Date: Wed, 16 Feb 2011 21:49:16 -0600
From: michaelpete@hushmail.com
Subject: Malcolm 2

Be advised that in the following one will find graphic sexual depiction
between minors and minors and adults. The story is fiction but based on
real characters, events, places and situations. There is no relationship
between the names used and that of any real person.Send comments to
michaelpete@hushmail.com.

Michael Peterson

                                  MALCOLM

                 CHAPTER 2 – THIRD GRADE, CAMP, SUMMER 1949

	I dreaded the second day after Labor Day, nineteen forty-eight. The
freedom of the last month ended abruptly. White shirt, blue clip-on tie,
school blazer and, as a third grader, long pants. No more book bag. I
carried a blue duffle bag over my shoulder. Also, no more ride. I was
deemed old enough to walk the mile distance. After all, the kids who took
the streetcar had to walk only four long blocks short of that, why not me?
	Freddy also went to school that day, to a black institution two bus
rides away. His mother had been very happy with the education I'd given
him, told me so many times, and wanted Freddy to get the formal kind with a
diploma at the end.
	At my semi-posh private school, the nuns acted as though they were
excited to see us. My new teacher, Sister Mary Bernadette, was an older nun
known to be tough. We started right in on catechism. Who made the world?
God made the world. Why and so forth. Same crap as the year before. Good
old Baltimore Catechism. Every Catholic kid on the east coast had to
memorize the same tired answers, got the same force fed indoctrination.
	Forty-five minutes later, we broke out our crisp mottled black and
white cover notebooks and copied the definition of a noun off the slate
blackboard.
	The most dreaded part of that dreaded first day was recess. Once
again, I'd be alone on the wall, watching the others play tag, tell lies
about their summer adventures, be with their friends. I didn't have any
friends in my school, not one. Howard Paisley and Glen Harrison would talk
to me if I joined them, Glen in that awful nasal voice of his, Howard all
whiney. They didn't seem to mind their low position on the popularity totem
pole. I wanted to be popular. I wanted Tommy Atkins and Martin O'Malley,
the two most popular kids in the class, to seek me out, shove others aside
to be able to sit with me.
	Of course, that wasn't to be. Tommy, Martin, Victor Cibelli, Paul
Simpson and Jimmy Smith were throwing a football. I hated that they caught
it almost every time. I'd never even had one in my hands. There was no way
I'd be able to catch it successfully.
	I went to the nuns candy table and spent my daily five cent
allowance on a Clark Bar. The profits went to the missions in China to feed
cute little slant eyed brown kids I fantasized feeding and bathing. Their
little penises were always long and narrow, perfect for a good fuck.
	Thursday, it was back to the swimming pool, into our cubicles to
change in absolute privacy into our uncomfortable, heavy wool bathing
trunks. Once again, I would have to display my soft body along side those
of the muscled athletic bunch. There was blond haired, blue eyed, handsome
Tommy Atkins on the diving board doing a forward flip. Muscle boy Martin
O'Malley could swim like a fish from one end of the pool to the other,
nearly twice as fast as me. Nonetheless, the coach was always putting me in
competition with kids like him, never against the likes of skinny Glen or
puny Howard both of whom I cold beat.
	The kids not in the water were required to sit on the side of the
pool. Some sat with their legs up, crossed or sitting on them. That first
Thursday, I noticed as I went by in the water that I could see up inside
some of the baggy trunks, especially Victor Cibelli's. I almost stopped
when I briefly caught a clear view of his bare crotch and one very long
peter that hung down, it's head buried in the fabric of the suit below his
balls. No one, certainly not Victor, seemed to notice when I halted my
stroke.
	Later during free swim time, Victor again rested on the side in the
same position. I dove right in and swam until I was across from him near
the middle of the pool. There it was again. Victor was having an animated
conversation with Bradley Burnham. His leg wiggled, squeezing his balls and
moving his snakelike penis slightly. It produced a hardon in my trunks. I
treaded water until two other kids dunked me for no special reason. When I
came back up, Victor had shifted position and the view was gone.
	I spent the rest of swim time trying to think of a way to get into
his cubicle while he was dressing. But Sister Mary Bernadette was in the
walkway in front, enforcing chastity.
	After lunch, I tried to strike up a conversation with Victor but
only succeeded in drawing a strange look. I'd asked him how long he could
tread water. It was the only thing that came to mind when I got close to
him.
	When I told Freddy that afternoon that I'd seen a white boy with a
penis longer than his, he laughed.
	"Mah five yeah ole cousin gots one bigger'n mines too but he don'
know shit `bout usin' it like I do." He looked at his shoes and asked, "How
com you is lookin' at them white boy's cocks, Maacum?"
	Freddy had yet to understand why I liked what I did. I was just
coming to realize that my interests were not the same as other boys. I
hadn't considered why yet. "I don't know. I just like to, I suppose."
	Evasive answers weren't generally part of our conversations so I
felt compelled to seek a better explanation, for me as well as my
friend. Freddy was waiting. He knew me well enough to tell when I had more
to say.
	"I think they're pretty."
	"You like lookin' at mines?"
	We were sitting side by side in our tree house. I leaned against
him, needing him to be happy with my answer. "Mmm hmm."
	"I think you a fag, Maacum," said Freddy matter-of-factly.
	I'd heard the word used derogatorily by my schoolmates but didn't
know what it meant. After all, I was still a couple months short of my
eighth birthday. Asking my classmates what such a word meant would have
resulted in ridicule. I could ask Freddy anything. "What's a fag?"
	"Shit, Maacum, you don't know nothin' yet. A fag's a man likes sex
wi' other mens."
	"I'm not a man yet."
	"Same differnce. You likes boys, fer sex."
	"You like sex with me."
	Freddy had to think that over. "But I do it to ya'll an' you like
it when it gits done to you. An' I jus' do it wi' ya'll `cause we's
friends. You wants ta do it wi' e'rybody."
	I put my arm around him. This was all too much at one time. It
needed a lot of thought. Even though he was only eight months older, Freddy
had seen, experienced and understood things I hadn't. I taught him reading
and writing. He taught me about life.
	That night, I found myself unable to concentrate on my
homework. Freddy was right. I didn't see many other boys interested as I
was in the bodies of their classmates or camp mates. Jimmy and I and Carter
and I had done things with each other but even the two ten year olds at the
camp only got done by their counselor. Other than allow the counselor to
put his dick between their legs, they hadn't actually done anything in
return. I knew most boys played with their penises. They spoke about it
openly among their friends. But I never heard anyone admit being fucked or
sucking or even looking at another boy. Of course, except with Freddy, I
never admitted it either. Were they lying or was I the only one?
	The following Thursday, I tried an experiment I'd been thinking
about all week. Every chance I got, I sat on the side of the pool with my
legs up just enough that anyone who was directly in front of me in the
water could see my penis.
	No one looked. I did it again the following week making sure anyone
looking wouldn't realize I was watching them. Ronnie Stevens seemed to
glance at me but didn't come back for a second look.
	The following Thursday, I watched from the wall for any boy who
might be looking up Victor's or the trunks of anyone else who was sitting
with his legs up. Ronny and Tommy Atkins, of all people, did seem to
glance. Then Tommy walked up behind Victor and whispered something in his
ear. Victor lowered his legs. That left only Ronnie as a possible fag like
me.
	Ronnie Stevens wasn't one of the more popular boys in the class but
neither was he avoided like me. He played sports and hung with
groups. Academically he was middle level, except in geography in which he
excelled. He was heavy but not fat and had a nice face that smiled a lot. I
decided to go the same route I had with Jimmy and watched for a chance to
be alone in the boys' room with him.
	It took nearly a month. My problem was an opening line. Where Jimmy
had been constantly admonished by camp staff to keep his hands out of his
crotch, my classmate Ronnie rarely, in my sight, touched himself there.
	From the urinal along side his, I giggled. "My cock's been hard all
day. I hope Sister Mary Bernadette doesn't see it."
	Ronnie looked straight ahead and said, "You better be careful."
	I came out from behind the barrier with my hardon in my hand. "It
just won't go down."
	Ronnie zipped up and backed away then headed straight for the door
without washing his hands. I was afraid he was going to say something to
the others and followed at a distance. He went back to the playground and
joined a group near the wall. No one looked my way.
	I'd been telling Freddy of my experiments since planning them and
told him Ronnie's reaction. "Jes' soun's like that boy don' wanna see yo
dick, Maacum."
	My birthday came. I'd never had a real birthday party before and
didn't expect one this time. There was generally some cake and ice cream
and a gift or two but that was it. This year was to be different. That
afternoon after school, Freddy took me straight to his house.
	I wanted a present there in the woods.
	"We ain't got time for that now. My mama wanna see you and she gots
to get back to yo' house soon."
	I was genuinely surprised, then very emotional, when we arrived and
about a dozen kids and a sprinkling of adults awaited me with a full blown
birthday party. The sign over the main room said `Happy Birthday Malcolm',
spelled correctly probably by Freddy whom I had taught how to write my
name. Everyone wore party hats and cheered when I entered. Though I tried
mightily not to, I cried. Freddy's mother helped me hide it with a big hug
then wiped my face on her apron.
	We played chase games right there in the house, dunked for apples
and ate chicken and cake. I got lots of simple gifts including toy cars and
trucks made in Japan from old soup cans, a home made jump rope from Douglas
and a stick drawing of me in front of my house by Freddy's six year old
sister. Even nearly everybody's great grandmother gave me a handkerchief
she'd made. I'd never felt more loved, more part of family.
	The moment the cake was served, Freddy's mother raced off to my
house. Freddy's little sister, cake in hand, came and explained everything
in her drawing. Douglas took me outside to give jump rope lessons. Two
other boys brought ropes from their houses. The girls had a long rope and
did group jumps. I tripped a lot.
	At six, I had to leave for home. Freddy took me to the edge of my
back yard. I saw my parents seated in the living room. Hoping they'd see, I
gave Freddy a long embrace until he chased me off and ran up the street.
	I really wanted to rub my parents' faces in what Freddy's family
had done for me but Freddy's mother admonished me not to say anything.
	"I know you gots a full tummy but eat anyways so none a us gets in
no trouble."
	I hugged her and forced myself to eat. However, I hardly said
anything to my parents.
	I celebrated Christmas with Freddy's family too, again giving away
more than half of what I'd received and a few things I bought with money
I'd stolen from my mother's purse and father's wallet. The chicken and corn
bread at Freddy's was more delicious than the turkey at my house.
	As the school year wore on. I became more and more resentful of my
parents. I was having less sex with Freddy so we could go more often to his
neighborhood where I played with everyone Freddy played with. I learned how
to play marbles, jump rope, and throw and catch an old tennis ball. I did
less well at tag and tree climbing. Freddy, I found, was quite an athlete,
far faster than me and some of his older cousins. Every child there was a
first or second cousin to most of the rest.
	Freddy's ninth birthday rolled around. With money I'd been stealing
during February and the first two weeks of March, I bought Freddy a set of
toy construction trucks and a sweater. I bought his sister a small doll
since she celebrated her seventh birthday that same week.
	These people who my father and mother said didn't like to mix with
whites were much more family to me than they were. I never got hugs at
home. Every woman in Freddy's neighborhood hugged me on seeing me and
called me `sweety' and `sugar'. I hardly ever saw any of the men except the
drunk who stole our seven dollars because they were out working everyday
but Sunday. Sunday, most of them went to a black Baptist church. I wanted
to go too but Freddy's mother told me that wouldn't be a good idea. Were my
Catholic parents ever to get wind of it, she'd be fired for sure.
	My relationships in Freddy's community enhanced my academic self
esteem, too, motivating me in school. At eight years old, I was the most
literate person in Freddy's settlement and often helped kids with their
homework and adults with letters or things they had to write down. I think
Freddy began to get a bit jealous of all the attention I received but it
didn't affect his lovemaking, which was warm as ever.
	While excelling at school in academics, I flunked in all my
attempts to make friends with everyone but Glen and Howard. I knew Glen was
unendowed in front from seeing him briefly in his underpants when he
playfully jumped out of his swimming pool cubicle after Sister Bernadette
went upstairs. Howard was still a mystery but was such a sissy, I suspected
he was as small.
                       ________________________
	Summer and camp rolled around. I tried everything to avoid
going. Summer with my new friends was far more appealing. My parents said
they were going on a trip so I had to go.
	"I can stay at Martha's," Freddy's mother's house. It was the wrong
thing to say.
	"Look boy, I better not find out you're hanging with that nig,
negro again," warned my father through his teeth.
	I'd claimed to be playing by myself and with a white boy from the
far side of the woods who was not allowed to pass through to my side.
	"I just don't want to go to camp. I'll run away!"
	That made it worse. My father grabbed me by the arm and literally
dragged me upstairs to my room and pushed me inside.
	Before slamming the door, he said angrily, "You stay in there until
you are ready to do as you're told."
	I waited a few minutes then sneaked out and down the back
stairs. My father was outside when I opened the back door.
	He used his belt on my bare fanny. I screamed and called him a fag
which just made the beating worse, longer.
	Mother rushed in. "That's enough, dear. I think he's learned his
lesson."
	He dropped his arm, tossed me on the bed and stormed out. I wanted
to call him names again but was crying too hard to get anything out. I went
to camp two days later, still hurting, red stripes on my butt, and without
having seen Freddy to say goodbye. My mother drove me to the YMCA
headquarters in the center of the city. I whimpered all the way.
	"Oh dear, it's not all that bad. You're going to have lots of fun
and make lots of new friends."
	The only ray of hope I had was Jimmy, but he didn't come back. With
one exception, and he wasn't the one who had blown his eleven year old
charges, all the counselors were different. I did the same thing that night
that I'd done the first night a year before, cried. The counselor tried to
comfort me with promises of "loads of fun" but I'd been there before and he
hadn't.
	The next morning after breakfast, when we were supposed to go to
the archery range, I just walked up the path along the stream to an area
beyond camp property and played in a small tributary much as Freddy and I
should have been doing at that very same time.
	The staff mounted a search for me eventually involving all the
older kids. I ignored their calls and just wandered back in the
afternoon. The police were there. I was taken straight to the camp
director.
	"Where have you been, Malcolm?"
	Half a dozen adults including two policemen awaited my answer.
	"I wanna go home," is all I would say.
	The cops put on their hats and waved goodbye. The director took me
into his office. He dug out a file from a cabinet and read it quietly. He
sighed and shook his head.
	"Malcolm," he said wearily, "your parents are away so you have to
relax and enjoy your stay here."
	"I can stay with Martha. She'll let me."
	"Who's Martha?"
	"She's our maid."
	"Okay, I'll see if I can contact your parents but meanwhile,
there's lots of fun things to do here. You had a good time last year,
didn't you?"
	"No!"
	"Aw, c'mon, I saw you swimming and playing and making things. That
wasn't fun?"
	"The counselor made me."
	And so it went. The poor camp director did his best to lift my
spirits and promised to look in on me as often as he could. After a
whispered consultation with my counselor, I was sent off for a late lunch,
which obviously irritated the women in the kitchen.
	When I was taken to re-join my group, they were swimming which,
having just eaten, I was not allowed to do. After they finished pointing at
me and gossiping briefly, they got back to having fun in the water and on
the large rocks surrounding the swimming hole. I studied bodies. Two had on
tight swimsuits that showed their little baskets. The rest had on trunks
that hid them. The counselor kept going to the side to check his watch to
see if my 30 minute digestion time had elapsed and I could join in the
"fun".
   	None of the bodies in the water having "fun" excited me. The part
that would have was well hidden inside their bathing trunks. That view
would have to wait until showers that evening. I decided right there on the
rocks with my bathing suit over my shoulder that I was going to find
someone who would share his body with me over the next month. I was not
going to endure four weeks of absolute boredom and longing for Freddy
without someone to alleviate some of my unhappiness. The first step in that
search would begin the moment the counselor said my half hour had
passed. Moments later, it did.
	I stood up and stripped naked, carefully watching out of the
corners of my eyes for anyone who might be watching the show with more than
just a casual interest. I took my time fiddling with my trunks to get them
right side out and front in front.
     	The only one who couldn't seem to pull his eyes off me was the very
nervous counselor who kept urging me to hurry up.
	The evening shower was a failure too when the counselor decided we
were all clean enough after our swim.
	I didn't cry that night but I didn't sleep either. After a couple
of hours of quiet misery, I jerked off to thoughts of Freddy fucking me
from the front. Then I fell asleep.
	By Friday, I was so frustrated I was sneaking up to the showers
whenever I heard anyone using them. The twelve year old group had some
interesting growing cocks but none of the boys did more than glance at me
as I walked down the row of stalls.
	Saturday was hike day for our group. By that time, I hated every
kid in my cabin because they seemed to be having so much fun. I claimed I'd
hurt my ankle and couldn't walk very far without pain. The counselor took
me to the camp nurse who said she couldn't find anything wrong but had to
issue permission for me to stay behind just in case.
	"Malcolm, we're going to have a great time in the woods, have a
great lunch and cook marshmallows over the fire afterward. You're going to
be sitting here all alone with that fake hurt ankle of yours."
	He all but begged me to come along but I refused. The director put
me with the nine year olds in arts and crafts to make lanyards and
belts. That wasn't too bad. I made a belt for Freddy including an engraved
strip of leather with his name on it. The director came by and made a big
deal over my "beautiful work" and suggested maybe I'd like to make some
other craft items.
	Later that evening after dinner, the ten year old group passed my
cabin wearing nothing but towels around their waists. I told my counselor I
was going to the bathroom, grabbed a towel and headed for the showers just
above the latrine. When the counselor for the tens tried to stop me from
bathing with his boys, I told him I had missed bathing earlier and was
smelly. He reluctantly let me pass.
     	The showers were in a series of stalls open across the front. Two
boys generally occupied each stall, one in the water, the other out front
soaping and washing. I took off my clothes and walked down the wash area to
see who might be interested. The only one who looked at all was a puny kid
with a puny penis, insufficient to titillate my prostate. The longest dick
belonged to a tall boy soaping himself in front of the next to last
stall. I tossed my towel over the wooden wall along the walkway and waited
for his partner to leave the shower. The water was cold so none of us
stayed very long. He came out and I darted in.
	"Hey kid," said the boy with the long cock, "we're using that now."
	"I'll just be a minute." I looked him over in such a way that he
could see me doing it.
	"What're you looking at?"
	Without answering, I turned around so he could see my greatest
asset.
   	"Hurry up."
	I took my time. His buddy dried himself and walked off. I got out
and soaped up while long dick got rinsed off. Half the others were leaving
with their counselor.
	"What's your name," I asked, staring at the boy's long penis.
	"Philip. How come you're looking at my privates?"
	"Yours is two times as long as mine." I had no plan, was just
winging it. Eight year olds don't plan well.
	He looked at mine. "Yeh, and it gets bigger." He didn't say it in a
friendly manner.
	"What's it feel like when it gets big?"
	"That's a stupid question. Normal."
	"Don't you go up and down on it?"
	"It's none of your beeswax."
	"Well, you do it, don't you?"
	"I told you, it's none of your beeswax."
	"I do it in my bed at night." I worried that I should be shutting
up but the conversation was making me horny, which meant out of control. My
cock was growing.
	"Is that all you think about? You're..."
	I interrupted. "It's better with soap but you gotta keep it out of
the hole or it can sting sometimes."
	The boy stared at me massaging my now very stiff penis between my
fingers. "You better watch out the counselor doesn't see you doing that."
	"He's gone."
	Philip looked around the corner of the stall then stepped back
inside. "You're sex crazy, kid." He stepped to one side of the stream of
water and pulled gently on his. It grew quickly. Now I was really getting
excited.
	"See," he said displaying better than three inches of boyhood,
"mine gets really big."
	I walked in tight beside him and asked, "You want to stick it in my
rear?"
	The boy recoiled against the back wall. "You're crazy." He moved
across the stall and out the front, grabbing his towel and wiping himself
as he walked toward the exit. He looked once back at me with disgust on his
face. I knew I'd made a big mistake. While I rinsed, dried and rushed back
to my cabin, I tried to think what excuse I'd have if the boy said
something to his cabin mates or, worse, his counselor.
	I told my counselor I showered because I felt sweaty and smelly.
	He frowned. I went to my upper bunk and stared out the window,
terrified of what might happen the next day.
	It didn't until midday. The director told me to come to his office
after lunch. Although he'd been smiling, I knew it was bad. Adults can't
hide their true emotions.
	I decided my best defense was to tell them that the other boy was
the one who said whatever he claimed I had said.
	"Malcolm," he said after sitting me in front of his desk, "last
night in the shower, you said something to another boy that we don't
understand. Did you ask Philip Ashton to put his penis in you?"
	I jumped up, trying to look surprised and angry. "Uh uh! That's
what he said to me. I was just trying to take a shower. I told him to go
leave me alone." It sounded good to me.
	The director looked perplexed, distraught. "Wait here."
	He came back a few minutes later with Philip and his counselor. He
asked the counselor to wait outside and sat my accuser next to me.
	"Now, Philip, what happened last night?"
	Philip looked at me with derision. "This kid wanted me to fuck
him."
	The director closed his eyes and lowered his head.
	I stood and pointed angrily. "He's a liar. He tried to touch me and
I told him to leave me alone but he wouldn't. He's a liar."
	Philip was quickly on his feet too, yelling. "That's bullshit! You
were looking at my cock and wanted me to fuck you with it."
	"Just hold on, you two," interjected the director sternly.
	I resorted to a kid's best defense. I cried and blubbered. "He said
he was going to hit me if I said anything." I backed around the director's
desk.
	The director called in the counselor who burst into the room before
his last name was completed.
	"Take Philip out front and wait for me."
	Without a word, he took me gently by the shoulder and led me back
to my chair. I rubbed my eyes to bring up wetness if not tears.
	"Look, Malcolm," said the director sympathetically from the chair
Philip had occupied, "I need you to tell me the truth. What..."
	I interrupted. "Philip was trying to touch me and said he'd beat me
up if I said anything."
	After another ten minutes of going back and forth with the same, I
was sent back to my cabin and Philip and his counselor called in.
	At dinner, I learned that Philip had been packed up and sent
home. My first reaction was that adults were easy but then guilt set in
over what I'd done to Philip. It was eased somewhat when I heard stories of
his bullying kids in his group but I carried that around with me for years,
wishing I could find him and apologize.
	But the matter wasn't over. Tuesday morning of the following week,
two twelve year olds followed me to the latrine. They stood smiling in the
doorway of the toilet where I was having a bowel movement. One was not a
lot taller than me but muscular like Martin O'Malley from my class. The
other was bigger and slim with long fingers. He pointed at me.
	"That's right, get it good and empty, boy, `cause we're gonna fuck
your ass tonight. We know Philip was telling the truth and if you don't do
what we say, we're gonna tell the director we heard what you really said to
him."
	"Yeh," said the second softly, leaning in toward me. "We were
walking up from the latrine and heard him say you were crazy. You see, we
know, so you better come right after dark behind our cabin."
	"It's not gonna hurt and you'll like it. Right after dark."
	They left, still smiling. I shivered. Now I really wanted to go
home.
	I went to the director's office. He was at the water pump, which
was being worked on. I pulled him aside.
	"Did you call my parents so I can go stay with Martha?"
	He squatted in front of me. "We tried but they're in Europe and we
can't locate them. Anyhow, don't worry. Philip isn't here any more and you
can concentrate on having fun. Aren't you supposed to be at the obstacle
course right now?"
	He took me there and handed me over to my counselor. The obstacle
course would have been more fun if it hadn't always been a race against
boys I couldn't beat. The fun of climbing, jumping and dodging was ruined
by the competition.
	That afternoon at the swimming hole, the same twelve year olds were
there with their group. They grinned at me. I stayed out of the water
trying to think of an escape plan.
	Running away wasn't an option as I had no money or any idea where I
was. If those two were to tell the truth to the director, I'd be in very
serious trouble. A boy had been kicked out of the camp probably forever
and, worse, my parents would learn about my sexual interest. For sure, I'd
get another beating. They might even blame Freddy. His mother would be
fired and I'd never see him again.
	I wondered how big their dicks were. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad
unless they were as big or bigger than Douglas, then it would hurt. Then I
had a plan. If it hurt, I could scream and claim they had grabbed me. Then
nobody would believe anything they said. That was it. I'd scream the minute
it hurt.
	At just before eight, when the others were in their beds, I told
the counselor I was going to take a poop and headed directly to the back of
cabin six where the twelve year olds were housed. The two were waiting for
me.
	"C'mon," said the shorter one and led us at a trot up a path to the
woods above the latrine and showers. Both had flashlights. They already had
a spot with a blanket hidden under the leaves.
	"Hurry, take off your pants," ordered the taller one as he pushed
off his shorts. He wasn't wearing briefs. His cock, already hard, wasn't
any bigger than Philip's.
	"Put spit on it," I told him.
	"Shit!" said the shorter one, "He's done this before. Fuck him
Benny."
	Out of my shorts and underpants, I lay on my stomach. Benny spit
into his hand and wiped down his cock. He lay on top of me but had no idea
how to get inside.
	"Get up," he ordered, "on your hands and knees. Mark, shine the
light in here."
	I got up and Benny moved in again. His dick had dried and hurt.
	"Ouch! You gotta get it real wet."
	"Crap," muttered Benny and dribbled spit onto his cock and the hand
held below it.
	He poked around then found the hole and pushed right in. It felt
good to have something back in there after a week and a half.
	"Fuck him", whispered Mark.
	Benny grabbed my hips and slammed away, repeatedly coming out and
having to re-insert. I was loving it. My dick was stiff as a board. This
wasn't going to be so bad after all. Benny hit my sweet spot every time he
pushed in.
	When his grip got stronger, I knew he was getting close. "Mmmph,"
he grunted when he began pulsing inside me.
	Mark quickly stepped out of his shorts. His cock was longer but
only by a half inch or so and not much thicker. He spit into his hand and
lubed up his cock.
	"Okay, my turn. C'mon, Benny."
	Benny pulled out and Mark pushed in behind me. I felt the head of
his dick slide up and down seeking my pucker then ramming in the instant he
found it.'
	"Oh man, this is neato," he said and began fucking
erratically. Benny squatted beside my rear and shone the flashlight in at
Marks's cock sliding effortlessly, and gradually more rhythmically, in and
out of my hole. Mark was being more careful as he withdrew right to the tip
of his glans not to pull completely out. Only Freddy was this good. I
wished Mark was a little bigger. I could clearly feel him sliding back and
forth inside me, poking my prostate with each slow thrust. Rather than hold
me by the hips, he put his hands on my back, tugging my skin with each
entry. I had to do something for myself. I held my cock and massaged it
slow enough so I wouldn't reach climax before Mark. His orgasm came with no
warning. He just stopped and began to throb. I masturbated quickly and got
off with him.
    	"I wanna do it again," said Benny.
	"I gotta go back. I just told my counselor I was going to poop. We
can do it tomorrow, in the morning. I'll come here after they start bows
and arrows."
	Still inside of me, Mark said, "Okay, but you better be here."
	"Or else," added Benny.
	Or else, what, I said to myself. They had just screwed me. I could
tell on them too. But I felt too good, too physically satisfied, to argue.
	My counselor was too intimidated by my many problems to contest my
desire to skip archery. Benny and Mark were waiting on the hill. It wasn't
as invisible in daylight as it had been in the dark. We walked further
until we felt sufficient solitude. Mark laid the blanket on the ground and
stripped.
	"Hey," said Benny also taking off his shorts, "you went last."
	"Go ahead, I'm just getting ready."
	Benny pulled my ass to him, lubed up his cock with saliva and
pushed in. I closed my eyes so I could concentrate on his presence. Mark
lay down beside me on his back. I
	"You like this, don't cha?"
	I ignored what I saw as an attempted slight.
	"It's okay," he continued, "we don't care. You're happy and we're
happy. I mean, I'm sorry we kind a threatened you. You're a good kid." He
was silent for a while.
	Benny banged away, again repeatedly pulling back too far and coming
out. Mark noticed. "Slow down and it won't come out like that. Do it like
me, slow. And it lasts longer."
	Benny slowed but not by much.
	Mark slid in close to me. "Wanna suck on mine for a while?"
	I opened my eyes and looked at him. His face was almost within
kissing distance. "I washed it good last night," he added.
	I looked. It was a nice mouthful. I nodded affirmatively.
	He moved onto his knees in front of me but it was too high.
	"Sit down," I said.
	As he did, I dropped to my elbows and sucked in his cock. It tasted
clean and smooth and firm. I moved my head up and down lazily, running my
tongue over his glans every time I came to the top. Mark took gentle hold
of me just below my armpits. Benny`s hard thrusting moved me back and forth
a little, making the blowjob more interesting for both of us. I slid my
mouth all the way down and licked his soft balls in their silky
sack. They'd begun to grow and were the size of grapes.
	Benny slammed inside me and got off. I was able to relax and put my
arms around Marks's waist and caress his back. I wanted to see his tummy
while I worked.
	"Lie back," I told him.
	After stretching out myself too, I enjoyed the view of his
abdominal muscles and played with his pronounced pectorals while running my
mouth and tongue all over his cock and balls. Benny lay beside us and
watched. Mark took my head between his fingertips and moved with it,
nudging me to go faster. His stomach muscles began tensing, forming soft
ripples up to his ribcage. I ran my hands across them to his crotch and
back. I felt his thigh muscles flex under me. He pulled my head down and
gasped. His cock throbbed strongly. He sat up and held my head tightly to
his crotch.
	"Can I fuck him again?" asked Benny.
	"If he wants," answered Mark.
	Benny poked me on the shoulder. "Okay? Uh, what's your name?"
	"Mmmh hmmh," I answered, my mouth too full to say anything more.
	So Benny screwed me again and Mark, after getting my name,
followed. I enjoyed all four of their orgasms and mine, self-induced, at
the end.
	The next day, while Benny was fucking me for the second time and
Mark had been satisfied by my lips, Mark lay beside me on his side and
asked, "Malcolm, you do this at home too?"
	"Sometimes."
	"How long you been doing it?"
	"A couple of years."
	"Gees, since you were six?"
	"Mmm hmm."
	"Do your parents know you, uh, do this?"
	I nodded no. Mark was interrupting my concentration on Benny's cock
sliding in and out of my rectum. He'd gotten better and wasn't coming
out. Mark continued.
	"So, other boys fuck you too, since you were six? And you suck them
too? How old?"
	I nodded assent to all then, "like you."
	He pursed his lips considering his next question. "You always like
it?"
	"Yes," I answered irritably.
	"I'm sorry, I'm just real curious. I never met anyone, well, like
you. Where do you live?"
	I told him.
	"Crap, that's too far." He told me where he was from, the same area
as Jimmy but I couldn't say anything. Jimmy was like them except he let me
do it to him too.
	Mark questioned me nearly every time we did it and that was at
least five times a week through the end of camp. It did get me thinking
again, especially when he asked what I thought about girls, would I like to
fuck one. I was certainly curious. In Freddy's neighborhood, I'd seen baby
girls having their diapers changed so knew they had a vagina instead of a
penis but that was about it. Douglas was fucking a thirteen year old girl
named Brenda and described to Freddy and me what she was like and what if
felt like fucking her. I figured I'd try it one day and maybe, as Freddy
had suggested a number of times, would eventually forget about being a fag
and go with girls.
                        ________________________
	Again, once back in the city from camp, I had to be taken to my
house by a YMCA station wagon. My parents were both home in the living
room, my father with the evening newspaper, my mother with a pair of
friends she'd invited to dinner. Leaving my trunk in the driveway, I walked
into the front hall and stood there for a moment. Quickly realizing neither
of my parents was going to come greet me, I went to the kitchen where
Martha figured to be preparing dinner. I knew she'd be far more interested
in seeing me again than my parents. After enjoying her hugs and happy
words, I went up to my room. Some time later, Martha called me to dinner.
	My mother said, "Oh, you're home. Well, how was camp?"
	Knowing it would embarrass her in front of her friends, I ignored
her and looked out the window at my trunk still sitting where the Y driver
had put it. I knew they'd heard the car come in the drive and me open and
close the front door.
	My father said, "Malcolm, your mother asked how camp was."
	"I know," was all I'd say.
	He called me out into the front hall. "What's wrong with you now?"
	"Nothing."
	"Then you go back in there and speak to your mother. She hasn't
seen you in a month."
	"So why didn't she come see me when I came in?"
	"She has guests."
	"You don't have a guest." I frightened myself saying that. The
boldness came from anger growing in my gut.
	"And now, smartass, you don't have dinner. Go to your room!"
	After a quick mental calculation that he wouldn't be able to make
too much of a scene with mother's two guests, I pushed past him and went to
the stairs. I calculated wrong. He followed me briskly into the back hall
and swatted me hard across the base of my skull, knocking me into the
wall. For a moment, I lost track of where I was. When I recovered and
turned to face my father, he was gone. I sat on the bottom stair for a
while until my head cleared then went upstairs, down the hall and into my
room. I slammed the door so hard it bounced back open again. I kicked it
closed and threw myself face down on my bed.
	Welcome home!
	Martha brought me some dinner. "When you gits finished, bring the
plate and silvaweah back down but jes' wait `til yo' folks is back to the
livin' room."
	I got in bed early and was up well before seven. I went to the
kitchen and fixed myself a bowl of Shredded Wheat and poured a glass of
orange juice Martha had squeezed the night before and left for us in a
glass pitcher in the refrigerator.
	My mother came in as I was putting the bowl and spoon in the sink.
	"Oh, Malcolm. I'm sorry about last night. I had those two guests
and it would have been rude to leave them when you came in. I'm sorry."
	A smart remark was on my tongue but I swallowed it and headed for
the back door. I had the belt I'd made for Freddy around my waist under my
shirt.
	"Where are you going dear?"
	"Out of here," I said and opened the back door.
	"But I was hoping we could talk and you could tell me about camp."
	"I'll tell you later," I replied and closed the door.
	Halfway down the back yard, I looked back. My mother was inside the
back door, watching me go through the window. "Shit her," I mumbled to
myself and kept going.
	Freddy was just getting out of bed when I knocked on his door.
	"Mama said you was home. I was gonna go to the stream an' wait fo'
ya'll theah."
	As he spoke, I pulled up my shirt and took off the belt. He looked
at it suspiciously until I showed him the leather patch in the back with
his name on it.
	"Thanks, Maacum. I think you was gittin' ready to whup me one fo'
not bein' outta bed."
	I put the belt on him and he gave me a brief hug. It would have
been longer but his two sisters were watching.
	My first fuck by Freddy that morning was wonderful but not quite as
good physically as Mark's with his larger penis. Emotionally, though, it
was pure heaven.
	As expected, Freddy wanted to hear all about my camp experiences,
especially if I'd had any sex. Rather than have to struggle with his
questions about which felt better, I lied and told him my ass had been
empty until he filled it just a few moments before.
	"Maacum, you cain't lie worth shit."
	"Well, you get angry when I tell you about other boys doing it."
	"When I ever get mad `bout that?"
	"Well, you don't like it."
	Freddy reached down and pulled a loose thread out of his overall
leg. "Nah, it's okay."
	I knew it wasn't and felt guilty that it was hurting him. I turned
to him and took his arm in my hands. "I won't do it any more, Freddy, just
with you."
    	He sat there thinking then, "You still gots tell me what ya did in
camp. Everything, an', don' worry none, I ain' gonna git mad. I like ta
heah `bout all the crazy shit you do." He was grinning.
	I told him everything, even what I did to get Philip kicked out of
camp.
      "That was bad, Maacum. Ain' nevah right ta snitch on nobody. But I
guess ya had to do somethin'. I don' know what I'd a did. You right, you
was in some bad shit if'n they believed him."
	With the exception of Sunday mornings when I was now forced to go
to nine o'clock Mass with my parents, I spent all of August during the day
with Freddy, mostly in his neighborhood where I now knew everyone by name.
	My parents never spoke during Mass, just knelt, sat and stood at
the right times. When they were short of men to make the collection, my
father helped out but always returned to our pew right after handing in the
basket. I heard him complain several times to my mother about men who just
hung around in the church vestibule conversing rather than paying attention
to the Mass.
	There were always kids from my school there though most were
unknown. There were no Negroes. I tried to get into the pew before my
parents so I could sit semi-sideways against the mid pew wood post and look
around. I played a game with myself trying to figure how long a penis each
boy around me had. There were a number of indicators I established. Before
seeing how short that tall Glen Harrison's peter really was, I'd made the
assumption that tall kids had long cocks. Now, my primary indicator was how
much they squirmed. It seemed logical that the longer a boy's penis, the
more he'd need to adjust it when sitting for an extended length of time. If
my father was seated beside me, I wasn't allowed to look behind me so I
concentrated on the altar boys.
	Of the two altar boys, one boy, about ten or eleven, was there
almost every week. He wasn't particularly pretty but had an interesting
gaunt face with huge intense eyes. When he went to get the wine or water, I
stared at him both to enjoy those eyes and in hopes he'd look back. I was
sure he had a long penis. I also liked the long red robes they wore and the
way they flowed about when the boys walked from place to place. I wanted to
try one on.
	On the last Sunday of August, the altar boy caught my stare and
looked back as he stood waiting for the priest to come for the water
cruet. I smiled and nodded. He glanced at the priest then lowered his head
though looking at me out of the corner of his eye. On impulse, I pursed my
lips as in a kiss. He grimaced but didn't stop looking until he had to
return to the service table. As he walked back to his position in front of
the altar, he glanced again in my direction.
	During the sermon, the altar boys sat in chairs on the right side
of the altar near the service table with the water and wine. Feeling very
daring, I put my finger in my mouth and stared at him. Though he kept his
head lowered as if looking at his fingers, I saw quick glances up. Then, to
my surprise, he raised his right hand and stuck his index finger briefly
into his mouth. He flashed a slight smile then returned examining the
fingers in his lap. I sat with my arms folded across my chest looking
around but returning every minute or so to the altar boy.
	Toward the end of the sermon I didn't hear, he glanced at his
partner then up at me. Twice, he looked from me to the sacristy door on the
far side. My heart jumped. Was that a signal to meet him?
	I had no idea where that door led though guessed that beyond it
there had to be a door out of the church. When we stood after the sermon, I
noticed a door at the left wall that had to open onto the room the altar
boys and priest went through at the end of mass. He would probably come out
that door when he was finished.
	The priest was a middle-aged man who sometimes came to our school
and, for some reason, knew my name. He would be my excuse to go to the
sacristy door. My parents always chatted with friends after Mass so I had
ten to fifteen minutes before we went home for breakfast.
	As we walked out of our pew, I asked my mother if I could speak
with the priest for a moment.
	"He's probably very busy today, dear. Why?"
	"I'll just be a minute. Please."
	A woman greeted her quietly. I scooted around and headed for the
sacristy door. For you never were-Catholics, the sacristy is the anteroom
beside the altar where the priest puts on his vestments and prepares for
Mass.
	The boy came out just as I got to the door. He was wearing a cowboy
shirt, jeans and what appeared to be new shoes.
	He grinned and asked, "How come you're always looking at me? I saw
you every week." He had an accent a bit like Freddy's.
	"Just playing."
	"What's your name?"
	"Malcolm."
	"I'm Stewart. You wanna be a altar boy?"
	"I don' like church that much."
	"How come. It's fun and you get to eat breakfast with the priest if
you want. They got really good food."
	"You gonna eat with the priest now?"
	"Uh huh. You wanna too? I'll ast him."
	"No. I've got to go with my parents. Where do you live?"
	"Other side the tracks behind the lumberyard. Wanna see?"
	My heart was racing. "I can't now but maybe after I eat. I can come
down here to the church if you want." Freddy wouldn't be home from his
church until after one.
	"Okay, I'll jus' wait in front after I finish eatin'."
	"Don't you gotta go home with your parents."
	"Nope."
	I expected more of an answer. He looked at me anxiously.
	"Okay, I'll eat quick."
	My parents were still talking. Stewart waved at me as he walked
briskly up to the rectory.
	My mother wanted to know what I'd discussed with the priest.
	"Nothing. I didn't see him."
	"Is there something you need to know or, well, whatever?"
	"No, just something about Catechism."
	"What, dear? Maybe I can help."
	We were in the car turning out of the parking area. I struggled to
find something I could say that would end the interrogation without having
a problem with my father who seemed to be listening to us.
	"He said he was going to give a test when school started. That's
all." I hoped she wouldn't ask about it.
	"Oh, um, well, you'll probably see him next week in school." We
were due back a week from that Wednesday.
	Stewart was good as his word, sitting on the corner of the bottom
steps as a steady stream of people walked past him on the way to the eleven
o'clock Mass. I saw Ronnie Stevens from my class with his parents and seven
brothers and sisters. He hadn't spoken to me since the day I showed him my
erection in the bathroom.
	Stewart jumped up and threw his arm over my shoulder.
	"C'mon. What'd you eat? I had bacon and eggs and toast and juice
and milk. I'll bet you didn't eat that good."
	I'd eaten almost the same less the milk. "Who's at your house?" I
asked.
	"Don' know. Mebbe my big sister."
	"What about your mother and father?"
	"They don' live with us, jus' my big sister and her boy friend and
sometimes my uncle."
	Home for Stewart was a pair of rooms attached to the back of a
clapboard house not a whole lot better than Freddy's. He had a key on a
string around his neck.
	"Ain't nobody home `cause door's locked."
	The inside stunk. It hit me the moment he opened the door. And it
was a mess. Unmade beds were on opposite walls. A wooden table was in the
middle, one corner held up by a piece of lumber wired to the broken
original leg. An upholstered chair covered with a bed spread was along side
the door. A good bit of the bad odor seemed to come from it. The floor was
unpainted wood that squeaked as we walked over it. He sat on one of the
three chairs at the table.
	"Whatta you like to do?" asked Stewart. "I like to play cowboys but
I ain't got no pistols so I gotta use sticks and stuff. Wanna play?"
	"What do you do?"
	"We hide behind stuff an' shoot at each other."
	 It was more boring than Mass. Stewart squeezed himself behind a
bed and went bang, bang at me on the other side of the room. I was supposed
to die and fall on top of the bed. Then it was my turn to kill him. He was
having a blast. I wanted to see if I was right about the size of his dick.
	I asked for the bathroom. He took me outside to another small room
in the side of the house. It was filthier than the house but, strangely
enough, didn't smell as bad. There was a small hand sink that hung out over
the toilet that was pressed along side a narrow metal shower stall. There
was no toilet seat to lift up. I pulled out my paltry peter.
	`Don't you gotta pee too?'
	`Not much.'
	`Why don't you pee now so you won't have to later.'
	`Okay, I'll try.'
	He pushed in beside me bent over trying to extract whatever he had
inside the fly of his new jeans.
	`These here pants the priest got me is hard to use.'
	I saw the opening and leapt to it. "Just open them up and push them
down."
	He struggled with the top button, finally releasing it. The zipper
made a loud zipping sound as he pulled it down. I was becoming very
impatient. He pushed down on the sides. There were no underpants. His new
shirt extended out over his front hiding whatever he was uncovering. I
couldn't wait any longer and reached over and pulled it up.
	He said, "Thanks."
	I was surprised at how thin he was. His skin stretched over his
hipbones. His narrow thighs had stringy but hard looking muscles. He was
pulling on his cock with his fist. I watched, waiting for him to open his
hand and show me what he had.
	"I don't think I can pee," he said with a strain.
	"Don't hold you penis so hard."
	He released it and let it hang. It wasn't as long as Freddy's but
easily as thick. Mine grew in my hand. I stood so he could see, but he
didn't look.
	"You ever play with yours?"
	"Like jerkin' off? Nah, my uncle caught me once and beat my ass. He
says we gotta wait `til it gets big or it might get all rotten and I can
never have babies."
	"That's stupid. I play with mine all the time and look." I thrust
my hips forward and pressed my pants against me so it stuck out as far as
possible.
	"But, look. It's little, like my uncle said. That's from jerkin'
off. You better stop or it'll get really really little. I can't pee."
	He pulled his pants up.
	Frustrated, I told him I had to get home for lunch.
	"But you jest ate breakfast. Let's play some more."
	He looked very sad but I couldn't handle any more cowboys. "Okay,
but let's do something outside."
	He showed me the lumberyard from the railroad tracks. I asked him
where he went to school.
	He was ten and entering the fifth grade at the parochial school
under the church.
	"Where are your mother and father?"
	"My father got killed by the Japs and my mother kinda went crazy so
they got her in some place out in the county."
	We climbed the lumberyard wall but jumped back down when a large
dog leapt at the wall making a thud that had us running across the
tracks. He showed me where the train tracks crossed over the stream. A
walkway went under the bridge. We went down by the water.
	Stewart shouted, "Stewart!" The sound of his voice echoed off the
walls. I shouted my name. We made a variety of sounds to see what each
sounded like. Two women walked in from the far side and gave us a look of
exasperation. We shut up until they'd left then laughed, found that had a
different sound and laughed louder.
	When I asked Stewart about his friends from the neighborhood, he
said, "I don't like to play with them. They're always fighting. I don't
like to fight."
	"Don't you got friends at school?"
	"I got plenty there but none a them live aroun' here."
	He tried to get me to be an altar boy. "All you gotta do is learn
the Latin words on this card. And the fathers are nice. They give me
clothes an' shoes an' I can eat there when there ain't no food here."
	I promised to think about it and meet the next week after Mass.
	I felt bad leaving him but knew Freddy was waiting.
	When I told him about Stewart, Freddy was concerned.
	"Don' never bring that white boy in heah. He sees you with a nigger
an' he'll come back with a bunch a his white friends and beat the shit
outta all us, especial you fo' bein' with us. They hates whites what goes
with coloreds."
	I promised I wouldn't.
	Anyhow, I missed seeing Stewart the following week. Once again, my
parents went off somewhere for the Labor Day weekend, leaving me this time
with my mother's sister out in the country. My grandparents were away, too.
	It wasn't too bad. I learned a little about riding a horse and
where eggs come from.