TRAVELER
Chapter 213

by CARL DICKSON

Our hope is that every homosexual youth in this country can find a home and someone to love them as they are.
No one deserves to be discriminated against, no matter what their differences from society's norm
.

A tidy quote from chapter 137
"titles belong on books, not people" ©Carl Dickson—2007

Does your mother know you're reading this shit?

Warning: This story is PORNO. I have tried my hand at friction, now I'm trying fiction. This story contains vivid descriptions of sexual activity between men and teen boys.
It contains no truth, partial truth, or half truth. What it does contain is stroking material. If this kind of story turns you off, or offends you, please find something else.
The author does not encourage or condone sex between adults and underage children.

If you are underage, or if this is illegal where you are, then please go away. If you're under 18, Adios come back when it is legal for you to read this smut.
If you lied about your age in order to access this story, remember this is our story. Life doesn't always work out like a story.

A strongly worded suggestion has resulted in this statement.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either
are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitioiusly,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Thus said, this story is copyrighted, ©2005-2012. It is therefore illegal to copy or use any part of this story on any other web site without my written permission.


You may download the CHEROKEE TONT for free at this link. Dowload it, install it, then enjoy seeing tfe TSAIAGI names in this story. This font is included in thfull version Send an e-mail for it .
    I guess I sorta left you hanging. It's fun to use the vernacular language of the boys of my school, it makes me fit in on their level. That is not what I want. I do not want them to be comfortable at that level of grammar, I want them to rise above that and become more conversant with a proper vocabulary. People look at others and judge them by their communicative skills. If a person talks like a hick he is considered to be a hick. I expect a boy graduating from my school to be at a higher level than those graduating from public schools.
    Borne was one of the worst offenders that I knew. He was an excellent student with his highest grades being English. His compositions were of an excellent quality that were worthy of publishing. Yet he talked like the street thug of his past. I push my staff to work hard to help a boy to overcome that tendency.
    Of course there are students at each of my schools that can't quite reach the top tier. That is to be expected. All that I ask of the boys is that they do their very best. Sometimes a boy's best is only a C and that is never held against him. One goal of the school has always been achieved, shortly after arriving at the school a boy's self esteem is heightened.
    Another goal that has always been reached is a boy's physical condition. Most of the street boys are slim and lean because of their lives of depravation. But even some of those boys tend to gain more weight than is good for them as they partake of the abundant food available to all students twenty four/seven. The school has an excellent exercise regime worked out that appeals to all levels of laziness.
    I believe that the mind and the body comprise the whole boy and early development of both is crucial in shaping the man that he is to become. I lead by example with the physical part, but I have staff that works on their bodies. The boys also work on each other, there's nothing better than peer pressure. The exercise equipment in the wine cellar is seldom ever lonesome for a hard bodied boy trying to develop his body. Of course the major muscle for a boy has plenty of exercise, and it isn't always from self manipulation.
    I also lead the boys with my knowledge. I don't claim to be any brainiac, but I do claim a well rounded education and am conversant on many subjects. This fact alone inspires the boys to emulate me. Some of the boys dropped out of school because they couldn't attain the grades that their families demanded of them. We don't demand.
    There are many boys that are more than willing to tutor another. Age doesn't mean much to the boys, they work with boys of all ages, depending on the subject matter. It is not uncommon for a fourteen year old boy to tutor an eighteen year old boy on a particular subject. Sometimes the boys are even at the same grade level. Age doesn't determine grade level at any of my schools, their previous education, and understanding of the subject matter, does.
    I am proud of the fact that no boy has yet to graduate with less than a 3.0 GPA—a B. That is a record that has many area schools envious. Every graduate from BAW has been accepted into a college of his preference. A few of the boys have opted to postpone college for a semester to explore their options, but I request that they find those options quickly. I move them out of the dorm as soon as possible, but finding bed space in one of the other houses is becoming more and more difficult. If he is going to attend a local college then I have to house him, or pay for a room at the college. None of the boys want to live on campus, they are spoiled to life with the family. We are happy to have a boy stay with us and I will acquire more housing if necessary to keep him a part of us for as long as he chooses to stay.

    I suppose that I should get on with my opening statement, however. I did leave you hanging in chapter 203 with the story of Trent and Alec. My bad actually I thought that NIFTY would update the PLAYERS file. However I guess that file is too long for people with dial-up connections to download so it never was updated on-line. If you have the FULL VERSION of this story then you have the most recent update of that file and can click on the link for Trent and learn that he was homeless as well as hapless.
    I learned that his mother had asked him to remove himself from her home. She could not abide with his new lifestyle which tended more to a homosexual side. He had a full ride scholarship to attend four years of college. What he didn't have was a place to live.
    Old soft hearted me provided him with temporary housing in the only vacant bed in the house at the time, a bed in the downstairs dormitory of my house. Trent found out that he was more homosexual than straight as he got his ass fucked by nine horn dogs during his first weekend living there. He also learned that he could love someone else. He met Walter Victor that weekend and had to fight the street wizened boy for the dominate position.
    Walter thought of himself as a top and wasn't about to change his mind. His attitude had earned him a bed in the lower dormitory, away from the other boys at the school. I had no place to put him and I was growing tired of his attitude. Strange how things have a way of working themselves out sometimes. After Trent submitted to Walter the tables turned and Walter became a happy bottom. The two boys swap off, as true lovers should.
    Both boys are doing well and seem to be very happy with each other. Walter's grades have improved drastically and he is to graduate with this spring's class of seniors. I will wait to see about his college plans, but I am committed to providing him a full ride to whatever school he chooses.

    Ours is an ever changing household and a bedroom opened up over the garage. I placed the two warriors in that room with the stipulation that the next move would be out of the house and out of the school for Walter. After several months together the couple seem to be solid and I am happy to leave them alone. Oh, and Alec? He is happy to have Evan all to himself as well.

    Walter graduated with honors. I was proud of him, so much so that I offered him another move. After our return from Greece we held a party at βφτ house. Five bedrooms had been added there over the summer. Walter and Trent moved into one facing the street, next to the study on the third level.

    RD and I had to make a trip over to L.A. County. You may recall that he had allowed the family of his best friend to move into his house, rent free. Mr. Sloan has found a better paying job than the one that he lost and he wanted to settle with RD for the time that they have lived in the house.
    RD is a shrewd businessman, he gets it from his daddy. We sat in the front room of his house with the Sloan family seated before us. Mr. Sloan had everything worked out on paper. He had it down to the penny what he expected to pay for the fourteen months that his family had occupied the house. He had a receipts for a few minor repairs that had to be done—a broken light switch, a sticky toilet valve. He didn't add his expense for repair of an outside storage shed that fell victim to a wind storm.
    RD studied his hands before his face then quietly said, "That sounds to me as if you took pride in this house and wanted to keep it in a condition that would make you feel comfortable living in it. Dad, I think that Mr. Sloan doesn't want to vacate the property."
    "Randall, we are ready to move on. We are in a position to locate and bid on a new house, we just ask for a little time to do that."
    "You know that you have the time, I have promised you that. But I want to ask you why you want to leave this neighborhood where your children have grown up? Why do you want to remove them from their school and their friends?"
    Mrs. Sloan looked at her boys and they returned the look. RD read it the same way that I did, the Sloans did not want to move. "Mr. Sloan, my mother purchased this house long before the building boom. I was a baby when she bought this house for roughly half of what it is currently worth. The housing boom that caught you up made this house worth about one third more than it is worth right now.
    "Honestly I don't want to think of selling this house to strangers. I believe that I am seeing that you don't want to move. If I am wrong please tell me."
    "We love this house, Randall. We wouldn't mind living here for the rest of our lives. You are correct that we are reluctant to leave the neighborhood. Crusty was born the day after we moved into the house across the street, and of course Squirt was born five years later.
    "It is an easy commute to the Berkeley campus from here." Mr. Sloan looked at his wife, "We would like to make you an offer on this house if you ever wish to sell it."
    RD wrote a figure on the palm of his hand and showed it to me. I smiled at him. Mr. Sloan passed RD an official proposal. RD smiled and showed the offer to me, it was for several thousand dollars more than he had written on his hand.
    "I'm afraid that I can't accept your offer, Mr. Sloan. There is an assumable mortgage of six percent interest on this house. I would entertain accepting a five percent second mortgage from you for this amount of equity that we feel is a solid representation of the house's actual worth." He wrote a figure on the paper that Mr. Sloan had passed him. It was a figure far short of the market's current figure for the property, but a better representation of what houses should be priced at for the type of neighborhood.
    Mr. Sloan sat back in his chair and stared at the paper. He showed it to his wife then he spoke. "Randall this is a ridiculous figure. This house is worth much more than this. I…we…feel that we would be taking advantage of our…friendship? to accept this offer."
    That statement took the wind out of RD's sails. He looked at me in total frustration as his eyes begged for help. "Mr. Sloan, RD is sincere with his offer. He has discussed this matter with me many times since we last met. RD knew only this house as his home until the death of his mother. He dreads the thought of some stranger living here. You and your family are a part of RD's life, a very important part. He wants to help you while also helping himself.
    "He feels certain that you will allow him to visit you from time to time. He expects you to re-do the house to suit your needs and desires, but knowing that it belongs to a family that he knows and loves is comforting to him."
    "Rand…RD," Mrs. Sloan knelt before him, "we love you and think of you as a part of our family. We also know that family should never try to take advantage of family. There is too much of that in the world. Honey, it would kill us to think that we had cheated you in any way. We appreciate your counter offer and we would like to talk it over, if that is alright with you."
    It was more than alright. I had been seeking a way to end our meeting so that I could take RD to another meeting that was pre-arranged. RD and were communicating with our eyes before he turned to Mrs. Sloan. "Dad and I have an errand to run. Will two hours be time enough? We do need to fly back to Tucson this evening."

    We were on time, in fact a few minutes early, but that is the way I like to do things. I parked the company SUV away from the gate to the old pier and led RD over to unlock it. I followed him as he slowly walked toward the old and dilapidated structure. It was time for it to come down before somebody was hurt on it.
    A large dump body truck pulled alongside the curb. It was towing a backhoe. "Do you still want it torn down, son?" His eyes clouded as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and sniffled his assent. This will be your last chance to walk out there…" He took my hand and led me to the end of the pier. For the last time ever he took advantage of the opportunity to sit with one of his parents at the end of the pier with his feet hanging over the edge.
    The water level was down away from the base of the pilings due to the drought in the area. That made it easier to remove the old ten inch diameter poles from the mud bottom where they had been driven sixty years earlier. I let my son rest his head on my shoulder as I held my arm around his shaking body. He had tried to say goodbye to his mother from that position once before, but how does a boy say goodbye to mom?

How can a man say goodbye to mom? Here is his first love, the only love he had until he was ten or twelve. Then he had to let her go. It was no longer cool to cuddle up to mom. It was no longer thought manly to be kissed by mom. He grew separate from her and learned to walk as a man. So many times through highschool he wanted to draw her aside and be a little boy all over again but this was not acceptable. As he entered adulthood he often looked back, cautiously, to be sure that mom was still there. It was important to him that mom think well of him and be proud of what he was doing. Mom's acceptance of his life style and life choices were always of manifest interest to him. He always sought that word of encouragement or soft "well done, son" from mom.

Now mom is gone. How can he say goodbye?©1997

    I heard a larger truck coming up the street and the sounds of the gate being opened wide. I squeezed RD and whispered that we had to move or get moved. He kissed his fingers and blew on them toward the receding water line then placed those same two fingers on the last board of the pier. I looked at him and asked him if he would like to keep that plank as a memento. He did.
    I quietly spoke to the driver of the backhoe. He took a hammer and a long pry bar from his truck and walked out to the end of the pier. He looked over the wood before jumping down onto the dry lake bed. The sound of nails being ripped from lumber filled the air and after a few minutes the two inch by six inch plank was loose. The man very carefully drove any old nails from the thick wood and then carried the six foot section back to present it to RD. He clasped the plank to his chest and held it tight.
    Sounds from the street cautioned us to move out of the way. A large boom truck pulled through the gate and set up alongside of the bank of the lake. While the driver of that vehicle set about putting the truck's leveling legs down the backhoe driver pulled his vehicle out onto the pier.
    With the skill of an experienced driver the wooden planking was removed from the pier in short order. Two older boys were gathering the splintered wood and carrying it to a pile near the dump truck. As the pilings were cleared a heavy chain was wrapped around it and attached to a hook on the boom truck. When it was safe and clear the boom truck began to lift the pilings from the ground. RD and I could hardly believe that they were over twenty feet long. I would like to have seen the equipment that was used to drive those poles into the ground in the 1940s.
    In just over an hour the pier was gone and the wood from it had been lifted by the backhoe into the back of the dump truck. RD and I had never seen a pole truck up close before. We watched a maestro in action as the boom operator picked up each long pole and put it into place on the long truck with only a pipe connecting the axles.
    The two boys had busied themselves with the taking down of the fencing around the end of the lake. They had a large trailer on the back of the pickup truck loaded ten feet high with the chainlink sections before they drove away. A landscaping crew had arrived at the work site and were trimming the weeds and making the ground appear as if nothing had ever been there.
    The boom truck followed the dump truck up the street as the two boys returned with their empty trailer to take on another load of fencing. Two more pickup trucks with flatbed trailers pulled alongside the road and began to load the rest of the fence then the landscape crew moved over to trim the grass and weeds that had grown up alongside the base of the wire screen.
    RD and I left an area that would shortly contain a new park dedicated to the memory of Sylvia Hamm-Dickson. I had argued with RD over the hyphenated name. I told him that his mother and I were never married and it would be wrong to imply such on her edifice. He told me that when people of the neighborhood looked at her likeness that they should know that she was his mother. His name is Dickson and most people assumed that her's was too. I had commissioned a life size bronze statue of RD's mother to be set on a concrete base. The base would be excavated and poured the following morning. Concrete tables and a ramada would also be set in place and large trees would be planted around the new park.
    There was no room for a ball diamond or playing field. The park was more for young families and children so I had ordered wooden and plastic playground equipment to be erected away from the water's edge. To prevent small children from drifting to the water the playground would be fenced in.

    RD concluded his business with the Sloan family. We left their new home with a warm fuzzy feeling that filled our hearts with peace and joy.

    With Rod attending classes at BAW the two of us have a few minutes of father son time each morning. Cory rises early and takes his oblations and shower. Dane has to do the same so Rod runs to my room to wake me up. Like I said, it is a game that we play.
    It is probably the next thing to impossible for an eleven year old boy to be stealthy and quiet, but he tries. His hand on the electronically controlled door knob of my room will open the door to him. He tiptoes over to my bed and begins his form of tickle torture. I don't know if he ever questions the fact that the covers are kicked back and I am lain out prone. He deftly tickles my nose with very soft touches. I hate bugs, of any kind, but flies are very high on my list of creatures that I want no part of. I have been known to commit mass insecticide on the critters several times in the past.
    Rod's touch is as light as a small fly and he knows that my nose is a good place to start his game. He slowly circles my eyes and mouth while I lay in abject pain and discomfort. I love the boy and I enjoy all of the time that I can get with him. I share him with his mother and three brothers each evening. I include him and Dane in a short story each evening, after I tuck the little ones into bed with a story just for them.
    Rod and I go shopping as often as possible. He likes to pick out toys for his two baby brothers, and always finds something for himself as well. We use our after school shopping vignettes as a time to go over his school day. But our morning ritual is a little more special, on a personal level.
    That is actually the only time that I allow any naked play with him. He wants to do naked things that are a little more grown up than I am comfortable with at his age. I know, we started off on the wrong foot and it has taken me more than three years to bring the boy back to what a boy his age should be. He is sexually aware. He is sexually active. But I will do as much as I can to prevent any sex with anyone over legal age as possible. Don't look at me like that. I have been guilty of sexual improprieties with him in the past. That is a situation that I can not undo, but I can try to avoid adding to that blatant crime in the future.
    I am only as strong as my cock is. I try to avoid an erection during our play and when the play moves down that way, I try to have the fortitude to call a halt for the day. I jump up and toss him over my shoulder and carry his squealing, wiggling butt to the bathroom where I plant him firmly in front of the toilet. Sometimes his stream is slow in coming and that is my clue to get the final part of our game under way.
    As the water splashes in the toilet I look at him and say, "Did you know that I am from Europe?"
    "Yeah, I can tell. You're-a-peein."
    "European also."
    "But I am from a more fragrant land." At this point he passes gas, "See. I'm from phartalotta."
    "I don't smell anything fragrant about that." By that time our streams have ended and we move into the shower as Cory walks out waving his hand in front of his nose. Rod and I take our shower and move down to the kitchen to enjoy one of Edmund's great breakfasts.

    I appreciate Edmund more than I can ever tell him. He is up by four as he mixes the flour and shortening for biscuits for my household and granite house. At six three little Indian helpers slip in to assist. Tequasi—8QR— whips up a mean sausage gravy that sticks to the ribs. He also selects the hot cereal of the day and has a large pot of water boiling on the back burner of the stove.Shikoba—feather— can fry two dozen eggs, stack them on a plate, and never break a yoke. He tells us that two dozen is about the limit for one plate full, without disasters, he usually fixes ten dozen eggs for the boys at granite house. Edmund bows to Tequasi with his sausage gravy as he carries a large pot of the steaming staple over to him.
    Clayton is a terror with a blade. He washes, rinses, peels, and dices fruit of every kind for the boys. Citrus is always a favorite so a truck delivers twenty cases of oranges, grapefruit, tangelos, and lemons each afternoon. A truck load of apples, potatoes, tomatoes, and onions arrives every morning before nine.
    Mitchell carries trays of biscuits, and other fresh, hot pastries over from the main house as soon as they are removed from the ovens. He gathers a large basket of the fruits that Clayton has prepared and takes it back with him to do his magic. Mitchell has the duty of preparing the fresh fruit for the table. Mitchell has the duty of preparing the fresh fruit. He has a winner in his sliced, fresh apple rings—peeled and cored—then sprinkled with a cinnamon mix of his own creation. I know that he coats the apple rings with lemon juice to prevent them turning brown, but he won't tell what spices he sprinkles the fruit with.
    I have had his cinnamon mix sprinkled on my grapefruit sections for a real taste treat. I have also used it to soften the taste of a cup of hot tea, when I drink the stuff. The mix is also good on oatmeal with a touch of brown sugar tossed in.
    On the morning that these events took place word had filtered through the house that Edmund had sticky bunns. Don't even think that the boys, and I, didn't cop a feel of the old man's glutes. They were very sticky by the time that all of the boys got off to their respective study areas for a day of learning.

    I met Bull and Andy for a power lunch of hot dogs and sodas at a city park near the county court house. Cory had ridden down with me, but he had joined his wife and children for a special lunch for them as well. My lunch was quiet and the time productive as we discussed our plans and options of a case that Bull was presenting to the county seeking new variances for zoning restrictions in the undeveloped areas near the school.
    As we prepared to leave our gathering Cory's voice came on my earbud. I started to make my excuses to Andy and Bull when Andy indicated that he was receiving the same message. I looked at Bull, he had his notebook out and was writing furiously—he really needs to take his secretary with him everywhere, he is not good at dictation.
    "I want her arrested, officer."
    "Sure, the faggot wants me arrested. I know his type, he latches onto young women with children and leeches their welfare money from them so that he can support his boyfriend. I saw him kiss that man awhile ago, I know what he is, the filthy pervert. Lady you should be more careful of whom you allow to be near that boy of yours, he will make him into a queer like him."
    "Mam, if you'll just wait a moment. What charges do you wish to press against this lady, sir?" I could almost hear the foul taste in the officer's voice through the phone.
    "My wife and I took a short walk with our two babies. We left our lunch, the diaper bag, and my books on the table. She threw all of that away, as well as the baby's bottle of formula."
    "This is my favorite table. I eat lunch here everyday and you were hogging it up, and you weren't even here. I have a right to use this table and no faggot is going to change that. All of your kind should be boiled alive and spit on a stake."
    By that time I had wondered over closer. I could see the grin on Cory's face so I knew that he was not upset, but the woman's words were having an effect on Sagi. Little Chrisy spotted me and toddled too me as fast as his little legs could propel him, which is pretty fast in fact. "Gwampa, gwampa, gwampa," he shouted as he ran to jump into my arms. "That bad lady threw away my hot dog, gwampa. Are you going to fix her little red wagon?" Kids are so cute, they say what they have heard grownups say.
    The officer snapped to with a sharp salute, "Sir Chris."
    I waved him off and turned to Cory as I spoke into the air, "Do you have all of this, Bull?" Bull walked up behind me with his notebook balanced on one arm, and his soda in the other hand.
    "Cory, what was the value of the meal that she threw away?"
    "About ten dollars."
    "The bottle of formula was how much?"
    "The formula was about four dollars, it was a powder mix. The bottle and nipple was two fifty. The diaper bag, and its contents, come to about twelve dollars. My school books cost me four hundred dollars at the University book store."
    "I need just a little bit more to get the charge of grand larceny to stand. You can also press charges of Malicious Slander, maybe we can get Libelous Slander to stick. She is very guilty of a hate crime with her words and deeds, and I believe that Sarah and the kids have undergone sever mental anguish and suffering. You have a good court case as well as a law suit here. How many millions of dollars do you want from her."
    "I want a pound of flesh from her heart." I could see the gleam in Cory's eyes as he smiled at Sarah. She was enjoying seeing her man stand up for her in public.
    The tossed items were lain out on the table. A soda had spilled into the diaper bag spoiling its contents. The lunch was ruined. The books were unspoiled from their trip to the garbage can. The woman quickly offered up a fifty dollar bill in payment for the damaged items. Cory carefully examined it to assure that it was genuine.
    A bicycle officer road up and quickly addressed me with a salute. The woman sidled up to him and asked, "Who is that man?"
    "Mam, that's Sir Chris Dickson, the multi-billionaire. The other man is his son and that is his daughter-in-law and grandchildren. You should be more careful of whom you choose to vent your hatred on. That man can destroy you and all of your family for a million years." The sgt. grinned at me as he spoke.
    Cory passed the money to Sagi then kissed her and the kids goodbye, we had to get on with our day. The lady turned to me to speak and I turned away from her. I placed little Chrisy into the front seat of the double stroller and pushed it toward their car in the parking lot. The woman was livid, the officers told her to stay back or she would be charged with assault. Cory and I walked away, with a flip of our tushies and arm in arm.

    Life with Rodney is never dull. The little fart can come up with something that keeps the whole household in stitch causing laughter. As the family gathered for one recent Friday night story time Rod walked into the room. He was walking stiff legged and held his arms straight out before him. His face was set to a stiff look and he spoke in a mechanical way, "I am cockzilla and I have come to fuck every person here until you call me the master of the sexaverse"
    Of course there were many boys that took up his challenge. Rod is almost twelve years old and his body is developing faster than I like. I love my tiny little son with his smooth, boyish body. I love the innocent laughter and the boyish curiosity of his youth. All of that is too quickly disappearing.
    Del was the first to take Rod to task as he lay back and lifted his legs wide for the boy to do his worst. Even a boy with a four inch stiff cock can make a guy know that he is there. Rod slipped inside of Del and did a power fuck that had every cock in the room stiff.
    Del was moaning and begging for Rod to go harder and faster and deeper. Well, the deeper part was out of the question, but Rod made up for his short cumings by giving his partner a prostate stroke that sent a bucket of cum flying across his body. Of course there were many mouths sent into action as they gleaned the cream from the hard bodied half brother of the queeing. Rod had a very intense boi orgasm that left him breathless. He rolled aside and lay on his back to catch his breath.
    Rod's cock never lost a bit of its hardness, a fact that was quickly noted by others. His body was licked clean of his boi sweat as his cock was suckled and cleaned before another boy could take a ride. The second boy surprised all of us.
    Androv lay down alongside of Rod and when the boy's body was clear of other mouths caressing it he put his arm behind Rod's neck and gently pulled him up to lay on top of himself. Passionate kissing quickly took place. In a short time Androv spread his legs and raised them which allowed Rod to slip into the saddle. Rod wasted no time in sending Androv into a sexual frenzy. Even though Dimitri had removed Androv's balls and cock head with a pocket knife the boy is still able to ejaculate.
    An orgasm stimulated by a good prostate massage is about the most intense experience that any man will ever have. The ejaculate—semen—comes from that sensitive organ located at the base of the penis. The balls produce the sperm, but Androv had lost those vital organs at the hands of the sadistic pederast that stole boys from their homes and off of the street and sold them to the service of other pederasts seeking boys for sex. Androv has found solace in the Word of God. His faith in the Logos is a testimony to the rest of us. Androv is strong, but he is still a sexual being with needs of personal contact. The only way for a man to truly be celibate in mind and body is when he is in his grave.
    Rod's age served him well as he was able to achieve orgasm after orgasm with ten boys that allowed him to dominate their bodies. "Cockzilla rules," shouted the exuberant boy as he rolled off of Cullen—number ten— then he passed out. I lifted him from the floor and carried him to his bed. I lay down beside him and wondered what had happened to my desire to keep him pure and let him grow up in a quasi normal life.
    I had talked to Ugitsiha many times. I thought that Rod should live in the house with her, but she assured me that he was happy and comfortable living with me. Rod spends several hours each day playing with his baby brothers and sharing with his mother. He loves Beulah as much as he loved his own elisi. He loves Sagi as a second mother, and of course he adores Little Chrisy. He looks on Quemela as the big sister that he never had. He can hardly wait until his big brother and his sister marry so that he can become and uncle.

    I slipped out of his bed and returned to the rec room. In less than ten minuets Rod crawled in between Cory and me and wrapped a hand around each of our cocks. He rested his head on my chest and stretched his legs out before himself as he listened to Jimmy read us a story.
    "Why do you love me?" What a question.
    "Why do bears love honey? Because it is sweet like you."
    "Daddy, I ain't sweet."
    "Okay, so why do flies like shit? Because it tastes and smells good to them."
    "Ewww, okay, let's drop it. That's sick, daddy." Cory and I squeezed the boy between us.
    I looked across the room at Dane. He was sitting between Luke's legs with his head lain back against the fourteen year old's chest. Luke had his arms around Dane with his hands resting on the twelve year old's chest and tummy. No one has said anything, but Cory and I have both noticed that Dane is sleeping in Luke's room with him. Rod has been very quiet on the subject, but I think that is time that I spoke with him about it.

So there you have it. Is your friction enhanced by my fiction?
Tell me about it at fisherman@iname.com
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