The Oswald Alternative School

By Jet-Set Plower

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction based on fantasies only. This is an erotic fiction and there will be a lot of erotic scenes between high school male students, them and their teachers, brothers, even some girls might be involved in some specific scenes, possibly even bestiality and machines, there will be violence, coarse language, passion, humiliation, sex and everything that my perverted mind allows me to write to make you have a good time. I know some people might say it is gross, but it's just writing. So if you're too young to read this, go away, if you don't like that kind of stories, go away, if you are not allowed to read this in your country, well, be careful and don't let yourself be caught, if you are religious, well, you might just love it but don't tell your minister you wet yourselves over that kind of stories. You can do whatever you wish of this story, copy it, send it to your friends, put it on your personal home page, as long as you respect four points; 1- this story is a complete work in itself, so do not modify it, 2- I am the author of it, so don't forget to put my pseudonym (Jet-Set Plower) along with any citation you may use, 3- do not sell it or make any money on any derivate product implying the characters, the plot, the texts you may find in these pages unless you're ready to give me my share and ask me first, 4- please be grateful and tell me whatever you do with this story other than only reading it by sending me an e-mail. As long as you respect these four points, you may enjoy this story the way you want, this is a gift to the world.

Chapter 1 : The Box

I had barely touched my lunch when they came in the cafeteria. I must admit they were quite impressive, these men all dressed in black with their dark shades. Impressive and scary. They looked so much as though they just came out of a spy movie it was frightening. And they seemed to be looking for something, or even worse, someone. I just hoped they would find what they were searching for as soon as possible and let us go back to our eating. Because by then, nobody could do much more than staring with wide eyes in amazement or in fright, hands shaking and mouths agape. And I was not any better. When I saw one of them coming my way as soon as he spotted me in the corner, I thought I would wet my pants. It was obvious it was me he was coming to since I sat alone at this table for the past three months as if I had the plague. See, I was a geek. Yeah... scrawny, short, plain looking, no skill in anything involving physical abilities, and even worse, I wore glasses... and I was also gay...

Yes, gay. And pretty accepting of that fact. It's not that I advertised with flags or anything, hell, I'd always been too shy to flaunt anything. I think I only had been blessed in having a caring father who was also quite open minded. He'd always told me to be true to myself. So the year before, I had used my confidence in him and this trust had been worth it. Overwhelmed by this proof of undying love from my father to me, I had confided to a friend which resulted in my new rank of freak in the school. I'd always been shy before, always been teased because of my physical features, but it seemed as though everything was making its toll in everybody's mind and I suddenly fit the stereotypes. Jesus fuckin' Christ! I never had any lisp nor any kind of swish of the hips nor was I wearing any pink nor any kind of make-up... Nobody never really hit me, if not counting the numerous occasional pushes in the locker rows, no, the other students basically just left me alone. And I mean alone... I never told my father about my loneliness in school. I couldn't bare to risk seeing any kind of sadness in his eyes. I knew he would never judge me, but he had been so nice about everything and looked at me with so much pride... I couldn't do it to him. So everyday after leaving school I would try and change my mind to regain some composure. I know my mask was never perfect and that my father never quite exactly bought my cheery attitude when entering the house, but he never questioned me about it, preferring to just let me know in his casual tone that I could talk to him whenever I wanted and anytime I needed it then switch to tickle me, help me with my homework or anything that he would do, always trying to imply himself in my activities around the house. We were a team, me and my father. He was simply wonderful.

"You!" the man pointed at me, removing his shades with his other hand.

I looked all around me, trying to figure out if maybe... just maybe, I could have missed anybody else sitting in this area. Of course not, and I heard some people giggle at my stupidity. So eyes opened wide, I pointed a finger at my chest and mouthed the word Me? in bewilderment.

"Yeah! You!" the man repeated on a neutral tone that held no humour nor sarcasm. "Is your name Kyle Hensley?" I could just nod my head with my mouth still opened, trying to decide what I must have done. "We don't have much time to explain right now, but you will need to follow us."

Oh my freakin' God! Were these guys trying to kidnap me? But why? Why me? I was only thirteen years old and still in seven grade, for Pete's sake! What could I have done wrong? Jeez, I was scared of my own shadow... couldn't even cheat on a test... I think that the man realized just how much I was freaked by all this ruckus at this time and he took a step closer before putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't worry, Mr Hensley," Mr Hensley? "we're not here to do you any harm. But you have to come with us. Something terrible happened to your father and it's really important that we make sure that you're safe. I am agent Rodney Mitchell from the FBI," he said, showing me his badge.

So here I was in Mr. Davis', my father's lawyer, office only a couple of hours after burying his body, or should I say the carbonized hand and jaw they could identify as belonging to my father's body. The limousine which my father took place in was completely destroyed by the blow of the explosion. He didn't have any chance. Luckily, as the legal doctor told me, he didn't suffer, the bomb probably having been right under his seat.

It was weird thinking at how people took this news of my father's death as something that looked quite casual. I knew my father was no novice in the security industry, as he had become one of the most famous leader in that kind of business within the last twenty years, but he had been killed by a bomb secured under his car, for Pete's sake! and they were talking about the event as though he had peacefully died in his sleep. I thought it was ironic, in a heart wrenching way, that the king of security in America had been killed by a failure in his own personal security protocol. Maybe were people afraid to make me freak by talking about this murder, I don't know. Maybe they thought I was just some kid who wouldn't understand.

I never knew my mother. According to my father, she was a wonderful woman. She died when I was still a baby from a aneurysm. My father's parents were killed in their house when my father was still a kid. Maybe that was what triggered his idea of becoming an expert in security systems and protocols. So for three days in a row, I stood there in my black suit, alone by my father's side and accepting all of his acquaintances' and old friends' condolences.

I was definitely alone. I had no confidant, no friend, and from that moment this bomb had blown away my father's life, it had also blown away the only person in this world I trusted in. Now I'd have to fend for myself. I was a ward of the state. My freedom had hit its ending spot. See, I was very aware of the fact that my father's liberal way of seeing the world and my education for that matter was not the way people in general here in USA saw as good. I had slept over at Matt Jennings once and it had been so uncommon for me to witness their way of living. At dinner time, Matt's mother had tried to be the very centre of conversation by humiliating her own son with the baby album, Matt's father asking me all kind of personal questions about me. Can you believe that the man even asked me if I had a girlfriend? I thought that kind of question belonged to people who knew each other for a long time and didn't fit in conversations where some people were using their power of intimidation. I felt as though I was trapped and I only wanted one thing, and that was to call my father so he could come and pick me up to bring me back home. Matt's parents were not bad people, I guess. But I simply thought they were too nosey and pushy for my liking. My father had raised me as though I was his best friend. I loved to think that it was exactly what we were. Never had he hit me in any way. Never had he just said no without being able to explain why and taking some of his obviously precious time to do so.

Now it was all gone. I'd probably be sent to live with people who would be ignoring me or worse, choking me and freaks leaving me no privacy. Maybe my father shouldn't have taught me how to cherish freedom the way he did. Had he been a harder man, maybe I would've had been more appreciative of going to live with somebody who would boss me around as their own property simply because I was minor. I thought it said in the First Amendment that every human beings were born equals and free. Never thought slapping and humiliating a child, treating them as though they were slaves, was very compatible with this law. Well, not a lot of things seemed to be quite rational in this crazy country. We cherished freedom and had elected Bush. As soon as you turned eighteen, you were pushed to go being killed by bigot patriots but weren't allowed to drink alcohol. I thought that the latter had less impact... But because the country was governed by prudes... My father used to give me a small glass of wine once in a while and sometimes made me taste his scotch or have a sip of his spicy Belgian beer. He said it would make me know about responsible drinking instead of getting drunk as soon as I turned twenty-one and risk to never leave the bottle alone. I guessed this time was now over. With a little chance, I'd be sent to a family who wouldn't care whatever I did. In the worst case, Id be living with freakin' religious people boring my life into obliging me to go to church every Sundays, trying their best to make me believe all the lies written in that shitty book called Bible. Sigh...

I'll spare the details and all the official reading of the will since I could care less what my father was leaving to me. Yes, I was rich. Immensely, I mean. By my father's death, I was becoming the holder of one of the top fortune of this world. But none of this money could bring my father back, so why bother? All of our houses were to be sold along with everything my father owned except for the actions in his security industry so the regency remained focused on money and actions instead of having to take care of everything up until I turned eighteen years old. The regency was given to my father's lawyer team directed by Lily Mansfield, a very influent woman who had seated at my father's administration council for as long as the company existed. She was also a very close friend of the family. She would hold my father's chair for the next five years. It might seem as though she had manoeuvred her own ascension right to the top but you would be fooled. At first, Lily refused the promotion, saying that she wouldn't support to take my father's seat but reluctantly accepted when it was made clear that this promotion would help her make sure I would be protected.

"Where is Kyle going to live?" Lily asked, a look of concern on her face.

The old lawyer tried to find any indication on the papers. Then realization hit him and he slapped his forehead.

"I'm very sorry, Mr Hensley. Here..." Mr Davis pushed a very nice cherry wood box in front of me. It seemed to be heavier than simple wood should have. The box was locked with one of my father's most expensive devices. I remembered looking at this lock a few years back when my father showed it to me. He had insisted that I took a closer look at it and to wait until the flash. At that time, I'd thought my father was taking a picture of me. He'd asked me also to try and think about a masculine name, surname and family name, two words I would never forget, a realistic name that I really liked, one that would be my secret, that would only exist in my head, then to wait until he had left the room and to whisper the name ten times so I would always remember it. I had thought it only was a test. I was impressed to see that lock again on something that was destined to me. What was in this box must have been very precious to him. "You'll find your answer in it."

"Can you open it?" Lily asked.

"I'm afraid not. The lock has been settled to be opened by Mr Kyle Hensley only. Even Mr Hensley himself couldn't open it once the lock had been activated. The inside of this box is made of very thick steel and wouldn't suffer the blow of a bomb..." Mr Davis flinched at his own use of the word bomb in my presence and quickly apologized before resuming his explanations. "The electronic lock protects ten steel rods holding this box closed. If anybody would happen to try and break this lock, nobody could ever open that box. A very strong acid would be delivered, destroying everything in the box. Luckily, there is another similar box in a bank in the Caiman islands, one in France and a last one in England. They all will deliver the acid as soon as Mr Hensley will open this one box. The electronic message confirming the successful opening of one box will activate the auto destruction of the others. The regretted Mr Hensley has been keeping this box in a special safe at the World Bank in Zurich and when the bank delivered the box to my office this morning, it was delivered by four armed agents, the ones who are waiting outside that door. I have to make sure Mr Hensley opens it when he is alone and can not be disturbed by anybody. Nobody but him can look at what is inside that box.

"But you didn't answer my question, Mr. Davis, which is where Kyle will be living up until he's eighteen," Lily said.

"Actually, Mr. Hensley will be automatically emancipated at the age of sixteen since he'll be able to fend for himself. That's the law and always has been that way. I'm surprised to see there is no allowance to be specified to you Kyle, but I'm pretty sure you'll find the answer to that question in time in that box. Maybe there are money cards in it. You'll know when you open it up."

Lily was growing frustrated.

"Where will he live? Will you answer me? Will Kyle come and live with me?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Mansfield. I have very strict directives to observe for Mr. Hensley's safety. The way Mr. Hensley father died, maybe he's been in danger for some years before, so he wanted to make sure his son would be safe must it happen what happened."

"So I won't get to know where Kyle is going to live, is that what you're telling me?"

"I'm afraid it is the way Mr. Hensley wanted things to be. You could try and torture me, I couldn't tell you where Kyle is going to live since I don't know any detail myself. Nobody knows. The information is in the box. When we will be done here, Kyle will have to follow these gentlemen who brought the box this morning then I guess you and me won't see him for at least the next three years up until he is sixteen. We might have to wait until he's eighteen also, if it happens that he doesn't need anything."

I must admit, it was weird. The fact that the two of them were talking almost as if I weren't there anymore was somewhat annoying me to no end. My father never used to talk as if I weren't there. He always made a point of making me understand everything by looking me in the eyes. But now I felt as if he had betrayed me here in this room, even if he wasn't there. I was infuriated to say the least. Not even by these two adults talking as if they were towering over me but more by the fact that up until I could finally open that box, I would have to follow whoever was settled to take care of me and accept everything. I would then have to open the box and agree to whatever my father had settled for me a couple of years ago. My father had never treated me as though I was his property when he was alive, so why in hell would he do that now that he was dead? Sigh... I'd have to wait until I could finally open that damn box.

"Will I be able to go home and bring my stuff?" I asked.

"I don't know, Mr Hensley. The men outside are the only people who know where you'll be going as soon as you are out of my office. I don't think so, though."

Ward of the state. That's what I was. And as a ward of the state, it was almost as if I were a freakin' object owned and operated by the fuckin' state. As soon as I went through the door, the armed men took charge of me and lead me to a nondescript car, two guys sitting in the front and the two others squeezing me in the middle of the back seat. None of them uttered any word to me. Why would they? I was just a stupid kid! Worse, I was a stupid kid that was ward of the state. I couldn't believe my father didn't even let me live with Lily. She was a decent enough woman, I thought. Maybe not the most caring substitute of a parent, but I was thirteen, for Pete's sake! Any thirteen years old know how to make breakfast, when it's time for doing homework, when it's time to go to sleep! Alicia Winthrop started babysitting their neighbours' kids when she was twelve! I could baby-sit my-fuckin'-self! I could have gone back home too. There were so many people working in our house I'm pretty sure they could have taken care of me! The house was basically running by itself with the cook, the gardener, the cleaners and the butler. But no! a thirteen years old kid in USA is nothing more than a six years old so to speak! In USA, we believe what they show in the stupid family movies where the mothers cook piles of pancakes and apple pies, where mothers are all Martha Stuart look-alikes with turkey at thanksgiving and sharing their dirty secrets on Jerry Springer's show or Oprah. So now, as a ward of the state, I had to follow the rules of a government directed by the extreme right wing of religion and gun industry, be a cute little six years old up until I become major somewhere around my fortieth birthday and do whatever was expected of me. Wow! See, I was not that stupid a kid even at thirteen. Maybe I was no good at any sport but I had the brains.

I was exhausted and my body was a wreck after sitting for over four hours cramped between these two huge agents, holding onto the wooden box for dear life, wishing I could have opened it sooner so I could've avoided the feeling of helplessness and could've anticipated instead of being kept in darkness. I was sure at this moment I would never forgive my father. He'd never acted like this with me before. I didn't know him at all. Maybe had he been a hypocrite all this time. Maybe he'd hated me. I was feeling resentful against him. But he had me. He was dead, so why bother to act as though he was the good father anymore? He didn't need to. Even if I hated him now, it was too late. I couldn't tell him. Now I really needed to have some questions of my own answered and the sooner the better.

I was finally relieved when we got out of the car. I felt as though I was being their prisoners. I guessed that what I was. A prisoner. Yeah... I had been kidnapped by my own father. Or was he really responsible of all this? Had I been too confident my father really was behind it all? Maybe somebody wanted me to disappear. Maybe the people who had killed my father had also built up the story of the box! Maybe there strictly was nothing in that box. Maybe it was another bomb! I was starting to get paranoid. I followed the men into a very nice Victorian house which advertised it was a Bed & Breakfast hotel. I had been to numerous hotels with my father since I was a small kid but this one looked more homely than these bigger and impersonal buildings. After checking in, I was none too politely sent to my room. I could hear the security guards chatting softly and laughing in the hall. It made me feel as though I was in jail. I was dead tired and needed to sleep. I hadn't slept well since that day when the FBI agents had come to my school to inform me that my father had died. Since that day, I hadn't been able to go back home and was sent to live at the Grand Central hotel. I had been sleepy even in the car but I had forced myself to remain awake with the box against my heart. Nobody would be able to steal that box without killing me first.

I locked the door and brought the box with me to the bathroom, which I locked also. I knew that if my father had wanted to protect this box so carefully and with his best security system, it meant I needed to protect my opening of it. I sat on the toilet seat, the box on my knees. How will I open it? I asked myself. I lifted the box to take a look at the lock. There was a plastic cap covering the objective so I removed it. As soon as my left eye made contact, there was a flash. Then coming from the lock, I heard a synthesized voice.

"Password," it said.

Password? I was starting to panic. I didn't know anything about any password. And I wanted, no, needed to know what was locked in that box. I stood and put the box on the counter and started to pace in the room then it hit me; the password must be the name my father made me choose. What was it? Oh yeah!

"Corey Johansen." I whispered, putting my mouth close to the lock.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I heard the lock moving, releasing the top which slowly opened. No wonder the box was so heavy. It was a whole mass of steel which secured a very small piece of electronic that looked as a small cell phone. I remember my father using one of those apparel everyday. It was a very small palm computer. I grabbed the mini object in my hand and hit the on button. As soon as I did, it started loading information, I guessed from the Net. Then two words in capital letters appeared on the small screen; TRUST ME.

To be continued...


I know there hasn't been any erotic part to this chapter and you will have to wait again for one or two more chapters, but your waiting time for the sex to start and see people fucking like rabbits should be worth it and well rewarded. I promise you it will be quite interesting for the most perverted readers. Wait till you discover the school...

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Jet-Set Plower