it was Harvey. I began to think that I would never find anyone to have sex with me again. Hope came when my mother sat Davie and me down on the couch and warned us not to go to the green house on the hill. She told us not to talk to the man that lived there, that he had done some bad things, not bothering to explain exactly what those things were. She didn't need to tell me, I thought I already knew. That night I stroked my spit slick little rod, imagining what he looked like, whether his penis was long or short, fat or thin. I imagined that he had me bent over his couch and that he was pushing inside of my bottom, his length pressing against my good spot. In the morning, the itch for sex gone, I began to think a bit more clearly. I remembered how rough Lenny could be and wondered if maybe that's why this man got in trouble, because he was rough when he did things. It worried me. I could see the top of the man's house in the distance, the green upside down V with white trim, it reminded me of Christmas tree. I rode my bike by the man's house three times that day, trying to get a glimpse of him, just to see what he looked like, when I finally saw him, I was completely crestfallen. The man was older than my grandfather and he was walking with a cane. He didn't even talk to me as I sat across the street from his house. He came out to the mailbox, waved and left. I found out later he liked little girls. He had gotten in trouble because he had felt some girl up at the park and she told her parents. They didn't send him to jail, but he had to move. The girl's mother found out where his other house was and called all the neighbors. I realized there was nothing waiting for me at that house, so I resorted to my old methods of pleasure, the only difference was that this time I bought the plunger from the hardware store in town. I found a safe spot in the woods and set up camp. I would sneak out there nearly everyday, but having learned exactly the depth of the rod I could take, I got smart and only left that much outside of the earth, that way I could sit all the way down on it and jerk off at the same time. What a sight I must have been, a slim little nine year old boy impaled on a wooden stick, stroking himself to a feverish orgasm. I had given up hope of ever meeting anyone by then, resigned to my self abuse. I came close to meeting someone one day. My father had taken me to the grocery store. He was picking up some food for supper and I had to go to the bathroom, so he sent me back to take a piss. When I walked in there was a man standing in front of one the urinals. Back then I never knew how to judge a man's age, rather I compared their age to other men I knew. This man was older than Harvey, but not older than my father, so probably thirty or something like that. He was standing there with his dick out, but I noticed right away he wasn't pissing, his cock was stiff as a board. It wasn't as long as Harvey's but it was uncircumcised and really thick. He watched me as I walked up beside him and unzipped my pants. I could feel his stare as I pulled out my slightly stiff penis. "Nice one," he said, like it was completely normal to talk to a little boy at a urinal. "Thanks," I said, feeling my face become flush with embarrassment. There was a moment of silence, the only sound in the bathroom was the sound of my piss. "Do you live around here," the man asked, I could tell by the motion of his hand that he had begun to stroke his cock. For a minute I didn't say anything, remembering the warnings my mom made about strangers, but then feeling somewhat pressured, I said, "my family moved here last month." "Nice," he said, "do you play any sports?" "No," I said, as I saw him pull his foreskin over the head of cock and then pull it back. "You should ask your mom if you can play soccer," he said in a raspy voice. "I coach one the teams." I looked at him and saw that look I'd seen before, his face filled with lust, just more angry. I turned away, concentrating on getting out of there as quick as I could. I caught sight of him tugging his cock out of the corner of my eye. Just as I was about to leave I felt his free hand stroke my hair. I flinched and pulled away. He grunted as thick jets of cum shot out of his cock and splashed the wall of the urinal, dripping down to the drain. I didn't say anything, I just stepped away from him, stuffed my dick back in my pants and ran out the door. I ran along the back of the store, scanning the aisles looking for my father. I was frightened, I really didn't know what to do. I felt this rush of relief as I saw my father standing in front of the spaghetti sauces. I clung to my father's cart until he was done shopping. I didn't sign up for soccer, the man was too creepy. Instead I went home and accepted the fact I'd be sitting on my plunger for the rest of my life. Over the next three months I had to replace the plunger handle twice, before I found the key to my happiness, a hairbrush that had a handle that was over six inches long. It wasn't as thick as Harvey, but it was nobby and thicker at the base than it was at the end, just what I needed. I couldn't burry it in the ground, but I didn't need to anymore. My Dad helped me and Davie make a fort in the woods near my house. It wasn't much, but it afforded me the privacy I craved. Dad dragged out two old kitchen chairs and a large coffee table. I spent a lot of time on that coffee table. I would lay down on it, my legs pulled up to my chest, a bottle of hand lotion by my side. the hairbrush in hand, I would push it slowly inside of my bottom, feeling the narrow handle widen as it went in deeper and deeper, stretching my tight ring out as it fought it's way inside.Once it was all the way in I would stroke my little rod and sigh as I swirled the brush around inside of my bottom, trying to find that spot I loved so much. After a week Davie caught me doing it. He called me a fag and sat down in one of the chairs watching me. He said I was going to hell, but he never took his eyes off the brush in my bottom. I thought he probably wished it was up his ass too. I went nearly six months without having sex with anyone else before I finally met Mike. He was a thirty something single dad that moved in to a house by the playground on the edge of town. He had a three year old son named Connor and a six year old daughter named Anna. his house actually sat right next door to the basketball courts. Mom would drop us off in the morning to play and then come pick us up later that afternoon. One day it was raining and we had nowhere to go. Mike was driving up in his car when he saw us. "Come sit on the porch boys," he said. Davie didn't want to, but I told him I was going to go, and he could wait in the rain if he wanted to be a scaredy cat. He followed me and we sat together in a big wicker chair, dripping wet. Mike brought out some towels and we pulled our t-shirts off and dried off as best we could. He hung our shirts up over the railing to dry and gave us some soda and cookies. His daughter came out and asked us if we wanted to play. Davie said, no, but I thought that was mean, so I sat with her as she played with her Barbie dolls. She said that Barbie and Ken weren't married, they just lived together. She made the dolls kiss and lay on top of each other. I thought it was weird, but didn't say anything. It was almost supper time before my mom came and got us. She thanked Mike for letting us sit on his porch. Mike thanked me for playing with Georgia, his daughter. I didn't really think about Mike that much, to be honest. It had been so long since Harvey, well at least it seemed a long time for me, that I guess I had moved on to being happy with my brush. In fact it wasn't until I went to the park a week later to play basketball that anything remotely sexual about Mike popped in my mind. I was walking out on the court when I saw Mike, he was out in his yard in just a pair of shorts, working on the side of the house, putting shingles on. I watched him, he wasn't ripped, but his body was muscular and sweaty, like the men in my dad's magazines. I couldn't stop watching him as he hammered the shingles in place. He saw me and waved and I waved back, holding my basketball in my hand. "Too hot for ball," Mike asked. I didn't realize what he was talking about at first, giving him a strange look, then said, "Oh yeah. I'm getting bored playing basketball." "When's your mom coming to get you," he asked. "Supper time," I said. "Didn't you have anything for lunch," he asked, realizing I'd been there all morning. "She gave me two dollars so I could buy something at the hotel," I said. "Hmm," he said. "Why don't you come have lunch over here." "I guess that would be okay," I said. "Sure," he said, "you can buy some candy or a comic book with that money." Or a hairbrush, I thought. When I got inside of Mike's house I realized his kids were gone and that we were all alone. I started to get nervous, wondering if anything was going to happen, then decided I was paranoid. He went in the kitchen and made some grilled cheese sandwiches, only he didn't use the cheese my mom used, he used cheddar. It tasted a bit more sharp, but I liked it. He smiled as he watched me eat. "When do you start school," he asked. "August," I said. "Well that's a ways off," he said. "Do you like school?" "It's alright," I said. "I don't like all my classes." "Which classes don't you like," he asked. "I'm not good at math," I said. "Really," he asked. "Yeah," I said. "I try, but I can't remember how to do stuff." "Hmm," he said. "You know I'm very good at math. I'd be happy to help if you need some." I frowned, help usually meant spending twice as much time on my homework. "Do you want help," he asked. "Sure," I said, trying to be polite. "Then that's settled," he said. Mike had an Intelivision video game and he let me play it. I sat cross legged in front of the TV, mesmerized, mashing the buttons on the pad. Mike sat behind me. I caught a glimpse of his reflection and saw him shift his cock in his pants and it suddenly hit me, Mike was being nice because he wanted to do stuff with me, other than study for math. "Do you want to watch a movie," he asked. I turned to look at him, trying not to smile, and just nodded. He put in Star Wars and we watched the opening scene. I sat next to him on the couch, expecting him to touch my leg or something, but he didn't. I could feel him looking at me every once in awhile, but that's it. I decided I would have to take the plunge. I could see the bulge in his shorts, even though he tried to hide it. It was big, probably not as big as Harvey's, but I wasn't going to complain as long as it rubbed my special spot, if he fucked me. I waited for a moment, then holding my breath, I made the first move. I placed my hand on his leg, not even bothering to look at him. He didn't do anything, but I knew he was uncomfortable. When I felt him shift, I thought he was trying to get away, so I took my hand away until he grabbed my wrist and brought my hand back down on top of his leg, only this time it wasn't his leg under my hand, but his thick cock. I looked at him and he looked at me, not saying anything, testing his limits. "You've got a stiffy," I said. "Are you sure," he asked. I rubbed the length of his cock through his pants, and said, "it feels stiff." "Oh," he said. "Don't do that." "Sorry," I said, worried I'd misread his signals, taking my hand off his penis. "It's alright," he said, "you just made it feel really good." "Why do you have a stiffy," I asked, feigning innocence. "Because I like you," he said. "Men get stiffies when they're around boys they like." "Do you get stiffies around Connor," I asked. "No," he said, "that would be wrong." "You don't like Connor," I asked, as innocently as I could muster. "I don't like Connor the way I like you," he said. "Oh," I said, "what do you mean, like me?" I felt his hand slip under my t-shirt and begin to stroke my back as he looked at me. "I like you in a special way," he said. "What do you mean special," I asked. "Well I like to look at you," he said. "I think you're really cute." I frowned, and asked, "you mean cute like a girl?" "No," he said "cute like a little boy." "Oh," I said. "Hey," he said, "do you want to watch a special movie?" I looked at him, having a good idea of the kind of movie he wanted to watch, and said, "okay." He grabbed my wrist and lifted my hand off his dick, then got up and went to his room. When he came back he was just wearing his boxers. I knew things were escalating and it had been so long since the last time I'd done anything with someone older than me, that I started to get nervous, wondering if I should leave. He popped the movie in the VHS player and hit play, then he sat down next to me and started to rub my back again. I actually didn't pay much attention to the movie, my courage wavering under his touch. In the movie a woman sucked a really big dick all the way in her mouth. "How did she do that," I asked, amazed. "Practice I guess," Mike said. "Does he like that," I said, already knowing the answer. "It feels really good when someone sucks your cock," he said. "Really," I asked. "Yeah," he said. "Have you ever done stuff like that," he asked, pointing to the screen. I looked at him and gave up my innocence. He saw it in my eyes, the slight frown, worried what he would think of me. "What did you do," he asked. I shrugged and said, "everything." "Everything," he asked. "I can do that," I said, looking at the woman on the screen, bobbing her head up and down on the screen, "but I can't do it that good." "Who taught you to do that," he asked. I shrugged, not answering. "That's okay," he said, "do you want to do that with me?" I felt a little sick to my stomach now, realizing that my long stint of abstinence was now almost over. I didn't know whether to say yes or no. I didn't know in my heart if I wanted to do it anymore. "Are you scared," he said. I shook my head no, turning my head from the screen to look out the window, memories of Harvey and Lenny in my head, wondering what Mike would be like, whether he'd be rough or gentle. He was so much stronger than Harvey. He continued to rub my back as his free hand reached for the button on my pants. I didn't struggle, I leaned back and sighed, resigned to my fate. I felt my pants loosen as the button finally came free and my stomach tied up in knots. "I wont hurt you," he said. "I just want to make you feel good." I didn't do anything but sit there, my eyes closed feeling as his fingers pushed down past the waistband of my underwear, searching for my small penis. When he found it he gently stroked it with the back of his hand. I could feel it stiffen. "Do you like that," he asked, feeling my soft little cock rub against his fingers. I didn't say anything, I couldn't. I didn't know whether I should answer. I suppose Davie had wormed his way into my brain by that time. I thought of heaven and hell and sin, I thought about what my mom would think if she found out, whether my Dad would still love me if he knew I was doing stuff like this. "It's okay," he said, sensing my apprehension, "stand up." I didn't move, so he grabbed me by the arm and lifted me off the couch. He pulled my pants down to my ankles and looked at my tiny cock. I stared down at my body, my penis half hard, bending as he took it between his fingers and squeezed softly. "You're a very pretty boy," he said. I didn't want to be pretty, but I didn't tell him that. I could hear the sound of the woman behind me moaning, her mouth full as she performed some act I couldn't see. He stared at me, with a hungry look, gauging my reaction. He could tell I wasn't going to fight, that even though I was reluctant, I would let him do what he wanted. "It's okay," he said in a reassuring voice, running his hands up and down my leg as he tugged on my hardness. I watched as he moved his mouth to my penis and rolled his tongue over my the small pink head, causing me to breath a little faster. His hand held onto my hips, keeping me in place as his eyes looked up at me, watching him. "I'm not a bad boy," I said, not knowing why. "No," he said, still holding me in place. "You're a good little boy. A smart boy." "I don't want to be bad," I said. "You're not," he said, stroking my penis, as his hand gently caressed my hip. "I like you buddy. I just want to make you feel good." I knew that wasn't the entire truth. He would want to feel good too and I would be expected to do something for him. My body stiffened as he took my penis into his mouth and gently sucked it. "I don't want to go to hell," I said fighting back tears. "Why do you think you're going to hell," he asked, pulling my cock out of his mouth suddenly realizing the immensity of my guilt. "Because it's bad to do this," I said, not understanding exactly why, just that it was. "No it's not," he said. "Who told you it's bad?" I wouldn't answer. I just stared out the window, feeling his hands on my body, feeling my stomach twist even tighter into knots. "It's not bad," he said, "it feels good when I do it, doesn't it?" I shrugged, not wanting to say yes, thinking that would somehow incriminate me. "If it feels good," he said, "how can it be bad?" "Davie says its bad," I said, not able to look him in the eye. "What does he know," Mike said, pulling me down to sit on his lap. "Some people think its bad because they don't know any better." "I don't want to be bad," I said, looking at him, "but I like doing it." "Of course you do," he said. "It feels good, why wouldn't you like it?" "Because it's bad to do it," I said. "God doesn't want you to have sex." "How do you know what God wants," Mike said. "The Bible says it's bad," I said. "Do you believe everything you read buddy," he asked. I didn't answer. My mind was muddled, trying to weigh the pleasure I wanted, against the weight of my soul, my young conscience caught in a dark current, the memories of all the times I had done those things in the past washing over me suddenly in a flood of guilt. "Am I going to hell," I asked, tears starting to stream down my cheek. "No you're not," he said, patting me on the leg, "why do you think God would let you feel good and not want you to feel good?" I shrugged, wiping the tears from my eyes. "Little man," he said, "I don't want to make you feel bad. If you don't want to do anything, you don't have to." "I want to do it," I said, "that's why I'm bad." "Trust me," he said, wrapping his arms around me, "you're not bad. You're a sweet little boy. I don't think God wants you to be sad, do you?" I shrugged, not sure anymore. God seemed awfully angry from what I'd heard. "Don't you think God loves you," he asked. "I don't know," I said. "Well I think he does," he said, "and I don't think he wants you to feel the way you do now." "I'm sorry," I said. "What are you sorry for," he asked. I didn't answer, I just leaned my head against his shoulder. He stroked my hair and sighed. "If we're going to play together," he said, "you have to promise me you wont feel bad about it. I don't want to do anything that makes you cry." "Are you sure it's not bad," I asked, still not believing him, but wanting so much for it to be true. "I'm positive," he said. "I did this stuff when I was your age, am I bad?" I shrugged my shoulders, not sure what to say. "I'm not bad," he said, "do you think God hates me because I think you're cute and want to have fun with you?" "Does he," I asked, not knowing the answer. "No," he said. "Davie said God doesn't like gay people," I said. "I don't think God would make gay people if he didn't love them," he said. "Am I gay," I asked. "I'm not sure," he said, "but I don't think so. You're not old enough to be gay." "I like to do that stuff though," I said. "Jesus," he said, "do you think you're the only boy in the world that likes to do this sort of stuff?" I looked at him, already knowing the answer, remembering Vincent and the boys on the bus. I shook my head no. "Do you think those other boys are gay," he asked. "I don't know," I said. "They aren't," he said, "at least not yet. You wont know if you're gay until you're much older." "Really," I asked. "Really," he said, "and even then that doesn't mean God hates you or you're going to hell." "The Bible says I am," I said. "Fuck the Bible," Mike said, sounding upset. "God damn, it's just a book kid. You can't let a book tell you how to feel or what's right or wrong, you have to look inside of you to know that. That's why God gave you conscience." I sat there, my cheeks streaked with tears, sniffling, not sure what I could say, if anything. I didn't know much about God. "Do you think you'll hurt me if we do stuff," he asked. I looked at him for a second, then shook my head, certain I wouldn't. "Then don't worry about it," he said, "I promise you, I wouldn't let you do anything that I thought might hurt me and I wouldn't do anything to you that might hurt you." "But it says...," I started. "The Bible says a lot of crap," he said, "it says that you can't cook any food on Sunday. It says it's alright to have as many wives as you want. It says that you can pull someone's tooth out if he knocks yours out. It says you can marry a five year old for Christ's sake. Do you really think God wants us to do any of that?" "I don't know," I said, shifting on his lap. He put his hand on my now soft penis and said, "Yes you do." Mike laid me back on his couch as he sucked on my stiff cock. I felt better, but wasn't completely sure if what he said was true. I did like him sucking me though, I sighed as I felt the tingles in my little prick. His hands were constantly roaming across my body, stroking me softly. He loved to toy with my nipples, running his fingers around them in circles, then pinching them just hard enough so that he could tug on them. I moaned as he ran his tongue in circles around my tiny pink cock head. He smiled when I gasped, the tingling sensations of an orgasm building up inside my body, starting underneath the head of my penis and running down the short length to ball up at the base, sending slight jolts of pleasure through my body, in anticipation of what was coming. "Does it feel good," he asked, pulling my little prick out his mouth, a strand of spittle running from his lips to my pee slit. "Don't stop," I said, trying to pull him back on to my penis. He laughed and swallowed my length into his mouth, his eyes looking at me intensely as he watched as my tummy started to clench up, a serious expression passing over my face. My mouth opened slightly as I started to breath heavier, the sensations in my body becoming more intense as I felt my orgasm build. His tongue danced along the underside of my cock, moving side to side, sliding along the sensitive head and then down to lick the base of my little cock. I let out a whimper, as my orgasm became almost painful, the intensity washing over me as my dick started to twitch, caught in the grips of my dry orgasm. My balls drew up tight trying to pump juice into Mike's mouth. I let out a little cry, as I lost control of my body, the feeling and sensations coursing through it seemed almost alien. When it was done, I smiled, despite the small twinge of guilt that lingered in my mind. It was the strongest orgasm I'd felt in a long time. I pulled Mike off my cock the itchy tickling too much for me to bear. "Did you like it," Mike asked. "It was great," I said, smiling. "How do you feel," he asked. "Okay, I guess," I said, even though my mind was still muddied up in the waters of guilt. "Do you want to suck me now," he asked. I realized then that I didn't really want to, but he did me, so I thought that it was my duty to do him. "Okay," I said, rolling off the couch, so I could kneel between his legs. His dick was just a bit shorter than Lenny's, but being a man, it was thicker. He had didn't have any skin over the end, which I liked. I wrapped my lips around his cock and he watched me, his breathing a bit heavier now. He gently stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers, suddenly very quiet. He smiled every once in awhile, when he felt me take him in deep. I could get most of him in my mouth, but there were still a few inches that wouldn't fit. It seemed to be enough, because I could feel his cock get even harder than it was before. He groaned as I pushed my tongue against his pee slit, tasting the clear juice that had begun to leak from his cock. "You're doing a really good job," he said, as he moved his fingers to my hair, guiding my strokes. I looked at him, seeing the effect I had one him, his face becoming more relaxed. I took his cock out and licked the underside, slurping up the pre-cum that made it's way to the tip, then put it back inside my mouth. Lenny said giving blowjobs was like riding a bike, once you learned you never forgot, I believe him. I hadn't given one in a long time and I could still remember just what to do and what to look out for. Mike was my lesson in urgency, he was a gentle man until he felt his seed rising, then he became forceful, not angry, just driven to come. As his balls began to rise up towards his body, he tightened his grip on my head, almost painfully and began to thrust in and out of my mouth, holding my head still. I sat there, watching his crotch thrust up from the couch, feeling his cock drive in to my mouth, only to bump the back of my throat, causing my eyes to water. I didn't resist, I just looked at him with these questioning eyes, as I figured out the extent of his kindness. "Just a little longer," he said in a husky voice. His thrusts sped up and his cock pistoned in and out of my throat, I coughed feeling my throat gag and constrict around his thick penis. He moaned and held me still on his cock as it began to throb and convulse, then a torrent of cum shot out of his cock in a thick volley, filling my mouth. I swallowed it only to have it filled once more. His big balls continued to pump his seed into me, it was more than anyone else I'd ever been with. When he was done, I felt my belly twitch, nauseous from all the juice I swallowed. "That was great buddy," he said, looking down at me, kneeling naked before him. "Did I do a good job," I asked. "The best," he said, smiling. "I haven't had one that good in years." I smiled, proud of my accomplishment, happy to have performed my duty well. "Do you want to do something different," he asked. "What do you mean," I said, a bit worried now. "I want to put it in your bottom," he said, "can I do that?" I looked at him, unsure whether I wanted to go that far with this man I didn't know very well, but he wasn't waiting for me to answer, he pulled me up on to the couch and I laid me down so I was lying on my back. "God," he said, looking at my well used little hole, "how many times have you been fucked?" "I don't know," I said in a sad little voice, suddenly very ashamed. "It's alright," he said, "at least you know what you like. You do like it, don't you?" "Not when it hurts," I said, as I felt his finger prod my bottom. "Wait here," he said, his dick sticking out at half mast. I watched him as he went to the bathroom and came back with a jar of Vaseline. I didn't like Vaseline as much as KY because it was messier and it wasn't as slippery, but it was better than spit, so I wasn't complaining. I looked at him as he took a dollop out and rubbed it on my hole. I felt his finger press in. I had been practicing for so long with the plunger that it didn't hurt at all. I tried to watch, but I couldn't see. He smiled at me and shook his head. "When was the last time someone put their penis in here," he asked. I thought for awhile and then said, "you mean a man?" "Jesus," he said, moving his finger in and out. "Yeah, a man." "A long time," I said, an image of Harvey popping into my head. "You're loose," he said, "I thought you did it more." "I do other stuff," I said. "Other stuff," he asked. "Like what?" "I don't want to talk about it," I said. "It's not like I'm going to tell anyone," he said, "come on." "I like putting things inside when I jerk off," I said. "It makes it feel better." "That it does," he said, smiling. "Nothing wrong with that. I think you're ready." I saw his cock, not completely stiff, but still standing straight out, drooping just a bit. I watched as he smeared Vaseline over the tip and the shaft, waiting expectantly for his entry. I felt him push against my hole. I groaned as a sharp pain shot through my bottom. It didn't deter him, he continued to apply pressure, pushing his stiffening rod up inside of me. I felt the head pop in, just as I heard him moan. "God you're tight," he said, looking down at me. I was amazed at how easily it went in, expecting more pain. It was only when he stabbed forward that I felt the familiar painful spasms in my bottom as it tried to get accustomed to his width. Even though I'd been practicing nearly everyday with the comb, he was still nearly twice as wide as the comb at it's base. Mike pushed his cock in and out of my bottom slowly, feeling the walls of my bottom pulse around his shaft. He held his breath when ever he tried to push deeper inside me, groaning as I let out a sharp little cry as I opened up a bit more. "You feel so good," he said. "I could fuck you forever." I didn't say anything, instead I just closed my eyes as I felt his shaft rub against my special spot, causing little tiny sparks of pleasure to coarse through my body. He continued to fuck me at a slow and steady pace, pushing more and more in until he finally reached bottom. He looked at me and said in a surprised voice, "Jesus, it's all in." "You're really big," I said, knowing men liked to hear that. "Oh God," he said, grinding his hips against my bottom. "Fuck me good," I said. "Man," he said, "you are a horny little guy." I felt him slowly pull his cock nearly all the way out of my bottom only to thrust it savagely back in until he bottomed out. I grunted each time. It felt like he was punching my insides and I really didn't like the way he did that. "Yeah," he said, "you like it, don't you boy?" "Oh," I said, "that hurts." "You like it when I hurt you don't you," he asked. "No," I said, "It hurts don't do that." He didn't listen, he just kept pummelling my bottom, crying out in a strangled voice, "take it. Oh yeah, take it!" I whimpered and groaned, as he pushed inside me at uncomfortable angles, his urgent desire to come overwhelming his senses. I ceased begging him to stop, because it only seemed to make him more viscous. "Yeah," he said, "you're gonna have a bottom full of cum boy." "It hurts Mike," I said, "please don't be mean." "Jesus," he said, looking down at my pained expression. "Just a little longer baby." I didn't like him calling me baby or the fact that he didn't stop hurting me, in fact he started to thrust inside of me faster. I cried out over and over, then squealed as he pushed my legs even farther back 'til my ankles were nearly at my ears. "You're going to remember this one boy," he said, sweat dripping from his body onto my chest. With a final thrust, he pushed all the way inside of me and I could feel his cock pulse and throb inside as it pumped his warm cum inside of my hole. I whimpered, my bottom felt sore and burned from all the friction. "You hurt me," I said, his cock still inside my bottom, "am I bleeding?" He looked down at where his cock was still lodged inside of me, shook his head and said, "No you're not bleeding." I used Mike's bathroom to clean up. I could still feel his cum inside of me as it dripped down into the toilet bowl. Mike came inside and watched me, a sad look on his face. "I'm sorry buddy," he said. "I didn't mean to be so mean." I didn't say anything. I felt like he had lied to me. I had no way of knowing that this nice man enjoyed it the most when I was in pain, just like Lenny. "Here," he said, laying a ten dollar bill down on the bathroom counter, " you can buy a toy, okay?" I sat there looking at the money, realizing what it was for. He wanted to make sure I'd come back. He left and I stared at the wrinkled bill, wondering whether or not to take it. I finished cleaning up and picked up the money and started to throw it in the toilet, but greed got the better of me, ten dollars was a lot of money for a boy in those days. I put the bill in my pocket and walked out. "Are you okay," Mike asked, as I came into the living room. "I have to go home," I said, "my mom probably forgot to pick me up." "Do you want a ride," he asked. I shook my head no and walked out the door. He said something as I left, but I couldn't hear him. I suddenly felt very sad, I started to cry as I walked down the street, heading home. That night I couldn't sleep, there was a dull pain in my bottom, that I knew would last days. Mike was right, I did remember that time, it was the moment when I ceased to believe that God cared what happened to men or little boys, instead I believed in the power of greed and lust, understanding better than most that those were the forces that moved the world. I didn't go back to Mike's house, he soured me on men for awhile. I spent the next few years drifting in and out of the arms of other boys. I liked it best with boys my own age, it was soft and gentle, yet urgent. Even in he midst of those joys I could never shake that feeling that I was doing something wrong, or that somehow, the life I had led would catch up to me. I believed without a doubt that I would die young, that God, if he existed would be sure to visit his vengeance. When I tired of boys my own age there were always men to replace them. Men that acted differently. I could tell by their glances, the lingering touch, the way they paid attention to me. It took me hardly any time to find someone else to fill my bottom or mouth. I learned that each man tasted a bit different and none were exactly alike. Some liked to be rough, others soft. Some wanted you to squeal, others to coo. Some wanted to twist your nipples, others to suck on them. One man wanted me to piss on him and I did. Even then I was still innocent. Perhaps not in the ways of sex, but I wanted the same things other boys wanted. I longed for the same words of encouragement. I did not stop being a boy in that moment that I learned what my body was capable of, if anything I became more so. Precocious and teasing, I knew what I could do to men, have them quivering and begging, even if they denied they were. A whimper from me could cause them to groan, a gasp from my lips and they came. Those are the secrets of childhood no one talks about, the momentous realization that your body is capable of such immense pleasure, not only your own, but others as well. At some point I ceased to worry about guilt and sin. I think Mike was right in his own way, even if he was a bit twisted, God didn't give us life so we would regret the little joys we get from it, he gave us life so we could enjoy the moments that we are given. When I look back at the times I remember, I remind myself that a good life has grown in their shadow. Would I change anything if I could go back? Perhaps, perhaps not. In the end I don't think that matters. What matters is this moment I'm living right now. Of all the men and boys that wandered into my life, none of them made it through unscathed. As for my own life, I am just as capable of joy as anyone else, perhaps more so, because I know the depths of my heart better than most. As far as my own preoccupation with boys, it's never led to anything more than a glance here and there and I'm content with that. The other day I saw my reflection in the window, but it wasn't me now, rather me all those years ago, small, slender and naked. I saw a darkness in my arms, my memories resting there, as if they had always been there. I thought I looked very sad. That's the first time in a long time I had wished things had been different. For the most part I don't reflect on the past, rather I enjoy the time I have now. I live my life day to day and take each moment as it comes. I see the young boys playing soccer in the field across from my house and I smile, because I know that they are happy. In the end we make our own happiness, of that I'm sure. If I leave you with anything from this story, it's simply that I hope that you can understand, as I have, that the past may define us, but the future is undefined. We each have a destiny within our own hands, one that we can mold and create into something beautiful or ugly. My hope is that my life will end up something amazing, but I really wont know 'til it's over and if I have my way, that wont be for a long, long, time.