Date: Mon, 03 Dec 2012 19:56:07 +0000
From: auto42376091@hushmail.com
Subject: My Best Birthdays Ever - Part 1

My Best Birthdays Ever
By Antonio Green
Auto42376091@hushmail.com

Bb, Mb, incest, ws, mild scat, non, cons.,

This story could have been published few other places than Nifty. But they
need your help. Please donate! Nifty needs your donations to provide these
wonderful stories. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

My Best Birthdays Ever
Part 1

Okay, so I've said it before, but I really mean it. Today is my best
birthday ever. My 12th and it was so sweet, so nice, and so fantastic that
I can just about cum thinking about.

Oops. Excuse me. I shouldn't talk like that, I know it. I should be a nicer
kid, I guess now that I'm 12. But...well. It really was great and I'll tell
you why.

First off, I got a brand new computer. Daddy and Uncle Mark got me a
MacBook Pro. It's f'ing awesome. (See, I didn't saw the actual word, did
I?)

(And second, well Daddy and Uncle Mark put together a wild birthday party
that went on for three days. It ended today on my actual birthday with me
f'ed out and sore as a motherfucker. Sorry, did it again. But not really
because Uncle Mark says that you guys who like reading about this stuff
like boys like me to talk nasty.

You probably think Daddy and Uncle Mark got me the computer so I could play
games on it or go to porn sites. NOT! I love to write and I've written a
lot of stories about me growing up. I've never posted them before, just
gave them to Daddy's and Uncle Mark's friends. Oh, and some other kids who
are like me. So this is the first one I ever posted.

But now I'm not sure if I should start by telling you about my party, about
how this all started, or about some of the stuff that happened in the
middle of that stuff. I guess maybe starting at the beginning would be
best.

Some of what I'm going to tell you is pretty sexy, so this would be a good
time for me to write it since I'm all cummed out and not horny. Well, not
that horny. But the reality is, I've been horny since I was a little
boy. Way little. I don't remember much about my mother except that she had
a bottle of sherry close by most of the time. That and she didn't like me
"fiddling" with myself.

"Stop fiddling with yourself. Leave that pathetic little thing alone,"
she'd yell. Didn't matter where it was. At home. In the park. Or even in
the store. I guess I shouldn't have been playing with it in public, but it
felt so good and a four- or five-year old boy just has problems leaving it
alone. I know I did. I don't remember when I started since it must have
been when I was still a baby. But one of the first memories I have is of my
mother slapping me across the face for fiddling with it when I was at this
ballet called The Nutcracker. Well, I was sure as hell cracking my nuts
because I'd do that when I was happy. (Or scared, or sleepy, or hungry,
or... You get the idea). The date on the program I still have means I had
to be about two and a half. So I know I was doing it back then.

One day I guess I'd been doing it too much and Mother just lost it. (I also
guess she'd been doing too much sherry). It was right before I went into
kindergarten, so I was probably just four and a half. She stripped off all
my clothes and stood me outside on the porch and made me keep doing it. "Do
it," she'd yell. "Do it until the little fucker falls off."

I know some of the kids in the neighborhood must have seen it because even
though I had my head down. I could hear them laughing.

It wasn't long after that time that she left. Daddy never told me why for
sure, but I think that incident was part of the reason. After she left,
Uncle Mark moved in with us. Nobody yelled at me for fiddling
anymore. Daddy and Uncle Mark just said I shouldn't do it outside or in the
park or at school. Home was cool for it. Even when we watched TV
together. I'd go to town when I was watching something I liked. Get super
hard. One time I diddled and fiddled so much I got this great tingly
feeling. I was sure I was going to pee myself but I didn't care. Then it
came. My first tingles! Daddy and Uncle Mark were watching but I didn't
care.

After it was all over, I realized something awful. I had peepeed! All over
my jeans. I started crying but Daddy picked me up, cuddled me and told me
it was all right, and changed my clothes, my soaked undies and peepee-wet
jeans. He carried me back into the living room and Uncle Mark kissed my
forehead.

"Have a good time, champ?" he asked. Well, I did like the feeling A
LOT. But peepeeing myself embarrassed me. I shrugged.

"I love the way it feels, Trent," my uncle told me. "Wanna know a secret?"
I nodded. "The first time I got a cum like that, I pissed myself, too. I
was even older than you. I was seven."

"You peepeed yourself when you were a big boy?" I asked, afraid to use the
grownup word `piss.'

"Sure did. Your old man made it happen, too. The cum I mean."

"What's a cum?"

"The tingly feeling. Usually you don't piss when it comes, but some guys do
when they're little like you and me were and haven't pissed before they
rubbed off."

I was learning a lot right then. I must have been big-eyed because my Daddy
explained a lot of stuff to me. See, he's the older twin and always was
leading my Uncle into stuff they shouldn't have been doing.

So Daddy told me it was fine to do what I did, but if I thought I was going
to pee when I got the tingles, to take my pants off and maybe do it into a
towel. So I did that every time I `rubbed off' which was more big boy
sounding than fiddling. Something about me made me feel naughty doing it in
front of Daddy and Uncle Mark, although they never made me feel that way.

One thing I couldn't do in front of them was what I called `my big secret.'
I loved playing with my rear hole. I know Mother would have flipped out if
she knew so I NEVER did it where anyone could see. But alone in bed? Now
that was a different thing.

I'd rub my poohole in bed and fiddle with myself at the same time. It
wasn't long after Mother left that I took the next step. I stuck the end of
my finger in. That felt soooo nasty. After all, that's where poo came
out. I rubbed off with my finger all the up in me, got the tingles (I made
sure I'd peed first), and laid there feeling all warm and giggly all over.
The first time I did it, I pulled out my finger and it was all covered in
my poop. What was I going to do? I pulled my PJ bottoms up and waddled to
the bathroom, my poopy finger stuck out so I wouldn't get my PJs poopy.

I did this the next couple of times I did it like that with my finger up me
but it got to be a drag to go to the bathroom and clean up. So I did what
any five year old would do. No way I could wipe my finger off on my sheets.
Then everyone would know. So I sucked my finger clean. I didn't mind the
taste too much. A little bitter and waxy. But not bad. And when I did it,
my dinky-dink got hard again. I learned to really like the taste, but
that's another story.

Well, I graduated from just my finger soon enough. I started looking for
things that might fit in me. My first discovery were marbles. I brought my
bag into be and slowly pushed a marble against my poo hole. I liked the way
it felt just pushing in a little then pulling it back away. I did that for
several evenings, making sure the marble wasn't poopy when I put it back in
the bag with its mates. I bet you can guess how, too. Then one evening, I
pushed a little too hard. I don't really know if it was on purpose or on
accident. But it popped right in. Now, THAT scared me. My finger was one
thing. I could always pull it out. But marble? Now, that could be a
problem. Would it come out or was I destined to have it inside me forever.
Would it block me up so I'd never be able to poop again?

I felt like crying out for help but steadied myself against that and
plodded to the bathroom. I squatted on the toilet and strained. Not hard
because the marble plopped out easily, followed by something else.  I
wiped, stood, and looked in the bowl. YAY! There was my marble, although it
wasn't easily recognizable as one since it was pretty well covered in
poop. Next to it was a golf-ball sized poopoo ball. I flushed everything
away. I knew I'd be okay, but I vowed I'd never do that again.

Never lasted two nights. I was back in bed with my bag of marbles. This
time I pushed one in easily and followed it with another. Two felt even
better than one! I got rid of those two dirty ones by flushing them away as
well. The next night I went for three. Felt good. So I added another and
another. Five of them. One for each year. I padded to the bathroom and
pooped them out. I was about to flush them away, but then it occurred to
me. I'd run out of marbles if I kept doing that. So, I figured I could stop
pooper stuffing (which is what I called my activities) or I could save the
marbles. You can guess what I chose. I reached into the toilet water and
pulled out all five marbles. I swished them around in the toilet water,
then rinsed them in the sink.

I kept pooper stuffing for a long time, trying for more and more marbles. I
decided to stop at 20 because I wasn't sure if it was such a good idea to
do much more. But I kept doing it almost every night unless I was really
tired. I added a new twist, though. If it was a Friday or Saturday night,
I'd leave them in after rubbing off. The next day, I'd walk around with as
many as 20 marbles way up in me. I'd hold them as long as I could then poop
them, clean them, and store them. (Just for some of you really pervy guys,
I didn't always clean all of them in the toilet and sink. I'd use something
else.--smile!)

Well, marbles were cool. But I started looking at anything that was even
close to the right size. "I wonder what that would feel like?" was a
dominant thought most of the time. Tootsie Rolls worked really well.
Butterfingers stretched me weird and were messy. If I used them, I'd have
to clean up really well or it would have looked like I'd pooped myself. I
started looking for log, round things like the little toy baseball bat I'd
gotten at the Giant's game one time. Toothbrush handles, small brush
handles, Sharpies (thin and broad). I was loving pooper stuffing. By the
time I was seven and a half, I'd heard bigger boys talking about fucking
and then butt fucking.  ( With my increased attention to my rear, I'd
stopped rubbing off so much in the living room. Daddy and Uncle must have
felt that I was growing out of it. Not true at all. I'd just gone under
covers with it. And when I did it, I imagined a man's big penis going into
a pooper hole. Not any man's penis, either. My Daddy's! And to lesser
amount, my Uncle Mark's. We weren't very shy in my house once my mother
left, so I'd had the chance to see both of them naked, their penises
dangling. I'd never seen either of them truly hard, although there were
times that Uncle Mark looked to be on his way.

As I got older I became more and more obsessed with dinks--as I called
them--or penises--as Daddy called them--or cocks and dicks as Uncle Mark
called them. I'd sneak peaks at my school's urinals to see what I could
see. Most boys are cover-uppers. They do their best not to be seen. They'll
push into the urinal as far as possible so you just can't see anything.
Some would stand back, afraid as I heard one fourth grader say, of piss
back splash. He and most of the other stand back boys held their dinks so
that I couldn't see that much. Some boys, though, boys like these two sixth
graders seemed proud of their equipment. They'd stand back far enough for
anyone to see their dinks, and hold themselves just enough to aim.

I was in second grade not long before my eighth birthday when these two
sixth-grade boys came into the boys room. I was at one urinal--they're the
ones that go all the way to the floor--when these kids came in. The taller
one stood next to me on the right and the smaller boy on my left. They both
stood at least a foot back from the front of the urinal and started to
pee. As they did, the boy on my right--the taller one--farted. Really,
really loud. They both laughed. I kept my head down.

"I love farting when I piss," the taller boy said. "Hey, Jamie, I'm chubbed
enough that I don't have to aim. Take a look."

The boy called Jamie looked over and laughed. "Fucking A, man. You chub up
any more and you ain't gonna be able to piss at all!"

So of course, I did what any dink-loving boy would do. I looked, too. And
his dink was starting to get hard as he peed. When I first looked, it was
pointing straight forward and the pee sprayed straight out as well. As I
watched, his dink got harder and started its rise upward, the pee flowing
from it forming an arc that eventually ended on the floor in front of the
urinal.

"Careful man," the smaller boy said, "you're gonna piss on yourself. Hey,
Patrick, this little turd next to us is looking at you."

Caught!

"What you looking at little faggot?" the boy named Patrick asked me.

"Nothing," I mumbled.

He grabbed his still pissing dick and turned toward me. I had to jump back
to keep from getting sprayed. Even so, a little bit splashed on the front
of my uniform pants. Fortunately, there wasn't too much--a spot abut 3
inches around--and Patrick was just finishing peeing so he couldn't get me
wetter. Unfortunately, the spot looked just like I'd peed myself a little
bit.

"Nothing?!" Patrick said. "You calling my cock `nothing?' You're cruisin'
for a bruisin' little man. Tell me my cock ain't nothing."

"Your dink isn't nothing," I whispered.

Patrick grabbed me behind my neck and bent me over so I was inches from his
dink. "DINK! You little fucking asshole! This ain't no dink. This is a
cock. Four and a half inches of fucking hard cock." He squeezed so hard
pain shot up my neck into my head.

"Your cock's not nothing, sir," I said. I figured the `sir' wouldn't
hurt. Anything to get him to let go. "It's really big And it's really
nice."

He let go and pulled my head up by my blond hair.

"You better mean that, pissy fag boy. Hey, Jamie, what you think we should
do with him?"

"Hmm. Not sure, Pat. Maybe we should take him to our fort."

"Good idea. Listen, kid. Meet us after school at St. Regis Park." (Saint
Regis is the name of the school I went to and it a medium sized park next
to it.

My voice quivered. "I can't. I gotta go home or my sitter will call my
daddy and they'l get worried and I'll get in trouble and" I was crying at
this point.

"Shut up, kid," Jamie snarled in his high, almost girly voice. He ran his
hands through his red hair.  "Okay, you meet us the on the back side by the
fence on Overton Street at four."

"Yeah!" Patrick said. "And if you ain't there, I'll bring a chain saw to
school and use it to cut your teeny little dink and balls off."

I didn't know the threat was so ridiculous he couldn't do it.

"Okay, brat, get outta here."

I started toward the door and both boys started to laugh.

"Shit man," Jamie squeaked. "Put it back inside before you go out." I
looked down. My tiny, shrunken dink was still outside my pants. The wet
spot looked huge even though it wasn't really. I put my dink back, zipped
up, and tied my sweater around my waist. Any boy in grammar school knows
that means you've probably wet yourself, but the shame of being teased
about maybe doing it was far better than the shame of anybody actually
seeing a big wet spot.

The rest of the day went on forever. I was scared what was going to happen
and not even sure I could get out of my house. When I got home, I asked
Mrs. Higgs, my babysitter until Daddy and Uncle Mark got home from the
hospital--they're both doctors, btw--if I could go play with a friend. Now
Mrs. Higgs was a nice woman and she treated me well, but I think she
worried about me not having enough friends since I was a shy little boy. So
she jumped at the chance to have me meet up with a friend. Little did she
know, though, that the `friends' were really my tormentors.

I walked as slowly as I could to St. Regis Park, but I got there by 3:30. I
sat by the fence they'd indicated and prayed they'd forget. No such
luck. Within 10 minutes they were there, sitting beside me. They were both
changed out of their school uniforms and wearing blue jeans and
tee-shirts. Patrick pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, took a
puff, and handed it to Jamie before he said anything.

"You ready to show us how sorry you are for staring at our cocks, little
faggot?"

Jamie took a quick puff and started coughing right away. He pushed it
toward me.

"Want some, kid?" he coughed out. I shook my head.

Patrick reached across me and punched Jamie's arm. "Idiot, you ain't
supposed to actually breath it in. That's how you get cancer."

Jamie kept coughing. I don't know why but suddenly I started to cry. Still
coughing, Jamie put his arm around my shoulders.

"Don't worry, kid," he managed to hack out. "We're not gonna really hurt
you. We just wanna have some fun. What's your name?

"Trent," I whispered.

Patrick agreed with his friend. He handed me a bandanna that had been used
for a long time or so it seemed. "Wipe your eyes, Trent," he said, sounding
less mean. He lifted me to my feet and started walking across the street.

"Our fort is at Jamie's house, dude. In his back yard. You'll be okay."

Their fort was really an old shed with a padlocked door and boarded up
windows. When we got there, Patrick unlocked the door and shoved me in. All
of a sudden, the boys' gentleness disappeared.

"Get over on the mattress," Patrick snarled. "And take off your
clothes. All of them. We wanna see your scrawny faggot body."

I slowly started to take off my school uniform shirt but I was too
slow. Jamie kicked me in the nuts but not hard enough to really
hurt. "Hurry it up! We don't got all day."

I moved much faster then, and was soon down to my undershirt, underpants,
and socks.

"Hold up, kid," Patrick said. "I wanna do this part."

He pulled my tee shirt over my head, being careful not to do it too
fast. Then he had me hold on to his shoulders while he slipped my socks
off. He slowly turned me around and when my back was facing toward him, he
chuckled.

"Look at those skid marks, Jamie. This boy don't never wipe, I bet. Looks
worse than yours. Or Christian's."

"Fuck you, Pat. Your fudgies look worsen both of ours."

Patrick turned me back to face him. By this time, Jamie had stripped out of
his shoes, jeans, and tee-shirt leaving only his deep blue jockey
shorts. The front was sticking out a little. He had a stiffy for
sure. Patrick began running his hands gently up and down my sides. It felt
weird but good. At one point he stopped that and began rubbing the front of
my Big Dolphin Underoos.

"They're so cute, Jamie. I fuckin' love these Underoos. His winky dink is
still soft. You scared, kid?"

I nodded.

"Don't be. I'm sorry if we scared you. It's just that you're so cute you
make me boil. Look here."

He unbuckled and unzipped his jeans and let them drop to the floor. He used
his feet to remove his shoes and stepped out of his jeans. His jockeys
looked like they hadn't been washed in a long time. They were gray with
dirt and ragged. His cock was sticking out the pee place in front.

"See sweety, you got both of us so boned up it hurts." With that, he pushed
his underpants to the ground and stepped out of them as well. His fully
boned cock stood its four and a half inches straight up from a patch of
maybe 20 light brown pubic hairs.  He gently pulled my Underoos to my knees
and using one hand picked both of our underpants up.

"Hey dog breath," he said to Jamie, "bring your unders over here. We'll see
whose got the worst skid marks"

The two boys crowded around me. Patrick handed me back by underpants.

"On three, pull `em apart so we can see whose the champion skid
marker. One, two, three& "

Now my guess is every little 7 or 8 year old boy gets poopy tracks in his
underpants. (That's what Daddy and Uncle Mark call them). And I'm pretty
sure they get embarrassed about them. I sure did and I did not want to show
mine off to these two big boys. But Patrick had gone from being mean to
nice, and I didn't want to upset him. So when he got to `three' I pulled my
pants wide to reveal three long brown streaks in the bottom. Jamie's just
had a light brown line that was barely noticeable. I was sure I was going
to be the `champion.' But I was wrong. Patrick was the clear winner. Or
rather than clear, maybe I should say he was the deep brown winner. The
seat of his undies didn't have skid marks. Instead, the undies were
streaked with a large brown, crunchy looking stripe about an inch wide.

"The winner and still champeen!" Patrick whooped, waving the dirty pants in
the air and dancing around. I was about to say something when Jamie elbowed
me so that Patrick couldn't see it.

The smaller boy leaned close and whispered to me, "Don't say anything. He
pretends like it doesn't bother him, but that's the only pair he's got. So
they don't get cleaned too often. He acts cool about it, but I know it
bothers him. "

When he stopped dancing, Patrick had lost the soft look he'd had a few
minutes earlier. It was like a switch had flipped and he'd gone from nice
to mean in half a second. It scared me.

"So, little faggot boy," he hissed at me, "you like looking at big cocks
like mine."

I was going to deny it, but I felt that would make him madder than he
seemed right then. Now you gotta understand something. I'm not bragging but
I'm a pretty smart kid. It used to get me teased a lot in school until I
learned how to tone it down. But part of my smartness is knowing what to
say if I needed to. I think living with my mother helped develop that. This
is one time that kicked in.

"No, I don't like looking at big cocks like yours," I said. Patrick drew up
to his full height of about five and a half feet with a look that said he
was about to pound me. I continued before he got angrier. "No, not ones
like yours, Patrick. I really like looking just at yours. It's so nice and
big. And hard."

His was nice, too. Not the biggest I'd seen, even on boys in the boys
room. But it was starting to develop some thickness and it was uncut,
something that still fascinated me. It certainly was the biggest cock in
the shed, however. Mine was soft. Even though I'd get a stiffy at almost
any provocation, I was still scared enough that the sight of these two
naked boys still wasn't enough to harden my little man. And when it wasn't
hard, he just about completely disappeared. When it was like that back
then, it looked like a little light purple button at the top of my tight
ball sack. Jamie was super hard. His hairless, thin 3 inch little boy
dickie stood up tight against his tummy. He was circumcised like I
was--although I'd no idea about that word back then. Part of me wanted to
reach out and sproing it like I'd do to mine when it was hard. But I knew
better. Patrick was in charge. I had to wait for him before I could do
anything.

"Little faggot likes cocks," Patrick sneered. "Well, fucker, we're gonna
give you cocks. Kneel down!" He pushed me hard on the shoulders and I
collapsed to my knees. "Suck it, faggot!" He pulled it down so the ruby
tip, peaking out of the tight skin pointed directly at my mouth. I looked
closely at another boy's penis for the first time--and an uncircumcised one
at that. It was amazing! The skin was so tight that Patrick's cockhead
looked pointy sticking part way out of it. The pee hole was forced open by
the tightness so that it looked like a little round mouth. And that little
round mouth had a little bubble sitting on the tip. I was fascinated by
what I saw in front of me.

Fascinated for sure, but he wanted me to suck him, and thinking of putting
his penis in mouth, the place where he peed from, kind of revolted me. My
response surprised me because I loved to drink my own pee. I did it a
lot. And I thought often of drinking Daddy's and Uncle Mark's and other
boys' pee. But someone else's for real, that I wasn't sure of.

I pulled back a little and turned my head. Then WHAM! A sharp smack on the
side of my head turned my head back around. I was eye to pee hole with
Patrick's dick once again. Only now the bubble had grown into a strand of
sticky looking slime dripping from the boy's dick head.  He grabbed me
behind my head and pushed my mouth against his dick.

"I said suck it, ass wipe," he yelled. "I wasn't kidding about cutting your
dick off, either. You don't do it and I won't cut it off. I'll bite the
little thing off and spit it in your face!"

Jamie was still standing beside me. He leaned forward and whispered, "Do
what he tells you. When he gets like this..."

My younger tormentor didn't have to finish his sentence. I dove down on
Patrick's cock and swallowed as much as I could, maybe a good 3 inches. I
could feel the slime from Patrick's piss slit trailing on my chin. My eyes
began watering, partly from having something that far into my mouth and
partly from the sour, unwashed smell of this boy whom I feared. Then he
pushed the rest in.

"I said suck it, not let it sit on your tongue like some fucking communion
host."

You'd think as much butt play as I'd done, I would've thought about sucking
on dicks. But no, it had never occurred to me. So what was happening to me
was completely foreign and disgusting. Patrick's dick was touching the
start of my throat. His body smelled bad. And I was silently crying. All
that rolled together meant I was about a half inch away from barfing. He
must have felt something cuz he pulled back a little and then started
pushing his stiff cock in and out of my mouth, getting it deep enough to
cause me to gag again maybe one out of five times.

"Hey faggot Jamie. It feels like it did the first time I raped your
mouth. It burns like he's gonna puke if I get it in far enough."

With that he jammed in deep enough where I knew this time I''d puke for
real. The acid puke traveled up my gullet and filled my mouth. I would have
spewed it out, only Patrick had my lips sealed tight, so it went the only
place it could go. Out my nose. At least some of it did. I fought to
swallow it back down since I knew if I puked on Patrick, he'd probably kill
me. But that wasn't about to happen and with my mouth and nose plugged one
way or the other, I started to lose consciousness.

Suddenly, he released my head and spun me away from him. I unloaded on the
floor right at Jamie's feet. I coughed and sneezed and wheezed. Jamie stood
silently by me, but Patrick was laughing so hard he farted.

"You can clean that up later," Patrick told me. "First, we're gonna spit
roast you."

Spit roast? I had no idea but I didn't like the sound of it.

Jamie ran to an old small chest of drawers and pulled something out. When
he got beside me, I saw it was a blue and white tube that looked kind of
like toothpaste.

"Pat," he said, handing the tube to his buddy, "use this. It'll make your
first time better. More enjoyable."

"Yeah, but that's not how it happened for me. I wanna make this little baby
cry."( ( "Seriously, man, I understand. I know you wanna do it rough. But I
guarantee you'll like it better with this stuff."

Jamie was acting all tough and stuff but he really seemed a little
desperate.

"Then once you plug him once with this stuff, you can be as rough as you
like later. Best of both worlds, man."

Patrick pushed me onto the bed on my back. He lifted my legs roughly over
my head and scooted forward. Jamie scrunched in between us and I could feel
his hand moving between Patrick and my butt hole. By now I was pretty sure
what was going to happen. I knew for a fact that this big boy was going to
put his hard, pointy, angry looking thingy into my poo hole. As much as I
loved butthole play, I wasn't so sure about this. He could make it rough, I
knew. And I had a feeling he'd do it too. I was crying as hard and as
silently as I could. My ears were getting wet. Then I felt something kind
of cool and wet touch my hole. Then it got pushed into me by what I
recognized immediately as a finger. Jamie's finger.

"Hurry the fuck up, asshole," the bigger boy snarled. "I wanna rape my
first piece before I'm an old man."

"Done. Go for it," Jamie answered, swinging his naked body over my head so
that his stiffy was inches from my mouth.

Then the push--hard, fast, violent, and all the way so that I could feel
Patrick's belly and his few pubic hairs right up against my hole. The first
shock of pain made me gasp.

Only it wasn't really pain. It was more the expectation of pain like when
you bump yourself but not hard and say `ow' even though it doesn't hurt. It
was more the surprise that it happened so quickly. And that it actually
felt good. Really good, better than all the other things I'd stuffed up
inside me. His penis was a little bigger than the markers I'd used. But
unlike them, it was warm--almost hot--smooth, hard and soft at the same
time. And for the first time in my life, having something in my butt made
me feel more than just nasty. Although nasty was good, it made me feel
sexy. For this almost eight-year old, sexy felt wonderful! I felt like I
was the only boy my age who had ever felt this good, this sexy, this, well
even though I didn't think the word right then--this well fucked.

When my mouth opened in the surprise of Patrick shoving into me., Jamie
pushed his dickie into it.

"Please don't bite it," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

I wasn't sure what he was sorry for. I liked this. All of it. I even liked
the thought of taking his so very, very hard 3" dickie into my mouth. So I
clamped my lips around it, and shook my head to let him know I wouldn't
bite. He moaned and began pushing slowly in and out, tickling my tongue and
just brushing the back of my throat.

I loved all the many times over the past three years I'd stuffed things
into my butt. But nothing ever felt as good as Patrick pounding away at
me. And you can believe it, he was pounding me hard. But it felt so good,
like nothing I'd ever felt before.

All the time he was pounding into me, he was growling, and snarling, and
cussing something awful. Things like: "Fucking shit. Fuck that cocksucking
little shit hole. God damn faggot shit sucker pussy boy take it in your
cunt you little fucking asshole shit eater fairy piss boy."

I'd heard all the words before but I wasn't really sure what some of them
meant. Sure, I know cocksucker because that was what I was doing to
Jamie. And loving it. So I guess I was a cocksucker. But what did `cunt'
and `pussy' mean? I knew Patrick was saying nasty things about me, but
somehow it was okay. It was all part of what I was having done to me right
then.

Suddenly, Patrick started pounding into me even harder if that was
possible. When he did, he changed the angle a little and his hot, hard,
pounding boy cock began smashing against something inside me I'd never felt
before. Three stabs and I was rocking with a feeling that was more like a
huge electric shock than a tingle.

Patrick yelled, "The little faggot loves this. He's fucking cumming. His
shit hole's squeezing my dick. I'm cummming!
Shit. Motherfucker. Damn. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FUCK!"

It felt he was about to climb inside me with the last shriek. I could feel
his dick pulse against my own spasming hole. And something wet seemed to
seep around his cock buried inside me.

While I was cumming, I was vaguely aware of something pounding against my
nose. As I started to come down a little bit from that incredible high, I
realized Jamie was mouth fucking me as hard as Patrick had been tearing
into my asshole. His voice was much softer, but I could hear him chattering
while he thrust in and out of my mouth.

"Oh man, he does love it, Patrick. He's a cocksucker for sure. Oh
fuck. Here comes another. My third cum. I can't wait to punch his pooper."

Right at that point, Patrick collapsed against my chest, dislodging his
dick from inside me and dislodging Jamie just as he seemed to be at his
peak. Then, as mean as Patrick had been for the last minutes, he did
something that shocked me. He began licking my face and kissing my lips
softly. A drop of something wet hit right next to my right eye. I focused
closer. He was crying. Pretty hard for a mean, strong, bully. I didn't say
a word.

Then, he laid his head down, took a deep breath, wiped his eyes so Jamie
couldn't see it, and said in his mean bully voice, "You're right, Jamie, my
boy. That is the best. I've never felt anything like it. I don't know why I
waited so long. You know I'm going to rape this little turd a lot from now
on. His shitter won't be able to work proper it's gonna be fucked so
motherfuckin' much. You too. I'm gonna do you too just like you want. You
got that my good fuck-loving faggot friend?"

Jamie giggled. "I told you that fucking is great. Move over. It's my turn
in the faggot's asshole." It was like he was trying to sound mean, but it
didn't seem like he really was.

Patrick rolled to the side. Jamie laughed again. "Hey, take a look," he
pointed at Patrick's crotch. "You've got after-fuck dookie dick."

"Ew. That's just why I didn't want to do it. I knew I'd get shit on my
dick. Yuck!" Patrick was not a happy camper.

"I'll clean it for you if you want," Jamie said. "But let me get a go at
this second grade piece of ass first." He shoved his small, hard three
inches into me. My hole had tightened back up right after Patrick had
popped out, so I felt it. Not as much as with the older boy's larger,
thicker cock. But it felt almost as good.

Patrick's face was hard and angry looking, but I looked directly into his
eyes. Something else was there, something I didn't know at the time but
that I learned over time was sadness.

"I'll clean it for you," I said. Only with Jamie pushing into me it sounded
more like I'll-clean-IT-for-you.

Patrick started to stand up. "Okay, I'll get a rag."

I pulled him down so that his dick dangled in front of my face. I'd cleaned
my marbles with my mouth before. Why not Patrick's not very smudgy dick? As
soon as I closed my lips around it, he moaned and his dickie hardened.

"Oh man," he sneered. "The little faggot's not only a cocksucker, he's a
shitty cocksucker, too." The words were harsh and he tried to make them
sound mean. But he couldn't. He loved what I was doing. And I loved doing
it.

Jamie grunted as he pushed. "He's as tight as Christian, man. Even after
you fucked him. And it's so sweet having your jizz up there too. Oh man. Oh
man. Here it comes." Jamie's body started shaking like it did when he had
the tingles in my mouth.

I guess guys swear a lot when the feeling gets them cuz that's what Jamie
started doing. "Cocksucker. Motherfucker. Shit. Fuck. Damn."

Not as bad as when Patrick did it, but he was way loud. His red hair was
flying around as he pounded into me and shook his head. In the middle of
Jamie's yelling, a loud, ear piercing shriek filled the shed.

I twisted around enough to see the source of the screaming. A tiny blond
boy with long, almost girlish white blond hair was screaming his lungs out,
screaming and crying.

So this was who Jamie had meant when he said I was as tight as `Christian.'
I knew him. He was in my class at St. Regis. He was eight years old, a
little older than me, but for some reason he wasn't growing like the rest
of us. He looked like a kindergartner and because of that was teased by the
other boys. He was even less popular than me, but I never teased him even
though in grade school pecking order I could have. Now there he stood,
looking at his brother jamming into my ass. And me enjoying it. I was sure
my life as I knew it was about to end. My Daddy and my Uncle would hate
me. All the kids at school would hate me. I'd been caught!

"Jamie!" he shrieked, sounding for all the world like a little girl. "You
hate me! You hate me! You said that was just for me. Now you'll never fuck
me again. I know it. You'll only want to fuck Trenton. Not me."

He collapsed to his knees, sobbing his face buried into his hands.

What had I gotten myself into?