Date: Tue, 30 Jan 2024 10:11:30 -0500
From: Jacob Schwann <cobschwann@gmail.com>
Subject: PEN&COB #7 bisexual incest

P&C #7  bisexual incest
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P&C #7
PEN&COB     Welcome! This revision of earlier Nifty bisexual incest et
al. submissions is in the manner of Victorian erotica, being soft and
slow as well as hard and fast.
Herein are recounted the amorous misadventures of young Cobby, his sister
Penny, and their family and friends.
All communications read; and in the main answered: cobschwann@gmail.com
Support Nifty!  (using link https://donate.nifty.org/).
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Nota Bene: In Letter #7,  ~ Chapter I is an Introduction by Jacob Cygnet
Schwann  (1949)
~ Chapters II to XVIII comprise the letter written by Uncle Laetitia
Drake  (~1896 +/-)
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Letter #7;  UNCLE LAETITIA'S LETTER   Chapter I:  Calf-Skin Chest
Introduction Epistler: Jacob Cygnet Schwann
Date: 1949

Dear Uncle Doctor

Different treasures...,

...were to be found in `The Schwann Family Calfskin Chest'. This ancient
barrel-topped carrier, twenty-some inches long, was studded with iron
hobnails and covered in a fine-tanned, antique calfskin hide. [Letter #6
 ] When we tugged the case out from the back of Dad's closet there was
one packet of letters preserved with particular care. Included were pen
and ink sketches and newspaper-print etchings from the very end of the
nineteenth century. These were the work of Laetitia Drake, a
thrice-removed grand-niece of Old Aunt Elsa's. (And we understood her to
be our own `Jocasta Complex' great-great grandmother.)

Laetitia was an Edwardian beauty, still young in everything but years.
The story went that she was handsome, stood straight, trim and tall, and
had a gruff voice. She asked everyone who knew her well to call her
`UNCLE Laetitia Drake' - even when our `Uncle' Laetitia had given
birth to two generations of interbred children and suckled them.

Uncle Laetitia's many-mirrored artist's studio (a former chicken coop
and farm family's brooding-nest) was on Old Aunt Elsa's farm. Within
were finely-rendered (if explicit) anatomical drawings on the walls and
ceilings: female breasts, hips and vulvas, and male chests and groins --
everything! Much later, when my little sister Penny and I moved in with
Mom, we stared at the images in awe.

In particular, our foremother sketched naked men and youths. Having
little formal art training, Laetitia Drake's genius and skill was such
that she could draw what she saw. And what caught her eye were both the
gritty and the tender. She sought to capture the workings of common
day-to-day life with their fleeting moments of joy.

This was brought into play as she sketched and secured juvenile male
beauty near the Schwann family farm by Pike Lake Crossroads. These were
daring, even incendiary, depictions of young, fine-looking, mostly
undressed Grey County teen boys and young men. They were depicted as
bringing in the hay, swimming, or wrestling and frolicking with one
another in provocative ways.

The letter-chest also revealed a number of Uncle Laetitia's newsprint
and pen and ink sketches of the horrors of war. These were from the
Spanish-American War in Cuba (Circa ~1898). She completed many of these
drawings on assignment as an `art-reporter' or `sketch-reporter' on
the field of battle. At that time, photographs often were not yet printed
in newspapers due to technical challenges. Her pen and ink and charcoal
and pencil drawings were interpreted in turn by wood engravers. They
created the printing blocks that went to the newsprint presses for wider
circulation.

Here Uncle Latitia sketched the furloughed sailors, soldiers, and marines
of "That Splendid Little War": Boyish Buffalo Rangers or volunteer
cavalry regiments of `Rough Riders' along with fledgling Ivy League
athletes and high school glee-club singers courted death on the San Juan
and Kettle Hills. These youths were shown firing on and bayoneting
equally sweet and handsome young Spanish soldiers, and then being
martyrized and garroted in their turn. And of course, there were sketches
of emaciated mothers holding starving children - the sorts of images
which always accompany war. Never think that war, no matter how
necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime.

Uncle Laetitia rendered drawings of the `lurid interiors of the
period'. That is, the young soldiers of both sides at play with one
another off the battlefield in camp or in town. Laetitia submitted these
all to Pulitzer's or Hearst's `Yellow Press' papers under her
pseudonym of `Leonidas Drake', since they would not publish a woman's
work. Sometime later she sailed to the Philippines to cover the end of
the war there. It was said that she became `Mister Drake', a
well-placed assistant-secretary in the government cabinet in Manilla. She
was not heard from thereafter.

These experiences influenced her demeanor - her speech, her appearance,
her art - and her chosen physical expression of her own `Eros Nature'.
Uncle Latitia's crowning rage was that she was not a man. As far as she
was concerned, she was a man in a woman's body. She was of that aberrant
bent of women known as `female-husbands' or `women man-friends',
which were women posing as men. She was a self-described `boy-seeker',
choosing to be a `female-boyfriend', confidant, and sexual adventurer
to wayward youths.

On tabloid-newsprint assignment, Laetitia Drake dressed as a man, was
disguised as a man, and assumed the identity of a man. The family said
she readily passed as a young man. Her youthful sylph-like appearance
prevailed even into her early forties. She was a bit above average
height, slim and spare, and spoke in low pitched, hoarse tones. Photos
reflect how Uncle Laetitia stood proud and defiant, with a strong chin,
short chestnut hair, a trim tan Guayabera shirt well open at the neck,
loose vest with filigree of fine silver tracery, tight bistered `gas
pipe' pants, high coffee-colored boots, and topped by a man's brown,
wide-brimmed slouch hat. Attire completely at home for a journalist on
the foreign battlefields of the day, if not on the hayfields of Grey
County.

Uncle Laetitia was more than a woman in trousers. She considered herself
`A MAN'. A man who loved "Teener-Boys" - as she termed the lads in her
arcane fashion. Included here is the text of one remarkable letter that
our Uncle Laetitia penned decades ago. The salutation had been torn off.
It recounts a single afternoon which she spent sketching. This was below
the ruined stone mansion by the old salmon hole on a tributary of the
Saugeen River...,

...not two miles from Old Aunt Elsa's farmhouse.

From: Cobby
Jacob Signet Schwann

PS: Attached is Uncle Laetitia's letter. It is most unfortunate that all
of her accompanying sketches have been lost.
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Letter #7;  UNCLE LAETITIA'S LETTER
Chapter II:     Hunting Teener-boy
Epistler:  Uncle Laeticia Drake - et alia

August 22, 189....
Dear Cousi....
From your Uncle Laetitia

Ole!  Ole!  Ole!

It has happened again, my chubby little cherub. It must be that the
waters in this Grey County region spawn legions of such fine and
frolicsome teener-boys as I met today. They are reminiscent of my
goslings, the pleasurable boy-soldiers -- `mis pichones, los placenteros
ninos-soldados' -  of both camps who entranced me in La Habana. (I was
never proficient, yet I shall use `un poco de la jerga cubana'.) For
yes! This letter does document for you another in my series of salacious
pederastic pleasures.

I had been sketching out of my effervescent memory for some weeks. My
project was to publish an illustrated -- if illicit - guide for the
beginner teener-boy-lover as to how they might orally please an
accommodating first-time young lad. Specifically, a "How-To Fellatio"
handbook for the inexperienced man who wished to entertain an equally
inexperienced teener-boy.

Hence it was time for me to return to the sport in the field. I wanted to
go after some live models. You know me, I desired some fragile flowers -
some fresh teeners to draw. There is something about `Grey County
country youths' that makes them more desirable and, I must say, more
available - to me at least. And they were free to spend the long summer
days by river and stream or lazing in carefree groups in woodland and
meadow. So, if there was anything that those young `sow-your-wild-oats'
teener-boys needed and craved, it was excitement. And I might provide it!

...
*xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: Please Note - In this letter I include selected passages
from the draft of my yet-to-be-published written accompaniment to the
instructive explicit pen and ink illustrations that may guide the as yet
unpracticed `abecedarian' fellator.
xxx
... 
 
It was yet another sunny and sultry summer day on the Niagara Escarpment.
A perfect day for hunting an obliging teener-boy. I assembled my pencils
and sketch pad, a water bottle and a few apples, and I saddled up Old
Avery. You will not be surprised to hear me assert that it was my horse
which led me to my quarry. We began on one trail, but Old Avery nosed us
up along the abandoned narrow-gauge right-of-way of the Toronto, Grey and
Bruce Railway (TG&B RR). That is to say, along the banks of my favorite
stream, a tributary of the Saugeen River. We harkened ever closer to the
falls and deep salmon pool as these were likely to entice a naked
teener-boy or two or three to the comforts of nudity and refreshing
bathing. I tethered Old Avery at a wellspring a good distance from the
falls, so as not to draw any attention to my advance. I bent down and
briefly gripped a stray four-inch railroad spike in my palm, feeling its
narrow heft, but particularly its iron hardness. Its rigidity made me
salivate as I thought of `Young-Dick'.

I traversed the well-worn rail bed. I came upon pieces of decaying
machinery and a stack of rusty rails. Then I saw a youth's Rover
diamond-frame safety-bicycle and a rucksack on the ground among the tall
timothy grass. Some lad likely left it, and would be enjoying a swim. I
was prepared to take full advantage of the situation. Hefting my pouch
with sketch pad, pencils and charcoals, and a tiny folding stool, I
followed the `setting-sun track', on the west side of the nascent
river, toward the swimming hole.

I chose to take a higher path that led up above the falls by the caved-in
ruins of Madame Cherie's stone mansion - which the locals call
`Frenchie's Castle'. Yes, the very same scandalous manse where decades
earlier as a froward young girl, a true 'reverse mollycot', I had
brazenly led dances and licked libido with debutante socialites and
infamous fallen women. And also yours-truly, dressed and dancing as a
nimble teener-boy, sought out, bedded, and blew bangles and beads out of
the hired tuxedoed gigolos and rent-boys. Hmm..., I had and did something
for which older men would pay. It gave me a delicious feeling of power.

Ah yes, I remember it well - for our fight against any curb on desire,
any kind of repression, was the watchword of the era.
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Letter #7;  Chapter III:    Swimming Hole

And so, on that hot and unclouded day I climbed up to the sad remains of
the crumbling flagstone terrace and few rock walls of Madame Cherie's
castle. This derelict, once-great house overlooked the falls -- a
sanctuary sheltered and shadowed by an adventitious growth of dense vines
and small trees. I sat with my tools and sketched a particular bit of
extravagant ivy that bravely clung to the old tumble-down stone walls. I
was supplied with both shade and a place to overlook the stream and the
swimming hole -- yet at the same time offered some measure of
concealment. I did not want to startle any naked lads who might catch me
leering at them.

...
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK:  The first-time poacher of pubertal puerile pederasty
will do well to scout out and calmly occupy a location frequented by and
comfortable to his prey.
-Supposing that one is seeking a `school-teener-boy' rather than a
`street-teener-boy', you may hunt for the appropriate neighborhood -
near the school, library or church, exercise field, gymnasium or swimming
area popular with likely youths.
-You may assume the habiliment of an aristocrat on an unpretentious
holiday. Dress in a casual and comfortable linen suit and hat, appearing
informally refined, insouciant, even disinterested, but intelligent and
observant. In winter, wear a gold-buttoned greatcoat; in springtime, a
belted safari jacket. Sunglasses in all weather.
xxx
...

I listened. I smiled. I heard the melodious lilt of young teener-boy
voices coming from the stream. I shifted a bit and peered down through
the foliage. I had to grin. There were two youths capering about the deep
pool below the high falls. Smooth and tanned skin was definitely on
display. Might they be as naked as Eden? Then one pair of pale round
bottom-globes rose from the water's depths to the surface and slid
under, and in turn another, over and over -- like dolphins frolicking. In
above their heads, the lads splashed water at one another and sank
beneath the surface in apparent efforts to make forbidden grabs below the
water line. One chap, smaller, blond with pale skin burned a bit red by
the sun, repeatedly jumped on the back of a bigger teener-boy, tawny
haired and deeply tanned. The younger hung on and was flung off time
after time. He appeared to press his lips to the back and neck of the
older, and to give secret bites. No, not bites. Was he nibbling or
kissing him?  And the other was not to know?

The taller of the two splashed toward shore. Reaching the shallows, he
strode out of the water. He stood, then walked up to a sandy patch by the
water's edge. Hurrah! As gloriously naked as the day of his birth!
Incidentally, this dear one was remarkably handsome, with splendid dark
eyes and dark brown hair; he was more long-legged than average, slender
and well-built. By reflex my practiced hands applied pencil to paper and
by second nature initiated a sketch of this particular specimen. No
longer a child, but with the form of the youngest of a young man, his
outline rapidly appeared on my palette. A toss of the brunette hair, the
burnished-tanned limbs, the strengthening torso, the pleasantly plump
privates, the spontaneous slackening of the limbs..., I sighed and grew
hot.

I thought of my lads in Cuba -- both the American, the Spanish, and the
randy young `chico-cojedores', the `puto' fuck-boys of the Havana
streets. They might entice you in the market, and stroke you and love
you, even while under the benevolent eye of a policeman. My boyish
breasts swelled and my nipples rubbed excitedly against my loose shirt.
For the first time that afternoon my womb moistened in my trousers, as it
was given to me to `melt' in a wee `let-go' right then and there.
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Letter #7;  Chapter IV:     What Ho?!

I was shading with the charcoal now. I studied the taller youngster from
high above. Fourteen, perhaps? Fifteen likely, even sixteen as he was
more developed. Real `butter on bacon' - too cute for his own good.
Hmm.... I let my eyes drift over his lean, young naked body - simply to
assess the proper way to sketch him, of course. His mop of brown locks
was no longer plastered so tightly to his head. As he lifted his arm to
run his fingers through his mane, I noted the tufts of darkening hair at
his underarms. His shoulders took my breath away; they were fairly broad.
His nicely developed arms showed muscle at the biceps. His chest was taut
and coppery. His stomach flat and ridged. His legs were finely formed
with trim thighs that tapered to strong calves.

Yet the real prize was hanging between those legs -- a simply lovely
teener-boy cock, with the promise of becoming man-size. At its base a
small patch of silky, coal black pubic hair sprang off his groin, and
rested neatly atop an agreeably dark, plump scrotum dangling between his
firm thighs. This bulged nicely as it cradled precious gonads, ones I was
certain were capable of producing an impressive offering of that sweet
young boy-nectar I was so fond of.

He was delicious looking as he stood there in the warm sunshine. He
dabbed at that stunning young body with a torn bit of toweling, before he
performed a casual collapse onto the strand. I fought to restrain myself
from rushing to him and begging to permit me to dry his skin with my
tongue. Instead, I sat with my pad and pencil as I appreciated his
beauty.

What ho? A moment later my new lust was joined by a companion, a sibling,
the little brother or cousin perhaps, or more likely an admiring young
friend. Here was another virgin flower. Younger, to be sure, by at least
a year or two or three. This teener-boy was like-wise beautifully naked,
yet quite light-skinned and fair-haired with slim reddening shoulders.
His rather slight body glistened wetly. I gasped and groaned at the
sight. Unexpectedly, the youngster scanned the rocks above the falls as
though sensing the presence of a stranger.

...
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK:    Do not be concerned. Assuming you appear either
handsome or wealthy, you will be noticed by a suitable youngster who may
be looking for adventure of a new and different kind.
-It helps for you to sit or stand casually with a disinterested look.
-You might hold a book, or writing implements, or even a box camera. Gaze
into the middle distance as though deep in thought.
-Do not at this time be seen to be looking for or at any teener-boy. Yet
when he initiates eye contact, return it.
xxx
...

But this youth turned away and hopped across the beach, wind-milling his
arms to attract the notice of his friend. Plainly he was doting on, or
seeking the attention of the older lad, calling out and gesturing. How
often had I seen such a scenario of admiration between two chaps play out
in the camps about the battlefields in Cuba. The lesser seeking to
attract the greater; the greater playing hard to get. The body of this
capering child, well, more than a child, reflected the early throes of
puberty. From a distance his muscles were far from complete, as his thin
arms and narrow frame showed little in the way of developing. His soft
tummy protruded slightly, in that boyish way. His legs were thin so that
they might be termed `girlish'. He did appear to have a few scraggles
of blondish hair scattered about his tiny, cute `bolitas'. However,
having duly noted his bodily immaturity, this teener-boy did have it
where it counted. I moistened my lips and rested my eyes particularly on
his very nice cock. In that department he had a degree of development
that contrasted with the rest of his body. He could not have been more
than twelve, perhaps thirteen or maybe only eleven, yet he was gifted
with a pleasing length of narrow, dangling `young cod'. It was
completely soft. I could not help but wonder how it might grow when
erect.
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Letter #7;  Chapter V:     Pearly Shower

The bronzed, older teener-boy lay on his back on the sand. He was
intentionally ignoring the pale youngster's `come-hither' efforts to
turn cartwheels and attempts at backward summersaults. The younger then
stood directly in front of the older, provocatively drying himself with
the same rag of a towel. Casual play with `equipment' ensued. The older
lad openly toyed with his lovely cock. In seconds the thing had unfurled
to a plump erection, which he began stroking up and down. With a silent
laugh, I watched. His younger friend flopped beside him on the sand,
looking closely. After a moment he snickered and said something I could
not hear, accompanied by a charade of bending down and making blowing
motions with his cheeks. The older boy swatted at him. But the junior
began playing with his own tool as well. In spite of the difference in
their ages, the sizes of their erect phalluses were not so different. I
was happily watching two beautiful young teener-boys, each aroused by the
other, and pleasuring themselves.

Within moments the older arched his back and gave out loud growling
sounds that made their way to my leafy hideaway. He rolled toward his
little friend and promptly `fetched metal' - ejecting several ropes of
thick silvery cum all over his own groin and stomach and onto his
friend's leg. The younger whooped with delight as his buddy's stuff
splattered upon him. In turn, that lad went to his knees as he rapidly
handled himself. When he was ready, he knee-walked to his friend and then
actually straddled the older's thigh. I heard the lad squawk and squeal
like a piglet. They both laughed and shrieked as the younger fisted out a
most impressive `pearly shower', repaying his friend with a glistening,
arcing spray of his own. They engaged in a bit of tussling, rolling about
until they were halfway back into the water.

...
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: Vigorous, adventuresome young teener-boys will engage in
horseplay for their own amusement, and likely to show off to any
available audience.
-Their uninhibited play with one another may cause you to break out in a
sweat and be tempted to stare and gape. Contain yourself.
-But at the same time make vestiary clothing adjustments for greater
comfort as your body will respond in the expected natural and healthy
ways.
xxx
...

I had unbuttoned a bit. I reached down through the placket of my left
pants pocket where I had plucked out the seam. Hence my hand was free to
seek out and discretely paddle my own unseen and unclothed `papaya', as
they call it on the island. My long finger was at its practiced play of
self-abuse - stroking my own `crown', my clitoris, the pearl of my
pudenda. Small as it was in comparison to the teener-boys' crowns, it
was no less in effect, for a glorious, rounded `bone-storming
flowering' overcame me. Might I have cried aloud? The younger lad turned
and once more scanned the rocks above the falls. He made no comment to
his friend. Squaring my shoulders, I tucked things away and applied
myself to the charcoal drawing.

...
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: Hold your position. The teener-boy's attention will be
drawn to you by his own thrill-seeking spirit. Do not exalt, do not fear,
do not move. The proper lad will come to you. In certain circumstances a
discretely dropped bill may help.
-Recall your own youthful randy days. Take inspiration from what you once
thought about how best to treat with a quiet, sedate, friendly, dapper
gentleman who occupied a predative lookout position.
xxx
...

Eventually the older one made moves to run up the beach to dry himself
and brush off sand. He recovered his shirt and denim trousers. He dug out
a tin pocket watch and shared his finding with his young friend. He
slipped effortlessly into his clothes, then spoke to the other briefly
before leaving. He charged up the trail at a trot. If he was concerned
about my tethered horse, he did not return to tell his bud about it.
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Letter #7;  Chapter VI:    The Game Is Afoot!

My remaining beauty dropped on his back to the sand. He held his arms out
to both sides, and then spread his legs wide. My tawdry tot postured in
provocative ways, as if aware of being watched from above and offering up
his crotch. I grabbed another sheet of pastel paper and recorded the
outlines of this. Soon however the teener-boy was up walking
`au-naturel' along the stream. He applied himself to adding rocks to a
random stone dam at the outlet of the swimming hole. I watched his form
stoop, lift, and throw. I was entranced.

Had I made a sound? Or did he have second sight? In any event, he
abruptly turned and looked up at my perch near the top of the falls among
the trees by the old stone ruins.

I was discovered.

...
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: The game is afoot! He sees you. He sees you seeing him.
-He may approach, or he may play at complete disinterest.
-Bide your time.
xxx
...

The boy quick turned away so only his bare backside was toward me.  He
tugged on a pair of cut-off pants, so tight he did not need to button
them all the way up. Fortunately, I played the myopic artist by extending
my arm with pencil upon paper, and my head positioned as though focusing
close to the easel.

"HEY!"  The young'un called over the sound of the falling water,
 "HEY!  Hey mister!  Do you draw?"

"Hmm..., eh?"

I turned as though I had just seen him below, affecting to not hear him.

He cupped his hand to his mouth, "Do you draw? Are you an artist?"

I yelled back, enunciating across the distance, "I submit drawings to
newspapers for them to print, yes."

"Huh? Can I see?"

And without waiting for a response, he directed his attention back to his
own crotch. Only half-turning away, he jostled his treasure in his
fingers as he aimed a full stream of pee at an accommodating bush. He
glanced at me with a smile to confirm that I was watching his show --
just between us `men'. He positively glowed with the attention.

...
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: The youth will strive to attract or provoke or incite
you. Perhaps a tossed ball, a paper airplane, a feigned fall at your
feet.
--In some way he will perform for your attention.
-Smile, and be casual in your response.
xxx
...

I felt the sweet pressure swell in my groin and breasts as I wet my lips
-- with discretion, I hoped. The teener-boy secured his shorts, grasped
his shirt and bit of towel in his hand, and skipped to the trail rising
above the falls. With expectant ecstasy, I leapt upright in the familiar
staccato rhythms of 'la danza del amor' - Cuban rumba. My swaying hip
actions rolled side to side with twists of erotic island Voodoo dance. I
landed back on the stool with barely a beat to spare. The lad had quick
scrambled up the rocky way and ducked beneath the trees by the stone
rubble. Luckily, I had pulled out my charcoal study of the ivy leaves to
put on top of the other `works in progress'.

"Ah, that's pretty," he said breathlessly. "Can you draw me?"

...
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK:  Ancient Greeks considered the sexual "initiation" of
adolescents by adult men to be a noble practice.
Yet `pedophilia' has rules:
-The forward lad will invite foreplay.
-The boy should not yield quickly, but should seek to be courted in such
a way that he is certain that he is not simply an object of sexual
desire.
-In this way he demonstrates that he is a respectable boy.
-The reputable `erastes' does not win the favors of the `eromenos' by
force, but through courtship.
-The man does not use the body of the boy in an excessive or humiliating
way.
xxx
...

Now here was a gift from the gods! In an attempt to make it seem like I
was considering his suggestion, I paused.  I took the opportunity to look
him over up-close.

"Well now, mon cheri...," I barked in my usual harsh, croaking voice.

"What? Got a frog in your throat?"

"Just an old war wound," I squawked, choosing not to elaborate on my days
as a street-performer and fire-eater in the Marche aux Puces, the Paris
flea market.

He was sweet. His bright cheerful face dominated his shirtless, lean and
barely tanned form. I guessed he was certainly not yet thirteen, more
probably a precociously developed twelve, if not eleven. He was perhaps
five-foot something inches tall and likely a bit less than one hundred
pounds. His very light blond hair was worn long, and his somewhat thin
eyebrows were a perfect match. His eyes were a heavenly shade of
iridescent blue. He had the finest turned-up nose, and a lush mouth with
slightly puffy lips that one could imagine kissing endlessly. His skin
was luminous -- too pale to tan darkly. I let my hungry gaze linger on
his small rosy nipples as I imagined smooching and sucking the tender
nubbins. My eyes wandered over his chest and belly and legs. He pulled
his tummy in, perhaps to impress me, or likely he was jittery. I peered
at his well-worn trousers, sheared off just above the knee, manifestly
too small for him. The crotch of those tight pants was seriously tented
now, bulging intriguingly, his young boner straining for freedom.

"Are you willing to take a pose?" I asked.
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Letter #7;  Chapter VII:     "Nuthin On!"

The lad shrewdly assessed the situation. A long, uncertain moment passed
as he cast his eyes about the bower, about the pencils, paper and easel,
and finally about me. A decision was made.

"Sure!" A brilliant grin rose on his cherubic young face. "What is it?
How do I `take' it - `take the pose'?"

His charming innocence played into my deepest desires.

"I mean for you to hold still. To hold a position, or particular
positions, and keep them while I sketch them."

"Yeah, I can do that."

Clad only in the shorts, my young stripling stepped to the fore with his
understanding of `taking a pose'. He squared his bare shoulders and
chest. He took a bold forward stand with one arm extended and the other
flexed; a manly stance he might have seen on the cover of a penny novel,
or in a book about ancient Olympic contestants. The teener-boy gave a
most determined and ferocious grimace, and held his appealingly thin arms
up as though posing for a boxing photograph.

...
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: Intuitively, the lad may instigate what could be an
untimely or prematurely rapacious response from you.
-That could give him the option to take flight.
-It is suggested that at this time you appreciate, but not appropriate or
take advantage of his apparent innocence.
xxx
...

Stifling my laughter I said, "Exactly. That is beautiful. We will do
athletic poses if you wish. However, we will do them just as the classic
ancient artists did with bare-skinned athletes in the `Gymnasia', the
open-air gymnasium. That's from the common Greek adjective 'gymnos'
meaning 'naked' or 'nude'."

He looked directly at me, pondering.

"You mean no pants on, don't you. Nuthin' on!"

I nodded my head in what I hoped would appear to be a disinterested
manner.

...
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: The moment for the complete exposing or total disrobing
of your ravin will come.
-Of course, you will have offered some recompense -- be it monetary, or
giving approving praise, or rewarding him by acceding to what are
obviously his own desires.
-Regardless of any exchange of currency, specie or services, you will
feel you are buying him; he will feel he is bargaining and buying you.
xxx
...

"Yes. As a figurative artist I draw the true, classic nude human form.
Your portrait will not be just some `naked body'. But rather yours
shall be `an artistic challenge' in composition, in rendering, in form,
in sun and shadow and tone. `An arrangement in light and color', as
they say."

Momentary concern showed on his face. He was not certain about that, but
he had been clear enough about parading around the swimming hole in the
buff -- even when sensing a hidden observer. I could see him become game
to do it.

Of a sudden he unbutttoned the tight denim shorts, tugged them down off
his legs and kicked them to the side where his shirt and towel lay. Aha!
'Gymnos' indeed! He placed his hands on his slim hips, thrusting his
pelvis forward slightly. Sucking in my breath, my eyes widened as his
ample boy cock sprang into view. My mouth flooded with saliva. I gazed at
his beautiful gift -- three inches or more of handsomely shrouded
boy-root - the peeking head sporting a darker red tone than the shaft. He
slowly turned which showed his narrow, slightly sun-reddened back, his
newly revealed round white teener-boy-butt, and his thin scarcely tanned
legs.

Out of his line of sight, I held my eyes shut to settle myself. I took a
deep breath in and out. I shifted to appear to rustle in my artist's
pouch. In fact I eased my trousers about my vulva, and loosened the upper
buttons of my shirt to shake my small breasts more free. Once again, the
cloth abraded my nipples tantalizingly. Then, intentionally only looking
at the upper third of my artist's model, I gulped and bid the stripped
lad stand among the ivy and hold one leaf that was illumined by a ray of
sunshine. It was as if I were re-creating a Wilhelm von Gloeden
photograph of a shy Sicilian `checca-boy' pansy in the buff.

"Yes," I said as casually as possible, "very good. Turn now, and look
at the beauty of the leaf. Yes. Stand on your far leg and let your near
leg relax a little. A bit more. Turn toward me. Hmm..., young master,
kindly allow that green ivy to drape over your bare shoulder. Eyes on the
leaf. Wonder at its beauty. Like a very small child might. And with just
the other leaf resting against your lower butt cheek. That's it. It sets
off those angelic blue eyes. Perfect!"
+
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Letter #7;  Chapter VIII:    Boy Naked!

...'BOY NAKED'...!

In my mind's eye I captured every detail of the lad's artistic nudity
to be reproduced on paper. His skin glistened with light sweat from the
exertion of clambering up to the top of the falls. His tongue tip
appeared just between his teeth. He lifted his forearm to swipe at his
damp brow. I felt my breasts stir as I spied the tuft of soft-looking
translucent eiderdown at his creamy underarm. I hungered for his satin
smooth torso and his chest dotted with small brown nipples.

.....
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: You may elect to entertain your quarry inside your
transport vehicle, domicile, bucolic park or discrete sheltered lavatory.
-You may have disrobed the teener-boy, or he may have shed his own
clothing, for he is now fully exhibited.
-Like a hunter drawing bead on his prey, take caution so as not to incite
the teener-boy to bolt. Do not provoke his escape, rather appreciate his
collaboration.
xxx
.....

His fair hair and eyebrows, blue eyes, and his narrow 'cuerpo nordico',
his 'corps nordique', his nordic body made me tremble. I recalled the
elation of that Northumbrian monk, the Venerable Bede, who in 590 AD
recorded a tale of the future Pope Gregory touring a slave market in
Rome. As well as other 'merchandise', Gregory noted two naked Norse
teener-boys put up for sale - they were quite young, very young. Gregory
commented on their tall sleek bodies, stunning golden complexions,
handsome long-skulled faces, and lovely light curled snowy hair. From
them he learned that they had been brought from 'Britani', a heathen
land. They were called "Angli" - Anglo-Saxon or English.

So taken with their divine beauty, Gregory famously responded, "Not
`Anglis'...! But `ANGELS'!"

What gold had he paid for them? What fate had come to them? Had they
risen with his protection to become predatory priests in their turn? So
it was with my own `Gumnasium'-teener-boy: a pale angel on the block,
offered for my taking.

"Ah, you know, you are the most heavenly...." That word had slipped from
between my lips. "Umm..., what is your name?"

He broke his pose with a grin to give a glib, practiced response: "I'm
`Skipper from Saskatoon', sent back east to my uncle's dairy farm here
on Pike Lake. That was my big cousin Johnny, gone to milking. I go for
mucking-out soon. What's yours?"

"No, no, `Skipper from Saskatoon'. Good name, I mean. You're a great
model. Call me `Uncle', just `Uncle'. But no! Hold that pose!"

Hmm..., I thought. He was likely expelled from that dubious
`Dry-Temperance Colony' in the wheat growing plains of Saskatoon.
Outcast at his young age? Just my kind of dodgy kid to work with. Of
course, another arid desiccating dust-storm drought on that prairie meant
no work, and men were leaving those farms in droves. Hence Skipper was on
the move, and now he was before me.

Given his tense passivity as a model, I felt I should act the artist and
position him as I pleased. With a glance at my advancing hand, he allowed
me to pose his naked smooth shoulder and arm and hip this way and that. I
brusquely touched him, even stroked him. He was tougher, stringier,
stronger than he appeared from afar. Though stimulated, I fought my
nature and ignored the rigid teener-boy-nail rising inches above his
silky purse. I casually shifted his scrotum to center it properly . I
licked my lips at that beautiful scrotal sack - pale, nearly hairless and
slightly crinkled, molding to his young balls which hung between his
thighs. He could not suppress an edgy grin as he glanced up at me.

"Right! Very Greek - how like an angel..., uh, no! Now, do not move,
Skipper." I struggled to speak in an objective, professional tone of
voice. "Now, keep that pose no matter what. I repeat, now hold it no
matter what."

He did.
+
+
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Letter #7;  Chapter IX:  `Chico-Cojedores'

"Greeks, huh?"

"Uh, huh...."

He resolutely held the pose, muttering between clenched teeth.

"I hear they did things. Things to each other back then. Stuff we don't
do nowadays?"

"Uh, huh...."

I made a point of ferociously applying charcoal to paper as he spoke.
Clearly this teener-boy had a story to tell now that he was in the nude
and with an artist.

....
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: Allow the teener-boy to lead; until he invites you to
lead.
-His seeming passivity is actually a demand for you to act; and your
seeming dominance is actually a submission to his unspoken will.
-Or so may it appear.
xxx
.....

"Stuff that'll get you in jail if you do it?"

"Uh, huh...."

"You saw my cousin Johnny down there, right?"

"Uh, huh...."

"Well, don't tell. He's older`n me. He lets me hang around. We hafta
share a bunk and we've tried some stuff. Or want to anyway. Some of that
Greek stuff."

"Ah.... Uh, huh...." I let pass that I had witnessed this lad's secret
kisses on his older friend's back, and of course their mutual play and
exchange of sperms. "Well, I am only sorry that I'm not available to
record all that on paper."

"Yeah," he said. "Um..., artists make pictures of that stuff, yeah?"

"Uh, huh.... Some do."

"Can I see the picture?"

I made it a practice to never share a sketch until I was near to
finishing it off. But this lad's forthrightness won me over, and after a
few more moments and rapid pencil strokes I beckoned him to break the
pose and come nearer. He stood right at my shoulder, totally naked and
cupping his privates with his hand.

"Oh-Ma-God!" he cried. "Wow, you put everything in, didn't you? You
make me look like I am floating around on a cloud or somethin'. Am I
that strong? Sorry I got all stiff there. Did that happen to the
Greeks?"

"Uh, huh.... Happens."

He glanced down at himself, and gave a familiar tug to his aroused and
surprisingly generous genitals.

"So, I look that big down here too, huh?"

"Uh, huh...."

"Hey Uncle - looky!"

He had spied the earlier sketches of him and his friend at the swimming
hole, and in doing so entirely neglected to cover himself in any way. His
sculpted boyhood sprung free toward his flat abdomen with a snap. Given
that, I made an exception and let him handle the drawings, which he did
with great care.

"Ha! Look at Johnny walkin' around. And lyin' down. Nuthin' on. And
there's me. Whoa! And there's the two of us waxin' our carrots
together. You really saw us? Ain't we something. Wow!"

He stood for a moment immobilized in awe.

"Johnny'll play, he says. But he just laughs at me. Says I'm too young
for him. He should try me. Mine is like his. You saw that. And I put out
a lot. You saw that, didn't ya?"

Remaining mute, I kept my eyes close to the paper so as to appear
absorbed in my work.

"Um, I hear artists do different things, too. Maybe that was you I heard
about?"

"Uh, huh..., well...."

As he stood closely examining the sketches, I proceeded to tell the
bare-skinned lad an embellished wanton war-story or two. I explained that
after the USS Maine had mysteriously exploded and been sunk in Havana
harbor, I covered the ten-week Spanish-American war there. I told of
artists and journalists enjoying the Caribbean night life, which involved
being with young American and Spanish soldiers, and with the
`chico-cojedores' and other local Cuban youths. I obliquely referred to
the street practice of oral stimulation of a man's sex. He asked direct
questions, and I gave idealized answers. We chatted, our banter quite
light and easy.
+
+
+
+
+
Letter #7;  Chapter X:

Young Skipper then allowed me a close, visual inspection of himself as
`The Portrait'. With a sense of drama, I took a step away from my young
subject. This was in order to 'check the presentation' - to take a fresh
look at the 'lines' and 'organization' of my `objet de art'. Then with
a strong tilt of my head I grabbed my traditional 'upside-down glance',
checking for arrangement and tie-ins with the rock wall and leafy ivy all
about. Finally, I stepped away and turned to look back over my shoulder
to see the compositional lines of my topic in reverse.

Encouraged by his sly grin and lack of resistance, I let him catch my
eyes dropping to his delicious crotch. No doubt he was proud of his
appearance, given that on this afternoon he had chosen to exhibit his
flawless, so-very-young teener-boy physique to any who might care to
look. I permitted my trousered leg to inch its way toward him until it
actually touched his bare one. He took no particular notice of the
contact - in fact he leaned-in a bit. Our continuing conversation seemed
to be completely comfortable, as I added a stroke here and a line there
to his portrait.

I elaborated on where I had been in Cuba, and particularly what I had
seen. I implied rather than stated all that I might have participated in.
We shared back and forth quite casually. He spoke obliquely of what may
have transpired in his own wheatfield or barn or hayloft. His level of
conversation was impressive given his tender years, and he seemed very
secure and confident, which only added to his overall attractiveness.

"Johnny and me've seen pictures. We've heard tell of guys doin' it --
what you said. But we don't....  We haven't.... And he don't know that
I'd....  Hey, you ever wipe your ass with a dried corn cob? The kids back
home..., well..., we all cornhole each other. Well, not yet, but someday
maybe. So when I spun the yarn about that super-preachin',
pulpit-banger, `Mister Hellfire Reverend' `Doin' My Hole' -- well,
not quite a yarn - they sent me away East to here at Uncle's farm. While
Cousin Johnny and I sleep in the same bed, he hasn't done anything.
Maybe if I can do..., to him..., with my mouth...?"

I did not challenge his story -- whether genuine or specious. But nothing
could have prepared me for the moment he turned those beautiful blue eyes
on me, and asked in a stunningly matter of fact way:
"So..., willya `do' me, Uncle? Willya `do' me? And teach me how?"

It was my turn for an inner, `Oh, My God!'.

.....
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: Allow the teener-boy to propose participatory
oral-genital pleasures.
-Of course, you may have need to provide language to his obvious but mute
proposals.
-At this time avoid any intimations of a sodomistic interest.
xxx
.....

The teener-boy took a breath to steady himself. His small Adam's apple
bobbed up and down.

"What you talked about doing in Havana. What guys did in the war, I
mean. With their mouths. Like the Greeks? Will `ya? With me? Then Johnny
and I...."

I damn near gagged as he so innocently asked me to show how I could suck
him off. It took me a good minute to regroup, but finally I managed to
sputter a response.

"Uh.... Well Skipper, I'm not really sure what you mean...?"

As steady as if he were asking me the time, he replied, "What I mean?
Well, what do you want? To lick my dick? I mean, Johnny or me don't know
how. But if you'd show me 'The Havana Thing', then I could show....
That's what I mean. It's okay with me."

I gulped, struggling to gather myself, and finally managed to mumble,
"Well, all that was a while ago during the war. You are pretty young for
that sort of thing. But I guess you've tried some things before. Or want
to. Right?"

He dropped his eyes as his face turned scarlet and he grinned.
+
+
+
+
+
Letter #7;  Chapter XI:    Show No Shame

Barely containing my smile, I gave him a long look then shrugged.

"Okay, Skipper from Saskatoon. This is a game I like to play. Just as in
Havana, it is what I like to do with young men. Like with you and your
friend Johnny. Like down at the river when I saw you before."

He giggled, and blurted, "Ha! Really...? You watchin' us all nekked and
everything, and thought that?"

I held up my hands in mock surrender, and nodded with a smile.

"I have a good eye, Skipper. And I like what I have seen. I watched you
two swimming, and playing, and  - like young teener-boys all over the
world -- `fetching spunky mettle' together until your `agony of
bliss' poured forth those `pearly showers' all over each other. I wish
I'd sucked you two off right then! Yes, I suck cocks. What else would
you like to know?"

Skipper's eyes went wide at my disclosure. He bent over in appealing
laughter.

"You saw us! And you do that...? You would of...? To us...? I want to try
him! Show me how to `Do Him', will ya?"

"So...!" Chuckling, and understanding now his actual intention and why
he was with me. "Well, Skipper," I said suddenly overdoing it, "when I
suck a lad there is no limit to the warm, tasty, thick and salty swag I
swallow -- like swilling the swirling sea and scarfing the starry sky
itself! Did you guess that about me?"

.....
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: Show no shame. There shall be caution. There shall be
discretion. There shall be appreciation. There shall be reciprocation.
But there shall be no display of shame.
-The more experienced youth may initiate an encounter by some such coded
phrase as: " `You-Me?' or `Me-You?' " Be prepared.
-Agree beforehand on the nature of a gratuity, if any beyond the mutual
'Pleasures of the Plain'.
xxx
.....

I grinned at my bare teener-boy. I nodded with excited heady pleasure as
we two were about to engage in a great sensual experience with one
another. I also grit my teeth as some would say that I was about to
commit a great crime against holy nature, against the civil state, and
against the innocent lad himself. I laughed out loud to show that I was
in on his even greater conspiracy to make illicit love with his cousin.

I endeavored to take it slow, not being certain how he would react. As
any favored uncle might, I leaned and laid my hand on his bare shoulder.
He was more substantial than first appeared. Yet he flinched and trembled
like an unbroken colt. I rubbed my hand up and down him, appreciating his
creamy bare chest and the puffy nubs of his tight nipples. They begged
for attention from lips and tongue as did his tummy with its last,
lingering traces of child softness. I stopped my lips but my fingers knew
no boundaries. I palmed the sleek skin veiling the hidden hardening flex
of his rectus abdominus - those firm, rounded, unseen young muscles of a
hard-working farm boy.

I moistened my lips. I placed my open hand fully on the quiver of his
leg.  He stared down at my palm as it gripped the warm skin of his naked
thigh - slowly working inward from below. Then he looked up. The light,
whitish hairs of his faint brows rose above those blazing-blue eyes. I
bobbed my head in affirmation. He bobbed his in return. My hand slowly
stroked up his leg, and the inner fascia contracted about his demure,
lifting nut sack. I watched his face for any look of alarm. My fingertips
just brushed the little, living, bunching tubes, and barely grazed those
newly firm yet giving `pelotas' - the modest `boy-balls'.

"Oh, uh...," he chirped. "Jeeze...!"

Skipper winced and gasped but held. He made no attempt to jump aside or
push me away. His eyes watched mine as though to suss-out if I was
mocking him or not taking him seriously. I gave a sober, straightforward
look and nodded. What a young beauty!

A sparse thatch of translucent pubic hair dotted his soft groin. The
modest but beautiful purse of young bollocks settled between his thighs.
I brushed upon his ball bag a second time, with a bit more contact. His
eyes closed and he opened his mouth in a delicate moan. I gently rubbed
the silky sack with the back of my fingers before wantonly tugging on it.
He squealed aloud and pulled his legs together tight, capturing my hand
firmly with unexpected strength. Then he slowly spread wide as though in
acquiescence to my friendly fondle. I opened my hand around his tight
scrotum and once again cupped it, sensing the small orbs lifting within.

We smiled together.
+
+
+
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Letter #7;  Chapter XII:  Entranced

The boy's rigid erection jutted forth. Seen up close, it appeared as
round yet just a bit shorter than his older cousin's. I grasped his
icicle-stiff bone at its base with finger and thumb. He snapped to
attention and shuddered as a low moan spun from his chest. His eyes
remained closed. The shaft was sleek and inviting; glass-smooth and hard
like that short iron railroad spike I had palmed. I softly brought my
grip up and down a few times.

"Oooh...," he cooed.

His teener-boy meat stiffened even more, now pointing nearly straight up
and arching the arrow-head top onto his flat, smooth tummy. As I gently
groped his treasure, it pulsed with his quickly mounting excitement. I
kept Skipper's foreskin retracted and, wetting my finger, rubbed across
his sensitive cock head, spreading his pee hole. He jumped. His
glazed-over eyes looked down at my activity.

"Allright?" I asked.

...
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK:  Fellatio can be enjoyed by both parties in several
standing, lying and even sitting positions, provided the teener-boy's
genitalia are fully available.
-The recipient may stand with legs wide apart, while the fellator bends
or kneels to fully engulf the penis in his mouth. (Here the aggressor has
the advantage of gripping the retaliator's buttocks to control jerking
motions of the torso.)
-Mutual fellatio can be accomplished either lying side by side, or with
one partner perched and crouched over the other.
- As for seated in a chair: the irrumator kneels between the irumare's
legs. This is a favorite method.
-It is a well-known fact that persons with removable false teeth are
reckoned to be superior cocksuckers.
...

"Yes I.... It just really tickles," he whispered, "...a good tickle."

I lowered my head to his naked thighs. I kissed him gently on the inside
of each one and slowly worked towards his stiff teener-boy cock. I put my
hand on his chest and urged him to lean back against the old stone wall
so as to give me more access. I used my face to push his legs apart. I
could barely believe it. I was about to suck on a teener-boy's cock for
the first time since Cuba. I was hot, trembling, panting and almost
desperate. My pudenda flowed in my pants and my breasts swelled beneath
the shirt. Might demonstrating arousal be taboo? A glance up at the
elated teener-boy's closed eyes and open lips reassured me. Again,
pulling back his smooch-able foreskin revealed the gorgeous, shiny round
mushroom knob peeking forth. I ran my thumb across the smooth, barely
moist tip as I tightened my grasp on the narrow rod. Being practiced at
this sort of thing, I began to stroke him back and forth. He shuddered,
and sighed heavily in pleasure.

"Feels good, eh?" I prompted. "This is how you'll do it for Johnny,
my pet. It only gets better. A lot better. For both of you."

I positioned myself for the best angle, then dipped down. His fine blonde
pubes tickled my nose such that wonderful aromas filled my senses. He had
those heady scents so unique to young lads who are in the rank glandular
secreting stage of puberty. Inhaling deeply, I whiffed sweet, musky
`teener-boy-spoor'. I prayed that his pent-up juices would be whipped
into a froth - to both motivate this beauty and also impel me to work
magic on `su hermosa polla joven y sus pelotas'.

For a moment I feared he might actually collapse and slide to the ground.
But as he swayed and sighed it was more with a lilting wave like
breeze-blown grass. I was struck by how slim he was - yet even with his
strength -- how vulnerable, petite, nearly dainty. He was almost
`girly'. I was entranced.

As I sat back, I positioned the stunned naked teener-boy directly in
front of me. I paused to look him over. His penis suddenly subsided then
to mere soft length. It was of a generous size for his age and hung in
such a delicious way. The plumb-shaped knob glistened with moist silky
strands. I reached out to help, and in seconds it was on the rise once
again. It pulsed with his quickly mounting excitement, though not yet
fully hard. He stood there, mouth agape, then licked his lips. My
excitement grew and my vulva moistened.

...
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: The servicer asks 'permission' to perform fellatio only
after the teener-boy has not only acquiesced, but indeed insisted that
the act proceed.
-One's dominant action then becomes a passive response to the other's
dominant demand to be allowed to act passive and to be dominated.
xxx
.....

I sat back, took a breath and asked: "Now `missy', may I suck your
cock?"
+
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+
Letter #7;  Chapter XIII:     Desired!

Young Skipper stared at me, slack-jawed, stammering, "I-I-I do wanna
know how....  How.... Yeah, I do want you to...."

"Skipper, I have followed strange paths and worshipped strange gods. I
have learned to fall in love with 'DICK'. I want you to fall in love with
dick - his dick, all dicks. A frisky phallus acts on me as it may act
upon a very aroused woman. My mouth waters at the sight of one,
particularly a young, fresh, full-blooded one like yours or Cousin
Johnny's. One whose retracting foreskin reveals its thick and fleshy and
slick and tasty glans."

.....
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: Good foreplay: Tell him how arousing he is for you. Let
him know how frantically you want all that he has.
-Have him relax. Have him laugh. Have him tell you in his own words how
he shall play `a Prince in the streets, and a Fuck-Boy in the sheets'.
-Your task is to show him that you are falling in love with his
man-member, and that you will make tender and vigorous love to it.
xxx
.....

The boy's breathing came in harsh gasps. My free hand roamed over his
smooth, warm body. His penis was on the rise again, though not yet fully
hard. This cock was beautiful! His excitement and need were apparent.

"Well, my darling, so our instruction begins. Dear heart, you are about
to be introduced to those most ancient practices of `fellatio' and
`irrumatio'. The Greeks inscribed and immortalized these exercises on
thousands of their red-figure pottery. Yet these skills are far older
than the Greeks."

I placed my hands on his warm, fresh, eleven or twelve-year-old  body. I
appreciated his slender shoulders and surprisingly firm upper arms. My
fingers grazed his pert nipples as I caressed his trim, trembling chest.
They roamed over his sleek belly and the hidden muscles of his developing
thighs. I slid my arms around behind to paddle his lower back and to
grasp his gorgeous, tight, round buttocks. I touched him everywhere.
Everywhere! Everywhere I could reach so as to acquaint him with ways to
pleasure his beloved companion.

I quietly told him, "Your skin is shimmery and soft. You can be proud of
how perfect your body looks. You'd be the favorite with any corps of
cadets. In this same way, Skipper, you are to admire your lover. With
your eyes, your hands, your words, your lips, your tongue, your cheeks.
Desire! The most erotic feeling is `To Be Desired'. Let Johnny know
that he is desired, just as you are desired right now. Desire!"

.....
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: A young teener-boy cock by nature will be as stiff as an
iron rod.
-However, if it needs encouragement, stroke his manhood through his
trousers. Make an elaborate show of slowly, dramatically, approvingly and
appreciatively getting him out of his slacks.
-Ask- "What is this in your pants? Is this for me?"
-To give him a dramatic preview of what is to happen, take his middle
finger in your mouth and slowly lick, swill and slurp the diget as if it
were coated in sweetened cream or honey. Suck on all his fingers in turn.
Instructional drama is called for here.
-The teasing stops when he is rock hard. Do not tease too long or he will
burst.
xxx
.....

My hand carefully cradled his warm, loaded boy-sack. I felt of his plump,
ready balls and gave them a gentle squeeze. He groaned above me. I
lowered my head and tongued his waxy, wrinkly scrotum. First taste of
hot, sweaty, buttery boy-tallow! He flinched and a gasp escaped his
chest. `Tenía hambre de sus pelotas.' They were initially small, but
swelled during my ministrations. I sucked each orb in turn. Great Mother,
how snappy-sweet he tasted. All teener-boy sassy! With a hint of
fresh-falling river-water lingering on his skin.

I tugged downward, and my hand explored the tender area just behind his
balls. For the fun of it, my finger trailed further back. I circled his
tiny ass-pucker, then tapped at it, probing a slight push within. The
young lad all but leapt to the sky as he moaned in deep pleasure. His
perfectly sculpted boyhood bobbed off his sparsely haired groin to point
skyward, pulsing with each heartbeat. His rock-hard erection was indeed a
beauty, and like all of him, as smooth as an amber rod. The shaft was an
alabaster shade, and the knob-like head at the tip tended to a
rose-quartz pink. A single turquoise vein ran down the underside,
thickened with blood.

At last, I opened my palm to grasp it.
+
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+
Letter #7;  Chapter XIV:     Practice!

.....
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: -Practice makes perfect. In your daily life, you must
practice your fellatio procedures over and over in your mind -- in your
imagination - particularly while giving the appearance of reading, or
attending a lecture, during a dull conversation, and while bathing or
dressing or watching your face in a mirror.
-The only thing for you to think about is the pleasure you are to give,
to engender and to receive - from sucking his dick. Banish any dreary
thoughts, be they disparaging, degrading, disgusting, demeaning, or
incriminating. May they begone! Instead, focus on the pleasures-to-be in
hand and in mouth.
-Imagine what the teener-boy will feel, and recall in detail your own
pleasurable desires and adventures as a younger person.
xxx
.....

Our boy Skipper arched his back to press his narrow rod against my
groping hand. I closed my fist around his rapidly stiffening
teener-boy-cock and began to fondle his pulsing erection. I pumped it and
he grew diamond hard and taut as a nail in my grip. As I stroked slowly,
the satin-like skin of the shaft glided slickly over the rock-like tissue
beneath. I swiped my thumb across the slippery knob to smear his sheeny,
mucusy fluids around the sensitive head. For a moment the whole tightened
even further, to that astonishing degree of hardness that only young lads
can attain.

.....
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: Anatomy Review and Suggested Actions:
-The Glans -- the head: Swirl your tongue in circles around the crown, as
it is extremely sensitive, like a clitoris. Suck, lick and kiss gently
with lots of saliva. Suck the head in and out of your mouth. Suck like a
baby suctioning a pacifier.
-The Meatus -- the slit: Extremely sensitive. Flick your wet tongue back
and forth across it.
-The Frenulum and Corona -- junction spot at the under edge of the glans
between head and shaft: Extremely sensitive. Swirl your tongue around
this area.
-The Shaft - the body of the penis: Make a cock-ring with your forefinger
and thumb to grip the base of his dick firmly. Turn your head sideways
and gently nip or bite along his shaft.
-The Raphe - the seam or ridge along the line on the underside of the
penis and below. It is divided into raphe proper, scrotal raphe, and
perineal raphe: Lick up and down this line with a very wet tongue.
-The Scrotum - contains and protects the testicles: This is extremely
sensitive to the touch. Gently play with and tickle his balls while you
suck his young dick.
-The Perineum - the fleshy area between the anus and the scrotum: This is
also known as the `Taint' area (" `Taint' either ass-hole or
ball-sack"). Lick this area or apply pressure with your fingers. This
shall stand him at attention.
-The Rectum -- gently explore by digit and tongue.
xxx
.....

Skipper eagerly attended to my face as I exaggerated licking my lips. My
tongue pantomimed lapping an elaborate, wide circle about my mouth. His
eyes widened and in response he moistened his own lips, as he might
prepare to perform sometime with Johnny. It was my turn to groan then. I
let him see how I stealthily touched myself within my shirt, keeping my
breasts and nipples hidden. Then he watched as I reached down through my
false left pocket to privately and repeatedly stroke myself below.

"My cuddle bear, it will help your Johnny to know that you are just as
much, if not more, aroused and pleasured as he is."

.....
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK:  Enthusiasm: The teener-boy is 'The King' and you act
'His `QUEEN'.
-The teener-boy must know that you crave to bring him joy. Show him you
love to suck his dick. Smile! The more you smile the better. Remember --
SMILE!
-Playing the ever-happy vamp guarantees that he will have a superior
orgasm.
xxx
.....

"Perhaps Skipper, you may ask your cousin Johnny:
`How many times can you cum in my mouth tonight?' "
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Letter #7;  Chapter XV:     Crave Cock

Ahh...!  When I could resist young Skipper's wares no longer, I went on
my knees before him.

"To begin, my sugar, take one of Johnny's testicles into your mouth.
Then hum or moan. Yes, hum or moan! Then repeat with the other one."

I demonstrated the act by mouthing his balls, then manfully humming
Bach's chorale cantata: "Ein feste Burg". He gasped.

"See? The vibration-effect excites, does it not?"

It had. I licked my way about his vestal rod, briefly bathing all with my
tongue. I lapped up his stiffness with kisses until I reached the warm
tip. I used my thumb to skin-clear his cockhead. I took the bare pink
crown into my mouth, indulging the pungent, sweet flavor of teener-boy
penis. I was euphoric. Memories of friends, foes, and foreigners whom I
had sucked in field, forest, and battlefront flooded my brain. The feel
of young cock, and the taste of fresh smegma in my mouth, brought forth
all the good zeal from those frenzied days again.

My tongue lathered his firm, young corona as my apex-tip stabbed his tiny
slit. He jerked his slim hips back, then slowly arched forward. His head
rose toward heaven, his eyes closed, his mouth opened. Small sighs slid
from his lips. As though called forth by some ancient impulse, his hands
found their way to my head. His fingers began a soft kneading of my
close-cropped hair. He fondled and caressed my scalp. I paused for but a
moment.

"Know, my little dumpling, that I do crave cock. And show Johnny you
worship his cock. Have him caress your hair, handle your body, stroke
your face, and let him guide you along as you take him within. 'Sizzling
Skipper' - be Johnny's little `Cum Jezebel'. His `Fellatio Fanatic'.
Look into his eyes, hear his moans, and he shall know that you love
pleasing him as a man -- A Male Animal. Look at him with LUST. Get within
his 'True Stuff'. Get inside his very soul!"

I had expectations for this day, but this was beyond anything
anticipated. I could have died right there as a most happy transvestite.
In seconds we had a rhythm going with first `fellatio' - my bobbing -
and then `irrumatio' - his grasping my head. His hips and loins
undulated back and forth to push his prick perpetually into my mouth. He
did not soften at all. His rigid young shaft stuck like a tasty iron
spike in my mouth.

I came up for air. My lips sopped saliva. His dick dripped with my spit.
As long strands of pre-cum dribbled from his prick tip, I caught them on
my tongue -- one! -- two! -- three! I grasped his rounding, scalloping,
tight butt-cheeks and pulled him into my willing mouth. My finger found
his button butt-hole, and drilled it. His moaning cries rose high above
the spuming splashes of the tumbling waterfall.

"Skipper, it'll start to tickle like you have to pee. Do not stop! Do
not quit! All is getting close!"

....
xxx
*...BY THE BOOK:  Listen to the ready lad's breathing as it will tell you
when to speed up and when to slow down.
-Do not rush for the finish. Make it last for him. Make it last!
-Do not shy from becoming a `C-O-D' - more commonly referring to the
enthusiastic fellator as one who "Chokes-On-Dick".
xxx
.....

"Learn to love cum. Skipper, practice by taking your own spent sperms in
your mouth. Do this over and over, a thousand times and more. Hold your
own salty, fishy, sour ejaculate on your tongue, and spread it around
inside your mouth. Feel the sacred, slurry-slime cover your teeth and
gums and throat. Resist scraping it off, feel it last. Love your cum.
Love cum."

.....
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK: -Learn to savor semen/sperm.
-Learn to adore and treasure the fragrance and vintage and nectar of the
very first thin, exocrine Cowper's fluid right along to the last final
robust, flowing spermy ejaculate itself.
-One must honor those hints of that fruitful, fecund, procreative power
which has brought forth new joy and new life unto all of our
civilizations through all time.
-And swallow! Swallow your lad's load when he ejaculates. Swallow as he
explodes. Swallow it as though you have been in the desert and thirst to
have his cum inside. Swallow while sucking for more. More!
-As he sees how desperate you are for his emission, this shall seriously
raise his excitement and escalate his orgasm(s).
-And he shall love you!
xxx

Indeed, the ever increasing wet from fresh-faced Skipper's young cock
gave tastes of nutty flavors which if ever bottled would be certain to be
marketed the world over as "L'Elisir d'Amore". One wontonly thirsts and
drools in eager anticipation of true teener-boy-nectar to come.
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Letter #7;  Chapter XVI:     Boy-Manna


The hardness attained by a stimulated teener-boy's dick is difficult to
believe, and young Skipper's was certainly no exception. My mouth
watered at the thought of the sweet boy-juice which `sus gonadas' were
busy generating for my soon-to-come enjoyment. I suckled and scarfed and
savored, eager for what I knew for me and hoped for him would be a most
successful `Sting of Pleasure'. As the tart taste of his flowing precum
washed over my tongue, I knew the whole thing was not to last much
longer. His heavy breathing and low moans progressed to sighs, then gasps
became chirps and calls of ecstasy. His rolling hips matched my nodding
hunger. My eager hand tugged his plump balls.

His breath caught in his throat as he hissed another, "OH-MA-GOD...!" and
flattened his back against the rock wall.

.....
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK:  When your lad is set to climax and cum -- (whether or
not old enough for copious  `au jus') - he will make jerky movements.
-His scrotum shall tilt upwards and his testicles will be harder, and
even more sensitive.
-At this point you should increase everything.
-Everything!
xxx
.....


Skipper moaned in deep pleasure. I heard him sucking air as a series of
sharp, strident snorts came from him. His heavy breathing turned into
raspy gasps. He rolled his thin hips and they bucked while the sensations
built. I feared Skipper might actually collapse and slide to the ground
as he shuddered. Then he froze. His cock twitched in my mouth. His leg
muscles spasmed. He let out several growls and flexed fully back against
the stone wall, his breath hot and heavy.

Then....  That high-pitched cry. That universal cry which had come from
teener-boys' lips since the expulsion from Eden. When Cain and Abel and
Seth had first kneeled one brother before the other to bring forth
fraternal man-to-man climactic release. So Skipper cried forth as he
tugged my hair, his knees buckling.

In a bat of an eye thereafter, warm clabbered nectar spasmed and spewed
upon my tongue. I treasured the incredible sensation of his slippery cock
bucking inside my mouth as he spouted his offering of boy-manna. My taste
buds exploded with the acrid, slightly-sour, salty-sweet spice of his
discharge. The force and volume both surprised and pleased me.

I continued sucking movements on his dick as he moaned and jacked above
me. Oh Great Mother! How this teener-boy could shoot some serious semen.
At first three strong dollops, then spurt after spurt of viscous warm
fluid flowed over my tongue. Moaning all the while, I swallowed rapidly
to choke-down and relish the sensation of his sweet creaminess filling my
mouth. More, then more, sliding down my throat. Even so, much ran from my
mouth and down my chin and neck.

When he stopped surging, the stream reduced to smaller spasms and a seep.
I felt his hardness wilt as the final dribbles of his semen deposited on
my tongue. Ever so happily, I swilled and swallowed all as the run
ceased. His now soft cock slipped from my battered lips. I moved my
fingers over his deflating shaft to empty him of every trace of that
unbelievable essence. I continued my ministrations until his phallus
finished. I imbibed the lot. I looked up at the lad. My grin answered his
starry eyes and gasping, awe-gobbed mouth.

I opened wide, showing remnants of his cream on my tongue. He grinned and
giggled as he wobbled upright on both legs. I swiped the smears of semen
from my lips and chin and then held my slimed pointer finger up before
him. Might he taste? In spite of some confusion, his tongue tip came
forward and he lapped at my digit. I pushed it fully between his lips as
he lapped it. Then he sucked hard and harder. He smacked his lips to draw
my cum-soaked digit deep into his suckling, pitapatting mouth -- proving
a master of `the technique'.
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Letter #7;  Chapter XVII:     A `Below Job'

Panting like a sprinter after a dash, Skipper sagged back onto his heels
- quite spent. I did need to grab hold of his bare thighs to keep him
from dissolving in a subsiding melt to the ground.

.....
xxx
...*BY THE BOOK:  The moment of climax and beyond - slow is the way to go.
-Nothing will be more pleasing to him than to watch you enjoy every drop
of his semen.
-Open your mouth and show him what he gave you. Let it sit on your
tongue.
-Then close your mouth and swallow the bulk of it with a gulp.
-Open your mouth again, show him there is little left.
-Tell him how special he tastes.
xxx
.....

And so I sat back in joy. In time I half stood up and wrapped my arms
around the small, naked youth's trembling body. I pulled him close and
held him. He hugged me back.

"Thank..., thank you, Uncle,...thanks." he replied before giving me a
peck on the cheek.

"At the end, my lambkin, please know that joy is given to me in sucking
cock. The joy of feeling a teener-boy's cock getting extra hard in the
moments before he unloads his cum. So Skipper, savor Johnny's cum. Show
it to him on your tongue. And swallow it. All of it!. JOY! Share the joy
with Johnny."

Again. I showed Skipper the hints of his persistent tenacious residue in
my mouth. He watched, then giggled sweetly. I winked to tell him how
great he tasted.

"My bunny, giving a lover a `Below-Job', as they say, is a most
intimate and delicious act of love. Remember, be a `fellatio fanatic'.
Like passionate kissing, your lips and tongue take in the other's taste
and smell and feel. There is sensation: the mouth-feel of the velvety
smooth and lickable skin of a hard cock. There is emotion: the
overwhelming, dare I say heady, mix of power and submission. There is
culmination: the `Being Fucked' in the mouth, and `Fucking' another
with your mouth."

Nodding his head in wonderment, yet giving a knowing grin, the young lad
stuttered, "It-It-It is the best ever."

I set on my folding stool and pulled the teener-boy in close. We basked
together in the afterglow. Limp and limpid now, he gazed into my eyes and
I peered into his soul. I undid the upper buttons on my shirt and opened
it.  My two diminutive mamillae had swollen with the excitement, the
perky nipples prominent and needy. I took his hands and brought them to
my breasts. He looked wide-eyed upon them. His nostrils flared. His mouth
gaped. He gave a profoundly puzzled smile. Yet even then his fingers
worked me as I instructed. I had him pay particular attention to my
nipples.

He milked them as familiarly as any dairy man. This eleven or twelve or
so teener-boy was willingly helping to bring me off, while I worked at
myself below. I adjusted his hands a bit and showed him how to stroke and
squeeze my small breasts. The touch was good. As was the very thought of
my blonde, boy-poseur playing with me.

Closer.... Closer.... Ah.... AH! YES! Soon my own repeating cries of
release floated high above the rocks and cascading waters. Skipper
watched and worked and giggled sweetly. He rolled those beautiful blue
eyes up to meet mine and we smiled.

A bit breathless, he asked, "...Say Mister Uncle, or Miss Uncle, will you
be around these falls again...?"

.....
xxx
...BY THE BOOK:   Avoid giving your true name or domicile, but reassure
the teener-boy that your only intention has been, and forever will be, to
please him.
-Have him suggest an apt time and discrete place where you may be able to
find one another in the near future.
-Long term erotic and romantic relationships have arisen from encounters
such as this - although they are extremely rare.
xxx
.....

And so, I merely grinned at him.

Skipper shook his head. Still naked as the day he was born, he gazed at
me with a wondrous expression. Giving a mischievous grin, our lovely
naked angel abruptly turned. He grabbed his shirt, shorts and towel, and
skipped back down the path to the swimming hole.


I slumped grinning all dishabille on my artist's stool. I peered over
the edge from my sketching place, and saw that once again he had tossed
his clothes on the sandy strand. He catapulted his naked self full-tilt
into the water, taking up his station directly beneath the falling
waters. His shouts and singing overwhelmed the glen as cascades and
spouts enveloped him.
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Letter #7;  Chapter XVIII:     `Whooee!'


With a slurry of his bittersweet aftertaste still on my tongue, I
gathered up my sketches and pencils and little stool and shouldered the
leather pouch. I trudged down the path along to the abandoned rail bed. I
bent to pick up another discarded iron spike from among the cinders. I
fondled the cool, hard length, squeezing it in my fist. I smiled,
thinking of teener-boys. Thinking of Skipper. And of Johnny. Wishing I
could sketch them this coming night - a night of discovery for them both.
I gave a grin, and then pocketed the spike as a memento.

Old Alex had browsed a circle around his tether in the grass. He was
shifting about, impatient to get back to his stall and his oats. I gave
him an apple. I took a final look about to forever hold the memory of
this most special afternoon. Old Alex determinedly began to step along
the trackway, heading for home.

A shout overtook us. Out of nowhere, here came Skipper from Saskatoon.
Golden haired, blue eyed, with his pleasingly formed limbs and teener-boy
body. He was barefoot and still wet, having just tugged on his shirt and
tight cutoff jeans.

"Give a ride? Huh?"

"Back to the road? Certainly!"

The lad hoisted himself up on Old Alex behind me. He was affectionate,
and rested his head against my upper back in exhausted repose. He laced
his arms around to my front, searching for that false pocket of my pants.
Enthusiastic fingers made their way to my bare crotch, my mound, my slit,
and to my clitoris -- to my `papaya' as I had told him. He deftly
paddled there ever so softly. His right hand found its way to my chest.
Exploring and discovering, his fingers dug between the loose shirt
buttons. He gently cupped his palm around one slight breast, catching a
nipple between two fingers. I gasped, murmuring a moan in amazement. The
teener-boy giggled.

"The goatish older aunts at our Dry Temperance Colony in Saskatoon...,"
he confided, "well, they're beyond any age of bearing kids, but still
game. So frisky ones'll get younger guys to practice `doin' it' with
'em - doin' IT! And they get the greater pleasure, they say. Well,
they've shown me a few things. Maybe some time at the swimmin' hole, me
and you...."

I laughed out loud with pleasure. At the trailhead Skipper gave me a
parting squeeze, slid off, and offered a wave. I handed him a single
rolled sheet of vellum, the one sketch that captured him and his Johnny
stroking themselves together on the beach.

"Thanks Uncle, for teaching me a `Below-Job'!"

He asked to `borrow' two-bits for his hoped-for `cousin-crush'. I
gave him two dollars. Then the blond, blue-eyed young lad gave the
world's biggest smile. He ran across the road and along the stream where
a trail led to his cousin's dairy farm. Then he was gone.

Old Alex plodded along toward Aunt Elsa's farm at Pike Lake Crossroads. I
put my head back and gazed upon the celestial clouds in the west. I
welcomed the setting sun's embrace of my face.

Back at my small studio - which had once housed the wild and ceaseless
baby-makings of the farm workers' families - I took the afternoon's
sketches and placed them about the walls. I would finish, or rework,
these drawings to send them on to an editor in New York City. The
depictions would find their way to discerning collectors who'd be
aroused by these scraps of memory of a most beautiful Grey County
afternoon.

Another proscribed prurient pleasure memorialized!

With kisses -
Uncle Laetitia
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END OF PEN-COB LETTER #7
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