Date: Sun, 14 Jun 2015 13:01:05 +0000 (UTC) From: John Sexton Subject: shattered-ceiling-falling-sky-02 Author: John Sexton Love your feedback via: sexton1980@yahoo.com.au Please donate, to keep Nifty alive! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Mb Mbb MMMtbb MMMbbb =============================================== "Jesse ... Jesse! ... Jesse!!" The sound echoed from the black depths of my mind. I refused to open my eyes; I turned, slowly and reluctantly, from the best and most realistic dream I could ever remember. It had been so real that it had been unreal! My annoyance turned to bitter resentment, as I realised that I had just been ripped out of the most erotic, the hottest, the most indescribable... "JESSE MORGAN!!" my mother's voice was no longer a distant, gentle wakeup call from the hallway; a shrill demand for my attention now jarred me into consciousness, as she yelled at me from the bedroom doorway. "Whaaaatt!" I groaned indignantly into my pillow, as I rolled over onto my stomach and angrily pushed my painfully hard erection into the mattress, exacerbating my frustration exponentially. The only plus was that I'd been ripped from my erotic fantasy before I'd spunked all over my sheets. I didn't think my aunty would be impressed with me soiling her clean sheets with a wet dream on my first night in the bed. "Don't you `what' me, young man! You might be twelve, but you're not too old for me to put you across my knee!" "I'd like to see you try!" was the reply that never crossed my lips. I was not a complete idiot; besides, neither Mum nor Dad had given me as much as a smack for ages, not since I'd run across the highway without looking and was nearly creamed by a semi, when I was about six, I think. Basically I was a good kid, but I was spoiled rotten, and I still loved to push the boundaries. Even so, I knew my limits, so I basically resorted to whining and pleading for mercy. "Jeeze, Mum, it's nearly the last day before filming begins... for Christ's sake! Can't a guy have—" "Jesse Morgan! Watch your tongue!" "I will if you hand me the mirror on the dresser." "I'm not in the mood for any of your cheek, Jesse Morgan! It's almost nine already; I don't know how you think you're going to cope with a five-thirty call every morning for the next sixteen weeks, young man!" "Exactly! This is almost the last chance I'm gunna have to sleep in for four whole months. Cut a guy some slack will ya?" "Sometimes I don't know where you come from, Jesse, we certainly never raised you to behave like this!" "Yeah, right! Can I go back to sleep now, Mum?" "You'd better not behave like this when I'm not here. Aunty Jane is letting you stay here out of the goodness of her heart. So I'd better not find out that you're giving her any of your lip, or you'll be on the first plane back to Nambucca Heads, before your movie career gets off the ground." "Ha! That's funny," I cried, as I turned my head to look at my mother, but she clearly did not see the humour. "Plane?... take-off?... off the ground?..." but my elucidation didn't cut any ice. It was time to cut and run... "Sorry, Mum, I'll be good, I promise. I do appreciate what Aunty Jane is doing for me." "I know you do," she replied more agreeably. "We're going into the city for lunch and some shopping. I want you ready to leave for the airport when we get back around four. Assuming you intend to see your mother off at the terminal?" "Of course, wouldn't miss it for quids!" I joked, then I looked up at my mother seriously, "I really appreciate all you and Dad are doing for me too, Mum. You know that... right?" "Of course I do," she cooed, as she bent down to kiss me on the cheek. "Aw, gross!" I whined and wiped my cheek in mock disgust. "You're impossible," she chastised me with a laugh, "don't stay in bed all day, OK?" "OK, Mum... bye Aunty Jane!" I yelled towards the hallway. "Bye, Rip!" came the distant reply. "Tell her I said `har, har! Very funny!'" I pushed my face back into my pillow, and tried to relax, hoping that I could emulate Van Winkle and fall back into the bliss that had been shattered. But as I heard the garage door grinding open, and the revving of my aunt's car, followed by it backing down the driveway, past the bedroom window, I knew that I was not going to be able to recapture the rapture. The top sheet twisted around my lower body, as I tossed restlessly on the bed, leaving my trim upper-torso fully exposed to the warm, mid-November breeze that wafted across the room. It was only just past nine and the temperature was already in the high twenties; this was going to be one stinking-hot summer; it was still autumn, for fuck's sake! I hated the hustle and bustle of Sydney, and I knew I was going to miss the surf back home, especially the fact that I was going to be here the whole of summer. Nambucca was a tranquil paradise, while the big city was a nightmare. At least Aunty Jane's place was sixteen kilometres from the city. The only other consolation was that I was right on the beachfront down here as well, even if I was hardly going to hit the surf over the next four months. Above the traffic noise, coming from Pacific Parade, I could hear the waves breaking; the surf was up. If I sat up I could see the tankers way out on the horizon, waiting to enter Port Botany to the south. I wondered if I should give the shops a miss, until as late as possible, then I could take advantage of the air-conditioned mall, when the temperature would hit the predicted high-thirties. Should I just hit the beach instead? But right then I had bigger fish to fry. I reached down and gripped my still-raging, morning boner and groaned loud enough to be heard over the traffic and the surf. "Fuck!" I cursed: "gone already!" ... I wasn't able to recall a single detail of what I had been dreaming. But my throbbing cock was proof-positive that, whatever it was, it had been hot! Worse still, the idea of resuming the eroticism was not even a remote possibility any more. The only certainty was that I had been enjoying sex and it had been with a boy... or was that boys? But any identities were a total mystery. What I really wanted, was to be able to dream about that man from the Easter Show; but I never could, and I never did, no matter how hard I tried. I figured that maybe I was trying too hard... thinking too much about it over the last seven months. I jumped up out of bed, my stiff cock poking up over the top of my AussieBum briefs. I squeezed it, then slowly squeezed harder, as I scrunched up the foreskin, until that now-familiar, clear liquid squeezed out of the end of the folds of loose skin. Smearing the sticky fluid onto the tip of my index finger, I brought it up to my face and squeezed it between my thumb and finger, in awe of the viscosity, as it strung between the digits when I separated them slowly. I couldn't resist the urge to swiped it greedily across my tongue. The sweet-salty taste caught me by surprise, and made me shiver, though I'd done it almost every day since the Easter holidays. I quickly sucked both finger and thumb into my mouth, and savoured my own secretion. I laughed at what I'd just done. But the pain from my bladder began to remind me of the other reason I was so hard. I sauntered into the bathroom, transferring as much of the delicious nectar from my leaking piss slit to my mouth on the way. After savouring the last trace of my liquid gold, I reluctantly turned my attention to brushing my teeth, hoping that the distraction would allow my aching cock to deflate, at least enough for me to be able to take a piss. With the discomfort of my distended bladder resolved, I began to massage my flagging joy stick, as I wandered back to my room. I remembered Toby, the man at the Easter Show, and I refocussed on the other reason why I'd just hopped out of bed. I sauntered over to my suitcase, which I still had to unpack. It was sitting on top of the desk that Aunty Jane had kindly bought for me, to do my homework on for the duration of my stay. I rummaged through the layers of clothes and retrieved a small, metal cash box that Dad had given to me, a few months back, when he had installed a fireproof safe in his office. I tumbled the combination lock and opened the small, black box, then smiled at the tiny business card that sat atop my stash of secret possessions. Fishman's Aquarium Toby Fishman, Owner Mobile: 0412 275 332 I still find the nominative determinism in play there hilarious, but not as funny as Aunty Jane's dentist, Phil McAvity, with Mum's gynaecologist, Wendy Dew, a little less obvious. I scanned the card, then closed my eyes and swooned, as I recalled my very first sexual experience with a man, earlier that year at Sydney Olympic Park ... =============================================== We'd come down to Sydney for a week, and we were staying at Aunty Jane's. I had just been hired, after auditioning to star in an ad for a new brand of breakfast cereal. It was my first professional gig and I was thrilled to be taking my initial step towards a serious acting career. The two day shoot, on Easter Tuesday and Wednesday, was a wrap, and Mum, Dad and Aunty Jane had decided to celebrate my success with a visit to the Easter Show, which was the State's annual agricultural fair. The crowd was huge, and I was having a ball. I was standing in a long queue for the newest attraction at the Show, the "Wild Roo." I had already conned the three adults into going on the ride when we'd first arrived. But, as they alighted, they all vowed they'd never get on the horror contraption again. A few hours later I had convinced Mum to let me have another go on the ride. I suppose the key to my success was the fact that they were all exhausted and welcomed the chance to ease back over a coffee, just across from the ride, at the end of Sideshow Alley. They'd settled in for a long relaxing wait, as I had bought several tickets. The queue had progressed half way up the stairway, when a family up ahead decided to abandon the long wait; I think one of their kids had to go to the toilet. As they lumbered down the stairs, the man waiting in line next to me was forced to move towards me. It was a warm Easter Saturday. I was only wearing a sky blue t-shirt, a pair of Speedo's [standard underwear for a beach-boy like me] a pair of loose-fitting nylon football shorts, runners and ankle socks. As our bodies came into close contact, the man's thigh brushed against my groin. In that instant, I looked up into the man's eyes, then we both looked down at my groin, then up again, in unison. When our eyes locked for the second time, I became immediately self-conscious, and nervously returned the man's smile. I was only eleven, at the time, and I was barely at eye-level with the man's chest. But my cock was way ahead of the rest of me and was already fifteen centimetres long and pretty thick. I was a "shower," so the bulge in my shorts was pretty obvious even when I was soft. Puberty had crept up on me overnight, or so it seemed. When the summer holidays had begun, at the beginning of December, I was like every other kid in my class, with a hairless cock no bigger than my middle finger, above two peanut sized nuts in a shrivelled sack of skin. But over the eight weeks of holidays everything had sort of exploded out of nowhere. By early February I had returned to start a new school year, with a new cock and a set of balls that were starting to spew out baby makers. Two weeks later I had my first wet dream. At the end of that month, after a lot of heavy masturbation, I had finally shot my first load, in a cubicle at the school toilets. For the next six weeks I had pumped out an average of three or four loads a day. I just could not leave myself alone. So there I was, in the middle of April, on the stairs to the "Wild Roo," locked in a sensual gaze with a man as old as my dad. My cock was now as hard as a rock, straining against the taught nylon of my Speedos, but in my mind's eye the swelling was obvious, even though my footy shorts were fairly loose in the legs. Then, as the rest of the family caught up with the whining girl and her mother, the man leaned in against me once again, but more slowly and certainly more deliberately. I shocked myself, when I responded more instinctively than consciously and pushed my bulging groin up hard against the man's leg, in an equally deliberate response. We exchanged another look, and an understanding passed between us. We did not speak, but as we made our way slowly up the long stairway, the man `accidentally' let his hand brush across my groin more than once, and each time I pushed back a little harder and for a longer time. The bulge of my now-achingly-hard cock was, thankfully, channelled by the smooth nylon swimwear towards my hip and hugged close to my groin; while, equally fortunately, the looseness of my football shorts prevented my swelling weapon from being an obvious source of embarrassment to anyone other than the man. When we were finally standing on the platform, waiting for the next ride, the man almost whispered, "you been on this ride before?" I replied almost as quietly, "Yeh, but I can't wait to go again... Mum and Dad hated it, they're having coffee with my aunt while they sit this one out," I smiled salaciously. "Ah," the man replied enthusiastically, "so you're taking this ride on your own, then?" "Yeah," I smiled coyly. "So am I," the man smiled as he leaned in close, and brushed his hand against my throbbing groin suggestively, "you can share the carriage with me, if you want." "Sure," I replied enthusiastically, suddenly realising why we'd been whispering. Fortunately we were at the head of the queue, once the previous carriage had left the platform. So, as soon as the next ride pulled up, and the barrier opened, the man led me by the hand, to the end of the platform, where we jumped into the very last car. We'd no sooner rolled away and begun the steep climb to start the wild ride, when the man's hands were on my shorts and Speedos. Before I knew it, my cock was poking out of the wide leg opening of my shorts, and wrapt in the man's warm hand, my soft hairless balls dangling over the edge of my seat. "Fuck, your cock is beautiful!" the man screamed in my ear, over the roar of the wheels on the tracks, as our carriage lunged violently from side to side and up and down. "How old are you?" the man roared again. "Eleven," I screamed into his ear. "Shit! You look it," the man cried in awe, "but that cock is unbelievable! It would look big on a sixteen-year-old! But on you... it looks... brrr!!" That observation caused me to blush. I knew I was big... duhh! That was obvious, I'd been told so often enough down at the beach, over the last three months or more, so much so that I'd started wearing my footy shorts over my Speedo's, except when competing in a surf race or just catching a wave. But no-one had ever expressed it quite like that, before. The man shivered visibly, then reached down and squeezed my smooth, hairless scrotum, and rolled my grape sized nuts gently in their sack. Then he reached up and once again squeezed my enormous appendage tightly. In fact he squeezed so hard that I went suddenly dizzy and almost passed out from the sudden change in my blood pressure. But I quickly recovered as our car lurched one way then the other. I was in sensory overload; the last time anyone had touched my cock or balls I was seven years old. I gripped the car's safety rail for grim death, and was wondering how the man wasn't being flung out of our carriage while both his hands were busy rolling my soft foreskin back and forth over my precum-slicked glans. But that was all that he had time to do, because, just as we arrived back at the platform, the man had already stuffed my throbbing cock back in to my Speedos, and tugged the hem of my shorts for me. I was devastated it had ended all too soon! "Want to go again?" the man asked, as he retrieved two more tickets from his wallet, and waved them at me. "Sure, I'd like that!" I replied, wide eyed and excited. "Good." We stayed seated in the end carriage, and the man handed the tickets to the collector. This time, as we began to roll away from the platform, I reached down and released my throbbing cock from its nylon restraint, myself. "No!," cried the man quite firmly, "you hang on tight; I don't want anything happening to you!" Then he smiled, as he reached over with both hands and started to massage my silky-smooth testicles. I was in heaven as he kept massaging my balls with one hand and used the thumb and index of his other to smear more of my copious secretions across the bulbous head of my young cock. This was so far beyond anything my recently acquired self-abuse skills had been able to engender. "I've never seem so much pre-cum from a kid your age!" the man screamed, as we lurched into a sudden change of direction. "How long have you been able to cum?" "About six weeks," I answered proudly, "I'll be twelve in July." "Amazing! Beautiful!" was all the man was able to reply. I was sure that I was about to cum, just as the man stuffed my cock back into my Speedos, and our second ride came to an all too abrupt end. But my frustration was quickly replaced with a wicked smile, when the man pulled another two tickets from his shirt pocket. Neither of us said anything, since my eager nodding rendered that unnecessary. "Last ones," the man smiled sadly, as he handed the tickets to the collector. "I bought an extra two of my own," I cried triumphantly and smiled devilishly, as I pulled two tickets out of the tiny breast-pocket of my t-shirt. The man squeezed my groin through its nylon enclosure, then trailed his nails down the length of my throbbing cock, as the guard moved towards the forward carriages. "Oh, god, your cock is so beautiful," the man crooned into my ear, as the carriage began to rattle in earnest. He stuck his tongue into my ear, and I thought I was going to faint, then he reached up and slipped something into my shirt pocket. I shuddered with a mixture of shock and excitement, as my cock was again wrapped in the man's hungry hands for the third time. "What was that?" I asked. "My business card," the man replied and licked my ear again, as we jerked into another sharp bend. "Give me a ring before you go back to school, and I'll pick you up, and take you home to meet my boys. They'd all love to suck that cock of yours." I didn't make any reply, for a multitude of reasons. I was still in total shock. The man licked my ear on exiting another bend, as he pumped furiously on my throbbing cock. "You're so fucking big! How old did you say you were?" he asked in disbelief. "Eleven," I yelled over the thundering carriages. "Fuck me dead! You're just so fucking BIG!... it's unbelievable!" He licked my ear again, sending another shiver down my spine, as he poked the wet tip right into my ear hole, and twisted it. "So fucking BIG!..." the man gushed, "I'm in Heaven!" I laughed, and I was sure I was going to come this time, but again the ride was ending, and the man had already put my monster cock away for the third time. Eagerly I pulled the tickets from my own pocket, then grinned and waved them enthusiastically. "This really is the last one, then," the man said with a wicked smile, which I reciprocated with equal relish, before we set off again. We'd only reached the third bend in the ride, when the man turned my head towards him, and swallowed my virgin mouth in a wet kiss. By the fourth bend his tongue was wrestling with mine and, when we flew into the first big dip in the ride, I shot my load all over the inside of the carriage. "Shit!" I cried, as we withdrew from the kiss, and the ride flew into the loop-the-loop. "That was brilliant," cried the man, "fucking brilliant!" "How many boys have you got?" I asked in awe, as the man licked my spunk from his own fingers. "Three," was the answer, "one's about your age. He'd just love this," the man smiled as he squeezed the last of my spunk from my cock. He licked his fingers clean again, then tucked my flagging cock back into my Speedos for the last time. "Don't let your parents see the card," the man warned me, "and if anyone does see it, just say you found it somewhere. Give me a ring, before school goes back, if you want a fun time, okay?" I nodded and smiled, as we alighted from the carriage, then the man walked down the steps and into the crowd, as if he'd never seen me before in his life. =============================================== As I relived my sexual encounter, last Easter, with the handsome Tony Fishman, I sighed and stared down at my aching erection, which was now harder than ever. I flopped back on my bed, and gave my throbbing cock an aggressive squeeze and slowly slid my thin, silky-smooth foreskin over and back across the bulbous head. The reverse side of the business card had a slight ridge, that was barely detectable to my soft, smooth finger tips, but it was enough to distract me from my reverie. I raised the card and inspected it closely. Then I laughed aloud when I spied the dried stain on the back. It was my own spunk. I remembered that I had stuffed the card into my Speedo's, for safe keeping, as I'd made my way back to my parents, from the "Wild Roo," because I'd worried that it was too obvious in my t-shirt's thin pocket. When my cock had shrivelled back to its latent state, it must have oozed the remnants of my spunk onto the reverse side of the card, and I'd never noticed until just then. Of course I had never rung him, because we had returned to Nambucca the next Monday, just two days later, and the Easter holidays were all but gone. But there were two other reasons why I had not made contact... I was scared and I was scarred. Scared of the huge risk I would be taking, and scarred by years of trauma at the hands of my parents and a host of other prurient busybodies, who all thought that they had the right to tell me what I could do with my own body. As if!!! I was angry that I had been made to feel guilty and ashamed of what I had done with Toby. But that was not a new experience, it was a self-loathing and a disgrace that had scarred me from the tender age of seven; something that no boy should ever have to endure. It was psychological baggage that warped me as a person right through puberty, until I finally broke the shackles and declared my independence via that explosive performance against that bitch Charlotte Jones. Unfortunately, neither freedom nor victory came with that bold move that night in LA. That was merely my Declaration of Independence. The real fight would follow. So then, for seven years I had been taught to loathe and fear myself, and for the next seven years I would gradually overcome the damage done to my spirit and my ego, to emerge, at twenty-one, with my head held high, and the ability to love my true self. But that was still nine years away and, as I lay on what was to become my bed for virtually the next two years of my life, my twelve year old self contemplated who I was and who I wanted to be, while I feared what I might become. Just as I had learned to do over and over again, ever since I was seven, I allowed my hormones to temporarily sublimate my fear and self-loathing, for the brief duration of my sexual arousal, and gave myself over to my young cock and the inner self so long denied. I threw my head back onto my soft pillow, and spread the leaking precum over my smooth, tanned stomach, just above my navel. I slid my briefs down my thighs, raised my slim hips off the bed, then lifted my equally smooth, tanned legs up towards my shoulders, exposing my hairless, untanned arse to the warm breeze. I lifted my head off the pillow, as I pulled the AussieBum briefs off my feet and flung them over the end of the bed and onto the floor with Gay abandon. Looking directly down my torso I could see my tight arsehole in the wardrobe mirror, at the end of my bed. It winked back at me, as I spread my firm young buttocks, a tight, remarkably clean, dark-pink starfish in a sea of white, translucent flesh. I loved what I saw, and I wished Toby and his three sons were standing at the end of the bed to worship it. I was tempted to get a soft-drink from the fridge, and pinch the baby oil from the bathroom. I had not fucked myself on an empty drink bottle for ages. But I was worried that Aunty Jane might notice the missing oil, I'd need a fair bit, and how was I going to dispose of the oily used bottle without raising suspicion? Besides, harsh experience told me, that as soon as I managed to cum, the dark ghouls of my psyche, would descend on me like death itself, and gnaw at my ego, devour my very soul, extinguish my arousal and self-adoration, leaving shame, despair and loathing in their place. But until that moment, I would forgo the fuck with an improvised dildo, and would stimulate my sexual alter ego, and wallow in the testosterone-induced passion for all that was me with a simple wank, for the time being. Now completely naked, I lay back on the bed and pushed my cock up from my stomach towards my feet, until it was stretched taut and my foreskin was fully retracted, almost painfully so. I marvelled at my massive cock, and how it had grown over the course of the last ten months. Toby had been right, it was beautiful, it was huge, and now, seven months later, it was even larger! I'd measured it only yesterday, in one of my all-too-brief and all-too-frequent bouts of self-abuse/self-adulation; I could hardly believe that it was eighteen centimetres long! I had remembered reading, somewhere, that the average man's cock was between five and six inches, so I was already a good inch more than that and I wasn't even in my teens yet. I scratched the golden thatch of thin wispy pubes that had only recently sprouted at the base of my cock. The other feature of my cock, apart from its rampant size, was the size and shape of its head. It was like a mushroom, and was almost half as thick, again, as the rest of the stalk, which was as straight as an arrow, and stood directly out from my groin. It sort of reminded me of those mushrooms that danced like little Chinese men in Disney's Fantasia, which was one of my favourite DVDs as a little kid; that was probably why! When my cock was fully engorged, my foreskin automatically retracted over the spongy head. It never bunched up behind the edge of the fat glans, but stretched out smoothly over the length of my cock, until it was almost impossible to tell if I was cut or not, the absence of any scar tissue being the only clue. I ran my thumb over the swollen glans and smeared the copious flow of my precum all over it. My eyes rolled back in my head [they still do when I do this] and I groaned lasciviously. I had loved playing with myself for years, basically since I was six, especially in bed at night. However, from the age of seven, until I discovered the art of proper masturbation [i.e. wanking] at the age of ten, it had been ritualistic and, oddly enough it had involved pain rather than pleasure! Every night, for nearly three years, I would grasp my tiny little balls between the finger and thumb of each hand and squeeze them until I could no longer stand the pain. I would repeat this process until I finally fell asleep! Such was the degree of my shame and self-loathing. This was the first of my many secrets, and it was the direct result of the abuse that had been visited upon me, on my seventh birthday, of all days! =============================================== That's when I'd been caught in bed with another boy, in broad daylight. Well, it had been almost nightfall, actually; that had been the problem. I'd not gone home, directly from school, as I had been expected to. The really weird thing was that, because it had been my birthday, my parents had called the police, convinced that I had to have been the victim of foul play. They could not imagine that anything would have delayed my punctual return from school on such a significant occasion. One of our classmates had told the cops that he'd seen me with the kid after school. The kid's parents hadn't even known I was in their house, at least not until the police showed up. When the cops came, the kid's parents swore no one was there. Then they found us in the kid's bed, naked! We had heard them coming down the hall, and I had been hiding under the kid's dooner when the door flew open. We might have avoided detection if I hadn't sneezed. That was when all hell broke loose and, from that point on, it became a nightmare. Scandal, tears, anger, hysteria, threats, swearing, anger, more threats... and all that was before I arrived home. Then the shit really hit the fan; first there had been relief, tears of that genre, then disappointment... and then, as the cops revealed the circumstances of my eventual discovery, horror, disbelief, disgust, further disbelief, embarrassment, shame, disassociation. The initial disappointment had been generated by the fact that it had been my birthday, and my parents and family had gathered to celebrate the event. Needless to say there was no party that night. But the real fireworks began as soon as the cops had gone. Their parting birthday present had been the revelation that I had been the one who had initiated the whole thing. I'd even suggested getting in the kid's bed naked. But worst of all was the fact that the kid was in kindergarten and was nearly two years younger than me! From there it had been shrinks, lawyers, priests, police and, finally, resolution – bitter resolution to be sure, but resolution, none the less. The final upshot was that my parents eventually decided that we had to move. So we did, from our home on the Gold Coast, in Queensland [another state] to Nambucca Heads. =============================================== The bottom line, then, was that, some five years later, I was well and truly in the closet. I was, to all intents and purposes, a twelve-year-old virgin and supposedly straight. Up until my encounter with Toby, the previous Easter, I'd had no sex with anyone, man or boy, even innocent slap and tickle! In the five years at Nambucca, my parents had managed to sublimate the Gold Coast incident, writing it off as a childhood aberration, a mere exercise in childish experimentation. But, in my sinister covert world, with puberty in full swing throughout my beautiful young body, with devastating results, I was a monster, a freak, a sick pervert with a horrible secret. For starters: I still couldn't keep my hands off myself! In fact it was worse than ever. Once I'd discovered how to wank, at the age of ten [thanks to the net] the ball-crushing self-abuse had given way, to frantic bouts of masturbation and self-adulation. My parents were fairly computer literate, but hardly technically savvy, and certainly no match for me. So my access was virtually unrestricted and net nanny, et al were a joke. Then there were the constant fantasies, waking and sleeping, that I had about other boys and men. But I was petrified through the fear of being outed. My parents had been suspicious of every boy I had befriended from my seventh birthday onwards. Well, maybe they weren't actually as paranoid as me. I was the one, after all, who harboured the thoughts and desires that haunted me all day, every day. I was the one who I expected to be suspected of deviant behaviour, because I was guilty of wanting that, and more. By eleven I'd acquired a significant stash of porn, hard core porn. I knew my way around the net. There were no websites that I would not plunder with false IDs and hacked credit card data. I subscribed to every Gay website that featured men with young guys, or just young Gays. My favourite web sites were Helix, Staxus, TBW and Broke Straight Boys. They were just so hot. But I also had videos and pix of preteens and kids my own age, some with men and others with other boys my age or younger. My favourites were the Russian boys Serge and Jura, and the American boys Mikael [from the Beaver Dam fiasco] and Jarod [SpongeBob]. I'd managed to download those through the Onion network, just before the thought police took it down. So far I'd managed to go undetected, but I worried that I'd eventually get caught. I had downloaded most of my kiddie-porn collection from the various newsgroups that carried that sort of stuff, if you knew how to trawl such groups. But those sorts of newsgroups had all but dried up by the time I'd turned twelve. But then, just before I'd met Toby that Easter, I'd erased all of my porn in a fit of self-loathing and guilt. However, my encounter with Toby, on the "Wild Roo," had restored the wild roo in me, and I purchased two new one terabyte pocket drives, with the money from my ad gig over Easter. So, by the time I'd come down to Aunty Jane's to start my first movie role, I had restored my porn and then some. But it was now all legal stuff from Helix, Staxus, et al. These were my links to the world that was denied to me. They were the vicarious expressions of my most basic desires and needs. Although I was still in denial, and totally in the closet, when I came to Aunty Jane's to embark on my movie career, I was starting to feel more contempt for "the System" and society in general. I'd read the reports of the busts by the Feds in the States, of the SpongeBob and Mikael video sources. I knew, in my own heart, that the boys in question had been stitched-up by the authorities, made to appear the victims, and forever stained as perverts and deviants. Even at the ripe old age of twelve, I already knew, from my own bitter experience, that these boys were pawns of the state, used for the state's propaganda. Society never was interested in the welfare of those kids; they were merely convenient fodder for the manipulation of the facts to meet the prurient puritan agenda of those with the real power: their obsession with crushing all things Gay. Just like the infamous case of that humungous spunk, Justin Berry, these kids had been brainwashed and blackmailed by the authorities into turning state's evidence. In the process, of course, those same corrupt authorities had made these kids feel like shit, while all the time spouting mealy-mouthed reassurances that they were victims. Yet these arseholes made it clear that what the boys had done and, ipso facto, the boys themselves were disgusting, degenerate... an abomination! Thus it was that the seeds of rebellion were slowly being sown, and Toby had unwittingly given me an insight into what I had been so ruthlessly denied and which, to date, had been relegated to the realm of voyeuristic fantasy. Society had stolen my youth, and abused my rights. Although I was still struggling with my self-loathing and shame, it was slowly morphing into less a result of who I was but more the result of being forced to live a lie. I was justifiably angry with the arseholes on the Religious Right in America, and the like-minded arseholes here in Australia, who'd tried to suppress my sexuality for their own self-righteous agenda. I was even pissed off with my parents, who had been, like so many others, brainwashed into swallowing the narrow-minded prejudices of the moral forces that thought they had the right to set the agenda. More than anything I was beginning to resent the fact that they had the audacity to assert that I HAD NO RIGHTS! I loved my parents, but hated that they never knew me. I hated that more than anything! Even more I hated that they were suspicious of every move I had made for the past five years. Of course I was plagued with the fear that my parents' suspicions were only in my mind? Certainly my guilt, and its concomitant behaviourisms, probably made my parents suspicious to a degree, anyway. But I actualised my own persecution, through my own guilt, through my unwitting but necessary manipulation of my parents. It was a vicious circle. Worst of all, I was only now beginning to accept this reality, having made the realisation over the last six or seven months. I might have been only twelve, but I was no fool, I'd done my homework, and I knew what was going on in the world. My response was: Fuck them! Fuck them all! =============================================== So, as I lay on my bed, listening to the waves crash above the noise of the traffic, I stared at Toby's business card and contemplated taking him up on his offer, if it still stood, of course! I was as randy as all hell. From that day on the "Wild Roo" I hadn't been able to leave my cock alone. I'd been wanking as often as I could, sometimes four or five times in one day, for the last seven months. My best effort had been just the previous week; I'd tossed off seven. The last couple had barely produced enough cum to wet the head of my cock, but I hadn't been able to stop myself. Even the next day I'd racked up another half dozen. I wondered if I really was a sex maniac, but decided that if half of what I'd found on the web was any indication, I was probably no worse than anyone else. But I was still a freak! I licked my hand and slowly began to smear my precum with my saliva over the entire length of my silky-smooth cock. Something that had confused me lately was the unpredictability of my cock's reaction to the stimulation; sometimes I'd shoot a load in a matter of seconds, other times it could take forever. I was pretty horny right then so, whatever the dream had been about, it must have been good... shit I knew it was good, I just couldn't remember any details... and my cock was reacting really great to the long slow stroking that I was doing right then... so I was pretty sure that this was not going to be long cumming. Slowly, I began to ridge myself, by rubbing the entire glans with the palm of my hand, something that I had picked up from one of the Staxus videos. It absolutely drove me wild, but I could not tolerate it for very long, and it made my erection so hard that my cock almost started to ache. It had become a fantasy of mine to have someone do this to me, and refuse to stop even after I begged them to, even if they had to tie me down so I couldn't pull their hand away. I was fantasizing about Toby and his three sons doing this to me in turn, until I fainted in the fantasy, not in reality, from the excruciating pleasure/pain of the torture. Eventually, I could stand no more, and I resorted to just wanking myself in a frenzy. It was so excruciatingly exquisite that I had the most incredible experience of my life to date. It was even better than when Toby had made me shoot all over the "Wild Roo" carriage. I came so hard that the first shot flew over my head and splattered on the wall above me. That was a first! I panicked and wiped it with my briefs, then rushed to the bathroom to wet some toilet paper and wipe the wall clean. I was terrified that it would leave a stain that would embarrass me for the entire duration of my stay at Aunty Jane's. Fortunately it wiped clean. I slid into my Speedos, footy shorts and thongs [flip-flops] and headed for the beach. I decided to leave my towel and board behind, electing to body surf instead. Little did I realise that this decision would lead me into unchartered waters, pun intended. ===============================================