Date: Fri, 11 Apr 2008 20:37:42 -0600 From: Dream Spinner Subject: "The Brewsters Celbrate Phagwah" (M/t/b. t/t/b) Caution/Welcome. This is a story involving tickling and sex with four brothers, two preteens and two fourteen-year-olds, and a thirty-five-year-old man. It 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 just described. This is the forty-seventh story in the Brewster Adventures, a series focussing on special events and mythical beings. Chronologically it follows the eleventh story in the series, "Saint Patricks With the Brewsters," but like the other stories in this series it is a stand alone story that can be read totally on its own. Comments, all-expenses-paid invites to the next NYC Phagwah, or invites of any kind from hot, handsome young Guyanese guys can be sent to the author J.O. Dickingson at authorsix@hotmail.com THE BREWSTERS CELEBRATE PHAGWAH "Dad's real worried," twelve-year-old Benny observed, immediately catching the attention of his three brothers as he swung his legs out of bed and perched on the top bunk. One thing they all had in common, besides dicks, balls and a healthy interest in sex, was love for their father. "Oh yeah? How do you know?" asked his older brother Brent, propping himself up on one elbow in the other top bunk and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I heard him tell Mom last night," Benny replied, running his fingers through his sleep- tousled, thick brown hair as he always did when he was concerned about something. "I didn't hear him say anything." "That was after you'd gone to sleep." "What you talking about? You were out long before I went to sleep." "This was later." "Later?" "Yeah. I woke up and heard noises coming from Dad's bedroom, so I got up and snuck down to take a look. I thought maybe he was screwing Mom." "Was he?" his three brothers chorused, their ears perking up. "Naw. They was just talking." "Aww," his three brothers consoled, just as disappointed as their twelve-year-old brother had been. "That was when I heard him telling her he was real worried." "About what?" "Mister Farnsworth is sending him to New York City." "If he wants apples why doesn't he just have them send him some?" Bobby asked. His three brothers looked at him quizzically. Sometimes their kid brother came up with the weirdest comments. Well, actually, most of the time. "What do you mean?" Brett dared to ask. "I heard they got big apples there." "That's the nickname for the city, dumbo. The Big Apple." "Yeah? Well, that's a dumb nickname for a city." "Well, it's better than being called the Big Grapefruit." "Or the Big Broccoli." "Ewww," Brent's three brothers responded, wrinkling up their noses. "Or the Big Banana," suggested Benny. "I dunno. Big Banana sounds sexy," observed Brent. "Everything sounds sexy to you," observed his twin brother. "No, you got me confused with Benny," Brent replied, resulting in a playful punch in the arm from his younger brother. "Yeah, well, it's better than being called the Big Prune," observed Brett, sending his three brothers into gales of laughter. "Guys, this is serious," Benny finally observed. "What is?" "About Dad." "Oh yeah." "So why is Mister Farnsworth sending him to New York City?" ten-year-old Bobby asked. "You know since he became Third Vice President, Dad's been after them to expand Wecare Pet Supplies Limited into Canada. Well, their board finally agreed but they need a bunch of money to do it, like millions, so Dad's being sent to New York City to meet with some banker lawyer guy to get a loan." "So why's Dad worried?" Brent asked with a typical fourteen-year-old's shrug. "He's good at stuff like that." "Well, he says it's his first big test as third VP." "You gotta take tests even when you're finished school?" Bobby asked, his eyes growing wide as he paused with one leg in his pants and one out. "Not that sort of test," Brent said, rolling his eyes. "It's, well, more like, well, a challenge." "I'm sure Dad can do it," Bobby observed as he finished putting on his pants, and his three brothers all nodded in agreement. They had great faith in their father. "Dad says this banker lawyer guy that he's meeting with is a real good negotiator," Benny observed as he hunted around for his missing sock. "He's afraid he'll think it's too much money, or that expanding into Canada is too big a risk, and turn him down. You know how some Americans feel about Canada." The boys all nodded. Having moved to the USA from Canada themselves only two years ago, the four brothers were well aware of that attitude. "Or if he gets the money, Dad's worried the interest will be too high." "Too high? But isn't that good?" asked Bobby as he ran a comb through his dark brown hair. He had it cut in a Caesar cut, moderately long on the sides and combed into a crest in the front, a style popular at the time with teens and preteens. "You'd hope that there'd be a lot of interest wouldn't you?" "Not that type of interest," Brent explained as he stepped up behind him and began combing out his long, blond hair. "Interest is the amount of money that the bank makes you pay if you get a loan from them." "If you got no money and go to the bank to get some they expect you to pay them for the money they give you?" Bobby asked, wrinkling up his nose. "Yeah." "That's dumb." "That's the way it is." "If you got no money to begin with, how the fuck do they think ." "Guys?" Benny interrupted, pushing his way between Bobby and Brent to gel and spike his dark brown hair. "Dad's problem?" "Oh yeah." "He says this guy he's meeting has a reputation of being a real tough nut." "Well, then I guess we just got to go to New York City and help him," Bobby concluded. "How?" asked Brett. "I dunno. You're the smart one. I'm the cute one, remember?" "Brett? I thought Benny was the smart one," Brent teased his twin brother. "Naw, he's the horny one." "Oh yeah." "So how we gonna help Dad?" Benny persisted, curling the left corner of his mouth in exasperation with his three brothers. "I dunno. We helped him get the Third V.P. job, didn't we?" Bobby asked. "Getting a couple million dollars should be a piece of cake." "It could be fun," agreed Benny. "I wonder if this banker guy has a pool." The three boys thought back six months ago to Labour Day and the company picnic at the Wecare president's house. They'd gone to help their dad beat out his competition for the Third V.P. job and had inadvertently ended up doing just that by unknowingly initiating some hot sex action with his competition in the boss's pool and hooking up the man with the board chairman's gay teenage son. The memory of their hot romp in the pool and then of the sexual antics as the man was blackmailed into playing the role of their pet dog for them and the rest of the boys at the picnic, all of whom were eager to give the dog a bone, resulted in the four boys popping woodies, and that was one distraction that none of them could resist. "So, where we gonna stay when we go to New York City?" Benny asked as the four boys joined their parents for breakfast after their impromptu morning jerk circle. "We?" asked their father. "We'd rather leave Bobby behind too, but I guess we sortta gotta take him with us," grinned Brent. "We could see if the kennel will take him," suggested Brett. "Funny," said Bobby, making a face at his fourteen-year-old brother. "Maybe we can drop you off at the zoo and you can visit with your relatives in the monkey cage." "Boys." "Sorry," the four boys chorused automatically as they looked up at their mother innocently and apologetically. "So, where are we gonna stay?" Benny asked again. "I've never said anything about you boys coming with me to New York City," their father replied. "Just how did you know I was going to New York anyway?" he asked, looking at his four sons quizzically. "You told us," Benny replied. "I don't remember that." "All the more reason we should come with you. A guy losing his memory shouldn't go to the city alone," observed Bobby. "Very funny," their father said reaching over and tousling his hair. "Anyway, it's impossible. My meeting will likely be a week day. You'd be missing school." "All the more reason we should come," piped up Bobby, a sparkle in his hazel eyes. "I don't think so," his father said with a grin. "Besides, I'd be socializing with a bunch of businessmen and bankers in the evening and spending all day with them in negotiations. I wouldn't have time to spend with you." "We could come socialize with you." "Yeah, we're good at socializing with businessmen." "Master socializers, that's us." "And masturbators," Bobby whispered behind the back of his hand, causing his three brothers to giggle. "Bobby. You know the rule about whispering at the table." "Sorry, Mom." "Now what did you say?" "Ah, um, that, ah, we're not as good socializers as you." "I don't think so." "No, really, you're much better at it than us." "Just eat your breakfast." "Mister Farnsworth liked it when we came to his picnic, remember?" "And Brett's real good with numbers. He'd fit right in with bankers." "You said we'd helped you cinch your V.P. job." The boys had made a good impression with his boss, and with the chairman of the board, and he wasn't exactly sure how, but he had a suspicion that they had something to do with his opposition being offered the special promotions position instead of the Vice President position. "And if we come with you that would solve the problem what to do with us so Mom can join you," Benny observed. "Now how did you know about that?" Barry asked, raising his right eyebrow. He and Brenda had only discussed the advantage of her joining him last night, after the boys had gone to bed. For some reason it seemed banks were more willing to give a loan to a family man even if it was for a business, and besides, a wife could influence other wives, in this case the wife of the lawyer who would be negotiating on the bank's behalf, to the benefit of her husband. "You mentioned about how it would be good if Mom could go with you," Benny bluffed, knowing that if his father thought about it, he'd know that he had to have overheard their bed conversation, and that would raise other questions he'd rather not be asked. "Now that I definitely don't remember." "You really got to do something about your memory, Dad," Brent interjected, trying to help out his brother. "Yeah, it's probably from too much wa-, wa-, wa-. . . ," began Bobby, fortunately catching himself before he said the wanking word. "Worrying," interjected his brother. "Yeah, worrying," Bobby said relieved as he flashed his brother a look of thanks. "You really shouldn't get so worked up about Dad's memory that it makes you cry, Bobby," Brent said brotherly as he put an arm about his kid brother. "Yeah, it's just that he's been so busy what with his new position and all," agreed Brett. "Well, I suppose we could consider making this a family trip," Barry conceded, not wanting any of his children to worry about him. He still couldn't remember mentioning any of this to his sons. "Fu-, fu-, fu-, funtastic!" responded Bobby, almost using a swear in his excitement. Brenda looked at her youngest worriedly. First almost in tears over his father, and his constant stuttering, especially with "f" words, she was really becoming concerned. "Maybe if there is an evening social the boys could stay with my brother Jeffrey and his family in Darien for the evening. Your uncle commutes to NYC every day so you could go back to Darien with him and then come back with him in the morning. It would give you boys a chance to get to know his three sons." The four boys grinned at each other. Well, the first hurdle, going to New York City, was overcome! They were sure the rest would be just as easy. That evening their father announced that not only were they all going, but their way was being paid by the company. "Mister Farnsworth thought it was a great idea. You know how big he is on family togetherness and projecting a family image for the company, and he really was impressed with you boys at the picnic on Labour Day. He's booked us in at the Waldorf-Astoria. It's the oldest hotel in New York City," he explained, looking at his boys. "The oldest?" responded Bobby. "Fu-, fu-, fu-, for goodness sake, couldn't they afford something more modern? You are the Third Vice President after all." "The Waldorf is the most expensive hotel in New York City," Barry observed with a smile. "Only the richest of the rich stay there." "Oh, well, that's okay then," Bobby conceded though how the oldest hotel could be the most expensive didn't make sense to the ten-year-old. Adults had some screwy ideas. "Mister Farnsworth figured staying there would make a good impression on the bank. You know, show them that we're no penny ante operation. We are invited to a cocktail party at the bank president's home Friday evening. Mister Farnsworth suspects it's a ploy to check me out and to see if they can get any hints as to the strategy I'll use at the meeting Monday. Which is fine," he said with a smile at his wife. "It will give you and me a chance to do the same." "What about us?" Bobby asked. "I'm afraid a cocktail party is strictly an adult affair," Barry responded. "I'll see if it'll be possible for you to go with Uncle Jeffrey to his place for that night." All four boys opened their mouths to protest but that raised eyebrow look from their father told them not to go there and they snapped them back shut simultaneously. "Too bad we can't go to the cocktail party," Bobby observed as the boys turned in that night. "Yeah, well, it'll be neat visiting with Uncle Jeffrey and Trevor, Brad and Bobby." "Yeah, though it's gonna be scarey having two Bobby Brewsters in one room," Brent observed with a twinkle in his deep blue eyes. "Hey, it'll be double your pleasure," Bobby said, making a grab for his older brother's crotch. "Though I was looking forward to the cocktail party." "You were?" his three brothers asked in surprise. "Sure. That's two of my favourite things. Cocks and tail. It's just like adults to have the party only for them." "That's not what a cocktail party is, doofus," Brent advised. "Oh yeah? Then what is it?" "A cocktail is a type of fancy drink, with alcohol and olives and junk. Adults stand around drinking and snacking on caviar on crackers and shrimp and stuff and gossiping and trying to outbest each other." "What's caviar?" "Fish eggs," Benny replied. "Yeah, right," Bobby chortled as he rolled his eyes. "Honestly." "Benny's right." "Fish eggs?" Bobby asked wrinkling up his nose. "Then I'm glad we're not going." As things turned out, the boys did go. Brad came down with the mumps so the visit to Barry's youngest brother's had to be cancelled at the last minute. Brenda was going to stay at the hotel with the boys, but when the bank president found out, he insisted she and the boys accompany Barry. The first thing Bobby did upon their arrival at the party, was find out which of the plates of largely unrecognizable food was the caviar. Fortunately there were many types of crackers and cheeses and other snacks to munch on, and a nonalcoholic punch. In that Barry's four sons were attending, the son of the man Barry was going to meet, Tommy Junior, who was the same age as Bobby, was also invited, and the two boys hit it off instantly. Figuring Bobby couldn't get into any trouble, his three brothers mingled and did their best to try to help their dad by finding out all they could about the guests who were there. Being found cute and charming, especially by the wives, it wasn't hard for the three boys to innocently probe for any useful information their dad could use. Finishing off his tenth glass of punch, Bobby headed off to find a bathroom, which proved to be more difficult than he'd imagined in the large mansion. Hearing voices behind a partially closed door, he approached it intending to ask for directions. "So, tell me honestly, what do you think of this pet supply proposal?" "Totally unrealistic. I mean, what sort of market can you have in a country of what, thirty million people? That's not even twice the population of New York State for God's sake! Besides, people are too occupied surviving their God-awful winters to be bothered with pampering their pets. Whoever came up with this harebrained idea mustn't have a clue about Canada or the market." Bobby recognized the voices as that of the bank president and the fellow his dad was meeting with, Thomas Barrington. He was about to storm into the room and tell them just what he thought, but he was stopped by the bank president's next question. "And what do you think of this Brewster fellow?" "Seems like a nice sort of chap, but way out of his league. He's playing with the big boys now, and he's going to need some impressive stats to convince me to go with this idea." "Well, we'd better get back to the party. I'll check with the impressions of some of our board members." Bobby scooted down the hall so when the two men emerged from the room, he appeared to be just entering the hallway. "Hey, I'm glad to see you two guys," he said, dancing from foot to foot. "Where can a guy can find a bathroom in this place?" "Down the hallway and to the right," the bank president said with a smile. "You go on," Thomas said. "I'll show the young man the way." "So, your name was Bobby, wasn't it?" he asked as he lead the way down the hall. "This your first time in New York City?" "Oh yeah. We're staying at the Waldorf-Astoria. Only the richest of the rich stay there," Bobby observed solemnly. Thomas smiled. Barry Brewster and his son were very much alike, country bumpkins. The boy was clearly enamoured with his father and trying to make an impression, which was likely his father's advice. The boy was obvious, just like his father. Definitely out of their league. "Your family has a very different accent. I'm usually pretty good recognizing accents, but I can't quite place yours. You're from out west, right?" "Actually, we're from out north," Bobby replied. "We're from Canada." "You are?" Thomas asked in surprise. Now that he had not known, and that was an important piece of information to know for their upcoming negotiations. "I thought Wecare was an American chain." "Oh, it is," Bobby said as they arrived at the bathroom. He stepped inside and quickly drew down his fly and slipped his fingers inside. He really had to go bad, and besides, there were just the two of them, and they were both guys. He didn't see it as a big deal. "We moved two years ago," he said as he let loose, remembering too late he was supposed to lift the seat. Oh well, it was too late now. "Dad's checking into if we can get dual citizenship. That would be neat. I'd love to learn to duel." He held up his left hand and made several fencing motions as he continued emptying his bladder, his stream coming dangerously close to the edge of the toilet seat. Tom felt awkward standing there in the doorway while a ten-year-old stood there taking a leak, but it was too late now, and the boy had information that could be important. "I imagine your family is pretty eager to live in a country where you're not ruled by the head of a foreign government." "Huh?" "Where you don't have to swear an oath to the queen of another country." "Yeah, that's dumb." "That's what I figured." "Everyone knows she's real." "Pardon?" "She's on TV every Christmas, as regular as, as Santa Claus. It's dumb having to say we believe in her when she's right there for everyone to see. She's as real as, as Santa, or the tooth fairy, or, or leprechauns," Bobby ranted, thinking of some of the more recent experiences of himself and his brothers. "Ah, yes," Thomas said. This angle certainly wasn't going to get him any dirt on Barry Brewster or discredit his proposal. "Canada doesn't have a very large population," he observed, taking a different tack. "That's right. We're a young and growing nation," Bobby said, remembering reading that somewhere. "Lots of open spaces for kids and their pets to run around." That part he added on his own. "Somehow I never pictured Canadians as pet lovers." "Oh sure we are. Almost everyone has a dog, you know, for hunting and stuff," Bobby said, remembering when they'd first moved to the US that everyone thought Canada was mostly wilderness and everyone was hunters and trappers. "And just about everybody has a dog team, or two or three," he continued, his classmates also having had the impression everyone in Canada lived in igloos and travelled by dog team because it was always winter. "Two or three?" "Sure, you know, if both parents are working they both need a team, or like when the dad has to go trapping, the mom needs a team to go shopping at the mall and to take the kids to school, and when you're a teenager you can't wait to get your own team," Bobby said, warming up to the idea. "And you know how hungry huskies are. That's a lot of dog food. And of course they need mukluks to protect their feet from the snow and ice, but dogs need four while people only need two, and they're always losing them." He was really on a roll. "And we're always replacing their food dishes and water dishes on account of the polar bears and seals stealing them. And of course we're always losing their balls and toys in the snow banks and having to buy new ones." Having finished taking his leak, Bobby shook his dick off and Tommy turned around in embarrassment. Meanwhile, Barry, who was talking to the bank president, had noticed Bobby was missing. "Last I saw him he was upstairs with Thomas Barrington," the bank president observed. "Bobby, alone with Mister Barrington?" "Oh, I'm sure you needn't be worried about your son," the man observed, having noticed the concern in Barry's voice. His first thought was that Barry was worried his son might reveal something that could be harmful to their negotiations on Monday, and that was inwardly satisfying. His second thought was that Barry was worried about his son being alone with a man, which was absurd. Thomas Barrington was a Harvard law graduate and a happily married man to a beautiful wife, and a father of a ten-year-old child. There was as much chance of Thomas Barrington molesting the man's son as there was of Barry Brewster convincing Barrington to agree with his proposal on Monday, a proposal he himself was leery about considering how stingy Canadians were about sharing their natural resources and the sloppy way Canadians handled their border security. "Actually I was worried about Mister Barrington," Barry observed, causing the bank president to snort with amusement and surprise. Barry of course was not joking, and was relieved to see the two enter the room. "I hope my son hasn't been a bother," he observed, glancing at Bobby apprehensively as the two approached. "Oh, not at all. He's quite the conversationalist," Thomas said purposefully, intending the comment to unnerve Barry. All was fair in love and contract negotiations. "Yeah, me and Mister Barrington had a good conversation while I was having a pee." "While, you, ah . . . ," Barry replied as Tom suddenly turned a bright red, knowing how that sounded and finding that instead of Barry it was he who was unnerved. "Yeah, the punch stuff is real good, but it makes a guy gotta go," Bobby continued. "It's not made from caviar is it?" he asked, suddenly apprehensive as he looked up at the bank president. "No, it certainly isn't," he chuckled. "Good, then I think I'll go have some more." One of the bank trustees and his wife approached before Tom could explain the context of Bobby's statement, and by the time they'd left Barry seemed to have forgotten the comment and Tom figured it best to just let it drop. Encouraged by his conversation with Bobby, Tommy approached his brothers, though purposefully making sure that he was in sight of another adult at all times. He certainly couldn't afford to raise any further suspicions in the mind of the man he was going to be negotiating with. The rest of the evening went by without any incidents. "Well," Barry observed as they headed back to their hotel room, "things seemed to have gone smoothly tonight." "Oh, yeah, I put in a lot of good words for ya, Dad," Bobby observed happily. "Us too," Brent observed, he and his brothers having conferred with each other after each had met with Thomas Barrington. Among other things, Brent had vouched for his father's character and business intuition, Brett had assured Tom of the financial solidarity of Wecare, and Benny had bragged about his father's creativity. "Thanks boys," Barry said, though not certain just what his sons might have said, comforted at least that they didn't know anything about the proposal he'd be making on Monday so couldn't have revealed any secrets. "The bank's executive chairman has invited us to attend a Puno festival tomorrow evening, and their Phagwah parade in Queens on Sunday." "Phagwah parade?" asked Bobby. "I thought it was called a Ga-, ga-, ah. . . ." "Guyanese parade?" his father asked, more than a little surprised. "Yeah! Guya, ah, gu, what you said," Bobby replied relieved. He'd almost said Gay Pride parade, and his father would have certainly wanted to know how he knew about that. As it was, his father would certainly want to know how he knew the other word too, whatever that was, which didn't totally leave him off the hook yet. "So what is that?" Brett asked, knowing his father would surely follow up on how his kid brother thought it was a Guyanese parade and hoping to distract him. "Well, it's part of the Guyanese tradition," his father explained. "The executive chairman, Mister Kalidasa, is from Guyana. I understand from him that Richmond Hill, where the parade and tomorrow's celebration will be, is the largest concentration of Guyanese in the US. In fact it is known as Little Guyana." "Oh, I see," said Bobby, not seeing at all. He'd heard of the Gay Pride Parade, but he'd never heard of Guyana. "Boy, Bobby, you almost blew it tonight," Brett observed as they got ready for bed. "No I didn't. I didn't even come close. When I put my hand on his thigh, he drew it away quick. I don't think he likes guys like Mister Stewart did. Though I think he's ticklish." "What you talking about?" "Mister Barrington. I didn't come close to blowing him. I put my hand on his thigh to see if he liked boys but he drew his leg away. He sortta laughed like he was embarrassed, but also like he was ticklish. What were you talking about?" "Almost blurting out Gay Pride Parade." "Well, when Dad said Phagwah I thought the word had something to do with fags, especially when it was, you know, in Queens." "Adults would never use a dirty word like that for a parade. What were you thinking?" "I thought we got invited to a fag parade because they heard about Brent," Bobby replied impishly with a winkle in his hazel eyes and the wrestling match was on. The following evening he, and his family, got a crash course on Guyana and Phagwah from the executive chairman Vallabhbhai Kalidasa and his family. "Just over half the people from the Cooperative Republic of Guyana are East Indians, the descendants from indentured labourers brought over to settle the country and work in the sugarcane plantations and rice fields in the 1830's. The other major segment of the population, about thirty percent, are black Africans. About forty percent of the population is Christian, and thirty-five percent are Hindu like ourselves. In the 1960's there were riots and economic and political unrest between the East Indians and those of African descent and many left, mostly for Britain, Canada and the United States, and many, like my wife and me and our parents, settled here in New York City. Our parents and their parents before them brought many customs from India and adapted them to life in Guyana, and now we have brought the traditions we grew up with in Guyana here to America. "One of those traditions is the festival we call Holi, or Phagwah, the Hindu festival of spring, named after the lunar month Phagun. In olden days it was a way for the people to give thanks for their crops and for the beginning of spring. Holi also symbolized the triumph of good over evil. These things are still so today. With the first day of spring we begin the new year with love, cooperation and equality, and with generosity, truthfulness, and purity. It is a very sacred time," he observed, glancing over at his oldest son meaningfully. His son, Ramesh, returned the look with a smoldering angst and poorly disguised look of disdain that only teenagers can give. "In India and in Guyana it is an official holiday celebrated on the first day of spring during which everyone has a holiday. Here it is not, so we celebrate it on the first weekend after the first day of spring," his father continued, not taking his son to task for his attitude in that they had guests. "Today is Puno. We attended special services and prayed to Vishnu and to Prince Prahalad this morning. Legends tell us Prince Prahalad was a follower of Vishnu and opposed his evil father Hirnakashyap who wanted his son to worship him instead of Lord Narayana, and when he refused, his father tried to hurt him in various ways to denounce Lord Narayana. His aunt, Holika, sister of the demon king, even took him in her lap and entered a ring of fire intending on killing him as she herself had a boon not to be burnt, but because of this act against Narayana she lost the boon and was burnt instead. Another legend says Holika was an ogress who devoured little children, but it was learned she could be subdued by the abuse, pranks and foul language of boys. So the children subdued her and then burnt her remains. So now tonight we sing songs of these legends and dance around the bonfire," he explained, gesturing to the bonfire that had been built in the middle of the park where the Brewsters had met him and his family. "In India wood and straw are piled on top of a castor oil plant symbolizing Holika for forty days until the pile is fifteen feet high. Here of course we must settle for smaller bonfires before our mandirs, our temples, and here in the park. Babies are carried clockwise around the fire five times by their mothers to bless them," he continued. His son snorted and his father's eyes flared, but again before his guests he said nothing though his displeasure was clear to all, including his son. "And so we symbolically express our belief that those who love God shall be saved, and those who abuse the followers of God will be burnt." He glanced at his son meaningfully. "But you did not come here to listen to a sermon. Go now and eat and dance and sing and be merry. It is Holi." None of the boys were much for dancing and singing, but the music was lively and the songs catching, and soon they found themselves joining in with the celebrations and those celebrating were quick to include them in the spirit of the holiday. Some of the younger children played harmless pranks on each other, and some of the older ones recited dirty ditties they'd overheard or swore for the fun of swearing and the natural competition to outdo each other when out of hearing range of the adults in commemoration of the legend of boys subduing the evil Holika. Holi was, among other things, also a time of licentiousness and a relaxation of rules. Ramesh was not one of those celebrating. The boys could not help but notice the moody teenager hanging back glumly and by himself and any attempts to get him to join in were met with blank stares and disinterest. "Hey, look," Benny indicated, pausing in filing his plate with pastries for the third time. The boys looked to where he pointed. Ramesh was slowly walking toward the bonfire as if in a trance, a faraway look on his face. "I think he's gonna walk right into the fire." "Fuck, I think you're right." Brett, being the fastest thinker of the four, and the closest, raced toward the boy and tackled him. They had gotten so close he could feel the heat of the flames on his cheek and it was a miracle his long, fine hair didn't get singed. "Why did you do that?" Ramesh asked, looking at Brett angrily as Brett's brothers ran up to join them. "Why? Another second and you'd have walked right into the fire, that's why." Ramesh turned his head to look at the bonfire. "You should have let me." "Let you? Why?" "You heard my father. Those who abuse the followers of God will be burnt." "Abuse? Who'd you abuse?" "My father for one. And my mother." "Yeah, well, I sortta noticed you and your dad weren't exactly on friendly terms tonight." "Tonight, yesterday, this month, this year. We haven't been on friendly terms for a long time," Ramesh replied sourly. "Yeah, well, it's still no reason to jump into a fire." "What do you know? You don't have a father who is ashamed of you. Or who totally is an embarrassment." "Oh I dunno, Dad's not always pleased with us." "And sometimes he and Mom do and say embarrassing things." "Like that crap about ogresses and Prince Prahalad? Your father a superstitious old man who believes in fairy tales and monsters? Is he always on your case for not following his customs or believing his beliefs or because of how you dress or the length of your hair?" the teenager ranted angrily, his dark brown eyes flaring and his face flushing. "Well, no," Brett replied. "I guess not," Ramesh said with smug satisfaction. The boys didn't know how to respond. With his indigo turban, tied so one end hung along the right side of his face to his shoulder, his tan Nehru shirt embroidered with an intricate design in dark brown thread, and his sharply creased white slacks, the handsome, brown-skinned, fifteen-year-old boy looked very sharp to them, and certainly traditionally dressed. "Personally I think you look rather cool," Brent observed. "Yeah, well, my father doesn't think so. He wants me to dress like all other American boys. You know, a shirt with some American logo on it and blue jeans and a baseball cap, the works, and of course short hair." He glanced over at the long, blond tresses of the twins. "He wants me to dress American so I'll fit in, but on the inside he wants me to think like an East Indian, or a Guyanese, whatever that is. Well, I don't want to dress like everyone else, and I can't believe that superstitious crap that he does. So there's like totally no way I can please him." "It's still no reason to toss yourself into a bonfire." "Hunh," Ramesh snorted, "when my ol'man finds out what I am he'll toss me into the fire himself." "What do you mean what you are? What are you?" asked Brent. Ramesh looked at him, debating, and then without warning wrapped his arms about him and kissed him, long and passionately and directly on the lips. "Whoa!" gasped Brent when they broke, his big blue eyes wide with surprise. Ramesh bit his lower lip but looked directly into Brent's eyes as he waited apprehensively for the revulsion and derision he was expecting. It was his turn to be surprised as Brent returned the kiss, just as passionately. When Brent broke the kiss, Ramesh stared at him, not knowing what to say. "There somewhere private we can go where we can all have some fun?" asked Benny. "Fun?" spat Ramesh finally. "Is that it? You mock me? Being gay isn't fun." "It isn't?" asked Bobby. "Someone forgot to tell Brent and Brett." Ramesh looked at the twins, and then at their two brothers. Although suspicious of their sincerity and motives and suspecting he might be being set up for a bashing, or to be used, he nodded in the direction behind him and got to his feet. He no longer really cared what happened to him. The brothers followed him to one of the tents that had been set up for tomorrow's celebrations. To his surprise his suspicions had been wrong. They sat and talked, about parents and Ramesh's differences with his father, about the difficulty he was having balancing his father's traditions and beliefs, which he considered superstitious and old fashioned, with his own ideas and beliefs, and about the difficulty they were all having with the negative and oppressive attitudes most members of their society still had toward homosexuality and the denial of teenagers and preteens being sexual beings. And then they had sex. Ramesh had learned a lot about sex with a member of his own gender from Internet sites, gay teen chat rooms, and experimentation with a good friend and fellow classmate, but it was a strange and mysterious world and though the fifteen-year-old knew what he liked and enjoyed, he was still filled with questions and uncertainty as were many gay teenagers. The Brewster brothers by their personalities and from their experiences, and from having each other, were comfortable with their sexuality and were able to answer his deepest questions that he'd been unable to ask anyone else and to help resolve his uncertainty, especially Brent and Brett, the two teens having come to terms with and accepted their homosexuality despite being a year younger than Ramesh. That help came not just from their empathy and from talking with the fifteen-year- old, but from their actions. As one of the twins kissed him on the lips the other unbuttoned his shirt and as the first caressed his smooth chest and nipples, the other kissed his cheek and nibbled on his ear and caressed whichever nipple and whichever breast his twin was not, and then the two switched. Unable to tell them apart, he had no idea if it was Brent or Brett who was kissing his lips or nibbling on his ear. Meanwhile their kid brother was caressing his thighs and between his legs, expertly finding where his limp dick was lying and gently caressing and squeezing it. Unbuttoning his trousers and slipping his hand inside his fly, he found the semi-flaccid tube of flesh and continued to squeeze and rub it, the heat of his young hand outside his underwear penetrating the cotton cloth and causing his dick to swell. At the same time their other brother, the one with the gelled, spiked hair, had slipped his hand inside his cotton briefs from the back and was caressing and squeezing his smooth cheeks. Ramesh inhaled deeply as he felt him slip his middle finger along his crack and give it and his butthole a single-finger caress. As the four boys pressed their bodies against his and wrapped their legs about him he returned Brent and Brett's kisses with equal passion if not the same skill, and he caressed whichever body was available. His fingers found their way inside shirts to caress identical smooth, warm, soft pink chests and sensitive young nipples that quickly became firm with his fondling, and his slender, brown fingers unbuttoned jeans and pulled down flies and cupped the warm, damp balls and swelling flesh stirring inside boxers and in the pouches of tight briefs. This was totally unlike the uncertain and awkward fumbling of his initial investigations with his best buddy Amir or their bursts of lust when they gave in to their hormones, and unlike the loving cuddling the two could enjoy for hours in each other's arms. This was raw, hot sex, a bursting forth of their primal teenage lust, but at the same time caring and attentive, focussed on bringing the other pleasure rather than oneself, on bringing the other that erotic, overpowering pleasure that caused a boy's stiff dick to throb as powerfully as his heart and his dickhead to burn and itch with a sweet pain. Feeling Bobby's hot, moist mouth envelop his knob and begin to suck, Ramesh nuzzled the hot, sweaty ball sack before him, inhaling the nutty, teenage fragrance, and he mouthed the semierect cock of first one twin and then the other. He cocked his head and licked the shaft of first one slender, rapidly-swelling cock and then slipped his lips about the mushroom-shaped knob of the other and sucked on it. Behind him he could feel a hot, wet tongue worming its way into his butthole and then a pair of lips fastening about his anal pucker and kissing it as it worked a gob of slimy spittle into it. He knew the boy's intention and he inhaled deeply in anticipation and eagerness, filling his lungs with the heady, musky scent of teenage lust. As he began to work his lips up and down the shaft of the now stiff, throbbing five-inch cock in his mouth, he felt a hot mouth begin to do the same to his swollen prick and the hard, hot dickhead of the boy behind him pressing against his butthole. He relaxed and pushed out with his abdominal muscle to assist the boy behind him in penetrating him as he'd learned in one of his late-night chat sessions on the Internet. Ever so slowly his sphincter stretched open until at last he felt the boy's knob pop inside him and he shivered with pure delight as the boy penetrated him, a delight no straight boy could ever understand or appreciate. He closed his eyes and sucked deeply on the cock in his mouth as he felt the boy's hot, slender cock, now just short of four inches hard, sink up his rectum until his smooth pubes were pressing against his ass cheeks, and he trembled with delight as he felt the boy slowly withdraw and then sink his cock back up his asshole. All five of them were breathing heavily, sucking in the sex-laden air through their nostrils, delighting in the fragrance of cock and balls and teenage sweat. Wet, slippery dicks slapped against smooth, downy cheeks and ruby lips like eels flopping out of water and hungry, eager lips pursued the flopping eels and went down on them, sucking and slurping as heads bobbed and lips slid up and down the thick, throbbing, bone-hard shafts. Behind Ramesh a hard, hot, slender cock eased in and out of his body, sinking deep up his rectum and then easing out only to plunge back into his depths and he tightened and relaxed his velvet smooth chute in time with the thrusts and withdrawals of the fleshy sword. Hot, young blood throbbed through stiff, bone-hard cocks as they sucked and fucked and were sucked and fucked. Their smooth bodies, one wheat brown and four soft pink, slid against each other, slick with teenage sweat, and their laboured breathing became irregular and still louder as the tension developed in their loins. Feeling unbelievable randy, randier than he'd ever felt before, Ramesh could not hold back and the fifteen-year-old gasped out a warning as the felt the familiar twang deep in the pit of his groin and as his young balls drew up tight beneath his aching cock and constricted. His hot, young gizm raced up the core of his swollen, brown cock and spurted out the burning tip and the hot mouth fastened to his swollen cock began to swallow, drinking his hot, teenage cum as a leech drinks hot blood. He heard a warning from one of the twins and as the fifteen-year-old spurted out his hot slime he felt a rapid and successive throbbing below the knob of the swollen cock in his mouth and suddenly his own mouth was filling with the nutty, teenage slime of whomever he was sucking. At the same time the boy behind him grasped him tightly and quivered as his own orgasm hit and his young, slender cock throbbed and strained to ejaculate what the still immature balls could not yet produce, and the brown-haired, ten-year-old boy sucking his cock similarly quivered with his own dry orgasm while the other twin gasped with delight as he began to spurt, his young, teenage cum spraying Ramesh's smooth chest and his twin brother's thighs. The night air was filled with the sharp tang of teenage cum as the three teenagers exploded and spurted and two younger Brewsters trembled with just as powerful and pleasant dry orgasms. It was a warm, wonderful evening that early spring night, a night they would all long remember. It totally was awesome to be young and gay. "I can't believe I'm doing this," Tom observed as he looked at himself in the mirror. Accustomed to wearing a starched shirt and a suit and tie and designer labels befitting his position and Harvard Law School training, he felt uncomfortable in the loose-fitting shirt and white cords that his wife had picked out for him. At least he had on his Gold Top silk black socks. Standing at six-foot-two and weighing two hundred pounds, all of it solid, compact muscle, he was an impressive man, and combining his athletic build with his jet black, perfectly coiffured hair, crystal blue eyes and handsome good looks, he turned the head of many a woman, and though completely straight, many a man too. "If the Executive Chairman of NYC-Sydney Financial Corporation thinks it's a good idea, then it's a good idea," Stephanie reminded him. "Yes, I know. I still don't think either you or I is going to find out anything more about Brewster and his proposal than we found out last night. And I certainly don't see how engaging in Vallabhbhai Kalidasa's personal favourite festival is going to impress Brewster as an example of high living in the Big Apple, nor help prepare for his proposal tomorrow." "Still ." "I know, I know," interrupted Tom. "He's the Executive Chairman of the Board." Tom was good at his job and highly respected by his peers and his superiors, and one did not get to where he was on the corporate ladder without knowing who was in charge and how to obey orders. Barry and Brenda Brewster were looking forward to the day with almost the same eagerness. Like the Barrington's, they saw little to be gained as far as further information that would help Barry the next day, and spending the afternoon in a Hindu festival wasn't what they'd envisioned as an afternoon in the Big Apple. Also like the Barrington's, they knew one did not offend an Executive Chairman. Their four sons, on the other hand, were eagerly looking forward to the afternoon. For one, they were hoping to join up with Ramesh again, and for another, from what they'd been told about the parade and festivities afterward it sounded like their kind of fun. To everyone's surprise, when they arrived at the parade route they found thirty thousand other revellers, an assortment of East Indians, Hispanics, Sikhs, Guyanese and Americans, lining the streets and crowded on verandas and roof tops who evidently felt Phagwah was their type of fun also. Ramesh was there with his family at Cheddi Jagan Square as promised along with the Barrington's and their son and another fifteen-year-old Guyanese boy and his family. From the glances the two were exchanging he was evidently Ramesh's best buddy Amir, the boy he had discovered gay sex with and whom he had mentioned the previous night he was in love with. As the last float passed and the last CD's, bandanas and T-shirts were tossed out to the crowd, the Brewsters found themselves being swept down Liberty Avenue along behind the parade with the Barrington's and the other revellers past brightly coloured homes, sari shops, grocery stores and restaurants offering a mixture of Hindi and Carribean cuisines. Arriving at Smokey Oval Park, they wandered about the grounds enjoying the choutaal music and singing and sat down and watched the variety show that the local people put on, including the performance of the Richmond Hill High School marching band, a handsome young trumpet player in tight slacks catching the attention of the Brewster brothers in particular. The boys quickly joined in "playing Phagwah", tossing coloured powder at each other and at whoever was near by and squirting each other with coloured water. Sincere environmentalists, the Kalidasa family had prepared the bags of powder they'd given the Brewsters and Barringtons from dried flowers and berries so as not to be harmful to the environment or to others. Following the lead of their host, they wet their hands and then dipped them in the bags of powder to make a paste, which they then smeared over each other's face. With everyone doing the same, men and women, adults and children, regardless of age or nationality, it was impossible for their parents and the Barrington family not to join in the riotous merriment. Being a spring festival celebrating a good harvest and the fertility of the land with many of the floats and songs featuring phallic themes and symbols, it was a time of license and of relaxing physical restraints, especially as some of the more exuberant celebrants overdid their consumption of bhaang. As they jostled each other in the milling crowd, Bobby's observation about Tommy's ticklishness was quickly verified, and Brett came up with an idea how they might convince him to see things their father's way when the two met the next day. Spraying him with his water pistol and quickly backing away but leaving himself open as an easy target, Brett began. Thomas of course retaliated by stepping forward and squirting his pistol at Brett, but of course the limber teen quickly sidestepped out of the way and stepped back again. Certain this time, Thomas stepped forward again but his aim was distracted by Brent tossing a handful of powder at him. Of course Thomas stepped toward him and as Brent turned and ran he began to chase him. Despite being thirty-five he was quick on his feet. As several Phagwah players stepped across their path, Thomas stopped and turned and began to head back to his family and the rest of the group. That of course the boys did not want. Benny intervened and distracted him by throwing a handful of powder at him, and of course Thomas took the bait and chased him. Benny ran slow enough to give the man hope, but zig- zagged so as not to be an easy target. Again Thomas gave up and began to head back toward his family. Bobby ran in this time and daringly ran right up to him and reaching up smeared a blue streak across his cheek. Caught by surprise it took Thomas a moment to respond before aiming his pistol at Bobby and charging after him, managing to strike him in the back. Nearing the edge of the crowd the boys were encouraged by their cat and mouse game, but Thomas was satisfied and once again gave up the chase and headed back. Brent and Brett both intervened but though Thomas responded by squirting at them or tossing a handful of his own powder at them, he made no attempt to follow them. The boys glanced around desperately for their brothers. They had intended on leading him away from the others and through the crowd of people similarly "playing Phagwah" over toward the floats which had been parked away from the main action in the park where they could tickle him without interruption until he gave in to their demands. Bobby came to the rescue. Dashing up behind Thomas and slipping the tip of his water pistol down the back of his pants, he squeezed the trigger, sending a squirt of coloured water down his ass crack. Thomas of course immediately turned with the unexpected shock of wetness down his crack, and as Bobby giggled and turned, the chase was on again. As he zig-zagged through the crowd with Thomas hot on his heels, Thomas managed to squirt him several times, Bobby making sure he didn't get too far ahead and discourage his pursuer. Unfortunately his plan had the opposite effect. Satisfied that he'd paid the boy back, Thomas again turned and began to head back, much to the consternation of the four brothers. The boys were determined however, and experts at luring their intended prey to their doom, and Tom had no idea they were leading him to a particular location. So once again Benny intercepted him and managed to lead him to the edge of the crowd before Thomas gave up the chase. As he turned, he spotted Bobby squatting behind the nearest float and, figuring Benny had been trying to lure him into an ambush, Thomas smiled as he pretended to be heading away from the parked floats. Instead he angled parallel to them and then as a group of teenagers passed between him and Benny he dashed into the parked floats and headed to where he'd seen Bobby squatting. Disappointed to find he was no longer there, Thomas was about to head back to the crowd where he saw Bobby squatting several floats further with his back to him. He cautiously began to creep forward but as he was about to take aim Bobby turned and spotting him, leaped to his feet and ran further into the parked floats. Thomas hesitated, and then figuring he'd outsmart him and circle around in front of him, he took off in an arch toward the back of the parked floats, keeping his eye on Bobby. Ducking around one of the brightly decorated floats, he was caught totally by surprise as the four brothers leaped off the float. Landing on him and dragging him to the ground, they playfully began to wrestle as they attempted to dust each other with coloured powder. Pulling Thomas's loose shirt out of his trousers and raising it, Benny dipped two wet fingers into the bag of blue powder and ran them along his right side, leaving two blue streaks along his ribs and causing Tommy to chuckle. "You ticklish Mister Barrington?" he asked innocently as he skipped his fingers along the man's ribs, leaving powder fingerprints below the lower blue streak and eliciting another chuckle. "How about your feet?" asked Brett, who'd sat down on his legs and unbeknownst to Tommy had untied his shoes. Pulling them off, he skipped his fingers along the sole of Tommy's right foot, causing the man to laugh and squirm, trying to lift Brent off. He had strong, muscular legs, the result of being an avid runner and working out at his exclusive Wall Street gym three or four times a week, but Brett had strategically sat down on his knees, preventing him from bending his legs and getting any leverage, though he did manage to raise the one hundred and one pound boy a few inches off the ground. "Bo-ahahahaha, boys, ahahaha, tha-ahahahahaha, tha-ahah, that's not ho-ohhohoho, ah, that's not how you play Phagwah ahahahaha, stop!" "Yeah, your feet are ticklish," Brett observed as he continued to tickle Tommy's soles. "And they're huge! I think they're even bigger than Brent's!" "Whoa! That is big," observed Bobby and Benny. Their brother had the biggest feet of anyone they knew and were often the objects of their jokes, and their erotic amusement. "What about your pits, Mister Barrington?" asked Brent. "They ticklish too?" In their wrestling, the boy had lost, or had purposely kicked off, his runners and had managed to pin Tommy's arms down with his knees as the boys had wrestled him onto his back so he was kneeling on Tommy's arms, his legs drawn up under him and his stocking feet in Tommy's face. Tommy had to admit the teenager did have big feet that rivalled his own. With Tommy's loose shirt pulled up to his neck, Brent managed to reach down and tickle both of his armpits, sending the man into gales of laugher once again. "Yeah, guess they are," he observed impishly. As Tommy inhaled deeply, trying desperately to stifle his laughter and to speak, he was rewarded with a whiff of Brent's large feet rank with sneaker odour and teenage sweat. They were as odorous as his own too. "Ah-hahahahaha, boahahahahaboys! You hahahahahave to stop! No, no hahahaha more!" Tommy called out as he persisted in trying to dislodge the boys sitting on him and now actively tickling him. He could feel hands fiddling with his belt and then unclasping the top of his trousers. "Whaahaha, whaaaat are youhoohoohoohoo! Whoohoohoohooo, whose p-p- pahahahaha," he chortled, unable to speak as he felt his fly being pulled down and the top of his baggy trousers being spread open. "Ahahahahhahaha, aghaaaaa!" he screamed as fingertips lightly danced along the inside of his right thigh and he raised his legs so violently he almost managed to topple Brett. He inhaled deeply again, willing himself to stifle his laughter so he could protest, and again the odour of Brent's sweaty, teenage feet overwhelmed him. His good friend Ronald liked the odour of socks how he had no idea but even he would have difficulty appreciating this teenager's feet. For a moment he relished the idea of having Brent pinning Ronald down and giving him a good whiff of his sweaty feet, maybe even stuffing his socks in his mouth as Tommy enacted his revenge against Ronald for the time he'd kidnapped him right out of his home and subjected him to days of endless tickle torture. "Ewww, your feet smell almost as bad as Brent's," observed Brett as he pulled off one long, black, silk sock, exposing Tommy's foot. "That's got to be real bad," observed Bobby as he skipped his fingers along Tommy's thigh once again, sending him into another gale of laughter. The ten-year-old observed something very interesting, and to confirm his observation, he tickled Tommy's thigh once again. The bulge in the man's white, executive briefs was definitely growing larger. As Brett skipped his fingers along Tommy's sole and he was convulsed with laughter again, the bulge very definitely grew. Now that was most interesting, and added a whole new dimension to Brett's plan to tickle the lawyer until he cried uncle and agreed to give their dad the money he wanted. "Boys, stop now!" Tommy ordered in the most authoritative, fatherly voice he could. "This is not how you play Phagwah!" "He's right," Brent observed to Thomas's relief. "We're supposed to be sprinkling him with powder and smearing him with coloured paste, not tickling him." That wasn't exactly the response Thomas was looking for. "What are those balls on that float made of?" asked Brett. "I dunno, cotton I think." "Can you reach one?" "Just a sec." Unbuttoning Tommy's shirt and pulling it back off his shoulders and half way down his arms so as to tangle his arms and pin them behind him, Brent crawled over to the float while Benny and Bobby adjusted their positions so the two preteens were sitting on Tommy's stomach and chest, their combined weight preventing him from getting loose. Returning with a handful of the cotton balls, Brent tossed a couple to his twin brother before kneeling on Tommy's shoulders from behind so the man's head was raised and resting in his lap. "Perfect," Brett announced. Tearing a bit of cotton off from the large ball, he dipped it in the bag of green powder he'd been carrying and then dabbed at Tommy's large toe. "No hohohoho, do-hohohohoho-n't do hoohoohoohoo thahahahahahat!" "I think I'll powder each toe a different colour," Brett observed with a wide grin, his face a rainbow of colours itself from their earlier play. Pulling Tom's large toe and the next apart, he lightly sprinkled between them, sending Tommy into another fit of laughter. "Great idea. I bet his pit hairs would look great rainbow coloured," Brent said with a grin, dipping his fingers into one of the powers and grabbing a few of Tommy's long, black armpit hairs and pulling on them, turning them a brilliant red and causing Tommy to chuckle as the boy's fingertips brushed against his armpit. "I think his nipples would look great yellow," observed Benny, picking up one of the cotton puffs and dipping it into the yellow powder, lightly dabbing one of Tommy's nipples. "Ahahahahaha, ah boys, ahahahaha, nohohohoho. Ahahahahaha!" "That's gonna take a lot of powder," observed Brent. "He's got big nipples." "That's not all he's got that's big," observed Bobby suggestively, nodding toward Thomas's bulging underwear, his hazel eyes twinkling and his high cheek bones streaked with orange and red dye. "Hey, his looks almost as big as Dad's!" "Your dad's?" Tommy asked, immediately picking up on the comment. How would the boys possibly know how big their father's was? Unless he. . . . Was this something that he could use against Barry Brewster? He hardly seemed the type of guy who would mess around with his own sons sexually, but these days, who knew? "Speaking of our dad, we think you should give him the money he wants tomorrow," said Brett, who tended to be the faster thinker and leader of the four boys. "Of course you do," chuckled Tommy. "No, I mean we REALLY think you should give him the money," Brett said. By then he had finished powdering the toes on his right foot, each one a different colour, and he now emphasized his point by tickling the sole of his right foot with the cotton ball, eliciting another gale of laughter. "Yeah, REALLY," added his twin brother, tickling Tommy armpits and causing him to squirm violently and roar with laughter. "Yeah," agreed their two younger brothers, Benny tickling one of Tommy's bright gold nipples while Bobby tickled his thigh with one of the cotton balls. "Ah, ahahhahaha, yeahahahaha! Oh God Almighty! Ahahahahaha! I knoohohohohoh whahahahat yohoohoohoo mean," Tommy gasped. "But I dohohohohon't think ." "We think," Brett said, intensifying his tickling. "Well, boyoyyoiyoioyoi," began Tommy. "Ohhohohoho, ah dohohohon't, ahahahaha, boys! Oh fuck!" He was not one to swear in front of children, but he couldn't help it with the shocks of tickle pleasure piercing his nipples, his pits, his thighs, and his feet. "Well, when you think he should, let us know," Brent said. Dipping the cotton ball in the red dye, he impishly powdered the tip of Tommy's nose and then returned to tickling his pits. Having finished dusting powder on Tommy's large, sensitive nipples, Benny returned to his ribs, lightly tracing each of them with a finger dipped in paste, leaving a smear of colour along each rib and at the same time sending Tommy into convulsions, resulting in the lines being rather jagged as the former linebacker twisted and turned in a desperate but futile attempt to dislodge the eighty-four-pound boy sitting on his stomach. Bobby had meanwhile pushed his loose, baggy pants down to his ankles and was now intently tickling his inner thighs while his older brother proceeded to dust powder on the toes of Tommy's left foot. Tommy twisted and bucked and arched his back as gales of laughter erupted from his lungs, but despite his workouts at the gym the muscular, athletic former college linebacker could not shake off his four young attackers. Shocks of painful pleasure ripped through his ribs, across the soles of his feet, pierced his irritated, swollen nipples, and penetrated his hairy armpits. He squirmed and tensed as gales of laughter erupted from his throat until it was raw and had it not been for the playing of the Richmond Hill High School Band everyone in Smokey Oval Park would have heard his peals of laughter. "So, are you going to give Dad the money he wants tomorrow?" "Boys," Tommy gasped as they stopped in their tickling, "it's not that simple." "Sure it is," Brent said with an angelic smile, his fine-featured face mottled an assortment of colours from the dyes the boys had been tossing at each other. "You simply gotta say yes." With that the boys resumed relentlessly. Tommy's nipples were swollen and hard and jutting up from his muscular chest, his biceps were bulging as he clenched his fists and tried to wiggle his wrists out of his binding shirt sleeves, and his leg muscles were taut as he tried to wiggle out of his lowered trousers tangled about his ankles and to dislodge the fourteen-year-old boy who was sitting on them and relentlessly tickling the soles of his feet and his toes with a cotton ball, barely touching the sensitive skin. Benny was now attacking his belly button, lightly rimming it with the tip of his index finger, just barely touching him as he encircled the sensitive depression. Meanwhile Bobby had begun to tickle his swollen testicles from the outside of his cotton briefs. Thomas's cock was now rock hard and stretching out his thin cotton briefs, the head dangerously close to poking out from under the restraining elastic waist band. After all these years, why tickling got him so violently sexually aroused Tommy still did not know, but it was blatantly evident that it did. As he lay there thrashing and straining to get loose, his throat raw and sore from laughter, he thought back to just over twenty years ago, to the day he'd been tackled by his cousins at a family reunion. While two of his cousins, two twelve- year-old girls, had held him down, pinning down his arms with their bare feet, his other cousins, ranging in age from ten to twelve, had proceeded to tickle him until he'd popped a boner, and then beyond until in a wild fit of laughter he'd cum, filling his underwear with his hot, sticky cum. Fortunately they had thought that he'd peed himself, not that that had been any less humiliating for the young teenage boy. Now twenty-one years later he was again being tickled to a climax, this time by four boys, ten to fourteen years of age, the youngest the same age as his own son, the oldest close to the age he'd been when he'd been brought off by his cousins. These boys, he suspected, were not as naive, and if he did reach that ultimate point, which had to be any time now, they'd know it was not pee. As badly as he wanted to cum, he had to stop them. "Boys, boys, bohohohohoho, ohhhhh, stop! Ohhohohoho! Oh fuck! Let's tahahahahahalk!" "Sure," Brent said with a smile as they stopped instantly. "Boys, you have to understand," Tommy gasped, assuming his most lawyer-like voice, which was ridiculous under the circumstances, spread out on the grass with his toes painted a rainbow of colours, his nipples projected out stiff and swollen and brilliant yellow, and his nose powdered a bright red. "I just can't give your father ." "Enough talking," Brent said, and the four boys resumed their torture. "No! Nohohohohohoho! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease! Agahhhhhhhhahahahahaha!" It was like a thousand ants crawling over his naked body, tickling here, tickling there, sending painful, irritating shocks through his irritated flesh, through his swollen nipples, up his hairy, sweating pits, piercing his belly button, causing the soles of his feet to burn and itch like he'd stepped on stinging nettle, causing his stiff, aching cock to strain and throb and ooze out the first dollop of pre-cum. "No! Nohohohohohoho! Yes! Yesssssssssssss!" "No, yes?" asked Brent, continuing to tickle his armpits. "Yes! Yes! Just stahahahahahahaha, just ahahahahahahaha, I'll do it!" The boys stopped moments away from him climaxing. Tommy, delirious with laughter and now fighting the urge to ejaculate, gasped and groaned and quivered with relief and with regret. He so needed to find a private place and satisfy the lust pulsating in this stretched cotton briefs. Tickling had the same effect on him as an aphrodisiac had on a normal man, and he'd just been given a near-lethal dose. "You'll give Dad whatever amount of money he asks for tomorrow?" "Yes," Thomas gasped. "I will. I swear. Now let me up." "Not yet." "Not yet?" Tommy asked in surprise and frustration. "I agreed to your terms you fu-, fu-, fu-, you little twir, twir, you spoiled bra, bra just let me up!" He came close to cursing, and to calling the boys twirps and brats, but that would not be wise considering they were still sitting on him, and that he would be negotiating with their father the next day. "Hey, he's got the same stuttering problem as Bobby," Brent said with an impish grin. "Yeah. What were you trying to say Mister Barrington? Fu-, fu-, fu-?" "Just let me up boys. I ... I need to go pee." "Oh yeah? Is that what you need?" the youngest of the brothers, the one who'd been tickling his thighs and his balls, said with an impish grin as he looked at his swollen cock bulging out his briefs and then directly into his eyes. The boy knew. He was only ten, but he knew. "First we gotta talk about your interest rate," Brett said. "Interest rate? Now listen boys, I've already conceded giving your father the loan. You should consider yourself lucky I don't report your antics to him and cancel tomorrow's meeting. In fact maybe what I should do is take the whole lot of you to court," he threatened in his most lawyer-like tone. To his Harvard trained, legal mind, that seemed like the most logical approach to take. He was, however, dealing with two teenage and two preteen boys who like most boys their age seldom thought logically. They renewed their attack with vigour, and what little composure Tom had gained he quickly lost as their nibble, multi-stained fingers danced over his body, sending renewed ripples of painful pleasure through his irritated, sensitized flesh and fresh gales of laughter from his raw throat. The throbbing of his stiff cock intensified and the pressure in his loins was unbearable. He could not hold back. "I think we're hurting him," Bobby observed. The boys suddenly stopped once again. Thank God. He'd almost lost it. Bobby ran his index finger along Tommy's swollen shaft from his balls to his blood-engorged knob. Tommy inhaled sharply and tensed as he fought back the urge to let loose. "I think you're right," Benny observed. "Yes, yes, yes! You're right boys! Enough is enough! Now let me up." "You heard the man," Brett said. "Let it up." Benny and Bobby slipped their hands under the elastic band of Tommy's briefs simultaneously. "Wha? Ah, no, no boys! Not that! That isn't what I meant! Boys! I'm a man!" "Yeah, we sortta noticed that," Brett said with a mischievous grin as his two brothers continued to push Tommy's briefs down. Considering the state he was in, that was not easy. "But you're just boys!" "Just boys?" the four of them asked, their young voices rising several octaves in anger. "Ah, well, ah, I didn't mean just, I, ah, no! Don't! You shouldn't, what I meant ." It was too late. He felt his stiff cock become disentangled from his briefs and as he felt his underwear being drawn down past his balls and halfway down his thighs, his cock sprang up free and exposed. "He does have a big one," observed Brent. "Oh yeah. And nice balls too." "I think we need to blueball him," observed Benny. "Hey, yeah!" agreed Bobby, reaching for a cotton ball and the blue powder. "That's a fuckin' great idea. But just one. I think the other should be . . . orange. And his dick with red and white stripes, like a candy cane." "That isn't what I meant by blueball." "No? Then what did you mean?" asked Bobby, wrinkling up his nose in perplexity as he looked at his older brother, the cotton ball poised a hair's breadth away from Tom's lower testicle. "He wants to cum." "Yeah, so?" "So when a guy is super horny and wants to have sex but he's not allowed, they say he's been blue balled." "Yeah?" Bobby looked at his older brother with admiration. Benny was a wealth of information, especially forbidden information and stuff about sex. "So we can't play Phagwah with his balls and dick?" he asked with disappointment. "No, I didn't say that," Benny said with a grin. "I just said we shouldn't let him cum, not until he agrees not to charge dad any interest." "Cool!" Bobby replied happily, brushing the cotton against Tommy's lower testicle. "Ah, no boys! This isn't right! You hoohoohooo, ah, ahahahaha, nooooo!" Tommy's dick wagged its disapproval, Tom himself being unable to speak as Bobby and Benny dusted the powder over his testicles, sending ripples of tingling pleasure-pain through them. They similarly dusted his blood-engorged knob, turning the purplish-red bulb a vivid green. As the cotton brushed against the rim of his glans, he convulsed again in laughter as a dollop of pre-cum oozed from the tip of his irritated, aching cock. "Careful guys. We don't want him to cum until he agrees to no interest." "No! No, I can't. I have my job to consider," Tommy protested. He figured giving in to whatever amount of money the boy's father asked for could be compensated for by asking for a higher than normal interest rate, one that would compensate for the risk the bank would be taking or that would be impossible for Wecare to absorb and thereby forcing them to back down. Either way he'd have done what the boys had committed him to doing. It was blackmail they were engaging in, but even so he had given his word and he was a man of honour, and he had a reputation to uphold. "How long does this Phagwah thing last again?" asked Brent. "Til five o-clock." "Then he's got two hours to consider his job," Brent said. "Wanna switch places?" "Sure." The twins switched places and the four boys resumed their tickling torture. Two hours. Well, he was a man, and they were just boys. He could hold out two hours. Or more likely, the boys would not be able to prevent him from cumming, and then their game would be over. They were only boys after all. Thomas Barrington had never met four boys like this however. It was only a matter of fifteen minutes before they brought him to his first brink of shooting his load, but they somehow knew that and suddenly ceased their torture. Tommy lay there, his eyes closed, his chest heaving, concentrating on not shooting. He would show them. They weren't going to let him pop his nuts until he agreed to charging their father no interest. Well, he didn't want to shoot a load. Not in front of four young boys. That was obscene. That was perverted. He was a Harvard graduate, a married man, a highly respected bank lawyer. He didn't want to cum in front of four children, and he couldn't let their father get a loan with no interest, so it wouldn't happen. The tickling resumed and Tommy's resolve hardened. So did his cock. It was only minutes before he was ready to shoot again. Well, let it happen. Then the boys would have no further leverage on him, and he'd still be able to thwart their plan by charging their father an exorbitant interest that he couldn't agree to. In fact he'd compound it. Not only that he could one of the boys had gripped his swollen, throbbing cock just below the knob, cutting off his circulation and deadening his need to shoot off. Now how did whoever it was know how to do that? The tickling resumed but now the pressure in his loins was doubled. Compounded you could say. Very well, he'd reverse his tactic. Instead of defeating them by not coming, he'd defeat them by coming. As peals of laughter erupted from his throat his lust ballooned between his legs, threatening to burst his swollen balls and his blood-engorged knob. He concentrated on the pleasure throbbing though his swollen cock, on the mounting pressure in his loins, and he bellowed with insane laughter. Any second now. Any second! Suddenly Benny jabbed his forefinger at a spot at the base of his aching, throbbing cock, on the underside where his balls joined it, and suddenly the lust dissipated. How could a twelve-year-old boy know how to do that? The tickling continued, relentlessly. Stained fingers happily skipped along the hair trail from his pubes, following it up over his flat, six-pack abs and circling his bellybutton, sending him into gales of laughter. They continued following the trail of hair up along the centre of his chest and then spread out over his muscular pecs. While someone lightly brushed a ball of cotton over his swollen, irritated nipples, sending him again into convulsions, someone else skipped their fingers along his ribs, causing him to howl and his ribs to ache from laughter. Someone else was tickling the soles of his feet while a fourth was lightly tickling his armpits. He howled and twisted and his swollen cock throbbed and his tightly drawn-up balls ached. He strained to hold back the release of his seed. He had no idea how much time had passed. It had to have been close to two hours. All he had to do was hold on. Hold on. Shoot. He was so confused he couldn't remember which course he'd decided on. His cock was aching and his blue and orange balls drawn up tight below it. He had to get off! "How much more time do we have?" Bobby asked. "An hour and a half." An hour and a half! Only thirty minutes had gone by? It seemed like twenty-four hours! "All right! Ahahahahaha. I said ohohohohohohoho. I, I, ahahahahahha! I wa, aha, ahahaha." "I think he's agreed," Brent said. The boys stopped. "No interest?" "No interest," Tom gasped. "Now let me cum. Oh God, let me cum!" The tickling resumed, but this time the boys took turns stroking his thick, swollen cock. Racked with the sweet pain of tickling, his entire body feeling like it had been skinned raw, and his colourful, bright green cock head itself feeling like a ripe tomato about to burst, Tommy closed his eyes and bellowed and gasped and at last felt his cum begin to surge up the core of his, stiff, thick-veined, red and white striped cock. He gasped and grunted and raised his hips as his cum spurted out of his swollen cock, spurting high into the air and dropping to land on his multi- coloured thighs and to spatter his heaving stomach. Spurt after powerful, delightful spurt erupted from his body and he trembled and sighed with pleasure like a man overdosed on Viagra. He'd never had such a powerful ejaculation in months. He closed his eyes and groaned with open and abandon pleasure. It seemed like forever, but finally his ejaculation ceased and slowly his breathing returned to normal. All the money Barry Brewster wanted, and no interest. Well, there were other terms of the loan to be negotiated. He could make the turnaround for repayment of the loan so short it would be impossible for the company to do, and if this Brewster fellow knew anything about what he was talking about, he'd know better than to agree and risk the bank foreclosing on his company. And of course for a loan that size there was the surety Wecare would have to put up. He could ask for . "I think Wecare should have forty years to repay the loan, with the option of negotiating an extension if they can't make it," Brent said, interrupting Tommy's thoughts. "Forty years?" What did the boy know about bank loans? Evidently nothing. No bank would allow a loan to exist that long. "Go ahead. Tickle me all you want. I've shot my load." "Which should make you super ticklish," Benny observed. He brushed the tips of his fingers along Tommy's ribs as if tinkling a xylophone, and the music that erupted from Tommy's throat was proof of his skill and his knowledge. "How? How the fuck did you know that?" Tommy asked, too surprised and too exhausted to curb his language in front of the four boys. Besides, what did it matter considering what these four had done? "Benny knows all sort of sex stuff," Bobby observed, looking at his brother proudly. Tommy hadn't noticed but at some point the ten-year-old boy had stripped naked. Even more surprising was the fact that the boy was erect, the four-foot-four, sixty-four-pound boys' slender little three-inch penis jutting up obscenely from his smooth pubes. Tickle torturing him had turned the boy on! He bent over and nibbled on Tommy's ribs, sending Tommy into a new fit of laughter. Continuing up to his still erect nipples he flicked his tongue at them like a snake causing his victim to scream with laughter and arousal. The yellow powder, made from rice flour mixed with the ground rind of Bael fruit had sort of a lemony flavour. Slipping his lips about Tom's irritated nipple, Bobby sucked eagerly on the bright yellow nipple. "Besides," said one of the twins, tossing back his long, blond hair streaked with a multiple of dyes as he ran his hands along a very obvious bulge in his multi-stained shorts, "you have to bring each of us off yet." He bent over and swept his long, fine hair over Thomas's thighs as his twin brother swept his blond hair along Thomas's exposed sole. "Noooooohohohoho! Bohohohohoho! Boyhehehehehes! Ahahahahaha." As the fine, silky hair brushed against his super senstive thighs and soles Thomas felt his flaccid cock begin to rise again. God no! Once again he was attacked by four pairs of hands, thirty-two nimble fingers and eight thumbs skipping across his ribs, tweaking his overly sensitive nipples, and along tenderized thighs now super sensitive after his ejaculation. His nipples and his cock quickly became rigid and the four boys attacked them with fingers, lips and tongues, nibbling on his burning, erect nipples as they skipped their fingers through the fine hair patch covering his chest and followed the trail down the centre of his torso to his belly button where they paused to tongue the depression until their victim was howling with laughter and his stiff cock was wagging its disapproval. Of course they could not resist tonguing the rim of his exposed nine- inch cock, sending him into further convulsions. He was not the only one erect, and the twins snuggled up to him and rubbed their stiff five-inch teenage cocks against his irritated nipples, sending shocks of desire through the irritated flesh. Benny ran his stiff little cocklet along Thomas's thighs, sending him into a quivering fit and resulting in howls of laughter. Bobby straddled the heaving, gasping man and rubbed the tip of his stiff little cocklet against Thomas's blood-engorged knob, causing a thick droplet of pre-cum to ooze out of the slit. Bobby smeared it over Thomas's swollen glans with the tip of his cock, coating his ruddy plum-like knob with the man's slimy juice. The eroticism of his act caused another thick droplet of cum to ooze out of his pee slit. "Now, about the length of time Dad has to pay back the loan," began Brent. "Anything. Anything you want," gasped Thomas. "Just stop with the tickling and the fucking around." "Anything we want?" asked Brent, running his long, slender fingers along Thomas's ribs as his brother's fingers began to do a butterfly dance in Thomas's hairy right armpit. "Ahahahahahaha! Yesssssssssss! Ahahahahhaha. Bubububububoys! Oh fucking hell! No more!" "You want us to bring you off again?" asked Bobby, slipping a hot little hand about Thomas's swollen, deeply veined cock and giving it a light, gentle stroke. "Oh fuck yes! Yes!" Under normal circumstances he'd never consider having sex with young boys, but these were not normal circumstances, and these were not normal boys. "Before we do, about the collateral-," began Brent. "Enough! I can't give your father anything more." From behind the float came a bray like a hyena, a hyena overdosed on Viagra. "Ahahahahaha! Holy fucking shit! Hohohohoho! Boihoihoihoiboys! I cahahahahahan't. Ahahahahaha. All right! I'll do whaahahahahat ever!" "So you'll agree the collateral should ." "Yes!" Thomas interrupted. "Fuck the details. Whatever you say!" "And you'll let me fuck your ass?" Benny asked. They had Thomas on his back with his legs raised over his head and his buttocks in the air. Benny was kneeling behind him and grinning down at him from between his legs. He prodded Thomas's asshole with his stiff prong. "Yes, yes!" Thomas gasped. "And you'll blow us?" Thomas had no idea which of the twins had asked. They were identical right down to their balls and stiff teenage cocks. They were fourteen for Godsake and he was a thirty-five-year- old man. He couldn't . "Ahahahahahhaha!" he bellowed. "I'm aahahahaha! Fuck yes!" "And you and me can have a foreskin fuck," Bobby said with a wide, boyish grin. Thomas had no idea what that meant, but at that point he'd have agreed to fuck the ogress Holika. And so he lay there with his legs raised above his head as Benny, his carefully-combed, spiked hair in disarray and streaked with assorted colours and his face blotched with red, green and orange dye, grasped his upraised legs with his blue-stained fingers and sank his slender, four- inch twelve-year-old cock up his asshole. As the boy began to thrust his hips to and fro, Brent and Brett knelt on either side of Thomas's head and leaning forward they dangled their cum- filled teenage balls in his face. Flushed with lust and aching to get off another load, Thomas inhaled deeply and the nutty fragrance of their sweaty, teenage balls abolished any doubts and hesitancy about what he was expected to do. He remembered his own lust at that age and what it was like to have hot teenage hormones pulsating through his veins and his blood-engorged cock and he stuck out his tongue and licked the salty sweat from the pair of balls dangling above his face. His mouth quickly filling with saliva, he basted first one pair of young balls and then the other with his spittle and then sucked his saliva, now flavoured with teenage ball sweat, back into his mouth and swallowed. As first one twin and then the other presented his stiff, slender cock to him he eagerly ran his tongue up the shafts of the two identical cocks and swirled his tongue about the knobs of the two boys, their foreskins having pealed back to form a collar about their knobs. His own knob was being attacked by a hot, eager mouth, ten-year-old Bobby eagerly swirling his tongue over the blood-engorged knob and delighting in the perverse taste and sliminess of pre-cum. His hot, wet tongue of course resulted in a third globule of pre-cum to ooze out of Thomas's cock and Bobby quickly lapped it up. Straddling the prostrate man with his muscular, hairy legs raised on either side of him, Bobby sat on his heaving belly and taking his stiff cock in one hand and his own stiff dicklet in the other, he shuffled into position until the tips of their cocks met and Thomas discovered what the boy meant by foreskin fucking. Stretching open his foreskin he slowly stretched it over Thomas's circumcised knob as far as he could, and holding it there, he began to bump the tip of his cock against Thomas's. It had been Benny who had discovered docking on the Internet and who'd first tried it with his kid brother, first one and then the other pealing back his foreskin while the other stretched his over the exposed knob. As the blood pulsated through his aching cock and he felt the pressure of ejaculation building up in this loins, Thomas could not believe what was happening. There he was, a thirty- five-year-old Harvard graduate and one of NYC-Sydney Corporation's leading lawyers, laying naked on his back with his legs thrown up over his head in Smokey Oval Park, his body smeared a rainbow of colours, a twelve-year-old youngster eagerly humping his ass, his face beaming with pleasure as he thrust his slender cocklet in and out of his asshole while he sucked on the boy's twin brothers' stiff, throbbing cocks and their kid brother bounced on his belly, his stiff cock sheathed by the boy's foreskin and the tips of their cocks repeatedly touching and his oozing pre- cum coating the other boy's knob. That was as erotic as it was perverse and he felt his balls tightening and the pressure rapidly building in his loins. From the erratic thrusting and the gasping and grunting of the twelve-year-old boy fucking his ass and the throbbing of the two teenage cocks now pressed against each other and both in his mouth, it was evident the three boys were approaching the same peak as he was. "I'm going to cum," gasped one of the twins. "Me too," panted his brother. "So am I," Benny gasped excitedly. "And this time I think I'm gonna squirt! I really am!" "Ungh, huh, grunnngh," gasped Bobby as he wiggled erratically on Thomas's stomach. Benny grasped Thomas's ass and thrust his hips forward as he arched his back, his smooth pubes pressed against Tom's buttocks, and he groaned and grunted as loud as Bobby as he climaxed. To his disappointment it was another dry orgasm, but the powerfulness and pleasure of his climax made up for it. The twins meanwhile inhaled sharply as they came, the two of them filling Thomas's mouth with their watery teenage cum. As Thomas swallowed their hot milk he felt his balls constrict and his own cum begin to gush up the core of his cock. Still encased in Bobby's foreskin, it filled the young boy's sheath and flooded over his cherry knob as he quivered and bucked with his own dry orgasm. Swallowing the hot teenage cum directly from the two throbbing faucets in his mouth and feeling Benny's smooth pubes pressing against his backside while his young cocklet throbbed hotly up his rectum as Bobby's hot, slender fingers milked his thick, stiff cock, Thomas was dizzy with the raw sexuality of the four boys and his own ejaculation. The release of the tension that had been built up by the boys' tickling and foreplay had been awesome, and immensely satisfying. As his thick, hot cum was milked out of his balls and over Bobby's slender cocklet and tight little hairless nuts, he wondered what his wife and own ten-year-old son would think if they could see him now. What he'd just done slowly sank into his sex-numbed mind. "Oh fucking shit," he sighed "I simply can't believe it," Barry said for the tenth time that hour as they boarded their plane to fly back home the next day. He shook his head in disbelief. "Barrington was actually very much in favour of the idea right from the start." He had told Brenda that for at least the fourth time. "He was nowhere near as tough a negotiator as I'd heard, nor as informed. He had some very strange concepts about Canada actually," he observed, glancing over at Bobby in particular. "Hey, you know these Americans," Bobby said innocently. "They all have some weird ideas about Canada." "Tell us again what happened," Brent said, knowing it would earn him brownie points, and besides, it would distract his dad from whatever suspicious thoughts his father was thinking about Bobby, which was probably best for all of them. "Like I already said, when I told them I'd be tickled if they accepted my proposal, Barrington got a very strange look on his face, just like you said he would," Barry observed, looking over at Benny. "It seemed like every time I said the word tickle it unnerved him." "Yeah, well, it's just something Bobby first noticed at the cocktail party," he observed, giving credit where credit was due. Brent jabbed his younger brother in the ribs with his elbow and gave him a disgusted look for drawing their father's attention back to Bobby. Barry looked at his youngest son and sure enough was about to ask just how he'd found that out, but remembering the circumstances under which he'd had a conversation with Thomas Barrington he decided it best to not ask. "Maybe he wasn't feeling well," Brenda observed. "When he joined us at the end of the celebrations in the park yesterday he looked very flushed." "Yes, he did. Very flushed," Barry agreed. Even in his casual clothes he'd appeared very proper and reserved at the beginning of the celebrations, the typical Harvard lawyer, but when he and their sons had reappeared toward the end he looked a total mess, his clothes stained and dishevelled and half undone, and his face flushed and a myriad of colours, his nose a bright red, and a wet spot down the back of his trousers. "I hope he won't be in too much trouble with his bosses for being so generous," Brenda observed. "Oh, I wouldn't be too worried," Barry replied, reaching over and putting his arm around his wife and giving her a hug. "I'm sure he'll be able to take it. He's a big boy." "He sure is," Bobby observed appreciatively, drawing the attention of both parents besides his three brothers to himself. "Ah, well, he's, you know, what, two hundred pounds, and like, way over six feet tall." "Right, he's even heavier and taller than you, Dad," Brett observed, coming to his kid brother's assistance, knowing that was not what Bobby had been thinking of. "Besides, he just met a superior negotiator," Brent pointed out, and his three brothers quickly agreed. "Three cheers for Dad." "Yea Dad! Yea Dad! Yea Dad!" the four of them cheered as they headed down the aisle, causing everyone on the plane to turn and look, and Barry to turn as red as Thomas Barrington had turned the previous afternoon. "They're right, dear," Brenda said as they sat down. Actually she needn't have been concerned about Thomas Barrington. Tom too had thought after all the concessions he'd made at the meeting that if he wasn't fired on the spot he'd be in for a severe reprimand and maybe even relegated to negotiate minor contracts normally given junior lawyers, but instead he was told by NYC-Sydney Corporation's CEO to take the rest of the day off and to take his wife and son out for a special treat at the expense of the corporation, and that he could expect an extra little something in his next paycheck. Apparently the son of the Executive Chairman had a miraculous turnaround in attitude, which the Chairman attributed directly to the Brewster brothers, and he was pleased and particularly impressed with Thomas's intuitiveness in seeing that on Sunday and rewarding the boy's father accordingly. He would never know the truth, that in reality Thomas had made the concessions because he'd given his word to the four boys, and even though he'd thought it would likely cost him his job, he was a man of his word and would not go back on his promise. Besides, the boys had a guarantee he would keep his word a ten-year-old boy's pair of briefs stained with the semen of a ticklish Harvard lawyer. Barry would never know the truth either. However, as he studied his boys huddled together across the aisle as Benny told them about a special mile high club he'd read about on the Internet, though he had no idea how, he suspected that they were just as responsible for his success as he'd been.