Date: Wed, 17 Jan 2001 01:53:19
From: Dream Spinner <authorsix@hotmail.com>
Subject: "The Brewsters Celebrate Martin Luther King Day" (t/b, b/b,
     t/t incest)

Caution/Welcome.  This is a story involving four brothers, one preteen, one
thirteen-year-old and two fifteen-year-old twins, who, like thousands of
other youngsters across the country are learning about the contributions of
their black brothers, but unlike a few bigots and racists in their
community, extend their hands, and other body parts, in Christian
fellowship and gestures of goodwill (and other gestures) regardless of
race, colour, or creed.  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 twenty-first
story in the Brewster Boys special events and myths series.  Readers of all
colours, races and creeds, with a special invitation to all those of
African descent, are welcome to send the author, J.O. Dickingson, comments
and monetary incentives at authorsix@hotmail.com The Brewster boys
encourage you to celebrate this holiday and black history month right: wear
a black condom next time you have sex.

         THE BREWSTERS CELEBRATE MARTIN LUTHER KING DAY

     "Boys, supper is in fifteen minutes," Brenda Brewster warned as her
four boys charged into the kitchen and headed straight for the
refrigerator.  With four healthy, active boys, it was a full time chore
keeping the refrigerator stocked.
     "Okay Mom," replied fifteen-year-old Brent as he bent over and picked
up the packet of Kraft cheese slices.
     "Yeah," said his twin brother Brett as he reached over for the butter,
his long blond hair falling across his deep blue eyes, "we'll only have one
sandwich then."
     "I'll get the buns," said thirteen-year-old Benny, squeezing in
between Brett and Brent and giving each brother's backside a firm grab.
     "Can I have a wiener, Mom?" their kid brother Bobby asked playfully,
squeezing in beside Benny and giving his two older brothers' crotches a
grope.  Between his hot hands and that of his older brother, the twins
began to swell, an occurrence that happened at least five times a day
without encouragement from their siblings.
     "Boys," I said we are going to eat.  "Now scoot out of there and go
wash your hands," Brenda Brewster said with amused exasperation as only a
mother can.  She took away the butter and cheese slices and put them back
into the fridge.  She swore her three teenagers had hollow legs, and the
youngest was almost as bad.  As she stroked her extended stomach, she
wondered how the two boys in her belly were going to turn out.
     "Last one in the bathroom is a dickhead," whispered Bobby, and the
four boys dashed off.
     Fifteen minutes later they were back at the table and in their places,
faces and hands washed, hair neatly combed, and for three of them, their
nuts one load lighter.
     "So, are you boys getting excited about the special basketball game on
the fifteenth?"  asked Barry Brewster as he handed Brent the mashed
potatoes.
     "Oh yeah, it's going to fun," he said, taking several large spoonfuls
and passing the bowl to Benny.
     "I hear they are one of Alabama's top teams," Barry observed.
     "Sergeant Major Vardy said the whole team is made up of black
students," observed Brett, referring to their no-nonsense physical
education teacher and basketball coach.
     "Yeah, says this is where the rubber is going to hit the road,"
observed his twin brother Brent.  Their coach said that a lot, and not one
of the team had a clue what it meant.
     "Most blacks are great athletes," observed Benny who had passed the
bowl to his kid brother.
     "Why is that, Dad?" asked Bobby as he carved a hollow out of his
mashed potato mountain and turned it into a gravy volcano.
     "Well, I think it's a matter of them having an interest in sports and
putting a lot of time and practice into it."
     "If's nof cufz fhey're behher hat hit?" asked Benny, his mouth full.
     "Because they're black," added Brent, stretching across the table for
a second pork chop.
     "No, I don't think it has anything to do with being black," said their
father.
     "By the way," said Brenda, joining them at the other end of the table
with the buns she'd warmed up in the oven, "I've offered to billet one of
the boys."
     "Billet?" asked her four boys excitedly, remembering when they had
billeted their cousin Gordie when his band had come over from Scotland for
their July fourth parade.
     "That's fu-, fu-, fu- . . .  fu-," stumbled Bobby, suddenly realizing
his usual covers of 'fucrying out loud' and 'fucgoodness sake' weren't
going to make sense.
     "Fun?" suggested Benny helpfully.
     "Far out?" suggested Brett, the fastest thinker of the four brothers.
     "Fortunate, for him," suggested Brent.
     "Fulfilling," suggested their father.
     "Fulminic acid," offered Brent.
     "Fulminic acid?" asked his three brothers and two parents as they
turned as one and looked at the fifteen-year-old boy.
     "I just learned the name of that acid in chemistry today," he
responded with a shrug.
     "Yeah, it's only found in its salts, and is highly explosive,"
contributed his twin brother.
     "Can you pass the salt please?" Bobby asked.
     "So what were you saying, dear?" asked Barry.
     "Yeah, what were you saying?" asked her four boys, relieved they'd
gotten Bobby out of another spot.
     "I was saying that the Crestview Heights High School parent council
asked for volunteers to put up the players, and I said we would put one
up."
     "Way to go, Mom," said Brent, scoring a Brownie point for when he
might need it.
     "He better not bend over or Benny will put one up," whispered Bobby
and his brothers giggled as Benny gave his kid brother the finger under the
table.
     "You can bet Bobby will be checking how well hung he is ten minutes
after he's in the house," whispered Brent.
     "More like five minutes," mouthed Brett.
     "I hear all black boys are really well hung," whispered Benny.
     "Yeah," whispered Bobby with a sigh and a smile, his eyes growing wide
as he imagined a hot, black, high school teenager. . . .
     "Boys, what is the rule about whispering?"
     "Sorry, Mom," the four boys chorused, their minds all on the same
thing as Bobby's was and despite their wank only minutes ago their cocks
beginning to stiffen.
     "And well I'm thinking of it, you know you aren't supposed to finish
Bobby's sentences," she reprimanded them all, including her husband.  "If
he's going to break this stuttering habit, he has to do it on his own."
She had spoken to the school, and the teachers said they had also noticed
that Bobby's stuttering had been getting worse instead of improving and
they had agreed to increase the time with his tutor, much to Bobby's
delight.
     "How are your extra lessons anyway?" asked Brett with a twinkle in his
deep blue eyes.
     "He's awesome I mean, they're awesome," said Bobby, causing his
brothers to snort.  Fortunately for him and unfortunately for Benny, Benny
had a mouth of mashed potato at the time and had snorted it out of his
nose, distracting his parents' attention from his comment.  That was lucky
for Bobby, and Benny's three brothers practically fell off their seats with
laugher, drawing their parents' annoyance away from Benny and to
themselves, which was fortunate for Benny.
     "Your teachers say your tutor is very good," observed Brenda once calm
had been restored, only to cause the four boys to collapse with a fit of
giggles again.
     Bobby had the hots for the cute, sixteen-year-old stud muffin and
hoped some day to find out if he was indeed good.  "Well, I'm trying real
hard, Mom," Bobby said, emphasizing hard, causing his brothers to giggle
once more.
     "You boys are certainly in good spirits," observed their father.  Ever
since their surprise Boxing Day evening, he had a new appreciation for his
four boys.  That night they had fulfilled one of his wildest fantasies, one
that he'd thought would always just be a dream, which in turn had triggered
some very vivid images in his mind of an earlier experience with his sons
that he seemed to have blocked out.  "If I didn't know better, I'd say
you've been drinking or something."
     "We have," announced Bobby.
     "Oh?" responded his three brothers and his two parents as they all
looked at him.
     "Sure, we've been drinking in the love of this family," Bobby replied,
the eleven-year-old beaming at his siblings and his parents as his hazel
eyes sparkled.
     "Aaaahhh," sighed his three brothers as they cocked their heads and
battled their eyes at their kid brother.  "Isn't that sweet?" they
chorused.
     "Speaking of sweet, what's for dessert, Mom?" asked Brent.
     "Banana cream pie."
     "I love bananas," observed Bobby, his hazel eyes twinkling again as he
looked at his brothers and jerked at his groin under the table.
     "I love banana cream," Benny said with a wide grin.
     "Oh yeah!" his three brothers sighed and the four of them reached
under the table and squeezed their erect cocks while they waited for their
pie.
     The conversation several blocks away at the Jones household was not so
cheerful.  In fact, it was just the opposite of cheerful.  For one, the two
brothers and their cousin, Jason Smyth- Jones, had endured a week of smirks
behind their backs and teasing by their classmates over their cheap
Wal-Mart clothes, and when they'd stripped for gym, the feature underwear
their dads had bought them to teach them a lesson after giving away their
boxers and expensive Christmas gifts on Boxing Day.  That was enough to put
them in an ornery mood, and the theme they were studying at school for the
next six weeks just added to their irritation.
     "I don't see why we have to study black history," griped
thirteen-year-old Andrew Jones as he slammed down his pen.
     "Me neither," agreed his eleven-year-old brother Daniel.  "Like, they
don't have white history month."
     "Right."
     "It's just not fair."
     "I think it's sick the way everyone is sucking up to niggers these
days."
     "Yeah, like they are so special or something."
     "Yeah, like lots of white guys have held protests and marches and we
don't celebrate a day for them."
     "Yeah, like there's, ah, well, there's what white guys have held
marches?"
     "Well, there's that Phillip Souza guy."
     "Who's he?"
     "I dunno, but I heard he had hundreds of marches.  And there's that
guy that was in the paper up in Idaho, that Aryan guy."
     "Oh yeah.  They threw him in jail or something for marching didn't
they?"
     "Yeah.  Cuz he was having a march to stick up for whites."
     "Well that's dumb."
     "What's dumb?" asked their cousin Jason as he walked into the room.
The fifteen-year- old teenager had helped his father return the ladder he'd
borrowed to take down the Christmas tree lights and was waiting while his
father and uncle visited.  He didn't mind waiting.  It gave him a chance to
visit with his little cousins, who worshipped the ground he walked on.
Ever since the humiliating events of Boxing Day, he had visited them at
least every other day to make sure they still worshipped him the after what
had happened.
     "Black History Month, and having to do these reports and stuff for
Martin Luther King Day."
     "Yeah, we gotta make this dumb map and mark all the places of
importance in his life.  Like who gives a crap," complained Daniel.
     "And we got to read about these six events in the civil rights
movement and make a chart that describes the problem that led to the event
and the improvements that resulted," explained Andrew.
     "You think that's bad, we got to have a basketball game against some
stinkin' niggers from Alabama on the fifteenth."
     "No way!"
     "We do."
     "They can't make you do that, can they?"
     "They can, and they are."
     "Ooooh maaaan," groaned Andrew.  "So what you gonna do, pretend you're
sick or something that day?"
     "I dunno yet.  I sure don't want to be in the same room with a bunch
of sweaty coons," Jason commented.  "Not even in the same town."
     "Oh yeah," said Daniel, wrinkling up his nose.  "I hear they stink
worse than, well, you know, bm's."
     "Yeah," agreed his brother.  "It's the way black people sweat or
something.  That's what Mister Carter told dad anyway."
     The Jones family's wealth was old money, passed down from generation
to generation from when they had a plantation farm and cotton mill in South
Carolina.  Also passed down from father to son was the racial attitudes
that had gone unchanged over the centuries in the Jones family.  Jason
suspected his grandfather might even be a Klan member, though he had no
proof of that, and these days there were so many goody-goody liberals
around you had to be careful what you admitted to.  It was just some of the
things his grandfather said that made it highly likely.
     His mother, on the other hand, was a Smyth, from the New York Smyth's,
very well-to- do financial investors, and anyone who worked with their
hands was low class in her eyes.  Jason fully agreed with her, and one of
the reasons he was registered in the public school system instead of the
Catholic like his cousins, was because Crestview Heights High School had a
better business management program.  It was a sacrifice but the Smyth-Jones
family was made of stern stock.  However, associating with some of the
white trash that attended the public school was one thing, playing
basketball against some black slum kids from Alabama was quite another.
     Besides the fact the boys from Alabama were black and poor, there was
a third reason he was not looking forward to the upcoming basketball game.
Word was that the team from George Washington Carver High School was tops
in the state and undefeated this season, and one thing Jason Smyth-Jones
did not like to do was to lose.  Nor did his mother and father.
     "What I'd like to do is get the bunch of them and the Brewster twins
trapped in an elevator for a few hours together."
     "I'd like to stick Benny Brewster's nose in their sweaty pits, the
smart aleck," observed Andrew.  "And make him lick them," he added, and his
brother and cousin wrinkled up their noses with the disgusting thought.
     "I'd like to stick Bobby's nose up one of their bumholes," said
Daniel, recalling how he'd felt when he'd felt the eleven-year-old sticking
his backside with his dick.
  The grade six student's pulse and temper began rising.
     "Well, you only have to play one game with them," said Andrew.  "We
got to write for a lousy two weeks to a class of the balcony monkeys."  He
didn't know exactly what that meant, but he'd heard his grandfather use the
term plenty of times.
     "Write them?"
     "Yeah, it's part of this big deal cultural exchange thing Father
O'Rilley thought up. We gotta swap emails back and forth and learn about
their culture and customs and stuff," Andrew explained.  "Every freaking
day."
     "Us too.  And then they're coming up here for Martin Luther King Day,
and we gotta actually meet them," Daniel added, pretending to stick his
finger down his throat and making a gagging noise.
     "Like who cares about their culture and history and crap?"
     "You have to write to them?" Jason repeated.
     "Yeah," Andrew said, wondering why his cousin asked again as he looked
up at him.
     "You like got their email addresses or something or what?"
     "Naw, we write our messages at school on these portable word
processors and copy them on this disc and our teacher puts them together in
one email and sends it to their teacher, and then they do the same and send
them back to us.  Each of us is matched up with another kid so they just
print off the email and chop off each person's message."
     "Same here," said Daniel.
     "What do you write about?"
     "Each day we got a topic.  Like today we had to write about what our
favourite foods are."
     "Your teacher read what you write?"
     "They walk around the room while we're typing and check and stuff,
why?"
     "If you wanted to, could you slip a line in asking who you're writing
to for his personal email address without them knowing?"
     "I guess," said Andrew, "there's too many of us for our teacher to
read every one of the messages before she emails the collection."  The
thirteen-year-old wrinkled up his nose as he added, "but why'd I want to?"
     "Aren't niggers too poor to have their own computers and stuff
anyway?"  asked his brother.
     "Naw, they ain't poor," responded Jason.  "They're all on welfare.
Dad says they're too lazy to work.  Sides, they think whites owe them a
living now because of the slavery stuff."
     "They still should be slaves."
     "Yeah.  I can think of a hundred things a blackie can do for me."
     "Or for the Brewsters," said Jason with a grin.
     "Huh?" his two cousins asked in surprise and confusion.  Their cousin
couldn't possibly want to do something for the Brewster brothers after what
they'd done to him.
     "Suppose you two got the email addresses of the two guys you're
writing to, and then wrote to them pretending you're Bobby and Benny, and
you insult them and call them niggers and tell them what you really think
of a bunch of coons coming up here and things like that.  What do you think
they'd do?"
     "They'd get mad and would probably want to come up here and beat our
brains out," replied Andrew.
     "Beat the Brewsters' brains out you mean."
     "Oh yeah," his cousins replied with wide grins after a moment as they
realized what their cousin was suggesting.
     "So do it.  Try to get your email partners' email addresses and then
we'll get them pissed off with the Brewsters.  Then when they come here,
we'll make sure they get to meet Benny and Bobby alone."
     "But if we get the addresses, how would the Brewsters end up with
them?" Andrew asked.
     "I dunno," responded Jason with a shrug.  "We can say you lost them
and they found them, or stole them or whatever.  We'll think of something."
     "Wicked idea, Jason!" Andrew beamed, looking up at his
fifteen-year-old cousin in admiration.
     "Oh yeah," agreed Daniel.
     Jason smiled, taking in their praise.  He was relieved he'd been able
to redeem himself after the recent humiliating events.
     "Too bad we can't get the twins involved somehow to pay them back for
what they did to you," Andrew said angrily.
     Jason scowled and his face turned a dark red as he thought about
Boxing Day and what the four Brewster brothers had done to him, and made
him do to his cousins.  "Don't worry.  I got some plans all ready for
them."
     "Yeah?  What?"
     "I said we got a team of those monkeys coming to play basketball,
right?"
     "Yeah."
     "Well, the twins play basketball, and I'm the team captain, so I get
to say what they do.  I'm going to match those wimps up with the biggest,
baddest players they got and play them so hard their asses are going to be
dragging.  Let's see how they like it when those niggers mop the floor with
them in front of the whole school and half the town and show them for the
losers that they are.  Best of all, everyone will blame them for losing the
game."
     "All right!" his cousins responded, and the three boys high fived.
     Again Jason glowed as his two cousins praised him.  The two younger
Jones boys had wanted to be just like him and had copied everything their
older jock cousin had done for years.  They'd had the shock of their lives
when they'd found him having sex with the Brewster twins on Boxing Day, but
he'd managed to explain what had happened.  He'd told them he'd gotten
horny watching the girls on the hidden cam the Brewsters had set up, and
that the two younger boys understood having gotten horny themselves and
Jason being such a stud and all.  He had explained how the Brewsters had
promised him a booth by himself, but then had attacked him and pulled down
his pants and threatened to tell his parents about him having a boner and
well, he had no choice but to do what they said.  That his cousins could
understand also, having been similarly aroused and then forced to have sex
with their cousin while Bobby and Benny had cracked their cherries in their
moment of weakness and confusion.  It is hard to think when a guy has a
raging boner.
     Even if they hadn't been abused themselves, they would have believed
Jason.  He was, after all, their hero and could do no wrong.  Now with his
plan how all three of them could get revenge against the four bothers,
their admiration soared to a new level.  The next day Andrew and Daniel
slipped in a comment in their emails that they'd like to correspond more
directly and personally than they could through the school if their two
classmates in the south had their own emails.  Daniel's southern
counterpart replied that he didn't have email but Andrew's match suggested
something even better, that they chat.  Jason immediately helped them set
up an ICQ account and Andrew arranged with his correspondent to talk to
himself and his brother in two days.  Jason, Andrew and Daniel spent the
next two days thinking up every racial insult they could remember hearing
their parents and other relatives saying.  They also had time to think
about their plan, and decided to change tactics.  They didn't want the boys
from Alabama coming up and betting the shit out of the Brewsters.  They
wanted something worse: they wanted the Brewsters to suffer the humiliation
and degradation that the Brewsters had made them suffer on Boxing Day, and
the weeks that followed.  By the end of the second day, they were ready to
bait the trap.

<Isaac> hey whatsup <Benny> not much.  Benny Brewster and my brother Bobby
here (typed in Andrew) <Benny> HI, THIS IS BOBBY.  I'LL TYPE IN CAPITALS SO
YOU KNOW WHEN ITS ME <Isaac> Benny and Bobby?  I thought we was talking to
Andrew and Daniel <Benny> there both sick so we're taking there place.
<Isaac> ic this is Isaac and Elias Barnaby.  Hi!  <Isaac> I'LL TYPE IN
CAPITALS TO (typed in Elias) <Benny> you guys got strange first names
(Jason typed in as planned) <Isaac> their biblical <Benny> why is that
<Isaac> MY MOMMA AND POPPA TOLD ME OUR FAMILIES HAVE ALWAYS HAD NAMES THAT
ARE IN THE BIBLE <Benny> MAYBE THEY FIGURE SUCKING UP USING BIBLE NAMES IS
THE ONLY WAY YOU CAN GET INTO HEAVEN (Jason typed, hoping to lead up to the
first insult) <Isaac> WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN <Benny> everyone knows
niggers are thieves and drug pushers <Benny> AND FAGGOTS <Isaac> NIGGER IS
AN INSULTING RACIST WORD <Benny> WELL IT IS THE WORD WE USE HERE <Isaac>
How'd you like it we called you names <Benny> YOU CAN CALL ME MASTER
<Isaac> the reason white people had slaves is because they where to dumb to
do there own work <Benny> IN YOUR DREAMS.  TALK ABOUT DUMB.  IN ALL OF
HISTORY BLACKS AINT CREATED NOTHING NOT EVEN A WRITTEN LANGUAGE.  THEY AINT
GOOD FOR ANYTHING EXCEPT BEING SLAVES (typed in Jason) <Isaac> oh yeah?
Well for the last 10000 years blacks have been oppressed by whites <Benny>
oh yeah? if your ancestors where genetically fit to build their own
civilization they wouldn't of allowed whites to enslave them (typed Jason)
<Isaac> fuck you.  where you get these ideas anyhow <Benny> JUST SOMETHING
EVERYONE KNOWS <Benny> like something else everyone knows: whats the diff
between a nigger and a turd no answer <Benny> none <Isaac> you got shit for
brains <Benny> All you Jungle Bunnies should be sent back to Africa.  All
except those who know their place is on their knees licking white ass
(Jason wrote) <Isaac> OH YEAH, WELL WE WILL OVERCOME <Isaac> yeah, we have
a dream brother, and right now mine is you on your knees licking my black
ass.  <Benny> Speaking of brothers, what is a black boy's definition of
"Relative Humidity"?  The pool of sweat that forms in the small of his
sisters back when him and his brothers are doin' her doggie style.  (wrote
Jason) <Isaac> Oh yeah, well everyone knows white guys got the tiniest
dicks of all the races.  black guys are hung way better than white <Benny>
ALL BLACK GUYS SHOULD BE HUNG <Isaac> you guys are so fucking racist.
<Benny> Heres a racial fact.  How do you stop five niggers from raping a
white woman? Throw them a basketball (Jason typed).  <Isaac> My cousin is
coming up there to play basketball and he'll whip your team's white asses
<Benny> My cousin will beat your cousin playing ball with one arm tied
behind his back (Andrew typed, forgetting he was supposed to be Benny)
<Isaac> YOUR COUSIN A BASKETBALL PLAYER TOO <Benny> THE BEST (typed Daniel,
also forgetting his was supposed to be Bobby) <Benny> and once he whips
your cousins ass, he'll pull down his pants and fuck the shit out of him
<Isaac> he a homo <Benny> just showing your pussy brother who the master is
<Isaac> I'M REPORTING YOU TO YOUR TEACHER <Benny> Tattle tale <Isaac> your
dad and mom must be brother and sister cuz your morons <Isaac>. ITS TIME
YOU LEARNED SOME RESPECT.  <Benny> when you spear chuckers come up here
we'll learn you respect <Isaac> We'll see who teaches who <Benny> deal.
We'll meet you in room 231.  That's where they teach the retards so you
should feel right at home (typed Jason) <Benny> DON'T SHOW AND WE'LL KNOW
YOU'RE CHICKEN SHITS <Benny> bring your whole class.  Me'n Bobby will take
all you coons on ourselves.  And after we mop the floor with yas, you can
kiss our assholes <Isaac> yeah right.  We'll see who kisses whose ass.
<Benny> we mean it, the two of us against as many as you want to bring to
help you <Isaac> if you wanna fight you ignorant racist assholes got it
(Isaac responded and clicked off)

     When the grade six and grade eight classes from Alabama visited the
Saint Joseph Middle School that January Monday morning and the students
introduced themselves and paired up with their corresponding partners,
Isaac and Elias were disappointed but not overly surprised when they
learned Andrew and Daniel had phoned in sick that day.  The two boys had
taken the suggestion they'd given Jason as their way of avoiding having to
be in the same room as a bunch of "coons".  Their parents had already given
an excuse why they could not billet the two boys their sons had been
matched up with.  Isaac and Elias were not surprised to discover none of
the boys who were present were called Bobby or Benny Brewster either.  Both
figured that the Brewster brothers would also probably stay home that night
rather than show up for their challenge.  Following the chat, they had
shared the racist comments with their classmates, and both grades had come
prepared to show the two white boys and anyone else who the master race
was.
     Meanwhile the George Washington Carver high school team had spent the
day at the local museum and touring the town.  That night minutes before
the visiting team arrived, Jason slipped into the visitors change room.
Having stolen two of the twins' exam papers, he'd drawn a couple obscene
pictures and written racial slurs on the back of them and left them where
they would not be obvious, but where they would be spotted.  He of course
had two motives, the prime one being to get the team angry with the
Brewster brothers, and the second to get them so angry they would not be
able to concentrate on the gam, giving the Crestview Heights team a better
chance at winning.
     "Oh, no," groaned one of the players as he read the back of the exam.
     "Oh maaaan," commented another, looking at the other exam.
     "What?"
     "You aren't going to believe this."
     "What?"
     They showed the papers to their team mates.
     "Q. What's the difference between a pothole and a nigger?  A. You'd
swerve to avoid a pothole, wouldn't you?" was the first of several racist
jokes scribbled on the back of the first exam along with several crude
pictures of black boys bowing down to their "white masters."
     "Q. Why do niggers always have sex on their minds?  A. Because their
pubic hair is on their heads," began a series of jokes on the other paper,
along with a crude drawing of a black boy bent over and sucking a white boy
while getting plowed by a white boy with a gigantic penis with the caption
"Oh mastah, this is even better than watermelon."  The black boy had, of
course, an almost microscopic penis, which according to an arrow, was
typical coon size.
     "Brett Brewster and Brent Brewster," one of the players observed
angrily, reading the names on the front of the exams.  "These two goons
must have been swapping these supposed jokes during class."
     "And you can be sure they weren't left here by accident," another said
as he glared at the two papers.
     "Fucking assholes."
     "They better not be basketball players or they're going to be two
sorry fucks."
     By the time the team had changed and entered the gym, they were raging
mad.  They were playing Saint Anne's Catholic first, and the poor boys
received the brunt of their anger.  The rumour Jason had heard about the
players from George Washington Carver was correct, and the boys had an
added incentive that night to show just how good they were.  Of course the
team from Crestview Heights High began to get nervous, but Jason kept up
their spirits by making a big deal when the boys from Alabama did foul, and
by reminding them that they were just coons and in half an hour they'd be
worn out.  Most of his teammates did not buy it.
     Andrew and Daniel, meanwhile, were implementing their plan.  Waiting
until they were sure there was a definite pattern of elementary and junior
high students from Jackson Middle School slipping in and out of the gym,
obviously to check if the infamous Brewster's had shown up, they sat down
beside the Brewsters, each with a chocolate coated donut.  They knew each
of the boys had a sweet tooth, and as they suspected, when they commented
how delicious the donuts were and about going back for more, Benny
suggested to Bobby they go to the cafeteria for a couple too.
     "We got them in Room 231."
     "I thought they were serving snacks in the cafeteria."
     "They are.  These are special made by the retards," explained Andrew.
     "They're fantastic," Daniel said, smacking his lips.  "At the rate
they were selling them they'll probably be gone before the break between
the two games."
     "All right, we gotta go get some of those," said Bobby, and Benny
readily agreed.
     The special education students were always fundraising or doing
special projects, so there was nothing suspicious that they were selling
donuts that night.  On the way down the hall, Benny and Bobby noticed one
of the black students going into the boy's can, and of course they followed
in the hopes of checking him out, there being very few black boys in
Crestview Heights Elementary or Crestview Heights Junior High.  Standing on
either side of the boy, they pulled down their flies and flashed their own
cocks, knowing that they were impressively hung compared to other boys
their age, and to their delight, so was the black boy.  To their
disappointment, he showed no interest in what was hanging out of their
pants.  Emerging from the washroom, they spotted Zac Williams, Bobby's
speech tutor from the high school, and the eleven-year-old had to stop to
chat with him.
     "Hi Zac!"
     "Hi there Bobby my man," responded Zac, having taken a liking to the
outgoing boy.  "How's things hanging?"
     "S-, s-, s-, straight up," grinned Bobby, causing the boy to laugh.
He loved the youngster's sense of humour and his brash sexuality.
     "Seems to be your normal state," he replied.
     "Fu-, fu-, fu-, fuck yeah," Bobby responded.  "S-, s-, s-, say, Mom
was wonderin' if you could give me s-, s-, s-, some evening practices."
     "Evening?"
     "Yeah.  Like on Mondays, from seven to nine."
     "I don't know.  Your teacher hasn't said anything."
     "Mom hasn't mentioned it to her."
     "Oh."
     "Anyway, will ya think about it?"
     "Sure.  You boys going back to watch the big game?  Saint Anne's is
getting whipped. "
     "Yeah.  We're goin' for something to eat first."
     "Kay.  See you in school Monday."
     "Sh, sh, sh, sure," Bobby replied.
     "You're such a faker," Benny accused with a giggle as they headed up
the hall.
     "What you mean?"
     "Mom didn't say anything about evening practice, did she?"
     "Not yet," Bobby said with a grin.
     "Monday from seven to nine is when she has her parent-teacher
meetings," Benny observed.  "And dad takes Brent and Brett to and from
basketball practice."
     "Yeah," said Bobby with a grin.  "Now all I gotta do is find some way
to get you out of the fucking house."

"You're wicked," grinned Benny.
     "What room were we supposed to go to?" asked Bobby, not disagreeing
with his brother.
                                                            "One
thirty-two."
     Arriving at the room, the boys found it in darkness and locked up.
     "Those sons-a-bitches, they were pulling our legs!"
     "Bet they're sitting back there laughing 'bout us heading over here
for no reason."
     "When I get back, I'd like to pull something of theirs!"
     "You and me both!"
     Heading back to the gym, they could not find Andrew and Daniel, but
they did spot a hot looking twelve-year-old visiting student sitting by
himself.  His skin was a chocolate brown, not dark black like Solomon's, an
immigrant from Sudan attending their school, and his curly, black hair was
shaved on the sides but left long on top.  He was wearing a short-sleeved
white T with a Nike swoosh and tight blue jeans which had a bulging crotch
that of course caught the two brothers' attention.  The two brothers
immediately headed for the bleachers and sat on either side of the boy.  As
the team from George Washington Carver scored a hoop, the boys cheered
along with him.  As they got the ball away from the Catholic team and
scored a second hoop, they cheered again.
     "How come you're cheering our team?" he asked.
     "Cuz your guys are good."
     "Yeah, they are," he beamed.
     "But our brothers are on the Crestview Heights team, so don't expect
us to be cheering for your side next game," Bobby advised.
     "Brothers?"
     "Yeah, twins."
     "Wow, that number 43 is especially good," observed Benny as the boy
blocked one of the Catholic players from making a pass.
     "That's my brother.  Best point guard in the fucking school," the boy
announced proudly, and then realizing what he'd said, quickly looked around
to see if any adults had heard him.  Living in the inner city, that type of
language was heard every day by youth and adults alike, and not just as a
rap song.
     "Yeah?  Fucking cool," said Benny, and the three boys grinned at each
other.
     A few minutes later the teams broke between the third and fourth
quarter.
     "Can we buy ya something?  A pop or chips or something?"
     "I got money," the boy said, sounding defensive.
     "Sure, but we're the hosts," said Benny.
     "Yeah, we'd like to treat ya.  Save your money so you can buy yourself
something else."
     "Well you two sure ain't like a couple of Catholic boys we know up
here."
     "You know a couple Catholic boys up here?"
     "Well, one of my friends chatted with two of them one night last
week."
     "Yeah?"
     "From what I heard, they were total assholes."
     "What you mean?"
     The boy related to them how his friend and his friend's brother were
supposed to chat to one of the Catholic boys his friend had been exchanging
emails with as part of their school project, but instead of chatting with
one of the Catholic boy's friends and his brother, they ended up chatting
with two total racists.  The two Brewster brothers were no innocents, but
they were shocked by some of the things the black boy claimed these two
boys had said.
     "Oh maaaaan, that really sucks," commented Bobby.
     "We do have some prejudiced people in this town," Benny observed,
thinking of Veteran's day.
     "Yeah," agreed Bobby, "and not just over colour either."
     "Where are most of your classmates anyway?" Benny asked, looking
around.
     "Giving those two assholes a lesson right now."
     "How's that?"
     The boy related the rest of the story about the two brothers, whom
they'd assumed were Catholic since they were good friends with the boy his
brother was corresponding with through school, and how the two brothers had
challenged his friend and friend's brother to meet them in one of the rooms
with as many of their classmates as they wanted.  At first he and his
classmates were going to just beat the crap out of whoever showed up,
something the inner city boys were confident they could easily do, but they
quickly realized that a bunch of white kids with black eyes and fat lips
limping down the hall would be noticed, and their reputations as punks
would just be reinforced.
     They were not, however, going to take the insults laying down.
Someone had observed that it was too bad they couldn't make the two racists
their slaves for a day, and from that someone else had suggested they could
make them slaves for at least a couple hours.  Of course what they could do
in two hours in a classroom was pretty limited and they were about to go
back to the idea of beating the crap out of them when someone suggested
they could make them their sex slaves.  That was accepted in a matter of
minutes by everyone in both grades.  What better example of slave and
master could there be?  Besides, it would be humiliating and debasing, and
it would be remembered a lot longer than a bruised rib.  A final reason,
one that was on the minds of every one of the hormone-driven teens and many
of the twelve-year-olds, was that it was the perfect opportunity for them
to experience something they had heard and wondered about, but were not
going to suggest to a buddy they try what it would be like to have a piece
of ass.
     "What room did they say to go to?"
     "Two thirty-one."
     Benny's and Bobby's eyes widened as they looked at each other.  "I
smell a rat," observed Benny.
     "Two rats," replied Bobby.
     "This boy and his brother they chatted to, what do you know 'bout
them?"
     "Not much," the boy said with a shrug.  "Their names are Bobby and
Benny Brewster, and they got a cousin in high school who plays basketball.
Wish I knew which one he was out there."
     "They said their names were Bobby and Benny, and they had a cousin in
high school?"
     "Yeah."
     "Morons can't even lie good," observed Bobby.
     "But we didn't get there, so who did?" asked Benny with a puzzled
look.
     "One way to find out.  Let's go see what's happening in 231."
     As they approached the room one of the boys from Alabama who was
standing guard stopped them until the black boy assured him the two white
boys with him were all right.  Everyone's focus being on the middle of the
room, nobody noticed them enter, and as soon as they saw what was
happening, Bobby and Benny, being short for their age anyway, quickly
stepped behind two of the tallest students so they would not be seen.
     "I'm telling you, you got the wrong guys."  The voice of the boy
protesting was angry, but also had a hint of fear.
     "Yeah, sure.  Like we're going to believe that."
     "You two really are morons."
     "Listen to my brother," whined a younger voice that was also angry,
but also much more frightened.
     "Enough listening," said the tall, slender thirteen-year-old who had
been doing the talking.  He slowly removed his belt.  "We said we was going
to teach you smart ass racists a thing or two, and we are."
     "We aren't Bobby and Benny.  Our names are Andrew and Daniel."
     "Andrew and Daniel were home sick today, but then you wouldn't know
that, you being home sick too," said the boy.
     "We were home sick," protested Andrew.
     "Just like you were sick the night you were supposed to chat with me,"
said the boy, who evidently was Isaac.
     "We were."
     "You two fucking assholes are sick all right," commented someone from
the audience.
     "So you two are really Andrew and Daniel and you just happened to come
wandering all the way over to this side of the high school from the gym
tonight."
     Andrew and Daniel looked at each other as Bobby and Benny peeked out
from behind the two black boys they'd stepped behind.  Having been forced
to strip, the two boys were standing there in their gaudy lime green
fashion briefs from Wal-Mart and surrounded by a circle of two dozen very
angry black boys.  They did not have a good explanation why they were there
in that part of the school, and as Bobby had observed, they were not
accomplished liars.  Of course what had happened was when they'd noticed
Bobby and Benny had been gone awhile, they'd figured their trap had worked,
and they had headed down to witness their humiliation and abuse at the
hands of the boys from Alabama.
     "You were real brave in the chat with me," Isaac said, swinging his
belt menacingly.  "And I see what your plan was for tonight too."
     "You do?" asked Daniel.  That was impossible.
     "You figured you'd come down here for one last laugh at the bunch of
dumb niggers standing around waiting for two boys who aren't going to show
up, because they don't really exist."
     "Of course they exist," protested Andrew.
     "Then where are they?"
     Andrew and Daniel glanced at each other, hoping the other had a good
answer, but of course neither did.
     "That was really the two of you who chatted with us all along wasn't
it?" asked a younger boy in the circle who was evidently Elias.
     "It wasn't us who chatted with you, honest.  It was Bobby and Benny
Brewster."
     "Then what are you doing here?" Elias asked.
     "We came to see if they showed up."
     "How'd you know they were coming here?"
     "They told us about it," said Andrew, thinking quickly.
     "When you came sneaking down here and we caught you, you said you
didn't know anything," reminded Isaac.
     "We were scared."
     "You are such liars," observed one of the younger boys, and the others
all agreed.
     "Cowards too."
     "Most racists are."
     "We just gonna talk Isaac, or we gonna do something?" one of the older
boys asked irritably.
     "Yeah.  We said we were going to pay them back for all those things
they said.  Just making them strip down to their dumb underwear isn't
enough."
     "Yeah, we gonna make them our slaves or not?" asked another boy,
leaving out the word "sex" just in case the others had decided to back out
on their trip up from Alabama, but hoping that was not the case.
     "Yeah, we gonna make them do what we said we was gonna or not?" asked
another, glad the first had spoken.  He'd had several hot jerk off
fantasies since they'd come up with the idea, and had been looking forward
to fucking some white trash ass.
     "Right.  Enough talk," Isaac said.  "Kiss each other."
     "What?"
     "You said niggers were all faggots, and did their sisters.  Well, for
starters, let's see you two brothers get it on," Isaac said, the memory of
their chat renewing his anger and giving him the courage to order them to
do what he and his brother had jokingly discussed between themselves as one
of the humiliating things they'd make the two smart asses do.  "Now kiss
each other."
     "No ."
     Andrew's protest was cut short by a sharp snap of Isaac's belt on his
butt.  As Isaac drew back to snap it again, Andrew bent over and kissed his
kid brother to the whoops and laugher of the others.
     "Keep it up til you get each other hard."
     The two hapless boys kissed and caressed each other, trying their best
to get hard and get it over with, but their fear and humiliation worked
against them.
     "Com'on, try harder, slave trash," encouraged one of the young boys in
the audience.
     "Yeah, let's see some heavy making out," Isaac said, giving Daniel a
snap on the backside for motivation and causing the eleven-year-old to yelp
with pain.
     Daniel and Andrew groped each other through their gaudy briefs, and
ran their fingers up each other's crack, growing redder by the minute as
the boys around them laughed and jeered.
     "You, pull down your big brother's undies and lick his asshole."
     Daniel knew not to would just mean getting hit by the belt and he
would end up doing it anyway.  Dropping to his knees and pulling down
Andrew's underwear, he worked his tongue up and down Andrew's crack, his
face turning a beet red. This was the most disgusting thing he'd ever done,
and the most humiliating.  Andrew began to get hard, causing him to turn
red with embarrassment too.  Their tormentors had the boys reverse
positions once Andrew had a boner.  Finally the two stood there blushing a
bright red, their cocks standing stiffly up in the air.
     "Now you two slaves can lick some black ass," said Isaac, and he and
his brother quickly stepped forward.
     The two boys dropped their Gap cargo pants and pushed down their
Marky-Mark boxers.  Forcing their two victims to their knees, they turned
around and ordered them to begin.  Andrew and Daniel stared at the black
globes before them, their stomachs turning at the disgusting thought.
Doing each other had been shameful, but doing it to two dark black monkey
boys was not only filthy and perverted, it was demeaning.  As they opened
their mouths to protest, two other boys stepped up and pushed their heads
into the exposed butts and twisted their arms behind them.  With tears
trickling down their cheeks, in part because of the humiliation, and in
part because of the pain, the two would be white supremists began licking
the black cracks.
     Between feeling the hot, moist tongues slipping up and down their ass
cracks and the joy of revenge, Isaac and Elias soon had boners.  Their
long, black cocks were a good inch longer than those of their victims, who
had by then gone limp again.  Having the boys stand and then bend over,
Isaac and Elias stepped out of their pants and underwear.  Two more boys
stepped forward, and having chucked their pants and underwear in the
corner, they presented their bare asses to the two boys while Isaac and
Elias retrieved lubed condoms from their pockets and slipped them on.
Grasping the two ass lickers by the hips, they pressed their dickheads
against the boys' buttholes.  They, and their classmates, had come fully
planned and prepared for revenge.
     Andrew and Daniel cringed as they felt the boys' hot, black hands
grasp their hips and their sheaved cocks slowly enter their rectums.  They
themselves had to reach out and grasp the hips of the two black boys in
front of them to keep their balance, and just touching their dark skin made
the skin of the two young racists turn to gooseflesh.  When they hesitated
to begin licking the boys' assholes, Isaac and Elias readily reached up and
pinched their nipples in encouragement.  Having no choice, they licked the
musky puckers of the two boys while the two behind them thrust their long,
black cocks in and out of their white butts.  By the time the two in front
were stiff, Isaac was cumming and Elias was trembling with his dry orgasm.
      Andrew and Daniel stared down at the floor in shame as the two boys
in front took their places behind them and slid condoms over their aching
dicks and another two took their place in the front.  Two dozen more black
boys and two white ones watched as once again the two white racists were
penetrated, each of those watching getting hornier by the minute and
cheering the participants on as they began to hurl racial insults back at
the two hapless Catholic boys.  Bobby and Benny slipped out of the room,
with the friend they had made following them.
     "Sorry about the name calling and stuff," the boy apologized.  "They
were only meant for those two assholes in the circle.  My friends and
classmates aren't racists."
     "Hey, they deserved it," observed Benny.
     "Yeah, they were only getting what they asked for."
     "Except I think more than they asked for," observed Benny.  "Don't
think they were expecting to have to eat black ass and get gangbanged."
     "Well, we wanted to do something that would make them feel like slaves
did, and that's the best we could come up with."
     "A good plan if you ask me," observed Benny.
     "They are going to have awful sore backsides and jaws by the time
they're done," laughed Bobby.
     "You're not upset?"
     "Hell no, couldn't have happened to two better boys actually,"
observed Benny.  "But why aren't you joining them?"
     "I was planning on it after I watched by brother play for a bit, but
after talking to you guys I'm not really in the mood anymore.  By the way,
my name's Marcus."
     "Benny."
     "Bobby."
     Marcus stopped and looked at the two boys, the possibility that the
two boys back in 231 were really innocent and had been set up flashing
through his mind.  The two brothers quickly explained how there had always
been a rivalry between the Catholic students and the students in the public
schools, both in academics and in sports, and how that rivalry in the case
of the Jones's had become personal.  When they described the prank they'd
played on Andrew, Daniel and their cousin on Boxing Day, Marcus broke out
in laughter.  He had never heard of anything so wicked, or hilarious.  It
was an honest, open-mouthed type of laugh, and the way his dark brown eyes
widened and his face seemed to brighten caused a stirring in the underwear
of the two Brewster brothers.
     "So, you see, their little trick trying to get us in trouble just
backfired on them," concluded Benny, his hazel eyes sparkling with
amusement.
     "Really BACKfired," giggled Bobby as he ran his hand through his
gelled, spiked hair and squirmed with the desire that had swollen up in his
black designer jeans, one of the donations he'd kept from Boxing Day.
"Revenge is never a good thing."
     Bobby was actually looking very hot in his black jeans and smart black
T with a flourescent picture of a dragon being slain by a hot, muscular
young man in just a thong on the front and the back.  He was feeling cool
too in the silk briefs he was wearing from Fitch and Abercrombie, another
one of the donations he'd kept.  Benny was wearing black too, black Gap
jeans and a black turtleneck sweater with a copper tube necklace and copper
chain bracelets which matched the copper tint to his shaved, dark brown
hair.
     The game with Crestview Heights High was about to start.  This being
an exhibition game, Coach Vardy had let Jason decide on most of the plays
as the team captain.  He also was realistic about the chances of the
Crestview team winning so he wasn't going to push the boys.  On the court
were Jason as centre, being the captain and one of the tallest players, his
best buddy Conrad as the shooting forward, David as power forward, and the
twins, being the shortest of the players, as guards, Brent point guard and
Brett the off guard.  Jason was outmatched by four inches, the Carver High
student being six-foot-four, and he should have known he could never win
the centre tap, but of course his ego would not let him admit it, and he
had to show off.  Carver got the ball and ran with it.  Four minutes into
the game Carver had scored four hoops for a total of ten points while
Crestview had nothing.
     Whenever Crestview got the ball, Jason called for a screen offense,
using Brent to try to strip the defender off Brett, which meant Brent got
bumped a lot, which was just what Jason was hoping.  Seeing one of his
avowed enemies constantly being bumped around by those black, sweaty
niggers helped ease the humiliation of their zero score.  Of course during
the break between the Catholic and Public school games, the Carver team had
asked around and had learned that Brent and Brett Brewster were the two
blond twins they would be playing next, so they were even more eager to
bump the two boys, and to bump them hard.  That did not go unnoticed by
Jason, and knowing why it was happening, it gave him even more pleasure to
know his plan had worked.  Not only that, his plan indirectly benefited the
Crestview team in that it gave them an opportunity to score some free
throws because the Carver team was racking up a lot of fouls in their
eagerness to elbow, knee or otherwise bash the two guards.  Although David
used his size whenever possible to come to their defence, there was little
he could do to help them.
     The coaches noticed of course, and the Carver High coach gave his boys
a dressing down for their actions.  The boys were tempted to tell him the
reason for their actions, but they knew it didn't really justify their
unsportsmanlike behaviour even though they felt they were in the right, so
they said nothing.  Besides, like kids of any age or race, they would
rather solve their differences themselves than by going to adults, and if
their coach saw the drawings and jokes he'd go to the Crestview coach who
would withdraw the twins from the game and they'd never get any
satisfaction.
     When they started the second quarter at twelve to twenty-one for
Carver, Sergeant Major Vardy shifted Conrad toward the defensive basket and
moved the other players to cover the defensive tap receivers, knowing Jason
could never beat their centre.  Jason of course refused to accept that
reality.  He tried a pick and roll offense which worked fairly well since
his team was good at it, but when Jason was the ball handler instead of
passing the ball to one of the forwards he tried to make a basket himself
even though the picked defender was following him.  As they approached the
end of the second quarter, it was quite clear that he was trying to be the
star rather than a team player, and that he was doing everything he could
to put Brent and Brett in the most difficult situations.
     The Carver team was using the shuffle offense frequently, and although
the more difficult offense, they did it well, giving them many
opportunities to shoot for the hoop and easily maintain their lead.  With
less than a minute to go before the end of the second quarter, Brent found
himself with the ball and approaching the basket.  The defenders moved in,
expecting a layup, but he took an extra dribble where he would normally
pick the ball up, cut underneath the basket, and using it as a barrier
between himself and the tall defenders of the black team, he picked up the
ball, took two steps, and jumped off his right foot.  Using a sweeping hook
shot with his left hand and aiming for the upper left corner of the box on
the backboard, he executed a perfect reverse layup for three points.  As
they took their mid game break, the rest of the team congratulated Brent on
his move, all except Jason of course, who was upset he was not the one
getting praise, and annoyed they were getting beaten by a bunch of coons.
He made a number of racial slurs in an attempt to get his teammates riled
up, but other than Conrad, the others did not share his racist views and
ignored his comments.
     During the mid-game break Marcus slipped off to talk to his brother
and to ask why the obvious attempt by the team to roughhouse the Brewster
twins, especially since he'd made good friends with their two younger
brothers.  Learning why and knowing about the deviousness of the two boys
in Room 231 who still had half a dozen boys waiting to fuck them, and a
number of those who had already gang-banged them ready for a second time,
Marcus informed Benny and Bobby what was going on, and they, of course
immediately told their brothers.
     Sending in his smaller but faster substitutes in the third quarter and
playing a fast break offense, Coach Vardy found the faster play benefitted
his smaller players and frazzled the other team, though there were more
chances for fumbling by the Crestview players.  The score crept up to
twenty to twenty-seven for Carver.  Encouraged, Jason suggested a zone
1-3-2 defense, a good defense against a team with a penetrating center.  It
was effective, but boring, forcing the offense to take outside shots.  Of
course Brett could not resist whispering to Brent that he wouldn't mind
penetrating the six-foot-four penetrating center.
     While their brothers were on the bench, Bobby and Benny along with
Marcus had headed off to Jason's locker to do some investigative research.
Picking the lock, they searched through his books and binders until they
found a report with his writing on it, which Marcus promptly took to his
brother.  Checking out the exams during the third and fourth quarter break,
there was no question that the handwriting on the backs of the tests
matched the scribble of one Jason Smyth-Jones, not the very neat penmanship
of the Brewster twins on the other side of the exams.  Knowing the real
author of the inflammatory pictures and jokes renewed the anger they'd felt
at the beginning of the evening, and knowing they'd been used like pawns by
Jason in his own vendetta got them even angrier.
     The last quarter started with a basic man to man defense, something
Brent and Brett were particularly good at.  No matter how ball handlers
tried to outwit them, faking with their eyes, head, shoulders, feet, or
even the ball, they could not shake the twins.  Of course the twins knew
that where the ball handler's waist went, the ball handler goes.  That
defense also gave them the opportunity to check out the area just below the
waist, and particularly the nice, tight butts in the boy's rayon basketball
shorts.  The Carver team's tank tops and shorts were burgundy with gold
trim and the four Brewster brothers were in agreement that the dark-skinned
boys looked particularly sexy in the uniforms.  The Brewster twins looked
particularly sexy themselves with the Crescent Heights home uniforms of
light yellow and black trim and their soft leather headbands to hold back
their long, flowing tresses.
     Getting desperate, Jason began making racial comments, trying to get
the Carver players angry and to lose concentration.  Whenever he could,
he'd whisper comments like, "sure they can handle a ball, the pervs are
always playing with each others" or "the black fairies got the advantage of
stinking so bad we can't stand to get near them."  That only confirmed he
was the author of the racial slurs they had found, and the Carver boys took
every opportunity to brush against, touch, or crowd Jason, which was making
him loose it.
     As the game was drawing to an end, Brett drove straight to the front
of the rim as he would doing a layup and tucking his shooting hand under
the ball and pointing his fingers away from his body instead of bending
them back toward him, he took two steps after he stopped dribbling.
Beginning with the leg on the same side as his shooting hand and jumping
off the foot opposite his shooting hand, he extended his arm completely to
the basket, and keeping his hand underneath the ball, he let it roll
forward off his palm.  Flicking his fingers up to put a backspin on the
ball, he watched as he dropped to his feet and the ball gently floated
through the air and dropped through the rim with barely a flutter of the
net.  The finger roll was perfectly executed, and players on both sides
admired the play.
     With three minutes left, Jason ordered a full court press defense in
desperation.  It was exciting for the audience and exhausting for both
teams.  By the time the final buzzer went all ten boys were panting with
exertion and their basketball shorts and tank tops were drenched in sweat.
Even though Carver won with a seven-point spread, audience and players
alike felt it had been an excellent game.
     As they lined up and shook hands, Jason shook each one as fast as he
could, his contempt and disgust clear, which embarrassed his teammates.
They'd always known he was an arrogant snot, but they hadn't realized the
extent of his prejudice, and they'd never seen it in action.  As they
headed off to the showers, Jason was suddenly grabbed, and before anyone
other than the players realized, he was herded into the visiting team
lockers.
     "Hey, what the hell you doing?" he protested.  "Let the fuck go of
me."
     "Stuff a sock in it, you white racist asshole."
     "You can't talk to me like that!  Get your filthy hands off me boy!"
     "Forget the sock, use this," said one of the players who'd stripped
off his shorts.  Jamming his jock, damp and aromatic with ball sweat, in
Jason's mouth, he wrapped the straps about his head while the others pinned
his arms.
     With ten angry boys crowding around him, Jason could do nothing.  They
quickly pulled off their tank tops, basketball shorts, and underwear, most
of them wearing plaid and checkered Polo or JC Penny boxers, and stripping
off Jason's tank top and shorts, they hooted at the sight of his
effeminate-looking black thong.  Crowding around him, they began rubbing up
against his naked body, knowing their dark, sweaty bodies were disgusting
to him.  The centre raised his arm and a couple of his teammates shoved
Jason's face in his pit and with the jock gag in his mouth he had no choice
but to inhale the sourness of the jock's sweaty, hairy pit through his
nose.  One of them asked what he thought now of the way black boys stunk.
     Forcing him to his knees, several of them made him sniff their hot,
musky balls.  Removing his jock gag, the centre twisted Jason's arm behind
him and forced him to lick the large, sweaty balls of one of their power
forwards, and then the asshole of the next boy.  The sight of the tall,
dark, handsome centre on his knees with his tongue lapping at the hairy
butt of one of their teammates, combined with their seething desire for
revenge, soon had a couple of the boys erect.  One of the forwards
retrieved a pack of safes from his gym bag, having brought them along in
the off chance he might score more than a few hoops that evening.  Slipping
the lubricated rubber down his thick, seven-inch cock, he knelt down behind
Jason and pressed forward.  Of course it was not the first time Jason had
someone stuffing his ass, and the boy pushed out to accommodate the large,
black bat.
     "Hey, we got us a real pussy boy here," observed the forward, this not
being the first time he'd had a piece of ass, having fucked not just his
girl back home up the backside when she was having her period, but having
fucked a couple male fans up the butt on the road when he hadn't been able
to score with a girl.  "He's so fucking eager to get fucked he's pushing
out to help me, like a real ho!"
     "Yeah?  Let's see how eager you are to chew on this, white boy," said
one of the players, stepping forward and waving his large, seven-and-a-half
inch sausage in front of Jason's face.  Jason knew there was no use
protesting, and he slipped his lips over the boy's thick, black sausage and
began to work them up and down over the thick knob rapidly in the hopes of
bringing him off fast and getting it over with.  "Fucking shit!  Look at
the horny white ho go for my meat!  You're no racist, are you white boy?
You're actually a white ho that loves black cock," the boy laughed.
     "Even better than watermelon," one of the boys observed dryly as he
reached down and squeezed his dick, eager to ram it down the
son-of-a-bitch's throat.
     Jason closed his eyes and fought back the impulse to gag.  Having sex
with someone his own sex was the filthiest thing he could imagine having to
do, and being forced to do it with a black boy was the ultimate in
degradation.  Although it only took a couple minutes for the aroused and
angered boys to reach their orgasms, for Jason it seemed an hour.  As the
forward behind him grabbed his hips and thrust his cock up his backside
until his coarse black hairs were pressed against Jason's butt, Jason knew
the boy was cumming.  The cock in his mouth suddenly pulsed, and he held
his breath, knowing that the black boy's hot jism was about to shoot down
his throat.
     As the two boys backed off, the next two stepped up.  The forward was
not the only one who had come with protection just incase he got lucky, and
the off guard was not the only one who figured the certainty of getting
blown was better than the risk of not getting laid at all that night.
Besides, showing this white asshole who was master took priority over
everything else.  The boys had no concern about being interrupted.  With
the number of cases of boys being abused by their coaches lately and all
the publicity that went with it, no coach was going to come into a locker
room full of naked, sweaty boys, no matter how pure he was seen to be or
how many witnesses there were.
     So, while those who had come to watch the game milled about the
cafeteria and talked about the great moves and the excitement of the two
games, the George Washington Carver team was celebrating in their own way
in the locker room and the grade six and eight boys from Jackson Middle
School were finishing up with their revenge on the Jones boys in Room 231
on the other side of the school.
     Marcus, Bobby and Benny had stopped in to check what was happening,
just in time to find Andrew and Daniel sitting in the middle of the room
while the twenty-eight now satiated black boys, just over half of each
class having decided to seek their revenge and satisfaction, were emptying
their condoms over the two Catholic boys' heads.  Thick, creamy white cum,
thin watery cum, and every constituency between was being poured over them.
Their hair was slick with cum, which was oozing down their necks and over
their naked bodies.  Cum oozed down their chests and over their irritated
nipples which had been pinched whenever they'd slowed down licking butt and
were red and still hard.  Cum oozed down their smooth, white backs and down
along their butt crack and over their now red and raw buttholes.  Cum oozed
down their stomachs to collect in Andrew's hairs and to ooze over Daniel's
smooth pubes and over his tiny, limp cock and balls.
     In the visitor's locker room, Jason was laying flat on his back on one
of the benches with his cute white ass in the air and being hammered by the
fourth thick, black cock to be inserted up his now burning hole.  Another
black youth was straddling his chest and feeding him his raw, black cock,
three others having already been brought off.  Streaks of now cold cum
laced his cheeks and hung as pendants from his chin where his mouth had
overflowed.  As the fourth boy felt his jism rising up the core of his
cock, he pulled out at the last moment, spraying the face of the racist pig
beneath him.
     Three of the boys, a handsome youth with smooth skin the colour of an
Aero chocolate bar and who had worn the number forty-three on his tank top
and two others, left the group and slipped into the showers.  Their
teammates noticed but made no comment, the group having decided during the
last quarter of the game that the abuse and humiliation of the white racist
would be totally voluntary.
     The informal social in the cafeteria after the game was to allow the
community and visiting students to mingle, and to allow the hosts from the
three city schools to be matched up with their billets.  Being the first
high school student to arrive at the cafeteria, player number forty-three
headed over to the information table set up to match the students with
their hosts.  He was particularly pleased to discover he was being billeted
by the parents of the twins he had played ball against.  For one, he wanted
to apologize for the rough treatment the first half of the game, and
explain why they'd behaved with such a lack of sportsmanship as they had.
For another, he admired the athletic skill they had exhibited on the gym
floor and wanted to tell them they had put up a good fight.
     There was a third reason.  The fifteen-year-old was one of those rare
boys who was comfortable being who he was, and just as comfortable
revealing the truth about himself to others.  That he had to keep the fact
that he was gay from his teammates in fear someone would object and have
him tossed off the team, and that he had to keep the fact secret if he
wanted to win a basketball scholarship and go on to college, were two
aspects of his life that he hated, but which he bore because he knew he had
no choice.
     He was also one of those individuals who had developed that sixth
sense that some called gaydar, and which many denied being possible.  His
gaydar told him that the twins were also gay and in a situation not all
that different from his, and from the way he'd seen them checking guys out
when they were sitting the third quarter of the game out on the bench, he
was quite certain his gaydar was accurate.
     The twins were just as delighted to find out he was their billet, and
for two of the same reasons.  They admired his skill on the basketball
court for one, and they thought the stud muffin was the handsomest of the
ten players on the opposing team.  They had not developed his gaydar sense,
but they, like their two younger brothers who had just introduced them and
their parents to Marcus, were eternal optimists, and confident of their
skills in the bedroom.  The opportunities that were waiting for them at
home were foremost on the twins' minds when the organizers received a
message that one of the families from Saint Joseph Middle School had a
sudden family emergency and would not be able to billet the student they
had been matched with.
     "Hey, fu-, fu-, fu-, fucrying out loud, we can take another student,
can't we, Mom?"  Bobby asked excitedly, having overheard the conversation
along with his family.
     "Why, certainly," she responded, always eager to extend a helping
hand.
     "Can it be Marcus?" Bobby asked, "please?  Please?"  The
eleven-year-old jumped up and down excitedly.
     "Well, it would make sense," she responded slowly, looking at the
organizers.  "It would keep the two brothers together."
     "Well, I don't see why not," responded Father O'Rilley to the boys'
delight.  "We'll just place the boy whose hosts just cancelled with the
family who was going to billet Marcus."
     That settled, the Brewster family decided to call it a night.  As
Barry and Brenda loaded everyone up in the family station wagon and headed
home, they had a warm feeling inside.  That their boys had thought of a
solution so quickly and had offered to help without a moment's hesitation
was evidence once again of the kind and considerate souls they were.  They
could not be prouder of their four boys.
     Barry and Brenda were going to set the two boys up in the guest room,
but of course their boys would hear nothing of the sort.  They wanted a
chance to visit, and the two parents agreed that an opportunity like this
was rare, so they brought up the mattresses they used for camping and some
sleeping bags, and after cooking up a couple large bowls of popcorn and
leaving them with a pitcher of hot chocolate, the adults retired.  Brenda
was now in her eighth month and needed her rest and Barry was looking
forward to a few extra hours of sleep time himself.
     "That was one awesome game," Benny observed, jumping up onto his bed
and sitting on the edge.
     "Oh yeah," agreed Marcus, taking a large hand of popcorn.  "You guys
played great."
     "That finger roll of yours was something to see," observed Nat,
looking over at Brett.
     "Well, you're a hell of good point guard," said Brett.  "You were on
me like a shadow."  He suddenly turned bright red.  "Ah, well, ah, you
know.  Shit, I didn't mean like a shadow because, well, you know, because
you're, well, you know."
     "Black."
     "Ah, yeah."
     "I didn't take it that way," Nat said with a grin that put the boys at
ease.  "And I enjoyed shadowing you or your brother.  You made it hard."
The thought that flashed through the black student's mind also shot through
the minds of his brother and the Brewster boys.  All six youngsters felt a
stirring in their underwear.
     "That was a hurtful thing Jason and his cousins did."
     "Hey, we're used to it," said Marcus.  "Forget it."
     "Yeah," agreed Nat, "lets talk about something pleasant."
     "Great," said Bobby.  "Let's talk about dicks."
     "Bobby," said Brent and Brett together with embarrassment, their faces
turning red.
     "You have to forgive our kid brother," apologized Benny.
     "Yeah," said Brett.  "He's had a deprived childhood.  We didn't have a
dog, so he played with his pecker every evening."
     "Wanna see it stand up and beg?" asked Bobby with an impish grin.
     "Really, we're sorry.  Comes from too much wanking," said Brent.
     "And he's so cute too," sighed Benny, and Bobby's three brothers
sighed as they looked at him sympathetically, causing their guests to
laugh.
     "I think its time for a game of crotchya," suggested Bobby.
     "We'd better wipe off our fingers first," observed Benny.  "We don't
want to get heck for getting greasy fingers marks all over our guest's
clothes."
     "So let's take our clothes off first," said Bobby, pulling his T over
his head.
     His three brothers glanced at their two guests.  "Why not," said Nat
as he began to unbutton his shirt.  Dropping their clothes wherever they
were, the six boys were naked in under a minute.
     "Now it don't matter how greasy our fingers are," said Bobby, his
hazel eyes sparkling mischievously as stuck his hand in the bowl and
swished the popcorn around before popping a handful in his mouth.
     The other five boys similarly helped themselves to a handful of
popcorn.  Bobby suddenly leaped on Marcus and his three brothers reacted
immediately, Benny joining Bobby while Brett and Brent leaped for Nat.  The
six boys rolled and squirmed on the floor trying to grab each other's
privates and keep greasy hands away from their own, although they did not
put up all that much opposition.  They continued until they were out of
breath and beginning to sweat.
     "Looks like we aren't the only ones to play grab the ball," said
Marcus.
     The six looked at each other with wide grins but were not sure how to
proceed.
     "You know-," began Brett and Benny.  "You-," they tried again.  The
six of them laughed.  "Go ah ," they tried a third time, much to everyone's
amusement.
     "What I was trying to say," Brett finally managed to get out before
Benny, "was that if you want to, you know, do something, and want it more
private. . . ."  He looked at Marcus and then up at Nat.
     "You four guys every mess around with other guys in each other's
presence?" asked Nat cautiously.
     "Sure."
     "All the fucking time."
     "Well, not all the time."
     "Usually."
     "Well, yeah."
     "That's cool," Nat said.
     "You think so?"
     "Yeah.  We know lots of bothers who'd never do any sort of sex stuff
in front of each other."
     "You one of those?"
     Marcus and Nat looked at each other and grinned.
     "No way," responded Marcus.
     "Sex is a natural biological need," observed Nat with a shrug, "just
like eating and pissing.  Guys don't eat or piss all by themselves.  It
just makes sense if guys want to have sex to do it together if you ask me."
     "Yeah," Marcus said in support.
     "We agree," said Brett with a grin.
     "Fuck yeah," agreed Bobby.
     "So, how we going to do this?" asked Benny.
     "How about you two and me," said Nat, looking at the twins, "and
Benny, Bobby and Marcus?"
     "Well, for the first time," said Marcus.
     "So, with six boys, how many combinations and permutations are there?"
asked Brett, the mathematician in the group.
     "Only one way to find out," said Bobby with a grin as he reached out
and wrapped his fingers around Marcus's nuts.  His light pink fingers
contrasted sharply with the Alabama boy's chocolate brown balls.
     Benny ran his fingertips over the boy's smooth, compact butt,
caressing them gently and as he cocked his head, Marcus leaned forward and
the two youngsters, one black and one white, kissed.  As Benny slipped his
tongue in Marcus's mouth and the two boys embraced, Marcus felt Bobby's hot
mouth envelop his balls and begin to suck and his cock began to swell.
     Brent and Brett had meanwhile lain down on one of the mattresses with
Nat, one on each side and in the opposite direction to him.  Their long,
blond hair fell over his chocolate brown legs as they leaned forward and
licked the sensitive inner side of his thighs, and then slowly licked up to
his balls.  They were large and loose and each boy took one in his mouth
and sucked on the egg inside the sack.  Faced with the dilemma of which boy
to pick, Nat solved his problem by taking a cock in each hand and slowly
working the foreskin of each up and down over the bulging knobs, his deep
brown hands contrasting sharply with their pink skin.  As he felt their
cocks slowly begin to swell, his began to lift up too.  He looked down and
watched as the twins began to lick his black tube, causing it to swell all
the faster until it was standing straight up in the air, six-and-a- half
inches of black meat eager to be eaten.  The blond twins eagerly attacked,
running their tongues up the thick shaft and around the bulb like head to
the opening at the tip and then back down as their own cocks filled out.
At five-and-three-quarter inches, they knew from experience they were
better hung than most fifteen-year-olds.
     By this time Bobby and Marcus had formed a sixty-nine with Bobby
laying on his back and Marcus on his hands and knees above him.  The
seventy-four pound, four-foot-six eleven- year-old eagerly worked his mouth
up and down the length of the black boy's dick.  The twelve- year-old was
well hung for his age, his stiff dick being four-and-a-quarter inches long
and over two fingers thick.  He eagerly went down on Bobby's
three-and-a-half inches, and from the way he swirled his tongue around
Bobby's exposed dick head he evidently was no novice at sucking cock.
Bobby squirmed with the sensations rippling through his dick head and
sucked all the harder on the black cock in his mouth.
     Benny, meanwhile, had positioned himself behind Marcus with the head
of his erect dick against his asshole, and grasping the youngster's hips,
he pressed forward.  Marcus was evidently experienced at that too, and
pushed out with his abdominal muscles as Benny pushed in, slipping his
four-and-a-half inches of rock hard cock up the black boy's hot, moist
rectum.  He sank his cock up as far as he could, until his curly brown
hairs were pressing against the boy's butt, and then he began to work his
cock in and out of his chamber while Marcus constricted and relaxed his
sphincter muscle in time with Benny's thrusts and withdrawals, taking as
much delight in being fucked as Benny was taking in fucking him.
     The twins and Nat had done the same thing, Brent laying on his back in
a sixty-nine with Nat while Brett fucked Nat's ass.  The black point guard
was slightly taller than the twins but just as slender.  His slimness was
deceiving, as it was with the twins, and his long arms and legs were solid
with muscle, toned by many hours of basketball practice.  At the moment he
was firmly caressing Brent's hips as he worked his mouth up and down the
teenager's throbbing bone.  His thick lips slipped down Brent's shaft all
the way to the base, totally enclosing his throbbing cock in his mouth, a
new and wonderful experience for the teenage white boy.  Nat sucked on his
pulsating meat, creating a vacuum that drove Brent crazy with desire as he
maintained it for a good minute, and then he slipped his mouth back up to
Brent's knob and swallowed the boycock flavoured saliva.
     Although skilled himself, Brent could not deep throat the boy's cock,
which was much thicker than his, and three-quarters of an inch longer.
Even so, he knew how to please another boy, and his tongue was already
teasing the first droplet of pre-cum out of the thick, black licorice stick
he was sucking.  Brett, meanwhile, was slowly working his slender, hard
dick in and out of Nat's black ass, sinking his cock up his rectum until
his curly, blond hairs were tickling the black boy's butt, and then
withdrawing until his cockhead was stretching apart Nat's sphincter.  He
and Benny had both offered to use condoms, but like the Brewster brothers,
Nat and Marcus preferred to do it raw, and they all trusted the integrity
of the others that they wouldn't have unprotected sex if they thought there
was any danger.  The Brewster brothers were horny and eager to have sex
with almost anyone, but they were not so foolish as to take unnecessary
risks like unprotected sex with drug addicts or with boys who were not as
discriminatory as they were.
     Had Brenda Brewster walked by their room at about that time, she would
have been further impressed that her boys were teaching their guests the
deep breathing exercise that she noticed they practised at least once and
often more frequently regularly every night.  The six boys were rapidly
approaching their climaxes, their hormones racing through their veins and
spurring them on.  Benny was first and he grunted as he thrust his hips
forward and sighed as his cum spurted out of his cock in a rapid volley of
spurts as only a thirteen-year-old can cum.  Marcus knew his asshole was
being filled with hot boy cum and he responded by shooting his load into
the receptive mouth sucking on his cock.  The twelve-year-old had only
started to cum several months ago and each climax was just as powerful and
as delightful as the very first one had been.  Bobby eagerly swallowed the
sweet boy cum and sucked on the boy's cock as a baby would eagerly suck on
its mother's teat.  Seconds later the eleven-year-old boy's body shuddered
with his dry orgasm, just as powerful and just as delightful and satisfying
as the two wet ones.
          Brent was similarly shuddering as his balls constricted and he
shot his hot, teenage cum into the mouth of the black boy deep throating
him.  The fifteen-year-old had shot so many loads of cum by that time he
had no idea what number this one would be, but he enjoyed it just as much
as the hundreds of preceding climaxes.  His boycock throbbed powerfully as
he emptied his balls and he sucked eagerly on the cock in his mouth.  Nat
savoured the hot, tart cum which had filled his mouth, and he allowed it to
flow over and around his tongue to assault his tastebuds before he
swallowed the delightful boy nectar.  His own load had been building up
pressure in his groin, and he now felt the spring release and his hot load
gush up the core of his pleasantly numb cock.  He sighed with the pleasure
as he felt his load squirt out of the burning peehole of his cock and into
the mouth enveloping his cockhead.  The teenager's body quivered and he
grunted with ecstasy as he shot load after load.  Grasping his hips, Brett
grunted with the same ecstasy as he felt his cum surge up his cock and
blast out of his peehole.  The fifteen-year-old boy closed his eyes and
practically fainted as he felt his cum shooting up the hot, moist rectum of
the black boy sucking his brother's cock, and whose mouth his brother was
also filling.
     Lightheaded with the flow of blood being directed away from their
brains and down to their crotches and dizzy with their orgasms, the boys
collapsed on the floor and lay there, their naked bodies flushed with the
heat of orgasm and their thin chests rising and falling like bellows as
their oxygen-craving lungs sucked in the musky cum-scented air.  They lay
there, their limbs entangled with each other, heads resting on rising and
falling chests and on weak, unfeeling thighs, pale pink on chocolate brown
and vice versa.  Fingers sought out and squeezed flaccid dicks and then
absent-mindedly stroked thighs and butts and chests, leaving thin
criss-crossing trails of cum, mixing that from the black balls with that
from the white.  For the Brewsters and two black boys from Alabama, Martin
Luther King's dream of black and white boys joining together as brothers
was a reality, and as soon as they caught their breaths, they were going to
join together again, and again, until they had exhausted every combination
and permutation.