Date: Sat, 20 Feb 2010 17:07:37 -0500
From: tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: "School Fundraiser"

			     SCHOOL FUNDRAISER
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

     I screwed up my courage and went and knocked on Mr. Grayson's door. He
wasn't my first choice on selling door-to-door, but he was the only one
home just yet. He worked nights, so he'd be home now.
     I knocked on the door. Nothing. Then a second time. That got me a
"Yeah? Who the hell is it?"
     "It's Frank Jobeson, Jr." I called back.
     "Frank who?"
     I moaned. The problem with being a junior is that for the first two
decades of your life, you can forget about owning your own name! Instead,
you get a nickname whether you like it or not, even the rather dumb one I
had lived with all my life.
     "It's Funky!" I called out. Yeah, I know, but I was two when they gave
me the nickname and didn't have any say in it. According to my aunts, it
stemmed from my attempts to say the name "Franky" rather than any dancing
ability. "Funky Joe." That had come a bit later, a shortening of my last
name adding to a distorted first name. The sole benefit of this name is
that at least everyone knew it was me when they heard it.
     "Funky Joe?" Mr. Grayson sounded mad. "What is it?"
     "I'm raising money for a school field trip." I called. "Can I come in
and tell you about it?"
     A short silence. "Ah, hell!" Mr. Grayson griped. "All right, give me a
minute."
     "All right." This wasn't going well, I must have woke him up after
all. It was nearly four in the afternoon, I figured he'd be awake by now
since I'd see him coming home at seven in the morning when I was eating my
breakfast.
     Another pause.
     "Are you alone?"
     "Yes, sir." I said. You're not supposed to go out without an adult, I
know, but this neighborhood was pretty nice and I knew everyone. And I was
at an age where I didn't want an adult hanging on me every minute.
     "Good. I can't find my damned pants." More sounds and then the door
opened.
     Mr. Grayson was there and wearing a rather short, white bathrobe,
below which were some surprisingly hairy legs, same as his chest which I
could see at the "V" of the neck. A shock of disarranged black hair on top,
a thick mustache and smaller beard below a pair of brightly blue eyes, his
lips curled up. "Seeing it's just you, come on in." he said.
     "Thank you, sir." I held my colored flyer in front of me like a shield
as I walked in.
     His living room held a large couch and nothing else to sit on. I sat
on it and he sat beside me. His bathrobe was kind of small on him, and it
gaped open quite a bit and I stared at his hairy inner thighs in interest.
     "What have you got?" he asked me.
     "Uh, we have candles, sir, we're selling, my class, that is, selling
to raise money to go on a field trip in March."
     Mr. Grayson rolled his eyes. "Candles? Nothing else."
     "Uh, no sir." I said. "Not this time, I mean. We'll probably sell
other things a bit later, maybe." My big problem with selling these candles
is the women of the neighborhood all had this kind of club going. One of
the girls in the class, Sylvia Carter, intended to hit them all at their
meeting right after school today (it was going on now, that is), so my
chances of selling even a few candles was to talk to the men in the
neighborhood. And the sooner the better, which was why I had struck out
alone after school this first day.
     "Okay, let me see it." he said.
     I was supposed to show him the set in the middle, a real candelabra of
five candles that spelled out "PEACE" when you stuck them side-by-side,
each candle a different color. It DID look nice, assuming you like candles,
that is. But he took the flyer from me and settled back to thumb through
the six page thing.
     As he settled back, his robe opened even further. Mr. Grayson wasn't
wearing any underwear! I mean, I could see his thing!
     "How big is this one?" Mr. Grayson asked me.
     "Huh?" I looked up from his crotch.
     "How big is this blue one?"
     I looked at the flyer. "Oh, it's about..." I don't know why they
didn't give sizes in the book, but they didn't. And they'd given us this
talk about don't say a number like "six inches" which was the height of
that candle he was pointing at, point at something they had and say "it's
this big." And then, and only then, give them the inch measurement
according to the little number they had which included the candle sizes
once you knew the trick.
     But I could only see one thing in Mr. Grayson's house that was the
size of that candle, and I just blurted it out. "It's the same size as your
wiener."
     "Huh?" Mr. Grayson looked down. "Oh. Sorry." He reached to adjust the
bathrobe, but it didn't give much.
     "It's okay." I said. "I've seen wieners before." None as big as his,
but I didn't say that, just the ones in the school shower after gym class.
     He grinned. "I guess you have."
     "Yeah, that candle is the size of your wiener. Six inches." And I
stopped because my object of comparison was rising and swelling and now was
bigger than the candle I had been showing him in the flyer. Sticking up
right into the air like a cobra rising out of the fakir's wicker basket.
     Mr. Grayson saw it and reached again to tug at his bathrobe, but again
it failed and before he could do it again, I had reached over and caught
hold of it. "Uh!" he gasped when my little hand wrapped around it.
     "It's okay, Mr. Grayson." I said to him. "My friends and I have this
happen to us, when we have sleepovers. I know what to do." Honest, my
nightly sexual explorations and general ignorance of sex beyond such
explorations had given me a cockeyed view of the world (uh, I meant that
joke). "When it gets like this, you have to kind of stroke it, like this."
and I began to pump his prick up and down.
     "Uh! Guh!" Mr. Grayson moaned. "Funky Joe, what are you doing?"
     "Pumping your wiener." I said. "Don't worry, it feels better in a
little bit when you do this."
     "Feels good now." Mr. Grayson stopped his rather ineffectual and
half-hearted attempts to take my hand off his cock and just sort of laid
back. His prick was at full size now.
     "This is a lot bigger than the candle, Mr. Grayson." I said as I
stroked his pud up and down with long, sure strokes. I'd had quite a bit of
practice with my friends by now, nights and sometimes in afternoon behind
the bushes or up in a treehouse.
     "Oh, God, that feels so good!" Mr. Grayson moaned. "Your sweet little
boy hand on my dong, pumping it, oh, God, yeah!"
     I saw the clear fluid coming out of the slit and I remembered that
when Todd had that coming out, he urged me to taste it for him. He had been
eleven and older than me and I had tasted it, all salty and gooey. It had
only been that one time (Todd's family moved away soon after that, nothing
to do with me tasting Todd's dick), and I wondered if Mr. Grayson's tasted
the same.
     So I leaned over and put my face close to Mr. Grayson's cock. He saw
me and said, "Are you going to suck my dick, Funky Joe?"
     I put my lips on his cockhead and licked that sticky stuff and when I
did, Mr. Grayson's hands came down on my head and caught hold and he began
to cram his cock into my mouth and down my throat.
     "Come on, Funky Joe, suck my cock, suck it good, baby!" he panted. His
hands moved my head up and down. I held onto his prick with my lips as best
I could, pulling my teeth back when they scraped his shaft a little once,
and Mr. Grayson moaned and groaned like crazy. I'd seen Bobby Slezak groan
like that once when I was playing with his dick, and I knew that he was
feeling extra good just now.
     I began to bob my own head up and down. I figured that would work a
lot like my hand, and Mr. Grayson was liking it. A lot.
     "Oh, oh, yeah, baby, God, such a sweet hot little mouth, God, oh, I'm
going to come, Funky Joe, I'm going to shoot!"
     Shoot? I'd only seen that once, and that was with Todd, too. He had
squirted a small amount of white stuff out of his dick. I hadn't gotten a
chance to taste that, because he had grabbed the tail of his shirt and
wiped it away when he was done, but I knew what Mr. Grayson was about to
do. Or so I thought.
     "Can I shoot in your mouth, Funky Joe, can I come in your mouth?"
     "Mm-hmm!" I murmured my agreement and Mr. Grayson groaned, he bucked
and thrashed under me and suddenly my mouth was getting a heck of a lot of
hot, salty fluid being squirted in it. And Mr. Grayson was moaning like
crazy!
     Hot stuff, this white goo squirting out of Mr. Grayson's dick, and I
had a mouthful and I gulped it down hard. More goo squirted in and I drank
at it, too. Oh, man, this was good! I loved the flavor of it, it was
like...it was like drinking down a grown-up man in liquid form. I drank his
spunk as quick as he shot it out and even when he was done, panting and
slack under me, I kept on sucking at his wiener, trying to siphon out the
last dregs of that marvelous stuff.
     "Oh, God, baby, Funky Joe, God, baby!" Mr. Grayson groaned
feebly. "You are one hot little cocksucker, baby, hot little cocksucker."
     "I am?" I was pleased. "You liked that, really?"
     "Oh, yeah, oh, yeah!" he moaned. "Shit, if my wife sucked like that,
I'd never have left her." Mr. Grayson was recently divorced, I knew.
     "I don't see why she wouldn't." I said, sitting up and wiping my
mouth. "That was good."
     "Hooh!" Mr. Grayson sat up.
     "So, can I interest you in buying a candle or two from me?"
     "Uh?"
     "If you want to think it over, I can come back." I said.
     "Oh!" Mr. Grayson got very interested. "Yeah, put me down for that
blue one and another in the red. And...." He looked at me, a grin on his
face. "Come back tomorrow and we'll look at candles some more."
     "Bigger ones than that." I caught his meaning. "Okay, I'll do that."
     I wrote him on the order form on the back and walked out
triumphantly. My first customer and my first sale!
     Hey, there was Mr. Dover in his garage, working on his car. I could
see his legs sticking out from under it, he had the car up on blocks and he
was at the back of the garage. I walked over.
     "Hello, Mr. Dover." I said as I looked down at his legs. He was
wearing a sort of oil-stained jumpsuit (he worked at an auto repair garage
some distance away) so I was looking at loose cloth over a nice, firm body.
     "Who is it?"
     "Funky Joe." I didn't bother with my actual name this time. "We're
selling candles in my school to raise money for a field trip. Could I show
them to you?" I squatted down beside him.
     "I'm kind of busy."
     My experience with Mr. Grayson had emboldened me. Grown-ups like to
have their cocks worked as much as little boys, I had decided. "We got some
nice ones." I said. "Some of them are as big as this." And I reached down
and caught hold of his cock.
     "Huh? Uh? Guh?" Mr. Dover gasped.
     I recognized those sounds. "Some of the ones we got are the same size
as your dick when you get nice and hard. Let me show you what I mean." Now
I had felt out his prick, he had boxers on underneath the jumpsuit so it
was moving about freely in there. Ah, there's the zipper. I started pulling
it down and Mr. Dover was squirming. Trying to get out from under the car!
     I had it unzipped by the time he managed that, though I had to kind of
squat-walk along with him as he slipped out. He got out and stood up, and I
was on one knee by then, and I reached up and found his cock again. Hard as
Mr. Grayson's.
     "My God, Funky Joe, are you crazy?" Mr. Dover asked me. He was on the
short side but broader than usual, too, and he could lift up a Volkswagen
Bug car all by himself; I'd seen him do it once, just for sport. Dark brown
hair and deep brown eyes, skin tanned from hours in the sun working on
cars. His body under the jumpsuit was several shades lighter, I knew.
     "Nuh-uh!" I said. "I want to show you how big my candles are." Except
for this protest, Mr. Dover wasn't trying to stop me, so I reached into his
open fly and started feeling around.
     Mr. Dover leaned back against the side of his car. Ahh, there it was!
I wrapped my hand around it and pulled it out. Mr. Dover's dick was about
the same size as Mr. Grayson's, but different. Instead of bending upwards,
it bent downwards, was more oval and had a long skin that made a little
hole at the top instead of showing me the head. I'd seen this on some of my
friends so I knew what it mean, they hadn't clipped this off of Mr. Dover
when he was a baby like that had me and Mr. Grayson.
     I gave his cock a few more pumps and he moaned softly, and I said,
"Now let me show you the rest of it." And I reached up and I scarfed down
Mr. Dover's prick.
     Mr. Dover yelped like I'd stuck him with a pin, but then he let out a
groan that told me I hadn't hurt him at all, just startled him.
     "Good God, Funky Joe, where'd you learn this?"
     I let go long enough to answer. "From Mr. Grayson just now. I showed
him my candles and then I did this to him. He bought two today, and I'm
going to go back tomorrow and he'll look at some more." And I sucked
Mr. Dover back down. Now his cock was churning out that sticky fluid like
Mr. Grayson's, but Mr. Dover's wasn't quite as sweet and had a slight taste
of oil, kind of, not motor oil, but the cooking oil your mom fries chicken
in. Just as good, but different. "Mmmh!" I murmured as I sucked on
Mr. Dover's dick. I was having a real feast here!
     Mr. Dover clenched his hands on his car's fender, gripping tight while
I nursed his prong. "Oh, God, Funky Joe, oh, God!" he groaned just like
Mr. Grayson had. "Oh, God, ohgod, ohgod, oh, oh, AH, AH, AH, AH!"
     I knew Mr. Dover was about to squirt so I shoved his dick deeper into
my mouth and I sucked on him even harder. More, I wanted more of that hot
goo that Mr. Grayson had shot, and I was going to get some from Mr. Dover
now!
     "AH, I'M COMING, I'M COMING, AH-AH-AH-AH, AH-HAHHHH!" he moaned and I
felt the hot splatters of goo landing on my tongue. Thicker and more
clumped up than Mr. Grayson's, it was harder to swallow. And he squirted a
lot of it, I had to finally turn loose of him and he shot the last two wads
of that stuff right onto my face as I caught my breath. I dove back onto
his pud and I sucked the last little dots of jizz from his prick while he
panted hard and one hand rose up and a finger landed in his puddle of stuff
on my cheek and he smeared it around while he crooned in soft syllables,
"Such a good boy, Funky Joe, so good. Oh, yeah, so good!" All said as soft
as a whisper.
     I stood up and Mr. Dover reached for the other squib on my forehead
and he stroked his finger back and forth, smearing it like a stripe on my
forehead. "Ah, ah, ahhhh!" he sighed.
     "So, Mr. Dover, can I show you my candles now?" I said. "Now you see
how big they are?"
     Mr. Dover laughed and nodded, and I showed him and he signed up for
three of the smaller candles. "And can I think about it some more?" he
said.
     "Sure, Mr. Dover, I'll come back tomorrow, right after Mr. Grayson."
     "I'll be inside." Mr. Dover said. "Waiting for you. My wife will be
out."
     "Cool." I said.
     There was Mr. Bennison pulling into his driveway. A busy businessman,
his hours were erratic, he'd be gone for days at a time, and show up like
this. His wife also worked and had an equally weird schedule.
     "Mr. Bennison." I said as I ran over to him.
     "Funky Joe." he smiled at me. Mr. Bennison was tall, thin,
blond-haired and looked like those models you see in magazines.
     "I'm selling candles for a school field-trip." I said. "Can I come in
and show them to you?"
     Mr. Bennison's lip turned in a gesture I recognized. He didn't want
candles, but would buy some as a gesture of public spirit. "Sure, come on
in."
     I didn't waste time. Soon as the front door was closed, I grabbed his
crotch and said, "We got candles this size. Take it out and I'll show you
what I mean."
     He watched my hand, mouth open and silent, as I unzipped his
pants. When I got my hand in, and latched onto his prick. He gaped like a
fish out of water (wah-wah-wah-wah), and said, "God, yeah. Let's go to the
bedroom."
     "Sure." I agreed.
     He laid back on the bed, still wearing his business suit, and I got
his cock out and I knelt on the floor and sucked him like that. He was
quiet, just soft grunts escaping his lips as I nursed on his prick, but it
was white-colored, slim and warm, so warm, and I slurped it until it
blasted hot jizz into my mouth.
     As he panted, I said, "Let me show you the candles, you can buy a
couple now and I'll come back tomorrow and you can look at some more."
     Mr. Bennison signed up for the big "PEACE" candle set, and I beamed.
     "I'll be here tomorrow afternoon, when you're off school." He
concluded. "I'm home the next several days."
     "We'll be selling candles all this week and next week." I said. "After
that, we'll have more stuff to sell, probably."
     "I'll be a regular customer." he promised.
     By now some of the other men were getting home. The women's meeting
ran into the evening, so some of them were toting bags of hamburgers along
with them, figuring on a quiet evening home alone.
     But they didn't mind the company.
     Mr. Peters moaned about how wrong this was and we shouldn't do it, but
when I attempted to stop, he grabbed me and made me suck him harder.
     Mr. Waterford pulled out at the last second and creamed all over my
face and shirt, while he moaned about "sweet young boys" over and over.
     Mr. James chuckled richly the entire time I slurped on his ten-inch
pud, commenting how he hadn't been able to get his wife to work it like I
was even once and this was nice, damned nice, heh-heh-heh-heh-heh. He had
ordered pizza and I had supper with him after calling Mom and getting
permission.
     Mr. Carter, Mr. Winfield, Mr. Baum, Mr. Asher, Mr. Morrison and
Mr. Grieves. All of them bought candles and wanted me to come back so they
could buy more.
     By the end of that following week, it was time for us to show what
we'd sold to the class. A lot of the guys murmured that they had sold four
candles, six candles, "Grandma bought three", and so on.
     Sylvia Carter stood up. "I sold forty-seven candles." she announced
proudly.
     "I think that's a school record." the teacher agreed. "Frank?"
     "Yeah, Funky Joe, how'd you do?" Sylvia sneered at me. She didn't like
me. The feeling was very mutual. "Sell more than two?"
     "I sold sixty-three." I said. "In fact, I sold six candles to your
father."
     The look on her face was worth a lot, especially when the teacher
looked at my order list and confirmed it.
     "All right, class, we all did well and this Thursday, we'll have a
representative come by showing us a new line so we can sell even more." The
teacher concluded. "Class dismissed."
     "I'll beat you the next time." Sylvia vowed as we left.
     "I don't think so." I said. "I've got a special selling technique, and
I use it to blow my customers away."

				  THE END
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