1. This story may contain descriptions of sexual acts between boys and/or men and boys so if this is not to your tastes, please leave now. If you are under age, or if it is illegal in your state or country to read or possess material like this then it is in your own interest's to leave now.
2. The author owns all copyright to this story. A copy has been placed in this archive for your enjoyment. Please do not distribute it to any news groups and/or other web-sites without permission of the author. Authorisation for the free transmission of my unaltered writings can be requested from the author.
3. This story is pure fiction. Any resemblance to any individuals, real or fictional, living or dead is purely coincidental.
4. The author neither encourages nor condones any acts of illicit or underage sex, nor does he encourage any of the unsafe sexual practices described herein.
5. This story is a parody of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs by the brothers Grimm, which is in the public domain, and is in now way associated with any property of the Disney Corporation.
6. You can e-mail your constructive comments to at: g_day@hotmail.com

Another, much younger, boy was already waiting to see the good Reverend Prim when Mrs. Baker, the housekeeper, ushered Snowy Whyte into the study of the St. Giles Rectory.

"Now my dears, the Vicar will be with you both shortly, he is just changing out of his vestments. He had a funeral, you know." She smiled at the rather subdued looking son of the good Dr. Whyte. Then she looked much more sternly at the younger boy, "And as for you Peter Pratt, I hope this will give you some time to think very carefully about what you have done?"

The younger boy could not have been more than seven or eight-years-old. Snowy very nearly giggled when he first looked at the boy - he looked so silly, in an outsized dark-green anorak that made him look like a gigantic dark-green balloon with a boy's head, tiny hands and skinny little legs sticking out of it. However, he soon remembered just how much he was in disgrace, and why he was here in the first place.

"Are you in trouble too?" the little boy spoke first, looking very seriously at the pretty blond haired boy.

"I suppose I am," said the crest-fallen older boy.

"I was caught nickin' the choirmaster's apple..." confessed the little fellow. He had a very slow, monotone way of speaking, as if every word required a big effort. "And what were you caught doing?"

Snowy blushed deeply. He looked into the grey eyes of the little boy named Peter and he wondered if he dared confess it - even to himself. A single, sad tear ran down his cheek, as he plucked up his courage to reply:

"I have been having dirty thoughts." The blond boy said with downcast eyes.

"Oh," said little Peter. Snowy watched his face - you could almost see him thinking very, very slowly about it, "I have those... sometimes."

In some odd way this made Snowy feel a good deal better. He liked the little fellow already, even if they had only just met each other. The boy had a rather pretty face, grey eyes, a mass of light brown hair and a light sprinkling of freckles across his cute button nose.

Apart from the very silly balloon-coat, that made him look like one of the kids in South Park, the charming effect was only marred by an enormous overbite - two huge, bunny-rabbit teeth stuck out over his lower lip. It looked as if an ironmonger's entire supply of shiny steel had been attached to his upper jaw, in an effort to reign in the boy's teeth, but the efforts of the dentist to had failed dismally.

"I didn't want to steal anything really," he said, starting to sniff very lightly, "but Billy Bunion and Jack Jerker double-dared me to do it. Then they went and told on me and I got caught with the apple in my pocket."

"Gosh, that was mean of them." Snowy commiserated. He knew all there was to know about the callousness of other boys. "But do you always do what you are dared to do?"

"Oh, yes," said Peter very slowly, "of course I do! When a big boy double-dares you, you must, otherwise you look silly." Snowy stored this intriguing view of life away for future reference, as the little boy continued, "and I don't ever tell on them when they are bad a choir practice."

"Well, boys can be like that," Snowy said sadly thinking back to the unpredictability of Osbert Prim.

"Jack and Billy are always pulling on their big pee-pees under their cassocks during the sermon and I never tell..."

"Oh, do they really?" Snowy thought that membership of the choir suddenly sounded like a lot more fun than he had ever imagined. But the glum little boy continued before he had the opportunity to say anything else.

"They tease me too, you know, because I'm not as bright as the other boys. And they call me names." Little Peter had such an open, honest face; Snowy could barely restrain a desire to hug the boy and protect him from his tormentors.

"They call me Dopey..." he continued sadly, "because I'm the class for dumb boys at school. And sometimes they call me worse things too..." A single fat tear coursed its way over the little boy's cheek and this time Snowy could not resist the urge - he went up to Peter, put his arm around the dark green balloon and hugged the little one close. "They say I'm a stupid, or `alf-witted, or a bleeding retard."

"Now, now! Don't let them upset you - they call me things too. They call me Snowy because of my white hair."

"But Snowy is such a nice name and it suits you. Your hair is proper pretty." Snowy hardly had a reply for that.

Snowy recalled overhearing his father once speaking very gently to the parents of one of his patients. The boy, he said, had a mental age of four, even though he was a big strapping twelve-year-old. His father had told the parents that their son had a learning difficulty, but that they must always remember that such children have so much love to give, that they were a gift from heaven. Snowy understood that little Peter must be one of those children.

"Do you think Reverend Prim will spank me bum?" the boy asked with a slight tremor in his dreamy voice.

"I shouldn't think so," said Snowy "the Vicar is such a kind man, I don't think he'd smack little boys unless they were really, really bad." Snowy paused, reflecting on just how bad he had been and whether having bad thoughts during a bum rub, were solid grounds for a spanking or not.

Just then, the Vicar of St. Giles breezed into the room, wearing his sunniest smile.

"How lovely, two young gentlemen callers. Golly, I am a lucky fellow." He shook Snowy by the hand and ruffled Peter's light brown hair with his chubby fingers. "Mrs. Baker is making tea and has just baked some sticky-buns for us," he added conspiratorially.

He gestured Snowy and Peter Pratt to take a seat on the big sofa as he settled his corpulent frame into his armchair. The Vicar beamed at the two handsome visitors who were sitting very close to one another. Snowy had his arm around the younger boy in an affectionate and protective manner that warmed the man's heart.

"Now, young Peter, what is all this about an apple?" He asked looking more amused than cross.

"I-I-I-I'm sorry..." Wailed the little fellow close to tears. "I don't even like apples really, look at all the trouble apples got them Adam and Eve people into." The Vicar smiled at the boy's discriminating choice of biblical information, but he tried his best to look suitably stern.

Peter placed his thumb in his moth and sucked it very thoughtfully -- it was easy to see what had been the cause of the boy's buckteeth.

"He was tricked into it by two of the other boys, Vicar," explained Snowy on the younger boy's behalf, "two nasty older boys, who call him names, double-dared him. And as you know Vicar, a boy can never turn down a double dare or you'll look foolish. And then they told tales on him, and I think that was very mean of them don't you?"

"Well, well young Peter, I had no idea you would be bringing such a persuasive advocate with you to speak on your behalf." The younger boy looked up into the face of his saviour in total adoration.

"My father says that children like Peter have so much love to give, that they are a gift from heaven." So saying, Snowy clinched the argument.

"It looks as if I will have to let you off, as your lawyer here, will run legal rings around me."

"T-t-thank you S-s-s-snowy," Peter said as he placed his tiny hand in that of the older boy. Snowy hugged the bubble-boy again and placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head. The Reverend Prim sighed delightedly, as Snowy proceeded to give the younger boy a good talking-too:

"Now, Peter, you must remember that you are very cute little boy. And people are very envious of cute boys. You are not as bright or clever as other boys are and that makes you a very special little boy. Those mean lads might try to take advantage of you because they are jealous of how special and cute you are, so they will trick you and try to get you into trouble. Whenever you are not sure you come and ask me, all right? Think of me and your big brother." Peter placed his thumb in his moth and sucked it very absently as he took all this in.

As the Vicar heard this tender oration from Snowy - worthy of any Sunday sermon - from one so young, he was moved to dab at his eyes with his big handkerchief, and blew his nose loudly. Surely Snowy Whyte was an angel sent to visit him.

Fortunately, Mrs. Baker arrived with a tray of tea and steaming hot sticky-buns with extra frosting, and saved the Reverend Prim from having to respond to this from a boy, wise beyond his years.

As Peter Pratt stuffed his mouth with a hot sticky-bun, the Vicar looked at Snowy, over the rim of his teacup and asked the question the boy was most dreading:

"Now, Master Whyte, I am hoping you will be able to cast some light on the strange happenings at my sister's home. What on earth has possessed Young Osbert? He had not left his room since Saturday, refuses meals and won't speak to his mother. I'm afraid something is amiss and I suspect you know what it is."

Snowy blushed deep scarlet and he knew the time for confession was at hand. As he fixed his gaze on the carpet, hardly daring to meet the Reverend Prim' eyes, he began:

"I have been a bad boy Vicar. I have been having dirty thoughts lately and I made a suggestion to Osbert and it upset him very much. It was all my fault...." Snowy said, shouldering all the blame "...and I am very ashamed that I let you down, when you were so nice as to introduce us." He looked so woebegone that the Vicar hardly knew were to begin.

"Oh my! Well, young Snowy, did Osbert seem interested in the proposition you put to him?"

"I suggested we do something r-r-r-rude together." The boy blushed deeply. "He told me no. He said he would not do rude things. Then he called me a p-p-p-pervert and I ran away. I'm so sorry that I upset him." The old Vicar, who had, after all, partly set the whole thing up, in the hope that young Osbert would find a kindred spirit, with whom he could explore his sexuality, felt a pang of remorse. The boy turned his bottom lip over in a sulky pout that, if anything made him look even more irresistible. All the signs were there that his nephew was ready for it - so it seemed hard to believe the young teen would turndown an opportunity to mess around with such a delightful creature.

Something about the boy's story did not add up! If Osbert were merely offended by the improper suggestion of bit of hanky-panky, he would have been angry, not sulking in his room. He would be calling Snowy immature and telling everyone about it, not refusing meals and acting like a dog who had just had its best bone stolen. Reverend Prim reflected long and hard - no there was more to the situation than met the eye.

"He must be a very silly lad not to want to do rude stuff with you..." said Peter, his face smeared ear to ear with sticky frosting. "If it was Billy and Jack what you asked, they would have hauled you into the broom closet in a flash and done you good." Then after a few moments of thought he added in his singsong voice. "So would I..."

Reverend Prim made a mental note to check the broom closet back at St. Giles. Then he smiled benevolently into the astonished face of Snowy Whyte, who suddenly realised his big fault was not that he had asked a boy to take off his trousers, but rather, that he had asked the wrong boy to take off his trousers. The old vicar said:

"You know Peter, I'm inclined to agree with you. It is a silly boy, indeed, that refuses temptation from an angel."

The boy stood in front of the full-length mirror and looked at his reflection.

He would have to do it - there was nothing more that he could do!

He had spent all the time alone in his room since that awful Saturday afternoon, working away fitfully. It was now Monday afternoon. He had refused to go to school; refused meals and refused repeated entreaties to come out of his room and to speak about whatever it was that was troubling him so much.

He had devised dozens, perhaps a hundred, new routes from "a" to "b" then back again - pouring his soul into his charts and maps. He had converted the distances from miles to metric, then converted them back again. He'd even rearranged the content of his wardrobe three times!

And still it would not relent!

He had vowed never to do it again... if he lived ... which he passionately hoped he would not. Now, all other avenues of escape exhausted, he would have to do it!

The dirty thing!

The dammed, accursed thing, that had brought him to this, the lowest point of his existence. He wanted to, badly!

He peeled off layers of clothing until he stood in only T-shirt, socks and one remaining pair of Y-fronts. The sliding full-length mirror, that was the closet door, showed a slim, sparsely built boy in wire-rimmed glasses - dark rings, from lack of sleep, surrounded his eyes.

He drew the tousled dirty-hair out of his face and pulled it back hard, as if he had a ponytail. Perhaps he should have his head shaved clean - a sign of penance.

Perhaps he should have a tattoo placed on his forehead - one that summed up in two words what he was - DIRTY QUEER.

Looking down at the underwear he saw his penis, aroused and rampant, the way it had been ever since that awful afternoon. He was starting to feel desperate again. It was relentless!

He thought back fondly to how at the end of winter, when he had only just turned thirteen, he had been quite fascinated by the changes that were happening to his body. He was getting fussy soft hair on his legs and a few sparse ones under his arms and of course, those meagre but precious, blond pubic hairs. He also noticed that his cock and balls were growing and when erect he was now a lot bigger than he used to be. He would often play with his penis and scrotum in those seemingly far off, innocent days, enjoying the new sensations. His mother had never told him anything about puberty or sexuality, so all this was all mysterious and new and, somehow, very exciting.

But then... then he had given in to the urge - the desire that burned in his being. The desire to touch another boy!

It had started on a scout outing -- he had been bringing up the rear of the line, following a line of younger boys. As they walked, he watched the bottom of the boy in front of him as it flexed and relaxed, during the strenuous march. Then his eyes wondered to the boy in front of that -- his was rounded - perhaps a bit cubby - it bounced and jiggled up and down in his brown cub-scout shorts. The thought sprang into his mind of caressing the boy's bottom -- pressing his erection to the boys bum -- then rubbing using the boys buttocks instead of his own hand to masturbate! The thought was both delightful and profoundly shocking. Then, as his eyes feasted on each boy's bum in turn, his cock rose to the occasion and throbbed in his underwear- as so often happened these days.

This was in the days before he had taken to wearing multiple pairs of underpants to keep his spontaneous erections to himself and the inevitable happened -- the boy with the bouncy rubber-bum turned around and spotted the lump in Osbert's scouting-shorts and yelled at the top of his shrill voice:

"Look, look -- Osbert has got a stiff willy!"

Feelings of self-loathing washed over him, making him dizzy. He had been caught out! The cock he had so loved and cherished had lured him into sinful thoughts. He left the scout hike, never to return.

In the days and weeks that followed, however, the sinful thoughts about the beauty of boys' bums followed him like a stalking, wild animal. He had begged his Mum to move and they had settled in the area where he hoped no one would know his guilty secret.

The boy gazed into his own face, blushing furiously at the recollection of the shame of being detected.

And now it had happened again!

Now he had been caught out by his own sins. Lust had finally driven him to rub his penis against another boy's bum!

It seemed his erection was relentless! He had slept only fitfully over the last few days and then, when he woke, his heart would fall as he realised it had not gone down - but only seemed wilder - excited by the dreams and fantasies of his restless, sweaty sleep.

His expanded cock head formed a smallish round ball near the top of his jockeys' pouch, looking not unlike a third egg attached to the head of the hard shaft. Sometimes it seemed his penis itself was an angry wild animal, snarling at him, raising its angry red head and demanding satisfaction. His left hand snaked their way into his underpants and he drew the smelly Y-front briefs around his ankles.

His hand slipped under the T-shirt caressing his boy's chest. He had neither washed nor changed his clothes since Saturday morning and the feverish sweat left his body rank with boyish smells. He started tweaking the hardened nipples, gasping softly at the awesome feelings that flooded his thirteen-year-old body.

He stripped off the last of his clothing and standing there, naked, before the mirror, he looked at himself. The lower half of his body was becoming that of a young teenager -- the legs and bottom firm and well developed from all the vigorous hiking he did-- while his upper body, with its sunken chest and potbelly, was still pure young-boy. He touched himself and he bit his lip as he pushed his hard boy-dick down between his legs till it started hurting, then he let go and it popped back up. Next, his left hand loosely holding his five-inch cock, the right-hand on his knee -- he wondered - should he jerk it? Could it wait? But, being a sexual creature, tortured by two and a half days of self-enforced abstinence, he lost his battle with puberty rather easily.

He lowered himself back on to the bed. Lying on his back, he picked up his legs and planted his feet on the edge of the bed. Young Prim's caressed his hardened penis while his other hand went back up to his chest. He don't know why he did that, but for as long as he could remember, he always had his right hand on his chest, pressing, hugging his own chest, as if it was helping to relieve a vast loneliness, that lay at the core of his being.

The bed was warm and his hands rubbing his chest and cock made him at ease once more and filled with anticipation of the relief this dirty act would bring. Starting at the base with his pinkie finger and squeezing with each finger in succession, until he was squeezing right under the mushroom head with his forefinger. He lazily began to pump through his moving hand. Bashful noticed that the feeling was better than he had ever felt before. He began to stroke himself with a bit of determination, working at the hardness, milking it slowly,

He closed his eyes and moaned softly - in his imagination he saw a million different boys he could be doing things with, but they all ended up having the same face - the face he was trying to forget.

He had a fixation with boys' buttocks - so most of his imagination was spent contemplating the joy of stroking a boy's bottom. His right-hand unconsciously left his chest and travelled a path to his arse. He caressed the full cheeks of his own bottom -- imagining he was stroking the bottom of one of the scouts - then he slid the hand into the deep valley and fingered the tiny hole there. The finger stroked the puckered ring then he absentmindedly brought the finger to his nose and sniffed at the aroma of his own unwashed anus -- he sighed contentedly. His finger found its way back to the hole - trying even to push its way past the feverish entrance.

Osbert's eyes suddenly shot open! He was stunned to discover his hands now had their focus lower down his abdomen - in a foul and forbidden place. He was even more dismayed when he realised he had his finger pushing at the entrance of his own anus and not that of another boy.

Some voice inside his head confirmed his worst fears and told him that he was a dirty queer! That he would have to have something up his arse to cum! He tried to stop but "had" to continue, dismayed or not, his cock was doing the reasoning now. He continued to squeeze his hard five-incher with his left hand while the right hand, caressed the boy-hole, started to swirl around the pucker.

He had no idea where the knowledge came from to do what he did next - after teasing the hole a little with a dry finger he reach up the forefinger and scooped up some of the pre-semenal fluid that he had successfully milked from his, now purple, headed cock. Taking that natural boy-lubricant, he started to enter his arse. Sliding the forefinger in. He was extremely tight - this was after all the first time he ever penetrated his own anus.

Bashful jolted up and down on his bed, as though he were riding it. He felt as if every inch of his body was alive and tingling since he had put his finger up his arsehole. He continued to work his finger in, using the pre-cum to smooth the passage, then he finally worked it in until it was buried to the final knuckle he was almost ready to climax.

He stopped touching his penis and held very still. He needed time to recoup. He needed to fuck his fist and orgasm from the friction. His smallish testicles felt as if they had almost drawn back up into his body as if they thought he was only eleven again.

He tried in vain to banish the face that kept haunting him and deciding, correctly, that it was a lost cause, he pretended the finger in side him was his finger - Snowy Whyte's finger - and he got harder than he had ever been in his life.

The incident with Snowy had him really excited -- it was the scariest and the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him. He squirmed as he silently called his name and silently said he loved him. His naked buttocks pressed into the bed -he wanted Snowy so badly - to overpower him if he had to, but above all to love him. Osbert licked his hand, and then assertively grabbed his cock and he lay on his back and he stroked himself, driving hard to an orgasm.

That's when he exploded -- all at once the sensation was upon him. It was so strong that it felt just as though he was going to crush the finger embedded in his arse.

But, just as he was abandoning control to his climax, he froze up inside, thinking, - "Oh my God, I'm pissing!"

He had no control left! He felt heady and panicky as he started to shoot for the very first time but, not knowing what was happening to himself, he though it was urine he was discharging.

Trying to minimise the mess, he contracted awfully, but it just kept oozing out of him. Osbert was convinced this was the final punishment for his ghastly crime - that he, a grown boy, was pissing himself in bed, like a little baby! He was terrified that someone would see him or sense he was still a bed wetter and laugh at him.

He jumped from his bed and rushed stark naked to the bathroom on the landing, opposite his bedroom, - not caring that his mother might see him in this condition - to finish peeing. It seemed this piss was taking forever. He forced the throbbing penis downward so hard it hurt and tried to direct the flow of `urine' into the bowl. His young body contorted -- torn between the throws of the most mind-numbing pleasure and the humiliation of a bed-wetter.

It was perhaps a half minutes later when, looking down to see what was wrong, he found the liquid still oozing from his erection. He noted with shock that his `urine' was whitish -- did this mean he was sick?

Looking at his chest he noticed he had shot silver - warm and watery - all over his abdomen and chest -- and the truth dawned upon him.

Osbert Prim returned to his bedroom with a smile on his face. He lay there with his cum on his body and on his hand, naked and spent. His first real orgasm!

He lay for a long while, enjoying a sense of pride a sense that perhaps things were not all that bad after all. Against all reason, the smell of his own watery cum had made him hornier than ever.

He thought of young Snowy, so young, he would still be cumming without shooting for a long while yet. The thought of Snowy, watching him do what he had just done, excited him beyond belief and he found himself hard again.

Stilling the hand that was stroking his five-inch cock again, he walked to the mirror and watched himself carefully wiping up his cum with the pair of smelly pair of underpants he had worn for the last few days. Then he looked into his eyes in the mirror and seemed to make a decision. He smiled at himself and turned away.

Still naked, he walked out of his bedroom and into the bathroom. Hearing his mother moving around anxiously below, he leaned over the banister and called out to her he would be down for tea straight after his shower. After all, if he was going to win back Snowy Whyte, he was going to need to be both clean and well nourished.

Snowy had offered the dark-green balloon boy a lift home on his bicycle. Little Peter perched on the cross bar as Snowy pedalled away from St Giles, towards the flats that housed the families of the estate workers, including the Pratt family.

It was soon clear to Snowy that young Peter Pratt's choice of clothing was not an accident -- he too, like Osbert Prim, was an anorak! A stamp collecting anorak!

The eight-year-old droned on, in his slow monotone voice, about stamp collecting. First day covers; mint condition; Gibbons; albums; perforations and colours - it was all thoroughly boring. Being a polite boy by nature and still feeling compelled to find a suitable hobby, Snowy listened patiently to the whole, dull story.

From time to time the little boy would turn towards his new friend, to gaze up with devotion in his is grey eyes, then he would need to steady himself by grabbing on the pummel of the bicycle seat between Snowy's legs.

On more than one occasion the boy's hand made contact with the older boy's genitals that rested on the bicycle seat and it was not long before Snowy found his cock had become exceptionally hard. Sometimes the little green bubble-boy would lean very close and he could smell the boy's mess of light brown hair and this just seemed to make his state of arousal worse.

"Snowy," Peter asked, rather breathlessly, as they approached the Estate housing complex, "would you like to come in and see me stamp albums?"

Now to be honest, after Osbert and his obsessive stories about maps and points-of-the-compass, Snowy could think of very few things he would enjoy less than hearing another anorak twittering on interminably about his hobby. But, then again, that map reading session had some hidden pleasures - well almost! And the lad was very cute and he did not wish to hurt the slow-witted boy's feelings, so he conceded.

Peter very nearly brought both of them to a crashing fall, as he abruptly swung around, locked his arms around Snowy's neck and kissed his hero on the cheek.

"Careful!" Snowy admonished, but he was secretly delighted with the little boy's show of affection.

The boy tumbled off the bike and bolted into the ground floor flat, yelling excitedly what little he knew about his new mate, who was there to visit them.

It was the first time Snowy had been in one of these small apartments. It struck him as a bit unjust that they had so much room at Columbine Cottage -- notwithstanding being called a Cottage, it had six bedrooms and four reception rooms - while the Pratt's had to make do with a two-bedroom apartment for a mother, a father and five children. The second thing that struck him was that he had never seen anything nearly so untidy.

Peter introduced his new friend to his Mum and three of the younger children.

"I'm so pleased Dopey `as made a new chum. `e tells me you are the Doctor's lad?" Snowy said he was, and said he recalled having seen the lady in his Dad's waiting room several times.

"Yes luv, that were us! These blithers always `ave something a matter..." Mrs. Pratt had a young child screaming in each arm and looked worn out.

Now that he knew Peter's own Mum called him Dopey, he was comfortable to think of the little fellow by that very apt name.

Dopey led the way to the tiny bedroom he shared with his twelve-year-old and five-year-old brothers -- his mum and dad shared the bigger room with the two baby girls.

"Alright, Dopey?" the older boy greeted his brother as he entered the room.

Snowy froze in the doorway - his jaw hung open.

"Well, you comin' in mate, or wot?" The older brother asked the boy hesitating in the doorway. The messiness of the house was nothing in comparison with the condition of the boys' room!

Patrick Pratt, a cocky looking young lad with a handsome face - big boned - and a solidly built frame that reminded Snowy of the boys' rugged labourer father, lay on his bed, stripped to the waist, wearing a pair of cut off jeans.

There was nothing very remarkable in that, nor was it the dirty room, nor the slight odour of boy piss that shocked Snowy and Dopey -- it was the fact that Patrick Pratt had unzipped the fly of his shortened jeans and was vigorously masturbating a very hard looking cock!

"Are you STILL doing it?" Dopey asked rather exasperated. "You were doing it when I left for choir practice."

"'Course I am!" The twelve-year-old said eyeing his younger brother's new friend.

"You are a sex maniac!" Peter yelled, rather jealous of the look his brother was giving Snowy.

"Too fucking right I am, mate... You two wanna wank?" Patrick smirked wickedly as he speed up his pace, to show off his prowess and arched his back, lifting his bottom from the bed.

"It's so big!" Snowy exclaimed when he saw Patrick's dick. In truth it was not as big as Snowy might have expected -- but fairly thick and rigidly stiff though.

"We came here to look at my nice stamps, not at your ugly pee-pee!" Dopey said either ignoring or not hearing his friend's cry.

"But it's so big! And he has his skin missing...." To Snowy's surprise, Patrick was neatly circumcised.

"I hate you... you big wanker!" Dopey wailed trying to be as rude as he could to his obnoxious brother.

Snowy was entranced. "You are circumcised!" He said, in little more than a whisper. Patrick Pratt had four very hard inches of rather thick, splendid cock and to a ten-and-three-quarter-year-old, three-quarters-of-an-inch extra can be impressive.

"Dead right mate! We all are," he gestured towards his brother who blushed at this revelation, "aren't you, then?"

Just then Pip, the youngest to the Pratt sons, bounded into the room. On seeing his big brother masturbating, he jumped up and down on the spot, repeatedly calling: "Let me see him! Let me see him! Let me see him..." as if he were greeting a greatly missed best friend.

"Oh, no!" Dopey sobbed not him too..." His sex monster brothers had overrun his nice afternoon with his nice new friend. "Let's go Snowy..."

Always a considerate brother when it came to matters sexual, Patrick removed his hand and allowed his pee-pee to do a little dance for his baby brother, who stood with his nose inches away from he twelve-year-old's cock, grinning fiendishly.

"Look then ... I've got some hairs now Pip!" He bent his dick down slightly and indicated the area at the base for Pip to admired it

"Please Snowy...."

"Can't see any!" the five-year-old retorted.

"Just look!" Patrick sounded suitably exasperated, "Look closer! I have got some!"

"Please Snowy.... Please Snowy..."

Both Snowy and Pip looked closer! Leaning a little over him, they stared down at his genitals. The few wispy hairs were hard to spot but a nice closer inspection was just what Snowy wanted. Patrick's chubby penis was really very lovely - his pubescent balls were fattening nicely; his few hairs were straight and very black, and the exposes pink knob begged to be touched.

"Great!" Patrick beamed at the blond boy. "I love wanking, don't you?"

"Yes, I suppose all boys love wanking!"

"Please, Snowy, let us go to your house I will bring me albums...." Today was turning into Dopey's worst nightmare.

But stamp album somehow lacked the magnetic appeal of a good, hard, real cock - so enticingly near at hand! Snowy was astonished at how soft and delicate on the outside Patrick's hard cock appeared to be. It was almost impossible to believe that a thing so stiff inside could be so smooth.

"It is a very nice one..." Snowy volunteered as opinion, based on his study of a scientific textbook on the matter, "mine still has the skin on the top you know..." he continued ignoring the plaintive wails of the boy's younger brother.

"I hear uncircumcised willies are real nice if they `ave lots of extra skin. Some foreskins even cover the head when they stiff. Is yours real long like that?"

Snowy panted, "Yes...."

"Are you gonna show us or at least tell us about it, then?"

"It's really long, covers the whole head even when I'm hard. It's a very snug fit, but it slips up and down easily. It feels so good; I love my foreskin, and play with it all the time really..." The twelve-year-old Patrick's breath quickened as he tossed-off as he listened to Snowy's teasing description.

"Fucking ace..." Patrick was the type of crude, earthy lad that Snowy had not previously come across -- he found the rough boy very exciting.

"Pat, am I gonna wank you off again?" Pip asked his older brother as he rubbed at his little boy crotch.

"Please, Snowy, let us go now... P-l-e-a-s-e...!" Peter groaned -- dying from the shame that at yet another family secret exposed to an outsider.

"I'll bet you feel like one now, though?" Patrick smirked at Snowy as he rubbed the younger boy's leg, saying: "will you let me see your thing? I've shown you mine and I really want to see yours." Snowy blushed unsure of what to do.

"Please, Snowy... P-l-e-a-s-e...!" Patrick saw the hesitation in the pretty boy, but he was so hot by now that one hand was as good as another, to a horny twelve-year-old.

"Oh well, your loss, mate!" Patrick shrugged at the shy blond-boy and turned to his five-year-old brother. "You gonna do me, then, little bruver?"

Giggling joyfully, the five-year-old Pip jumped on the bed next to his eldest brother; griped one of his brother's legs between his own and started humping his, still covered, little boy dick against the beefy leg. Then Patrick guided his little hand to the bulging red head of his four-incher. As he suddenly sucked in his breath, Pip felt it throb under his fingers.

"Oh No!" Little Dopey groaned in shame.

"Phew! This is fucking good!" Patrick winked at Snowy. "Have you ever been tossed off before ... it is really nice mate!"

Snowy looked at the brothers, a little overwhelmed, but obviously excited at what was taking place. He knew he couldn't refuse the temptation much longer, but he didn't reply -- instead he sat on the bed next to the boys, leaned back and spread his legs open wide allowing Patrick to rub his inner thigh and crotch at will. This was the opening Patrick was hoping for. Snowy's heart was pounding as his hand slid up the front of his pants to the lump in his shorts. The blond boy's erection filled out and pulsed in his underpants responding the older lad's rubbing.

Now Dopey might not have been the brightest of boy's, but he did know when a friend was being stolen away but his two randy brothers! His appeals to Snowy's better judgement having failed, he reverted to the greatest weapon in the arsenal of boy's tricks -- telling!

Unnoticed by the three increasingly active boys he went to the door opened it and yelled at the top of his little voice:

"Mommy, Mommy! Patrick is wanking off in front to Pip again!"

The effect was electric!

Even before the last syllable of his name had been shrieked out by his enraged mother, Patrick Pratt had pushed both boys off his bed; zipped up his jeans, - narrowly missing catching his wilting cock in the teeth of the zipper - and bolted out of the bedroom window.

By the time an angry Mrs Pratt stuck her head in the room, Patrick had joined his mates playing football on the gassy patch between the flat blocks and Pip was pummelling Peter in his belly, with tiny balled-fists.

Snowy Whyte, face scarlet with embarrassment, threw himself out the front door of the tiny apartment as quickly as possible, hoping that the fresh air outside would cool down his flaming passions.

Two frustrating and inconclusive encounters in so short a time might be sufficient to have killed the sexual adventurousness of most ten-and-three-quarter-year-olds' - but not Snowy Whyte's. His desire to play with another boy had reached the point where, had he been a steam-kettle, he would be whistling frantically and ready to blow the cap clean off!

Nor could our hero remain angry with the cute Dopey Pratt for very long -- not after the tearful fellow had turned up on his doorstep begging for forgiveness. However, the little spoilsport had denied him the opportunity of playing with Patrick's short but thick dick and perhaps even getting his hands in little Pip's pants.

He was still uncertain about this friendship, until he overheard this stepmother describing the bucktoothed boy to Pricilla as "a very common little boy." His resolve to stay friends with the little fellow hardened immediately!

And so it was, the following Saturday, when the Whyte-women were in Windsor shopping and his father was at the hospital, that Snowy relented and allowed Dopey to bring those dammed boring stamp albums over to the cottage.

The lad lay belly-down on the carpet in Snowy's room, opened the first album and suggested Snowy lay down next to him. Watching the cute bottom, Snowy was suddenly reminded of something that had happened in this very room. In truth, judging from the strange way in which his little pee-pee would become stiff in his underwear, it was his penis that remembered it first.

"Tell you what Dopey, you keep telling me about the stamps and I'll just lie on top of you to... umm... to err... to keep your back warm."

Dopey Pratt shrugged his shoulders -- anything to keep his big friend happy. Snowy, on hands and knees, hovered above the little fellow, looking dutifully at the stamps over the boy's shoulder.

Gently, ever so gently Snowy lowed himself until he lay down on top of him. Then, recalling what Osbert Prim had done to him, he almost imperceptibly started a slow humping motion.

"This one is a Canadian wartime stamp from my granddad," said Dopey in his dull little voice, then he looked over his shoulder and added, "you know, you're very lovely Snowy."

"And so are you Dopey you are ever so cute and cuddly and I want to make you feel good all over!" Snowy was now getting bolder and started grinding his hard dick against Dopey's bum.

"You do Snowy!" He giggled, "Especially what you're doing now!"

"I'm not doing anything except cuddle you!"

"No you are not!" He pushed his body back at Snowy's thrusting member, "You are rubbing your pee-pee against me bum."

"Do you mind?" asked Snowy rather breathlessly.

"No. It's nice because you are so nice." He said sweetly. They continued like this for some time, and Snowy thought it was both very exciting and hot to feel his stiff cock glide back and forth along the soft contours of the eight-year-old bum.

After a couple of minutes, Snowy slipped off Dopey and lay beside him, looking into his eyes, First just looking, then he touched the boy's face and started to caress the cute, freckle-dusted nose.

"Wouldn't it be nicer is we just had our underpants on?" Dopey breathed softly into Snowy's ear giving him Goosebumps.

"That's just what I told Osbert Prim, and he got cross with me because he said I was being rude." For a few minutes the thought crossed Snowy's mind that some could regard what he was doing was wrong -- he was seducing a younger boy who was, to put it mildly, not bright -- one might think this was abuse. But this thought soon evaporated when Dopey replied:

"Good ... that's okay `cause you are my Snowy now and you can do anything with me that you want ... "

Snowy Whyte's mind dashed from one confused thought to the next. His hand was stroking the boy's chest, running his fingers over the ribs and feeling the warmth through the child's T-shirt.

"Well ... you like me touching you don't you!"

"Mmmm!" Dopey sighed happily.

Snowy's hand slid between them and for a moment, he considered going no further - but the temptation was overpowering. His fingers led the way until he reached the waistband of the younger boy's jeans. Snowy felt the boy drawing his flat belly in, to allow him room to slide his hand under the denim. His loose T-shirt moved away as Dopey's arms locked around Snowy's neck. His fingers touched the warm, boy-belly - the skin, softer than anything Snowy had ever touched in his short life. He sighed softly as his fingertips passed under Peter's waistband, the palm of his hand pressing into the firm muscles of his little belly. Dopey's stomach pulled in again and his hand slid down further until Snowy reached the elastic of his underpants.

There was little room to move his hand. His underpants felt hot and moist-- there was an extraordinary pointed shaft under in the taut, soft cloth. Dopey sighed again. Snowy wanted to ask him if it was okay to touch his penis but his words failed. Then the boy helped him decide:

"That's okay. Patrick said you might want to stick your hand down my pants. It's okay with me if you want to play with him. You can, if you want, you know, you're, my big mate now...."

Snowy's fingers enclosed the rigid shaft and he marvelled at the small size of it -- no more than two inches hard. It felt a lot like a finger without any joints. Snowy squeezed gently but firmly then drew back to stoke the tip. Snowy wondered whether he was indeed circumcised like his older brother - as stiff as he was it was difficult to tell under the cloth - he felt little more than the tiny bulbous end. There was only one way to be certain:

"Can we take our things off?" Snowy asked his voice hardly more than a rasping whisper.

The little boy nodded, then slowly, shyly, his hands moved to his waist, his small slender fingers unfastening his belt buckle, then his metal button, then his zipper - the opening of his fly revealing the white of his jockeys underneath.

Snowy leapt to his feet and tore off his own clothes in a few brisk movements, fearing that the boy might change his mind unless he too were partly naked. He retained the Marks-and-Spencer's underpants, hoping that his hardness would not split the fabric.

Kicking off his shoes, Dopey stood and turned away from Snowy in modesty, deftly removing his socks, jeans and underpants and leaving them in an untidy heap near the older boy's. Snowy could see only his bare slender white legs, the paleness of his thighs, untouched by the sun, the perfect round globes of his small cheeks, the ribs defined on his chest. He turned shyly to face his big friend.

There it was! Dopey's beautiful, two-inch penis was erect and sticking straight out from his lower belly. His scrotum was relaxed, the delicate silky skin revealing the rounded and slightly elongated shapes of two very small testicles. He stroked it and under the sensitive thin skin Snowy could feel the firmness of his penile shaft and the sponginess of the urethra that ran beneath. What it wanted for in size, it was more than compensated for in sheer stiffness.

Snowy touched the tiny pink glans. He was circumcised, like his older brother.

Snowy's fingers drifted down the thin organ to the base and followed a natural path to his where Snowy had expected to find a plump little balls, such as he had grown used to from the medical textbook at home - not so with Dopey. By comparison, his testicles were tiny -- Dopey was still very much a little boy.

The older lad's fingers floated across the sensitive tissue, scratching gently with his fingernail at the rippled skin where his penis joined the ball-bag. Extraordinarily, the perfect little tool seemed to grow even stiffer. It stuck straight out from his groin like a thin key waiting to be turned to unlock Snowy's heart. Gentle stroking Snowy began to rub him and Dopey gasped.

Dopey's fingers tugged at Snowy's underpants and pulled them down until the elastic was looped under his scrotum. Then Snowy pulled down his own underwear and he had a raging hard on. The older boy's three-inch penis pushed forward and brushed the younger boy's hand. Dopey's fingers enclosed it, holding the bare smoothness for the first time. He held Snowy's manhood, more accurately his boyhood for he was still a way from becoming a man. The boys started to masturbate each other.

Snowy had done this before and perhaps Dopey too had done this in the sanctuary of his own bed or with the randy Patrick, but under the shared interest of their mutual enjoyment, it might as well have been the very first time that they experienced such unbelievable pleasure.

For one so young, Dopey really got off on being masturbated. Two or three minutes of slow rubbing were enough to get him to the point of shaking uncontrollably. Dopey's head flopped back and forth until it finally found a resting-place against his chest, His hips moved rhythmically as he assisted his motion with his own intuitive humping at times rotating his pelvis and driving his aching little prong hard into the blond boy's palm.

Dopey needed no direction and certainly no encouragement from Snowy as he rapidly evoked a grunt of delight from his older friend as he toyed with the lips of the boy's foreskin. He understood exactly what back-and-forth movement of his slender hand was needed. At times he alternated with a change in rhythm, till he could tell Snowy needed the relief that only orgasm would bring but.

It was not long in coming -- Dopey felt a weak throb in his friend's hard cock, followed by a very powerful one, then another, then another, then a few more, rapidly dying away. Dopey who was still too young to orgasm knew from his experiences with Patrick, that this is what an older boy wanted and he was delighted to know that he was the reason for the gasp that Snowy Whyte gave at each throb.

As his cock became still, Snowy sighed, sucked in his breath and gave a final sigh of gratification, that final release of the past weeks tension that had built up in his young body - sexual tension -that Dopey felt privileged to have relieved.

Snowy moved back and pulled Dopey's hand from his cock, which was now jerking slightly with each heartbeat as they gradually slowed down.

"Thanks!" he whispered to Dopey. Then, ten minutes or so into their escapade, Snowy started kissing him - their kisses very different from a good night kiss from a parent. It was remarkable how - with little prior experience - Snowy's kisses were nothing less than passionate - with full tongue - that at first surprised Dopey, but later delighted him, almost as much as getting his pee-pee rubbed.

Their kisses that went on and on, until they were both breathless and their lips were raw. It was as if we were making up for lost time. Holding Dopey's penis and scrotum comfortably cupped under his hand; Snowy sucked, licked and kissed just about every square inch of his face. Finally Snowy moved down his neck and nestled into the softness just above his collarbone. Now Dopey just wanted to be held tightly. His sexual frenzy had dissipated and his erection slowly deflated. He was content to be loved and kept warm in Snowy's embrace.

There would be plenty of time for dick games but this was not one of them. For now Dopey and Snowy were more than happy just to kiss each other. Snowy had lost complete track of time.

At that point the bliss of the young boy's was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the telephone on the landing outside Snowy's room -- and being the son of a Doctor - he knew he would have to answer it. Dopey groaned his disappointment but followed his naked friend out of the room, like a dutiful puppy dog.

"Hello this is Doctor Whyte's residence." Dopey was nuzzling his face in Snowy's belly and making soft meowing sounds.

"H-h-h-hello is th-th-th-that S-s-s-s-snowy?" asked and uncertain voice.

"Yes, this is me... Is that Bashful?"

"Y-y-y-yes!" there was along pause at the other end of the line, then plucking up his courage, he continued: " I-I-I-I'm g-g-g-going walking near by your h-h-house and I-I-I-I thought y-y-you m-m-m-might wannna come a-a-a-along?"

"It's Bashful Prim..." Snowy told the little boy who playfully grabbed at the receiver and bellowed:

"Go away! Go away! He is my Snowy now!" Then he burst into gales of merry giggles.

"I-i-is t-t-t-there s-s-s-someone t-t-t-there with y-y-y-you?" he asked. Snowy's eyes twinkled as a wicked idea formed in his mind.

"Yes there is and it's a really nice cute friend who is not too shy to play with his friend properly and he hasn't called me a rude name all day."

I s-s-s-suppose you d-d-d-don't want to b-b-b-b-e friends a-a-a-any more?" Snowy could almost hear tears of disappointment in his voice.

"No - but I don't want to go on your long boring walks anymore and if you want to play with me then why don't you come and visit me next Saturday and my friend Dopey and me will show you how to look at stamps." Snowy winked conspiratorially at Dopey and grinned at his own naughty plot!

"S-s-s-stamps?" The older lad asked in confusion.

"Yes! Stamps! Pretty coloured things that you look at in albums." The worst form of humiliation for an anorak, was give way to the alternative passionate obsession of another anorak! Train-spotters never spoke to stamp collectors; computer geeks never spoke to orienteering nuts- it was a simple law of anorak nature.

But it was clear there was no other way forward. Bashful Prim knew when he was beaten!

And Snowy and Dopey knew he was to be taught a lesson!

"Is that Mirror on the Wall Psychic Guidance?" Mrs Whyte asked imperiously of the respondent at the end of the telephone line - but soon she realised it was another of those call systems queuing things, that cost one money while they play you snatches of Vivaldi's Four Seasons.

Her patience was rewarded, as the digital voice asked her to enter her account number and with in seconds she heard the comforting sounds of Madam Zelda's nicotine-stained voice.

"This is Mrs. Whyte again..." she explained quiet unnecessarily as the 'world famous psychic' could see the caller details, summary of last three calls and billing totals on the computer system. "I have to tell you, I believe the advice of the spirits is working! The new nameplate for the house had only just been erected when my stepson came home to announce his desire to go to school - and ordinary normal day school! Just think of it - me here in our lovely home with out him under my feet the whole day."

"Oh good, dear mistress," said Madam Zelda in her familiar husky tones "and will that be one of those dreadfully expensive schools in your area."

"Oh No! That's just it! He is not asking for Eton or anything like that, no it's just the local Grammar Boys' Prep School. It appears he has been making friends..."

"Oh the spirits know all and foresee all..."

"Oh Madam Zelda you are a marvel."

" Not I mistress, I am but a simple handmaiden, it is the spirits of the Mirror on the Wall that are great."

" I am now certain we will achieve our mission..."

"Oh err... What was mistress's objective again?"

"Well, to get my husband to leave everything to my precious Pricilla, of course." Mrs. Whyte was more than a little miffed that the spirits had forgotten her special aspiration.

"Ah yes, forgive us mistress. Oh the spirits know all and foresee all, but they seem to forget a hell of a lot these days..." said Madam Zelda, hitting the terminal and searching in vain for the summary of Mrs. Whyte's case file.

"Oh wait... I am getting a message... oh... oh!" Madam Zelda hit the Mysterious Music button, placed the call on hold and took a drag at the cigarette-end. A few minutes at premium rates and £5-25 later, and Madam Zelda faded the Mysterious Music and spoke: "Chief Deerhunter is here, dearest mistress. He says you are to encourage the boy in these friendships and you are to persuade his father to send him to school, preferably a boarding school. The sooner he is out of the picture the sooner you will achieve you objectives, dear Mrs. Whyte."

"Oh, I knew I could count on you, dear Madam Zelda. When shall I call again?"

"Well dear I think you need to call back twice a day for the Mystic Music Spiritual Balm Therapy, it is only £1-25 per minute and it will give you the strength to persuade your husband on the school issue. Then, if you call me back on next Monday to report progress, I will try to get a special reading for you with Chief Deerhunter. Thank you for calling Mirror on the Wall Psychic Guidance, mistress and may the spirits be with you..." The Mysterious Music raised to a crescendo as Mrs. Whyte replaced the receiver.

On the northern edge of Windsor Great Park, lay a secluded shady dell, surrounded by ancient oaks and statuesque beach and chestnut trees, the place was a well known and much loved beauty-spot know to nature-lovers and walkers as Columbine Dell.

In late winter the dell would be awash with snowdrops, these were succeeded by a mass of bluebells and in late spring the blue was replaced by a host of golden daffodils. In the clearing stood a fine old house that had once borne the name of Columbine Cottage and recent visitors were surprised and delighted to see a new name board, hanging at the gateway to the country gentleman garden, bearing the legend: "Once-upon-a-time".

"How apt..." - they might say, for the place was truly enchanting.

On the last Saturday in spring, a stroller who was wondering past the charming thatched house that used to be called Columbine Cottage, might have looked up at one of the windows under the eves of the house - the one with the regatta-striped curtains -- and wondered why these curtains were so tightly drawn, so early on a fine late-spring evening. They might, if they lingered long enough, hear the exited chattering tones of three boys at play.

Those with truly remarkable hearing, might have heard an simple explanation of a very stimulating new game:

"Now Bashful here are three stamp albums English; Commonwealth and African! You can choose which one you wish to look at and then Dopey and I will take turns to explain the stamps to you. There is however a problem - you have to dress for the occasion. The English ones are very proper and very boring, so you must be fully dressed. If you want to see the Commonwealth ones, you have to be in you underpants because the colonies are very hot. If you want to see the African ones, which are the best ones, you have to be naked like the savages. Don't worry about your back getting cold, because either Dopey of I will be on top of you, to warm your backside for you." A younger voice giggled fiendishly at this point, and as the passer-by wondered off a question could be heard:

"Now, which is it to be?"

The same nature lover, on his or her return from the pleasant stroll around the dell, some half an hour latter, might be puzzled to hear on the late-spring, evening wind a cheerful whoop of joy -- a young boy joyously exclaiming:

"Yes! Oh yes! It is 5.14 inches and still growing!"

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