Date: Thu, 10 Aug 2000 06:34:12 GMT
From: Dream Spinner <authorsix@hotmail.com>
Subject: "The Brewsters and the Genie"

Caution/Welcome.  This is a story involving four brothers, two preteens and
two fourteen-year- olds, and their adventures at summer camp with the help
of an ancient bottle they found.  Yep, another uplifting wholesome Brewster
adventure.  This story is posted at free gay adult story sites for adult
entertainment only.  Permission is not given to copy electronically nor in
any other form for the purpose of redistribution or posting at sites other
than those described here.  This is the sixteenth of the Brewster Boys
special events and myths series.  If you like it and would like to grant
the author, J.O. Dickingson, a wish, you can email him at
authorsix@hotmail.com And if you would like him to grant you a wish, you
provide the condoms.

     The Brewsters and the Genie With the Light Brown Hairs

     The solemn look on their parents' faces could only mean one thing.
Bobby wondered if his parents would believe him if he told them that when
he'd heard their elderly neighbour, Miss Pringle, telling his mom about
planting peonies, that was how he thought you were supposed to water them,
or if he was better off telling them that the flower bed had looked awfully
dry and he did have to go, or if he should just tell them the truth and
confess that when he heard what the flowers were called he couldn't resist
dropping to his knees, and well, you know.  Meanwhile Benny was figuring
he'd get his parents sidetracked on the upcoming discussion about underwear
stains by asking his mom what the phrase "wet dreams" meant.  That would be
sure to get her flustered and the conversation off the topic.  Besides, he
couldn't help it.
  When a guy jerks off four or five times a day, a mom should expect some
stains for heaven's sake.
  Brent was trying to remember if he'd put away the latest post of Nathan
Fost's "Feral Boys" he'd printed off for some night time jerk material.  At
the same time, his twin brother, Brett, was trying to recall if he'd
remembered to hide in Bobby's bug collection drawer the cam recording he'd
arranged with their next door neighbour Chucky to make of Chucky's sister
Cheryl.  He and Brent were planning on showing the cam recording of the
big-boobed senior student taking a shower to Eric Maartens in the hopes it
would get the thirteen-year-old hot enough to want to mess around.
     "The reason we want to talk to you boys," began Barry Brewster,
clearing his throat, which meant something big was coming down.
     "You see, the Bastille Day fundraiser," continued Brenda.
     On no, Bastille Day!  They had gone too far in their wall-climbing
pranks and one of their victims had complained, or one of the witnesses.
Not everyone thought it was funny to see boys crapping their pants or
wearing girl's panties.  Maybe their mom had seen David and Greg in the
Pokemon underwear and had recognized it as the underwear Aunt Martha, their
mom's sister, had given them last Christmas.  Or was it because they'd
gotten too intimate with their Dad in congratulating him in winning the
twenty-five-mile bike race?  Maybe one of their victims had complained
about being put under the guillotine they had made, and which their mom had
proudly insisted they display for company to see in the family room beside
the basketball trophy from the playoffs in April.  Of course Chucky might
have inadvertently spilled the beans about the fun they'd had with the
guillotine, having just turned eight at the end of June, and his parents
had phoned.  Actually, their parents' solemn look could mean a lot of
things.
     "Took up so much of our time, we forgot to register you for summer
camp," concluded Brenda.
     "But we did manage to get you signed up ," quickly added Barry.
     "Summer camp?"
     "Oh yeah!"
     "I hope Mike and Martin are there again," observed Brent, thinking of
the twins that he and Brett had met last summer.  Sixty-nining with them
had been so hot, and doing it side by side had been like looking in a
mirror.
     "And Honeynut," said Benny, the nickname they'd given the know-it-all
eleven-year-old they'd finally tied blindfolded and naked to a tree with
his genitals dripping with honey, and then had taken turns putting on the
old Davy Crocket coonskin cap one of the counsellors had as a memento from
when he was a kid hanging on his wall.  Did he ever jump when it brushed
against his belly as they took turns leaning forward and licking the honey
off.  Then he'd figured it was a bear and had played dead, except his dick
of course, and that was hilarious to see, him hanging there limply while
his dick wagged wildly after each lick.  When he couldn't stop from jerking
when he reached his orgasm, the four brothers almost split their guts
holding back their laughter.  As Benny wondered if the boy could come now,
he reached down and squeezed the tent that had popped up in his camouflage
zipoffs.
      "Hey, the Parker cousins from Texas said they were going to ask if
they could join us at camp this year," said Brett.  After all the hot email
they'd been exchanging, it would be awesome to meet face to face.
     "I can't wait to see Counsellor Tom again," said Bobby, thinking back
to last year's campfire talk when he'd convinced Counsellor Tom to prove to
him and the other nine-year-olds that he didn't think it was wrong for a
guy to play with himself.
     "Three cheers for Camp Kinniwaka!"
     "Hip, hip, hurray!" cheered three of the brothers.  Bobby was
imagining sitting around the fire this year and asking Counsellor Tom if it
was natural for a guy to be curious about what it felt like to have
something up his ass.
     "Three cheers for Mom and Dad!"
     "Hip, hip, hurray!" cheered Brent, Brett and Benny.  They could have
him try acorns, and they could make a big dick out of the modelling clay in
crafts, and they could try the feathery end of an arrow. . . .
     "That's the problem," interrupted Brenda.  "By the time we realized we
hadn't made reservations this year, Camp Kinniwaka was filled."
     "But we did find a camp that wasn't," quickly put in Barry.
     "It's a very nice camp."
     "One we're sure you'll like just as much."
     "We aren't going to Camp Kinniwaka this summer?" asked Benny
dejectedly.  They had been going there for the past three years it was a
family tradition.
     "We aren't?" asked Bobby, the comment snapping him out of his fantasy.
     "So where are we going?" asked Brett cautiously.
     "Clearwater Evangelical Church Camp for Boys," announced Barry,
glancing at his boys with concern.
     "It's a very nice camp," repeated Brenda.
     "I'm sure you boys will make a lot of new friends," added Barry
hopefully.
     "It's an all boy camp?" said Bobby cautiously.
     "Yes," Barry replied.
     "All new boys," said Brett, glancing at his three brothers.
     "Yes, we managed to find it with Reverend Bentley's help."
     "His son Cole will be there as one of the counsellors, so you won't be
totally without someone familiar."
     "Cole, huh?" said Brent with a grin.  "Maybe we can get him to bring
his bunny suit for when we have our nature talks."
     "Oh yeah, he could wear it out in the woods," added Benny as he
thought about their Easter adventure with the hapless teen.
     "Waaaay out in the woods," added Bobby with an impish grin.
     "We'd better pack some carrots," observed Brett, and he wasn't
thinking of eating them.  Nor were his brothers as they all laughed and
thought back to when they'd tied Cole up in the park and opened up the back
of his suit.
     "If it's a church camp, I guess the boys there will be, well, you
know, decent," Brent said with a frown.
     "Oh yes," said Brenda eagerly, mistaking his intent.  "You won't find
any ruffians or bad influences.  Everyone there will be especially good I'm
sure."
     "It's hard to be good," said Bobby with a twinkle in his hazel eyes.
     "Has to be hard to be good," said Benny with a whisper as Bobby had
expected.
     "Benny's always good and hard," added Brent behind his hand.
     "Well, hard anyway," added Brett and the boys snorted.
     "Up yours," Benny whispered.
     "Boys," warned their father
     "Sorry, Dad," the four boys chorused, knowing they had two more
warnings about whispering before they were in trouble.
     "It'll be great to se-, se-, say hello to some new guys," said Bobby,
thinking of all the new boys they could seduce.
     Brenda wondered if the camp did any speech counselling.  Bobby's
stuttering was getting worse by the day.
     "Especially wholesome, pure, innocent guys," observed Brent.
     "Like us," added Benny.
     "Innocent as lambs," observed Brett.
     "Oh yeah," sighed his three brothers.
     "Virgin lambs," added Benny as he pictured a young naked camper
jumping over a low wooden fence, his bare butt invitingly exposed.
     His brothers and parents looked at him.
     "That's a type of wool, isn't it Mom?" Brett asked quickly to cover up
his younger brother's slip.
     "Well, yes, virgin wool," she replied, wondering how her sons knew
about that.
     "What is virgin wool?" asked Brent, helping distract their parents.
     "What is a virgin?" asked Bobby, his big hazel eyes wide with
innocence as he tried to help out.
     "Ah ," said Brenda, glancing at her husband.
     "Well," he replied, looking back at her desperately.
     "So that's why you were looking so sad," observed Brett suddenly.
Everyone looked at him, wondering what that had to do with the topic.  Not
one of them around the table was a virgin, and none had been for a long
time.  "You were feeling sad because you're going to miss us while we're at
camp."
     "Ahhhh," sighed his three brothers.
     "Three cheers for Mom and Dad!" shouted Bobby.
     "Hip, hip, hurray," the four cheered as they leaped from their chairs
and attacked their parents, both relieved their boys had forgotten what
they'd been talking about.  They were not about to tell them they'd been
concerned the boys would be upset about not going to Camp Kinniwaka.
     Giving his dad a big hug, Bobby innocently let his hand slip between
his dad's legs.  Man, was his crotch warm.  Brent and Brett wrapped their
arms about their mom and gave her a kiss on each cheek, at the same time
slipping their hands around and groping each other's cheek.  Benny
similarly gave his dad's butt a squeeze as he hugged him, and Bobby was
rewarded with an immediate swelling under his hand.  Of course the boys
then switched and hugged the other parent just as affectionately by which
time Barry was fully erect and Brenda was about to burst she was so proud
of her boys.  They'd taken the news like real little troopers.
     "Let's go pack," suggested Brent.
     "Oh yeah," his three brothers agreed as they raced for the stairs.
     "It's not for several weeks yet," called out their mother.
     "That's okay.  We want to be prepared," came back the answer.
     "Yeah, you know, like the boy scouts."
     "I like boy scouts," observed Bobby.
     The response of his brothers was too muffled for either parent to make
out as the door to their bedroom closed.
     Three weeks later, with loving smiles and a final hug and a tear from
the mothers, Barry and Brenda Brewster and Reverend and Mrs Bentley saw
their boys load onto the big white Clearwater Church Camp bus early Sunday
morning before services.  The fact that nobody else from their town was
attending did not dismay the boys.  Being totally unknown except by Cole
was going to be part of the fun.  As the bus stopped at other communities
along the way, the boys checked out each newcomer and with an experienced
eye, identified him as either a potential conspirator, the audience or a
victim.
     Arriving at the campsite, they all piled out and lined up for the
mandatory welcome by the leader of the camp, Reverend Leonard Pickett, a
short, portly man in his fifties with thin-rimmed glasses, white hair, and
a large, white walrus-style moustache.  He was wearing a blue striped white
shirt, black bow tie, a black waistcoat and a black cowboy hat.
     "First," he began, "I'd like to welcome you to Clearwater Evangelical
Church Camp for Boys."
     "Okay, go ahead," came a voice that was instantly recognized by three
of the campers and the newly arrived counsellor.
     Reverend Pickett, leader, minister and guidance counsellor for the
camp, glared at the row of boys.  "That comment," he said, his voice so
cold the closest boys were to later swear on a stack of bibles which every
cabin had incidently that they had actually felt a chill, "gives me an
opportunity to explain something very important to you boys.  We are here
to have fun, to laugh, and to enjoy ourselves, but that does not mean to
have fun by making fun of others, to laugh at others, or to enjoy ourselves
at the expense of others."  His cold, blue eyes again scanned the row of
boys.  Raising a bushy white eyebrow, he continued.
     "Now let me tell you about Clearwater Evangelical Church Camp for
Boys."  He paused, and smiled when he didn't hear a smart comment.  He knew
how to handle young boys, and after thirty years, there was nothing new
that they could come up with.
     "By the time he tells us it will be time to go home," observed Bobby
with a whisper.  The boy beside him glanced at him in shock and quickly
looked back at the camp leader as if he expected him to throw a bolt of
lightning at the offender.
     "The property this land is on is owned by a good Christian couple,
Ralph and Rachel Hollister, who have donated twenty-five acres of woodland
and prime lakefront property for your use."
     "Geez, and I don't even know them," observed Benny, receiving equally
shocked looks from those around him, except for one freckle-faced boy who
tried unsuccessfully to suppress a giggle and whom Benny instantly liked.
     "For the next two weeks we will provide you a fine, wholesome holiday
in fresh air and sunshine, a great opportunity to make new friends, and a
chance to learn more about your Christian faith.  We have many exciting
camping and sporting activities planned for you, including sports, arts and
crafts, and science and nature for a well-rounded summer experience."
     "Reverent Pickett looks well rounded," observed Brett, causing Brent
to laugh.  Nobody else did.  Talk about stick-in-the-muds!
     "We have a variety of field games, swimming, canoeing, sailing,
water-skiing, archery, science talks and nature walks, performing arts
opportunities, competitions, a nightly camp fire, and outings to some of
our local attractions.  All of the camp staff are devoted Christians and
are here to make this a wonderful experience for all of you.  In a few
minutes you will be introduced to the camp medical officer, camp cook, and
our staff of cabin and activity leaders, all who have many years of
experience and a genuine concern for today's youth.  Now, let us conclude
with a prayer of welcome," the Reverend said as he bowed his head.  "Our
Lord Who art in Heaven, look upon these children standing before you and
bless and guide them for the next two weeks.  May they form many
friendships as they meet other young people from across this grand nation
and engage in clean, wholesome outdoor fun, as You meant childhood to be.
May their young bodies and minds be filled with Christian goodness and
charity as they learn Thy will.  This we humbly ask in the name of Your
Son, our Lord Jesus Christ.  Amen."
     The Brewster brothers glanced at each other.  This was not "Camp
Kinniwaka, rah, rah, rah, we're here to have fun, ha, ha, ha."
     "All right, everyone line up," bellowed one of the cabin leaders,
evidently one of those with many years of experience and a genuine concern
for youth.  "Ages fourteen to sixteen with me, ages eleven to thirteen with
Counsellor Ethan, and ages eight to ten with Counsellor Cole"
     Cole Bentley and another individual in his late teens raised their
hands.  The Brewster brothers glanced at each other, and headed to their
respective groups.  They were used to being split up, and actually, found
it better that way to scout for prospects for their later adventures.  In
this case Bobby was elated at being the oldest in his category, something
that did not happen often.  The twins, on the other hand, suddenly found
themselves the youngest, and dreaded the worst.
     The campers were split up into groups of twelve per cabin, the
youngest being divided into the Genesis and the Leviticus cabins, the
eleven to thirteen group into the Judges and the Kings cabins, and the
oldest into the Ephesians and the Colossians.  The new arrivals trooped off
to their cabins to get unpacked and to be oriented, which included being
given the campground rules, which were prominently displayed in each cabin:


                           CAMP RULES


      No smoking, alcohol or other drugs are allowed
                     on the Camp Site.
        No radios, electronic games, cassette or CD
                     players allowed.
         There are two Campground sites: Boys and
        Girls. Neither must enter the other site at
                         any time.
          No gum, candy, or junk food permitted.
       Spitting and swearing will not be tolerated.
         All Campers are to remain in their cabins
                  throughout the night.
      No Camper is to be absent without the specific
              permission of the Camp Leader.
       All reading material is to be approved by the
            Cabin Supervisor.  Any unauthorized
               material will be confiscated.
        No bathing is allowed without supervision.
         No gambling, betting or games of chance.



The penalty for breaking a rule is that the camper may be sent home.


     Several of the boys, those who had been sent here by their parents in
the hopes their behaviour would improve, watched in dismay as the
cigarettes they had smuggled were dutifully confiscated and identified (so
their parents could be notified later).  An even greater number of first
timers watched as their Game boys, radios, CD players, comic books,
chocolate bars, chips and packages of gum were similarly identified and
carted away to be returned when they packed to leave camp in two weeks. If
that was not bad enough, they were informed that there was to be no
swimming without a supervisor, all pocket money was to be deposited in the
camp bank and withdrawn each day as required, and that all campers were
expected to help in the work of the camp and would be assigned duties, such
as keeping the site free of litter, helping the camp cook prepare their
food, serving meals, and cleaning up the dining hall after meals, in
rotation.
     They were then taken on a tour of the campsite, shown where the other
sleeping cabins were, the dining hall, the office and medical centre, the
activities centre, the amphitheatre where the whole camp could meet, the
track and sports field, the lake and dock, the camp store which sold
postcards, books, toiletries and souvenirs, and the woods which were
strictly out of bounds except for supervised nature walks.  They were then
left on their own to make new acquaintances
                    until the evening meal.
     Benny immediately struck up a conversation with the redheaded,
freckle-faced boy who had quickly paired up with him when they were being
assigned bunks.  He found the boy, Will, was a month away from his
thirteenth birthday, had been at this camp the previous three summers, and
was not averse to breaking the rules "provided it was nothing too serious
and didn't hurt nobody."  Bobby, the oldest of the three ten-year-olds in
the Genesis Cabin, which was being supervised by a nineteen-year-old first
year university student on his first summer camp job, was unanimously
selected Youth Leader, much to his delight.  As he looked over the group of
expectant youngsters, for many this being their first camping experience,
he didn't know where to begin.  Just considering the prospects caused him
to pop a boner.  The twins, to their relief, were placed in the same cabin,
the Ephesians, but, as they had expected, being the youngest of the three
ages in the cabin, and on top of it, being one of the few there who had
never been to the camp before and had not been looking forward to
returning, found themselves alone and uncomfortable.
     That evening, they sat in their cabin groups, six boys on each side of
the table with the Cabin Leader at the head and the Youth Leader to his
right.  It was a typical welcome day meal for the camp, roast beef, peas
and carrots, fresh cucumbers and tomatoes, and mashed potatoes with gravy,
and according to a rumour that seems to have started at the Ephesians
table, salt peter, which Benny explained to his table was a chemical used
to keep boys from becoming horny,
   which he found for half the table, he also had to explain.
     At eight that evening, they gathered for their first singsong.
Considering everything they could not do, the Brewster boys were looking
forward to that.  As scouts they had learned a lot of songs, some versions
that could be sung around the campfire, and other versions of the same
  songs that they sang when the scoutmasters were not around.
     "Sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, making melody in your
heart to the Lord, so says Ephesians 5:19," began Reverend Pickett.  Brett
and Brent looked around at their group.  That sounded like something almost
anyone in their cabin would say all right.  "Repetitive themes and catchy
tunes running through your head can affect your thinking, what you believe,
and even how you act.  Advertisers know that.  So do the producers of the
devil's music."  Benny's ears perked up.  He didn't even know the devil
liked music!  This was going to be alright he had been thinking he wasn't
going to learn anything of any use at this camp.  "As you know, one of the
rules at Camp Clearwater is that there will be no radios, and no CD
players.
  That is not just because we want you to learn how to have fun without
material possessions, but because here we do not tolerate profanity or
songs that promote disobedience or unwholesome lifestyles, which describes
almost every song or CD produced today.  We must be vigilant, for the
devil's music is everywhere."  Benny's hopes crumbled.  He'd been listening
to the devil's music all along and hadn't even known it.  "Remember, when
young people listen to lyrics that are not conducive to holy living, they
undermine the work of the Spirit in their consciousness.  Now then, what
shall be
                our first song for the evening?"
     The four Brewster boys, always ready to participate, put up their
hands.  The Reverend chose one of the older boys, who suggested "Rock of
Ages", which was certainly not a song on the Brewsters' list.  That was
followed by "Green Grow the Rushes", which got their hopes up because they
knew the Boy Scout version, and had their own besides, but the version they
heard was neither.  Half an hour later, having just finished a resounding
rendition of "This Land is Your Land" and about to belt out "Michael, Row
the Boat Ashore", the four brothers no longer put up their hands with
suggestions.  "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall" or "He Ain't Gonna
Jump No More" definitely were not going to be sung that night, and as for
something like "Gopher
           Guts" or "Willie's Underwear", forget it.
     "God of mercy and of music, may the themes of our songs and therefore
our lives enrich them for Your glory, Amen," concluded the Reverend an hour
later.  "Lights out in half an hour.
       Remember campers, early to bed and early to rise."
     "Happens to my brother all the time," came a high-pitched voice from
somewhere in the crowd, and three of the campers who understood the meaning
giggled.
     After the lights were out and everyone was sound asleep, four boys
broke the sixth rule.  The Cabin Leaders were warned to be extra vigilant
the first few nights, but these four boys had plenty of practice of being,
considering their present circumstances, quiet as church mice.  Just in
case they did get caught sneaking out, they had agreed to wear just their
pajamas so they could
                 claim they were sleep walking.
     "Oh maaaaan, whata we gonna do?" asked Benny once the four barefoot
boys reached the nearby woods.  The twelve-year-old raised his right
eyebrow just like his dad did and ran his fingers through his dark brown
hair, the blond highlights recently dyed just for camp.  His other hand had
automatically slipped under the elastic band of his sleep pants with Skater
print design and began to fiddle with his limp dick, something he hadn't
been able to do all day.
     "We gotta do something," agreed Brent.  "I'm starving."  Scratching
his left armpit, the five-foot two, hundred-and-five pound
fourteen-year-old was the picture of teen angst a very sexy teen angst mind
you in his fashionable fine grey stripe cotton Calvin Klein sleep/lounge
pants
           with elasticized waistband and drawstring.
     "Oh yeah, and those songs tonight were terrible," agreed his twin
brother.  He was dressed identical to his brother, and like Brent, his
long, blond hair curled down over his chest to just below his nipples.  "I
can't take another thirteen days of this."
     "You can fuckin' say that again," agreed Bobby, breaking rule number
five as his hazel eyes flashed angrily.  Appropriately, he was wearing his
summer two-piece blue polo pajamas
   with black cuffs and collar and No Rules screen-print top.
                   "So what the fuck we gonna do?"
      "I got an idea," said Brett, and they all gathered close.
     The next morning, everyone was called to the amphitheatre before
breakfast, which meant something major had happened.  The Reverend, his
large white moustache bristling and his blue eyes flashing angrily,
announced that for the first time in the history of the camp, someone had
broken into the camp office, jimmied the lock to the closet, and stolen all
the confiscated goods.  After a ten minute lecture on honesty and respect
for property and the damnation of thieves in general, the Reverend assured
them that they would catch the culprits, and they would be
         punished.  Bobby immediately raised his hand.
     "Someone was here in a truck," he announced, which was the truth.
There were several trucks in and out the previous day.  "A dark green 4 x
4," he added, which described several of those he'd seen the day they'd
arrived.  "I hadda get up in the middle of the night," he explained, which
was also true of course.  "I had a leak," he concluded, which was also
true.  Several of the
                    younger boys twittered.
     Having assumed the theft had been committed by one or more of the
campers, the Reverend and Cabin Leaders were relieved that at least it
wasn't one of the youth attending the camp.  Confiscating the temptations
boys naturally brought with them was a long-standing tradition, so would
not have been difficult for someone outside of the camp to have known
they'd have a closet filled with contraband.  After dismissing everyone,
the Reverend questioned Bobby further, but he really had little to add in
that, as he put it, "he had something important on his mind", and the
Reverend appreciated the lead he was able to provide.
     "Way to go," whispered Benny as they headed down to the beach to go
canoeing later that
                            morning.
     "Told ya guys Bobby was the perfect one to tell them about the truck,"
said Brett.
     "Yeah, he's a real angel," said Brent.  "Who can resist those big
innocent eyes?"
                   "Up yours," replied the angel.
                  "Wish you could," replied Brent.
     "I see what you mean about those eyes," observed Brett and the boys
laughed as they
                          high-fived.
     The following day there was a rush on the bank, but the boys
withdrawing money did not go to the camp store.  That evening after dark
there was a steady stream of boys to the nearby woods despite the sixth
rule.  It didn't take a brain surgeon to figure out that they were buying
their own confiscated snacks, or paying to listen to their own radios and
CD's, but the "finder's fee" the Brewster boys were charging was cheap, and
grateful they were able to have them, they did not question how the goods
had come to be in the hands of the four brothers.  Having dispensed with
rules one, two, four and eight besides six all in one fell swoop, you would
think the boys would be satisfied, but that night they also started up a
"letter to home" business, offering to write letters for the boys,
something they'd done at Camp Kinniwaka.  After all, they all did the same
thing and no parent was ever going to read another's, so making mass copies
of a single letter drafted by Brent and just having each sign his name was
easy money.  "Dear Mom and Dad, having loads of fun.  Blah blah blah.  Miss
you.  Your son."
     Like in all camps, there developed a rivalry between the different age
groups, and between the cabins.  Nothing got the Brewster boys more
interested in what they were doing than a bit of rivalry, especially when
the other group was a bunch of jocks or a group of do-gooders.  On
Wednesday the Colossians were suddenly awoken in the middle of the night by
a skunk that for some strange reason had wandered into their cabin, and for
an even stranger reason, had gotten excited.  That resulted in comments
about the odour of the cabin members for the remainder of the week.  On
Thursday a goose somehow got trapped in the Judges Cabin, and anyone who
has ever been around wild geese, knows that a single goose produces a
tremendous amount of goose crap even when not frightened.  There were a few
who dared to suggest the goose was simply making a statement about the
judgement of the Judges. Finally, when the Leviticus Cabin was inspected
for cleanliness Friday, they were dismayed to find the window had been left
open and a pair of raccoons had paid them a visit, turning the place upside
down.  Of course having eaten them along the way, the raccoons had
destroyed the trail of peanuts from their nest to the cabin
         that someone had left, just as had the skunk.
     So, between their night business and attempts at one upmanship during
the day, the Brewster brothers managed to make the first week at camp at
least endurable.
  Saturday, the entire camp participated in an environmental cleanup along
the highway as part of their good deed for the community.  As an extra part
of their good deed, the Brewster boys taught the closest of their new
friends a few of their favourite songs, the type you would never hear
around the campfire, and from the humming that day, they evidently enjoyed
them.
     While several of the members of the Genesis Cabin were merrily singing
"Great green globs of greasy, grimy gopher guts" whenever out of hearing
range of their Cabin Leader, and three of the members of the Kings Cabin
were singing "He Jumped from 40,000 Feet (and he ain't gonna fly no more)"
to the tune of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, four of the members of the
Ephesians Cabin were discretely singing in old fashioned barber shop
quartet style the words to
                     "Willie's Underwear":

           On the night that Willie died . . .  hum
              He called me to his side . . .  hum
  And he gave me his dirty underwear . . .  dirty underwear.

            They were baggy at the knees . . .  hum
         And they smelled like liver cheese . . .  hum Oh the dirty
underwear that Willie wore . . .  that Willie wore.

             Oh I threw them in the sky . . .  hum
            And the birds refused to fly . . .  hum Oh the dirty underwear
that Willie wore . . .  that Willie wore.

            Oh I threw them in the well . . .  hum
       And the rats they ran like . . . heck . . .  hum Or the dirty
underwear that Willie wore . . .  that Willie wore.

             Now Willie's dead and gone . . .  hum
             But his underwear lives on . . .  hum And they're hangin' on
the line for all to see . . .  for all to see.

           Now remember and remember well . . .  hum
           For you can't avoid the smell . . .  hum Of the underwear that's
Willie's memory . . .  Willie's memory!

     Late that night after their sales and rental business was over, Bobby
showed his brothers the treasure he had found during their roadside
cleanup.
     "Hey, great looking old bottle."
     "Yeah.  It looks like an antique."
     "And there's still something inside.  Listen," the ten-year-old said
excitedly as he shook the dark green bottle.
     "What do you think it is?"
     "Dunno.  There's no label or nothing."
     "Maybe it's wine or something."
     "That would be wicked!"
     "Whatever it is, it's way old."
     "Well, there's only one way to find out," Bobby said as he eased out
the cork.
     A swirling, multicoloured cloud of gas exploded out of the bottle,
causing Bobby to toss it away and all four brothers to tumble backwards.
As the swirling cloud billowed in the air before them, the four brothers
scrambled across the small clearing and hugged each other in fear at the
edge of the woods.  Too shocked to move, they watched as the gases
condensed and quickly took on a defined form, that of a very huge, very
muscular, and very angry dark brown man with a huge nose and huge pointed
ears and holding his head in obvious pain from the bouncing he'd just
received.
     "Holy shit!" the four brothers exclaimed, totally forgetting rule
number five and grasping each other tighter as the creature, his lower
parts still in gaseous form and attached to the bottle, bent over toward
them.
     The look of anger suddenly turned to one of consternation.  "Be right
back," he rumbled in a thick accent, and spinning around flew across the
opening and into the trees.
     The boys looked at each other, wide-eyed with amazement.  Five minutes
later the being flew back across the opening, and again attached itself to
the bottle.
     "Oh maaaaan!  A fucking genie!"
     The genie bent over and looked directly at Bobby.  "What manner of
talk is that for a little tadpole?" he asked in a heavy Turkish accent as
he raised a thin, black eyebrow.
     "Tadpole?" retorted Bobby.  "Hey, I'm the one who let you out of that
fucking bottle.  I'm your master.  For talking to me like that I should
kick you in the nuts . . .  if you had any," he observed, the bottom half
of the towering man still a gaseous funnel.
      The bottom half of the being transformed itself into a solid form and
the being further reduced its size to that of a six-foot-six,
two-hundred-and-fifty pound man of solid muscle with a long pencil-thin
moustache, each half at least six inches long and coiling several times,
and a long, black, ribbon-like goatee with also several coils.  He was
wearing an open indigo-coloured vest, revealing a broad, muscular chest and
bulging biceps and triceps, billowing pajamas-like trousers of bright green
silk held up by a bright violet sash, a matching violet fez, huge gold
rings in his large, pointed ears, and multicoloured orange, red and black
slippers with curled toes.
     "So you are the one responsible for giving me this headache?" the
genie bellowed.
     "Well, geez, how was I to know you were in there?" Bobby asked, daring
to stand up to the powerful being, but standing close to Brent incase he
had to duck behind him fast.
     "So where'd you take off to in such a hurry anyway?" Brent asked,
hoping to get the genie of the topic.
     "I've been in that bottle for eight hundred years."
     "So?"
     The man raised his thin eyebrow once again.
     "Oh," said Brent, slowly breaking into a knowing smile.  "You mean you
haven't . . .  like . . .  gone in eight hundred years?"
     "Would you if you were cramped in that bottle and had no idea how long
you'd be stuck in there?"
     "Wicked!" said Benny and he and his brothers all broke out into grins.
     "Fuck yeah.  Sometimes I can't even hold it until recess," observed
Bobby.  "You must have really had to take a leak!"
     "And a dump," added Benny, and the two younger Brewsters exchanged
grins and giggled.
     "Sooooo, if you haven't gone in eight hundred years . . . ," observed
Brett, "then I guess you haven't come in eight hundred years either."
     The genie looked at them blankly.  Youngsters had certainly become a
lot more knowledgeable, and a lot bolder since twelve hundred AD.  Eight
hundred years ago few youngsters the boy's age would even know of such
things, never mind speak of them, and they certainly would never speak to a
djinn as they were.  After eight hundred years, boys were still very comely
though, and their brashness added to their sexual appeal despite the fact
these boys were of the pale skinned race.  He wondered if the clothing they
were wearing was the customary dress now.  It certainly added to their
attractiveness.
     "Eight hundred years?" Benny observed with wonder.  "I can't go eight
hours without coming!"
     The four boys glanced at each other and broke out into wide grins.
"Crotchya!" called out the four boys and as one they pounced, knocking the
surprised man on his back despite his size and strength.  Before he could
react, Benny had his vest off, Brent had removed his shoes, and Bobby and
Brett were pulling down his silk trousers.
     "Hey, he's wearing a diaper!"
     "What are you doing exposing my underwrap?" the man asked as he tried
to push the four pairs of hands away.  "Hey!" he exclaimed as the boys
untied his wrap and removed it.  "What do you boys think you're doing?"
     "Geez, you don't know?  What sort of genie are you?" asked Bobby
indignantly as he groped the man's large, dangling testicles.
     "Hey, he's been cooped up in a bottle for eight hundred years," said
Brett.  "Bet a guy would forget a lot of stuff if he were scrunched up in a
bottle that long."
     "I forget a lot of stuff just scrunched up in my desk for forty
minutes of math," observed Brent, and his brothers laughed.
     "Well, let's get him unscrunched and remembering," said Bobby,
grabbing the man's long, limp member and tugging on it as Benny took over
playing with his balls.
     "Hey, how come your goatee and moustache are dark black, but your
hairs are light brown?"
     "Because I like them that colour."
     "Wicked," observed Benny, and his brothers quickly agreed.  Benny
imagined dying his few wisps of dark brown hairs with blond highlights and
popped an instant boner.
     Even with his powers, the genie found he was not able to fend off four
pairs of eager, exploring hands.  Besides, he was not going to protest too
strongly after eight hundred years of enforced celibacy, and even though he
would have preferred a full-bosomed, young dancing girl, he was not without
knowledge of the delights a tender young boy can bring a man either.  From
the way these four boys were behaving, they had to have been trained in the
art of cock play by a master.
     Brent and Brett had each taken a breast, the only way to describe the
genie's large, firm pectorals, and had begun caressing them.  Although they
were doing well, being an expert in such matters, the genie quickly
instructed them in the finer arts of Turkish massage.  Before long, the two
slender fourteen-year-olds were skilfully kneading and working his
pectorals, causing the firm muscle to relax but at the same time gradually
arousing him.  Their fingers brushed over his nipples with the lightness of
feathers, and massaged the fleshy pads around his dark brown, half- dollar
sized areoles, and as they rubbed their downy cheeks across his smooth,
expansive chest, their long, silky hair trailed long, causing the man to
squirm with arousal and the boys had not yet even begun to play with his
erect nipples.
     The genie had similarly instructed Benny in the finer techniques of
buttock massage at the same time, both by oral instruction and by pushing
down the boy's cotton sleep pants and demonstrating on his own small,
smooth butt.  Just touching the delicious morsel's tender backside had the
horny genie aching with mad desire.  The twelve-year-old's slender fingers
massaged and kneaded the man's firm, smooth cheeks, causing them to flush
with warmth and relaxation, and his fingertips danced across the tenderized
skin, sending quivers of arousal through his butt.  Benny noted every
little technique demonstrated by his tutor, knowing that this was a
valuable skill that would take him far in the future.  As his tense, little
boner twitched with desire, he was amazed how hot the man had gotten him,
and how hot he'd gotten the big man, and they had not even begun to play
with each other's crack.
     Bobby had not been left out in benefiting from the genie's many years
of experience.  Just like he had taught Bobby's older brother verbally and
by example, the genie had instructed the ten-year-old on the finer
techniques of masturbation orally and had pushed down the boy's dark Navy
blue pajamas and had demonstrated on his slender, three-inch erection.
Having been more accustomed to grab and yank, the youngster watched with
bright eyes as the man's large, dark brown fingers wrapped about his tiny,
pink cocklet, and squeezing at the base, tugged on it in such a way so as
not to touch and excite his dickhead.  He squirmed with delight as the man
gently traced a line with his index finger from between his two balls up
along the underside of his skin-encased cock, barely touching it and
causing it to jerk and ache for a firmer touch, which the man refused to
do, making Bobby even hotter than if he had.
     Now following his tutor's example, the ten-year-old boy was tracing
the dark blue vein on the underside of the man's dark brown cock with his
own, slender index finger, barely touching it and causing it to ooze out
it's first droplet of pre-cum.  Resisting the temptation to swoop down like
an eager little chickadee and suck it up as he normally would have done, he
continued to tease the man's aching cock just under the knob, at that
sensitive little spot just before the inverted funnel on the underside of
his glans, causing more pre-cum to ooze out of his thick, twitching
sausage.
     The boys had gotten stiff almost instantly of course, something that
was no surprise to the genie considering their youth.  On this particular
occasion they'd risen even faster in that with the dumb rule about no
bathing without supervision, sleeping in a room with eleven other boys in a
creaky bunk, and constantly being with their Cabin or Activity Leader, they
had gone seven days without touching themselves, the longest they'd ever
gone in their memories, and feeling like eight hundred years in their
minds.
     Having squirmed out of their pajamas, the four naked boys snuggled in
close to the six- foot-six, two-hundred-and-fifty pound genie.  The now
deep breathing, fully aroused man buried his large nose in the sweaty,
musky crotch of one of the blond twins, delighting in the teen odour of his
sweaty balls and the silky smoothness of his blond hairs on his cheeks.  He
slipped his lips over the top of the boy's slender, five-and-a-quarter inch
erection and began to give him an oral job with an expertise that even
fellow djinn envied.  The boy trembled and sighed as the man's tongue
roamed over his sensitive cockhead and the warmth and heat of his mouth
enveloped his entire cock.  Knowing the boy's sensitivity, the genie
expertly clamped down his lips below the boy's knob to quell the teenager's
desire.
     At the same time, the boy's blond twin had slipped his slender cock up
the big man's rectum, his slenderness and the genie's skill not requiring
any lubrication other than the boy's pre- cum, which by the time he'd
penetrated the man, had generously coated his dickhead.  Again with the
genie's guidance, the fourteen-year-old worked his hips to and fro with a
new technique, teasing the man by rapidly jerking his cock in and out of
his asshole in short, rapid strokes designed to cause his anal sphincter to
burn, and then by plunging deep in the big man's body and again rapidly
pumping to and fro with rapid jerks so his swollen knob repeatedly
assaulted his prostate.  Interspersed between the two bursts of rapid
fucking was a slow, full-length stroking, drawing his cock almost out of
the man's body, and then plunging it in until his curly blond hairs were
pressed against the man's backside.  Of course throughout it all, the boy
paused periodically and the man expertly clenched his anal sphincter to cut
off the horny teen's desire to spurt.
     The two younger brothers were fiddling with his erect dick and his
slowly swelling balls, the one boy gently massaging his ball sack with a
spiralling motion, first drawing in tighter and tighter, and then reversing
and uncoiling the spiral while with the other hand he gently stroked the
man's trembling thigh.  The boy's brother meanwhile was slowly drawing the
man's foreskin down, easing it off his knob, now slick with pre-cum, and
then releasing it so that it slowly crept back up the man's thick, brown
member to its usual position.  Over and over the boy drew back the skin and
let it creep back up.  Then he wrapped his hot little hand about the man's
rigid cock just above the balls and gently raised his fist, drawing it up
to the pre-cum slick top, and then gently slipping it back down, barely
touching it.  After several such strokes, he grasped the firm rod more
tightly and drew his hand up and down again, this time forcing the man's
foreskin up to the tip, and then stretching it back until his dark
purplish-brown knob was fully exposed.
     As the two boys switched, one taking over massaging his balls while
the other eagerly grasped his cock, they squirmed as the man's large
fingers similarly played with them.  He stroked and rubbed their swelling
nut sacks, running his fingers over them and along the sweaty crease
between their nuts and their thighs.  He tugged on their little cocklets,
one three inches and the other barely over four, fiddling with their
foreskins as he'd taught them to play with his.  His fingertips slipped
through the pre-cum slick of the older of the two, and squeezed the slender
noodle of the other to prevent him from reaching his orgasm.  Over and over
he brought them to a peak, only to quell it and then bring them to a peak
again, just as he did with their twin brothers, and just as they did to
him.
     Then at last they exploded.  He eagerly drank the trembling blond's
hot, teen juice, sucking in and swallowing each violent squirt, delighting
in the youthful force of his ejaculation and the juicy constituency of the
fourteen-year-old's cum.  He swirled the hot, tart juice around his tongue,
and trembled with his first taste of cum in eight hundred years.
  After holding back for seven days, the boy's balls were heavy with his
young juice and his hot little bone throbbed out squirt after squirt so
that the genie could not swallow it all despite his skill and the creamy,
teen juice oozed out of the corners of his mouth and around his chin to
form pearly drops in his goatee.
     Behind him the blond's twin was similarly exploding, his young nuts
drawn up tight and the fourteen-year-old grasping the big man's firm
buttocks with climax-driven strength as his slender cock throbbed out shot
after shot of his pent up cum.  He could feel the boy's hot juice shooting
deep inside him, and his stiff cock throbbing in his asshole.  The boy's
hot breath panted against the back of his neck and he trembled and shook
with such ecstasy the genie could not help but feel a thrill of youthful
exuberance himself.
     The two younger boys came simultaneously, their slender, smooth bodies
trembling as they thrust their hips in the air and their slender cocks
throbbed hotly between his thumb and fingers.  Their weak thighs trembled
uncontrollably and their rosy lips parted as they sighed loudly and
unashamedly with their orgasms.  The genie quivered with the feel of the
hot, sticky flood of the twelve-year-old's thin, juicy load over his
fingers, and as shot after shot blasted out of his little cocklet and
sprayed his stomach and thighs, the boy groaned with an ecstasy that only a
horny young preteen can know after abstaining for seven days.  At the same
time his younger brother was thrusting his hips in the air with such
violence the genie was afraid the boy was going to hurt himself, and the
man thrilled with delight of the boy's dry orgasm with the same pleasure as
the boy was feeling, knowing how delightful and yet how painful those
ripples of pleasure ripping through his hairless groin felt.
     Then he, himself, exploded.  His thick, dark brown, eight-and-a-half
inch cock throbbed in the two hot little hands that were clutching it.  His
large, hairy testicles drew up into a tight little ball as his semen gushed
up his cock and shot up into the air.  Thick, creamy white ropes landed on
his dark-skinned thighs and oozed down them, and thick puddles of cum
collected in his belly button and in his light brown hairs.  His load was
thicker than that of his young partners, but after eight hundred years of
abstinence, it was just as copious and his ejaculation just as violent as
any youngster.  He closed his eyes and sighed with that pleasure that does
not dull with age, and as he inhaled the musky fragrance of their hot cum
that warm night, he decided that this had been just as fitting a
celebration of his release from the bottle as any could be, and, in fact,
had been more pleasant than most, even those celebrations with slender
dancing girls in his homeland.
     Eager fingers flipped up his creamy load and popped it in four
inquiring mouths.  Four youngsters savoured their first taste of genie cum,
sucking it from their fingers and swirling it about their mouths with their
tongues, its thickness and constituency causing it to stick to the roof of
their mouths and their pearly white teeth.  Delighting in both the taste
and the novel experience of eating genie cum, they eagerly sought out a
second helping, and from his copious climax, had no difficulty finding
another warm puddle or long rope to scoop up and savour.
     "It's sortta sweet like Sean's cum, but not the same," observed Bobby,
thinking of the sweet, meaty taste of the Leprechaun's cum which had
reminded him of honeyed ham.
     "It's not like Morchella's," added Benny, thinking of the musky, dank
flavour of the mushroom fairy's cum they had sampled on Saint Patrick's
Day.
     "It's sortta like . . . ," observed Brent as he licked his lips.
     "Like . . .  figs," concluded Brett, as he puckered his lips and
slipped his tongue along them.  The unique sugary, fruity taste of the
man's cum did taste like the light brown juice of a fig.
     "Yeah!" exclaimed his three brothers as they snuggled up to the huge
man and savoured the aftertaste in their mouths.  The five of them sighed
and lay under the starlit night for a long time, lost in the bliss of the
past hour.
     "That was wicked," observed Bobby as the five of them finally sat up.
     "Oh yeah," his three brothers agreed.
     "You did not like it?" the genie asked in surprise as he ran his
fingers through his light brown hairs.
     "Oh no, wicked means it was awesome," replied Brett, which from the
look on the man's face was just as bewildering.
     "Groovy?" asked Benny.
     "The best ever," tried Brent.  "Did you like it?"
     "Certainly.  It was delectable.  Most delightsome."
     "Wicked," said Bobby with a grin.  "Hey, what's your name anyway?"
     "Ali Rafaat Bazzir el Mohamed Farrad al-Karamah, Master."
     "Well, Al, I guess you owe us three wishes."
     "Yes, of course," he responded.  Normally reluctant and devious in
granting wishes, after the experience they'd just had he could not bring
himself to trick the boys
     "I'd like a million dollars," Bobby announced.
     "I'd like to be hung like, Dad," said Benny.
     "Oh yeah, I'd rather that," said Bobby.
     "On second thought, I know I'm going to be hung like Dad, I got his
genes," said Benny.  "I'll have Bobby's million instead."
     "Hey, no fair, I asked first."
     "But you changed your mind."
     "Because you tricked me."
     "Did not."
     "Did too."
     "Boys."
     "Sorry, Dad," the two responded automatically.
     "The three wishes go to the person who released me."
     "Ha, so there!" Bobby said, sticking out his tongue.
     "So, he have to make them right away?" asked Brett.
     "No," the genie responded, unable to lie to the boys after their
powerful sexual experience.  "Though I would beg you not to take too long,"
he added, looking at the bottle and not relishing returning to it.  "I do
not want to spend any more time in there than I have to."
     "Hey, you don't have to stay in there.  We trust you," Bobby said.
     "You do?" the genie asked, wondering if the lore of the djinn had been
lost over the past eight hundred years.  They certainly weren't trusted
when he'd been forced into the bottle, and the lack of trust had been
justifiable.
     "Shit yeah," Bobby reaffirmed.  "So, while I'm thinking what to wish
for, you wanna mess around again, Big Al?"
     "Wicked," Al replied with a smile.
     By the time the boys returned to their cabins the sun was poking up
above the horizon and they were totally exhausted, but they hadn't felt so
good in a long time.  Well, in seven days anyway.
     "What's with you two?" asked Everett Carson, the Youth Leader of the
Colossians Cabin and overall smug, suckass sixteen-year-old know it all.
"Can't sleep without your mommy around to tuck you in?" he asked, noticing
the boys dragging themselves to church services.
     "Maybe they've been awake all night worrying about us beating them in
the relay races tomorrow," observed his sidekick Eli.  Over the previous
week each cabin had been practising relay racing as part of their track and
field exercises, and the top four runners in each cabin were to compete
with the top four of the opposing cabin the next day.
     "Who, us?" retorted Brent.  "You just watch our dust."
     "Oh yeah," replied Everett, "we're real worried."  He and his buddies
made a show of trembling.
     "Bet we'll win."
     "You know betting is not allowed."
     "Chicken?"
     "You know the rules."
                                                                      "And
you're hiding behind them."
     "Cluck, cluck, cluck," responded the other two members of the twin's
relay team although they too would never think of breaking the rules.
     "All right, you're on," Everett replied, rising to the challenge as
the twins knew he would.
     "Okay, here's the bet," said Brett, and the boys leaned forward as he
whispered.
     "That's totally against the rules!" the boy exclaimed, his eyes wide
with shock.
     "Cluck, cluck, cluck."
     "Okay.  You're the turkeys who are going to have to do it anyway,"
Everett responded, figuring on giving the boys a double whammy.  Not only
would his team beat them in the relay race, but he'd be sure they got
caught breaking the rules besides.
     As they headed off for their afternoon activities after Sunday church
services, Brett hurriedly informed Bobby of the situation.  That night,
after their sales and rentals in the woods, the boys sought out Big Al, to
tell him of their plan and his role in it, and of course, to mess around
with him again.  Despite the admonishment of their coaches and Scout
Leaders that sex drained an athlete of his energy, they were willing to
take the chance for another night like the previous one, and it just took
twenty-four hours for the five of them to recharge their balls.
     The next day the campers all gathered at the track to watch the big
competition.  Bobby, being one of the oldest in the eight to ten group, was
also one of the fastest, and along with a short, light eight-year-old who
had been named Mouse by his cabin mates, the two of them carried their team
to a win without any trouble.  Benny, accustomed to dodging his nemesis,
the bully Scott Hurd, at school, just imagined the bully was chasing him
and his cabin also won, though only by a single step.  The fourteen to
sixteen group was last, and the Colossians had a team composed of three
lanky sixteen-year-olds and a small fourteen-year-old Afro-American who was
destined to become a professional runner.  The Ephesians, with the twins
making up half the team, were fast but definitely not the favourites.
     Brent was first, and although the five-foot-two, hundred-and-five
pound basketball player was fast on his feet, he was trailing his opponent
when they came to the first exchange.  However, to everyone's surprise,
when the Colossians team runner passed the baton, they fumbled and almost
dropped it, allowing Brent to catch up and pass on his baton.  High above
the track, a large, white, genie-shaped cloud chuckled.  What only Al, the
boys exchanging the baton, and the four Brewster boys were able to see, was
when the second runner was about to grab the baton, it had suddenly changed
shape and instead of a foot-long stick, it was a foot long, fully erect
prick.  Considering the boy had been admonished about touching himself for
most of his life, and being sixteen and straight, it was enough to cause a
few seconds hesitation and confusion, and that was all the opposing team
needed.
     The same thing happened with the second transfer so that Brett,
running third, was at least six paces ahead, but the slight Afro-American
youth running opposite him almost caught up.  Everett reached for the baton
confidently, the sixteen-year-old having a display case of trophies and
medallions from past sporting events.  His smug look turned to one of
bewilderment as the third runner handed him a long, thick, black dildo, and
as he wrapped his fingers about it the warmth and contour felt so much like
his own erection which he was not supposed to touch he dropped it.  Seeing
it now as the long, black baton, his expression turned to dismay as he
snatched it up and ran, but the Ephesians runner had gotten too much of a
lead.
     Rumours of the bet, fuelled by the surprise that Everett Carson had
lost a race, spread across the campsite like wildfire, and that night the
campers waited anxiously for their Cabin Leaders to fall asleep.  At the
appointed hour, every boy in the campground snuck out and stood by their
sleeping Cabin.  There in the light of the three-quarters full moon, the
twelve Colossians appeared racing up the road and amidst the giggles,
snickers and outright laughter streaked through the camp, wearing only the
panties and bras they had swiped from the girls section across the lake.
The girls and their counsellors, like the boys' leaders, had fallen into a
particularly deep sleep.  Technically Al could have considered that as a
second wish, but the idea was just too funny for him to count it.
     Actually, as a race, the Djinn are mischievous themselves, and enjoy
nothing more than punishing humans for wrongs done them.  Feeling an
affinity for the Brewster brothers, Al had not taken the teasing of the
brothers of his new master lightly, and as an added bonus he made sure the
panties the boys found were the frilliest, laciest, most dainty panties the
girls owned.  Sixteen- year-old Everett, five-foot-ten and a hundred and
forty-five pounds, looked particularly outrageous in his pale pink panties
and bra with dainty forget-me-nots and white lace.  Racing beside him, Eli
in his flourescent red thong and sexy red bra with white hearts was just as
red as the silk underwear he was wearing.  As the twelve boys disappeared
up the path, they left behind sixty boys snickering, giggling, and grasping
their sides and rolling on the grass in uncontrollable laughter.  They had
directly or indirectly just broken rules three, six and ten but the sight
they had witnessed was worth risking the punishment.
     The Colossians were fuming angry at the entire camp, but particularly
at the Brewster twins.  The only solution the four relay runners had for
their delusions regarding the baton was that they had to have been slipped
some hallucinogen, and although they could not prove that, nor who had done
it, they were certain Brent and Brett had been behind it.  A few of their
Cabin mates wanted to report the incident, but there was no proof the twins
were responsible and would be a waste of time.  Besides, it would raise
questions why the four runners had envisioned the baton as a large, black,
and very erect penis.  Like most youth, they preferred to work out their
problems on their own, and besides, why they'd imagined the baton to be an
erect penis they preferred to worry about themselves without some adult
finding out about their perverted thoughts.  Everett in particular was not
about to explain how he knew what a hot, erect penis felt like.  Instead,
he devoted his thoughts to revenge.
     Knowing the closeness of the four brothers, the boy arranged to have
his twelve-year-old brother Byron exchanged with a boy in the Kings Cabin
Wednesday so he could spy on Benny and hopefully get some dirt on his older
brothers.  That took less than an hour.  Overhearing Will asking Benny if
they were going to be setting up their candy sales again that night, Byron
quickly informed Everett.  Both boys having been going to the camp for the
past five years and fully believing in the rules that were set up, had,
like most of the experienced campers, not brought any contraband with them,
and had not known about the illegal sales and rentals going on.  Everett
gleefully informed his Cabin Leader what was happening, without going so
far as snitching names, and his Cabin Leader immediately organized a
surprise raid that night on the illegal operation.
     It was a surprise.  Surrounding the site and moving in, the six Cabin
Leaders, lead by Reverend Pickett himself, found the stolen comic books and
CD's and players, and hiding in the woods, eight of the twelve members of
the Judge's cabin, one from the Kings cabin and four of the members of the
Leviticus Cabin.  The boys all claimed they had heard there was going to be
a raid and had come to watch, and although many of them implicated the
Brewster brothers, they could not explain their absence and why, upon
checking, all four were found sound asleep in their cabins.
     What had happened was simple.  Everett knew that the Cabin Leaders
would be following up on his lead, and had bragged to Eli that the Brewster
brothers were going to be in for a surprise that night.  Eli and his kid
brother, Luke, who was in the Leviticus Cabin, believed in the rules of the
camp just as strongly as Everett and his brother, and eight-year-old Luke
couldn't help bragging that his older brother was going to get even with
the Brewsters for making him streak through the camp the previous night in
girl's things.  Several of the boys in the cabin owned some of the
contraband and got word to Bobby, who of course informed his brothers.
Meanwhile Byron had also figured there would be a raid that night, and had,
along with his buddies, snuck out to watch.
     Reverent Pickett was unable to prove any of the boys had actually been
the ones who had stolen the goods, or that any of them were actually
renting time to use them, but he did have them on being out of their cabins
at night and in the woods and he grounded the bunch of them to their cabins
the next day.  At least he had the missing possessions back and would be
able to return them to their rightful owners when the boys left on Sunday
and avoid the wrath of parents who might have objected to having expensive
players and CD's lost even if it was against the rules to have them at the
camp.
     The next morning the Brewsters awoke with huge grins.  The plot
against them had failed, the do-gooders who had come to watch their undoing
were the ones being punished, and the problem of returning the missing
possessions before everyone left had been resolved.  On top of it,
arrangements had been made that day for the local congregation to chaperone
the boys on an afternoon trip to the local amusement park as a special
treat, which was even more special with their would be avengers having to
stay home and the actual squealers, Everett and Eli, getting off scot free,
which would not set well with those being punished, including their kid
brothers, when they returned.  Not only that, the Brewster brothers had
stuffed the pockets of their cargo pants with the remainder of the junk
food to give away free to their friends and supporters during the afternoon
outing.  Life was most delectable and delightsome.
     The Clearwater Evangelical Church Camp for Boys staff felt so also.
Taking advantage of an afternoon with no duties, and it being a
particularly hot day, they went for a relaxing and refreshing swim, at
least until Reverend Pickett, after dunking under the water, emerged
without his moustache.  To everyone's horror, they found that for some
reason they had all been totally depilated.  They splashed out of the lake
as if pursued by sharks and raced to the locker rooms to change.  Stripping
off their suits, they were dismayed to find their pubes as smooth and
hairless as the day they were born, and not only that, even after a furious
and vigorous drying, their genitals remained shrivelled up the size of
infants'.  From the moment the Reverend's moustache fell off they had been
too absorbed in their plight to notice a strangely dressed individual
floating through the woods, and peering into the locker room capturing
everything on a new fangle gadget the boys had borrowed from the
administration office and had told him was a video camera.
     Having no idea what had happened other than surmising it had to have
been something in the water, possibly some pollutant, the camp medical
officer called the local clinic who promised to send someone out
immediately.  The two busloads of campers returned just as the doctor
arrived, a large muscular man with dark brown skin, large gold earings, a
long, curled moustache, and a curled goatee, by the name of Doctor Ali
al-Karamah, who assured the chaperones he had everything under control and
that they could leave.  Telling the Youth Leader for each cabin to gather
the campers in the amphitheatre, along with those who had been grounded, he
went to check on the Cabin Leaders.  He immediately diagnosed that the
cause had indeed come from lake, not a pollutant, but a little known leech
that sucked out not blood, but drained the body of testosterone.  To the
relief of the counsellors, he assured them there was a simple way to
counteract the disease, and that was to ingest a healthy amount of the
hormone, as soon as possible.
     Heading directly to the amphitheatre, he announced to the assembled
group that their counsellors were in desperate need of their help, and that
they needed an immediate dosage of testosterone.  Of course every one of
the boys was eager to help, until told what testosterone was, and that the
quickest way of providing the men what they needed was for each boy who
could to produce a load of semen.  Of course half the boys had no idea what
semen was never mind know how to produce it, and of those who did, at least
a quarter of them had been so brainwashed that they had never in their
lives attempted production.  Of those who did, most had been so racked with
guilt and worry it had not been enjoyable, and had not been repeated.
     Passing out disposable plastic cups, the doctor assured them that what
he was asking them to do was quite all right from a medical point of view,
and since the health of their counsellors depended on them, that on moral
and religious grounds it had to be all right also, at least this one time.
Most of the boys accepted that, most because the man with the strange
accent had a very convincing way about him, and others because all they
really needed to convince them to do it was to have a good reason.  The few
fanatic holdouts who flatly refused quickly changed their mind when the
doctor told them to drop their trousers and underwear and bend over while
he got his rubber glove and he'd extract it from them by massaging their
prostates.
  The boys knew nothing about prostates, but they knew bending over and
rubber gloves, and wisely decided on the other method.
     So with the Brewster brothers leading the way, the amphitheatre of
seventy-two boys, the youngest having just turned eight and the oldest
pushing seventeen, pulled down their flies and pulled out their dicks.  As
they shook their cocks and tugged on them, it was quickly obvious which of
them had at least some previous experience, those who had not been totally
truthful about their abstinence, and those who were finding this a totally
new experience.  Some stared down at their manipulating fists
self-consciously and some to enhance their arousal, and others glanced at
their neighbours, some out of curiosity, some for voyeuristic pleasure, and
half to see just what it was they were supposed to be doing.
     One by one they became stiff, half of them being surprised that they
could create the condition with their fists and did not need a full
bladder.  Seventy-two boys sat, stood, or sprawled out in the amphitheatre
alone, paired with a good buddy, or in small clusters of close friends and
pounded their meat.  Some worked their fists up and down slowly and
cautiously, others yanked furiously, and four, all brothers, used a
recently learned technique on themselves that they could not wait to
demonstrate on their best friends at home.  The amphitheatre was silent but
for the slapping of young fists and the increasingly heavy breathing of
seventy-two young boys.  Of course the youngest were not expected to be
able to contribute any semen, but had been encouraged to join in so the
other boys would not feel awkward or embarrassed.
     Seventy-two boys, from smooth cheeked to downy, from rosy cheeked to
those who had begun to shave, all with parted, red lips and long fluttering
eyelashes, performed a wrist exercise as old as Adam himself.  Seventy-two
hard, hot peckers jutted out of cargo pants, zipoffs, camouflage trousers,
jeans cuttoffs and khaki shorts, some sticking out perpendicular, some
sticking up in the air, all with swollen knobs tingling with an enticing
pleasure that urged the boys to stroke faster and with tighter
grips. Seventy-two boys began to squirm erratically and gasp irregularly as
forbidden pleasure throbbed in their hands and caused their bodies to spasm
uncontrollably
     One of the fifteen-year-old boys was the first to squirt his load into
the plastic cup.  He scrunched his shoulders together and bent over as his
hot, five-and-a-half inch cock throbbed in his fist and his juicy teen cum
spurted out of his burning cockhead for only the fourth time in his life.
That seemed to start off a chain reaction as boy after boy grunted, inhaled
sharply, scrunched down, threw his head back or thrust his hips forward,
but all aiming their dicks at the plastic cups.  Calls of "quick pass the
cup" were soon being shouted from all corners of the amphitheatre, and some
boys unable to wait stood side by side and shot their hot loads into a
single cup together.  Close buddies stood side by side, their hot young
dicks in their hands as they watched each other shoot his seed.  Boys who
barely knew each other panted with the same ecstasy as rope after rope of
their cum were added to the slowly filling disposable cups.  Two of the
eleven-year-old's came, both for the first time in their lives, and they
stared in awe at the creamy white liquid squirting out of their irritated
dickheads.  Six of the ten twelve-year-olds and all eight
thirteen-year-olds pumped out a load, as did all twenty-four boys in the
oldest group.
     The youngest group, twenty of them having never jerked off before,
trembled and bucked their hips uncontrollably with their dry orgasms.
Joining them for the first orgasms of their young lives were half of the
middle group, and four of the fourteen to sixteen group.  Another five who
had dared to play with themselves but had never gone all the way, now knew
what they had been denying themselves.  The odour of fresh boy cum drifted
through the amphitheatre, and the doctor smiled at the group of flushed,
panting boys, their dicks in various states of arousal, their fingers
smelling of cock and many sticky with cum, a number for the first time in
their lives.
     Deeming that the forty loads of cum was not yet enough, the good
doctor let the boys recover for half an hour, and then requested they
contribute a second load.  This time there were far fewer hesitations, and
although there were still those who were embarrassed or laden with guilt,
there were far more who set to the task with a dedication that went far
beyond a duty to their Cabin Leaders.  Once again seventy-two boys squirmed
and sighed with what they could not deny was the greatest physical pleasure
they had ever felt.  Once again forty of those boys shot his creamy boy
juice into the disposable cups.  Once again each of the forty boys squeezed
his stiff cock and milked out the last of his cum, and once again friends
and strangers watched as one by one they brought the sticky edge of the
plastic cum to their peeholes to cut off the last streamer.  None were
aware of the video camera the doctor had discretely set up while they'd
been self- consciously pulling down their flies and taking out their dicks.
     With nine half cups of juicy boy cum, representing eighty overflowing
tablespoonfuls, the doctor returned to the medical clinic where the hapless
men were waiting.  Having them strip so he could examine them, and setting
up the video camera, for medical analysis later he explained, he had the
men line up and "take their medicine".  As he handed each man the plastic
cup slightly more than half full of creamy, juicy fluid looking much like
the white of a poached egg, some of them noted to themselves something else
that it resembled.  The doctor smiled.  This prank was going to show them
what happens when someone tries to snare his master.
     The Brewster brothers and their very closest and trusted friends would
spend many happy hours in the months to come rolling on the floor with
laugher and holding their aching sides as they watched the video.  One by
one each of the six Cabin Leaders, the camp doctor, the cook, and Reverent
Pickett raised the plastic cups to their noses and sniffed the concoction,
and then cautiously raised the containers to their lips and took a sip.
The sticky, juicy cum stretched into streamers and globules as they
withdrew the cups and they each whipped out their tongues to try to cut
them off, with messy results.  As they tried to swallow, the gooey paste
stuck to the roof of their mouths and their teeth.  They took a larger sip
and glanced at each other with apprehension as they swallowed, creamy boy
cum clinging to their lips and dribbling down around their chins.
     Nine totally hairless, naked men stood there in the staff locker room
drinking fresh, warm boy cum.  Some of the counsellors like Cole Bentley
and the fresh nineteen-year-old had young, muscular builds with firm thighs
and biceps and solid chests.  The camp cook and Reverend Pickett on the
other hand had flabby breasts and protruding stomachs that made their
shrivelled up genitals look even smaller.  The doctor assured them that the
medicine they were taking would return their hair and restore their
genitals, reminding them that it was testosterone that was responsible for
masculine traits.  Wanting to ensure they were fully returned to normal, or
perhaps in a condition even better than before the tragedy had struck, they
carefully ran their index fingers along the inside of the plastic cups to
scoop out the sticky, strange-tasting medicine.  The leader of the twins'
cabin, who hours ago had a thick bushy mat of chest and stomach hair, dark
hairy arms and legs, and a hairy butt, which he felt made him particularly
macho, was especially thorough about cleaning out his cup.
     The sight of the nine men licking and sucking the white film of cum
off their fingers had the boys who had copies of the video hooting with
delight, and as they watched the Reverend being sure he'd scooped up every
last little smear of cum in his disposable cup the boys could not stop
giggling.  It was going to take several months for their hair to grow back,
and much longer for the Reverend to grow back his moustache.  It would be
just as long for their genitals to return to their normal size, until which
time, the doctor had warned them, they were to refrain from any sexual
activity, a last little touch he had added himself and which the Brewster
brothers thought was most worthy.
     Friday was a slack day spent finishing up last minute projects and
touching up arts and crafts that they would be taking home to adorn
mantles, bookcases and display shelves and which doting parents would
proudly show relatives and friends.  Needless to say the staff, all wearing
hats or bandanas over their shiny domes, had other things on their minds
for the day.  Everett and Eli made one last attempt at redeeming their
reputations, telling the twins they were going to beat their butts at
archery in the field day competitions the next day.  Of course their
younger brothers, Byron and Luke, took the lead of their big brothers and
challenged Benny and Bobby.  The four brothers readily accepted, provided
that whoever won, then the other's butt was their's for the night.  Not
exactly sure what that meant, but confident they would win and desperate to
get back at the brothers, their challengers accepted.
     Saturday was a bright and sunny day and the field events and awards
banquet planned for the day kept the camp staff busy and their minds off
their itching scalps and groins, except for the swimming and boating
events, which the doctor assured them could be safely held.  The camp was
full of excitement as the boys watched the events, cheering on newly made
and old time buddies, and cabins cheering for cabin mates.  With the large
number of sports events combined with awards for arts and crafts and the
science and nature projects, the special skill of every one of the
seventy-two campers was bound to be recognized, and in the off chance that
a boy didn't get a certificate or medallion, the staff had in reserve some
special participation and Christian spirit awards to make sure nobody ended
the day without something.
     Being healthy, active boys, besides being creative, and with Brett
interested in science, Bobby in nature, Benny in model building and crafts,
and Brent in writing, drama and speaking, the four Brewster brothers had
all bases covered, even, in their own way, Christian spirit.  They might be
mischievous and precocious, but they were good boys.  No matter what they
undertook, they simply did their best and did so cheerfully and with total
effort, as they'd been taught by their parents.  When they announced the
archery competitions, the four brothers huddled and wished each other luck.
     "Teach that asshole Everett not to mess with you big brother,"
whispered Benny.
     "You whup his kid brother's ass," replied Brent.
     "And you make sure Eli regrets he ever fuckin' challenged you,"
whispered Bobby.
     "I will.  And you show that little snot Luke what you're made of
little brother," encouraged Brett.
     "We all will, when we claim their butts tonight," said Bobby, and they
all giggled.
     Archery was not a particular skill nor interest any of the boys had,
although they'd had some interesting marksmanship practice one Valentine's
day, but they were determined to beat their competitors, not just because
they deserved to be beaten, but because the reward would be awesome to
collect.  There was nothing like a virgin ass.  Each target suddenly became
a big, pink butt, and each bulls eye a butthole as the four boys nocked
their arrows, drew back the strings to their high cheekbones, and
concentrated.  Brewster arrow after Brewster arrow struck the gold centre,
and without any magical assistance from the strange genie shaped cloud
watching the proceedings above and rolling over with glee.
     The trophies and the speeches and the certificates of participation
and the final supper with extra ice cream and pie was all great, and even
the evening singsong and rousing rendition of "Auld Lang Sang" to end the
day, but what was about to happen once lights were out and so were the
counsellors, eight boys would later claim was the best of all.  Benny and
his friend Will, Bobby and his closest buddy, the eight-year-old whose
cabin mates had nickname "Mouse", and the twins and their two best friends,
met with Everett and his brother Byron, and Eli and his brother Luke in the
recreation room.
                                                            "What are these
guys doing here?" asked Everett.
     "They've come for some fun," grinned Benny.
     "The bet was between us."
     "Which was that if we won, your butts were ours."
     "Precisely, yours, not theirs," said Eli smugly.
     "To do with as we will," pointed out Bobby.
     "Whatever that means," said Luke haughtily.  Being only eight, he had
an excuse for not yet having learned his Brewster lesson.
     "That means if we want to share your butts with our good friends, we
can," replied Brett, and each of the friends glanced at their new mentors
and grinned.  They themselves were not sure what this was going to be
about, but knowing the Brewster boys, it was going to be fun, for them
anyway.  Luke simply glared in response.
     "All right, all right, let's just get this over with," said Everett
     "Okay, drop your shorts and underwear and grab your ankles."
     The four boys glanced at each other and reluctantly lowered their
khaki Gap shorts and Guess jeans zipoffs.  The Carson brothers pushed down
their print Joe Boxers, while the other two brothers, with frowns and dark
looks, pushed down their Marky Mark boxer briefs.  The four brothers
quickly removed the belts from their victim's lowered shorts.
     "Hey, no way!  You're not really going to use those!"
     "You can't do that."
     "Wanna bet?" asked Brett, and his brothers and their friends chuckled.
     Brett delivered the first slap, a gentle tap on Eli's butt, and was
quickly followed by each of his brothers.  The second swat was just a bit
harder and left a pink stripe across the boys' white backsides, and the
swipe after that was harder still.  After half a dozen swats, by which time
each exposed butt was a glowing pink, they handed the belts over to their
new friends, who also delivered a half dozen swats.  The butts now a nice
rose colour and glowing warmly, they each took a cheek and began to spank
their victims, who by now were grimacing and biting their lower lip with
each swat.
     "Who's whipping whose butt now?" asked Brent, and his three brothers
laughed.
     Everett made no response.  One by one the boys asked the same
question.
  Each slap was now stinging and each boy could not help but jerk as pain
shot through his burning hot cheeks.
     "You are," Byron finally retorted angrily, and the other three
reluctantly capitulated.
     "Eli's got a nice big hole, don't you think?" asked Brett as he ran
his index finger over it, causing the boy to squirm.  He opened his mouth
to comment, but thought better of it.  The sixteen-year-old was a much
faster learner than his kid brother.
     "Naaah, Byron's is the biggest," responded Benny, similarly fingering
his victim's puckered anus.
     "You're both wrong.  It's Luke," observed Bobby, giving his victim a
vigorous poke.
     "Pervert," retorted Luke.  He was a very slow learner, which just made
Bobby all the more eager, and one thing the ten-year-old did not need, was
more encouragement.
     The Brewster brothers glanced at each other.  "We're just beginning,"
advised Brent as he rubbed Everett's butthole.  "Let's see who has the
biggest asshole."
     "How we gonna do that?" asked Benny.
     "We just keep sticking bigger and bigger things in until we can see
who can take the biggest thing," explained Brent.

"Wicked!  What should we start with?" asked Bobby.
     "How about a pencil?" suggested Mouse, Bobby's friend.  At eight years
of age, Mouse found bathroom humour particularly funny, and anything that
Bobby did nothing short of miraculous.  He had only begun attending the
Church Camp, and Bobby had seen to it that he would never be brainwashed
like many of the other innocent lambs who were being sent here by their
parents.
     "Oh yeah, we should have four of them round here," observed Will.
Though he felt a twinge of guilt about what they were doing, he was twelve
and a boy above all other things, and what they were doing really wasn't
hurting anyone, and it certainly was making him feel excited in ways he'd
never felt excited before.
     "No way!" exclaimed Everett, losing his composure.  "This has gone far
enough."  He stood up, and turned to face his abuser, and the other three
took his lead.
     "Your butts are ours, remember?"
     "You've had your fun.  Enough is enough.  Sticking something up a
guy's butt is perverted."
     "Yeah, you're a bunch of perverts," accused Byron in support.
     "Yeah, you perverts," Eli repeated, not knowing what else to say.
     "Sticking something up a guy's a-hole is dirty," Luke agreed.
     "Dirty can be fun," observed Bobby with a twinkle in his deep blue
eyes and Mouse giggled.
     "But if you can't take it, we can quit," said Brett.
     "Yeah.  But you'd be the quitters," sneered Benny.
     "Wait til the others find out what losers you really are," observed
Will, never having cared for Everett and Byron's superior than thou
attitude in past years.
     "I'm no looser," retorted Everett.  "But I'm no pervert either."
     "Whatever," replied Brett with a shrug.
     The two boys glared at each other, neither willing to give in.
     "Guess that's all these goody-goodies can take," observed Brent.
     "Yeah, poor little good boys," said his new friend, a fifteen-year-old
who had been given the nickname of Slim because of his height and
slenderness, and the twins' other friend, a fourteen-year-old who preferred
to be called Hack, readily agreed.  The two boys were attending the camp
for the first time, and had been sent under duress by their parents who
were hoping the religious focus and meeting other "Christian" boys would
turn the two delinquents around.  Slim had a penchant for drugs and Hack
for hacking into sites where he was not supposed to be, like the school
records files or the customer files at the local bank, and both boys had
some minor brushes with the law.
     "Go ahead, I can take anything you can give, you Philistines," Everett
responded, turning around and bending over.  He was not about to let two
heathens and pair of long-haired geeks call him a loser "Com'on guys, we'll
show them."
     "You got me confused with someone else," observed Brent.  "I'm one of
the Ephesians."
     "Huh," snorted Eli as he and their two younger brothers bent over once
again.  "These morons don't even have a clue who the Philistines are."
     "Oh yeah?" retorted Benny.  "The Philistines were a warlike tribe who
fought the Israelites.  The word also means someone lacking culture,
something the Philistines supposedly didn't have."
     His three brothers looked at him in amazement.  Benny was a
never-ending surprise when it came to knowing the most obscure things.
     "Well, that's not us," observed Bobby.  "We're full of culture."
     "Huh," snorted Luke.  "We got more culture in our little pinkies than
you got in your whole body."
     "Oh yeah," replied Bobby.  "Well here's my pinkie, and here's my
thumb, look out Luke, it's coming up your bum."
     The four Brewsters and their friends giggled and highfived.  The four
boys bent over did not see the humour.
     "Luke was right though," observed Brett.  "Sticking something up a
guy's a-hole can be dirty."  His brothers looked at him, knowing he had
something in mind.  "Which means we'll have to clean them out first," he
continued, reaching for one of the bottles of soda they'd slipped into
their pants and brought with them to drink during the night's fun.
     "Oh yeah," said Benny with a grin as he quickly caught on.
     While the four brothers uncapped the bottles and shook them
vigorously, their four friends rounded up four ice-cream buckets.  Giving
the bottles an extra hard shake, they quickly jammed the tops up the
buttholes of the four boys.  The fizzing soda gushed up their rectums with
a gurgling sound, much to everyone's amusement well, except the four boys
who were receiving the first enema of their lives.  Even more amusing was
watching the four boys evacuate their bowels into the buckets.  To be sure,
besides because it was so much fun, they let their friends give their
victims a second soda enema, which more or less emptied the four bottles.
The four victims stared at the floor in embarrassed silence as they felt
the soda fizz up their rectums, and they concentrated even harder on the
floor and wished they could shrink and disappear in the cracks as they
noisily forced the soda out into the buckets.
     Then while the rest hunted up four pencils, Brett got some liquid soap
out of the boys washroom.  They wanted to see what was the biggest thing
they could stick up the boys' rectums, not hurt them.  Pairing up behind
each victim, the boys soaped up the eraser end of the pencils and slowly
and carefully inserted them up the exposed butts.  The pencils went in
easily, as did two pencils together.  The markers caused them to squirm a
bit, especially little Luke, but they too stretched apart the puckered
muscle without much trouble.
     By this time the eight investigators were getting giddy with
excitement, and the four victims were fuming with anger.  Never in their
lives had they felt so helpless, and never had they been so humiliated.
With each passing minute their hatred grew, and even though they knew
hatred was a sin, they all felt in this case they were justified.
     Trying glue sticks next, the boys had a bit more trouble getting the
blunt, half-dollar sized tubes inserted.  Once they got them in, they
worked them in and out a dozen times, pushing the tubes in as far as they
could and still grasp them with their fingertips, and then pulling them
back out, but not quite all the way.  They advised their victims it was so
the next object they picked would go in easier, but the truth was they did
it simply because it was humiliating, and humiliating the four boys was the
whole idea.  It was also erotic, and each of the eight boys doing the
tormenting felt the beginning of a stirring in their shorts.
     "So now what can we use?"
     "Too bad we don't have those toys we bought for Dad."
     "Oh yeah, that would have been fun."
                                                                      "How
about the handle from the broom?" suggested Mouse.
     "Oh yeah, wicked!"
     "No way!  I can't take that," objected Luke, his voice high with fear
now.
     "Aw, we'll be way careful," Bobby assured.
     "And we won't stick it all the way up to the straw."
     "Heck no, maybe just half."
     "No!" cried out Luke.  "No more."  He did not have Job's patience, but
then Job did not have to deal with the Brewster brothers.
     "We might as well stop," agreed Brett, much to Luke's relief, and the
relief of the other boys bent over besides a couple of the tormentors who
were sure the brothers really would do it.  "We can be here all night just
sticking bigger and bigger things up their butts.  We should have known,"
he said with a wink.
     "Known what?" asked Slim.
     "That all four are big assholes," Brett said and the eight laughed and
highfived.
     "We got them nice and hot and all soaped up for us anyway," observed
Brent.
     As the four bent over boys heard the unmistakable sound of zippers
being pulled down, they glanced at each other.  There was no way the boys
were going to do what they thought they were going to do.  Even
eight-year-old Luke knew the significance of that sound.  The four
Brewsters were fully erect of course, and they openly revealed themselves
to their four new friends who were just as surprised with this new
development as the four boys bent over.  They all knew the expression and
gesture, but not one of them had ever met anyone who actually did that sort
of thing.  Standing behind each of their tormentors, the Brewster brothers
pressed the tips of their hot, hard cocks against the well-soaped holes.
After all of the other things that had been stuck up their rectums, the
four virgin boys automatically pushed out in an attempt to accommodate the
new intrusion.
     "You pig," accused Byron as he felt Benny's slender, four-inch cock
easily slip up his rectum.  Although he'd seen the filthier students in the
middle school he attended give others the finger, he didn't think anyone
really what did these boys had done to him this night, and certainly not
that he'd stick his privates up a guy's asshole.  This had to be the
dirtiest thing yet.
     "Pervs," accused Eli as Brett pushed in his hard, hot cock until as
much of his five and quarter inches were embedded in the boy's butt as
possible.  At least when he returned home, the only ones who were going to
know he'd been screwed were not going to be telling others.
     "Go ahead, you children of Sodom and Gomorrah," challenged Everett as
Brent's cock forced apart his sphincter and his knob began to enter.  "I
know your kind."
     The boys all looked at Benny.  "Two ancient cities by the Dead Sea
that were way wicked," he explained.  "One night two angels came to the
city and all the men of Sodom, young and old, surrounded the house the two
men were in and demanded they come out so they could know them."  His three
bothers looked at him blankly.  "To know them was the way they wrote way
back in Jesus' time to mean to screw them, " he explained.
     "Whoa!" exclaimed Bobby, truly impressed with the wickedness of the
citizens.  Who ever would have thought of screwing an angel!  Of course, he
and his brothers had bumfucked Cupid, and he was sort of like an angel.
     "Even when Lot offered them his two virgin daughters, the men said
they'd rather have the two men."
     "Well, that makes sense," Bobby observed as he penetrated Luke with
his hot, three-inch woodie.
     "You're sick," commented Luke.  "All of you."
     "Warped by the devil," agreed Eli.
     "Oh yeah," observed Bobby, taking that as a complement.
     As the four brothers began to work their hips slowly to and fro, their
four new friends wondered for a moment if they were in the company of the
devil's children considering what they had done these past two weeks, and
especially what they were presently doing.  From the looks of pleasure on
the brothers' faces, and with the memory of the mass jerking session on
Thursday, the thought only lasted for a moment for Slim and Hack, a couple
moments for Mouse, and only slightly longer for Will.  If they were going
to be succumbing to temptation, at least the Brewster brothers knew the
best temptations to succumb to.
     The four brothers, lined up side by side, pumped their hips to and fro
in unison, enjoying not just the physical pleasure rippling through their
cockheads, nor just the pleasure of having their way with the four arrogant
youth they were bringing down to size, but enjoying doing it together.
That was the best part of all.  Well, knowing the four boys were straight
and virgins was a very close second.  Knowing that they deserved what they
were getting had a lot to do with the pleasure too.  That, Big Al, peaking
in through the recreation window, fully agreed with punishing those who had
wronged them, intentionally or otherwise, was, after all, one of the best
things about being a djinn.  It was not long before three of the
Philistines were filling the Christians with their cum, and the fourth was
trembling and groaning with his dry orgasm.
     When they finally withdrew, their four friends, fully aroused and
curious, self-consciously pulled down their flies and extracted their stiff
cocks.  They stepped forward with apprehension, but hopeful anticipation.
From the reaction of the Brewsters, what they were about to do had to be
good.  As each slowly penetrated a boy's backside for the first time in his
life, his mentor and new buddy watched with a knowing smile.  The looks of
surprise on their faces as they discovered how warm and moist a boy's
asshole was, and how pleasant it felt to have your aching boner surrounded
by hot, throbbing flesh, reminded the brothers of their first time.
     As the four boys grasped their partners by the hips and began to work
their itching cocks in and out of their rectums, the four brothers knew
exactly how great they were feeling.  For Mouse, the masturbation earlier
in the week and now this was totally awesome, especially since three days
ago he'd never heard of either.  For the two teenagers, whenever they told
someone to shove it in the future the expression was going to take on a
totally new meaning.  As for Will, the throbbing of his cock and the
pulsating of Byron's hot, moist asshole, combined with the fact that he was
actually fucking, and fucking a righteous snob who'd looked down his nose
at him these past three years, easily overcame any moral or religious
doubts he'd had about what he was doing.
     As each boy clenched his teeth and began to work his hips faster, and
as each parted his lips and began to breathe deeply, the four Brewsters
glanced at each other and grinned.  As each of the boys grunted and
trembled with his climax, his long lashes fluttering and his smooth cheeks
flushed as his thighs suddenly went weak, the Brewster boys knew that this
was an experience their new friends would be seeking to repeat once they
got home.
     "One last thing and your butts are yours again," said Brent as he
stepped over to one of the drawers.
     "Hey, how did you know those were in here?"
     "Brett and I were on kitchen duty," he said with a grin, waving the
four stalks of celery.
     "And I brought them here when I got permission to come here to add an
earwig I caught to my bug collection for nature study," added Bobby.  "I
think the earwig is why I got the certificate for the best bug collection."
     "Naw," said Benny.  "I think you got it because they knew you were the
best bugger."
     "Well, I'm not the only great bugger here," said Bobby with a grin as
he looked at Mouse and their other new friends.
     "So what do you plan on doing with those?" asked Hack.
     "Watch," said Brent with a grin as he handed a celery stalk to each of
his brothers.
     After what they had been through, having the stalks of celery stuck up
their butts was the least of their indignities, or so the four boys
thought.  As the Brewsters slowly inserted the stalks, their victims
pressed their lips together and glared at the floor.  Suddenly one by one
each inhaled sharply and jerked as the stalk brushed past his prostate.
That was the reaction the four brothers had been waiting for.
     "Have you a race to see who we can get off first," challenged Brett.
     "You're on," his three brothers agreed.
     "After a minute, you guys can take over and do it for a minute,"
suggested Brent.
     "All ya gotta do is make sure it's in this deep, and work it real fast
in and out with real short jabs," Bobby advised Mouse, thinking of part of
Big Al's instructions the previous day when his brother had been fucking
the genie's ass.
     The eight-year-old had no idea what was going to happen, but at the
end of the first minute he readily took his turn, as did the other three
friends of the Brewsters.  After being introduced to the joy of fucking
ass, they were willing to do anything the four brothers suggested.  By that
time all four victims were erect, much to their dismay and wonder.  There
being no way that they were enjoying being abused and humiliated, the only
solution they had was that it had to be the work of the devil.
     "So what does the guy who comes first get?" asked Bobby as he rapidly
worked his stalk in and out of Luke's tiny abused hole after Mouse had
taken a turn.
     "He gets to eat the celery sticks," giggled Benny as he did the same
to Byron.
     "Ewww, gross!" responded the others while the four victims wondered if
the boys would really make the winner do it.
      They were beginning to feel the same powerful sensations deep in
their groins that they had felt the night they'd provided their semen for
the strange doctor.  Just in case Benny had been serious, the three oldest
boys tightly clenched their eyes shut and fought the urge to release their
load and Luke tensed as he tried his best not to begin jerking.  As the
curved celery sticks repeatedly and rapidly massaged their prostates, their
efforts were in vain.
     Luke was the first to reach his climax and he contorted his face as if
in pain as his little two-inch boner jerked about wildly and his body
twitched uncontrollably with his dry orgasm.  As the eight-year-old
whimpered with his third orgasm in as many days, he could not resist
enjoying the strange pleasure rippling through his body, His brother Eli
was next, the sixteen-year-old inhaling sharply and throwing his head back
as his hot load spurting out of his cock in long, juicy ropes to lace the
floor in front of him.  He wondered if his kid brother was watching, and
what he was thinking.  This was totally embarrassing.
     Byron was quick to follow, the twelve-year-old cuming for only the
third time in his life, all of them within the last three days.  He blushed
bright red with shame as his young, stiff cock waved in the air, sending
his copious load of semen spraying all over all over the floor and even
splattering his legs.  The first two times he'd cum had been justified and
had been for a Christian cause.  This time, however, was purely wicked, and
even though it was not by his doing, he felt as if he had sinned.  And,
like most things sinful, it felt awesome.
     His brother Everett was last.  As his nuts drew up tight under his
six-inch cock and his seed spurted out with what he could not deny was the
greatest physical pleasure he could ever imagine, he wondered what sins
he'd committed to be punished so.  He had tried to live a clean and proper
life, as his parents had raised him.  Even when he'd woken up with an
erection after a particularly erotic dream, or when it had just popped up
when a cute girl smiled at him, he'd done no more than squeeze it tightly
in an effort to make the pain go away, and had stroked it no more than a
dozen times in the hopes that would quell the lust in his loins.  So why
was he being punished?  The Brewsters would have readily told him had he
asked.
     Leaving the celery stalks up their victims' asses, the Brewster
brothers and their four friends took one last look at the flushed, spent
boys and headed back to their cabins.  They were all exhausted from the
night's fun, but in high spirits.
     "How did you know about that Bible stuff anyway?" Bobby asked before
they separated to go to their individual cabins.
     "Hey, when a guy can't jerk in the evenings, and when he doesn't have
a computer to look up stuff, what else is a guy to do but read whatever is
available?  Actually, when we get home, I got way lots of hot stuff to show
you that I found in the Bible that nobody ever told us in Sunday school."
     "Cool," replied his three brothers, and their friends when Benny
promised to email them the information too.
     As their four victims headed off to their cabins a few minutes later,
their buttholes feeling strangely empty and three of the four certain they
could feel the warm, slimy juice of their abusers oozing down their legs,
they had only one immediate thought on their minds.  Slipping into the
shower house, they lathered themselves up well, especially their backsides
and their groins, certain they would never feel clean again.  Each of them
was vigorously working the lather around his semierect cock and had a soapy
finger deep up his rectum in an effort to cleanse himself when the Cabin
Leaders, having discovered the absence of their charges, and having heard
the force of the running water in the shower house when they'd stepped
outside to investigate, stepped into the common shower room.
     Although tempted to blame the Brewsters, the four boys chose not to.
To do so they would have to confess what the brothers had done to them,
which they were not going to admit to anyone, and which was even worse than
what the Cabin Leaders thought they'd caught them doing.  Besides, knowing
the Brewsters, they would probably already be snug in their bunks.  Not
even knowing they were indirectly responsible for the breaking of rule
nine, the boys were curled up in their bunks and sleeping soundly with
happy smiles on their angelic faces.
     Early the next morning the boys packed up and right after a brief
morning service said their goodbyes as boys do in thousands of summer camps
every year.  In this case, there was an eight-year-old who could not wait
to get home and share his new found information with his friends, and a
twelve-year-old who whose idea of mischievousness had just been elevated
several notches, and who was already plotting how he was going to go about
introducing his best buddy to some forbidden knowledge.  Both were thankful
to two particular brothers for enriching their lives, but neither was as
thankful as two teenagers returning to their parents with a totally
different perspective on life.  Slim had found there was something even
more pleasant, though just as addictive, as drugs, and it was organic,
harmless, and free, and Hack had found that there was a far more
interesting and pleasurable way to make and impress friends than hacking.
For years to come their parents would be praising Clearwater Church Camp
and the fine Christian boys their sons had met for turning their boys away
from a life of crime.
     There were four other young boys who would be cursing the same four
Christian boys for years to come.  Planning on eliminating the events of
the past two miserable weeks from their memories, they had no idea that a
letter was being sent to their parents advising them of the perverted act
their sons had been caught doing in the camp showers, and urging them to
seek the help of their local pastor to cure the boys of what Reverent
Pickett assured them was evidence of a budding homosexuality.
     As for the four Brewster brothers, they had the email addresses of new
friends, and another great adventure they could share with their closest
buddies and their cousins.  Floating high above the bus, a solitary cloud
in the shape of a genie floated in the opposite direction to all the other
clouds.  Although the boys still had one wish owing them, it hadn't been
necessary he accompany them all they had to do was call and he'd hear them
anywhere.  To follow the bus had been his choice after all, where better to
find out about this new world after eight hundred years than in the
Brewster neighbourhood?  Besides, he was beginning to wonder if he had not
met up with four modern djinn.
     As the four white busses headed in four directions across this great
land of yours and mine, returning the campers to their homes, life was
delectable and most delightsome, and there came from each a similar tune as
eight boys hummed a new song that Brent had composed and shared that Sunday
morning during the boring parts of the church services:

                            Chorus:
               One sunny day to Clearwater Camp,
                The four Brewster brothers came,
            They had some fun and made some friends,
          And Clearwater Camp will never be the same.

             Now they got rules in Clearwater Camp,
               Like no smoking, alcohol or drugs,
                 Too bad they didn't also ban,
                Geese, racoons, skunks and bugs.

                             Chorus

              Oh they say that in Clearwater Camp,
                    The food is mighty fine,
              But they put salt peter in the stew,
                 According to a friend of mine.

                             Chorus

          They said there is no spitting or swearing,
                  No candy, gum or junk food.
             Now by fuckin' son of a bitchin' hell,
              We think that that was mighty rude.

                             Chorus

           Now Reverend Pickett had a fine moustache,
                But then he lost it for a while
                Fed him boy cum to make it grow
             And now does the Reverend ever smile.

                             Chorus

             Competition, it builds a boy's spirit,
                At least that is what they say,
               Just be careful who you challenge
           'Cuz you'll never know what you might pay.

                             Chorus