Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al)
Date: Fri, 14 Jul 1995 19:43:56 UTC
Subject: FRIDAY 13" #6 Itchin' for it 1/3 M/M


(M/M in drag, M/M/M, M/F/fx40, M/Mx 24  panty fetishism, feminine 
domination, spanking, humiliation, forced femininization, 
cross-dressing, horticultural revenge,'train' fucking, etc. )

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A SEXUALLY EXPLICIT FICTIONAL STORY.
DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, OR IF YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED IN 
READING ABOUT SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SITUATIONS AND ACTIVITIES..

To the alt.sex.stories reader:

        This is the 6th in a series of stories dealing mainly with 
maleto male sexuality, though the series will contain some male/female sex
and the thoughts, fantasies and activities of bisexual characters as 
well.



Friday 13" #6  ITCHIN' FOR IT  (Tom's Story)
    By Stroker Al


	"Tom's turn!" announced Mickey to his cabinmates.  "And I've got 
the spermy hand to prove it, " he said, clapping his semen-sopped hand 
wetly against the lazily reclining Mark's nearest tit.  "What a load!  
Didn't know the kid had it in him!"

	"Fucker!" cried Mark, jumping up and trying to grab Mickey by his 
long hair.  "You lick that off, 'Asshole Rose.'  You're the one who made 
him come, with your hand AND your story!  It's all yours!"

	Counselor Jim took his time before ordering the boys to break up 
their rough-housing.  He liked to watch how the young bodies of his boys 
so gracefully expressed their playfull aggression and affection for one 
another simultaneously.  But he was in charge, and couldn't really allow 
it to get out of hand.  Mark had Mickey in a headlock and had forced his 
cabinmate's laughing, gasping red face to within a half inch of his 
glistening nipple before Jim broke them up.

	"Come on boys, it's getting late, and we've got two more stories 
to be told." he said.  "What about it, Tom"

	They all looked at Tom now, as he finished up wiping his glasses, 
trying to get a couple of cum drops off of the lenzes.   As slight of 
build, pale and delicate as he appeared now at "18", they could all see 
clearer, without his glasses, that he was going to be a handsome young 
man one of these years.  All the more reason to give him a hard time now, 
a few of the boys reasoned.

	"Yeah, I've got one." he said finally, sounding 
uncharacteristically mellow in his post-orgasmic state.  "But it's 
long."  

	"Ya mean it's longer than your dick?" guffawed Eddie, but nobody 
laughed.  They were mostly just looking at Tom, as if noticing him for 
the first time, and curious to hear what he'd come up with.  He began 
telling his tale then, and as he spoke, Jim and the boys each gradually 
settled on a position to relax in and a nearby dick to stroke.


ITCHIN' FOR IT (Tom's story)  


	Suddenly, the man driving the big rig down Minnesota 151 spotted 
the pretty young thing standing up ahead on the highway shoulder, looking 
distressed with one thumb sticking out.   

	He slowed the truck down and as he approached, and took a good 
look at this hitchhiking vision, who would soon be sharing the truck cab 
with him.   Shoulder-length straight brown hair,  bright red-painted 
lips, a  red dress that stopped just above the knees, and long, full legs 
in sheer nylon.  The lovely creature clutched a pair of broken high 
heels, obviously destroyed from walking too far along the highway.  On 
the ground behind the shapely legs lay some kind of laundry sack or 
duffle bag.

	"Hop in, darlin'"  he called , swinging the lever that opened the 
rig's passenger door.  The brunette climbed up with little difficulty and 
hauled the door shut behind. 
 
	"Thank you. I couldn't have walked another step." 

	The driver cocked his head and eyed his passenger expectantly. 
Then he reached over and lightly tickled under the hitchhiker's chin with 
one finger.
	  "So WHAT is a PRETTY GIRL like YOU doing walking around in the 
Minnesota countryside on a hot day like this?" he grinned.

	His passenger stiffened and pushed the driver's finger away.  
With a sigh, he pulled off his brown wig and turned to glare at his 
rescuer.  Even in anger, with his completely-shaved head exposed, he 
looked lovely as ever .
	"Oh, cut the crap. You know damned well I'm not a woman, " he 
snapped. "I could never have pulled it off in a million years.  I'm just 
too masculine-looking.  Now are you gonna give me a ride or not?"

	The driver howled with laughter while his fuming passenger waited 
for him to get over his fun and give him an answer.  It was true, after 
all, that the driver had known all along, but he was finding his 
passenger's unlady-like frustration to be amusing.  "Well," he choked, 
attempting to stifle his hearty laughter, "that depends where you're 
headed.  And whether you're willing to explain what you're doing 
hitchhiking in ladies' clothes."

	 "It's too long of a story,"  said the young man in the dress, 
his arms folded across his falsely padded chest.  

	"Oh? Where are you headed?" 
	"Camp Christopher, for boys. On Christopher Lake.  That's where 
I'm working this summer, " he smiled sarcastically,  "as a counselor."

	The driver laughed some more.  "Well I bet you'll have all those 
little boys creamin' in their jeans when they get a look at you."

	The young man sneered but didn't reply.

	"Christopher Lake is 45 minutes away, darlin'," the driver said, 
shifting the idling truck back into gear and letting it creep forward.  
"That's enough time for even a long story, don't you think?"    
	He waited for his perfumed companion to reply.

	"Don't call me darling," the young man finally said.  "My name's 
Stuart, and at this point I'd tell you anything you fuckin' want to hear 
for some goddamn smokes.  You got any?"

	The driver winked and flipped Stuart an open pack of Marlboro 
reds from the dashboard.  Then he produced a book of matches.  
	"Allow me, Stuart." he said, striking a match and lighting 
Stuart's cigarette for him.  Then, the driver moved the rig back out on 
the open highway, as Stuart gratefully sucked in lungfuls of smoke and 
sat back for the ride.

	Now that he had a cigarette in his hand , Stuart was ready to 
bitch like Bette Davis.  Even though it was the first time he had ever 
worn drag in his life, it felt completely appropriate for him to be 
dolled up in makeup, a dress, stockings, lingerie, and especially to have 
this cigarette to wave around while giving his scathing, detailed account 
of the humiliating circumstances that led up to his present feminization.

	"I have these two buddies back at camp,  Dale and  Rick," he 
began.   "We were sitting around bored yesterday, as we sometimes are 
during weeks when we don't have cabin assignments.  One of us, Rick I 
believe, came up with the bright idea of sneaking off to the girls' camp, 
Camp Radclyffe, to execute a panty raid."

	"Boys will be boys," said the driver.

	Stuart exhaled a cloud of smoke.  "Please don't interrupt," he 
snapped tartly.  "or this will take forever.'

	The driver put up his hands and hunched his shoulders 
appologetically.  Stuart continued. 
 
	"Well, contrary to my appearance today, I was not particularly 
interested in stealing pairs of panties.  But Dale was keen on the idea, 
and I was keen on Dale, If you know what I mean, so I would have gone 
along with just about anything he wanted us to do together."

	The driver seemed to take Stuart's referrence to manlust in 
stride, so he relaxed and continued the tale more freely.

	"So, while the rest of the camp was busy down by the lake in the 
moonlight singing 'Kum Bay Ya' or some such rot , we put Rick's Camaro 
into neutral and pushed it noiselessy along the gravel drive out of the 
camp and on to the highway.   Then, after coasting a quarter mile without 
headlights, we started up and drove the 50 miles to Radclyffe.  Naturally 
Rick and Dale insisted on stopping at Woody's for a six pack and both 
made a big show of flirting with the blonde behind the bar, but as the 
evening wore on, we were all dropping little clues that the underlying 
agenda of the evening was male bonding."

	The driver, who was well acquainted with Woody's bar, seemed 
particularly amused by this part of the story, but just chuckled and held 
on to his resolve not to interrupt Stuart.

	"I was up front with Dale, holding his beer and watching him 
shift gears. Every couple minutes or so I would glance back to check out 
Rick, who would just grin at me in between swigs and drum his big fingers 
on the car seat in front of his crotch.   With his arm thus draped over 
the fly of his khaki shorts, Rick was probably already covering up a hard 
on.  That made me a little nervous, because I didn't want him to come 
between Dale and me. 

	"When we got to Radclyffe we cut the engine and headlights and 
rolled into the roadside ditch outside the camp entrance.  There, we 
finished our beers and discussed strategy.  Rick really took charge then, 
like he'd done this kind of thing a million times before.   He said our 
best chance to make the biggest haul of panties was to split up and 
systematically cover the camp.  One of us would concentrate outdoors and 
snatch up all the panties that he said were bound to be hanging out to 
dry on clothes wires and cabin porch railings on such a nice night.  The 
other two were to start from opposite ends of the camp and stealthly 
strike inside each cabin one by one until they met at the center of camp, 
by the bell and the dining hall.

	"So who's gonna do what?" Dale asked.  
	"Dale, you be the outside man," Rick ordered.  "You can start 
from either end, but just go all the way through and then come back to 
the bell when you're done.  You'll have twice as many cabins as Stuart 
and I, but it should be faster work, and hopefully we'll all be done at 
the same time."

	"No." I cried, suddenly really nervous about this whole thing. 
"Let me do the outside stuff.  I can't go into those cabins.  I'll fuck 
it up and get caught."

	Rick looked disappointed or mildly annoyed at me, but before he 
could say anything, Dale broke in. "That's okay Stuart, Rick and I will 
do the cabins.  Meet us back at the bell when you're done. Then we'll all 
go to the car."

	"Rick shrugged. I was relieved, but a little wary.  Dale seemed 
pretty eager to share brave man duties with Rick.  Was he after him, I 
wondered?     

	"Okay, let's do it, " said Rick, getting out of the car.  As Dale 
opened his door to climb out, I leaned over and said to him, "Let's start 
at the same end, okay?"   He paused, looking a little blank, and then 
said, rather indifferently  "Okay."   My heart sunk.  I could tell he 
wasn't after me.  In fact it looked, ironically,  like each one of us had 
designs on a guy who was more interested in somebody else. 

	I think Rick overheard our agreement, because he remained 
standing there next to the car even after Dale and I had walked a few 
paces towards the grounds of the camp.  Suddenly he called out in a loud 
whisper, "Where do you think you guys are going dressed like that?" 

	Dale and I stopped and turned toward him, puzzled.  He was 
pulling his sweatshirt over his head. "Dressed like what?"  I asked.   We 
were all just in our typical Khaki shorts and sweatshirts with t-shirts 
underneath, and boots with white socks.  What was the problem?

	"This is a panty raid, guys," he said, pulling off his t-shirt 
next.  "Panty raids are done in the nude.  ALWAYS!"

	Our mouths dropped open.  While Dale ogled Rick's admirably 
smooth chest under the moonlight, I started arguing. 

	"That's bull shit, Rick, " I hissed. "If you think we're gonna 
strip naked and sneak around this damned camp full of girls, you're 
nuts!  We'll get arrested if we're caught! " 

	"No we won't, Stu," he countered, calmly, appropriating a 
nick-name of mine that I felt he hadn't earned.  "That's just the beauty 
of it.  If we ARE caught, none of these girls will dare touch us.  
They'll just scream when they see our dicks and let us get away.  "  

	I thought Dale was going to scream as he watched Rick unzip and 
drop his shorts down his smooth, muscular legs and peel his white breifs 
down to expose his semi-arroused dick lolling in a halo of blonde bush hair.

	"Damn it, Rick," I persisted. "Why couldn't you have just been 
honest in the first place and admit this whole thing was only about 
showin' off your meat to- "
	"Come on, Stuart, " Dale interrupted. " Rick's right.  This is 
the best way."   He pulled his own sweatshirt off.  "Besides, it'll be 
more fun.  I've always wanted to streak a bunch of girls.  I kind of hope 
some of them DO wake up."

	"Don't be getting any ideas about waking any of them up, Dale," 
said Rick.  "Oh, and leave your socks on.  We'll be quieter that way. "

	"But..." I said, not knowing what to say.  Then it was my turn to 
drool as Dale stripped down to a pair of those big, baggy boxers that he 
always kept on at night in our cabin.  In this light he looked more than 
ever like a younger Alec Baldwin who'd had his chest hair thinned out a 
little.   I knew I was outvoted then, but I didn't start to undress until 
after I'd watched him pull off his boxers and expose a thickening, 
swaying cock and loose, bobbing balls, surounded by a nest of curly dark 
hair that overflowed out onto his well-formed thighs.

	Finally, after Dale endured watching Rick watching ME strip, we 
were finally ready.   "If there's any trouble, head right for the car, 
and honk, and we'll all come back and split." Rick said as we walked into 
camp.  "If anyone gets caught and somehow detained, as unlikely as that 
is, just flick the lights of the cabin you're in on and off repeatedly, 
and the other two will drive the car right up to it for a quick rescue 
and getaway.  The keys are under the mat on the driver's side."

	And so we took off, Dale and I to the west end of the row of 
cabins, and Rick to the east.   I caught an excellent view of Dale's 
hairy ass as he slipped up the first cabin stairs and crept inside the 
door.    After pulling four pairs of panties off a line in the back and 
running them up my arm through one leg hole, I couldn't resist lingering, 
against instruction, in order to see Dale reappear.  When he did, emerge, 
with a handful of panties, he frowned at me and waved me on.  As I 
progressed along the row of cabins, I looked back occasionally and saw 
one or two glimpses of his studly nakedness from an increasing distance, 
but soon I was totally alone.  

	Rick must have been inside one of the cabins when I passed him 
coming from the east, because I never saw him.  My arms were carrying 
dozens and dozens of panties already, and still there were many to be 
"harvested"  They had an amazing variety of smells, mostly fresh and 
flowery, but I swear, there were also some with deeper, moister and more 
pungent aromas that hinted at the presence of young pussies against the 
fabric.  

	I don't really go for girls any more, even though I fucked and 
ate out a couple in highschool, but the idea of "pussy" still sometimes 
turns me on in an abstract way.  I'd sprung a real hard on along the way 
of those cabins, and I think the panties had a lot to do with it.  But it 
also was the barely conscious fantasy going through my head of HAVING a 
pussy and wondering what it would feel like to have a nice hard dick 
slide into it.  I wondered if I felt as nice as a dick does up my 
asshole.  Probably better, I figured, but you have to work with what 
you've got.   So as I day dreamed about "pussy" in this way, I gradually 
found myself bringing Dale and Rick into the picture, as I speculated 
that they might also thinking about pussy as they gathered their 
panties.  I wondered if there was a way I could get Dale interested in MY 
pussy.  If not, I had the consolation of knowing that Rick was probably 
already after my hot slit.

	Was all this panty raiding making them as hard as it was making 
me, I wondered?  Then I got this wild idea and started hanging the next 
several pairs of panties I found onto my erect prick, letting my upright 
shaft poke through one leghole of each, like I was some kind of fuckin' 
hat rack or something.   I thought how fun it would be to meet the other 
guys by the bell like that.  And I imagined them arriving doing the same 
thing, too, and it made me all the hotter and stiffer.  It was just one 
of those times when you're really glad you have a dick, you know?  

	Finally, I had about three cabins to go, when I started to get a 
little more nervous than before.  I thought I could hear sounds inside 
the cabin whose clothesline I was raiding.  I stopped and was extra 
quiet, but couldn't be sure what I had heard, so I moved on.  At the next 
cabin I thought I heard more sounds, so I got even more nervous. My dick 
started going limp and the panties that were hung there fell to the 
ground.  

	As I gathered them up I noticed that there was a bra hanging on 
this cabin's clothesline, just as there had been several others on lines 
I'd already raided.  But this one caught my eye because it was really 
big.   It HAD to belong to a counselor, and she must have had enourmous 
tits.  I pictured a set of tits that would have fit into these huge cups, 
and I started to get a little arroused again.  Then I imagined the 
comments that Dale and Rick would have made seeing tits that size, and 
then I pictured them each sucking on the nipple of one of these tits, and 
my dick stood all the way back up again.  I hung the panties back on my 
erect rod, and then laughed to myself thinking how funny it would be for 
me to put this bra on and wear it back to the bell for those guys to 
see.   They'd probably split a gut laughing and wake everybody up.   And 
we'd have to race to the car laughing, and as we'd be tearing away, both 
guys would be copping feels under my bra for the big tits that it looked 
like I had.  Mmmm, it was a pleasant thought."

	Stuart felt the the driver's hand cup the left side of his phony 
bust. 
	"Stop that," he snarled, with exagerated indignance.  "Pay 
attention to your driving."

	The driver laughed.  "Yes sir, I mean, yes ma'm."

	Stuart adjust his crumpled bust and continued the story. 

 	"Needless to say, by the time I reached the next cabin I was 
wearing the bra.  This time, with only one more cabin to go, I distinctly 
heard a noise inside.  It occurred to me suddenly that every one of these 
eastern cabins had already been entered by Rick and that the possibility 
of someone being awake inside them now was greater than in the other 
cabins I'd been to.  Yes, here were dark, private, feminine spaces that 
Rick the Prick had already violated, and no doubt every sensitive 
receptor inside them had become arroused and stimulated and perked up and 
all the more attentive for the next stimulus.   

	My dick dropped again with anxiety, and at that moment I started 
behaving defensively.  So when I made the decision to pull on my first 
pair of girls's panties, it was less out of sexual desire, than out of 
hope that if I were spotted through one of those darkened windows, that I 
could pass in the dark as a girl.  You see, I was becoming just about 
nervous enough right then to run back to the car. But once I pulled on 
these pink, lacey panties, everything changed.  I was suddenly able to 
stay and finish the job. I pick up the dropped panties and move on to the 
last cabin and raided the last line. 

	  "There I was, Stuart Carson,  a handsome 22 year old tennis 
athlete with a trim, Pete Sampras build and his looks (though you 
wouldn't know it dolled up like this!), complete with the dark, hairy 
legs and a reasonably big dick, on the verge of getting caught wearing 
girls' underwear in the great outdoors.  Queer boy though I am, It was 
still a most potentially compromising, humiliating situation, and yet, 
perversely, in those panties and bra I was feeling more comfortable and 
at home with myself than ever in my life.   
	
	"I would be shown soon enough what a beautiful, vivacious 
creature  the "woman" in me was, but even as early as that first 
panty-assed moment, she gave me a stiff clue. Not only did she unfurl my 
fuckpole one more time inside those flimsy panties, but she made it stand 
up straighter and more like steel than ever before.  	
	"It was as though my masculinity was combusting in a white heat 
blaze of testosterone, whose fueling source, at the very bottom, so to 
speak, was merely her insatiable desire to be fucked the way a woman 
wants.  She wanted it so badly that my dick became her swollen clitoris, 
ready to explode at a touch.  She was more woman than I could have ever 
satisfied myself, I'm afraid, but as it happened, we both had the same 
man in mind for the job.  
And if he couldn't cut it,  we'd let his obnoxious but serviceable and 
horny buddy have a crack at our crack.  They were probably waiting for us 
now back at the bell, so she and I, now one,  collected the final handful 
of panties, pulled them up my arms, and sauntered back towards the bell.

	That's when I met my Radclyffe 'sisters' coming around the side 
of the last cabin, armed with flashlights, baseball bats, croquet mallets 
and sticks.

	"Look! Here he is, girls!" shouted a female voice. 

	I cried out and tried to run, but they surrounded me.  They  
actually started swinging those things at me, the wenches!  So I 
concentrated on dodging them and calling out for Rick and Dale to help 
me.  Rick had been half right, it turned out, because these girls were 
screaming in apparent shock, fear, excitement & repulsion at the sight of 
a young man in women's underwear sporting a 7 inch erection.  Yep, this 
time my hard-on was here for the long haul.  As womanish as I felt, 
getting caught erect in nothing but lingerie,  it occured to me that my 
womanliness was a more of a strength than a weekness.  I was not just any 
woman, after all, but a dick-wielding Diva .  I stood my ground against 
this unruly mob of rough girls with an almost regal dignity and grace.  
Nevertheless, they eventually overpowered me through sheer numbers and 
brutality and like the space alien cliche, took me to their leaders.  
Where on earth were my companions when I needed them, I wondered?

	The girls hauled me, complete with my phallo-testicular-stuffed 
panties and flat-chest-concealing bra, into the dining hall, where the 
rest of the camp began assembling as they were awakend cabin by cabin. 

	Finally there were about 40 girls gathered in that hall to gawk 
at me,  most of them about "18" or "18" years old, and of course 
extremely giggly. They seemed equally delighted and mortified by the 
sight of such a handsome guy like me being forced to stand in from of 
them practically naked except for women's underwear.   

	The counseling staff were all in their 20's and much less 
ambivalent about their delight at this find. 
	"Hey sailor, on shore leave?" laughed one.  
	They circled me and laughed, poked and prodded me, and 
scornfully  squeezed any hunk of my flesh that momentarily attracted 
their curiousity.  

	Now you have to understand their situation.  These young women in 
charge were college sorority types who were used to spending the other 
three quarters of the year struggling under a social regimen that 
demanded a veneer of perfection combined with a 1950's style 
subordination to their male Fraternity  counterparts. While at college, 
all of them had to follow this path to a large degree if they wanted to 
be "successful" in the Greek system. Their social currency, their ability 
to network, marry well, advance in a carreer through the 'right' kind of 
connections: all of this depended on how well they played the sorority game.

	But here they were now, in the Minnesota woods,  in the middle of 
their summer off, with virtually no outside pressures to force them to 
toe the line of the american ideal of femininity .  They didn't need or 
depend on men here, because they were running it themselves, which was no 
easy task.  All of them were hard working, smart and  resourceful women, 
who'd just been woken up in the middle of the night after a long, hard 
day, by some dick-brained little fuck in lingerie.  

	 Here was some pipsqueak, who thinking himself a man, had come to 
steal PANTIES from them like godamned Wally or Beaver Cleaver or 
something.  No doubt each one of them cherished the memory of her own 
such special jerk from one of the frats back at college, who'd drunkenly 
and clumsily groped her or otherwise approached her with this level of 
mentality, and had embarrassed her in front of her friends at a party or 
some other social situation that restricted the woman's response to 
actions employing only tact, grace and all too often, submissiveness.  

	No such restrictions applied at Camp Radclyffe, however.  Here 
they could handle me any way they chose, and handle me they did.  Very 
quickly I realized that I was out of my league. These were REAL women.  
My proud erection began to shrivel, much to the delight of my audience.
	"Hey, the worm's turning, girls!" cried one of them.
	  Their contempt for me, as a male transgressor, was expressed 
effortlessly under the circumstances, with this kind of jeering, taunts, 
demasculizing remarks, laughter, slaps and shoving.  But my utter 
insignificance for them  on the other hand, caused them to temper their 
annoyance with glee at the prospect for their having a little fun at my 
expense and exploitation.

	"So," began a tall redhead with her hair tied back in a pony 
tail, "You were  on a panty raid. How quaint!  All by yourself?  Where 
are your friends?" she said, pulling my panty waist out with one crooked 
finger to peer at my nervous nuts.

	"I'm alone,"  I lied, hoping to be rescued soon by the others, 
while not giving away their presence.

	"He's lying," jeered a young blonde girl who had begun shooting 
pictures of me with a polaroid camera.  She had just come in the door 
minutes ago with a group of four or five others.  They were giggling and 
passing a snapshot around, which they finally handed to me.  My face 
turned pussy pink with shock, resentment and embarassment when I 
recognized the two big, busy boys in the photo as Rick and Dale.

	 As I gaped at this visual aid, the blonde  proceeded to describe 
the activity they had just witnessed between my two would-be rescuers.  
The girls screamed with laughter and presumeable disgust over such 
unheard of male to male antics.

	This eye-witness account by spying Radclyffe campers educated me 
as to why Rick and Dale COULDN'T have heard my cries for help.  It was 
because they'd been busy making too much noise themselves.  Between 
Dale's grunting and thrusting and Rick's moaning, my distant voice had 
been drowned out.
 
	 As I'd imagined, both had gotten horny as hell while tiptoeing 
around buck naked among all those sleeping girls and stealing their 
panties, and both had, (as Dale, I think, had been hoping) reached the 
bell long before I'd come close to finishing.  But get this: both of them 
had put on a pair of the panties, too, though apparently more as a joke 
than as a disguise.  So naturally being as insecure as they were horny, 
they'd begun exchanging sexual taunts from the minute they met at the 
bell and first laid eyes on each other.  While having to wait around for 
me, though they grew gradually more playful and daring and progressed 
into some grab-ass fooling around.  At one point,  Rick had started 
struting like a model up and down the camp commons for Dale's titilation, 
coyly covering his bare "breasts" with crossed arms, and wiggling his ass 
provokatively in the panties until  his erotically inflamed buddy 
couldn't take any more.  

	Dale, my crotch-throb, chased that slut Rick out through the the 
gravel entrance of the camp, closing in on him more with each sprinting 
gasp of night air that he sucked into his heaving, predatory lungs.  The 
pursuer finally overtook the pursued at the parked Camaro, where the 
momentum of his pounce flung both of them across the engine hood in a 
sprawling tangle.  There, under the brilliant moon, and over much false 
protestation, Dale ripped the panties off of Rick's teasing little ass 
and spanked him hard ten or twelve times with the flat of his big right 
hand, all the time telling him what a fucking slut he was being and that 
he was going to be taught a lesson.  For his part, Rick managed to appear 
convincingly helpless as he lay there trying to simultaneously catch his 
breath and stifle his howling while getting spanked.   Next, Dale parted 
Rick's stinging, lunar-lit butt cheeks with his probing tongue and rough 
chin, depositing there for lubricant the largest mouthful of spit that he 
could manage to work up in his impatient passion. Then Dale stood up, 
still in his own panties (black lace, the photo revealed) and, grabbing 
Rick by the hips, and hauling his buddy's ass back to meet his jutting 
cock, began fucking the moonlights out of him. 

	While Rick was submitting manfully to Dale's assult on his ass, 
he kept his head turned over his shoulders the whole time, looking back 
towards the camp. This is how the photograph captured him, his 
flash-filled eyes a split second away from comprehending his exposure 
before a gang of spying girls. Obviously he was looking for me, hoping  
that I'd be jealous as hell that HE was getting fucked by my stud and I 
wasn't, and that maybe that jealousy would eventually engender a desire 
in me to come and top off the sandwich.  Rick understood me pretty well, 
it seems. 'Cause I'l tell you, if I hadn't been detained by the girls, I 
would have come and skewered my beefcake boy's butt and appropriated his 
fine body to use as a dick extension for mercilessly ramming the 
deserving downy ass of his blonde bitch.  That would have been as close 
as that man-stealing queen would ever have gotten to being fucked by me! 

	"You should have seen their faces when they noticed us watching 
them," laughed the blonde girl as she snatched the photo back from me.  " 
They fell all over each other trying to get inside the car and they took 
off down the road going about 70! " 

	Great, I thought to myself.  My heros!  The nutless fuckers left 
me there to take all the heat myself! 

	The redhead and the other counselors huddled together a few feet 
away from me, while some five or six younger girls manhandled me and 
prevented me from escaping.   The leaders laughed intermittently and 
occassionally turned to look at me, as they discussed my fate.  Finally 
they broke up their huddle and approached me. A brunette blew a whistle 
and addressed the crowd.

	"Girls, attention!   The counselors have been discussing how 
we're going to deal with this sissy-boy we caught stealing our panties.  
In additon to this crime, he has also exposed his beastly penis without 
our invitation and flouted his perverted sexual arrousal in front of us. 
What we've decided, first of all, is that since he's been such a bad boy, 
we're all going to punish him together, taking turns until you've all had 
a chance. "
   
	"What's your name, you little wuss?"  she demanded, grabbling me 
by the arm. I instinctively said, "ow!" and the room erupted in laughter.

	The brunette leaned in toward me and said, "Better tell me your 
name, faggot, or we'll be mericless."

	I was red as a lobster and sweating now.  My dick was stiffening 
as well, with excitement and expectation of my unknown punishment.   I 
decided to answer her in case the punishment might otherwise be more than 
I could bear with dignity.
	  "It's Rick," I lied.

	"Well, Rick, take off that pussy-boy bra right now."  she 
barked.   I sheepishly complied and handed the bra to her.  There was 
silence for a moment as all the girls looked my chest over, remarking 
upon with apparently approving "ah"s the brown hair that mats my chest 
between my nipples and points down in a treasure trail all the way to my 
navel.   "Think you're a big man with your hairy chest, don't you, 
Rick?"  she said.

	"N-no, " I said, trying not to be antagonistic. 

	"Oh yes you do, pussy boy,  You think you're a big man, but 
you're wrong.  You're a little sissy. In fact, you're really a girl 
inside. and we'll prove it to you later.   Right now you come over here, 
" she said, indicating a chair facing away from us near the front of the 
room.  

	"Now stand behind that chair, facing away from us." she ordered.  
I walked over and stood there, looking back over my shoulder at them.  
Suddenly I thought of the real Rick looking over his shoulder, and 
instinctively I covered my panty-clad butt with one hand. 

	"Now drop those panties to the floor, Rick.  Boys aren't supposed 
to wear panties, even sissy boys."

	I swallowed and delicately slipped the panties down my legs to 
the floor.  I was shaking with embarassment now, and my hard dick was 
bobbing up and down,  The girls tittered at the sight.

"Boys aren't supposed to steal panties, either.  Now you are going to be 
punished for being a very bad sissy boy.  Now bend over the chair, Rick." 
she said.  

Oh.  I thought. Now I knew what was going to happen next.  I started to 
bend over the chair, but it was uncomfortable against my belly, and my 
erection jutted right into it.  I winced and stood up again. Just then 
one of the counselors came up with a pillow and smilingly draped it over 
the back of the chair.  I nodded thanks to her and then assumed my bent 
over, bare-assed postition.  I supported myself with my hands flat on the 
seat of the chair and spread my legs slightly-without even being told 
to-so I would'nt have to strain to support my weight. 

	"Okay girls, let's all line up by cabin groups and by height 
within your groups.  Cabins will file alphabetically past Rick and each 
girl will deliver to him the punishment she deems appropriate.  You have 
half a minute to dole out your punishment.  Tina will stand guard to 
facillite your actions and to  make sure none of the punishments gets... 
well, out of hand. " she said.

	The counselor named Tina came to stand next to me with her hands 
clasped behind her back.  "Your ass is grass, Ricky boy," she whispered 
to me.   I knew she was right. 

	The first cabin, Ash, had already lined up and were heading my 
way.   My knees started to tremble and my prick throbbed against the 
pillow in its forced downward pointing, which all the girls could see 
displayed between  my parted thighs. 
	 "D-dont' let them hurt me, Tina," I gulped as the troup of young 
women approached me to dish out their revenge on the uninvited 
intruder.   
	"Relax, baby," she hissed at me, and set her stop watch for the 
first punishment. 

(end part one of three)



Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al)
Date: Fri, 14 Jul 1995 19:43:49 UTC
Subject: FRIDAY 13" #6 ITCHIN' FOR IT 2/3 M/M


(M/M in drag, M/M/M, M/F/fx40, M/Mx 24  panty fetishism, feminine 
domination, spanking, humiliation, forced femininization, cross-dressing, 
horticultural revenge,'train' fucking, etc. )

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A SEXUALLY EXPLICIT FICTIONAL STORY.
DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, OR IF YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED IN READING
ABOUT SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SITUATIONS AND ACTIVITIES..

To the alt.sex.stories reader:

        This is the 6th in a series of stories dealing mainly with male
to male sexuality, though the series will contain some male/female sex
and the thoughts, fantasies and activities of bisexual characters as well.




Friday 13" #6 Itchin' for it (Tom's story)
by Stroker Al

 (part two of three)


	The first girl did the predictable thing by giving me a vigorous 
bare-handed spanking on my exposed, naked ass.  She managed to get 40 or 
so wacks in during her alloted 30 seconds.  When else would she ever get 
such an opportunity to spank the firm, hairy ass of a full grown man as 
though he were a naughty boy?  Naturally she tried to get the most out of 
it that she could.  I could imagine her smiling as she stepped away to 
let the next girl in, but I kept my eyes closed through most of it.   I 
was suprised at how much my ass stung even after one round of this.  
Since about three quarters of the other 40 or so girls followed her 
example, I went quickly from surprise to soreness to  tolerable pain to  
near numbness as dozens of young, delicatly formed hands took turns 
spanking my tender, reddening bare butt with surprising power.

	Of course in every group there are those who are more original, 
more daring, or just more lucky to be struck with clever ideas as they 
watch others go before them.  So my  punishments were not restricted to 
hand spanking.  One little darling thrashed my victimized rump with a 
ping pong paddle, the kind with the little rubber dots on it.  That hurt 
my bad boy bottom like hell! 

	Another used a tennis racquet, which I didn't think I'd mind at 
first, because it reminded me of the time I'd had one used on me the 
exact same way once before.  My earlier racquet spanking had been part of 
the winner's spoils that went to this really hot guy with a superior 
backhand, after he beat me in a pick-up set one night really late at the 
city park courts back home.  Although THAT time I kept my little white 
tennis shorts on.  That is, until the automatic trip off of the lights 
left us in darkness.  That's when I decided to lose my shorts voluntarily 
and see if I couldn't feel his swing  a liitle better in just my 
jockstrap.  He liked that move, as I thought he might, and soon he was 
showing me some even better form than he had in the last match. Then, 
before you could say love-love, we were fucking on the abandoned court.   
	But this girl, despite her maccaroni elbow, really meant  
business, and she whipped my athletic ass untill it felt like I'd backed 
my buns into a hot waffle iron. 

	"Another used a pretty pink BARBIE'S Dream belt, only about a 
half an inch wide and with a tiny brass buckly smaller than a quarter.  
But boy, did that little thing sting my seat as it hissed and whipped 
through the air at me.  I can't imagine how KEN could stand such abuse on 
a regular basis!

	"Some punishments were much stranger.  One girl, a tom-boyish 
looking one in a t-shirt and cuttoff shorts and cowboy boots was allowed 
to lower me to all fours and ride me around the dining room floor.  She 
smacked my raw ass repeatedly to get me to move faster, and she tugged my 
hair in whatever direction she wanted me to turn.   Tina stayed right 
with us but never actually stopped anything.

	"After that one, I was afraid I was going to have to be ridden 
everyone, but no one else  ended up doing anything quite like that. 

	The absolute worst one was near the end.   I was blubbering 
through my tears by then with almost every blow, and when I saw this girl 
come around in front of the chair to cram something into my mouth, I 
assumed it was a gag.   It turned out to be an unused tampon.   In 
seconds it swelled up with my saliva and filled my mouth like a gag.  As 
she went behind me, I noticed she had something else in her other hand.  
It was about an inch around, five inches long, blue and wet looking.  It 
wasn't until she pushed it firmly into my asshole that I realized it was 
a popsicle.  Raspberry, no less!   

	A couple of them had to hold me down to get through the thirty 
seconds with that popsicle up my ass, cause I was really fighting.   Tina 
didn't stop the girl from plugging my ass with the damned thing, but she 
did tell her, "Don't pull it out right away, Sara.  Give it a chance to 
melt a little first."   Having had my tongue freeze to a jungle-gym bar 
once, I appreciated her wisdom.

	A few tugged on my dick and balls before and after spanking me.  
One girl, a counselor, and maybe the owner of the bra, I think, had me 
stand up, and had Tina hold my arms while she pinched and twisted my 
tits.  Before her time was up, she'd had both of my nipples in her mouth 
and had bitten and nibbled at them rougly .

	Tina only stopped one girl's punishment completely.  I remembered 
seeing her standing with the girls who had watched Rick and Dale fucking, 
but she had entered the hall alone after them. 

	She came up behind me with a plastic bag filled with leaves and 
started to reach in to get them.  
	"Let me see those, Connie," Tina said, stepping between us.
	"Why? No!  Let me !" she whined.
	"This is poison ivy, isn't it?"  said Tina.

	I jumped and sucked my breath in with disbelief.  Poison Ivy?  UP 
MY ASSHOLE? 

	"Yeah, it's poison ivy.  So?"

	"Girls.  We have a problem here," announced Tina. "Connie wants 
to punish the sissy boy by shoving poison ivy up his rectum.  Is this 
appropriate punishment for Rick's crimes?"

	The girls began yelling all kinds of things.  My knees went weak 
and I almost wet mysef on the floor when I heard several shouts of 
encouragment for Connie giving me a poison ivy fisting. 

	"Can you imagine what it would feel like to have poison ivy 
shoved up your ass?" Stuart said to the truck driver.   "How it would 
itch until you would feel like you wanted to die?  It boggles the 
imagination." 

 	The trucker was speechless, so Stuart continued.  
	"Fortunately for me and my ass there were more cries of disgust 
and rejection of the idea.  Apparently most of the girls felt that such 
treatment would not reflect well on their identities as Radclyffe ladies.

	"I'm sorry, Connie, but the majority doesn't agree that your 
punishment is appropriate.  Besides, our sissy boy's suffering would have 
far exceeded  30 seconds if we'd allowed it!"  Tina said, consolingly.
	"But I have to!  I'm SUPPOSED to do it!  I promised!" she 
whispered harshly to Tina.  

	"Well, you had no business promising anyone any such thing.  What 
do you think we're running here, a good old boy's club?  Majority rules, 
darling." said Tina sharply.
	   
	Connie was ordered to choose another punishment.  So she really 
beat my ass good.  My butt skin really smarted under her mean spanking.  
She was pissed.  She gave my balls a nasty yank, too when  Tina called time.

	Finally punishment was over, and I managed to stop bawling after 
a few more minutes. Everyone clapped when the last girl finished whipping 
my butt. 

	"Okay girls, "  said the redhead. " I think we've thrashed the 
bad boy out of Rick here.  Now.  Since its clear from his wearing our 
underwear that he wishes he were a girl,  we're going to grant his wish 
tonight and turn him into one.  We'll call her Rita.  Once again you'll 
all get to help!"

	The girls cheered with glee and their eyes beemed at me nastily.  
I thrilled and shuddered at the same time, assuming I wasn't going to be 
physically mutilated, at least, but apprehensive nonetheless about just 
how far they might go to feminize me in one night.

	Then they went to work on me.  Each cabin was assigned some 
aspect of my demasculization and feminization.   Ash cabin collected 
ladies shaving implements and lotions and creams and circled around me to 
begin removing all of my body hair.  I was too tired and sore by then to 
resist at all.  I raised my underarms for their razors and watched as 
tufts of underarm hair, chest hair,  and my unruly, thick bush hair fell 
to the ground along with the last vestiges of my male pride, only to be 
swept up my another cabin group.  It was so incredibly humiliating that 
my erection snapped up again.  My normally forrested nipples were made 
bald and  pink,  my thighs began to rub smoothly together for the first 
time since seventh grade, and my ass became as smooth as the butt of a 
baby, that is, all except for the crack of my ass, which they left hairy 
("his twat" giggled one of the counselors.)  Not used to the perfectly 
respectable kind of smoothness all over my body that many men normally 
had, I felt like I had become the totally pussified wuss that the girls 
suspected me to be.
    
	They plucked my eyebrows and attempted to shave my face closely, 
but I was eventually allowed to finish it myself after they nicked me 
twice.   

	I was dragged to a shower and lathered up and cleaned, than 
powdered and perfumed.  They fussed with my hair for over an hour, but 
gave up on it.  It was just too thick and shapeless to make feminine.  
They finally decided to shave my whole head and put a wig on me.  The 
head shaving was to encourage me to keep the wig on for when I would 
eventually be out of their sight and control.  I hated the way I looked 
bald when I saw it, so their reasoning worked. 

	Next a group did my makeup.   They spent about an hour also, and 
I was totally unprepared for what a good job they did when they showed me 
the mirror.  I looked  like a model or something.!  It was amazing.   If 
only it had been someone else's face, a less masculine looking face,  I 
would have been totally convinced of my womanhood.  As it was, though I 
felt almost ashamed at my remaining masculinity.   But the woman inside 
me was  thrilled, and I secretly began to relax and enjoy the process 
even as it seemed to degrade my male self-image.

	Finally they dressed me, and I even got to choose from among the 
outfits.  It was as though I'd had the instinct all along for what would 
look good on me as a woman, and that now I was finally getting the 
opportunity.   Under my skirt they fixed up an elastic contraption that 
pulled the head of my dick back between my thighs and held it in place 
almost all the way back to my asshole, so even to the closest observer, i 
would appear to be as dickless as any other woman.    My poor nuts 
positively shrunk with embarrasment at my passivity in letting myself be 
de-cocked by these laughing girls, and my untesty testes finally slunk 
away up into their sockets out of the pure shame of it all, just as 
though they'd never descended in the first place!

	Finally, I insisted on the very pair of panties that I'd 
originally chosen.  The ones I'm wearing now.

	When we were done they had me parade up and down on dining tables 
in front of them, and I felt like a top model going down the runway.  
They cheered me on, but after a while, by the looks on a few faces, I 
guessed that some of them were starting to get jealous of me, believe  it 
or not.

	That's when the counselors announced the final stage of my 
punishment.  I was presented with this laundry sack full of all the 
panties I stole, plus more.   I was told that I would be realeased 
tomorrow morning and that I would have to hitchhike back to my camp.  I 
was also made to promise that during the next night I would perform a 
reverse panty raid upon Camp Christopher."

	"A reverse panty raid?"  the truck driver asked.  "What does that 
mean?  Put em back?"

	"Well, not exactly, " said Stuart.  He explained what a reverse 
panty raid was, and the driver laughed uproariously. "It's going to be 
very tricky. and I'm sure I'll be caught, " added Stuart.

	"Well, as clever  as that would be, you're free now.  Why do you 
have to go along with it?" the driver asked.

	"Photographs."  Stuart said.  "They took HUNDREDS of me in every 
conceivable stage.  Including one with the popsicle up my ass!   I don't 
want anybody at Camp Christopher to lay eyes on them."

	"I see" said the driver.

	"So anyway, they put me in a cabin with some of the counselors 
where they could watch me and make sure I didn't leave till morning.
Then, they helped me freshen up, gave me breakfast and sent me on my 
way.  And that's where you came in."  Stuart grinned.

	"Well, I'll be," sighed the driver.   "Stuart, you're one hell of 
a good sport.  A lota guys would be ruined by something like this.  I 
gotta hand it to ya, you must be pretty comfortable with your manhood."  

	"I suppose. " Stuart said.  "Either that or I'm just extra 
comfortable with my femininity." 

	"Well I hope you're not offended, but I don't agree with what you 
say about your face looking so masculine.   I think you have a very 
androgenous face.  Your makeup and hair turn it towards the feminine 
side. I think it works real well.  It was only the way you were standing 
that gave you away to me."

	"Really.  Hmmmm.  That's interesting.  I'll have to work on 
that."  Stuart said.

	"Well speaking of good sports, can you be one again and wait for 
me while I make a pit stop?" asked the driver.

	"Sure, no problem."  said Stuart, instinctively looking at the 
guy's crotch as if a full bladder would have been visible there.

	The truck screeched over to the roadside and halted.  The driver 
grabbed something from the glove compartment, which looked like a pair of 
gloves to Stuart, and climbed down out of the cab.  he then disappeared 
into the woods.


	Stuart sat in the cab waiting for the driver to return.  He 
picked the wig up from his lap and began to smooth out some of the 
tangles that were now twisting the long brown locks in his hands.  When 
he got it somewhat straightened out he placed it instinctively back upon 
his head, carefully positioning it using the mirror on the back of the 
passenger side sunshade.  Then he studied his looks in the mirror for a 
while.  He WAS more androgenous-looking, after all, than he had thought, 
the driver was right.

	Finally the driver emerged from the curtain of shade-darkened 
woods and paused at the edge of the road. He stood at the spot where the 
deep angle of the late afternoon sun's rays just cleared the woods and 
outlined his large, nicely built figure with a aura of golden light. His 
wild, brown hair seemed ringed with flame, and his unshaven jaws bristled 
with light. When Stuart sheilded his eyes he was able to see the driver's 
pleasingly  rugged form and features in the softly muted light reflecting 
off of the bright red rig. He watched him do himself up after his piss, 
grinning there in his nonchalant exhibitionism. 

	Stuart's gaze moved down the half unbuttoned front of the man's 
comfortably ragged red plaid flannel shirt, where he was displaying dark 
curls of chest hair with the kind of eye-pleasing intent that a homemaker 
employs when arranging a flower box in a window.   Farther down, the 
man's ripped and faded levis hovered unzipped and parted at his hips 
while he tucked the shirt in.  He was wearing snapless, buttonless white 
boxer shorts with the gaping fly that usually results from lack of 
ironing.  Through this opportune opening, Stuart spied the brown 
bush-nestled root of what hinted at being an impressive endowment of 
cock. 

	Stuart involuntarily licked his lips, and then quickly looked up 
at the driver's face to see if he'd noticed his lustful reaction .  The 
driver was now leering back at him playfully, as he zipped up and 
approached the truck.
	
	Stuart's 7inch rod began to stiffen inside his lacey, flimsy 
panties as the anticipation of possible sex became stronger. Naturally, 
he'd gotten rid of the elastic dick yanker the minute he'd left 
Radclyffe. The driver came around and climbed into the cab and just sat 
there with his legs apart and knees up against the dash, looking 
contented.  he left the truck idiling and looked over to Stuart.

	"You sure are beautiful dressed up like that, Stuart." he said. 
"You know for a minute out there when you were looking at me I could have 
sworn you were a gorgeous babe I'd picked up. " 

	Stuart actually blushed.  "Well.....I uh..... Well, thank you." 
he tittered nervously.  Waves of arousal radiated through his body.  If 
there had been an actual pussy between those nyloned legs under his 
dress, it would have started getting wet then.   He swallowed and smiled 
seductively at the driver.  "Well what would you and this gorgeous babe 
be doing now if she were here?," he asked coyly, surprising himself.

	The driver relaxed his body, tilted his head back and rolled his 
eyes heavenward, taking a deep breath, and then exhaling.  Then, still in 
this languid position, he turned his head to lock eyes with his 
passenger.  His big, callused left hand  moved to his crotch and began to 
rub the mound of his denim fly.  "That would depend on what the lady 
wanted," he replied in a deep, quiet voice.

	Stuart shuddered with excitement as his own dick completely 
uncoiled in his panties.  "This lady would like to see what a truck 
driver's dick looks like up close," he said, almost whispering.  The 
driver blinked at the sweet thing's boldness and smiled.  "Mmmm," he 
murmered, as he unzipped his jeans.  "Coming right up, for your inspection."

	Stuart swiveled his weight onto his left hip so he could face the 
driver and watch as he undid his pants and fished his rod out of the fly 
of his boxers with his powerful hands.  When Stuart saw the large, fat 
prick bobbing semi-hard over the driver's encircling fingers he nearly 
gasped.  The magnificent thing was not yet even fully erect, but already 
much bigger than any dick Stuart had ever laid eyes or hands on.   He 
reached out toward it instinctively.
	"May I?" he asked.
	"If you would be so kind," grinned the driver, relinquishing 
control over his burgeoning cock to his to the grasping, red-nailed 
fingers of his eager passenger.   Stuart gripped and stroked the big rod 
and felt it stiffen and lengthen in his hand.  Within seconds the 
hitchhiker had coaxed the driver's prick into full, rock hard erection.
Surely it was a foot long, Stuart thought to himself.  He shimmied his 
dress-encased ass across the vinyl seat so he could be closer to it.  He 
leaned his bewigged head downward  to examine the pulsating prick point 
blank.  Locks of long hair brushed over and tickled the  driver's cock, 
making him moan.  
	Stuart's mouth watered as the penisy scent of dickmeat reached 
his nostrils, and his crimson-glossed lips parted in anticipation.   He 
was beyond asking permission to proceed, but he hesitated anyway, when he 
noticed the tattoo on the fat knob of the driver's dick head.  It was the 
number "13," he could now see, and though he was normally superstitious, 
the bad luck of the previous 24 hours gave him momentary pause.  The 
moment of doubt passed as the driver's firm hand guided Stuart's head 
downward into his lap.

	The help of the driver's hand proved superflous, however, because 
Stuart began sucking his dick with intensely autonomous passion.  He 
pulled both nylon-covered knees forward onto the passenger seat so he 
could more comfortably hover over the driver's crotch.  The driver's 
right hand strayed to the backs of Stuart's stockinged legs., which he 
carressed affectionately as the young man gave him head.  Before long the 
driver's hand had crept up the pretty cocksucker's thighs to his 
lace-panty covered ass.  He hiked the dress up over Stuart's back so he 
could carress the fellator's fanny unobstructed.  

	Stuart wriggled with pleasure with the combined sensation   of 
the warm hand and the summer breeze through the truck window carressing 
his ass.  He deep throated the mega-cock with skill and enthusiasm,  
having to continually move wig hair out of his way.  Naturally while 
sucking the cock he couldn't get his lips within even a couple inches of 
the man's dickroot, so he spent part of the time licking and stroking the 
full length of the shaft. 

	Meanwhile the driver  worked Stuart's lacey panties down past the 
beefy but smooth, baby-powdered  globes of his shaved young-man's ass and 
left them clinging to his now hairless thighs .  The warm, rough hand 
kneaded and caressed the now totally exposed, firm and shapely ass.    As 
the driver circled and prodded his vulnerable, and now sweaty, 
still-hairy  ass pucker with an insistant finger, the busy hitchiker 
moaned and intesified his cocksucking.  The driver interpreted this - 
correctly - as encouragement from Stuart for him to proceded. 
	
	By the time the next truck passed them, blaring the horn loudly, 
the driver had his big index finger all the way inside Stuart's manhole.  
"Ah," he purred. "Your pussy's so hot and so tight." 

	Stuart released the dick from his mouth just long enough to 
reply. "That's 'cause I haven't let anybody fuck me in a while.  But I'll 
tell you it would be a lot 'hotter' right now if those crazy Radcliffe 
girls had let that girl cram it full of P.I.!  Boy did I narrowly escape 
THAT fate!" He said, swallowing the mighty knob of the driver's dick once 
more. 

	The driver moaned and revelled in the resumed pleasure of getting 
his dick sucked.  He continued playing with Stuart's ass in silence for a 
while, introducing a second and then a third finger.  Finally he spoke 
again. 
	"You know, you really seem obsessed with that poison ivy thing, 
"  he said.  "I'd almost wonder if you weren't a little disappointed they 
didn't let her go through with it."

	Stuart snorted dismissively, but kept the driver's erection in 
his throat.   

	"No?  Well you could have fooled me.  You keep mentioning it, 
after all.  People who talk excessively about one feeling are often 
covering up a conflicting one.  Maybe you're curious about how it would 
have felt to have your asshole so itchy that you couldn't stand not to 
scratch it." 

	Stuart snorted again.

	"Well, you sure seem to enjoy my fingers up your ass.  They must 
be scratching SOME kind of itch, don't you think, sweetheart?"
he murmurred.

	Stuart moaned softly  and  began stroking his own hard rod. 
  
	"Oh yes, you're itching for it aren't you?" purred the driver. "  
Imagine how good these fingers would feel scratching your ivy-poisoned 
pussy, darlin."

	Stuart came up for air again, the saliva soaked cock slapping out 
of his lips.  "You know you're not supposed to scratch poison ivy," he 
said with perverse coyness. 

	The driver grinned.  "Sweetie, there's a LOT of things we're not 
supposed to do.  That doesn't mean we don't sometimes want things bad 
enough that what we're "supposed to do" doesn't stop us, does it?"

	"Well.....no," said Stuart, closing his eyes, jacking his own 
cock harder, and tensing his ass muscles around the driver's invading 
fingers.  He liked to hear the driver talk, but it was starting to getr 
mildly annoyed by what sounded like patronizing provocation.  As someone 
who was begining to feel as comfortable with the idea of having a pussy 
as he was having a dick, this macho know-itallness was a  bit irritating.

	"Well, I wanna hear you say it, Stuart.  Didn't you really, in 
the back of your dirty little mind, kind of want those humiliating girls 
to go ahead and cram those poison ivy leaves - all crinkly and scratchy - 
up your tight, bad boy asshole?  Isn't it making you all hot wondering 
just how intense that itching in your boy pussy  would have gotten if 
you'd not missed out on the opportunity to find out?  Doesn't it make 
your knees weak to think of the lengths you'd have gone to to relieve 
that intense itching?"

	"Yes," moaned Stuart softly, his eyes still closed , his lips 
wetly grazing the driver's dickhead.  "I'd be stuffing my ass with 
everything to get at it - your fingers, all of them.  Your big stiff 
dick, fucking me for hours..."

	"I thought so, Stuart," the driver cooed. 
 
	"That's another reason I went so far out there in the woods  to 
take a piss.  Cause there was something else I needed to do.  Something I 
wanted to bring back just for you,' he said, patting a bulge in his pocket.
	He laughed and rubbed the inner walls of Stuart's hole. "Now all 
you have to do is convince me that you really want it up your ass and beg 
a man to finish the job that the girls couldn't."

	Stuart looked up at him incredulously and then looked down at the 
single glove that protruded from the driver's left pants pocket, and then 
at the small bulge that showed in the pocket on the left.  It was 
POSSIBLE that he could be serious, but the idea was so outrageous that 
Stuart decided to call his bluff.

 
 	"You're' all talk, mister." he said finally.  "You might have the 
dick of a big man, but not even you have the balls to fuck my ass with 
poison ivy, any more than those girls did!"  He kissed and licked the 
driver's enormous erection teasingly.  
	"Nor do I believe that you have the finesse and stamina to make 
sure the itch you'd give me would get scratched for as long as I needed 
it. Like all night, for example."

	The driver smiled devilishly and drove his big, calloused fingers 
as deep as he could into Stuart's yielding ass, making the pretty young 
man yelp.   "Just try me, sweetheart," he hissed into Stuart's ear just 
before tonguing it wetly.  "I've got all the equipment I need for the job 
right here.  Just give me the word, and your hitchhikin' ass is gonna be 
in for a night of a lifetime!"

	"I don't believe you, you lying fucker, " Stuart hissed in a 
lustful,  daring voice.  "You're bluffing.  You just like to get your 
boys all hot and begging for your big dick up their asses, don't you?"

	"Listen, you pretty little bitch, don't mouth me like that," said 
the driver, sounding serious. "You're gonna get more than you can handle 
if you 're not careful."
	
	"OOH, I'm scared big man."  taunted Stuart.  "Your dick is a 
lethal weapon, I'm sure.   But if anyone is obsessed with Poison ivy, 
It's you.  Well, I'll tell you now there's only one way I'd ever let you 
put poison ivy up my ass, big man, and that's if you use your naked prick 
to stuff it all the way in.."

	The trucker looked at him blankly.  "No condom?" he stuttered. 
"I'm HIV negative and all, but that would be pretty risky."

	Stuart laughed. "I knew it.  You're just as scared as the rest of 
us! What happened to the big ballsy guy who was telling me a few minutes 
ago about how what he was "supposed to do" wouldn't stop him?"

	The trucker said nothing, hesitating.  

	"Yeah, I thought so, Mr. crazy, daring big rig trucker fucker is 
full of shit."  Stuart lifted up and turned away to lean out the 
passenger side window.  He wiggled his exposed ass  at the driver and 
went in for the kill. " Well,  my ass is ready for you baby.  I'm feeling 
even sluttier than that blonde sleaze at Woody's that the guys are always 
scoring with.  It's your choice, stud: no condom, or no poison ivy."

	"I'll give you three seconds to take that back." said the truck 
driver, his eyes aflame, his face red with agitation.

	"Why would I take it back?  I meant it, " said Stuart. "Remember, 
I'm a good sport.  Win or lose." 
   
	Stuart clung to the window frame and braced himelf.  As the rough 
hands tore the panties from his parted thighs and spread his ass cheeks 
he gasped in anticipation.  

	"I'll show you who the sleaze is, you dick-loving little cunt!" 
roared the driver as he yanked down his own jeans and boxers and loomed 
behind Stuart to mount him.

	Stuart shivered as he anticipated how his little gamble was about 
to pay-off big time, combining the ardor of a wounded ego with a raging 
dick of gargantuan proportions.  As his man-pussy twitched hungrily, he 
heard the crinkling and fumbling behind him that he usuallly associated 
with the opening and putting on of a condom. And though he didn't suppose 
the sound could have come from anything else, a part of him did at that 
moment believe he might actually have submitted to an unprotected poison 
ivy fuck if such a hung stud like this truck driver had been sadistic 
(and masochistic!) enough to attempt such a thing.

	Then Stuart felt pressure against his asshole and hot, angry 
breathing on his neck. Yessss,  he cried, yes.   But as driven by hunger 
and horniness as his lustful expections of the driver had been, there, in 
the cab, on the highway, for the next 20 minutes of wild, ecstatic 
penetration, (punctuated by loud horn blasts of half a dozen gawking 
truckers passing by from the other direction)  all of Stuart's 
expectations (of his partner and of himself) were exceeded in quite an 
exceptional manner. 

(end part two of three)



Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al)
Date: Fri, 14 Jul 1995 22:47:01 UTC
Subject: FRIDAY 13" #6 Itchin' for It 3/3 M/M 


(M/M in drag, M/M/M, M/F/fx40, M/Mx 24  panty fetishism, feminine 
domination, spanking, humiliation, forced femininization, cross-dressing, 
horticultural revenge, rimming, 'train' fucking, etc. )

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A SEXUALLY EXPLICIT FICTIONAL STORY.
DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, OR IF YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED IN READING
ABOUT SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SITUATIONS AND ACTIVITIES..

To the alt.sex.stories reader:

        This is the 6th in a series of stories dealing mainly with male
to male sexuality, though the series will contain some male/female sex
and the thoughts, fantasies and activities of bisexual characters as well.



Friday 13" #6  Itchin' for it  (Tom's Story)
   by Stroker Al

(part three of three)


	The irony of finding himself to be both a 'good sport' and a 
'sore loser' at the same time struck Stuart an hour later as he was 
showering alone in the bath house back at Christopher Lake Camp. 
The good sportsmanship was a question of taking responsibility for the 
consequences of his sexual provocation.  The trucker had not, after all, 
pressed a gun to his head, but instead had stuffed a clump of volatile 
leafy weeds up his ass with his erect, condomless prick, just as Stuart 
had dared him to do.  Doubting that the crazy fucker would ever do such a 
thing was no excuse now.   Stuart had called his bluff and lost, and was 
now 'sore' as hell.       
     
      This was not, however, because the unshaven lug hadn't used the 
most incredible restraint with Stuart, even as he'd run his camp 
counselor ass up the flagpole of his dick.   Obviously the fucker was 
used to holding back anywhere from a half to a third of his penile length 
when fucking a guy, even as the ample allotment of dick (with it's 
equally impressive girth) that he no doubt delivered to all of his 
screaming bottoms had been wielded with the authoritative dominance of a 
caveman's club. No, Stuart was sore due to the natural consequences of 
getting fucked AND because of the onset of the itching. 

	But had the gamble been worth it?  It remained to be seen, Stuart 
decided.  Right now the rest of him felt like felt a million bucks!	
	
	Thank goodness the girls at Radcliffe had sent an evening dress 
along with Stuart, because his outfit was literally in tatters. In the 
process of having his whole body pawed, mauled and penetrated by the 
trucker, Stuart's dress had gotten pushed all the way up around his neck 
in a wrinkled twist of tortured fabric. In addition, the bra had been 
pulled off and tossed aside, the stockings laced with runs and rubbed all 
the way down to his knees, and his heels knocked to the floor of the cab 
next to his torn panties.

	Stuart's prostate had been punted like a football through the 
goal posts of his buttucks.  The piston-powered force that had squeezed 
his love-gland into an explosive reaction had only taken five or six 
minutes to drive Stuart into orgasm and fire more than a dozen sizzling 
squirts of his white-hot come all over the vinyl inside of the passenger 
door that the she-male was clinging to for his life.  But of course the 
roughest ride of this sweet hitchhiker's life hadn't ended there.  For 
about fifteen more minutes, the girly-boy had been forced to endure 
thrust after thrust of the trucker's ass-punishing fuck, which through 
the merciless banging of balls, hips and thighs against his ill-used butt 
brought back vivid memories of the previous night's ass-assaults.  It was 
like  being gangbanged by the whole world.  

	Luckily, though, thanks to a combination of Stuart's mental 
(slut) and physical (hot man-pussy) receptiveness and the sexual skill of 
the driver, the pain of getting dicked by this bull had essentially 
vanished after the first minute, though ocassionaly thereafter the 
trucker would accidentally veer into killer-fuck territory.  Fortunately, 
his quick reaction time in correcting his course according to Stuart's 
cries was as good as that of a vacationing husband behind the wheel 
responding to his vocal, map-navigating wife.  

	By the time he came the first time, Stuart felt like he'd been 
born with the man's cock up his ass, and after 10 more minutes or so 
began to get erect again himself.  Incredibly, Stuart came again just 
before the trucker climaxed.  But by then, his tangled wig had tumbled 
off amidst all the passion and down into harms way, where Stuart's second 
flood of jizz gave the hairpiece a spontaneous frost job.  

	Less than a minute later, the trucker was gasping and moaning and 
gripping Stuarts nipples between his vice-like thumbs and fingers.  And 
finally, he came inside Stuart's pounded ass in a gushing, unrestrained, 
spermy fountain of semen that Stuart felt inside with a condomless 
clarity he had never previously experienced .  
	And still the trucker continued to thrust.  "Take it, cunt, take 
it!" he cried. The first wads of his come were now squirting out of 
Stuart's slickening pussy-ass and lubing it up for the grand finale of 
the trucker's lingering assault.  Come shot out of the trucker's bazooka 
prick with increasing intensity as the slickness of his warm splooge 
increased his pleasure and prolonged the climax. 

	He thrust and thrust and thrust and thrust again until finally he 
was spent, and he plopped his sweat-matted hairy chest down onto Stuart's 
back.  After a minute of rest, he looked down at the sight of his cock 
piercing Stuart's blistered ass and slowly began to withdraw his 
gradually softening prick.  He was not surprised to see the high volume 
of his savage semen glistening along the length of his dick and dribbling 
out of stuart's  worn out manpussy, but he was suprised at the color.

	His jizz was a grassy green.   For some reason he had not 
expected the poison ivy leaves to become so pulverized in twenty minutes 
of fucking that they would liquify to the point of blending with his 
cock-juice.  But they had, all except for some fibrous bits and flecks of 
more solid ivy debris. The sight roused him to action.

	"Okay bitch,  if you know what's good for you you'll do the  
Summer's Eve routine" said the trucker.   Stuart hadn't understood at 
first what he meant, but when the trucker reached behind the seat and 
withdrew a frosty 16 oz. bottle of Pepsicola from a concealed cooler,  
Stuart got the picture. He was being offered a 1950's-style douche. 

	 "Uh, I think I'm gonna need some help with this," he said. 
	 "She-it!" said the the driver, making a face, but finally he 
nodded and they both climbed out of the truck and headed toward the tall 
grasses in the ditch near the edge of the woods.

	Back on the road,  with both passenger and driver fully dressed 
again, the effects of the poison ivy had begun.  The trucker was 
constantly adjusting his crotch for comfort, and intermittently indulging 
in furtive scratching down the front of his pants, while Stuart was just 
squirming a little and shifting in his seat, feeling something that was 
so far more like a tickle than an itch.

	Stuart laughed.  "What in the hell made you do it, you horny 
lunatic?  Your dick is going to be useless for days!"

	The trucker kept his eyes on the road and didn't answer for a 
while  "Let's just say I decided you had it coming. And It unfortunately 
turned out that I was the only one capable of giving it to you.  I gave 
that little brat back at camp Radcliffe 20 bucks to do it, and she 
failed. "

	"Wait a minute," cried Stuart.  "YOU were there?  You KNEW the 
whole story already?"   He stared at the man next to him as though seeing 
him for the first time.  "Who the hell are you?  And just exactly WHEN 
did you decide I had THAT coming to me?"

	"The name's Friday," he said. "I watched you and your friends 
behave very disrespectfully toward someone I care very much about.  Next 
time you guys want to get into each others' pants I hope you'll be a 
little more honest and direct and you wont use the people around you as 
though they were props. "

	"The barmaid at Woody's?"  Stuart gasped.  "You know her? You 
were THERE?"

	He nodded.  "Your friends were downright raunchy to her.  You 
were just rude.  "

	"So why do I get all of the payback and they get off scott 
free?"  Stuart cried.  "I mean, I'm sorry, I know I said some bad things 
about her, but I never would have if I'd known you cared about her.  Why 
aim the vendetta only at me?"

	"Oh, I think you'll be able to think of something more devious 
for your friends then I ever could. After all, I think they wronged you 
even more than they wronged me and my girl."  he said.

	When the truck finally arrived at Camp Christopher, the main 
grounds appeared mostly abandoned.   The campers and staff were doing the 
water games down at the beach.  The driver opened the door for Stuart, 
but made no move to get out himself."

	"So what happened to the rest of the bargain?  You were supposed 
to make sure my itch got scratched all night? " Stuart said.

	"Oh, but I will, I will.  I told you I had all the necessary 
equipment."  He reached under the driver's seat and pulled out a 
rectangular box.   "Here's a present for you."

	Stuart made a skeptical, dissapointed face and opened the box.  
Inside he found a dildo, a large bottle of calamine lotion, several dozen 
french tickler condoms (purched patiently one by one, apparently, from 
the coin vending machine in the bathroom at Woody's) and a small pad of 
paper and pen.  "What the fuck is all this?" he sneered.  "Are you 
telling me I'm gonna have to take care of my own needs tonight with THIS 
crap ? You impotent little liar!"

	"Now hold on a minute there, girly. "  said the driver.  "I told 
you I'd see to it that you'd get fucked all night, and you're gonna get 
fucked all night. Now just listen to me, and I'll tell you what you need 
to do...." 

*   *   *

	After his shower, Stuart sneaked back to his cabin and dressed 
himself in a fresh set of sexy evening wear the girls had sent with him.  
He brushed all the dried cum out of the wig and redid his shaving and 
makeup the way he had been taught, and before long he was looking even 
more stunning than he had been that morning.  

	But oh, how his hot slit was starting to itch!  The irritated 
walls of his inner asshole were swelling and reddening and tightening 
up.   He needed constant, vigorous  friction against his itchy sore 
poison ivy spots. But it was still an hour or so before he would be able 
to make his move according to the trucker's plan.  He spent that hour 
sitting on a butt plug and writing out the little notes on paper as he'd 
been instructed.  After completing each one, he folded one of the french 
ticklers inside of it and popped it into his bag.

	Finally it was dark and time for the talent show.   He stayed out 
of sight, outside, near the back of the hall and watched the proceedings 
from a window.   It was the usual awful, interminably tedious string of 
cliched routines and bad renditions of camp songs.  Boys of all ages 
purposely singing off key in that way they do in order not to be 
considered unmasculine.   
	
	There was the grinning face of Jeff Waldman MC-ing as usual, but 
acting so much more chipper and energetic tonight.   Even from his 
distant vantage point, Stuart noticed that the guy's fly was undone, and 
that a bit of his shirttail was visible through it.

	   SOMEBODY had hastily pulled up their pants, he noted, but the 
question was, after doing what?  Stuart speculated on ways that the 
trucker might have persuaded Waldman to add a last minute act to the 
evening's entertainment, and most of them included Waldman's exposed cock 
in their scenarios.

  	Then Stuart heard Waldman say his name, and he knew that the 
driver had indeed been good to his word.   Stuart was going to very soon 
have everything he needed to get his itch scratched all night.   

	Confident in this knowledge, the cross-dressed cock lover 
sauntered into the hall at the signal of confused applause that had 
greeted the announcement of his participation in the show.  It was the 
first time the boys had seen him in 24 hours, so it took them a few 
seconds to take in the change that had occurred with him.  But within 
seconds, the anticipated howls and hoots of testosterone-charged sexual 
bluster burst forth from the crowd of fellow counselors and support 
staff, and in turn, the camper boys of whom they were in charge. 

	Stuart sashayed up the center aisle toward the stage area, 
looking fabulous and making every movement count.  His wiggling ass 
combined his sexual determination with his irrepressible urge to 
compensate for the increasingly intense itching in his love canal.  Those 
eye-catching tennis boy legs displayed a different though no-less 
powerful appeal tonight in their shaved and stockinged appearance.  On 
stage and facing his audience at last, he flashed the roomful of 
laughing, leering, nervous men a smile to die for, and let his whole 
being illuminate the room with the searing light of the hot woman 
within.  But the clincher came when the tape player started and Stuart 
began lip-syncing that he could tell for sure that he had them all in the 
palm of his hand. 

	"Sitting here eatin' my heart out, baby, waitin' for some lover 
to call..." Stuart mimicked his image of her as Donna Summer wailed the 
smouldering words of "Hot Stuff" under the driving beat and mean guitars 
and synthesizer.  

	As he channeled Donna , Stuart began to work the room exactly as 
he had been instructed by Friday, making heavy eye contact and pressing 
face with his coworkers, burrowing his ass down into each reflexively 
tenting denim and khaki covered laps, kicking his legs high, wrapping his 
arms around chests and shoulders heaving with nervous hilarity and 
excitement.  And almost unnoticed, in between his moves, Stuart would 
extract the "French letters" one at a time from his bosom and tuck them 
discreetly into the most accessible pocket of each man that he showered 
with his attentions. 

	Stuart especially relished his turns with Dale and Rick, who, 
sitting together near the back, couldn't hide their guilt and 
apprehension even as they attempted to keep in tune with the night's 
camaraderie by pawing their previously abandoned buddy when he climbed 
into their laps for a show of affection.  
	"I've missed you," whispered Stuart to Dale teasingly.  "Can't 
wait to see you tonight."
	"Uh, yeah.  Yeah, Stuart.  I'd like that a lot.  I was wanting to 
talk to you anyway, to explain- ," Dale began, but Stuart cut him off by 
springing from his arroused lap and into Rick's. 

	After Stuart moved on to the other men, the guilty pair examined 
the tiny packages that he had thrust into their posession.   Inside the 
gaudily red-tinged French ticklers, they found a carefully folded, 
shockingly worded note, that being essentially identical to the others, 
was equal part invitation and challenge.  In order to remain secure in 
their manhood, each staff member found themselves both privaleged and 
obliged to come to Stuart's cabin at an individually appointed time, for 
a promised twenty minutes of ecstasy.  The only price mentioned for a 
rendezvous with the alluring she-male was that each man "relinquish the 
underwear off his ass" to Stuart.  
	They were a bit unnerved, however, when they noticed that they 
were apparently to be the first (Dale) and second (Rick) of Stuart's 
visitors for the evening.  In fact, the time marked on Dale's note was 10 
p.m., immediately after the show!  Neither of them, of course, had 
noticed that Stuart had pulled these specially targeted invitations out 
from under his garter instead of his bosom.  It was no coincidence that 
they were to go first.

	When the song ended, Stuart blew kisses to the now wild crowd and 
hurried out a side exit and away to his cabin to prepare.  The counselors 
and support staff spent the next half hour trying to calm their agitated 
kids down and and get them bedded down for the night.   Only Rick and 
Dale managed to slip away without being shanghaied into helping one of 
the overworked, overstimulated counselors with his unruly mob.

	Minutes later they arrived at the cabin they shared with Stuart's 
cabin, whose windows now glowed with the muted red light of a lampshade 
draped with a bandana.  "Wow, he really is playing the whore tonight," 
Rick laughed nervously.  
	"And a cheap one at that,"  Dale added, checking his underwear 
waistband to remind him which pair of boxers he'd put on that morning.  
"Looks like the Radcliffe girls made an impression on him.  He doesn't 
seem pissed at us at all."
	"I know!" Rick agreed.  "If this is payback, it's pretty painless."
	They started up the steps to the cabin together, but Dale turned 
to rick and gave him a look.  "Hey. Wait your turn.  You're not on for 
twenty minutes."

	Inside, peering through the drapes,  Stuart spied and 
eavesdropped upon the breif exchange between the two fuckbuddies who had 
become unexpectedly territorial a mere 24 hours since their first fuck.  
After a minute Rick was stepping down, looking a little hurt, and Dale 
was knocking on the door.  At this cue, Stuart primped his phony hair, 
straightened his bogus bust, and lastly, reached under his dress, between 
his legs, to remove and discard the butt plug that had allowed him to get 
this far without going insane from the itching in his ass.   He then 
opened the door for his first guest and shut it behind him.

	Like any whore, Stuart demanded payment up front.  Dale chuckled, 
still nervous, as he shucked his shirt, shoes, shorts, socks and boxers, 
and handed the latter to Stuart.  "What are you going to do with 'em, 
Stu?" he asked.
	"They'll be sent to camp Radcliffe, in exchange for some services 
they provided me," he smiled. 

	"Oh." said Dale, cautiously approaching his ravishingly crossed 
dressed friend in his hirsuite nakedness and putting a hand on Stuart's 
shoulder.  "So it's a kind of a reverse panty raid on Camp Christopher, 
right?" 
	Stuart smiled wickedly. "Well, no, actually, Dale. This would be 
a men's underwear raid, if anything.  A reverse panty raid would be 
something else...."
	Dale , somewhat more relaxed now, pressed forward, wrapped his 
arms around his friend and brought his lips within an inch of Stuart's.  
"No, baby *you're* something else,"  he whispered, and kissed Stuart 
deeply.   Stuart's head began to spin as he devoured the big wet tongue 
of the man he'd been after for weeks, and for a second or two, considered 
bolting the door and spending the night with Dale and to hell with the 
others.   But only for a second or two.  Then he smiled and pulled Dale 
down onto the bed with him, and spread his nyloned legs open for the 
night's business.  "Fuck me, you big-dicked stud," Stuart hissed, as Dale 
pulled off the beauty's panties to reveal the glistening, wet and hairy 
cleft of his man pussy.  Dale saw that juices were already flowing from 
his honey's pussy and he licked his lips in anticipation. 
	"Put on your tickler first, sweetheart," Stuart reminded him, and 
Dale obeyed, fumblingly.  Stuart helped him slip the bumpy rubber sheath 
over his plump, stiff cock.  In his passion, Dale didn't notice the small 
slit of scoring that Stuart had previously engraved across the head of 
the tickler, insuring that the condom would break during intercourse. 
	Then, Stuart lay back and waited for Dale to mount him, but his 
partner had other ideas and suddenly lunged forward between his legs  to 
bury his face in Stuart's pungent, savory fuck-well.  Stuart gasped in 
shock and pleasure and nearly cried out a warning to Dale, but managed to 
stifle it as the stud's deftly moving tongue started digging and slurping 
at his butt-cunt.  Just as his rival,  Rick,the man stealing bitch had 
found out, Stuart's crotch-throb had quite a taste for man-pussy.  Of 
course this time the poor, dumb fucker didn't have a clue what was on the 
menu or what the prices would be.  Or didn't care.  A pity, because 
Stuart had certainly cooked it all up with love, and had gone through 
much trouble and discomfort to save helpings for both of his cabin mates, 
although he hadn't anticipated that his sex and revenge stew was going to 
be sampled orally.  But no problem.  There was PLENTY for two, even with 
such a hungry lad as this one between his legs.  How tickled Stuart was 
now that he'd decided at the last minute, with the trucker's amused 
encouragment, , to save the Pepsi douche for later.  But as good as 
Dale's tongue felt, it wasn't scratching enough of the itch for Stuart's 
comfort. 

	Finally, when Stuart could stand it no more, he pulled Dale up on 
top of him and got him to start fucking.  The tickler on his dick felt 
great scratching up and down stuart's itchy love tunnel.  He rocked and 
bucked in a frenzy that threatened to wear out his partner too soon. 
After a few minutes, Stuart could feel that the tickler had split and was 
getting peeled down the shaft of Dale's prick.  The thrusting still felt 
good, but the itching increased.  If Dale noticed the breakage, he didn't 
acknowledge it.  He did, however, acknowledge his heightened pleasure and 
increased the pace of his fucking in response.  He tried to kiss Stuart a 
number of times, but Stuart refused and dodged his mouth.  Thinking 
Stuart merely  squeamish about butt licking, Dale stopped trying and 
concentrated on his fucking.

	That's when Rick came into the room.  Dale's twenty minutes were 
not up yet, but he'd been watching the whole thing through the window and 
couldn't wait.  He wanted in on the action now. 

	The first thing he did was hop onto the bed behind Stuart's head 
and lean down to kiss Dale deeply as he continued fucking Stuart.  The 
panty-raid lovers were joined once again at the mouth, exchanging between 
their interlocked tongues the lingering flavors from Stuart's twat.    
Dale moaned into Rick's mouth as he pumped and pumped and finally 
climaxed into Stuart's pussy-ass.   Dale had no sooner begun to go limp 
and slip out of Stu's butt when Rick seized his chance to be next at the 
feeding trough.  Rick licked and sucked at Stuart's frothing pussy, 
trying to eat every drop of Dale's spermy splooge and unwittingly getting 
nearly as large a portion of another man's butt-ripened wad, and of 
course not to mention a mouthful of liquified poison ivy.

	By the time Rick had gotten his fill of mouth love and had 
mounted Stuart (with an equally faulty tickler)and had begun dicking him, 
Dale was erect again and set his sights once again on Rick's supple 
butt.  So, lubricated only by the cumy, volatile ass juices that still 
glistened over his cock, Dale made Rick take it up the ass again.  and 
play "sandwich meat" between him and Stu.

	And so this pair of greedy, hungry boy betrayers overindulged  
their appetites with Stuart for more than a half hour.  Dale and Rick 
traded places once again so that Dale could get another mouthful from 
Stu's tasty cunt cornucopia (now freshly wet with Rick's oystery semen) 
and Rick's tireless and sex-slimey cock up his own tight butt.  But once 
forty minutes were up, Stuart unceremoniously threw the pair of them out.
	"But Stuey, we've just begun..." whined Rick as he reluctantly 
handed over his white breifs to Stuart before being pushed out the door.  
	"You're the best, babe," said Dale before getting the door closed 
in his face.   

	Stuart spent the next 10 minutes attending to his "toilette" as 
the French say.  He made use of the Pepsicola douche at last, bubbling 
away the last vestiges of poison ivy-laced cum from his ass.   It 
wouldn't be fair, after all, for him to risk any of his other customers 
having to innocently suffer what Dale and Rick had coming to them. 

	Minutes later, Stu was letting another man in the door for a 
crack at him, in the hopes of satisfying the infernal itch.  Luckily the 
director, Dave Kaplan, happened to be next, making it highly unlikely 
that any "official" action on the part of the camp staff would derail the 
assembly line fucking machine that Stuart had set in motion.  Kaplan 
seemed embarassed for having shown up, but fortunately was horny enough 
to overcome it.  One pair of his loose, old Munsingwear breifs seemed a 
small price to pay for what appeared to be the least potentially 
complicated  chance he was going to get for a long time to bang a hole 
other than that of his vigilant wife.  Twenty minutes out of her sight 
was about all he could manage.   Stuart, for his part, was not the type 
to normally let himself be fucked by his boss, but his ass itched so 
badly that he wouldn't have refused an erect prick that night under any 
circumstances.

	For the rest of the night and into the morning, Stuart let man 
after man into his cabin, greeting each of his suitors (after Kaplan) 
with a big wide open kiss and hurriedly pulling them onto the bed as soon 
as they'd surrendered their underwear.  He spread his legs for some 25 of 
his horny young coworkers, many of whom were risking their jobs by 
leaving their sleeping campers alone back in the cabins while they went 
to fuck a man wearing a dress.  Most were ushered out so promptly at the 
end of their 20 minutes that they had to carry their clothes in the dark 
and stealthily return to their cabins, leaving behind both their 
underwear and a major wad.  In their exhaustion and due to the 
increasingly late hour, none took the time to put on a fresh pair, but 
instead crashed in the buff.   

	Stuart's laundry sack filled with assorted breifs, boxers and 
jockstraps, even as his bedside wastebasket filled with used, 
cum-brimming french tickler condoms. His frictionalized hole was getting 
a nice, fairly dry workout that was finally relieving his itch.  

	Rick and Dale, meanwhile,  were trying to get some sleep in the 
tent they'd pitched at the bottom of the hill. They'd gone to bed 
uncannily thirsty, despite numerous swigs of canteen water, and were now 
tossing and turning and scratching their dicks and asses in 
semi-consciousness.		

	Finally came the dawn, rosy pink like the traditional color 
reserved for newborn girls.  And it was kind of a birth, you could say, 
for the two dozen or so young men of the Camp Christopher staff who awoke 
groggily and disoriented from their night of vigorously fucking the same 
insatiable she-male ass, only to discover that  it was now each one of 
them who was, in a different sense, "fucked."  Every one of them, to a 
man, had been the victim of a nocturnal "reverse" panty raid.  

	Gone was every pair of pridefully collected and worn  pairs 501 
jeans, every rolled Levi shorts, every  Gap polo shirt, every Calvin 
Klein boxer and brief.  In short, each man's entire wardrobe for the 
summer had been stolen..... and replaced by a single pair of women's 
panties for each.  

	This discovery triggered not only an embarassed rush of blood to 
every one of their drop-jawed, morning-stubbled male faces, but also, for 
several of the men, an equally stimulating flow to the ostensibly 
exhausted appendages that bobbed between their legs.   Ordinary specimens 
of young American manhood that they were, their arrousal only intensified 
as one after another of them helplessly resigned himself to the 
unavoidable consequences of having been mysteriously outfoxed in this 
manner.  Seeing no other options for leaving the cabin without risking 
getting fired for indecent exposure, they finally each pulled their 
scant, flimsy and lacey pairs of women's lingerie up their tanned, sturdy 
and youthfully masculine legs.    
	
	Naturally the delicate, frilly garments had to stretch tightly in 
back to accomodate their beefy boy asses, which in turn stretched the 
front panels into obscenely low-slung triangles of fabric which were 
barely adequate to hold back the protrusions of their involuntarily 
burgeoning cocks, and left each man's sex-gnarled bush fully exposed.

	One could say that the extra support staff cabinmates were the 
luckiest, at least temporarily, having only one another as witnesses to 
this forced panty donning.  They at least had the comfort of sharing 
equally in their humiliation, since the provocativeness of each man's 
all-but-naked appearance varied only to the degree that his hairiness or 
smoothness contrasted with his feminine adornment.

	Less fortunate were the cabin counselors, who, shivering with 
indignation, had to endure the jeering laughter of  fully-dressed 
third-grade boys as they were forced to put on girls' underwear in front 
of them.  Plus, not knowing any better, these isolated panty-clad  
staffers assumed their fate to be unique until later, when they bravely 
marched their giggling charges up the hill to the commons and were 
somewhat relieved to discover the universal nature of the prank.
 
	Of course for some of those grown men, being so humiliated in 
front the boys only added to their arrousal, for which reason they were 
ultimately grateful for even the small bit of cock-cover the panties 
provided.  In fact, George, the 22 year old brown eyed engineering major 
counseling Mohawk cabin, found the situation so arousing that it 
eventually led to his being repremanded a week later for letting things 
go too far.  Kaplan, the director, would discover George behind the 
dockhouse sprawled over an upside down canoe with the pair of girl's 
panties down around his ankles and his cabin boys taking turns smacking 
his reddened ass with the flat end of a canoe paddle.  George would argue 
later that he had merely been instructing them in a lesson on 
discipline.  Indeed!

	In all cases,  the panties proved to be the only article of 
clothing available that even came close to fitting the men.   All 
attempts to fit into borrowed pairs of even the baggiest of third grade 
camper's extra Khaki shorts failed miserably.  A few halfhearted attempts 
to fashion loincloths out of boy's t-shirts eventually were abandoned as 
a curious sort of helplessness and acceptance of the morning's fate sunk 
in. 

	Many would have chosen to stay indoors that morning if they'd 
could have, but the shrill sound of the camp director's whistle shattered 
hopes for such a refuge.   Kaplan never blew that whistle unless he meant 
business, and the business that the whistle was supposed to signal 
happened to be the orderly assembly of the entire staff on the commons.
 
	Though the scene of the gathering men in panties on the commons 
was even now being secretly documented in full color photographs (which 
still decorate the bulletin board of the staff lounge at Radcliffe and 
are cherished by the girls each summer) detailing every blush, bulge and 
stricken look and smirk, no photographic emulsion could reveal how many 
of these lingeried young men, standing out there in the clearing in 
almost military formation, were getting their most secret fantasies 
fulfilled without the risk of being singled out.

	Kaplan was the shockingest sight of all.  His sturdy arms 
crossed,  his silver whistle on silver chain nestling against the thick 
salt and pepper matt of hair on his tanned chest,  he stood looking 
angry, his powerful legs planted firmly on the ground about two feet 
apart.  He was wearing only a pair of silk lavender crotchless panties, 
through which his dick and balls dangled immodestly yet unimpressively.   
For truly, as it had been previously rumored but was now clear for all to 
see, the director, while retaining with dignity his endowments of 
organizational, leadership and teamwork building skills, his phallic 
shortcomings had been hoplessly exposed.  One could only speculate what 
caused this man to put anything on at all, given such a pair to wear, 
since total nudity would have been less humiliating. 

	"Okay, men, he barked.  "We've apparently gotten a late start 
this morning because someone has set back all the clocks in camp an hour. 
Instead of being able to sit down to our usuall saturday morning cinnamon 
roll breakfast, we are going to have to work together to find out where 
our clothes are and get them back as soon as possible.  The families of 
the boys could be here any minute."

	The men looked around at each other in panic, looking at the sun 
that had after all, seemed too high in the sky for the supposed hour, and 
futily adjusting their scant. skimpy micro-drag outfits to hold back 
their confused baskets.

	"We can start by answering the first obvious question-WHO did 
this to us?" Kaplan said.

	"Stuart!" cried a muffled voice from the back rows.  The crowd 
turned to look back and beheld the steely-blue-eyed, tousled, 
black-mop-topped Dale looking back at them.  
	"It had to be him!" he gurgled over his swollen, itching tongue  
that protruded through his equally inflamed ass-kissing lips " He must 
have done it to get back at us for leaving him at Radclyffe after the 
panty raid," He was hopping uncomfortably from one foot to another, as 
was Rick next to him, and both were being hardly discreet about the 
intermittent deep dipping into their panties to scratch their 
mysteriously irritated dicks and assholes. 

	"Panty raid?" said Kaplan.  Are you telling me YOU guys stole 
these panties from Radclyffe and brought them here?"

	"No!" said Rick. "We lost all the pairs we collected. It must 
have been Stuart! "

	"Yeah, it had to be Stuart!  Stuart brought these and swiped our 
clothes!"  cried one of the counselors.  Within seconds, everybody was 
shouting his name,

	Then he appeared from the woods and stepped out among them on the 
commons.  With his totally shaved head, grittily whiskered jaw and the 
plain grey sweatsuit he was wearing, he looked strikingly like a 
prisoner, already charged, tried, found guilty and imprisoned by the 
acusations of the others.   But in fact, he felt freer than he ever had 
in his life, and never so much of a man.  He may have spent the whole 
night as the camp whore getting fucked flat on his back by every ready 
dick in the place, but today HE was the one wearing the pants. 

	"Now every one of you panty-wearing cocksuckers knows I had 
NOTHING to do with the theft of your clothes, " Stuart began, as he began 
to walk among them as they stood in place, wary but hesitant..  

	"Every man on this commons knows EXACTLY where I was and what I 
was doing all night!  You fuckers didn't leave me alone for one minute, 
and you're ALL my witnesses!"

	Naturally Stuart knew exactly who had done the raid, but none of 
his coworkers were able to read the knowledge in his face. Similarly, no 
one who observed his relaxed confident amble among their ranks could have 
guessed that Stuart was even now soothing his itch with a 
calamine-coated  dildo held in by jockstrap    He looked at each of his 
fellow counselors in turn for a glimpse a spark of that passion from the 
night before, and in every case was able to call forth at least one image 
of their unique coupling. There was always at least one moment in each 
fuck that that had made an impression on him at least as deep as the ones 
his press-on nails had made on the guy's ass.

	Many who beheld the once again masculine-looking Stuart were 
nonetheless stirred by their own memories of banging his hot pussy the 
night before.  Most of these guys, like  Ben and Rusty of Chippewa cabin, 
would manage at some time or other during the following weeks to waylay 
Stuart and get him to spread for an encore fuck.    

	Yet there were others, trailmasters Scott and Tim among them, who 
despite having most manfully dicked the twitching hole of Stuart's whore 
persona of the night before, now found themselves unexpectedly leaking 
supmissive little squirts of pee into their panties as the leering Stuart 
passed them by with the attitude of an inspecting drill seargent.  These 
were the guys who weren't sure, even after the stolen laundry had been 
recovered, why they were voluntarily choosing to keep the panties on 
underneath their clothes. That is, until each of them wound up in bed 
showing them off to Stuart, and he was peeling them off their asses and 
positioning his rod for a ramming, retroactively reciprocal fuck.

	"But you have a sack full of our underwear!" cried another 
counselor. "Where is it?"

	"Gone."  replied Stuart.  "Like all the other clothes in my 
cabin. All I have besides the dress are these sweats I wore to the 
showers. It wasn't me."

	Suddenly there was the sound of an engine starting. 
	"Look! The laundry truck!" cried one of the counselors, pointing 
at the bulky open-bed vehicle that could be seen passing behind the short 
row of support staff buildings on the back lane out of the camp.  
Glimpses of several full laundry sacks could be seen heaped up in the 
back of the truck, fueling the suspicion that this was indeed where all 
of the mens' clothes had been stashed.  And here it was no doubt heading 
for its usual Saturday morning desitination St. Cloud Laundry service, 
one hour away.

	"Stop him!  Stop the truck!" shouted Kaplan and blew his whistle 
once again piercingly before tearing off into a panicked dash.  The truck 
was going to get away if it wasn't flagged down immediately!  Most of the 
men on the field took off after him in hot, cock flopping, ball bouncing 
pursuit.   What a sight they were, so young, tanned athletic,  screaming 
like all-but naked warriors after a rogue elephant.   They gained enough 
on the truck that they seemed to be within certain hearing range, if not 
sighting range of the driver but it was to no avail, because the truck 
lurched into a hard left turn as soon as it hit the highway and roared 
off and away from them.  It had gotten away.  A phone call to the laundry 
service would easily set things right, but it would be a minimum of two 
hours before the Camp Christopher men would get their clothes back.  

	They hurded together at the camp entrance, panting, swearing, 
cursing at their slow reactivity, the driver's seemingly willful 
deafness, and the craftiness of the unidentified tormentors who'd driven 
them to wild prancing outdoors practically in the altogether. How could 
they have known that the driver had indeed seen and heard them but had 
been paid to pretend he hadn't?

	It was at that moment that the final straw broke the camel's 
back.  A line of automobiles appeared at the crest of the hill and drove 
up to the camp.  There was one car after another, bumper to bumper, due 
to the long, long freight train crossing two miles back that had caused 
the families picking up thir boys to back up dozens and dozens of car 
lengths waiting.  Now they were all arriving together, many of them 
Christopher/Radcliffe board members but all of them frowning at the 
scandalous sight of the cross-undressed, lingerie-loined college boy 
sexual deviates in whose hands they had left their children.

	Kaplan literally burst into tears as he recognized face after 
face of his board of directors behind the windsheilds of these 
cars. 	   	
	"Oh fucking, fucking SHITTTT!!" he screamed, flinging first his 
whistle and then his cap down hard onto the dust in front of him before 
flinging himself face down onto the ground after them where he pounded 
the earth with his fists and howled and kicked his legs wildly with utter 
defeat.  The humiliated men in panties just stood there dumbly in their 
embarassment, and parted ranks to allow the cars by. Too rattled to even 
stop, the cars and their scandalized occupants rolled one by one past the 
scene of Kaplan's tantrum, where the dust raised by his flailing limbs  
gradually obscured everything but the twin globes of his pink silk 
covered soon-to be-unemployed ass.    

* * *

	"Oh, and another thing," said Michelle as she collected her keys 
and purse and headed toward the door. "Arnie asked me to pass on a little 
message to you."
	He paused for a moment in the middle of applying the calamine 
lotion and looked up sheepishly at her.  Living with a nurse all these 
years, he wasn't used to having to see to his own first aid needs, but 
once she'd heard what he'd done, she adamantly refused to help him.

	"He requests that next time you borrow his rig you lay out the 
blanket he keeps in the rear compartment to protect the upholstry," she 
said, brightly. 

	"Oh, god! Tell him I'm sorry" he said.

	His reddening face completed the picture before her of her 
twenty-eight year-old lover being his perpetualy adolescent self, sitting 
up on the bathroom counter with his pants down around his ankles as if 
waiting for mommy to put a bandaid on a skinned knee or something.  Well, 
this was one 'owee' mommy wasn't going to kiss and make better. 

	"He really provoked me, you know, Michelle.  You know I don't 
just fuck anybody under any old circumstances-- "

	"You're provoking me, buster," she snapped, cutting him off. 
"You're getting too carried away with these boys lately!  You're supposed 
to be calling the shots, not getting dragged around by your dick.  I 
swear you're regressing!  You had more self-control when you were "18".  
What's up with you, honey?"

	He hung his head and shook it 
"He implied that you were a slut," he murmurred 
	She looked at him incredulously and burst out laughing.  "And you 
were protecting my honor, right?  By ramming a fistful of poison ivy up 
his ass with your dick! And you think I need YOU to protect ME?"
	She laughed despite herself and put her hands on her hips. "We 
got you the video camera, all of the magazines,  I let you play with the 
boys whenever you want,  I even play along when you need me to.   what 
else could you possibly want?"

	He looked up at her cautiously, and then down and muttered something.

	"What did you say?  I didn't hear you, hon, say that again," she said.
	He looked up at her again and  said, "Family."

	She stared at him for a moment and then rolled her eyes upward. 
	"Oh for god's sake!" she hissed, turning and marching toward the 
front door.  "You can forget even thinking about THAT until your dick 
completely clears up.  That might take two weeks if you can't keep your 
hands off it, which I know you CAN'T."  

	She was out the door to head for Woody's, but then popped her 
head back in for a second. 
 
	"You," she narrowed her eyes at him, "have been watching the 700 
Club again, haven't you?"

	He just looked at her, his lower lip thickening.
	"Well STOP it!" she cried.


(end part 3 of 3)

Look for further tales of Friday 13"