Date: Thu, 3 Oct 2002 16:01:15 -0500 From: Tom Emerson Subject: THE TARZAN MUSHROOM HUNTERE BOOK VI THE TARZAN MUSHROOM HUNTERS by R. Forbes Emerson (Bi-ped, inc., rom.) BOOK VI "There's no control on hideous mothers, no laws, no codes, no strictures, save they inflict no physical wounds. Other than breaking bones and drawing blood, they are free to maintain a savagery akin to the hungriest cats in the wildest jungle." "What if their sons were allowed to kill them. Taken aside at the age of eight and told this. That they would not be prosecuted because the only rights a child had was vengeance. Wouldn't mothers tend to back off knowing the children they flayed with their tongues and tempers could one day gaze into the matrix of past hell and throttle the life right the fuck out of them?" "Maybe we should be more tolerant. Toxic mothers, a, cause self-esteem issues which drive some kids to the furthest recesses of the library, or off to their rooms with a book, and, b, most of the best comics were roasted, feet first, for years, and, c, they also cause sexual dysfunction leading to homosexuality and pedophilia, which, we all know, are two or three hundred times as stimulating as post-honeymoon marital sex." "Besides, what would we do with all the bodies? Most of them are so fat We'd have to divert thousands of backhoes from construction sites to dig graves. There would be economic consequences." "You could heat a home for a year on the gas it takes to reduce a whopper, a la crematoria " "Bill Gates gave us the personal computer, an essentially useless device, and saved the world. Now that they've become an appliance item, maybe shuffling moms, essentially worse than useless, off to their final rewards could, you know, take up the slack." "Watch out below!!" "There are bright sides in addition to the geek/pervert vector." "For example?" "Not having to worry when they get sick. Not having to even show up, much less mourn them when they die." "And if you achieve anything in life, no cuddly, affectionate mom to share the credit." "But she can take all the blame if you end up a bum or a jailbird. Maybe not in the eyes of society, but in your eyes. The one who knows the truth." "The greatest sentence in the English language delineates the difficulty in tolerating mom-junked men, however you might wish to empathize." "There has to be some good news, somewhere." "If you're with a girl you don't like, and want to get out of the relationship, they come in mighty handy." "But they work even better on girls you do like. Blame mom for anything, and you're on your onesies with the slamming of the door." "And tears." "Ah, yes, but not for you, with you, or because of you." "Ironic, because the one thing a mad mother can bestow is a sense of humor." "Survival is the lowest form of wit." "They'll laugh a thousand times, laugh every day, then a boy who loves his mom comes along and you're yesterday's joke." "Good idea, celebrating Mother's Day on Friday, the Thirteenth." "I like this club, it does everything right." They were at Waist Two, the oversize camp between Waist East and Waist West. If the symbolism was on the crude side, the location was convenient to all, and the valley-floor terrain was a welcome break after the perennial grades of the mountains. Mother's Day had coincided with their second million in gross revenues, twelve days earlier than the milestone had been achieved in previous summers. They were staring at five million by November first, when they'd close out even the part time school-in-session schedule, so the mood was as good as it could be, under the circumstances. Alex was not enthusiastic about encounter sessions or group therapy. They were throat gloss; a meaningless exercise in pretentious futility composed of equal parts of pseudo dominance and ersatz judgementalism. Whether they were more boring than destructive, or vice versa, was the only interesting facet of the psycho trend. But for most rules there are exceptions, and so a biodegradable poster had been glued to a number of strategic trees. "Don't let her go Unremembered," it was headed. A penis pie motif for the illustration had been suggested and also a shield of the crossed implements of castration. Both were finally turned down as too subtle. The winning drawing of a boy on a spit half roasted over a bed of coals, had, everyone finally agreed, just the right flavor. Additional copy suggested that attendees bring along a story of a few thousand words if they wished to do so. Alex hadn't expected two hundred Hunters. That was a wake-up call even if he could do no more than he already was. Fortunately, the hunters had sensed a major turnout and each had brought food and drink. Their theme song was an alteration of "Kumbaya" with a solemn chorus that went "Someone's birthin' lord, what a day." (Those who could not sing with the appropriate pathos substituted "rue the day", so there would be no misunderstanding.) Campfire. Story time. Picture it. Epping, Vermont. A recent Harvard Divinity graduate running around in a Chevy wagon with a seven-hundred horsepower crate mill. A dead body. There was no putting a fine point on it, Have (Hav-eh) Cox had stopped swinging many these long hours, was ambient temperature, which felt stone cold. "Tell me about your new teachers, Have," Evangeline Cox instructed her son. The hawk-faced boy grinned lewdly across the table, an unruly hank of lank brown hair pasted to his brow. "Three men," he replied, "so it should be a good year." "You just keep your weight down," the woman said, grabbing away a half-eaten plate of pancakes, "because this is our year to go European. Come June, if not before, the Lexus is history." "I'll bet I can get it for you by Christmas," the sharpie said, "the Mercedes or the Jaguar." "That would make a happy mother, sweetums," Ms. Cox crooned. "Has Al Verrick paid?" the boy asked. "Only four hundred." "So he stills owes two," Have murmured and finished his skimmed milk. "Perhaps you can see him at recess," the woman suggested. "No," the boy said, "I'll get a note from Fred Sawyer and visit him in his room." "Yes," his mother enthused, petting the nine year old on the head, "he won't want to negotiate in front of his class." "A little applied psychology never hurts," the boy said with a wink. "It can even be profitable," the woman observed, with a cackle, and they shared an uproarious moment that could have been clipped from history's worst B movie. (I believe Mary Tyler Moore stars.) "Homework done?" Evangeline asked. "Yes," Have said, "would you like to see it?" "Of, course, sweetums, you know your mama wants to keep an eye on things. Have ferreted in the backpack on the kitchen floor and pulled out a three-ring binder. He opened to a red tab and passed the notebook across the table. His mother adjusted her glasses and began to read: Dear Mr. Apthorp, (the letter read, and she sighed, "I always love it when you're at the `Mr.' stage with them, it's so new and exciting.") I think you are a very good music teacher. I like playing the drums and I hope I will be good enough to play in the band this year. This is my first year in Epping. Where I was last year the music teacher, Mr. Collins, he was my special friend and I used to talk to him about things that were important. What is happening now is my uncle Jed is coming. I'm nervos about him being here in the house because there is only my mom and me at home. I used to be able to talk to Mr. Collins about things like this and I hope you can have some time after school so I can talk to you. I think you are a very handsome teacher and I think you are very nice. All the boys I know say you are the best teacher in the school, Your student and friend, H. Cox fourth grade "Yes, sweetums, you get better every year," Evangeline said, tugging her son's ear and adding that it was sweet of the schools to provide the skill sets necessary for a boy to support his loving ma. "It's so much fun I'd do it even if you were dead," the boy rejoined cheerfully, caught up his back pack, and, more-or-less the turtle from hell, followed his mother out into the driveway. "I don't think he'd hurt us," Have said, "it's just that my mom is out of the house a lot at night and we'd be watching television like late on Saturday night and he might want to watch adult stuff and ask me if I have a girlfriend, or something." "Have," Richard Apthorp said, "if he even says anything lewd that's a crime by utterance. Just call the police. Tell him you don't want to talk about things like that, and if it doesn't work, either tell your mom or call the precinct." "It's not that simple," the boy said, "because I really like him. If he asked me stuff it might be okay. It's just that I don't know what he would want to do and he might not like me if I acted dorky and did the wrong stuff." "Well," Richard said, "you're a little out of my field which happens to be a certain type of madrigal that I doubt would interest you, so my advice is to ask the nurse or the guidance counselors; someone in social services. "As far as I'm concerned, Mozart wrote operas at nine, ergo, some nine year olds are very mature. Assuming he's free of disease, and assuming he's gentle, and assuming you like him, you may want to let him teach you. If anyone finds out, he'll be in trouble with the law, but, on the other hand, there is considerable tolerance for men hanging out with boys as long as community standards of decorum are met." "What kinds of things will he teach me?" Have asked. "Nothing you won't learn in five minutes on your first heavy date," the teacher answered. "But that'll be when I'm a teenager. Nobody ever had to live that long, before." "The only thing you have to worry about for the next few years is getting good math grades," Richard said. "Your letter shows you've got enough English to get by, and nobody pays for it, anyhow. Learn math inside out, and a handsome boy like you will not have any long-term problems, whatever happens or doesn't happen when your uncle Jed visits." "Can we talk some more, or do you want me to go?" Have asked. "I'm through for the day, I was just going home to hang out, be my guest." "Cool," the boy said, shedding his pack and placing it carefully in the corner of the teacher's office. He sat on a sofa at the side of the desk. "Can we talk at least a little, sir, or would it make you up-tight?" Have asked. "They have..." "I know," the boy interrupted, "classes, specialists, and dolls with details. It's like learning out of a can. That's okay for spelling, but when a kid's uncle is coming and he's nervous, it doesn't exactly fill the bill." "And you don't have any friends you can talk things over with?" Richard asked. "We just moved here, sir," the boy replied, "and we have a lot of money so we're in an acre estate. You have to take thirty one turns, exactly right, to get to our house, and there's only one other kid I've even seen because the houses are so far apart it's like living on a farm. You never see any kids out, because they never see any kids out, so they don't come out, and I don't think there's probably more than a few, because rich people can't afford `em, anyway." "Well," Richard replied, "there's an important national agenda to convert ten million acres of farmland into artistically planned communities, each year, so it will take awhile to develop a lifestyle compatible with living a complicated hour of driving away from squat." "It takes mom two hours to get to the mall from our house, and it's only sixteen miles," the boy replied, his eyes flashing with a muted excitement he kept carefully hidden from the teacher. "Last week I broke a jar of mayonnaise and she beat me for ten minutes." "Having your uncle around may come in handy," Richard observed. "No one wants to drive four hours and burn a quarter tank of gas because some dorky kid screwed up," Have said, careful to let no trace of whine into his voice. Keep it light, try to make it funny, be responsive. Evangeline had drilled it into him with flash cards, since that very day. "Do you want to see the bruises she left?" the boy asked. "They're nothing for the cops, and she's never done it before, and she's right about having to go back to the mall when it's not shopping day." "Why don't I take your word for it," Richard said, "and you're probably right. Anyone can boil over if there's enough heat. She's probably feeling worse about it than you are." "Are you married?" Have asked, changing the subject. "No," Richard said. "How come?" the boy asked. Mother did coach the bold frontal approach. Used with discretion it could save time." "Well," Richard said, "you seem to want to talk about mature subjects, so maybe I can tell you." And never promise to keep, or even mention, secrets. That was another lesson. "I talked about mature stuff with my uncle the last time he visited," Have said, "but just a little. And we were riding in the car so nothing happened." "I had a talk like that, too, when I was a little older than you. Eleven. With my Little League coach. And something did happen." "Way cool," the boy whispered with just the right innocent excitement in his voice. "I mean, if you were married and had kids and stuff, you know, I know you'd be really embarrassed answering my dumb questions, but if you had some experience, then you could really help me, so, even if you were embarrassed, you still might want to tell me stuff." "You're probably going to be disappointed, " Richard said, "but what happened is he got me into reading." Mother called this fielding grounders. While agility could not be taught like the multiplication tables, Evangeline had devised a technique of waking her son at three in the morning and bombarding him with questions and scenarios. "I'm into that, too," Have said, nor was he lying. Evangeline did not drive her boy to school in a late-model Lexus because she failed to cross t's and dot i's. "Like `Lord of the Flies' is so awesome..." he trailed off. Bad slip. Only a brain-dead retard could think the book any more than Piggy slop -- he liked it for the way it affected younger kids, but that was them and this was him. "But I can't get anywhere with those stupid Hobbits." A look of cautious relief came over Richard's face and Have realized he'd barely escaped glazing the teacher's eyes and getting a polite set of walking paper in a minute or two. Wash his hair, or the like. Anyhow, this was a man; he'd have to be on his guard. Cool. Namby liberals were like pins in a lane, just as Mark Vonnegut described them in "The Eden Express". Other men were different (for openers, they hadn't gone to Swarthmore). Challenge. "It must be neat to hang out with somebody you like, especially if he's older, and just curl up with a good book." There, that was about right. "Sundays," the teacher said, "my mom's a nurse, so she'd drop me at Corry's house, and we'd start with the funnies, then "The Secret of Skull Mountain", you know, the Hardy Boys. After a year we were up to Ed McBaine and Agatha Christie and I could read anything in the library." "Read this!" the nine year old felt like sneering, but visions of low-slung bodywork and gnarly tires kept him focused. "Did you stay overnight at your coach's house?" Have asked, again with a touch of bold. "My mom let me on my eleventh birthday," Richard said. "That's what makes me nervous," Have said, "you know, like if I'm in bed in just my underpants and he comes into my room and wants to talk, and my mom's still at the club." "Wear a T-shirt," Richard suggested. "I usually don't wear anything," the boy said, letting a trace of a shy smile cross his lips. "If you like your uncle, and he's attractive, that might be the best costume," Richard said, "not that I'm promoting anything. The only thing I cared about when I was nine was practicing the violin. After that, it was the fiddle and reading. Still is, now that I think of it, though I added swimming in college." "Did you wear pajamas at the coach's?" Have queried. "I brought them," the young man said with a slight blush. Cool at the moment of kill. Once or twice a month Evangeline would douse her sleeping boy with ice water, on which cue he was supposed to leap from his bed, kneel beside it, and recite two psalms and "The Lord's Prayer "To fake out your mom?" Have quizzed. "I think it was more to make her feel comfortable," the teacher said in a soft voice. "Like don't ask, don't tell?" the student asked. "That's about right," Richard acknowledged, "she knew I really liked Fox. Boyhood crush, and all that. I even put them on so she'd think I slept in them, but she was a nurse, and I guess she knew more than I could keep from her." "Did she ever treat boys who got molested?" Have asked. "Most hospitals treat rape victims," Richard said. "Did she tell you about any of her cases?" That was a bit much. Time for a modifier. "I mean, that's medical stuff. The doctor's always freak when the cops on `Law & Order' get nosey, but if something happens with Uncle Jed, you know, I just wonder how many kids go all zombie when it's over." "There's a lot of taboo and witch talk in that village," Richard said. "sometimes it gets the spools tangled. Mom did have a few on her psych ward like that. They had a good cure for them, though, so I never found out much about any of her cases because they were treated and released." "How did they treat them?" Have asked, becoming interested in spite of his mother's frequent emphasizing of professionalism. "They had a club. They'd come to the hospital and bathe the kids with cerebral palsy and the retarded kids. The boys and girls would go down to the pool and watch what the volunteers did with the kids and see how the handicapped kids liked it. I guess it sort of gave them perspective. Anyway, they always joined the club and lived happily ever after." "Did you tell Fox about that?" Have asked. Richard blushed for the second time, taking the barb without otherwise flinching. "As a matter of fact, it did come up." "And since he lived in your town, he must have known about it, right?" Have prodded. "That's true," Richard acknowledged, a puzzled look crossing his handsome young face. "Now that you mention it, I can't remember who brought it up. I know it was that night, the first one I spent at his house on my birthday, and I remember talking about kids who didn't have anything else going for them, and if they were with men a few times a week, if that would make them happier. I'm pretty sure I brought the subject up, but it may have been him." "But you talked about it quite a lot?" Have asked. "Yeah," Richard said. "We did." "Do they have something like that here in Epping?" the boy asked. "Maybe I could talk to Uncle Jed about it. We could even volunteer." This was Mother's when-you-see-daylight-haul-ass coaching. "There may be," Richard said. "It was a little too sensible to be optimistic about finding like programs, but I'll keep my ear to the ground." "How many boys and girls would a man take into the pool?" Have asked. "Three or four, sometimes five. Mom said it was more fun when it was noisy and crazy, so they went for free for alls." "Did something happen with all the kids?" the boy asked. "I guess the men were pretty conscientious," Richard replied, "but it isn't something we discussed in detail." The young teacher paused and added a note. "When Fox took me, it was that way." "That must have been quite a birthday," Have commented. "It turned me into a happy camper, and that's a fact," Richard admitted. "It must have been cool making other kids happy." "Everything Fox and I did together was cool, but yes, it was the best." "Did the disabled kids do stuff with each other, or just you volunteers?" Have asked. "We helped them be with each other," the teacher explained, "but sometimes we pleased them one-on-one." "Did Fox like watching you help a kid?" "We both liked watching each other," Richard said. "I never thought of that," the boy lied. "I wonder what it would be like watching Uncle Jed -- what did you do, put them on the edge of the pool?" "Sometimes. Sometimes we'd take them to vacant rooms, or two the gym." "Were the guys you did it with pretty open about it?" the boy asked. "We pretty much had to be," Richard said, "and most of the kids loved to watch, so we didn't go tripping over each other, but modesty was put on the back burner, you might say." "How far is the town you're from?" Have asked. "An hour on the Interstate," the man said. "Do they still need volunteers at the hospital?" Mother had warned against hinting at things, but also taught the boy to think on his feet. "If your uncle is ultra stable and doesn't have any major clinkers in his record, there's a chance. I can ask the next time I'm in Sedgwick," Richard said. "How about if I went with you?" Have queried. "If about twenty things work out right," Richard said, "it's a possibility, but you'll have to consider how you uncle might feel about sharing you." "Do men get jealous about boys like they to about women?" the nine year old asked. "It's uncommon," Richard replied. "A man isn't going to have to raise another man's child if he dates a boy, so there's less bonding and commitment." "I think Uncle Jed would be cool about it," Have said, letting the subject drop because he could think of nothing else to say. "Then don't be a moron and say anything." That would be mother. He sat for a few moments in silence, but highly alert. There was a comfort factor in wordless pauses, but they could also precipitate an end to a conversation. "Does anyone come here after classes are over?" Have asked, not wanting to test the limits of his mother's coaching. Twice men had walked over to him while he sat still and silent, but they'd both like goofy books, so the reference was vague. "Sometimes," Richard answered, "but everyone left tonight." Now to punt. "Do you want me to go?" Have asked. "You've been really helpful." He tried not to hold his breath. "How badly did your mom beat you?" Richard asked. "Come over here and you can see better," the boy said, letting a little husk in his voice, just as he'd been drilled to do. Richard sat gently at the slim nine-year-old's right side. "Hi," he whispered. Have responded with his own nervous greeting, and pulled his shirttail out of his slacks. "You can take it off if you want," he murmured timidly. "Okay," Richard said. "If I do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, tell me and I'll stop." "It's okay if you see me," the boy reassured the young man, "I had my shirt off in the car with my uncle once, and I liked it when he looked at me." "Do you like looking at other boys?" Richard asked. "No, you pervert, I like looking at boobs and pussy and ass," the momma's little darling thought to himself, but shyly pretended , in a whisper, that he liked looking at pictures of boys in the teen magazines. "Fox had a Sears catalogue," Richard said, his voice also beginning to fade, "and he liked to look at the boys modeling underwear." "I heard that little boys are called `Twinkies'," Have said. "That's what I was when I was eleven," the young teacher said. "I didn't have any hair anywhere, and I guess my skin was as smooth as tissue." "It still is," the boy replied. "Not quite like yours," Richard said, finishing with the child's shirt and folding it before putting it on the desk. "Smooth is the word for me," Have though to himself. Out loud he said: "I'm pretty nervous. What do you want me to do?" "Stand in from of me," Richard whispered, "Fox wanted me to put my hands up over my head, so you can try that if you want." The nine year old stood and raised his arms. Richard found the taut belly with his fingers and began gently molesting Have. "Now bring your arms down," the young man whispered to the boy. Pretend you're a little kid that doesn't know what's happening. Have complied, dropping his hands to his sides and bowing his head to look at what his music teacher was doing to him. "Does it feel okay?" Richard asked. "It's nice," the boy said. "Are you getting a boner?" the young teacher whispered softly. "I think so," the nine year old replied. "Has your uncle ever seen you with one?" Richard quizzed, the silky skin of the nervous little boy working more powerfully than any survivable drug. "I kind of didn't tell the truth before," the boy said, "because something did happen last time we went for a ride. We were talking about stuff, then we parked in a rest area for an hour. Jed had a sheet in the trunk, so we took that in the back seat with us in case anyone came near the car." "Did you let him do everything he wanted?" Richard quizzed. "Yes," the boy whispered bashfully. "How did you feel?" the teacher asked. "Like a million bucks," the boy thought, prudently swallowing the notion. "Like with you, kind of scared at first," he whispered. "Did he watch you take your underpants off?" Richard asked. "I lay back on the seat and he did it," the boy said. "Did you like having him look at you?" "It made me want to see what he was like," Have responded, "so I scrunched down so I could undo his belt." "Could you see him against his pants?" the child molester asked. "It was like he had a big ear of corn in his shorts." "Was his shirt off?" Richard whispered. "Yes," the boy said, "we started by practicing kissing, then we did it bare chested, then he took my shorts off and I lay on him with my back against his chest and he molested be for half an hour. While he was touching me, I pushed my shorts down and he showed me how to spread my legs to show him I was ready. Then he rolled me off him and crouched on the seat at my feet and got my underpants down over my feet. Then he mounted over me with his left leg on the back of the seat, until I got him unzipped. Then he put his legs together and lay on top of me while I used my feet to make his shorts go down." "Did he talk to you?" Richard asked. "He asked me if a man had ever seen me naked before, and if I liked any of my teachers; lots of stuff. That was almost the best part because I didn't have to keep any secrets from him." Embellish, Mother had always said. Help them make it up. If they want to use this kind of language or that kind of language, play along, but be bashful about it. Aggression is the hookers' curse. If the fools want to be romantic, fool them; but if they want to play hot bikers, you still act like a shy little boy. There was more. (For Evangeline, "There Was More" would serve as an appropriately understated, as per convention, not per the lady, epithet.) Us? We've probably had enough. "Did he tell you if he was molesting other young boys?" Richard asked. "He's a teacher, like you," Have said, "only in middle school. There's a boy he likes called Nelson Cartwright, he's older than I am, eleven. He showed me pictures of him." "Did he tell you a lot about him," Richard asked, his hands now very low on the boy's bare belly. "Yeah," the boy whispered, his slim chest beginning to heave slightly as Richard unfastened his belt and zipper and fondle the boy just inside the band of his underpants. "Do you know about sperm?" Richard whispered. "I got it on my belly in the car," the boy said, blushing. (Mother, again.) "Did Jed tell you if Nelson was old enough to cum off?" "It happened to him when they were watching a movie. Nelson told him something felt different while Jed was touching him under their coats. They went down to the men's room and it happened in one of the stalls. He got his sperms on his boner. They had to be really careful cleaning up, because it happened to both of them at almost the same time, and they didn't see where all of the spray went." "Did your uncle wipe his sperm off you, or did he lick it off?" Richard asked. "He held himself really still over me and made a circle around my button, then he licked up a lot of it, and we practiced kissing more." "Could you feel it between your bodies while he was kissing you?" the teacher asked. "Yeah," the child whispered. "And a lot of it got all over me, so when he touched me it felt really slippery." "Did you cum with him in the car?" the young man quizzed. "In his mouth." "Do you want to cum in my mouth?" "It would be more exciting if you sprayed in my mouth, first," the boy said. "Has that happened before?" "No," the boy said, "Jed said I was too young. You know, that it might shock me and make me uptight." "You think you're ready now?" Richard asked. "I liked feeling it on my tongue and lips when Jed kissed me, so I think so. I know there'll be a lot, because my uncle made a really big puddle around my belly." "Was it very white or sort of milky?" Richard whispered, his hands now on the boy's bottom and working toward his front. "Real white and real thick and kind of clotty," the boy answered. "He told me Nelson's sperm was more watery." "Would you like to watch Nelson cum?" "Yeah," the boy said, still with the shy act. "We're going to hang out together sometime." Richard found Have, cupping him fully and was shocked to find the nine year old had a trace of distinct if fuzzy growth and that he was huge. Man sized. Over five inches at a guess, and a hot, hard handful. The boy thrust his hips forward at being openly molested, his hands coming from his sides to hold Richard's arms as the young man fondled him. The child went up on his tiptoes, the implication obvious, and Richard gently drew down his shorts and briefs, offering a should for Have to brace on as he stepped out of his clothes. The nine year old was so big there were no words for it. Any comment might be embarrassing to one so young, so he settled for telling the boy he was beautiful and holding firmly against his chest as the young boy drooped his head over his left shoulder, thrusting shyly with hips and hugging the young teacher to him. "Do you have sperm?" he asked. "Yes," the boy replied. That whispered Yes should have been a warning. A sexually mature boy with most of a year to go before his tenth birthday might occur naturally, but it was more likely that any such child had been active with mature males for some period of time and with a considerable degree of frequency. And what effect would a warning have had? Put yourself in Richard's place, and you'll have to agree, not much. "Do you want to cum in my mouth?" Richard whispered, his voice half panting with excitement. He remember Fox's hot, salty gush, like a mouthful of seawater, the first time his coach had ejaculated on his lips and tongue. "Yes," the boy said, kissing the teacher's neck, and wrapping the handsome and athletic young male in his arms. "Let me go first with you so it will happen while you're still excited, okay?" Mother's instruction had been fulsome on this point. Have was always meant to experience his `moment' first, he was the professional. "They're paying top price, so they deserve it," were her words. Funny, he didn't feel like a professional. The hugeness he found when he got Richard naked left him dizzy, his mouth dry. No snide remark or pithy quip tickled the tip of his tongue, and he didn't like it. Next time he was going to put on his backpack and hitchhike. It wouldn't be as exciting, but since when was taking care of business meant to me exciting? (We know so well who is being quoted here it would be a waste of time to type in her name.) Richard was naked, all his clothes piled on the corner of his desk. The nine year old guided him to a position spread-eagle on the office couch. Have lay on his back underneath the tall swimmer, finding his penis with the enthusiasm of a calf finding its mother. He fondled the male with his left hand, masturbated him with strong, steady strokes of his right and sucking avidly at the wet, swollen glans until Richard was grunting like a mounted stag. The young teacher had tried the reversed -- 69 -- position with Fox. Both, on review, found it diffusing, so instead of taking the wild boy beneath him, he just mouthed and toothed the thrusting child, even such offhand touching making the nine year old grunt and hum with excitement as he used his moth and swirling tongue franticly and with total success. The hot, salty transfer between the shaking young man and the breathless child lasted over a minute. As the experience subsided, Richard lowered himself onto the sofa, bringing the young boy onto his lap and holding his birdlike chest in his left arm as he raised his right hand to Have's mouth. The boy reacted instinctively and drooled his partner's semen to wet Richard's palm. His head lolled on the athlete's powerful chest, and he spread his legs wildly as his teacher began wetting and fondling him, soon taking him with hard fast strokes. The boy's hands went back around his lover's neck, and his young body bucked almost out of control against the powerful arm encircling his sweating, panting chest. His excited coos and mews became hotter by the minute, and Richard was able to clearly sense the strong rise in the young body as the boy gasped and sobbed, begging the man not to stop. Richard masturbated the child harder and faster until the juvenile voice cleared completely and began howling. "Oh, god, god, god, oh, god, it's cumming!" he shrieked, and began spraying like a mature teen. Richard was hard with the lithe, wild body in his arms, taking just a second to wet his palm with the hot shower of the child, then locking him almost savagely in his left arm and pounding his manly penis as the nine year old ejaculated repeated, his scalding boy sperm flying all over both of them and splashing in milky tendrils one after another. They lay for some minutes catching their breaths. "This is the best one yet," Have Cox said, grinning up over his shoulder at his mother, who grinned back as she looked at the monitor. "Certainly looks like he's getting his money's worth," the woman said. The expensive digital camera, triggered by a sonic switching device, had grabbed half a dozen three-megapixel images of the lolling child and the handsome teacher. Although there was blurring at the little boy's waist, it was obvious what the man was doing to him, and the telephoto lens had captured by boy's first stream of ejaculate at its crest, in the third exposure, erasing any possible doubt about the sexual nature of the males contact. A little blurring of the background with Photoshop's smudging tool and this particular image would stand as a work of art, but there were obviously other fish to fry in the Cox household. They started with a letter. Dear Rich, I don't know why you did what you did to me. I came to you asking advice. My mother told me not to trust you, but I did. Lucky for me I got a good camera and some accessories for Christmas and she taught me how to use them. Anyway, I got some nice, clear pictures of what you did while you had me in you lap on the couch. Mother says a big court case wouldn't change anything, but that you have to pay for doing what you did. I will keep being a good student and pretend nothing happened, so maybe you can even rape another little boy someday, IF you and my mother come to terms. She will visit you soon so be sure to have plenty of cash on hand. Meantime, thanks for you comments on my English and please allow me to remain your most humble, if not particularly obedient, servant. Sincerely, Have Cox "Sweetums, you are the very devil," Evangeline cooed before sealing the massive in an envelope. This done and a stamp applied, her day job was done and she looked at the boy across the butcher-block kitchen table. "You will grow again because of him," she said, her voice suddenly husky and rasping. "Let's go to my room and see if you've started yet." The two left the kitchen and ascended the carpeted stairs. Alex had had her in his sights for ten minutes. Gardening was good. She rose, walked, and stooped, frequently changing position. The meadow stretching from the house into the foothills was a godsend as a stray bullet emerging from thick forest would trigger the instincts of the rawest rookie. Deer like to feed at the meadow's verge and Evangeline liked to garden early in the morning when everything was crisp, dewy and fresh. He needed a transversing wound, as a dead on, knock down shot would, like a fluke shot from deep cover, arouse undo suspicion. It would happen. In, just under the anterior rib cage, left or right, up through the lung, and the rest would fill a sheet of paper on a clipboard. Oh, good girl, yes, that rose, there it is, reach out now, bend a tad more -- WHACK -- perfect. The pruning sheets went twenty feet, the woman ran in a frenzied circle for some seconds, finally sprawling with a crash over a lawn chair, and crawling off another ten feet before she went into a final convulsion, lay still, hard and ridged for a minute, then slumped. Clay. Leaving the patio of the ranch house a confused mess of blood, footprints and upset furniture. Half a mile away, another hunter took a convenient shot, and the hills of Vermont would ring out to the staccato reports of modern hunting rifles all morning. The minister pegged Have for pretty much what he was and found him lolling in bed. "Someone's shooting close to the house," the boy murmured from under his pillow, expecting it was his mother who had opened the door to his bedroom. The athletic man crossed the carpeted floor in a trice, and as the boy emerged groggily from under his covers, slipped the nylon noose around his neck. "It's going to be rough, son," he said, "because I can't afford to drop you from the stairs so your neck will break." The boy was to scared to move or speak. "I'd rape you in the ass just to see what it feels like, " Alex whispered as he carried the quaking child out onto the landing, "but, your body will be examined by the best and it would be better for Epping if they find nothing suspicious." To prevent unwanted actions by the nine year old, the minister tied his hands and feet loosely, leaving him lying on the floor. He fixed the end of the rope to the banister of the landing, then untied the boy, double checking the length of rope. It looked good, so he carried Have down two stairs, let the boy grip the stair banister for a few moments, then pushed him free to swing out over the den. He'd been right in warning the boy, it was a tough ending, stretched out because they boy was able to hold his weight for long minutes before his bleeding hands and waning strength got the better of him and he let the noose do its work. Finally he was motionless, Alex having left some minute or two earlier. "Hope I don't have another morning run like that again, ever," he mused as he cantered over the foothills and back to the Epping rectory. The police arrived some hours after he did - he was new in town and therefore part of any routine inquires -- and Alex knew the senior detective was suspicious. Fortunately, the rumor mill went onto three shifts within hours, the Cox family history was traced, and, perhaps the detective simply didn't want to take on an obviously dangerous opponent. In any event, Have's computer was dissected, the rumors were reinforced with discreet official acknowledgement of the mother and son's past, and, at least informally, a dollar a year was budgeted to track down the assassin. Richard Apthorp and Nelson Cartwright became a Vermont Couple on the boy's eighteenth birthday and moved to Hollywood. While Alex was always a little chary of the mail after Have's letter, he did smile at certain envelopes with Los Angles postmarks. Along with a few photos and a newsy letter there was always a check for a hundred thousand dollars. The lord's work. Alex blushed. He'd never performed before an audience before and the avid applause by an alert audience of two hundred young people went at least a little to his head. Maybe he'd have to shanghie Kit and Victor and strap on the Chevy, follow the big engine out to California. Speaking of Kit, there the boy was. "I half thought you were kidding," the boy said, "when you said it was a campfire story." "It better stay that way," Alex said with a grin. "Not to worry," the boy replied. Victor joined them, repeated Kit's commentary, and the two boys introduced Glenn, Vicky, and Gregg. Glenn and Gregg were roommates, freshmen at a New England boarding school. Vicky, ten, was Gregg's kid sister. They'd stumbled across the Hunters on their second day on the Appalachian Trail, and had wanted to meet the tall, handsome leader before he even began his story. "If there's no one at the rectory," Kit said, "they'd like to spend a couple of days with you before they join Victor and me to do some hunting." Glenn was tall and rugged, one of those rare youth on whom glasses look great. Vicky and Gregg were small almost skinny redheads, long-legged like half-grown colts, and obviously sister and brother. In their Tarzan suits they formed a giddy tableau, the tall athlete with his birdlike companion, Vicki's right nipple sharp against her white, silky chest. It was warm enough that they stopped at the storage lockers and retrieved their backpacks without changing, towels at the ready on the front seat of the car for them to pull over their shoulders for the short drive through Hastings to the private grounds of the rectory. For awhile they walked the spacious lawns, venturing not far into the woods because snakes liked a warm southerly evening as much as anyone. They chatted and found they had only a few degrees of separation between themselves, the connection being prep masters and deans. By now it was past midnight, and they circled, still in costume, to the spacious kitchen of Alex's house, settling for hot chocolate times four. Since Epping was more common to them than anything in the South, the town became the focal point of their conversation and Alex recounted kinder, gentler stories of his life and times in Vermont. No set signal or moment, they just chatted until it became obvious they were, cold-bloodedly, meant to be together. Alex washed up and by accord they joined him in the master suite of the rectory. "Were you just friends before this trip?" Alex asked when they were seated, the outwardly affectionate Vicky in his lap, Glenn and Gregg in a love seat opposite the easy chair. Glenn spoke. "Yes," he said, "but this year it's been different." "How?" Alex asked. "Glenn and I room together," Gregg said. "When we change we get nervous and we can't talk, right?" "Right," Glenn said. "Have you ever looked at each other?" Alex queried. "Not this last year," Glenn said. "When you change, to you go to opposite ends of the room?" the preacher asked. "No," Gregg said. "We used to, but now we do it next to each other, even if we don't look." "What do you think?" Alex asked Vicky. "That it's a good thing someone threw pinecones at us," the girl said. "Last night was so tense we'd have been more relaxed camping in hobo city. We all know something's going to happen, and we all want it to, but, you know, everybody says bad things so we get nervous and nothing happens." "And seeing each other in the Tarzan getups? How did that make you feel," the older male asked. "We knew we were right," Vicky said. "I think Glenn looks like Superman, and my brother is the cutest fifteen year old in the world, if not the biggest." "We both think Vicky looks good, too," Gregg said, shyly. Alex asked Glenn and Gregg if, when they changed, they ever bumped against each other and the boy replied it often happened. Double checking, that was all. "Have any of you ever been sexually molested?" Alex asked. All three shook their heads, also to questions regarding previous experiences. Glenn said he'd unexpectedly come across a man and a boy in a restroom stall when he was twelve. The pre-teen had his shirt off and was kneeling across the toilet, with a young adult, also bare chested, leaning against the wall. While he watched the man had ejaculated on the boy's face and shoulders. He'd slipped the door silently shut, and waited until the couple left, separately, a few minutes later. Alex quizzed him about the encounter, finding his reactions tolerant and normal. Gregg and Vicky replied to his cross-exam by saying that they thought of each other while they were in bed at night, but had never experimented together. "Did Kit and Victor have time to go into details about the club?" the leader asked. "We got in late, just before the campfire," Glenn said, "so they didn't have time. I guess we looked at each other in our costumes quite a bit, so they jumped to the right conclusion." "Well," the minister said, "you pass every test I can think of. We don't like putting kinks in people, at the same time you look like the right boys for Vicky and if you want to get her pregnant the club will stand behind you." "Wow," both males said while the more vivacious member of their threesome yelled, "Yippee!" "If it happens before she's big enough," Alex cautioned, "she'll have to sacrifice the salamander, as we call it, by taking RU-486, but she can wait a few weeks so you can share a pregnant girl. You're allowed to do this once, only. When she's mature enough, we can handle the diplomacy of the situation in regards to your families, and arrange the birthing and adoption by your parents of the baby." Alex explained that there was no rush. Vicky would probably be twelve or thirteen before anything extra exciting happened with her. That the club used half its profits to foster specially selected alternative family groups and that such families never had any disagreements over what to do on their summer vacations -- lots of healthy, outdoor activity, and that their parents, thanks to the club's patent indoctrination seminar, would be re-minted to with the Free Spirit dies. "Gregg, that means Daddy," Vicki said spontaneously, blushing the second the words passed her lips. Alex shushed her kindly. "Not necessarily," he said. "Don't go forming any preconceived notions about anything. Things will probably happen as you want them to, but you can't judge a book by its cover; never assume another person is feeling what you are. That has to develop over a period of time. Nothing is easier than being totally wrong about someone else based on the fact you like them, or even that you dislike them." The three nodded quietly. "This subject is so easy to teach," Alex mused to himself, "you'd think the schools would adopt it for that very reason. One class a day, at least, where every student is on the edge of his or her seat, and you can hear a pin drop." "Glenn," Alex whispered. The tall rangy athlete rose silently from the settee and approached the armchair. Vicky stared up at him, her eyes shifting between the rugged teen face, the athlete's lightly muscled chest, and the bulge at the front of his costume. "Gregg," the teacher whispered. The slim dart of a redhead joined them, just as Vicky started fingering Glenn's taut belly. Alex slipped the girls sash off her shoulder, and the boys stared at her bare chest. He nodded and the boys moved in closer, gently guiding each other's fingers to her panting chest and finally over her distended nipples. As the ten year old beauty found the masterful Glenn and her wiry older brother, Alex slipped the shoulder strap of his own costume, then peeled his and hers to the floor. As he lay back, the girl reached down and freed him so he rose from between her widely spread legs. Both boys also shrugged out of their minimal clothing, and Gregg busied himself for a moment, retrieving the garments and piling them on the bed while his sister began playing with the foreskin on Glenn's six and a half inch erection. Alex wasn't going to say anything, but Vicky did. "Wow, you're big, too, she said, coaxing her brother in close to Glenn so she could rub the two boys gently against each other and against Alex. "Does it hurt of I pull back like this," the pixie whispered to her brother, also uncircumcised. "No," it feels good," the boy whispered back. "Boys are perfect," she noted, now handling Alex and making him blush with pleasure. Glenn was easing Gregg between his sister's legs, staring into Vicky's eyes. The girl understood and nodded her thanks, then lifted her hands to her young brother's shoulders. Glenn guided the fifteen year old, and soon Alex saw the boy's eyes glaze and his face slacken. "Oh, sis," he whispered as Glenn removed his hand from between the boy and his ten-year-old sister. Gregg's hands went to Vicky's shoulders, and, staring into her eyes, he began thrusting gently to her as Glenn molested him from behind, thrusting his big penis gently between the mating children. Alex fondled Vicky's pubescent breasts, now swollen to the size of small strawberries by Gregg's stroking penetration. Without warning, Alex bucked his hips and the girl in his arms yelped. Gregg grunted like a pig at suddenly being to his hilt in the tiny virgin, bent over, and held Alex and the girl in a death grip as his little sister regained her composure. "Sorry," he whispered. "It only lasts a minute," Alex comforted, even as the girl smiled through her tears and brought her beautiful big brother's face to her so she could kiss him on the lips. Soon the boy would take charge and rapidly be lost in the young girl. "Gregg," Alex whispered, "Glenn's ready to cum. (That was pretty obvious.) Jerk him off on Vicky, so she'll know what's happening when you ejaculate inside her. Glenn moved close and Alex braced the shaking, slack-jawed teenager with his left arm. Gregg kissed his sister a final time and removed his right hand from her shoulder. He quickly found Glenn who grunted off as his foreskin was brought back, he was wetted by the hand of his roommate, and then stroked fully and hard. At his warning, Gregg held him still against his sister's panting belly and she mewed with excitement as the sperm of the rugged athlete gushed again and again across her belly and over her swollen nipples. "Please, Gregg," Vicky whimpered. The fifteen year old put his hand back on his sister's shoulder and the still panting Glenn braced his from behind. Alex could feel everything the young couple did together. Her ready acceptance of his first tentative thrusts deep in her belly, his fast but still gentle response, quickly echoed and amplified by the panting female. Soon they were husband wife on honeymoon, matching perfectly as they raced ever faster toward both their wills. "Cum in her, Gregg," Glenn whispered in the young stag's ear. "Oh, Vicky," the panting boy hissed, then fell to the girl, freezing against her as she froze, locked to him. Even Alex could feel the violence of the boys throbbing as he climaxed. Vicky sobbed with the intensity, murmuring in a ragged voice, "Oh, Glenn, he's still doing it," every quarter minute. Alex didn't want to chance exceeding the afterglow of the satiated children, so he spilled between the young bodies panting together, getting only a whispered, "Mmm," from Vicky in response. Glenn sank onto the pile they made, and finally all four settled to the carpeted floor to think their own thoughts and caress their own memories. "Am I big enough to be with Glenn," Vicky whispered. Alex had thought them asleep, but he realized that was silly, because he was still wide awake. "Sweetheart," he replied, "girls not a whole lot bigger than you are have babies." Vicky giggled happily in response and the pile of corpses began to move. In a few languid minutes, though getting less languid, Gregg sat straight legged, his back against the sofa, with Vicky's bottom in his lap. The girl spread her legs widely as Glenn crawled over. Gregg guided his friend to his sister, and held him gently as he slowly thrust fully into her. Then he released the athlete's penis and moved his hand to Glenn's inner thigh. Alex sat at Gregg's left so he could look between the bodies of the children when Glenn pushed up to stare down at the beautiful young body wriggling and panting from what was happening between them. As Glenn gained his full rhythm, Vicky's legs and arms circled him, and her knuckles slowly turned white as she held the great male beast moving ever more urgently over her. "Can you feel Gregg's sperm?" she whispered in his ear. "They tingle," the athlete panted in her ear. "Cum in me," she coaxed. "I will," the male rasped in reply. Then it went on and on. Vicky took one hand from her mates rippling back and held her brother's hand, often gazing hot-eyed into her face, before returning to the ear of her lover, now coaxing him to be slow and gentle so they could share more and more. Alex held the girl's lolling, lank-haired head in his lap and molested her with his right hand, flattening it against her chest, but leaving her swollen nipples for Glenn's eyes -- and not blaming him for a second for keeping on his plain-frame glasses with an athlete's band around his head -- whenever the powerful teen went up on his arms to stare down at the beauty spread-eagle beneath him. One thing was missing from the tableaux, but it was on its way. Vicky called out to him. "Alex?" she said, her tone puzzled. "It's okay," he whispered. "Something's happening," the girl said, her eyes quickly becoming wild. "Sweetheart," he whispered, quickly, "you're going to cum from what Glenn is doing inside you. It's perfectly natural. He'll stay with you. Go ahead, baby. Cum." It was soundless, the girl to stunned to peep. Glenn mounted himself high so her legs could thrash hard, pulling his muscular thighs to her. Her knuckles whitened and her fingers tore at his back and flanks. Alex was right, Glenn was still with the child as she panted down from her extreme, her head once again lolling, and her hand extended for Gregg to grab and kiss. She smiled up at him, relaxing against his now tender thrusts as the totality of being born female washed over her again and again. Her brother stared back. "It will happen again if you keep looking at me," she said. He didn't reply but it was easy enough to see he was in love. "Vicky," Glenn whispered ten minutes after the girl's orgasm. "Yes?" she replied. "I want to share it differently than Gregg and you did. I want to be really fast and hard with you when I cum. Okay?" "Just tell me," the girl whispered, her eyes glowing at the last step into sexual womanhood. "I will, baby," the teen athlete answered and he immediately took a hard, strong rhythm with her. She held to him for long minutes as he thrust fast and hot into her, then her strength evaporated and her arms and legs fell away. Glenn pushed up, panting like sprinter, and his hips became almost a blur He was a superb male in superb shape. He went on and on, two minutes and three, as the little girl lay lolling and now mewing encouragement. "I'm cumming, Vicky," he finally hissed and moments later a thick lather of white froth surged from between the teenager and the ten year old girl. He slowed, finally, then, kissing the girl on her shoulder, slowly left her and rolled, still panting, on his back, his loins smeared with semen. Alex moved over the girl and mounted her gently. His hugeness in her caused her to purr and her arms went around him. He stayed with her through a soft, gentle orgasm then ejaculated while moving gently to her tender response. "You're the best," she whispered when she realized he'd cum. With the last strength the possessed for the moment, they made it onto the double bed, even managing to pull a sheet over themselves. "Reverend Christopher, can I talk to you for a minute?" Florence asked. "Of course, Mrs. Cole," Alex said. It was the following morning and the foursome were at the kitchen table having breakfast. As he followed his housekeeper from the kitchen, he was happy to see Glenn quietly take charge of cleaning up. These three, plus Kit and Victor would make about a perfect household. It would be enormously convenient for Vicky, and there was an ample war chest for plane tickets back and forth. Something to think about. Florence Cole walked into the library and Alex followed. "It's not all that private," she said, "or, I mean it is, sort of." "The police have closed the case, but if you want to write, go ahead," he said, assuming the forty year old woman had heard of his campfire tale." "Lord, child, it's nothing along that line," the woman half laughed. In the processing of stirring Hastings to his liking, Alex had scarcely gotten to know this woman who loved over the rambling home as if it had been in her family for two hundred years. Hearing her call him, over half her age, child didn't hurt, though, so he listened attentively. "It's those new kids," she said, "they seem out of the ordinary." "Well," Alex commented, "when I left the kitchen, Glenn, the bigger boy, was already starting to clean up." "And the girl is Vicky?" Florence asked. "The one and only," Alex grinned. "She's the reason I thought to talk to you. Something's happened with my niece," the woman reported, "and I suppose I'm old enough to know what the long pauses on the telephone meant, even if you're just a whippersnapper." "My ancestors were dead set against snapping any whips," the cleric replied with a smile. "I'm just nervous and rambling," Florence said, "it's because Amy, my niece, is just Vicky's age, ten. I mean I'm an open-minded woman. Half mad for horses, you might say, and if I see a colt, well, I touch and pet it if there's any way I can. So I don't blame Joe. He's my brother-in-law. Amy's a heartthrob, angel face and hair like Marcia Brady, only the lightest brown you ever saw, and thick eyebrows that give her a boyish look. But it's not the right thing. If he were trim and athletic, there would have been no call in the first place. My sister's no dummy, but she did one dumb thing and that was marrying a jock. Al Bundy with Drew Carey's waistline, and if he'd even sell shoes there might not have been a call. Marge, my sister, is worried about the overall situation, and now that he's getting secretive, she's trying to find some alternative to letting fat Joe punk out Amy. I was going to talk to you about it anyway, but the moment I clapped eyes on Vicky, I mean the child is positively glowing, I thought I better bring it up right away." Alex sat on a sofa in the library and Florence, at his nod, took a chair. "How far does she live?" the pastor asked. "Four hours. Mayberry." "I've heard of it." "I'll take the gang. We'll leave this instant. Call Marge and tell her that the cavalry, ordained to the teeth, is on the way." "Don't kill him," the woman said (so the campfire story had spread), allowing a peep of a grin. As Alex left for the kitchen she was reaching for the phone on the end table. (As a result of ten minutes alone with Alex, Joe Williams lost eighty pounds, found he had a talent for radio sales, advanced to weekend air work, and was reunited, three years later, with a thirteen year old as glad to be home as he and her beaming mother were happy to have her.) As they loaded into the station wagon, Florence caught up, handing over a picture of Amy and telling the rescue party to meet her at a mall food court near Mayberry. The big Chevy creamed the road. Took awhile for the kids to get used to the sudden surge to 140 m.p.h. whenever a truck needed clearing, but they adapted readily, and, twenty miles out, seemed to actually enjoy a little macadam melodrama. Once on the Interstate Alex gave the big engine the gate and they cruised at one sixty, reaching three miles a minute on the long downgrades. Hey, ordained clergyman intervening, your honor, cut the reverend a little slack. But it didn't come to that. The traffic was light, the weather bright, and, in Germany, motorists cruised at over two miles a minute as a mater of course. Marge was with Amy and spent several minutes checking every watch and clock in sight, finally accepting the fact of the speedy response. They cruised the back roads, talking, then finding an old Inn for lunch. As Amy got to know Glenn, Gregg and Vicky, especially Vicky who called her Twin, Alex excused himself for a quick mission to visit Joe, returning in half an hour. "I've know I'd have to do something," Marge said, once lunch was over and the youngsters had gone off to explore around the inn, "so I've got her school records and her medical records. She handed over a portfolio of documents and her lawyer's card. "I'm not going to divorce him," she said. "He put me through nursing school, and he worked steadily for ten years. Then he got downsized, fat, and downhearted, and he's around the girl all the time. I'm holding her out as bait. If he cleans up and trims down, she'll end up wanting him just as much as he wants her. I know. My father and I were lovers. It's either heaven or hell. I was one of the lucky ones, Florence, too, for that matter, but I don't think Amy would call herself that if anything happened now." There was nothing much more to say. Marge kissed her daughter, and left in a taxi, saying, "I'm taking the brute dancing tonight. He'd better learn a lot of new steps." Vicky and the new girl were a perfect match. The lithe, athletic redhead stared at the shimmering golden doll, and the doll stared back at the pixie. Glenn and Gregg tried not to stare but Vicky teased them, calling them cowards. Amy blushed, stared back into Vicky's eyes, sometimes even touching foreheads, and lost herself in her shocking new life. Alex let things ride as he cruised with traffic. If Amy's father had been cool and athletic, he would have brought her up into the front seat of the car and quizzed her on anything that might have happened between herself and her father (plus, he wouldn't have been called in the first place). But Joe was double-bubble gross, and any experience that she might have had with him would be best left to a psychiatrist, if there seemed to be problems. "Seven hundred horses grazing in a field Four round tires cooling their heels All of us are keeping eight eyes peeled Because after a man walks, perhaps it is he kneels." "Okay, Vicki piped up," what does it mean. They repeated the ditty and Alex hoped it wasn't on account of his age. He thought he had the key, but, minding his own advice, was reluctant to assume anything, wondering if it were the best or worst. The game was spoiled by a sign that read Rest Area 2 Miles. Their obvious excitement took the solution to the riddle out of the realm of the problematic. The kids wanted to go parking. Alex clued the gang he'd twigged by zipping the Chevy up to a hundred and forty, then sliding into the nearly vacant site in a violent stop that left them squealing against their belts. "Has everyone else had their thrills for the year?" Alex asked as he reached to switch off the engine. "Because, if you want a replay, Glen's going to have to drive; I'll stay here and wait." All were satiated. Good, chapter closed. "Have you dated at all?" Alex asked, looking back at Amy. "No," the girl said. At Vicky's urging the girl tumbled over the seat, sitting between Alex and Glenn. The older male quizzed her as he had Glenn's gang, carefully gauging her responses "Have you had crushes on your teachers?" was a sample question. "When I was eight, in third grade, Mr. Samuels. "Did you dream about him and think about him before you went to sleep?" "Every night," the girl replied, blushing prettily, then earned her gold star by adding: "and he didn't come riding out of nowhere on a herd of horses and rescue me from being done over in the shower." "I don't think your dad would have done anything like that," Alex said. "The bad part is," the girl replied, "that I wanted him to. To be like he used to be. I would have let him. Heck, I would have stalked him, and when the opportunity came, gone in to be with him. But he's like a hippo now; like one of those big walruses on "The Discovery Channel". If you can fix him, that would be better than anything." "He's been repaired," Alex said to the girl, "but it will take time, though I imagine knowing you're with other men will speed his recovery." "Is it exciting for men to know things like that?" Amy asked. "It may have to do with basic biology," Alex answered. "A boy, if he cheats, leaves his seed outside the central relationship, while a girl that cheats, brings the stranger's seed into the relationship, which may become a major issue if a pregnancy develops." "That doesn't sound too complicated," the girl said. "Gravity's pretty simple, too," Alex replied, "and it hurts if you fall more than a few feet." "So it's only simple to a point?" Amy said. "Life becomes complicated, at a point," the minister said, "and you run into it. With a good alpha group, the complications add to the excitement of anything that happens, without it, the common choices are runaway and prostitution. That's another simple part. Add drugs and it gets even simpler." "I'm glad you went to talk to my dad," Amy said. "I didn't talk to him. The chief of police in Epping, Vermont talked to him." There was no immediate reaction from Amy, but she did react to the obvious tension in the back seat. "Color your dad cured," Vicky said, and the subject was shelved for a rainy day. (Would you believe campfire?) She was a delicate beauty, her brown eyes beautiful in their own right, but topped by a bushy boy's brow and silken, angel-hair bangs. "Next time I see Joe, he's going to weigh less than his daughter," the minister prophesied to himself, half in jest. Meantime. She was dressed in a white blouse and blue shorts with matching knee socks and shoes, camp-fire girl personified. "Are you wearing a bra?" Alex asked. "Mom didn't dare get me one, because she thought it would send dad over the edge, but I'm starting to need one," Amy answered. Vicky, an avid contributor under the most prosaic circumstances, not that many had arisen, hauled Glenn into the back seat and took his place. She pulled Amy to her, and the girl seemed happy to go. They hugged and whispered for a long time. Alex, and the boys looking over the seatback could see Vicky's hands as they freed her friends shirttails from under her belt and ran her finger up on Amy's bare stomach. "Teach her to kiss, too," Gregg encouraged. The results were immediate. They were rag dolls in five minutes, clothes asunder, hair pawed, stroked, fondled and caressed. Dazzling. "If dad had tried that I would have croaked," Amy whispered as the girls resumed their seats, panting and flushed. "Sweetheart," Alex said,(always on duty), "if you ever get raped, put it in a rape basket. Do not go around feeling unclean and developing phobias and neurosis. Pretend you were a kid going out for boxing, and, by mistake, the coach let a bigger kid in the ring to beat on you. Hockey players get their teeth knocked out, and they're back in the rink the next day, practicing. If you get beaten in the process, then react to the beating. If the rapist is gentle, then nothing happened beyond sitting next to a bore on the subway. If he's filthy and smelly, think of orderlies in hospitals, who have to manhandle unattractive people every day, plus clean up after them. If he's a handsome date type, report him to the police, and show up as a witness. To let a man dominate you by sticking an oversized thumb a few inches into your body is ludicrous self-indulgence. Men get killed defending their country, girls get raped on dates. Only one is fatal." "Mom taut me more about preventing it," Amy said. "Bingo," Alex replied. By this time Vicky had returned to the world of the here and now. "And I thought I was heterosexual," she whispered, earning another gold star for adding: "what a profound waste that would have been." Glenn allowed that he and Gregg had thought it for the whole past school year, and she shouldn't be too hard on herself. "She's really developed," Vicky reported. Wonderful change of subject. "Her nipples are twice as big as mine." "Ten is almost violent," Alex interjected. "Girls, especially, can be radically different from each other. Keeps the pedophiles on their toes." This brought a universal giggle and as Vicky's absurdity registered the four children slowly lost it, fit ricocheting off fit, gasp echoing gasp, hysteria compounding hysteria. Glenn tried repeatedly to demonstrate some trace of aloofness, but his attempts to control himself were dramatically counterproductive and less became more. Alex found them most amusing. All he had to do was peep at Amy from the corner of his eye and the choking, sobbing girl would dissolve all over again. They were just settling into the groaning and sighing stage when Alex bestirred himself to speak. "You guys are easily entertained, you don't exactly keep a comic on his toes," he said. Someone tried to say, "Very funny," but it was hopeless. The comment ended in a hiccup, and they were off to the races, again. "Keep it up," Alex said, "and you'll have Vicky and me wondering if it's time to quit our day jobs." Phew! That wrung the last tear out of them. The quivering masses in the front and back seats slowly separated into two girls up front beside Alex and two boys in the rear. Alex produced a handkerchief and they passed it around, studiously avoiding eye contact as it went from hand to hand. Alex tried to remember when he'd seen such a happy group. Hmm. Last night at the rectory. He guessed he was doing pretty well, even for a Harvard man. Their conversation returned to a serious note with a question from Amy. "Do lots of fathers tackle their little girls?" the child asked. "It happens to one girl out of five," Alex replied, "either their father or an older brother." "Tell me more about it," the girl said, understandably unable to formulate specific questions. "It's the world's most complicated subject," Alex said. "There are tremendous benefits to incest. It lowers girls self esteem, which tends to allow them to focus on a particular interest rather than doing the dating scene and ending up unstable airheads. Most importantly, it seals the deal. A father puts a fortune of outright money into his daughter, to say nothing of time and energy. If he has sex with her, he is fully repaid for his involvement and the girl doesn't have to go through life thinking she owes her dad this and owes her dad that, especially when he gets old and may need a lot of help. "But those are long-term advantages," the cleric observed, "in the short term, many girls find it highly offensive to be touched by a family member. It is my opinion that this is almost entirely do to cultural strictures and conventions. If a man and his baby daughter were stranded on a lush island, they would likely grow to be avid lovers, and the girl, even aged as young as three or four, would have no second thoughts about being receptive to him. It is the church's business to sell taboo and sin because it has to sell something to stay alive. If you think of how wrong "Genesis" is," Alex went on, letting a rare biblical reference pass his lips, "and extend the quality of information in the first book to all the books, you come across only "The Song of Solomon" as having any merit of any kind, other than some superbly edited English in the King James version, and the secular side of Christian behavior as outlined in The Golden Rule." "How many girls like being with their dads?" Amy asked. "There are so many layers of confusion involved," Alex replied, "that it's impossible to tell. Children can be almost totally manipulated up into their teen years. Something that might have been wonderful in one context can be altered into something forbidden and terrible, just through the verbalizing of a naysayer. The joke is the holy-cow bible has exceedingly little to say on the subjects of incest and pedophilia. Nowhere is a man instructed not to spill his seed with the boy next door. Even the strictures on masturbation amount to a few words out of a million. In the end, the book is like "The Communist Manifesto" or "Das Kapital". It's full of blobs and plunketts of this and that that a zealot can use like McDonald's uses its golden arches, rather than making up his own doctrine or philosophy. A little scripture here and a blob of scripture there, along with some talent as a carnival performer, and a church is born. "Very expensive." "If my dad gets back to the way he was, and I go back to him, could he get me pregnant?" the girl asked. "Yes," Alex said, "his seed will be just as potent with you as that of any male." "Would the baby come out weird?" she said. "Slightly higher chance than if it's outside blood," Alex said. "Incest has a bad name in regards to deformed babies because over a long period of time extensive inbreeding can have devastating effects for a larger percentage of infants. As a one-time thing, not something that's accumulated over a number of generations, it's not a significant risk factor. The flip side of this is that sometimes incest produces an exceptional genius. England was rife with isolated valley towns for thousands of years, and the English have the bad teeth to prove it, but from England flows the greatest of the great in everything from engineering to poetry. Taken to an extreme, the Lion's motto should be With thy daughter, with thy sister, if you please." Alex gulped and waited, sitting behind the wheel, not daring to look to his right or in the rearview mirror. He waited a full minute before daring to say another word. "If your father picks up his pick-up sticks, how would you feel about having his child?" the preacher asked. "Nice," the girl said with a smile. "Well," Alex said, "it's basically an economic issue. If you had a baby when you were eleven or twelve, assuming it was safe for you to do so, you'd want a good nanny so your daughter and sister would be an exciting love, not a burden. Sometimes mature mothers are delighted to have another baby to raise, so that might be a factor. In any event, the child is a burden only in that it's a burden. If you can cope with that, you're in for the thrill of your life, and, if it happens, when you reach the age to marry, guess what, you have a little cutie pie to throw into the bargain, and nothing is more a guaranteed to keep the old man happily at home. "Did you know," Alex went on with his inquisition of the child, "that your mom and your granddad were lovers when she was a girl?" "She thinks he's really special," Amy allowed. "Well they were. She told me. Your Aunt Florence, too. And they're both attractive, functioning women. It's just that your dad is going through a bad spot like millions of other men in a complex and often cruel and indifferent world. There's nothing more too it than that, and someday you may very well be with him to accept his child. If that turns out to be your wish, you'll have all of us behind you..." "And how!" Vicky interjected. "So relax, let one day pass at a time, score yourself some math grades, and otherwise let the future take care of itself." Long moments passed as the car full chewed their cuds, idly adjusting the power windows. Amy broke the comfortable silence. "I packed a bikini in my suitcase," she said. "Can I go into the restroom and put it on?" "Vicky, do you want to go with her?" Alex asked. Duh'uh. The two twinkled off, taking turns with the suitcase, Alex suspected, so they could bump into each other. The males remained in the car, windows all down, trying not to sweat aloud over their imagery of the Twins. Ten minutes went by, then twenty. Waiting for women is an all but catastrophic adjunct to most relationships, but this was not the case in the present instance. Never had three men felt more content with the world as it was than Alex, Glenn and Gregg. Then a red mop appeared from behind the brickwork. It peered this way and that, seeing the coast was clear, then disappeared for a second. Vicky was naked. Amy was wearing a pretty suit. They were no longer twins, Amy appearing notably heavier and more developed than the sprite helping her down the path. Glenn sprang out the door to grab the case, leaving the rear door open for Vicky whose eyes were focused on her brother. Amy got in front, blushing, her head bowed. Understandable. Her breast were like those of a young teen and there was a distinct if subtle curve to her girlish waist. "Isn't she beautiful?" Vicky mused aloud. Glenn was helping Gregg strip, and in a minute had his roommate naked. He guided the slim redheaded boy behind his ten year old sister as she leaned over the back of the front seat. She bowed her head as Gregg found her, entering fully with a gentle movement, his hands low on her lithe, childish flanks. Alex and Glenn followed suit, ridding themselves of their sandals and clothing as Amy stared from one of her new friends to the other, her nipples hard and full against the top of her tiny swimsuit. Reading Vicky's hot eyes, the new girl leaned to her for a kiss. As their lips and tongues joined, Gregg brought his hands to the Amy's silken tresses. Glenn sat behind the driver's seat, his legs widely spread, his hips bucked, masturbating as he watched what Gregg was doing with Vicky. Alex caught Glenn's eye and he nodded. The minister whispered Amy's name and gently pulled her from Vicky, nodding in Glenn's direction. The girl stared wide-eyed at the athletic teen. "I'm cumming," he whispered, and the girl gasped as a lightning bolt of his hot seed spurted against Gregg's heaving flank. Instinctively, Amy reached with her right hand and Glenn jockeyed as close to her as he could, cumming hard and fast. The girl hand found him, covering him and gripping him firmly, her palm shielding the boy's spurting seed, until she was soaked and lathered from him, then pumping his with fast light strokes just at his swollen glands. Glenn hissed at the wildness of what she was doing, his body shaking, and after a minute half fainted back onto the seat. Amy then went to her chest. Alex realized immediately what she wanted and tore away her bra. The girl looked down and her swollen nipples and tenderly glistened them with Glenn's sperm as Vicky stared at her. Alex positioned himself behind the ten year old, moved her panties aside, and entered her as she stared into Vicky's eyes. "He's inside me," she whispered tensely to the redhead. "Tell me how he feels," Vicky whispered back. "He's being really gentle," Amy said. "Is he getting deeper inside you?" "Quite a bit." "It might hurt." "No, he's passed that part." "Do you know how to make love at the mall?" Vicky whispered. "No," the girl whimpered back. "The male has to remain still inside you, so you can pretend you're just making out while you're on his lap. You have to make a rhythm with your muscles when you want him to cum. A friend of Gregg's told him about it and we experimented. I'm practicing with him now. See how still he is?" "Teach me!" Amy begged. "Okay," the girl whispered. "Is he all the way inside you?" "I don't know. Oh, my god, yes. Oh, yes." "It's okay if you cum," Vicky whispered, "we can do it together tonight." "I think it went by," the panting girl whispered. "Okay," Vicky said, "relax against him, then strain your muscles a little, then relax and do it again." "I'm trying," Vicky said as Alex hunched tightly over the girl, his hands on her swollen breasts, his breath panting in her ear. The lesson went on and on. Coaxing each other, they finally became partially successful with their males, causing whimpers and feral grunting when for a few moments they'd perfect their technique. "Something extra's happening," Amy said, her eyes wide in shock. "He's doing what Glenn did, inside you," Vicky said. "Getting me pregnant?" the new girl whispered. "Your breast are so developed, you may," Vicky replied. "Is Gregg getting you pregnant?" Amy asked, shaking all over from the intense pulsing wild between her widely spread legs. "Yes," Vicky said. For long moments the girls stared into each other's eyes. Their males remained motionless, although their hard panting and corded muscles clearly signaled they were still ejaculating. Vicky helped Amy over the back of the seat. Alex started the car. As they resumed their trip to Hastings, Vicky was given the very excited Amy lessons in how a female could make a male cum using her hands and mouth. Gregg was the second male to mount Amy, taking her lush young body, as Alex had, from the rear, and waiting until Glenn started cumming off to ejaculate into her hot, tight, little-girl vagina. A week went by. The rectory, late summer, echoed with shouts and laughter as Alex had expected it might when Kit and Victor returned. By acclimation, Glenn's gang decided to postpone becoming full-fledged Hunters until the following season. Vicky flew off to spend time with her father at a resort, sending graphic e-mails back to Hastings. Florence was beside herself having her glowing beauty of a niece to dote over. The needle was in the groove and the music was sweet. Posted by Thomas C. Emerson, Dangriga, 2002 xxx