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 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

Bert Goldblatt switched on his computer terminal, a Camel hung from his lips and while he checked his and a whiskey was already at his elbow. His organiser informed him that he was in trouble.

The billing cycle had just closed for the month and now was the time that the troubles started.

Husbands would argue about the phone bill, if there were extra credit card charges now was the time they would come out in the open. The pattern was always the same calls few off and business slowed down.

But the difference between the hacks and the professionals at Telesis Inc. was how they handled this situation. Bert was a true pro!

He looked into the account of that Whyte woman. She had all the potential of a true gold mine she but for the past week, not a single call! No Musical Balm Threapy calls and no calls for advice or guidance. The Doctor must have been putting his foot down.

Bert wondered briefly if he had over played his hand when he had billed her £3000-00 as the first instalment for the so called hieroglyphics translation service.

He had called her number and took a deep swig from his whiskey glass. Bert loved the thrill of the chase and the Whyte woman had no way of realising that Bert Goldblatt had the ultimate card up his sleeve -- Vanity!

"Oh Mistress Whyte..." Bert gushed "I am so sorry to call you but I thought I should let you know straight away..."

At the end of the line, the voice was cool, a little distant with out being overtly hostile -- a clear sign that the husband had made a fuss about the costs.

"Tell me what Madame Zelda?" the voice prickled with interest.

"About the translation, Madame..."

"Oh, that..." said the second Mrs. Whyte as if she were taking about an embarrassing mistake made in the distant past. " I must tell you, Madame Zelda I am very disappointed in the spirits of the Mirror on the Wall. Since the boy has had that computer things have become completely intolerable! Not only was it a shameful waste of money I could have spent on my sweet Pricilla, but the foolish boy LIVES on the thing. It is school vacation and he is never out of the house -- it really is all too bad."

"Madame, or should I call you your Highness..." Bert began, but he was cut short.

"Not a sign of the police, no drugs raids, he has not been kidnapped and not a word about him becoming a kiddie porn star -- it is such a big disappoint..." Mrs. Whyte cut off in mid flow as she took in Bert's words. "I beg your pardon Madame Zelda, but what did you say?"

"I addressed you as Your Highness..." At last a good sign. Bert paused for effect and started playing a CD with a chorus from Aida very softly in the background.

"What do you mean?"

"Well Madame I am assuming that is the correct way of addressing you, it might be Serene Highness or Divine Princess, but these things are often so difficult to tell, at this stage."

"Madame Zelda, what are you speaking about?" But the tone of voice was now clearly excited not in any way angry.

"Such news, such news.... The message from the spirits in hieroglyphics, I have here the first part I shall read it to you:

Things were very quiet. Bert worried if he had, perhaps, laid it on a bit too thick, but vanity was undoubtedly a failsafe solution. It had stood Mirror on the Wall in excellent stead for years. However, times changed and the old "who is the fairest in the land," line that had made the telephone-service famous, was old hat by now. Besides he had a photograph of the Whyte woman and her fat daughter and she looked like the back of a number ten bus. She would never buy the Beautiful line, so it had to be the royal antecedents' line.

"Oh my! Are you saying that the message from ancient Egypt, tells you that I am of royal blood?"

"There is no doubt about it your highness..."

"And that Pricilla is of royal blood too?"

"She is mentioned by name, Madame, it was ever so complex to translate the name but the department of Egyptology confirmed it a few hours ago."

"And what else does it say? Please tell me..."The stupid woman had fallen for it hook line and bloody sinker and now Bert only needed to reel her in.

"Why that Madame will require further study; further experts; and further... costs..."

"But it did say untold riches, did it not?"

"Indeed Madame!"

"So this is like just a small advance for a huge reward."

"I knew you would have the wisdom to see it like that Madame... We can have one of you top Egyptologist attend to the rest of it should you so wish."

Bert took a celebratory slug from the glass and moved in for the financial kill, as a grin spread across his thin lips.

<SleepY to snwy-m16> NO! stop being such a toss r.

It was a very melancholy Snowy Whyte that disconnected from the IRC program. Richard Flaunting-Flasher was a boy with deep problems. Snowy could see though this macho act on line he could see a damaged and tormented boy, so deep in the closet that only his size fourteen boots were showing.

He couldn't leave the boy to deal with these problems alone. It all seemed so wrong -- he an eleven-year-old had this wonderful sex life with kind loving friends and then there was Richard -- sixteen, frustrated, unloved never been touched by another soul and with so many hang-ups than the average psychiatric ward!

He made a silent pledge -- he would work to get Dick sorted out and he swore he would not play any sexy games with his friends until he had done so.

There was no doubt about it, the Reverend Prim loved Thursdays - choir practice day.

It was not just the sound of boyish voices that wafted in while he chaired the weekly meeting of the St. Giles Distressed Mothers Association, no it was the opportunity to clean up the broom closet in the vestry!

He would be eternally grateful to little Peter Pratt for having pointed out to him that, for some time now, Billy Bunion and Jack Jerker, two fourteen-year-old choirboys, had been nipping off into the broom closet for a wank session. After this hearty mate-to-mate pursuit, they would leave a spunky reminder of their visit running down the walls and the good Vicar, who was never one turn down a Christian duty no matter how menial, was happy, in the name of charity, to help clean up after them.

Unfortunately, this was a chore was not nearly as much fun if he arrived too long after their visit. Today one of the Distressed Mothers were more distressed than usual and the meeting dragged on and on.

The poor Vicar's heart sank lower and lower as timed dragged on. It had been a good half-hour since the final tones of "Jerusalem" had faded way and by now the boys would not only have spent their loads, but the rich fragrance of fresh teen-sperm would be lost.

The Vicar pointed out that he had another pressing engagement waiting for him but Mrs. Moppet had started on her eldest sons cross-dressing activity and there was no stopping her. The only option for the old gentleman was to press his erection under the safety of the rectory table and long think sadly that by now the sperm cold and not nearly as much use as a lubricant.

Eventually, a good hour after the last notes of the famous Blake Hymn had sounded, the Vicar hurried out of the rectory and rushed towards the Church building. He was surprised to see Billy Bunion and Jack Jerker, both looking very pale and dishevelled, leaving by the front doors. The dirty-minded holy-man took heart -- the two has had clearly had a marathon session and he was not too late to enjoy the aftermath.

As he approaches the ancient Norman oak vestry doors, he heard voices inside.

"Well I can't go home like this." It was the voice of his nephew Osbert. This was surprising as Osbert was tone deaf and was not a member of the choir.

"Well mate, me jeans are in va same state ain't, vay?" Damien Smyke lamented.

"You were both very greedy," said Peter Pratt a little unsympathetically, how many did you have anyway?" The Vicar hoped the lad had not been at the communion wafers or even worse the communion wine.

"Well I had one from Bashful, one from Billy and Jack did me twice." Osbert explained, then wailed "Oh no! Now its running down my leg..."

The Vicar's curiosity won the day and he eased the Vestry door open and saw his nephew Osbert and Damien Smyke both looking over their shoulders at the large dark wet patches at the read of their jeans.

"Well I ain't surprised, mate, vat Jack shoots enough for three lads." Damien snorted as he plucked at the crotch of his jeans in a futile attempt to rearrange his soggy underwear.

"He shot up me bum once and all! I thought I was bleeding drown in va bathtub!"

"But the you got Bashful, here, to bonk your bottom hole once and Billy Bunion to have a go twice."

"Yer right mate," said Smyke rubbing his crotch lasciviously, "it were wicked weren't it?" and "I even let you `ave a go, but you don't count cause you still firing blanks!" This caused all three friends to laugh heartily, but the laughter stopped abruptly when they realised they were not alone.

"Oh... err! Uncle?" Bashful called out in surprise. He tugged down his anorak to hide the guilty secret at the top of his jeans.

"All right, Reverend?" Asked Peter Pratt rather relieved that he was not the one with sperm soaked jeans.

"Well, well. What have we here?" Inquired the Vicar, knowing full well what had been going one.

"Oh... nothing..." But Osbert was a spectacularly bad liar.

"Osbert, my dear boy I may be old, but I was not always so..."

"Oh... err..." Said Bashful turning beetroot-red.

"I know a daisy-chain when I see..." he breathed in heavily, "...and smell one!" Dopey giggled very enchantingly.

"So how long have you been leading the Masters Bunion and Jerker astray?" The Old Vicar smiled contentedly, as the two young teenagers plucked at their soggy underwear.

"Vey didn't need much `elp Rev. Vay been messing about for bleedin' ages and Bashful and me we thought vey might like to try pluggin' our ol' bung `oles." Damien Smyke smirked fiendishly. "It were their first time Rev, but vey were naturals, vey bleedin' loved it mate."

"My, my!" Reverend Prim's penis found new sources of renewal in the wicked images that filled his mind. "Well we can't send you home like that. You two had better come back to the Rectory and clean up properly." Then with a wicked twinkle in his eye, that told the lads they were not in real trouble, he added, "from what I have seen if you both have bottoms full of Masters Bunion and Jerker, then you are going to be leaking gallons of boy-cream for hours."

"Oh... err!" Bashful groaned as Dopey laughed quietly at his friends' embarrassment.

"I believe I might even find you some spare underwear," then a thought struck him, "Of course you will have to leave your present underwear with me, can't go upsetting my dear sweet sister by asking her to wash those messy things." He surreptitiously licked his lips in anticipation.

"Oh... err!" Bashful emitted a low cry of mortification

"And what role does Master Whyte have in these goings-on?" asked the Vicar.

"None whatsoever." Said Osbert.

"'e is on va wagon now ain't he?" Grumpy added.

"On the what?"

"On va water-wagon! 'e ain't doin' nofing wiv `is mates these days, not a wank... nufing."

"Snowy is on one of his crusades again," Osbert clarified the matter, "he has met this chap he wants to help and has forsworn sex until the deed has been done."

"He says this boy is very deep in the cupboard." Said Dopey very slowly.

"That's in the "closet", silly," Osbert corrected him, be blushed and made to leave rather hastily, recalling that it was not too long ago that he had found himself in the same predicament.

As the three friends walked back to the Rectory with the vicar, Peter Pratt and the Reverend Prim hung back and sniggered at the rather bandy-legged walk that both Bashful and Grumpy had adopted.

The little eight-year-old lad fell silent. "You know, Vicar, Snowy wont even let me kiss his pretty Willy hello," said Dopey rather sadly.

"That is rather sad. Peter, I tell you what why don't you come into my study with me while these two shameless hussies get cleaned up. I will ask Mrs Baker to make us some tea and you can tell what about Snowy."

"Can we have sticky buns please? Only I am always right hungry after doing sexy things and if I'm hungry they must be starving." Said Dopey jerking his thumb towards his very weary looking friends.

"Sounds like a fair trade to me, Master Pratt, information for a sticky bun, it is!"

Dick had opened up a chat room called #teenladjerker for him to meet up with his friends. Snowy, or snwy-m16 as he now called himself online, had learned to check it out first when he logged on and opened his Relay Chat program.

On Saturday evening, after the family had gone to bed, he logged on. The list of participants showed that Dok! And SleepY were present as well as some other chatters called CamBoy18 and Uklad-17.

<Uklad-17> Oh my god he needs two hands to jerk it lads!!!

And with that curt good bye Snowy closed the IRC program connection and sat starting and the text of the chat for a long time. How could SleepY be such a bastard and tease him like that?

He was a sad and depressed little boy and he felt very, very alone!

Then he gasped. He shook his head in disbelief and he reached out for his mouse, he clicked and saved the text onto the hard drive.

Somewhere in hell the legion of demons, which took care of really unpleasant teenage boys, trembled - for Snowy Whyte had one of his plans!

He often thought that if there was an entry in the Guinness Book of Records for the world's most misunderstood and unhappiest lad, then it would list his name: Richard Flaunting-Flasher!

In the first place there was his father! Not content with barking out orders on the parade ground the Regimental Sergeant Major insisted on ordering him about at home.

"Sit up straight! Stand to attention when you speak to me! Get a haircut! Pull that slack bottom of yours in - you are a disgrace to the family name!"

Worst of all was the -- "get a girlfriend" command!

That was what he had been doing the day he barged in on Snowy in his bedroom. It was clear the fat ugly stepsister of the Whyte boy was totally besotted with Dick, and he hoped she was sufficiently in awe of him to agree to the strictly platonic relationship he had in mind. He trembled at the prospect of having to kiss her; he shuddered at the he though he might have to touch her podgy body or developing tits; and he died at the thought of her trying to touch or caress him. Especially in THAT place -- why he would sooner have it cut off!

He had gone to "Once-upon-a-time", the house in the woods, with gritted-teeth, to ask the Doctor's stepdaughter for a date. She and her mother were overjoyed and in a rush of ill-considered good will the mother had suggested he check in on Snowy and the computer. He had found the blond boy, naked below the waist, wanking at a very pale looking hairless organ.

It was a sight that had burned its way into his memory.

While he sat behind his computer screen, doing the usual shameful things that had be come both his pastime and his passion, it was the thought of Snowy Whyte that haunted him.

In the second place there was the computer itself! It had started as an, innocent enough, hobby: he enjoyed the technology. But soon the other person took over!

Him!

His alter ego!

The brash, confident, arrogant, insensitive, bisexual, teenage exhibitionist - <SleepY>!

There was no stopping "him"!

He, SleepY was entirely a figment of his imagination. The real Richard was servile; eager to please; and not at all interested in girls.

But Sleepy forced Richard to stayed up night and day behind the computer, flashing his big cock at anyone who would care too look.

Then he would taunt and tease his victims who were keen too take a second look!

In the mean time, it was him, the real Richard Flaunting --Flasher, that was suffering.

Lack of sleep; lack of self-respect; feeling that he was a mean bastard who was using and manipulating the people he met online -- Richard sank lower and lower into a quagmire of his own making.

And now the summons from the old Vicar!

It was very odd, after all, his father refused to attend the local church any longer -- he detested the jolly old man -- even though the old gent had been Dick's grandfather's best friend.

Richard dreaded the next day and his interview with the Reverend Prim!

In her twelve years as housekeeper to the Reverend Prim, Mrs Baker had never seen the jovial old gentleman in anything but an agreeable mood. But over the last few days he had been anything but good-humoured.

It was she that had to show Richard, the young son of Regimental Sargent-Major Flaunting-Flasher, into the Vicar's study. She knew that the gangly youth had been summonsed to confession, which was in itself a highly irregular thing. Strictly speaking, the church no longer required confession. But the old Vicar was very old fashioned and while he did not believe he could actually forgive sins, he felt it important that sinners be given the opportunity to speak about their misdeeds.

Now, normally, a visit from a lad of the parish would always cause the old Vicar to smile and order tea and cake for his young visitor. But today the old man scowled at the lanky teenager! He did not return the boy's greeting and he dismissed the housekeeper with a flutter of the hand.

Confused, Mrs Baker paused outside the study door. The pay for a parish priest's housekeeper was very poor, but then the fringe benefits for an active village gossip were endless.

More than a trifle interested, she pressed her ear to the thick oak door and eavesdropped on the lad's confession.

Rev Prim: You may commence Richard.

Dick Flasher: Bless me father, I have sinned.

Rev Prim: Yes I am very sure you have, Richard.

Dick Flasher: It has been quiet some time since my last confession...

Rev Prim: Well then you had better be getting on with it, young man.

Dick Flasher: This isn't easy Vicar, I must humble my wicked self....

Rev Prim: Get on with it, I don't have all day.

Dick Flasher: I am not sure I know were to start...

Rev Prim: Well let us start with the computer.

Dick Flasher: Oh! Oh...you know about that... I am frightfully ashamed!

Rev Prim: After 65 years on this earth, much of it spent fathoming the devious minds of boys, there is not much that surprises me, even if you now use fancy new technology to do it, Richard.

Dick Flasher: Well I suppose you know that I ... I show....

Rev Prim: You mean you expose yourself, young man.

Dick Flasher: Yeah Vicar I... I am ... dreadfully ashamed...

Rev Prim: But not ashamed enough to stop doing it?

Dick Flasher: No it... it is kind of addictive... and they keep coming back and asking to see more. I suppose it has taken over my life, really. I can, like, pretend to be this nasty lecherous bastard on line, not the overgrown wimp I normally am.

Rev Prim: We will get back to your self-image later, young man, right now I need to know to whom do you expose yourself?

Dick Flasher: Well you know...

Rev Prim: I am afraid I do not know.

Dick Flasher: I am so ashamed... To people on the Internet, mainly kids my age.... Girls...

Rev Prim: Oh really? Girls you say....

Dick Flasher: Well some guys too... actually mostly guys. A lot of people on the net pretend to be girls when they are actually older men that like to look at younger guys... you know things.

Rev Prim: I see... and what age are these boys you expose yourself to?

Dick Flasher: It ain't real young kids, its not that I'm like...

Rev Prim: Like your grandfather?

Dick Flasher: I thought... I wasn't sure your knew about that...

Rev Prim: Oh my yes! Your grandfather and I were at school together you know...

Dick Flasher: I didn't know...

Rev Prim: Albert Flaunting-Flasher, your grandfather was the prefect responsible for the lower forms when I joined the junior school.

Dick Flasher: My dad never speaks of him...

Rev Prim: Yes that makes it all even sadder, really. We young fellows were delighted with the attention he showered on us. Gifts; hugs; naughty nightly adventures in the dorm -- oh my those were the days. He was tall and handsome and had a big heart, big hands, and well... he was big in every way...

Dick Flasher: I am sorry to say so, but I suppose, it kind of runs in the family...

Rev Prim: Oh really? Well that would help explain whey you are so popular on the Internet.

Dick Flasher: I suppose I am...

Rev Prim: And your father rejected your grandfather when the balloon went up...

Dick Flasher: Well it's not as if in his position...

Rev Prim: Yes the vain and arrogant Regimental Sargent-Major... it wouldn't do to have it out in the open about his father who was arrested for fondling children in the park would it?

Dick Flasher: I suppose not...

Rev Prim: Do you think it will do his career much good if it became known his son expose himself by camera, something not available to his granddad?

Dick Flasher: I am always very careful I never show my face.... (After a long pause something struck him and he shouted out.) Oh Vicar! You are not going to tell dad, are you? He would kill me...

Rev Prim: No Richard, I have no desire for a murder on my conscience. No, I am more concerned about the effect you have on others, your father is not as vulnerable as the others you have been toying with...

Dick Flasher: What do you mean, sir? It not as if I am actually... doing things to kids... not like...

Rev Prim: Not like your granddad?

Dick Flasher: No... I have always worried about, you know turning out like him...

Rev Prim: And what do you think he did?

Dick Flasher: Well it was all in the papers... Granddad used to meet little girls and little boys in the park expose himself to them and then fondle them. Then, when me dad was about twelve-years-old, Granddad was caught and went to prison.

Rev Prim: Yes that is the public version... You know, not one of the children ever had anything but the kindest words about him?

Dick Flasher: But that can't be... I inherited his stuff including his raincoat...

Rev Prim: You are almost as foolish as your father...

Dick Flasher: It still had sweeties in the pockets...

Rev Prim: Richard, have you ever had sexual contact with another human being?

Dick Flasher: Other than on the net?

Rev Prim: I mean true physical warmth...

Dick Flasher: No... I suppose not...

Rev Prim: So you expose yourself, you masturbate in public view, and when you are offered the warmth of another human's touch, what do you do?

Dick Flasher: Well... I suppose if I must tell the truth... I run like hell....

Rev Prim: You do indeed...

Dick Flasher: Snowy Whyte told you this, didn't he?

Rev Prim: Not at all! He is far too loyal and discreet to give your little game away.

Dick Flasher: But he is such a little boy...

Rev Prim: you would do well to remember that

Dick Flasher: It would have made me a pervert...

Rev Prim: your prefer cruel and heartless

Dick Flasher: anyway I am straight not queer...

Rev Prim: well that is a matter of opinion

Dick Flasher: My girlfriend

Rev Prim: Richard your girlfriend does not exist. Does she?

Dick Flasher: No. But I did ask....

Rev Prim: Pricilla for a date? Yes I heard of that.

Dick Flasher: well it will get dad off my back I thought

Rev Prim: you poor lad you must be truly desperate. Now tell me, you have strange feelings and desires for members of your own sex, don't you?

Dick Flasher: Dad would kill me if he knew...

Rev Prim: Knew what?

Dick Flasher: God knows what he would do if he found out I wanted to fondle Snowy so badly, it hurt...

Rev Prim: Ah, yes Snowy. Did you know he is a little boy who has sworn to give up the fun of his sexual games with his friends until he has helped you with your problem?

Dick Flasher: Do you mean that?

Rev Prim: I most certainly do!

Dick Flasher: Blimey!

Rev Prim: I think you know what you have to do to clear your conscience.

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