Date: Tue, 28 Mar 2006 17:23:51 -0600 From: H. Rick Cantwell Subject: Rascal 29 Rascal Part Twenty-Nine Big Nose, Big Hose and Long Fingers The sound of sizzling bacon and eggs frying combined with the aroma of warm whole wheat toast helped to rouse Lyle and me from our sleep. The previous night, Lyle and I had sadistically deprived the boys of any sex with us--the two adults--and kept them horny for each other all night, too. We, again, walked into the kitchen--naked--and with morning woodies. The boys looked longingly at them and Lyle said, "Tyler, your turn to suck my dick. Ryan, you want to help out Spunky?" They were on their knees in front of us immediately. "Don't want to cum," Lyle said, "just want some good-mornin' lovin'. Okay, boys?" "Ummm humm," both hummed. After they had their fill of morning meat, we sat down to eat. Lyle and I helped clean up before we all went upstairs to get ready for the guests. We showered quickly--one at a time, to expedite the showering--and dried each other off. "Follow me," Lyle said. By the time Drs. Wasserdyne and Zender walked in the front door, all four of us were wearing matching silk boxers--ones Lyle had bought just for the occasion. Nothing else. They depicted an underwater scene of frolicking porpoises. Neither doctor seemed particularly impressed OR offended by our bare-chested appearance. Lyle extended his hand and said, "Dr. Zender, I presume. Please call me Lyle. This is my son, Ryan. This is Tyler, another test subject. His dad will be by after he gets off work. And this is our good friend, Dick." "Spunky," Ryan said, "and he's our BEST friend." "I thought I was your best friend," Tyler said, grinning impishly. He had spent almost an hour spiking his hair into just the right-- although random--pattern to make him look even more adorable than ever. "You're my best boy toy," Ryan said. Then turning to Dr. Zender, he asked, "Can I help you get anything from the car?" "Me, too," Tyler said, reminiscent of the first day we all met him. At the time, he wanted so much to be included in ANYthing, that's about all he said. It didn't take Ryan long to crack his shell and then his natural but mom-repressed personality flooded over us all like raw egg white on a tile floor. Over the next few months, it went in every direction until he finally settled on just being his own adorable and individual self. Lifting a chrome-looking briefcase, Dr. Zender said, "It's all in here." "Can I see?" Ryan asked. "It's just a bunch of numbers on a spreadsheet. Not much to look at, really." "No pictures?" Ryan said incredulously. "Then how are you gonna prove anything?" "That's what science is all about," Dr. Zender said defensively. "Even National Geographic supplies pictures!" Ryan argued. "I can see you're gonna have to rethink this whole project." "Ryan!" Lyle scolded at the same time I did. "Sorry," Ryan said. "It would just seem to me there should be pictures." "Ryan," Dr. Wasserdyne said, "it's difficult enough to find men willing to have their penises measured. We'd never find enough who were willing to be photographed, too." "You've obviously never surfed the Internet." "No. No, I haven't." "There are thousands of guys on the 'net who love to show off their dicks," Tyler said. With a calculating tone in his voice, Ryan asked, "If the guys are willing to be photographed today, would you be able to use them?" Looking at Dr. Zender, Dr. Wasserdyne said, "It's not a part of our original plan ... and there's no funding for it ... so I'd have to say ..." "Don't say no," Ryan encouraged. "Talk about it and ... and deliberately discuss the benefits ... and ... I'll be willing to ..." "Ryan," Lyle said, "Remember your promise to the football team?" "Oh. Sorry. Sometimes I get overly excited about a really terrific project like this one," Rascal said, trying to flatter them, "... and I get carried away. You see, I have this digital camera, so there's no film to buy and I've got a computer I can download them onto, so there's no storage costs and ..." "Ryan," Lyle said. "What? I'm just thinking out loud. You know, so you guys can blow holes in my concept." "So far, he makes sense," Dr. Wasserdyne said. Smiling his very best Rascal smile, Ryan shrugged his shoulders. "The only problem I see," Dr. Zender said, "is convincing our subjects to be photographed." "I'll handle that," Ryan said. "No, I mean future subjects." "Perhaps," I offered, "you could make it optional." "Yeah, it's not like they HAVE to be photographed," Ryan said. "They don't even have to show their faces. Hey, I know, let's go downstairs and set up. Then you can measure me or whatever you're gonna do. Then I'll know how best to handle the crowd." "Well," Dr. Zender said, looking at his watch, "I guess we could get started." I led the way downstairs, followed by Dr. Wasserdyne, Dr. Zender, Ryan, Tyler and Lyle. When we got to the rec room, Dr. Zender set his computer on the oak card table and plugged it in. Dr. Wasserdyne removed a pair of calipers from his white lab coat pocket--the bowed kind that look like they form a big light bulb. "Stand still, so I don't poke you in the eye." "Hey, I may be short but your dick would have to be pretty long for it to poke me in the eye," Ryan chuckled. "With the calipers," I admonished, knowing even as I said it that Ryan knew what the doctor meant. I watched as Dr. Wasserdyne measured the distance from the bridge of Ryan's nose to its tip and called out the measurement in centimeters. "Long nose, long hose," Ryan said. "So they say," Dr. Wasserdyne said. "We'll see," Dr. Zender said skeptically. "In this case, as I recall, the lad's absolutely correct," Dr. Wasserdyne said, having seen Ryan's hard-on many times while rounding on him in the hospital. Then Dr. Wasserdyne measured the width of Ryan's nose at the nostrils. "There seems to be a correlation between the width of ones nose to the girth of ones penis, too." "Oh, really?" Lyle said, surprised. Then Dr. Wasserdyne measured Ryan's ears, top to bottom and side to side. "No way" I said. "We're not taking any chances with insufficient data." "Oh." "So when you gonna measure my dick?" Ryan asked impatiently. "After all the other measurements are done. We don't like the subject to feel uncomfortable about his nudity." Ryan slipped his boxers off his hips and let them flutter to the floor--the way only silk can. "You don't have to worry about that," Ryan said, "we're all gonna be naked all day anyway." "What!" Dr. Zender shouted, looking up from his laptop. When he looked over at Ryan, he added a quiet, "Jesus!" I couldn't tell if he was upset about all his subjects being naked all day or impressed with Ryan's dick. "Okay, I guess we'll measure the flaccid penis next," Dr. Wasserdyne said, pulling a latex glove out of a box of a hundred--like a Kleenex box. "That's flaccid?" Dr. Zender said under his breath. I don't think anyone heard him but me. After calling out Ryan's flaccid 13 centimeter measurement, Dr. Wasserdyne said, "I'll measure your feet, then you can go in the bathroom and uh, work your penis to erection." "Hey, Tyler, wanna give me a mouth here?" "Uh, what?" Dr. Wasserdyne asked, startled. "He's gonna suck me to help get it hard." "Uh, when you were in the hospital, I uh, allowed certain privileges between you and Tyler but ... well, this presents a problem. You see, all the subjects today will need to get hard and ... uh ... most guys don't like others to see them ... you know ... manipulating themselves, so we'll have to have a place for them to ..." "Bullshit!" Ryan said, yanking on his pecker. "These guys love to jack off in public." "Ryan," I said, "let the doctors do it their way. You're only here to keep the test subjects outside until we need one of 'em in here to be measured." "You don't really think they came for the measurements, do you?" Ryan said. "They're here for the PAR TEE!" "It doesn't really MATTER why they're coming ... only that they're gonna be here to participate in the study," I said, trying to calm Ryan's enthusiasm. "Ryan, get an erection ... by yourself ... or go to your room. This is not all about you!" Lyle said sternly. "Yes, sir," Ryan said, closing his eyes and focusing on giving himself a hard-on. After Dr. Wasserdyne called out the 19 centimeter measurement, Ryan said snidely, "It's a quarter inch longer than Daddy's ... whatever that is in centimeters." Lyle smiled at me proudly. Then to let Ryan know it didn't bother him that his son was bigger--and bragging about it--Lyle said, "And gettin' bigger." "Fuck," Dr. Zender whispered. "Now do me," Tyler said, "'cuz I gotta help Ryan keep the guys ... uh ... occupied while you guys do your ... pecker work." "Okay, young man," Dr. Wasserdyne said, changing his latex gloves, "step right over here." Tyler bounded over like he was in a puppy dog commercial and dragged his silk porpoise boxers off. "They're a gift from Uncle Lyle." "Not biological," I said, just to clarify their data. Then I grabbed a waste basket and set it next to the table for disposal of the used exam gloves. "You better do my pecker first while it's placid. I never know when it's gonna bone up." "Well, I guess we can start there. Three centimeters." Dr. Wasserdyne said with no inflection in his professional voice that would imply Tyler was undersized. "That's 'flaccid,' Tyler," I said, "not placid although, now that I think about it, they are both terms that refer to calmness but one is MORE correct than the other." "Placid, flaccid, whatever. Just get it before it gets hard." Each measurement was calibrated, related to Dr. Zender and recorded in a professional manner. During the process, and true to his young teen nature, Tyler threw a boner. "14 centimeters, hard" Dr. Wasserdyne said. Dr. Zender looked up from his laptop to ensure Dr. Wasserdyne hadn't made a mistake. His eyes widened. "Flaccid was three, Doctor?" "Yes," Dr. Wasserdyne said professionally. "It's magic," Tyler said. "It isn't as big as Rascal's," Tyler said, "but it has just as much fun." "I guess that's all that matters," Dr. Wasserdyne said with a smile. I heard Dr. Zender typing--like he was recording Tyler's comment, not just numbers. I got the impression he was going to use that line on the next young patient he examined in his office who complained about having a small dick. "Hey, hold up," Ryan shouted, bounding down the stairs. "I've gotta take pictures." Getting into position, he clicked off the shutter, showing a fully clothed Dr. Wasserdyne kneeling in front of a completely naked and under-aged Tyler. "Delete that!" Lyle commanded. "But!" "Delete it or lose the camera forever," Lyle said menacingly. "Yes, sir," Ryan said, surprised at his dad's vehemence. "If there's any pictures being taken today, I'll do it. Or Spunky." "But it was MY idea." "And a mighty fine one, too," I said, "but when you change the rules ... you have to live with the consequences. Today the consequences are that your dad is in charge." "Damn," Ryan groused, "I thought this was supposed to be a party." "No. It's supposed to be a scientific study. The party is merely an extension of that project." Ryan rolled his eyes. "Go around front and let the guys in when they arrive. Have 'em park the way I told you." "Yes sir, angle not parallel," Ryan said quietly as he turned to leave. "And put on your boxers," Lyle commanded. "And leave the 'little' Rascal inside at all times while you're out front," I added. "Yes sir." "Can I get either of you something to drink?" Lyle asked. "No, actually, but perhaps we could get your measurements while we're waiting for the others to arrive. "Sure." Lyle stepped up and dropped his boxers. "Uh ... you can leave those on till we're ready to measure your penis, if you'd like." "That's okay. The rest of the guys will be naked by the time they get around back anyway. Wouldn't want 'em to feel out of place." Dr. Wasserdyne began taking the measurements. I held the camera directly above the calipers and close enough to Lyle's face that all you saw was his nose and part of each eye. For his dick, I knelt to get a straightforward angle. The feet were a straight downward close- up. I took a top-to-bottom photo of Lyle's right ear and a side-to- side shot of his left ear measurements. "You know, doc," I said, "there's this theory about long fingers, too." "Yes, I know. We've been tracking that in adult subjects ... since that's the only way the theory can be proved ... or disproved. I mean children tend to grow unevenly ... or sporatically ... so their interim data is pretty much useless." "Even so, I bet I can guess the length of your erection without ever seeing it." "Uh ... that won't be necessary." "I'm serious. How about you, Dr. Zender?" "Uh ... I'm sorry, what were you saying?" I knew he had been listening because his head jerked in our direction when I challenged Dr. Wasserdyne. "Hold out your left hand ... palm up." Dr. Zender did as I asked. "Not stiff, like you're waiting for change at the supermarket. Relax it. That's it. Now, keeping it relaxed, fold your fingers into the palm of your hand. Don't curl them, just flatten 'em out, keeping your hand relaxed." "Like this?" "Yeah. Now, Dr. Wasserdyne, just to prove it's not a magic trick or that I'm changing anything, I'll have you take the measurement. Place your thumb on his palm right at the tip of his middle finger. Good. Keep it there. Now, Dr. Zender, extend your fingers back out into a flat but relaxed position. Dr. Wasserdyne, without moving your thumb, place the tip of your middle finger on the tip of Dr. Zender's middle finger. Dr. Zender, remove your hand." Pointing to the space between Dr. Wasserdyne's thumb and middle finger, I said, "That's the length of Dr. Zender's erect penis." "Damn! He just might be right. It looks about like that." "Lyle, can we measure you, since you've already got a hard-on?" I asked. "Just to prove my point?" "Uh ... sure," Lyle said, stunned that he had a boner. Lyle went through the motions and Dr. Wasserdyne measured the distance between Lyle's thumb and middle finger with the calipers. Then he measured Lyle's erection. "I'll be damned!" Then, realizing Lyle was only one person, he said, "Well, of course, this doesn't prove anything. Not without a more careful study." "So let's see YOUR measurement," Dr. Zender said to me. I quickly performed the task and said, "Just under twelve inches." "Jesus Christ! No way. That's over 30 centimeters!" "Oh yeah!" Lyle said as he stepped behind me and pantsed me of my porpoise boxers. "Get it hard." As I jacked off, Dr. Zender said, "Dr. Wasserdyne, I showed you mine, let's see YOUR measurement." Dr. Wasserdyne stammered a moment. "Just your finger measurement, you old prude," Dr. Zender said with a chuckle. To my surprise, Dr. Wasserdyne did it and displayed his "air length" proudly. At least I think it was proudly. He might just have been surprised that HIS air measurement was indicative of his actual erection length--maybe five and a half or six inches. "Sweet!" Dr. Zender said. "Now, if you just had some BALLS to go with that attitude." "We have work to do," Dr. Wasserdyne said professionally. Then he measured my erection just for fun. I redisplayed my 'air length' and he said, "Within millimeters of 30 centimeters. It's absolutely amazing!" "Let's do it on all the subjects, today," Dr. Zender said eagerly. "Maybe we can add a new element to our study." "It's not 100% accurate," I said, "but it's pretty damn-near fool-proof. And I should know." That remark seemed to go over their heads because they were now absorbed in a new scientific survey. I went outside to wait for the guests to arrive. As the first six test subjects arrived, I showed them where to dump their clothes. As expected, none of them were wearing underwear of any kind so it consisted of pants of some sort--usually jean shorts --and a shirt. 'Expeditious, at least!' I thought. "Kevin suggested we car pool," a guy with an elaborate Celtic cross tattoo on his pec said. "Parking's at a premium for the number of guys we're expecting," I said, more as an explanation than an excuse. "Shit," he said, "the parking area out front is bigger'n my whole yard--my house included. Them that's got, gets." "Yeah, gets bigger responsibilities, bigger headaches ..." "I suppose. So where's this Penis Party takin' place?" "Bring your son inside and we'll let you two go next." I noticed his son had two Celtic crosses on the same spot as his dad's but they were much smaller. Once they were introduced to the doctors, Dr. Zender said, "We only use first names, middle initial and last name initial. We'll assign you a number and all the information will be recorded under that number." "I don't care if you use my name." "It's to help keep the data from being corrupted later ... hopefully. Anyway, your son will have an A behind the number to indicate he is of your lineage. His son, if we get the opportunity, will have the B suffix." "I really don't care, Doc. Just take the fuckin' measurements so we can get this party started," Celtic Cross said brusquely. "Yes, of course." I watched as Dr. Wasserdyne began to take the measurements and, after asking Celtic Cross politely if it was all right, I took pictures. Dr. Zender modified his spreadsheet to accommodate the photo numbering on the camera. He devised, on the spot, a numbering system for each picture as he downloaded it to his laptop. When Dr. Wasserdyne told Celtic Cross that he needed him to get himself "excited," Celtic snapped his fingers, pointed to the spot between his feet and his son dropped to his knees and began sucking him. Dr. Wasserdyne remained surprisingly stoic throughout the whole process. Dr. Zender squirmed a little, like the chair might have been creating a prickly rash in his pants. Celtic Jr. was measured but worked himself to erection manually. The next pair came in and we went through the same routine. By then, several other vanloads had arrived and the pool area was filling up fast. I decided to "open the bar" before a riot broke out. Calling Lyle in, I explained how I went about taking the pictures and he took over that duty. "Eight is Enough" was the first one to the bar. I recognized the tattoo just above his cock from the fake rape, Memorial Day weekend, at the lake. At first, I wanted to pound him to a bloody pulp but then I realized he was only doing Lyle's bidding that day. He had his arm around a guy who looked just like him only a couple of years younger. "No way you two are father and son." I said, amicably. "No, brothers. Dad'll be here any minute now. He got caught by the traffic light." "I recognize YOU from the lake," I said. Then scrutinizing what I could readily see of 'Eight's' brother, I asked, "No tattoos?" Eight slapped his brother's butt cheek playfully. His brother turned to show me he had "Night Deposit" tattooed just above his ass cheeks--one word over each mound--with an arrow pointing down between his cheeks. "Maybe I should consider changing sperm banks," I said. "Are you accepting new depositors?" "Shit," Eight said, "He's like a drive-in bank ATM--open 24/7." Night Deposit couldn't keep his eyes off my swinging meat. "Hey, Dad, over here," Eight shouted. A huge barrel-chested man with a shaved head and a rust red beard strode over. The beard, although trimmed neatly, came down to the middle of his breastbone. The tattoo above his fiery red pubes read, "Fountain of Youth." I smiled as I read it. "It has several interpretations," Red Beard said. "And he lives up to every one of 'em," Night Deposit said, grabbing his dad's crank playfully. "Beers or soft drinks?" I asked as I thought about what some of those interpretations might be. 'It's the fountain from which babies or "youths" come. It's the fountain from which youths could drink the elixir of youthfulness ...' I thought. "How long this shindig gonna keep goin'?" Red Beard asked. "Till dawn or later." "Sodas all around," the dad said. They wandered off shortly thereafter to mingle with some friends who showed up. As each person came up, much like any bartender, I became the information booth. I explained how the measuring part of the party was going to happen. I told them that photos were optional, reminded them the drinks were on the house but, because of that, the pool was not to be used as a urinal. Luckily, Lyle rented a PortaPotty and had it delivered the night before. Kevin showed up just as the crowd started to get too numerous to manage. There were a dozen vehicles crammed in the driveway, which meant we had sixty to eighty people in the back yard. For the most part, the guys weren't engaging in any sexual activity. An occasional grope or a fleeting suck but not to orgasm. It was a well-known fact among many of the group that there were a couple of sons who were "off limits" to anyone other than their fathers. A couple of the sons laid the same claim to their fathers. Kevin relieved me at the bar as Ryan ushered in a quartet of guys that I felt needed special attention. I immediately directed them inside, away from the naked throng. "This is Mr. Ward, my math teacher," Ryan said, pointing to a middle-aged man. "And his father, Mr. Ward," Ryan said with a silly smile, pointing to the older man. "This is HIS grandson, young Mr. Ward." The younger one of the three looked to be about twenty to twenty- five years old. All three had distinctively different dicks dangling between their thighs. The reason Dr. Wasserdyne was so startled, I think, was because of the fourth and the youngest fellow. He was five or six years old. I saw Dr. Wasserdyne's eyes darting back and forth from the boy to all the naked men out by the pool. "This is Nathan," the senior Mr. Ward said. He's my great grandson--by Matthew, here." The little man propped his fists on his hips, spread his feet into a Power Ranger stance and recited: "I'm a cute little feller with a cute little figure. Stand back girls till I get a little bigger." Then he snapped his head forward to punctuate his command--or perhaps to let us know his recital was finished. "Four generations?" Dr. Zender asked in awe. "Yep. I THOUGHT you'd be happy," Ryan said. "They're not gay but they were willing to be a part of the survey." "We're nudists," the math teacher said, "so all this is nothing new to us ... well, maybe the openness of, uh ..." "I told 'em there would be suckin' and fu ... uh, other stuff goin' on," Ryan said, looking at Nathan. "But they know Nathan occasionally sees things--you know, sexual things--at the camps they go to." "Kids have to learn sometime," the senior Mr. Ward said. "Neither of these two turned out ..." "Different?" Ryan suggested. "I was gonna say, scarred but I was thinking emotionally or mentally," Mr Ward said. "Anyway, since Mr. Ward is a math teacher, he knows the value of numbers and surveys like this," Ryan said. "That's why they're so willing to help." "Well, shall we get started," Dr. Wasserdyne asked. "About the photos," Lyle said, "we can take pictures of the three adults, but we won't take them of the boy if you don't want us to." "No problem. We've got family photos of him at camp," Matthew said. "Besides, you're not doing face shots anyway," Ryan said only slightly disgruntled. "These photos aren't going anywhere near a network or an Internet connection," Dr. Zender said. "We appreciate the level of professionalism you guys are going to," the senior Mr. Ward said. "I noticed most of the guys outside even stopped cussing when Nathan came in. I'll let 'em know, once you're done with me, that we're not here to put a damper on the party." "I've gotta get back to the food," Ryan said. "I've gotta get back to the drinks," I said. "Back to work," Dr. Wasserdyne said to Lyle. As I headed toward the booze table to bartend again, I bumped into a new arrival. "Hard or soft?" I asked. Looking down at his cock, he said, "I thought it was obvious." "Soft it is, then," I said looking at his soft four-inch dangler before handing him a Pepsi. Then looking at his face again, I said with a bemused chuckle, "I meant hard liquor or soft drink," I saw he had a '68' tattooed on his chin. "Ten o'clock's a little early in the morning for serving hard liquor, ain't it?" he asked. "Not really," I said, "some of these guys just got off work-- midnight to eight shift, ya know. They're ready to party before going to bed." "Looks like some of 'em are ready for bed right now ... but not to sleep!" "Amazing how the body knows that once the work is done, it's time to dance the mattress mambo," I agreed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Like they say, 'Treat your body right and it'll treat you right'." I guess he didn't know they were one and the same but I didn't challenge him. Instead I said, "Mind if I ask ... why do you have '68' tattooed on your chin?" "It means I'm one person short. You interested in makin' it 69?" "I guess I fell for that one, huh?" "Most guys do." "So what happens if a girl asks?" "Pussy makes for good eatin' if you warm it up the right way," he said, thrusting his hips forward. 'To imply warmed up by cock and full of cum, I guess,' I thought. "So I've been told." I said. "I can handle muff every once in a while, but it's not something I prefer," he added, eyeballing my naked crotch. Just then a pudgy fourteen year old called out, "Hey, Dad, they want us inside." "Gotta go get my whanger measured," he said jovially. For the kid's sake, I hoped he would lose the excess fat, soon, so he didn't get picked on at school too much. I was only slightly chubby until I got my growth spurt, and even I heard some pretty cruel remarks about my weight. As a new guy walked up, I had to really admire his tattoo. It looked like his entire crotch was a riot of flames. Red, orange, yellow, blue and white flames licked upward toward his navel. "Nice tat," I said. "It serves the purpose." "Which is?" I asked, hoping it would be a long story, just so I could admire his cock and balls--which were also tattooed as part of the whole illusion. "Ever hear of the old adage about 'going down in flames?'" "Oh yeah!" I said, slapping my forehead "Well, that's one maxim I'd like to try on for size. Maybe later?" I asked hopefully. A younger guy, about thirteen or fourteen, stepped up but stood slightly behind Flames. "Sir, could I have a beer?" "You carding today?" Flames asked me. "Nope. Personal property. Besides, where you gonna tuck your ID?" "One," Flames warned the boy. "So, where's your 'tat,' son?" I asked Flames' son. He turned to show me his entire ass was tattooed in flames that matched, like a mirror image, those of his dad. "That's so fuckin' hot!" I said, truly impressed with the coordinated illusion they had created. "That's what the whole image represents," Flames said. "When I'm fuckin' his ass, it's like we could start a fuckin' forest fire." "I wouldn't doubt it." "Coach! Zack! Glad you could make it," I heard Ryan shout before he set a big bowl of chips on the table beside me. Tyler came up right behind him to stack more soft drinks on the table for me. "Rascal," Zack said, "let me introduce you to my brothers." Beginning with what appeared to be the oldest and pointing to each one in turn, Zack said, "This is Adam, he's the oldest. Then Aaron, Abel, Alex, and Austin." "There's two sisters, Annette and Alicia between Alex and me," Austin said, proudly. "Hey! All your brothers' and sisters' names start with an A," Ryan said to Zack. "Yeah." "So how did you end up as Zack?" Coach ruffled Zack's hair and said, "When this little fella was born, we knew he'd be the last, so we went to the other end of the alphabet." "Yeah," Adam said, "they kept trying until they finally got the one perfect child and they knew enough to quit." "You can't improve upon perfection, that's for sure," Aaron said, ruffling Zack's hair the way Coach had done. Zack beamed from all the attention but I could tell it was something he was comfortable with, something that happened at home-- this special love for the youngest brother. I also noticed that none of the boys were particularly uncomfortable being naked. They stood easily, with their hands by their sides, except when they were gesturing while talking. I guessed it came from years of being in locker room situations. I imagined in my mind's eye, the boys accompanying Coach to all the home games from the time they were able to walk--or at least from the time they were potty-trained. Never one to mince words, Ryan said, "Hope you don't mind all the queers. They're not all queer, though, but if anyone hits on you, it's okay to tell 'em you're straight and they'll leave you alone." "I think these guys can take care of themselves," I said, admiring the beefy brawn of the two older boys ... men actually. They were probably about twenty-one and twenty-three. The one who looked to be about nineteen, Abel, was well on his way to the full musculature of a man. Alex, the seventeen year old was starting to show definition. Austin, the thirteen year old, still had some "baby fat." "That's okay," Adam said, "Aaron and I did our share of experimenting. Not together" he added defensively. "... at different times. I was seventeen when I tried the gay thing. It just wasn't for me." "I was fifteen," Aaron said. "Oddly enough, it was with the same guy Adam tried it with." "But I didn't know that until a couple of years later," Adam said. Then, chuckling as if he remembered something humorous, he said, "We were at Aaron's bachelor party and Blake made some comment ... I don't remember what it was, now ..." "He said, Marina, my bride-to-be at the time," Aaron said, "was gettin' more man than she could handle." Out of curiosity, I looked between his legs ... again. He was nicely hung but not huge ... at least not soft. I wondered what this Blake character had hanging. "Well," Adam said with a chuckle, "I knew Blake and I had fooled around--as kids--and that he knew how well hung I was ..." My eyes darted over to Adam's crotch to confirm his claim. Soft, it was an inch or so longer than Aaron's. " ... but I didn't know he had messed around with Aaron, so I thought he was thinking of me and misspoke himself." " ... and, of course, Blake was a little drunk, so everybody at the bachelor party laughed it off." Aaron said. "Thank god," Adam said, smiling, " ... except me. I tried to shush Blake and remind him it was me that he had fooled around with. Well, he confessed to me that he was doin' me AND Aaron that year." "It wasn't a whole year," Aaron tried to explain. "It was like ... a couple of times over several months." "So anyway, Aaron and I bull-shitted about it off and on for the rest of the night .. good-naturedly." "WE knew neither of us were gay so, if anything, I think the embarrassing declaration brought Aaron and me closer together ... you know, like we had one more thing in common between us." "Like you both rode the same ride," Ryan said with a grin. Adam and Aaron smiled at Ryan's analogy. "What about you?" Ryan asked, looking at Abel, the nineteen year old. "Nope" Abel said casually. "Never rode that ride. Never had any interest in it. Not even any curiosity." Tyler, although a year younger than Ryan but a foot taller, put his flattened hand above Ryan's head and said, "I hear you have to be this tall to ride THAT ride." Chuckling easily at Tyler's joke, seventeen year old Alex said, "I'm not interested either. I guess Adam and Aaron got all the ... uh ..." "Good genes," Ryan said, smiling at his own resourcefulness. "Yeah," Alex said, blushing as he realized he almost put his foot in his mouth. Everyone turned to Austin like we were a synchronized swim team. "What?" thirteen-year-old Austin asked fearfully. Then defensively, he said, "I'm just a kid. I don't know from nothin'. Maybe I will, maybe I won't but I can tell you right now," then, turning to his brothers, he said, "none of you guys will know about it." "We can respect that," Ryan said reassuringly, like he didn't want Austin to think we were picking on him. "Not everyone's life is as public as Ryan's," I said. "If you ever want to try, I'll keep it a secret," Tyler said. "Honest. And you won't have to do anything you don't want to." "Ty," I said, looking around the pool area at all the others, "this isn't the time or the place to put the moves on Austin." "Sorry," Tyler said, "it's just ... you're so cute and all. And since I'm bisexual, I thought we could ... well ... be friends." "Friends is okay," Austin said agreeably. "Tyler, why don't you take these guys inside and introduce them to Dr. Wasserdyne and Dr. Zender." "Hey!" Ryan started to argue but a look from me shut him up. When they were safely inside, I explained to Ryan, "Tyler needs to learn responsibility and this is one of the ways we can all help him with that." "And it'll give him a chance to get to know Austin better," Ryan said understanding why I had Tyler take Ryan's friend inside. "Twerp's right, Austin IS cute. Not real well hung but we know about THAT, don't we? Hey, we gotta find out who this Blake fella is. Apparently he's gay ... or bi. I'll ask Coach about him." "Have any idea how many guys have been measured so far?" I asked Ryan. "Dad says they're doing one every five minutes or less." "And they've been here three hours already." "Yeah, so they've got another three or four hours to go." "I hope they didn't plan to get home early," I said. "I don't think they were expecting this big of a turnout." "I better get inside to see if Daddy needs any help taking pictures. I'm sure that Dr. Zender's gonna want to document this family, for sure." "It's like a goldmine to researchers like them," I said. "I'll go in with you and see if they need anything to drink." "You don't fool me, you just want to get another look at all that sweet swinging meat." Lyle told Ryan he didn't need any help with taking the photo documentation so Ryan went back outside. I served the doctors some lemonade and filled a couple of bowls with pretzels and potato chips for them. While I was doing that, Ryan had coaxed almost half the crowd into the pool. It sounded to me like he was organizing a chicken fight. "But to make things interesting," Ryan said, "you have to do 'Rock, Paper, Scissors' to determine which of you gets on the others' shoulders. The winner is the mount, the loser is the combatant." Some of the dads frowned at the idea of THEM being supported on the shoulders of their sons like it would emasculate them or something. Nevertheless, Ryan's infectious banter prevailed and there were about twenty-five teams ready for an all out aquatic chicken fight. Of course, those in the five to fifteen-year-old age range automatically became the combatants simply out of necessity. For about five minutes the teams battled it out with only one combatant falling off--eliminating them from the contest. The stronger swimmers, the mounts, were treading water in the deep end while their combatants, the chickens, grabbed, pulled, grappled, and tugged at their opponents. Cocks of all shapes and sizes pressed against the backs of their mounts' necks. Strong hands gripped lithe son thighs or muscular daddy thighs in an attempt to keep their combatant righted. Taunt butts slipped and slid over broad shoulders, clenching with each twist and turn as they tried to maintain their balance. Water was being splashed everywhere, including onto me, occasionally--and I was behind the booze table. Those with longer legs had their feet clasped into their mounts' lower backs to gain a little more leverage. Some had their left hands on their mounts' foreheads, holding on like it was a pommel on a saddle. I saw 'Flame' supporting his son whose contortions put the flames on his butt into motion. His ass flickered up from the surface of the waves like an oil spill fire. To my surprise, the younger boys were doing a hell of a job fending off the older sons. While the older boys had strength, the younger ones had dexterity and quickness of movement to escape a potential dunking. Looking around, I saw Tyler watching the action but not really enjoying the moment. I snuck up behind him, knelt and, in one swift move, slipped my head between his legs and had him on my shoulders as I stood up and jumped into the fracas. Being caught off guard, his first opponent almost dumped him but he valiantly held on and we got away in time. I tried to find a boy more Tyler's size and weight but as I slogged through the chest-deep water of the pool, I noticed he was taking on any opponent. He wrapped his feet behind my waist and pressed his hard little cock into my neck and began yanking guys twice his size off their mounts. "Thanks, Spunky, I owe you one," Tyler said gleefully as he kept struggling. "No, your dad owes me one, since I'm substituting for him," I said as water sloshed in and out of my mouth. "And I intend to collect!" "Can I watch?" Tyler giggled from the sidelines, repeating a well-worn phrase both Tyler and his sister Taylor seem to have adopted since the first time they met Rascal. "You know he'd be here if he didn't have to work, don't you?" "I know Dad loves me, that's no problem. There's just times, like this, when I wish he could be here but he can't do anything about it. That's why we have Unka Spunk." Then he squeezed his ankles into my sides. I don't know if he wanted me to "giddy up" or if he was just punctuating his "Unka Spunk" comment. Even so, I got a warm fuzzy feeling from being appreciated. "Okay guys," Ryan yelled when he saw there were only four teams left. "We're gonna do something different." Knowing Ryan, I'm sure he stopped the competition before there was a clear winner because he didn't want there to be any "macho posturing" by the winners for the rest of the day. The horseplay eventually stopped but only after the guys who were the mounts moved away from each other, carrying their feisty combatants with them. Standing at the end of the diving board, Ryan waved his left arm in a wide sweep toward the left side of the pool. "All the dads on this side." Then sweeping his right arm the same way toward the opposite side of the pool, he said, "All the sons on this side." Once the remaining guys dismounted--with their erections flashing here and there--Rascal said, "Now for the fun part. I want each son to pair up with another son--either your own brother or someone else's son--and decide which will be the mount and which will be the combatant." There was a momentary confusion until one of the older sons put one of the younger boys on his shoulders. Then I saw a young boy-- though tall for his age--pick up another of the younger boys. Tyler, who was also tall, chose to pick up a guy about his own height and weight. I knew Tyler was a good swimmer, so I figured he was going for the height and depth advantage. The deep water would help support Tyler's body while his rider would sit tall in the saddle and have the height advantage. "Okay," Ryan called out, "the dads who have a son on the shoulders of a mount, have to choose a mount. You're gonna be playing one-on-one against your son." "Hey, that's not fair," Zack yelled. "My old man's ten times my size." "It'll be fair," Ryan assured all the boys. "I'll explain the rules as soon as the dads choose their mounts." A guy swam up to introduce himself. "Hi, I'm Jack. Think you can support my weight?" "Hop on, we'll see." We felt good together. Once the other dads were on the shoulders of their mounts, Ryan shouted, "Okay, mounts, move into position so the sons are facing their fathers." I had to admit, Zack looked tiny next to Coach. There were some twenty-year-olds and some eleven year olds like Zack, opposite fifty- year-olds. I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out how Ryan expected to even up the match. "This is my son, Trevor," Jack said in the way of introduction. "Hi, I'm Wally," Trevor's mount said. He was muscular but not muscle-bound with a farmer's tan. Bronze face and neck with sun- browned arms up to the Tee-shirt line and then fish belly white all over, otherwise. He looked to be about seventeen years old. "The names Dick but most everyone here calls me Spunky." "This is called Sit and Spin. I'm sure you're all familiar with that term. But this will be a little different. Mounts," Ryan commanded, "wrap your arms around each other's waists. You cannot touch, support or assist your riders with your arms or hands in any way. Combatants! You have to keep your hands behind your back at all times. It'll be easier if you just grip your left wrist with your right hand-- or clasp your fingers like you're praying or something. Now, lean toward each other and lock necks. This will be the only physical support you can get from each other." When the combatants leaned forward, it forced the heads of their mounts closer, too, so they ended up cheek-to-cheek in the process. I figured, before the end of this game, there would be a lot of erection-to-erection action, too. "You've all heard the old adage, 'You should never switch horses in the middle of the stream.' Well, let's prove that adage wrong. What you have to do--working together as a four-man team--is to switch riders and mounts. You mounts can raise and lower your shoulders, you can get in deeper or shallower water, anything you want ... except ... you can't let go of each other. You riders have to continue above-the-shoulders contact, either by kissing, nibbling, licking, tonguing ... whatever ... but your neck or face has to maintain contact. On your mark ... get set ... oh, by the way, the two who do it the fastest without either falling off, gets ... I don't know, we'll figure something out." Chuckles throughout the crowd proved most of them were just glad to be having fun ... in the open ... with other sons and dads. I'm sure, to most of the participants, no other prize was necessary. "Get set ... GO!" Ryan yelled. To the observers standing around outside the pool, it might have looked humorous. To me, it was sensuous. The water acted like glue, helping to keep the boy I was hugging and me together. I felt his warm breath create a cool breeze as it collided with the water on my shoulder. As Jack squirmed past my right ear, I saw Trevor moving around the back of my hug-buddy's head. Just as I was going to talk, Jack's balls swiped across my lips, while his erection pressed my nose flat against my face. Looking upward, almost cross-eyed, I saw a tower of flesh. "Nice dick, dude," I mumbled into his balls. "Thank my daddy," Jack said, "I inherited it from him." "That's what we're here to find out," Trevor said. It sounded like he had a mouthful of tongue as he shifted part of his weight onto my shoulders. As Trevor eased a leg onto my shoulder I felt him sliding down my arm toward my right biceps. "Pull in tight, Wally, I'm losing him," I yelled as I lifted my left shoulder. It was tough to do because I couldn't let go of Wally, either. Wally mirrored my move with his LEFT shoulder, successfully pushing Trevor closer to his father. "Jack," Wally mumbled into Trevor's crotch, "put your leg over Spunky's shoulder and hunch up closer to my neck." "What?" Jack asked. "Huh?" Trevor asked. I turned my head away from Jack's chlorine-saturated pubic hair and said, "Wally, turn your face toward me so we can understand you." Turning toward me, Wally said, "Trevor, put your leg over your dad's leg and follow him around. Kinda hook your ankle onto his so you don't slip apart." Almost mouth-to-mouth with Jack, I said, "Hey, you two, don't worry about squeezing too hard. Jack and I will survive ... somehow." "Are you in a monogamous relationship?" Jack asked before our faces were smashed together by the two strong pelvic thrusts of our riders. "Not anymore," I said, kissing Jack sensuously and grinding my hard-on against his thigh. Talking into each other's mouths while the riders twirled around our necks and our shoulders, Wally asked, "Is that your cock?" "Mine and Rascal's." "You're Rascal's dad?" "His second dad, yeah. Lyle's the one who's getting measured though ... not me." "Do they HAVE instruments that'll measure something that big?" "Yeah ... they're most often referred to as a throat or an ass cunt." Jack pressed a fat sausage-like erection against my pubes. "So ... are you into three-ways? That's the only thing my son and I do. You know, never anyone on our own." "First rule of kindergarten ... learn to share ... so, yeah. I like three-ways." I felt Jack's leg trying to wrap around my back to find my right shoulder. I lowered it until I felt the back of his knee and then hoisted his leg up by raising my biceps up under Wally's armpits. "I think they're gonna make it," Wally said. "Even if they don't," I said quietly, "they'll have had fun working together as a team instead of father/son, older/younger, teacher/student ..." "Yeah, I guess you're right." "Rascal's a smart kid. I gotta give him credit for trying to expand peoples' perception of having a good time." "You really think he thought this up as a learning lesson?" "I'm sure of it. Rascal doesn't do anything without it having a beneficial purpose." "Maybe I should get to know HIM better, too," Wally said, hunching his cock into my abdomen again. "He needs a social secretary but I'm pretty sure he could find time for two more." "We have a winner!" Rascal shouted. Our riders fell backward into the water simultaneously. They swam around to hug each other, tenderly, and after a soulful kiss, they patted us on the back. "Thanks, guys, we couldn't have done it without you," Jack said. "We won?" I asked surprised. "I know I did," Wally said, reaching underwater to grip my cock. "Okay, guys, are you ready for some more fun?" Ryan called out. "Yeah!" the younger half of the crowd shouted, still in a fever pitch from the last game. "Give us fifteen minutes," I called to Ryan. "Okay," Ryan shouted. "Those of you who weren't involved in the chicken fight or the Sit and Spin can still join the next game, so get your asses in the water. After that, we'll break for lunch. Naturally, a dozen or so chose not to jump in the pool to join in but I figured, 'What the hell, we'll need a cheering section anyway.' to be continued. Thanks for continuing to read Rascal. Keep in touch with me at zestful@myexcel.com