Chapter torty six


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, ©2005-2011. It is therefore illegal to copy or use any part of this story on any other web site without my written permission.

This is a spelling and grammar corrected chapter. It now contains bookmarks for easy reference.
There are no pictures or music links in this on-line version.
    The party petered out and everyone headed off to their pre-bed time duties. I went to my office and opened a secret panel. I poured my self a very stiff sour mash with a dash of Coke. I sat back in my recliner and hashed out my summer. I had to take stock of my life. My fishing trip had been a dismal failure as all I did was think about my boys and how I could find ways to help them. Pete came looking for me. He saw the open bottle and put the lid on it. He poured the coke into a glass with ice and sat in my lap. What would become of me if I lost this one? I am asking that question too often lately. The boys are growing up and I am getting antsy. I have empty nester's syndrome with a houseful of great kids and more coming all of the time.
    The next morning Andy was in the new kitchen with Gerald. Well the names have once again been straightened out. Gerald was putting together the ingredients for the evening meal. All of the boys had taken to the new menu. They loved being slim and trim. They all worked out in the new facilities, that now filled the back of the patio, overlooking the steep drop off and the city below. Many times the boys have noticed their audience on the street below as they pump iron in the nude in full view of the voyeuristic neighbors. I am going to have a crew out this afternoon to cover the fence so that it can't be seen through from their side. I don't want to block our views. Why have a multi-million dollar lot if you can't take in the scenery it provides?
    Andy and I worked on our plans for Cullen. Cullen sat watching and listening. His heart was not into going. My satellite phone rang. Eloise wanted an update. Andy has launched his own satellite and he reserved a transponder for himself. We have direct internet connection via satellite as well as three satellite phones at my place. All of this is on one super secure uplink that Andy is sure can never be hacked. I guess not. He showed me the algorithms with its four level encryption to five hundred and twelve bit encoding. Someone will have one hell of a headache breaking that. Before Andy's chip the best encoding system in existence was one hundred and twenty eight bit encryption and it was software based. This system was that times fourXn. Think of it this way. Andy used seventy five of the more widely used language dialects in the world today and then he gives you the ability to take any five hundred characters from those languages in any order you choose to use as your password. Add the fact that it requires a special interface between the main CPU and the mother board, on both ends. Don't look for a crack anytime soon hackers.
    Eloise was at the palace. She had some news and was working a few angles. She wanted to share with me, in private, an idea she was working on. I excused myself and went to my office. I shut my door making the room absolutely sound proof. As I have stated before Carl and Andy have been around quite awhile and they helped Charley build this house. The walls use eight inch thick honeycombed Kevlar as insulation. The walls are sound proof and bomb proof, at least bullet proof. I don't know why he felt that this was important, but with Cullen inside the house I felt better. If we were overpowered the basement could be used as a panic room and there was a panic room built back under the driveway that would hold twenty people and provisions for sixty days. Overkill? Paranoia? Who knows? Who cares?
    Eloise was in touch with her grandfather's people. They were making plans for a early November coronation, but they wanted Cullen there with them so they could reherse everything down to the tinniest detail. Well, Eloise and I can see that, but so far no one had been able to make us feel that they really had Cullen's safety as their top priority.

    I talked to JB to get my regular update and I asked about little Mike. JB giggled. The boy showed up with a huge chip on his shoulder. He was going to rule the roost. That lasted a New York second as he quickly found that he was in a different world. JB and Tony took Mike to the school nurse. They examined his very bruised butt. The nurse applied a salve to his hurt feelings as JB asked him what had happened. He knew, I had told him. Mike tried to lie. JB called him on it. "Listen to me young man. We do not tolerate lying here. This school operates on the honor system and if you have no honor in you there is an open return portion of your airline ticket that can be used at anytime within the next two years. All I need to do is to call my very dear friend, Chris, and tell him you are on your way home to Tulsa." Mike broke down in tears and begged to be allowed the chance to make something of himself. I know that I wouldn't want to face a life of servitude. At least where he was Mike stood a chance at becoming his own man and breaking with the tribe, forever.
    Before the prayer at dinner time I shared Mike's fate with the boys. There were tears, but a certain resolve seemed to overpower all else. I asked the boys for their input. Everyone of them, Art and Jan included felt that what had been done is what needed to be done. I asked them to search their hearts and give a completely honest answer to my next question. I asked them if their feelings were tainted by the fact that if Mike is to make good on his threat that they would no longer have a home. Those under eighteen would be placed in foster homes. Cory, Jerry, Lew, and Tim were emancipated. Turner was in the custody of Tyler, but that might be severed in view of the fact that Tyler had exposed his brother to danger. Tyler could in fact face charges himself as could Cas, and Pete. Ken had left his sons in harm's way and could be in danger. Slowly the boys' eyes grew wider as they realized the scope of the threat that Mike had brought to us. We prayed for Mike in love. We all love the boy, we just didn't love what he was doing. We may let him visit with us sometime and see if he is any different. NOT!!!
    But why not?
    I asked the boys to join with me as we prayed for those in the path of the hurricane. Pictures of Biloxi were all over the news. The highway where I had traveled to find Pete and the other southern boys was ripped from the ground and stood on its edge like so much trash blown about by the wind.
    Pete and I both saw many landmarks that were no longer. Our hearts were wrenched from our chests as we earnestly sought the comforting hand of the Lord for those people in desperate need for water, food, shelter, and basic life's needs.

    Christopher and Cory went to the end of the table. Cullen and Alec ran the large overhead screen down and the projector lowered from its slot in the ceiling. Cullen sat an easel to one side of Cory and Alec stood by with a hand full of charts. "Me boys been woikin again an dey gots dem a plan." I giggled to myself.
    "BAG Boys is a four year high school established for the training of young teenage minds to prepare them to face a world of grownups with grownup decisions." Cory began. Tears came to my eyes. The boy is just too special. "On a recent trip my colleagues and I," he indicated his three companions, "had the opportunity to visit the school library. What we found in that library is far surpassed by our own library in this house. Their library might be able to serve in a small elementary school somewhere, but it does not contain the kind of books that are needed to challenge a inquisitive teenage mind thirsting for knowledge." I was overwhelmed. This boy was knocking my socks off, and I was barefooted.
    "As you can see from this chart that Alec has set here before you, most teenagers read on a sub-standard level. At the present time the majority of high school graduates are only reading at a seventh grade level at best. I ask you why? We have studied this, my brothers here and I. We believe that the main reason that young people don't read more is that they do not find books that challenge them and their dreams.
    "We started a Sunday book report evening. It was kind of difficult to get the old headmaster down there to go along, but after several hours of our meeting with him, head to head, and giving him hours of continuous head, he relented." He giggled as he pushed down on his very erect penis saluting me from afar, but I will remember his old headmaster remark later, 'when we go head to head'. "We discovered we, ourselves, are not wide read. On an examination of our own school library we, each one, discovered a bevy of books on subjects that would just plain entertain us. This past weekend Christopher did a book report on "Charles Dickens's: Oliver Twist", didn't he do well?" The boys applauded.
    "Oliver is not a book that Christopher would normally have read, but he picked it up and found himself immersed in it. He has now read four of Mr. Dickens works and I know for a fact that he is enjoying himself more than he has at anything else he has done in years. Books open up so many possibilities. They open up dreams, they open hopes, they open up…"
    "Okay Cory. We don't need a filibuster. Obviously you have a plan to help BAG Boys. Please share it. I am dying of curiosity."
    "Spoil sport. I was on a roll." He turned on the over head projector. The four of them had researched publishing houses of every genre. They had selected three thousand titles to start the school in the proper direction. I absolutely vetoed the pornography stating that this was a school with minors in attendance and we would not tempt the laws of the state with a method of being able to shut the school down. Pornography anywhere on the campus could be used as an example of what was being taught and could destroy all of the work that had been done to date.
    Cory was rushed along to the bottom line. The amount of money compared to the end result was, but a pittance. Each of the boys wanted to participate so they each put in a like amount of money and the books were ordered. Cory managed to get over a thousand volumes for his school also. The boys especially liked the idea after I explained to them that they would receive tax breaks for their donation to a school. The boys were all set for that one. The books were a gift from the fŗĩęñďş Çłųß. Their individual donations would serve a two fold purpose by being made to the fŗĩęñďş Çłųß then the club donating the books.

    There was other news to be shared at our evening meal. Turner had a report from fŗĩęñďş Çłųß that hit us all very hard. Ronnie Wieldman—AKA Bubba—that we all knew as the homophobic bully turned gay and good, had become a member of the fŗĩęñďş Çłųß and had championed gay causes around the school. His father had beaten him the previous year and sent him to the hospital after having shoved a ball bat up the teenager's butt. Bubba and his boyfriend, Clarence Hooker—AKA Biff—had been living with two of my old high school classmates, Ryan and Bobby. Ronnie's father had found the boy and had followed him home. He beat his own son to death and shot Clarence.
    Bobby Feldman had heard the noise and went to find out what was going on. He confronted Mr. Wieldman. The two of them fought and Mr. Wieldman was shot in the head. Bobby was severely wounded and was still in the hospital recovering.
    Biff, as the boys preferred to call him, was due to leave the hospital this week, but had no place to go. He was going to need help for several weeks yet. The boys all looked at me. I told them that he could come here to live for awhile, if he wanted, but that we had no way to tend to him. It was decided to put him in a nursing home for a few weeks until he could take care of himself. Relieved, I was prepared to do that.

    What came next put me on the edge of my seat. I have six sophomores, seven with Jan, in my family. It seems that the boys were part of a boy's chorale. Not a choir a chorale. You tell me the difference. The boys were to participate in a national contest this weekend in Phoenix. The program would be televised. Cullen was their featured soloist. I was standing up gripping the edge of the table. The boys looked as if they feared that I was about to attack them.
    As quietly and even voiced as I could manage I made a simple statement. "King Cullen currently has a seven hundred thousand dollar price tag on his head." I could see the air leak from their little bodies as their hopes for national honors was yanked away from them. I looked at Cullen. "Son, you knew that you could not participate. Why did you hurt your brother's like this? It is you in whom I am disappointed." Cullen broke down in tears. He so much wants to fit in. He just wants to be a boy. He has no desire whatsoever to sit on a throne in some wild and woolly country in ol' Europe, trying to be something he is not and never will be.
    He came and curled up in my lap and begin to sob. The other's tried to console him. I asked them if there was no one else who could do the solos. There was one, but he was not near as good as Cullen. I simply asked them what was worth more, their possible win or their brother's life. We all knew the answer to my rhetorical question. I was having problems with Cullen being in public school since the news broadcast last summer, but so far I had given in to popular demand. Now I had to put my foot down.
    I took the boys to school the following morning. Christopher, Jerry and Tim ran to class, the sophomores wanted to go to the office with me in support of their brother. I saw the principal standing on the front steps of the school as I approached. Suddenly the sound of tires screaming caused me to start. In a gut reaction I threw myself into Cullen and we both fell to the ground.
    The car stopped behind me. I reached to my waist band to pull out my .357. I had been carrying a gun since we had returned from vacation. Andy had told me that I needed to be prepared for the worst. I turned to see who was coming after us. Andy was running at top speed toward me as men in black suits were surrounding the boys. Andy handed me a sheet of paper as he dragged Cullen to the center of his men. I took one look and told him to get my boys out of there. Cory had been beside me. He was talking to the principal. I walked over to them and showed him the picture. He turned and went to his office. I called to Turner to go find Art and Christopher, now!
    Cory charged out of the office as I went in. The principal was as white as a sheet. He wanted to see the picture again. I took him aside so that only he could see it. A picture, captured from a televison news cast in Europe showed Cullen on his back, naked, covered in cum, with cum spouting cocks aimed at him. The closed caption at the bottom of the page read in a Slavic language, "The queen who would be King."
    I disclosed Cullen's identity to the office staff. I did not let them see the picture. I told the principal that he and I would discuss that in total private. He agreed. The office door burst open as Tim started in. I told the three of them to get to the protection of Andy. The principal looked at me. "We have twenty four seven security on the Crown Prince. We have just kept it low profile." He was shaking.
    I left the office as Christopher came running full speed around the corner with Turner hot on his heels. I pointed at the cars. We had four motorcycles in escort, but they were not city police. I don't put anything past Andy. I was put in the armored SUV with Cullen. The boys were split up in other armored vehicles. The family party bus, as the van had become known was driven by one of Andy's men.
    Our motorcade flew through the city blowing every light and traffic jam along the way. We were taken directly to the airport and put on one of Andy's private jets, the very plane that I had chartered to take Cullen to Europe on the weekend. We were airborne for less than two hours when I heard the landing gear going down. All of the window screens dropped automatically. We were in the dark as to where we were. The plane seemed to taxi a long time before we stopped. When the door opened for us to de-plane I knew why. We were inside a hanger. I later learned that we were inside a mountain.
    We were taken by electric trams deep into the mountain. I was told that we were a half a mile back when we came to the crew's quarters. We were let out at a juvenile playroom. This was a teenage boy's dreamland. The room had every kind of arcade game I had ever seen. There were XBoxes connected to fifty two inch plasma screens with four controllers. There were the old pinball games from the sixties and Pong. I can't believe they had pong. I was maybe four or five when my dad sat me in his lap and we played Pong on our old nineteen inch TV that didn't even have cable on it. How ancient. Cory and Pete were in a game to the death with it though.
    The boys were shown where everything they needed was. Food, bathrooms, food, soft drinks, fruit juices and food. They were set for now, until they needed food.
    Andy wanted Cullen and I to go somewhere with him so I told the boys to have a good time. He took us in an electric golf cart even deeper into the mountain then down on a long elevator ride. I swear we went further down then we did in the Empire State Building in New York City. Andy told us that we were at twelve hundred feet, just over a quarter of a mile down. Suddenly I felt claustrophobic, a new sensation for me.
    He drove on to a room with four heavily armed guards outside of a door that made the one in the movies about Cheyenne mountain look like the door to the privy out back of grandma's house. I asked him who could be a threat down here. He looked me in the eye and sent a cold chill through my body, "Everybody," is all he said. We walked through the doors and into a communications room the likes of which I had never imagined. He led Cullen and I to chairs that were on swing arms. Attached to each chair was a bank of keyboards which we could access by the touch of a button on the arm rest.
    I settled back into the most comfortable chair I had ever been in. A helmet was placed on my head and I saw hundreds of computers monitors. My hands were placed into position over the banks of buttons under each hand and a band was drawn across my wrists to keep my hands at the proper angle. I could see a virtual image of my hand and by pointing at a button I knew in an instant what it was for.
    The first scenes to fill the screens before me were of the European news outlets. Andy, Cullen and I were in total contact, one with the other. I was aware of others on the network, but Andy was dealing with them as I listened to the news stories of the Crown Prince and his homosexuality and as a rent boy at a party in New York City. On one of my computer screens I saw all of the pictures from that party. I found that I had direct contact to every man that had been at that party and by the mere flip of my wrist I had that man's picture and any one of many boys that he had been with that night. I had every word the man had spoken recorded for immediate play back. I knew what I was to do.
    Cullen was about the same job only he was using his linguistic skills and a synthesizer to alter his voice to one of a deep mature male voice. Cullen was told to speak slowly and with much emphasis so that the synthesizer could deliver the impact of authority. I listened to a couple of his messages as he talked to people at various studios, to political leaders, and to anybody else in the chain to get this story squashed at once.
    I called up judges and congressmen. I showed them pictures of themselves with the boys. Then the boys proving themselves to be well underage by showing their IDs to police officers somewhere. I don't know when Andy had gotten these pictures of my youngest ones. The boys were dressed in their little boy clothes that they had worn to Coney Island. The IDs were fake, false names and birthdates, but effective. We were listening in on telephone calls going out around the world as favors were called in to stop this story, yesterday. There was no way any of this could ever be allowed to hit the air waves or all hell would break loose.
    I marveled at what Andy had here and I wondered if the so called National Security Agency or even Homeland Security was involved. Knowing Andy and Carl I seriously doubt it. They probably supply feeds for what they want to leak to these agencies at their will. There was not a telephone in the world, cellular or wired, that was not able to be accessed from this room. What amazed me was the number of people working the equipment. Everything seemed to be automated. It was. The twelve people in the room were here to keep the equipment going. They had no access to what was going on. The only I/O was from the three chairs occupied by Andy, Cullen, and myself. The other people with whom Andy was in contact were support personnel.
    Like falling dominos the feeds for the world's news networks changed their stories. I scanned though and could find nothing, but I am not the linguist that Cullen, or even Andy, is. My linguistic skills are limited to, "Can I suck your dick?" in seven languages. Suddenly Cullen called our attention to a feed out of Bulgaria. I locked on. I hit the translator which was a mechanical voice lagging behind the story on the screen.
    The King had his own dirty laundry. Cullen's grandmother had a little sister, twenty years younger than my dad's fist wife. Her name was Anna. Her mother had been banished when the news of Cullen's grandmother and my father had reached the King's ear. Anna was only four months old when her mother took her to her family which lived in, what at that time was still, the USSR.
    The King had bestowed great wealth on Anna's mother and there was never a desire to come forward. The world would never have known of Anna's existence except for an old man that always told the story about driving the King to see this pretty little girl in a small mountain village where the King told his family that he liked to go to to hunt. The old bastard was hunting poon tang. The old man knew the names and the dates and no one knew where Cullen was so some in the government had began to investigate the old man's claims and found them to be true.
    Anna had been found six day's before her father died. She underwent DNA testing and she was, in fact, the direct descendant of the King. Cullen was one generation removed. Anna was heir to the throne. Anna was presented to her father in one of his more lucid moments in the last days of his life. He lamented ever having forced her to leave. He was out to destroy the American who was trying to get to his money and his throne and he cast out something beautiful as a result.

    Cullen and I were taken back to join up with the boys. He was the happiest kid on the block as he whistled and sang on the way back. He did not tell the boys what had happened he just enjoyed his freedom with his brothers.

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

50% of all donations go to NIFTY
to support their fine work.