Our hope is that every homosexual youth in this country can find a home
and someone to love them as they are. 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. 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. A strongly worded suggestion has resulted in this statement. 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.
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
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 lied about your age in order to access this story, remember this is our story. Life doesn't always work out like a story.
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.
You may download the CHEROKEE TONT for free at this link. Dowload it, install it, then enjoy seeing the TSAIAGI names in this story. This font is included in the full version Send an e-mail for it.
I had made arrangements with an old queen that had hosted a few parties for Charley in the past. In 1950 he married into olde European money, a lot of money. We used to tease that his wife was the richest fag hag on the planet. She was in her late sixties, he was a sixteen year old gigolo. He would bed a woman for the right price, but to bless a woman with his looks and his body there had to be a lot of money in it, for him. He was a cock loving homo at a time when such people were brutally murdered in Europe for being sexually deviant. There are more than just a few places where that is still true. With World War II just over there were rumors of where his wife's father and her late husband had acquired their money. Both men were bankers in a neutral country. Yeah.
By the time I met François nearly fifty years had passed. I was twenty one, Charley was showing me around. He was grooming me to become his progeny. François was spending the widow's money on pretty boys. François filled her castles and villas about the continent with lots of fresh faced boys. A man after my own heart, he showed me the joys of having a houseful of naked, hot and cold running boys. He had seven houses, if you could call a twenty five room castle a house. I have only heard of most of these fantastic edifices, but I have been to two of them. One is on a mountain overlooking the Rhine river in Germany, north of Mainz. The other is where my boys and I are going to spend Thanksgiving, on the French Riviera.
Due east of Marseille, on a bit of a bump in the coast line, lies the city of La Croix Valmer, Franççais. North of there, on a peninsula, sits the little village of Saint-Tropez, Franççais. Protected from the sea, St. Tropez sits on the shore of a natural cove. Once nothing more than a little fishing village on the southern French coast, St. Tropez was discovered late in the 19th century by a bunch of reprobate writers, artists, and homosexuals. Its reputation as a flamboyant and fashionable resort quickly spread. It has now grown into a glamorous and exclusive resort which attracts wealthy tourists year round.
St. Tropez is a beautiful place with a small market and more than 40 beaches. There are many fine restaurants with a view of the sea. The water is deep blue, nothing else. Very big yachts, belonging to very rich people berth there. I love the little shops, the small, cozy streets, the old world atmosphere engulfed in new world surroundings. Most of the local people ride motorbikes. Taxis and delivery vehicles are nothing more than an elaborate motorized tricycle with a cargo/passenger area across the back. The taxis can handle six people plus a driver reasonably well on the flats. It is better for no more than two passengers to try to make the ride up some of the steep streets to the larger houses that abound there.
Every May the town center bubbles to life with the St. Tropez bravade, a colorful festival dating back to the 15th century. It originated as a procession in honor of the town's patron saint—whose bust is carried through the town, accompanied by a guard of honor with gun salvos, and Provenççal singing and dancing.
On high cliffs overlooking the cove to the north and the Mediterranean to the east, is a small villa belonging to François. This thirty five room home sweeps along the top of fifty foot sheer cliffs with a stairway leading down to a totally secluded man made beach cut back into the overshadowing cliffs along crystal clear blue water. Eleven large bedroom suites face the Mediterranean with miles of unobstructed views of the clear waters. Small fishing boats make their way amongst the tourists with their speed boats. François agreed to let me rent the main building with the bedroom wing for the utilities and salary of the staff which only came to 2000€ a day, or about $1500, a real bargain in this part of the world.
The main house boasts a party maker's dream kitchen with four distinct food preparation areas. Four extra large chef's stoves with eight burners and three ovens, each. Four kitchen sinks, each with two commercial dishwashing machines. There are several Zero Cold® refrigerators and two very large walk in refrigeration units. Just outside the back kitchen door is a four hundred square foot freezer with room for sides of beef to hang. I know that when my young chef, Gerald, sees this kitchen I will have a difficult time getting him out of it.
People don't just come to St. Tropez for the nightlife, it also has some of the best beaches in France. Most are away from the town's center; although the family beaches, Plage des Graniers and Plage des Cannebiers, are within walking distance. The most serious collection of beaches are along the Baie de Pampelonne, south of St. Tropez, the best known is the Plage de Tahiti which has long been favored by exhibitionists wearing next to nothing. All beaches are lined with restaurants and shops selling endless gifts or items to prove you've been there. Now of course when my boys went on line and found out about the nude public beaches you know where we had to go. We had our own private beach where they could do whatever they pleased, except check out the European boys' booty.
There is little left of the medieval Provencal atmosphere of the original town, but behind the rows of yachts fronting the terraced cafés of the waterfront are some narrow, picturesque streets full of shops. I found that I really enjoyed walking through the narrow streets of cobblestone, peering into the quaint shops along the way. I have bought so much junk and sent it home for Eva and Betty that I am sure those women will be in serious need of living space. I had already mailed half of London's wares home to them and now I am out to buy every nick knack and trinket in St. Tropez.
Jim, Christopher and I were on such an excursion. We looked the typical tourist in our cotton shorts, pull over shirts, and sandals. The hub of the town is the Place aux Herbes, a busy enclave of fish, fruit, vegetable, and flower stalls. The vendors offered us the bargains of a lifetime if we would just buy from them. All too often we did. I had just purchased two enormous sea bass for our dinner and sent two street boys to deliver it to the villa for the chefs there to prepare them.
We needed more cash so we stepped into a local money exchange, also known as the American Express office, where we sent off five packages for that day and helped ourselves to a heaping helping of the new funny money called Euros. All of the kids get a kick out of the funny looking pieces of paper and I was afraid that they might not have any respect for it so I took them over two by two and made each of them use their own debit/credit card to buy a thousand dollars worth. That was about fifteen hundred and seventy Euros on the day we exchanged. The boys had a whole new appreciation for the paper when they realized that it was cash. Then when they had to purchase their meal or a cold drink they woke up to the fact that this was not a game. Two glasses of soda and two pizzas cost 40€, around thirty dollars.
As I stepped into the street I heard Cory from somewhere nearby yell out, "Help! Help us, daddy, HELP!" I yelled back as I ran in the direction I thought the sound came from, "Cory, where are you." He called again. Jim ran one direction as Cory called out a third time and he turned and yelled at me while pointing up a narrow street. I ran to him and turned up, what was only, an alley, but in the middle of it was Cory and Jan holding on to another boy on a dog leash while fighting off a huge fat man. I ran toward the group just as the fat man raised his hand to hit Cory.
"You touch that boy Dimitri, and you will have a stump on that shoulder for the rest of your life if I have to chew your fucking arm off." Fat man looked up and saw me almost upon him and dropped back.
"Chrissss, vas ist eet that you be doing here, mine freeeennndd?"
"I'm not your friend, faggot." I was with them now and checking out my boys. Cory had a nasty cut over his eye. "He do that?" Cory nodded, he was fighting tears. He was hurt. I did a reverse spin kick with all of my strength and put my heel, at full force backwards, right in to Dimitri's groin. The fat son-of-a-bitch went down in pain. I looked at the boy on the leash, "Bryan?" The boy nodded. The terror in his eyes spoke volumes. I had met Bryan West at a boy party two years earlier. He was with a boy lover from Chicago by the name of Jon. What lay before me was, but a shadow of the healthy lad I had seen then. "How'd you get here, son?"
"He kidnaped me in New York. Him and another guy."
"Give me the key to this lock, faggot." I put my foot into the fat man's crotch as he lay on the ground holding himself and whimpering.
"I got no key, the boy came to me seeking help. He was like that."
"Hey, Bobby Gendarmerie, what do you think of that story?" My old Scotland Yard boi lover, Athos, had entered the alley in response to Cory's cry for help. Athos was born of a French father in England. He grew up in London and became one of Scotland Yard's finest, and shrewdest detectives. His now aged body stood before me with a serious dunlop of his belly, stretching his white shirt taut and hanging over the top of his belt and the first four inches or so of his pants. He wore the badge that declared him enquêêteur, police detective, senior grade.
He could solve the crimes, he just couldn't commit them. He likes boy's, young teenage boys, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, big cocks and tight asses. That doesn't make him all bad, but the Yard kind of frowned on one of their own being caught by the press with two lads in, shall we say, not so complementary conditions. Now I was looking at a paunchy man in his late fifties or better, wearing the uniform of a Gendarmerie General. Could it be my luck that this man was the chief of police?
"Well, Monsieur Chris it is very fishy sounding to the likes o' me ears." The police officer behind Dimitri said.
"I didn't come to him. He kidnaped me and he makes me have sex with those men over there." Bryan pointed to four men holding a building up with their shoulders.
"You mean to tell me that Jacque and Eion are still able to get it up for little boys? I thought that you had a good talking to in Athens a few years back. And Fesell, they told me you died of AIDS. You better wish you did if you have infected this boy. Who does the pimple faced kid belong too, or is he in training?" I sneered at four of the vilest and sickest men on the face of the planet, well at least three of them were, the pimple faced kid I didn't know.
"Monsieur Chris, I have a nice quiet room with lots and lots of toys where we can get any answer you wish. Let us take these slime to my little hidey place." Athos stage whispered to me.
"I found the key, I found the key. You don't have to take me. I found a key, just laying here on the street. It looks like it should fit." I had almost forgotten that I was standing with my left foot firmly placed in Dimitri's crotch. I put all of my weight on my left foot as I turned to face his prone body.
"Oh, excuse me faggot, I forgot you were down there. Let me have that key." I reached over and took it from his greasy, pudgy hand. "You have given my son a black eye. That was such a bad idea." I slipped on the slick cobble stones and my knee went into the tub of lard's face. "Really Athos, you should keep these streets cleaner. Why a tourist could slip and fall and hurt someone." I got up and slipped again. This time everyone heard bone breaking. "Ouch, I sure hope that wasn't my knee."
Christopher and Cory were there to help me up and I winked at them. They had never seen me like this, but then there is a lot of me that they have never seen. They were frightened, but having a ball at the same time. Bryan was in bad shape. I had Athos call for an ambulance. Actually I told the Bobby Gendarmerie to, "Step and fetch me a meat truck for the lard ass and a first class limousine for a hurt American Citizen, illegally and forcibly brought into his country." I asked if anyone knew the directions to the American Consulate.
Now, let me give you a little background. Athos and I go way back. He was visiting the U.S, where he was studying Forensic Science. Charley had connections in the most unlikely places so of course Athos roomed with Charley on the mountainside, for twelve weeks. He was very cut in those days and fun to be around. I was a sexy little sixteen year old that just wanted to get off as many times as possible and my favorite thing was to sit on the man's chest as he awakened to stare at my super hard teenage cock. What you have heard about French lovers…Athos was all French. Especially his French kiss, which he called an English kiss. I asked him who the Alexandre Dumas fan was, his mother or his father? He glared at me. I guess he had heard it before.
When he left London he went to Paris. I met him at a party a few years later. It was there that I gave him his nick name. I was twenty seven, but still damn cute. I looked at him and called out "Bobby Gendarmerie," for the English slang, Bobby, and Gendarmerie, for the name of the French police. He hated it and he hated me when the name went around the room, and stuck.
Dimitri was slime from the day I met him. Charley took me to Athens for Easter when I was seventeen. We ran naked on a hill top with twenty other youngsters and at least that many old men. Grecian games were played by all of the boys for the entertainment of the pervs. I mean face it, wouldn't you like to watch twenty long cocked boys run a fifteen meter race, directly at you. Just far enough to watch those balls bounce, but not so far away as not to be able to see them clearly. We showed our bodies as we threw the javelin and put the shot, or shot the put, or put the fucking heavy ass ball out as far a we could fucking put it. I won't even discuss the discus, end of discussion.
Grecian wrestling was everybody's favorite. I mean that is one sport for spectator or participant. Rolling around in the grass with a muscled up kid, the object being to get your cock in him, anywhere. This type of wrestling is so intense and anything goes. I kind of got a kick out of working the piss out of some smooth bodied boy and I was always able to roll them to the bottom. I just let go, deliberately, when I was pretty sure the one I was with was a piss boy. But I drew the line when I saw a turtle head.
Jacque and Eion were two of the European boys participating in the party. Dimitri and Fesell had brought them. Fesell was scary, even then. He was a skinny worm of a man with lecherous eyes. He made my skin crawl. I talked to a few boys that had let him touch them. They felt filthy, much worse than dirty. They felt as if they had just swam through fifty miles of cess pool.
Jacque tried to turtle head me and I rolled away. I was about to forfeit when I got a lucky break and sat my ass on his mouth for a pin as I turtled him. The faggot licked it up. He and Eion matched up and went full scat. Most of the men left. We boys ran to the side lines or to our sponsor. We wanted no part of that shit. Oops I made one of those funnies. Dimitri was made to take his skanky bunch of faggot garbage and leave the field. Today was the first time I had seen any of them in over fifteen years.
Bryan appeared to be okay except for some superficial bruising and cuts. I asked for a complete blood work up. I wanted word on any known STDs at once with HIV and AIDS testing within thirty six hours. I was overseas, I couldn't get Andy's people on it from there. I sent the three boys to the villa under extra tight security from two of Athos's young specialists. Athos winked at me and I made sure that Cory saw it. Cory told me later that they kept the two cops away from the family, but they let theim eat some boi butt and have cream for desert. He told me that they were kind of cute so he made sure that they didn't have any cream of their own that might spoil by laying around too long but, and he stressed this as he looked into my eyes. They never got any butt slime on them. I love that kid and I had to let him know it as we introduced Bryan to the way the two of us make love. Poor Bryan hates raincoats, but don't we all? He can ride bareback again, as soon as his blood work clears him.
I left the hospital with a youngster from Athos's office, he took me outside of the city and into a very heavily wooded area overlooking the sea. We stopped at, what appeared to be, a bunker. I was assured that this was just the way the light played on the structure that any bunkers, per se, had long ago been destroyed. This area had no need of such defenses because of its protective cove. If you guys could see me you would know that I came down with the last drop of rain and that I am Mr. super gullible. I don't know why the boy thought he was getting one by on me, but I kept my moth shut as I looked out across the water below us. The non-bunker commanded a very impressive field of fire over a very wide area, I wondered what size gun had beem used there.
Athos was in a sadist's dream room. I have only seem such macabre instruments and tools in Hollywood's most fanciful "B" movies. I have to admit that Dimitri looked good suspended two inches off of the floor as he was spread by heavy chains from four different directions. His nose looked painful, all twisted sideways and misshapen. I know it hurt me to look at it, or was it just looking at Dimitri that was painful?
"I love modern science. This little bitty button right here turns on really powerful electric motors that pull each chain in its own direction very slowly. I had one man down here that was really a tough guy, not flab like Dimitri here. He lasted almost nine hours before his left arm and right leg pulled off of his body. I wold have thought that two legs or two arms would go, but that is not the way with him. I was easy on him, I turned off the power so that his other arm and leg stayed with him. Then I sat down and had a cigarette and watched him bleed out. He had so many new names for me, in so many languages. I wish that I had written them down. I have a tape recorder now though." Athos was like a little boy pulling the legs off of an insect. Would that be considered insecticide? I just wondered, because homicide is the killing of a human.
He was trying too hard not to laugh as he told his story, but his reputation as a tough and ruthless cop didn't help Dimitri see the humor in the tall tale. He was really scared shitless. Athos had foreseen this and had a bucket between the man's legs. We had only to slap a lid on it to stop the odor as Athos showed me to a fresh pot of American coffee.
For a dank and dreary dungeon Athos had fixed the place up rather nicely. He piped in some quiet Mozart. I love to listen to Mozart, but I get so melancholy with some of his quiet pieces. I began to ramble. "I am getting old. Did you know that I heard fat fag up there mention and old friend of mine when I had my foot in his groin today. Oh, did I hurt you? Let me look." I picked up a pair of heavy tongs and walked over to the man. I pushed his wilted willy aside and looked at his swollen and discolored scrotum. I saw his balls grow tight and I used the tongs to aim his cock between his legs as the urine, that he had intended for me, spattered harmlessly behind him.
"Let's see what was that name?" Athos was in his element. He handed me an electric cattle prod with a rounded end, about the shape and girth of a teenage cock. "How many volts is this, Bobby?" He flinched at the name, but smiled at me anyway.
"That is one of the smaller ones at about twenty five thousand volts. The Taser levels are over here."
I touched the tip of the prod to Dimitri's little toe and watched him dance a bit. I was almost sick, but I wanted to know what he knew about that name. I played the end of the prod, turned off, across his vulnerable pieces. "I just can't get it out of my head. That name just dropped out of your mouth and fell to the street with such ease. It was almost as if you expected me to cream my shorts and run away. But what was it? You will remember won't you?"
"Who ze fuck are you anyway? You haff no idea vatt he can do. He's probably on hees way here with hees men to free me right now. And you, your tiny maggot ass ees dead. As dead as I'll be if I ever utter his name in your presence again."
"Oh, I don't think that what you are saying is totally accurate. You see I know quite a bit about your late friend."
"Hee's not that late, hee'll be here anytime now, guns blazing."
"Would that be two Uzzis. He looked so Hollywood jumping out of that car like some gangsta wanna be. He looked just like any other piece of low life laying on the ground with fourteen bullets in him from a hail of crossfire. I'm pretty sure that I put one of the bullets in him and, unless I miss my guess, mine was the one in the tip of his nose. I can have a few pictures here with the FBI's report of who's bullet hit where if you want to hang around awhile. It'll take a few hours, but I don't mind. It's you that will be enjoying the pain of this automated Taser robot while we're gone. Would you like to see it work?"
Athos had the remote control in his hand and a grin on his face that would scare the devil out of his socks. The one square foot box rolled forward with its six foot arm bending and twisting in every way. The fifty thousand volt Taser arch jumped across the two metal conductors. Each snap of the electric spark sent Dimitri jerking against his restraining chains causing himself undue pain.
"Wilson is not dead."
"Wilson is it? Does Mr. Weller always allow you to use the familiar. He got so pissed off when I took his son away from him. He doesn't seem the type to let run of the mill underlings, like you, get so personal."
"How'd you take Ibrahim's boy. He is not for the infidel. He…" Suddenly he realized that he was talking again.
"Well, Ibrahim Daschle is kind of running for his life right now. He tried to stage an attack on American soil and got caught. At least his little army did, and man are they canaries. Those boys can sing. Some of them sing soprano now, but once shown the light men like to unburden themselves of their excess knowledge. Kind of like you are wanting to do." I was shaking like a leaf at his revelation that Jace was in fact Ibrahim's son. That bit of news tied up so many loose ends.
"You telling me that Ibrahim did raid that school for dose fag boyees. He found out that Weller had hidden hees boy there from that ass hole Dubois. He has been hiding the boy for fourteen years, in a fag school. Ibrahim was…how you say, mortified. Hee is a big time boy lover and the son of his first wife is a fag. You say you haff the boy? Your life ees over leettle man."
"Not yet. Ibrahim has been giving you money to buy boys for men around Europe and Asia. You have bought many for him. His time is up. His people don't like what he does and they don't like him. He will be found, most likely dead.
"You worked directly under Dubois or Rothsfeld?" I asked him.
"You know too much. Nobody should know too much. You have very short life to leeve so I tell you. Rothsfeld is pussy boy. He come here with lots of boys for me from New York. But hee take my boy to bed. He like many boy to fuck him. I see him one night take two boy at once. He sick man. Hees sister ees my breeder. She fuck all my boy when dey get too old for the men. She teach them to sleep with woman. Does them no good cause Weller has them go out to sea in leaky boat and not come home again."
Somebody give me something to keep my lunch down. "So Everett Rothsfeld's sister is your breeder, sure. His own sister. I suppose you're going to tell me she lives with you."
"Sure she do. She give me ten boys already. I would have two more from her, but fucking Interpol cop, what his name was? He come and Dubois and Natasha run with boys to America. New born baby, still wet. She grab him up and run. Tell police man that she just have baby and need get home fast. She all covered in mother's blood so they let her go. Dubois is waiting for her with other boy. Rothsfeld raised one, Dubois the other."
"Are you talking about the old Greek. Now that was a cop. They still don't know who put a bullet through the pillow over his face while he slept." Athos filled us in.
"Shhhheee, you don't know who killed the Greek? Everybody on street know. He let Natasha get away. His boss shoot him. The Greek embarrass the police. His boss kill him then boss's wife kill boss when he slap her in face. We know. You so smart you know nothing.
"Wait. I know who you are. You big fag take Prince to New York. You fuck the Prince. You own school where Ibrahim boy ees at. You take many boys to New York. I am rich man. I very, very rich. When Wilson Weller come through door with two guns going at once I get money for keeping you here."
I looked at Athos, "The only thing he said that made sense is the business about sending people to sea in a leaky boat."
"It's a funny thing you should say that. I think that Jacque, Eion, and Fesell are preparing to go fishing as soon as you talk to them. They want to borrow my old boat, the one with the funny trap door in the bow that keeps opening for no reason."
"Athos, my old friend, may I talk to them tomorrow? This shit here has me so fucking sick. I want to go and lay in the surf on the beach. I need to have all of this washed off of me."
"All is good my friend. I would like to stay here and play awhile. This clears my head. Don't worry, I know. No marks and keep him alive. I'll see you tomorrow?"
I nodded and headed to the door, giving his shoulder a tight squeeze as I passed by.
After The Battle
All In The Family
Andy Finds Daddy
The Bus Trip
Bryn and Mell
Chris My Love
From 6 One
In The Locker Rm
Jasson & Jerrod
John and Me
Jordan and Ellis
Laney and Me
Lyle and Kyle
Mark and Lyle
Mitch and Carroll
My Bed Is Made
Pat and Me
The Phone Call
Rainy Day Ralphy
Rape of Rocky
Roby & Cowboy
Ryan and Jeremy
Swimming /w Steve
13 Year Old Daddy
Uncle Ed, Tommy, and Me
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.
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.
A strongly worded suggestion has resulted in this statement.
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.