Date: Thu, 28 Jun 2007 15:01:44 +0000
From: Moore
Subject: Here To Help - Part 7

HERE TO HELP
BY MOORE

CHAPTER SEVEN

The staff of Camp Walden Pond was already hard at work
preparing for the boys' arrival when I showed up with a
hardon that needed immediate attention. Two days without
sex was a long stretch for me. I'd fucked three sweet
young cunts during the drive from school to the camp in
Maine, and helped one sixtyish, grey haired queer guy who
approached me in a rest-stop men's room while I was about
to take a much needed piss. A memorable experience worth
relating, but that was two days ago which did nothing at
all for my present condition.

"Take care of it for you, sonny?" My rest-stop buddy
boldly asked as I unzipped in front of a grungy urinal
and hauled out my sweaty dick. The smell of my crotch was
pretty rank after five hours in a hot car. I pretended
not to hear him and went about my business, suspecting a
small-town sting that would cost me some big bucks or a
night in jail to settle. My suspicions eased though when
he got down on his knees and rested his chin on the scum
encrusted edge of the urinal and breathed in my funk. No
cop or con artist would go that far...or say what he said
next to entrap someone in a compromising situation.

"Please, son, let grandpa suck your dick."

Still cautious, queer cops do exist, but loathe to turn
down the offer of a legitimate and much needed blow job,
I turned slightly to give him a better view of my dick
and said in a stern tone of voice, "I'm not your son and
your not my grandpa. Lose the clothes, cocksucker, if you
want to swing on your master's meat."

The obedient old faggot followed my orders perfectly.
"Please, master, sir," he said contritely, staring at my
dick while stroking his own fair sized erection. "Please
let me suck your cock."

The sad looking old queer knew all the words and the
submissive, pleading, begging tone in his voice was about
right for a lowlife, cum eating cocksucker. He was balls
naked to be sure, and kneeling before me like a devoted
slave, unsmiling yet seemingly confident as he waited for
my answer. All sufficient reasons to help any faggot with
my dick, but something important was lacking with this
particular faggot. It took me a moment to figure it out,
to realize that he had not once referred to himself as a
fag.

Humiliation was the missing element in this spry old
queer who'd probably been sucking cocks and swallowing
sperm for half a century or more. The staggering number
of blow jobs he'd given over the years, the gallons of
cum ejaculated in his mouth was anybody's guess. There
was nothing I could say that he hadn't heard before,
little I could say to strip this fag of his confidence;
remind him of his inferiority and bring a smile back to
his face.

Self-inflicted verbal humiliation was the only way to
help this old fag regain his place at the bottom of the
sexual food chain. "Why?" I asked him bluntly, hoping a
few simple questions would help him to figure it out as
well. "Why are you naked, old man, sniffing my crotch and
why do you want to suck my cock?"

"I need a dick in me bad, need to suck a dick and eat
cum."

"But why?"

"Because," he stammered, brow furrowed in thought as he
struggled to find the long forgotten words. Something
clicked in his mind because the bright dawn of awareness
suddenly lit up his face.

"Because I'm a faggot!" He said with the enthusiasm of a
kid who had found a long lost toy. "A cock sucking, ball
licking, ass kissing faggot with a scum bag for a mouth.
It's been a very long time since anybody asked me why I
suck dick. So long that I'd almost forgotten that I am a
fag. I feel so ashamed again, like the queer schoolboy I
once was, grovelling naked on the dirt floor in the boy's
outhouse, playing with my boner and begging to suck dick.
I remember it all now, the sheer excitement and the total
humiliation I felt as a young faggot cocksucker when that
very first hard dick passed between my lips. And I also
remember the laughter of all the boys in school watching
me suck dick that day while waiting for a turn to cum in
my cocksucker mouth."

I needed a blow job pretty bad by now, but I made the old
fag wait on his knees for my dick just to humiliate him
a little bit more and to show the old queer who was boss.
I teased him with the pearl of precum that had formed on
the tip, smearing it across his quivering lips. "You
like, cocksucker?"

"So, so good," he sighed happily. "Please let me service
you, master, and please feel free to cum in my cocksucker
mouth."

"Balls first, faggot," I demanded, spreading my legs.
"And I'll cum where I damn well please. Do a thorough job
on my sweaty nuts and I might feed you my sperm."

His tongue work was excellent, actively probing every
crease and crevice of my crotch. I almost lost my load
prematurely when the amazing old queer took out his
dentures and took both of my balls in his hot mouth. The
feeling was incredible, but a blow job from a toothless
cocksucker would be a new experience for me...not one to
be missed. I let him bathe my balls for another minute
and then, since I'm always here to help, I allowed the
old but rejuvenated faggot to suck my dick.

The degrading expression "pussy mouth" took on a whole
new meaning as the toothless old faggot gave me great
head. After five minutes of sucking I gave the toothless
cocksucker his well deserved reward, and gave him a urine
chaser to wash all my thick cream down.

The memory of the old queer and his pussy mouth kept me
going for a while, the road sign for Camp Walden Pond
reminded me of all the queers I would help this summer.

I left my car in the staff parking lot and adjusted my
hardon before wandering the camp grounds in search of a
queer staff member to give me head. There were many new
faces this year, none obviously gay, and not a single
faggot returning from last summer's crew. I headed for
the camp office to find uncle Warren, disappointed that
my blow job would have to wait until the campers arrived
tomorrow.

Once we got the boys out of their clothes and into the
program there'd be no lack of experienced, young and
naked cocksuckers eager to blow me; pussy boys as well
who needed to be fucked. And there would be a number of
curious, would-be queer boys who needed my help with
their budding homosexuality.  Most of the multi-talented
boys who come to Camp Walden Pond are already committed
faggots. Those that aren't queers will be, or at the very
least bi-curious by summer's end, heading back to school
with memories of blow jobs given and received.

Nudity and gay sex happens every summer at this exclusive
boy's camp that used to be a family nudist colony. The
camp-wide commitment to spend the entire summer totally
naked is irrevocable. All clothing is carefully collected
and locked away. Towels, bed linens, anything that a
penis-shy young boy might use to cover his naked body is
stored away for the summer under the watchful eyes of
Warren and Irving. 

Uncle Warren and Irving are homosexuals, have been since
they met and fell in love in the sixth grade and they
don't need my help in the least. In fact, Irving laughed
so hard when I once referred to him as gay that I thought
he'd hurt himself.

"Gay, shmay," he said, holding his side. "We're old fags,
Warren and me, fags from a time when gay meant happy. You
know what makes me happy, boychick?  No, I'll tell you a
few things about this old faggot. Dick makes me happy.
Your uncle's uncut dick in my cocksucker mouth or in my
pussy ass makes me happy. And as I get older, looking at
pretty boys, young boys...naked boys with smooth bodies
and gorgeous little cocks just waiting to be sucked makes
me very happy. Why do you think we run this camp?"

I found them both in the office, sharing Joel Rosenbaum,
the former homophobic, football playing hunk and surprise
winner of last summer's Camp Fag title. His hair was much
longer than I remembered, and heavily streaked with the
colorful highlights that are so popular with the queers
back at school. The diamond studs in his earlobes were
quite modest in size, unlike the large, heavy rings that
pierced each of his distended nipples and the thick,
leather dog collar that encircled his neck. Any doubts
about what Joel had become, about what team he played for
now were dispelled by the word FAGGOT tattooed on his
hairless chest.

Irving was sucking Joel's cock and Warren had his face
buried in Joel's butt.  His mouth was wide open, needy
and inviting, so I joined in the fun and offered Joel my
sweaty dick with the three words every faggot loves to
hear. "Blow me, cocksucker."

He kissed the head and licked the shaft, then swallowed
me slowly an inch at a time until his nose disappeared in
my wiry bush of pubic hair. Joel's cocksucking skill was
extraordinary; his double tongue studs hit all the right
places on my cock. I came, creamed his pussy-like mouth
with gushers of warm sperm much sooner than I would have
liked.

The mini homo orgy continued while I watched. Warren and
Irving teamed up to double dick their fellow queer. "Oh,
god, fuck me," Joel cried out as he readily took both
dicks up his ass. "Fuck me hard and deep I love it. Fill
my boy pussy with cock and cum."

I left the three faggots to their homosexual pleasures,
thinking that I would help a lot of queers this summer.
Not Joel, who clearly didn't need my help. Not Joel, who
found his queer calling last summer and was a shoo-in to
repeat this summer as Camp Fag.