MAX'S BOYS 00
Introduction: Only in (a different) America
Copyright 2005. All rights reserved
Acknowledgment: This story wouldn't exist without Damian--no, not the son of Satan of Omen fame, but a Brit with a wicked sense of humor and an even more wicked mind. While we were emailing about "Another Mike" (another series I've written, with a similar theme--check it out), he told me a fantasy he had, and listed/described the characters populating the fantasy. Very late the next night what you'll see in Max's Boys 01 (Danny, Chapters 1-3) was done in first draft stage. We went on to polish it up, and came up with ideas for more stories/chapters. Fair warning...I have no <expletive deleted> idea whether this series will ever get finished, as sometimes the real world has a funny way of intruding on fun things like time for writing. But rather than deprive the depraved...and you know very well who you are...well, here's what there is so far.
Disclaimer: Some folks apparently have trouble distinguishing between fantasy and reality. This story is a fantasy. It didn't happen. Never will. And anyone who attempts to do in real life all or any of the things depicted in the story needs to be hanged, then drawn and quartered, and then turned over to the local cops for the harshest penalties the law allows. Now that we're clear on what's what, and what's not, read on.
The "Max's Boys" Stories
Max Harris has more money than God. In an America where Al Gore won the 2000 election due to the Florida recount, and where Al Gore is not exactly the same Al Gore who lost "over here," Max is able to use his money and its resulting power to get the things he wants. Such as money and therefore more power. And sex. With men. With teen boys. With very young boys. The sex goal is one he learned at his daddy's feet. Literally. On his knees and sucking. Sex, of course, doesn't keep him from paying attention to business. There's no chance of God ever getting out of second place in the money race. In fact, the annual percentage by which Max's wealth increases is greater than the only other annual rates of increase to come close: medical malpractice insurance premiums and the cost of health care.
Max doesn't buy what he can get for free, and he has a lot of free sex available to him. There's his family (his father, his fifteen year old son, his eight-year-old twins, and soon, his fourteen-year-old nephew). There are the men who work for him: a black chauffeur only out of jail on charges of raping his teen son because Max bribed a judge; an ex-priest who was defrocked for fucking a choir boy over the altar and making the mistake of getting caught; a Thai masseur who used to be a boy whore in Bangkok until the night Max bought him while there on a vacation; a Mexican gardener who was turned over to Max by a friend on the Border Patrol after the then-sixteen-year-old sneaked into the States, and others. There are the various children of his employees. But Max is not averse to using money to get what he wants in business or in sex. Just as long as it's all kept nice and private.
In this other America there are men in the House and Senate who share Max's goals and appreciate the privacy afforded by Max's estate. No one turns down an invitation to Max's estate, and no one gets on the estate without one. Not even the man in the White House. Max has been at the White House many times, has provided expert advice on privacy and security issues to the president, but despite President's Gore's occasional hints he's never received an invitation. The Congressional appreciation is because a select group of men know they can have sex at small, intimate gatherings at the estate, with other men, with teenagers, and most especially with willing young boys. Very young boys.
And then there are the large parties. Not the fund raisers. Not the glittering social events with guests from all over the world who understand that if there is the slightest whiff of impropriety during the party, retribution will be swift, although not necessarily immediate, and quite painful in some personal or social or financial fashion. Worst of all, no further invitations to the estate. The other large parties. The exclusively male parties with invitations beyond Congress to governors, state legislators, doctors, lawyers, businessmen, high ranking military officials, major sports figures, a wide range of men with money or power or both. Max, however, is nothing if not an equal opportunity fucker. The guest lists include more than the elite: a well digger, taxi driver, nurse's aide, tailor, high iron construction worker, truck driver, teacher, beggar, police officer, army private, accountant, navy seaman, restaurant waiter, marine recruit still in basic, even a few thieves and Indian chiefs.
CNN, the tabloids, the paparazzi, all suspect that something is going on at the all-male gatherings. For some reason no one quite dares to raise a feminist issue about excluding women, but the media would still like access. Except that it's more likely they'll get access to the most secure part of the President's it's-Armageddon-today bunker, than that they'll get past Max's security team in person, electronically or otherwise. Besides, there's another layer of security. Remember J. Edgar Hoover? His files with all the dirty little secrets of so many Americans? Compared to Max, J. Edgar was a penny ante grifter, lucky to cadge a dollar off a mark. Max thinks globally. His files reflect his thinking.
What Max wants, he tends to get, and right now he wants his nephew Danny. And Danny wants to learn how to be a teen slut, getting used by men, and also getting to sex little boys. The stories you'll read in "Max's Boys" are all Horatio Alger-style inspirational tales about achieving your goals through pluck, determination and hard work. Of course, having money so you can by-pass the whole "rags" part of life helps.
In the parts that follow, you'll be hearing directly from Danny, from Maxie (his 15-year-old cousin who keeps himself shaved except for the hair on his head, which helps his 7" cock stand out) and from Max himself. All about their adventures together, and apart. And in case you're interested, the most prominent "story codes" will be: M/b, MMMM/bbbbb, MM, oral, anal, incest, water sports, pedo.
Gentlemen (ladies, too?), hands in place and start your engines. It's going to be a bumpy and messy ride. Amber alert: keyboards will be especially in danger of flying liquids of a more or less viscous nature.