1. This story may contain descriptions of sexual acts between boys and/or men and boys so if this is not to your tastes, please leave now. If you are under age, or if it is illegal in your state or country to read or possess material like this then it is in your own interest to leave now.
2. The author owns all copyright to this story. A copy has been placed in this archive for your enjoyment. Please do not distribute it to any news groups and/or other web sites without permission of the author. Authorisation for the free transmission of my unaltered writings can be requested from the author.
3. This story is pure fiction. Any resemblance to any individuals, real or fictional, living or dead is purely coincidental.
4. The author neither encourages nor condones any acts of illicit or underage sex, nor does he encourage any of the unsafe sexual practices described herein.
5. This story is a parody of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs by the brothers Grimm, which is in the public domain, and is in now way associated with any property of the Disney Corporation.
6. You can e-mail your constructive comments to at: g_day@hotmail.com

The academic and scientific world had gone into trauma when Dr Lon Yang had announced his decision not to take up the post of the youngest ever Oxford Don and had, instead, accepted a lowly paid research fellowship at a redbrick university, west of London.

At seventeen and a half years old, Lon Yang was an acknowledged "wunderkind" and something of a celebrity in the rarefied air of academia. He had graduated, with every conceivable honour, when most boys were considering the move to high school. Then, with the backing of several substantial scholarships, he went to both Oxford, then Cambridge, where he was awarded a doctoral qualification at each.

Dr. Yang seemed assured of the job of his choice wherever he might choose. All of the major pharmaceuticals were hounding him, MIT and Harvard were in there vying with the Oxbridge establishment for the young genius - and then this!

Dr. Yang had accepted a post doing research for New Windsor University into the rather odd field of Sports Medicine and its relationship to DNA and the human genome project.

At first word had it that he was suffering from burn out; then it was insinuated he was, in reality, doing undercover work for Nato; but progressively, the rumour-mill lost interest and focused on other, more immediate, matters.

The truth was - as it so often is - far more bizarre.

Dr. Lon Yang was slight of build, with smooth-skinned Chinese features and short, spiky black hair. He wore black-rimmed glasses with thick-lenses that seemed more appropriate to the 1960's than at the beginning of the twenty-first century. His face had a shy, boyish charm - but above all, he had that stooped-shouldered, studious look of the true nerd!

He was the product of a short-lived union between a Chinese shopkeeper and his Cockney cleaning lady. When his mother had died in childbirth, his father, had felt compelled to place the boy in the care of his sister, who already had five children!

From an early age Lon's keen mind had differentiated him. He moved rapidly though a series of boarding schools and universities, which had provided the young wonder with little time to develop friends or social skills.

He lived for his work - but at Seventeen and a half, he determined to give himself a respite.

Opening his agenda in Outlook, Dr Yang examined the plans for that Friday.

The weekly and monthly returns to the Research Director, back in New Windsor, were due and there was only one other entry. He smiled contentedly. Well, that was good -- a few keystrokes; a series of clever macros, set up in Excel, accessed the database; and the returns were in the Director's inbox in less than a minute. Dr, Yang smiled as he thought of the rest of the other Research Fellows, attached to the University, struggling to get their manual returns in on time.

Now he had the entire day to devote to the real reason he delighted in his grossly underpaid job on the Sports/DNA project.

When he took the job he had accepted it for the unlimited access to the University's computer technology and the promise of free time between appointments to pursue his own research.

Today, there was that nine a.m. appointment with the intriguingly named Jack Tosspot. Lon Yang had found the nature of his research duties were an unforeseen bonus.

There was another reward attached to the New Windsor University research post, and that was the accommodation. Located at the very edge of the Windsor Great Park in an eighteenth century gamekeeper's lodge, it served as a research laboratory, computer centre and two-roomed flat for the research fellow. Other than cleaners three times a week, Lon had the property entirely to himself. This suited Lon Yang very well indeed.

Regrettably, he had no time to continue any further refection on his situation in life, as the door bell announced the arrival of his nine a.m. appointment.

Jack Tosspot, it turned out, was beefy twenty-year-old, first-year university student and serious rowing enthusiast with a short but well-muscled body. All of Lon's visitors were high school, university or professional sportsmen. This one was built like a boxer on steroids - Tosspot was a well-built stallion with well-developed, veined muscles.

"Alright, Doc?" He asked in a friendly, ladish way. Lon Yang knew they type too well -- heterosexual, but more interested in sport and lager than girls.

As he followed the rower from the entrance down the corridor to the test room at the back of the lodge, Lon Yang watched his arse as it moved back and forth. Shaped like melons? Perhaps, Lon thought.

The denim jeans clung to the curves of his buttocks - the jeans cup his beautiful bum, like a hand holding an egg.

Arriving the small white painted test room, Dr. Yang explained: "As you may know, Mr Tosspot, we have been performing reproductive studies, at this laboratory on men and boys who have proved to be superior in both sporting achievements and above average athletic physique."

"Reproduction is like bonking - right?" Clearly Tosspot was at New Windsor for his rowing ability not his I.Q.

"Eer... yes! And apart from DNA sampling, we need..."

"What is DNA anyway?" Jack asked.

"Let me worry about the technical nonsense for now Jack." Doc Yang replied.

"Why me, anyway?" Jack asked.

Jack Tosspot's face wasn't pretty - it was a man's face, softened with a late teen's advantages. Eyes bright; a strong jaw; and pink lips snarling or pouting, in response to a question from the Doc.

"Because you have one of the most masculine bodies on campus..."

"Well thanks, Doc..." said Jack. While he was not really bright, he could, at least, tell a complement when it was handed to him.

"And your body is perfect to help with these tests."

There was this slit in Jack's jeans, just below his arse, revealing an oval of smooth, untanned skin. It was like a big white eye, looking back at him. Just as it always did, Dr. Yang's own dick sprang into life when confronted by a sight like this.

"What do I have to do and how long will it take?" asked Jack.

While most visitors knew what they were in for, Dr. Yang had a scripted answer that stressed scientific discretion. The volunteer needed to provide DNA specimens from hair and sweat while in the privacy of a cubical he would donate a sperm sample in a beaker.

"Think of it as a visit to the Sperm bank."

"Do ya have wank mags?" he was now holding his solid cock in both hands.

"Of course, suitable material is provided."

"We also pay you for your trouble" this was usually a clincher with chronically broke students.

"If you agree, can you please take off your clothes and we'll begin, shall we?" asked the Doctor.

Dr. Yang had his volunteers separate into two groups -- those that who were shy and waited for him to leave before stripping and others, like this Tosspot, who could hardly wait to get his cloths off. Often he was amazed with the enthusiastic speed with which these straight guys stripped off in front of him.

His shirt was gone in seconds. His torso tapered severely down to his waist -- big, pink, hairless nipples on a broad rowers-chest. A small, wet tangle of hair, looking like seaweed washed up on a beach, showed when he raised his arms. The muscles in his back knot like rutting snakes as he tugged his jeans down to his thighs revealing a threadbare and yellowing jockstrap.

Jack stood there stark naked.

The keen eye of Doc Yang scanned the hunk from the bulging calves to the head of close-cropped brown hair and close-set, unintelligent eyes, which nestled under a thatch of bushy black eyebrows.

Then his eyes settled on his huge cock and balls. He was uncut, of course and while he was still soft there was no mistaking he had a seriously large dick.

"We have found that volunteer find it unpleasant having to work up a sweat of have a sample of their hair clipped, so most lads agree to leave a pair of underwear or a jockstrap with us. It is quicker and we always supply a brand new pair for you to wear out of here." The big cock twitched into life slowly as Dr. Yang suggested his quick and easy solution to the problem of sweat and hair samples.

"But where do you get the sweat and hair?"

"Oh there is usually a stray pubic hair or two and the sweat that collects about your scrotum is very representative." Dr. Yang explained dispassionately.

"Well... me old jock is a bit mankey."

"What?" Dr. Yang was unfamiliar with current lad jargon.

"Mankey, yer know... Smelly, like..."

"I think I can cope..."

A pulsing in the thick veins leading down the length of Jack Tosspot's dick showed that he found this just the tiniest bit arousing.

"So you keeps me dirt jock and I get a clean pair of underpants and a fist full of five's for a wank?" This beefy lad found the whole situation sexually arousing - but he thinks he is straight - he doesn't want anything to happen with the guy in the white coat. Luckily for him, Dr. Yang regards teen and twenty-year-old males as a spectator sport

"You summed that up very well..." Dr. Yang found the more you flatter the stupid ones, the more ready they were to suggest their straight mates visit the laboratory as well.

"Well let's get to it, Doc." Jack said. It was now clear his cock is not interested in his mental hang-ups and is reacting making it obvious that he has little control over his body's desires.

Lon Yang smiled contentedly as Jack gave his dong a lusty yank!

"Well I will leave you to it, and I'll take these with me then, shall I?" he stooped to scoop up the very worn old jock, turning it over professionally, checking for traces of the lads brown pubes in the stained pouch.

He left the naked sportsman flicking through a collection of tits and pussy magazines and made his way to the control room. Inside the room that housed all his computer apparatus, Dr. Yang turned on the screens and flicked a few switches. In the blue gloom the lights came up, the cameras trained on Jack Tosspot responded and the video screens filled with views of the naked lad.

Dr. Yang hit the record button and started making a digital recording for latter editing. To add life to the action Dr Yang also recorded the output of the hidden microphones could record any grunts and groans from the lad.

His cock was a burning log in his jeans - it looks as if the nerdy Dr. Yang had shoved a miniature replica of a police truncheon down them. The fabric bulged and strained around his seventeen-year-old penis.

Dr. Yang watched as the boy continued to riffled though the magazines until he found a forbidden teenage bisexual romp showed boys an girls as young as fifteen or fourteen fingering sucking and fucking.

"Cor, get a load of vat!" Jack Tosspot yelped, as his cock sprang to its full nine inches in one gigantic throb. The lad continued to address himself from time to time, unaware that every move he made; every sound he uttered - was being reordered for posterity and the viewers' pleasure. Lon Yang could feel the denim cloth stroking and stimulating his rod.

Tosspot's big beefy hand flew to his blood engorged cock and his started fisting it firmly! Dr. Yang fantasised what it would feel like to take it in his hand - God knows if he could get his small hand round it now that it was fully hard.

"Bloody oath I could handle one o' them little holes! Va lads too, come to fink of it." Well, there was an interesting admission, though Dr Yang, as he held the lad's Jockstrap up to his nose and breathed deeply.

Dr. Yang in the comfort of the dark, slipped his jeans to the floor and paused to squirt gooey fluid on the length of a long, but slim, plastic shaft and inserted into his well-greased anus. He could feel it pressing against his prostate and his free hand stroked his hard half-Asian six-incher.

Jack too, was beginning to groaning and writhing on the chair, the porn magazine open in front of him on the table. Drops of sweat that had appeared between his heaving shoulder blades - were flying off like little diamonds from his back as he thrashed around.

Under the table six cameras placed at strategically close-up locations remitted a video image to the numerous terminals.

Dr Yang was looking forward to editing this one!

The nerd's cockhead was hot under his palm. A dribble of pre-cum leaked out and it starts to run down his smooth Asian leg as he continued to fuck himself with the plastic anal-probe.

Jack's body gradually became taut as a steel spring, his muscles were bulging even more the earlier and a mist of sweat had broken out on his brow and upper lip.

Dr. Yang stood transfixed by the terminal showing the close-ups of the action and hearing Tosspot grunt and groan still under the illusion that he was getting off in total privacy. Jack must have been very horny. You could see he was trying to hold ejaculation off as long as possible, but it was a loosing battle -- the teeny tits and sparsely-haired, boyish dicks in the porn magazine, had the better of him.

"Bleedin' hell I'm gonna cum?" Jack howled with his eyes shut.

The videos recorded him gush and pumping up close. Jack grabbed the large glass beaker from the table to collect his semen, getting a load of it on his hand in the process.

Dr Yang started squirting his own juices all over the floor in front of the control panel while on the speakers he could hear the grunts and groans and squishing sounds of the big lad's meat being beaten.

Jack had collapsed on the seat worn out and sweaty, gasping - trying to get a little air. His hair stood out at odd angles. His face had a contented, peaceful look masking it. His big arms were now relaxed, his big cum-stained hand lay open on the table. His left leg was raised and his foot lodged on top of the chair. His dick was semi-erect and lay over his hip, with his balls very loose in their sack hanging beneath them. This straight lad was thick and muscular but at the same time very trim - very beautiful.

The young Chinese doctor clean himself up and gave his volunteer sufficient time to tidy up and dress once more then he knocked on the door and entered the room. The air was heavy with the sent of male sexuality and the smell of a fresh load of sperm.

The Doctor thanked him for coming, and told him he would be welcome to return another time and if he could get his mates interested that the laboratory paid an introductory fee.

"Did you produce much for me?"

"Look for yourself, Doc," Tosspot said, and held up the beaker containing his cum. It was a thick, viscous, slimy mess and there was a great deal of it.

"I been ejaculating for science - that's what I can tell me mates." He gave a big stupid grin as he offered the Doctor his big hand to shake -- the same hand he had just used to produce the load of cum!

Lon Yang grabbed Jack's hand -- which was still warm from the action - and shook it enthusiastically. As he closed the door the seventeen-year-old university researcher slipped a drop of the lad's sperm on to a glass sliver and placed it under the electron microscope, then he jerked off yet another load, while he studied Jack Tosspot's sperm.

A short time latter, Dr. Yang, fully recovered from a good wank, set to the serious work that kept him content and happy in his underpaid job.

He powered up the laboratory server, logged on to the Internet and allowed a program he had written to take over. Soon it was scanning the Internet for fresh pornographic images, harvesting them then filing them by category and allowing outsiders to trade and exchange their images with those loaded on the university's hard disk.

The images were of both teens and underage children. Many were home-made and almost all were very, very illegal. But Lon Yang seldom worried about prosecution -- a clever relay of proxy servers scattered over five continents had taken care of that.

Dr. Lon Yang, meanwhile, thought he of getting around to editing Jack Tosspot's little show later in the day. It would find its way onto the server, and it was certain to satisfy the cock hungry viewer who favoured older tools. Porn was a means of trade for him -- Jack ought to be worth a whole bunch of exchange material, especially the really young stuff, which Lon Yang so loved.

With a little time to kill, Dr. Yang logged onto the chat rooms to see if any of his regular chat buddies were on line.

He had grown very attached to two of them -- the often difficult and unpleasant, SleepY, and the young and loveable, snwy-m16. But Dr. Lon Yang knew that the position he was in, and the traffic he engaged in, made it impossible and dangerous for him to lower his cover to ever attempt to meet up with these, or any other friends, he might make online.

However, sad to say, Dr. Lon Yang, with his exceptional I.Q. and an extraordinary array of qualifications, had not taken Snowy Whyte into account.

When he had received the Ordinance-Survey Explorer Map Number 4567, as a gift from his friend, Bashful, Snowy Whyte had absolutely no idea what earthly use it might be to him.

Bashful, like all true anoraks, was incapable of comprehending anyone who was not likewise enthusiastic about orienteering -- hence this odd choice of a birthday gift for his blond friend - but here was Snowy with it spread out on his bedroom floor -- studying it avidly!

It showed the Windsor Great Park in detail. Just off the centre fold, in a section marked "Columbine Dell", stood "Once-upon-a-Time", his home. Snowy traced the tarred road back towards the bottom left-hand corner, where the Military Barracks stood on the outskirts of Windsor itself.

Then he referred to the printout of the last online chat he had had with his Internet buddies, SleepY and Dok!.

Each line of the conversation was proceeded by a series of numbers. It had taken a telephone call to an exceptionally uncooperative Dick Flaunting-Flasher, to find that these numbers were called a time-stamp and he managed to drag out of the sullen teenager how to interpret them.

It served to confirm his suspicion and made his next steps that much more scientific. It was really rather easy - but nonetheless, a pretty good achievement for an eleven-year-old none the less.

The chances that three people in the UK hearing two fire engines passing their homes within minutes of each other, and still find that they were all in entirely different parts of the country, were pretty slim. That was how the pretty boy's brain formed the scheme and the comparison of the timestamps made it that much more scientific.

He knew that Dick Flaunting-Flasher or SleepY, as he was known online lived in the military barracks. If he took the difference between the timestamp next to the point at which Snowy heard the fire engines and deducted the time Dick first heard it - he could use that as a standard.

He placed drawing pins and a length of string between the two points on the Ordinance Survey Map.

Next he examined the time that Dok!, reported hearing fire engines and compared it to the standard. It was approximately one-and-a-half times the duration in seconds. If he assumed the engines were travelling at a constant speed - which seemed a reasonably safe bet - then the place that Dok!, lived should be one-and-a-half times the distance between the barracks and Snowy's home!

He traced a pencil arc across the top half of the map, and examined it closely.

There were really very few building scatted in this area of the forest where it started giving way to farm land and only one intersected both the line and stood on the tarred road that the fire engines might be able to navigate. It was marked "Forester's Lodge -- Medical Research Laboratory."

Snowy smiled contentedly! He had found the Dok! He was certain of that!

On the landing outside of Snowy's bedroom, the telephone disturbed his plotting of his next steps. He knew the women were out shopping and his father was in his surgery so Snowy answered the call.

"Snowy... Snowy we are all bored..." It was the slow whining-voice of Peter Pratt, his eight-year-old friend.

It was the third Friday of the holidays and Snowy felt a guilty pang when he realised he had spend no time with his friends. He had been too wrapped up in his computer and his problem with Dick to get out much.

"Snowy, Patrick, Pip and I want to know if you... if you want to come and play with us?" There was something about the way in which he said the word "play" that warned Snowy that Dopey was not talking about a game of snakes and ladders.

"Dopey, you know I cant play those sorts of games, until..." but Snowy was cut off in mid sentence as Patrick, Dopey's older brother gabbed the telephone receiver.

"Hey, Snowy mate, we all alone at `ome an' we all naked and `orny as `ell. Don't'cha wanna come `ave a wank wiv us, mate?" Snowy felt his own penis stiffening in his shorts, Patrick was such a sexy young animal and he would adore playing with the twelve-year-old penis.

"An' me an' all..." squeaked Pip Pratt, the lads' five--year-old brother.

Now this really tested Snowy's resolve to the limit -- he had never played with the youngest of the Pratt's, even though he had a very nice photograph of each of the three lads' hard cocks!

"Hmmm... no I-I-I have something to do today lads, some other time, perhaps...." he said very sadly. But the thought of a group adventure with the three bothers was almost irresistible.

"It is him, ain't it..." said Dopey with an accusatory tone in his voice, "that great big lummox!"

"Hey, Snowy mate," Patrick grabbed the receiver from his younger brother and bellowed " if you `ave me cock three times then, three times four inches equals twelve, ain't it? That way yer gets a twelve-incher an' all!"

But a promise was a promise -- he would only enjoy those games again, once he had helped sort out Richard Flaunting-Flasher's crazy, mixed-up sex life.

It was very uncomfortable pedalling his bicycle with a stiff penis in his shorts, but somehow Snowy Whyte covered the miles down the winding road towards the Lodge, he had spotted on the map.

The closer he got to his destination, the more he feared he might be making a dreadful mistake.

But our Snowy was made of sterner stuff!

Then Snowy Whyte saw it -- an old hunting lodge lay just off the tarred road and a large billboard declared that establishment had been converted into a research laboratory and was part of the New Windsor University Medical Research Unit.

A number 7 bus stop stood outside the door and a thickset lad, built like a rower, waited for the next bus back to Windsor. Jack Tosspot looked inquisitively at the pretty lad with the white-blond hair dismounting from his bicycle and walking slowly to the front door. Surely, he thought, the little lad was too young to cum for science?

There was an air of bottomless joy at "Once-upon-a-Time" when Snowy returned from his long bicycle ride that Friday.

If Pricilla had not been several stone heavier than she ought, she would have been floating from room to room, like a fat balloon, with one of those silly smiley faces painted on it!

"What is going on?" Snowy asked.

"Oh dear, dear Prissy has a date tonight!" Snowy's stepmother could not have sounded happier had she won the lottery had decided to ship him off to Outer Mongolia.

"A date?" Snowy had difficulty is disguising his disbelief.

"Yes..."

"Umm... with a boy?"

"Oh, of course not..." Snowy sighed - relieved that at least some poor fellow member of his sex, had had a narrow escape, but his relief was short lived, " ...with a young gentlemen! You know him - Richard Flaunting-Flasher, that chap with the lovely manners. I do wish you would have him as a chum, not that common type you mix with. He hinted to her about it, that time he came to help you with the computer, but he seemed to take along time to fix a date."

"And he is taking Pricilla... out... on a date?" He could not credit it.

"Yes to the cinema..." said his stepsister, who had just that very morning, sprouted a large and raw looking pimple on her piggy nose, "and we are going to see Toy Story II and you can't come!" She gloated.

"Now, Prissy, you must remember to invite young Richard to lunch on Sunday as well, and now, my dearest, we need to get you prepared..."

"Hmm..." Snowy hesitated, "if Dick is coming to lunch on Sunday, can... can I invite some of my friends as well?" He thought he might take advantage of the general good humour of the moment.

"Oh, do let them come Mama," Snowy could hardly believe getting support from Pricilla, but her motive soon became clear, "they can see that I do have a proper boyfriend after all!"

"Fine, fine..." Mrs. Whyte waved a dismissive hand at the boy, "I thought of the red polka dot dress with the pretty puff-sleeves and a nice little bow in your lovely hair, dearest."

"I have a new friend too he is a Doctor and does medical research. I thought Daddy might like to meet him..."

"Whatever," Mrs Whyte scowled, as Pricilla squealed - delighted at the double prospect of a date, and an opportunity to show him off on Sunday as well.

"... and I know that Richard Flaunting-Flasher will want to meet my new friend as well." Snowy said to the empty room as Mrs. Whyte rushed her fat bundle up the stairs.

The first time Dick Flaunting-Flasher ever masturbated was when he was seven years old.

He might have been eight years old; he didn't remember that part of it very clearly. What Dick would never forget, however, was that he did have help!

There was a lad who lived next door to Flaunting-Flasher's named Jon. (Dick could still remember clearly, the odd way he spelt his name). He too, was an Army brat, and he was about five years older than Dick was. His dad was some sort of armaments specialist and had this routine of always slapping Dick on the top of his head when he saw him. Jon's Mother drank - or so they said around the base.

There were quiet a few other lads on the base at that time, but Jon constantly hung around with the skinny seven-year-old kid next door -- if people on the base thought it peculiar, no one said anything to Dick -- and he just loved having a older friend.

Dick could not clearly recall how it started - but he could remember that they looked at Jon's Playboys a lot. Jon, being a real lad, shoplifted them from a Newsagent off the High Street, about half a mile from the base - somehow, the fact that the Playboy's were stolen, made them that much more forbidden; that much more exciting.

Jon hid all the centrefold pictures under his posters, and he would remove the posters, when we were alone, allowing them to gawk at the women.

Dick tried to work up the same enthusiasm for the voluptuous naked women that Jon displayed -- using him as a role model. Soon he too could squeak: "cor, look at them knockers," along with the best of them.

Jon's father had a 'toe massager' -- it was just part of a military professional's obsession with his feet. It consisted of a plastic ring in which one inserted your toe; a shaft that held the batteries; and an on/off switch on the side.

The thing was, it was always in Jon's bedroom and this struck little Dick as a little odd.

"Jon," the little lad asked one day, "what do you use this for?" No had ever explained anything to Dick before -- that was part of the appeal of Jon -- he took the time to explain things to the lad.

Jon's face flushed a bit, then in a conspiratorial way, he asked if Dick wished to see what it was that he used it for.

Then, with out waiting for a reply, the older lad ripped down his jeans and underwear in one swift movement. Dick could recollect that Jon had a bit of hair. Dick, of course, had none and he asked him why he was hairy about his pee-pee. As usual Jon explained this to Dick.

Then Jon slipped his five-inch erection into the plastic ring and flicked on the switch. Even though the 'toe massager' was it was not exactly the right shaped for Jon's cock really, it appeared to work worked pretty well.

Dick was impressed.

Dick could recall watching him masturbate. Jon perched near the edge of the mattress that he used as a bed, and he shut his eyes and just did it.

Dick watched and thought it was excellent - a super-cool thing to do.

Prior to this, Dick had no idea what sex was. While Jon masturbated with the toe-massager -- from time to time, gazing at those playboys - he tried to explain this sex stuff to Dick. Unfortunately, Jon didn't know much himself and so the information was, at best, unreliable but it was practically the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.

Then Jon appeared to jolt upright and Dick thought he had received a shock from the wank-machine - few drops of clear fluid dribbled lazily out of the tip of his dick while Jon's eyes twitched and his face screwed-up as if he was in pain.

Little Dick found this a bit scary.

Then Dick remember Jon ripped off his little boys' pants; cleaning off the fluid from the toe-massager; lodging it firmly on his seven-year-old cock; yanking the switch to get it going and pushing him back on his mattress and letting it do it's trick.

It was wonderful!

Dick didn't even bother wondering what was happening, or why the hell Jon was doing this to him. He didn't look at the playboys while it took place, as Jon had done - Dick just closed his eyes and let it occur.

Dick did not have an orgasm that first time -- he presumed he was too young. But when he felt he had had enough, he opened his eyes. Jon had been watching Dick the whole time. He wiped off his dad's toe-massager - there couldn't have been anything on it, but he did.

Jon and Dick played around on many subsequent occasions.

He recollected most vividly, however, the last time they played.

Jon always watched Dick intently the whole time - he assumed Jon was straight -- but he was certainly fascinated by Dick's little-boy cock! But, Jon never attempted to touch Dick's cock again. Dick knew that he would have let him if he had tried. The truth was he wanted him to - Dick really liked Jon.

As they were leaving Jon's room that very last time, they were in a playful mood, jostling each other at the landing of the stairs. Dick had said something like, "I'm gonna shove you down the stairs you big lummox!"

"Well if you do that then I'll never let you look at my Playboys again, mate." Jon came-back.

"Well if you don't, then I'll tell your dad about everything!" Dick said, tormenting his older friend.

The expression on Jon's face showed that he did not see the fun in this remark!

Dick had never meant to get Jon scared or anything. He knew that if he told Jon's dad that they would both get in major trouble - Dick knew -- every one on the base knew that a British army base was not a place to accept homosexual goings-on, even if it was between the very young.

This was long before Richard Flaunting-Flasher had learned the shameful truth about his grandfather -- but even at seven he knew sex between boys was bad.

Dick had just assumed Jon knew that he had absolutely no intention of ever telling anyone anything - no matter what!

Jon however, never let him see his playboys or masturbate with him again. Dick remembered begging him, but he just wouldn't.

They were too uncomfortable around each other now.

They saw each other once in a while after that, and Jon was still nice to Dick, but he was so damned scared. They never again, got as close as they once had been.

When Jon turned thirteen his father was transferred to active duty in Northern Ireland and the whole family moved.

Dick Flaunting-Flasher sighed heavily - the tragic part was that it had not only been his only sexual connection, but the way his life was going, it would probably be the most sparkling sexual relationship he would ever have!

It had certainly been comfortable -- a lot more comfortable than wanking-off online - or pretending to be interested in a fat girl, for his father benefit!

Dick was a deeply troubled boy as he arrived at "Once-upon-a-time" to collect Pricilla for their first date.

He was hoping and praying that he would not see Snowy Whyte!

Firstly, he worried - He had, after all exposed himself too the young lad online and was now dating his sister! He hoped to God that the boy would not take it in his head to say something about it.

Secondly, there were the shameful thoughts he had been harbouring about the boy himself. Online he could play the mean bastard to Snowy, but in the still of his heart he yearned to kiss the boy in the rudest of places. He disgusted himself! He wanted to see the boy naked and hard -- he desired to touch him like the older boys did to younger ones in those pictures he found on the net.

Thirdly, his conscience was plagued by his confession to the old Vicar. He had promised to "be nice" to the little lad and Dick had the uncomfortable feeling that the Vicar knew that this might mean them doing very, very rude things!

He had not been entirely truthful to the Vicar -- he had forgotten to mention Jon -- he had suppressed those memories for so long and now they were flooding back.

He was a mess!

He had not slept in three nights, obsessively tossing off - almost continuously day and night - for anyone who wanted to see. And now here he was pretending to be Mr. Prim-and-Proper dating this fat thirteen year old girl!

Thankfully, it was Pricilla who opened the door. Later her mother saw the odd couple off on the number-7 bus back to Windsor, after extracting a promise from him that he would join them for Luncheon on Sunday. He had not seen Snowy Whyte once.

During the bus ride, Pricilla seemed to spend most of her time either giggling or trying to catch her own refection in the bus windows. He watched her and his heart fell into his very large boots. He kept trying to remember what it was she looked like, in that red dotted dress and over sized trainers - and then it truck him -- Minnie Mouse! She looked like a tubby version of Mickey's girl - only the black ears were missing!

He groaned! His life was ruined anyway - he was already the figure of derision at school -- the boys laughed at his big cock when they caught sight of it in gym class and now he was dating the ugliest girl in the County.

They arrived at the Multi-Cinema complex and Pricilla made certain that as many of her school chums as possible saw them together.

Dick blushed.

Dick wished he were dead.

Dick slouched and stooped more than ever wishing that his head would disappear forever between his shoulders.

At last, second before the film commenced, they slipped into the darkened cinema and sat nervously next to each other.

A few minutes latter, Pricilla felt the gentle touch of Dick unruly hair stroke against her cheek. She held her breath.

Then she felt it again!

This time his large head rested on her shoulder! Somewhere deep inside her a quiver of excitement started and made its way to the tips of her tingling scalp.

Then a breath of warm air stroked her ear lobe! In her panties the fat sweetheart felt that familiar wet-warmth that always happened when she was excited by a boy.

"Oh my he likes me!" She squealed "he is going to do it! He is going to... kiss me..." But the next moves never came - and the breathing in her ear became more rhythmic.

Richard Flaunting--Falsher slept his way though his first date!

It would be difficult to imagine anyone more contented with his life - anyone happier with the hand that life had dealt him - than Felix Jollybottom!

An orphan from early on, and a school drop out at 15, Felix had survived, rather than lived, until that day the job centre handed him the dog-eared description of a job, which had been rejected countless times, by all comers.

The eighteen-years-old was now the immensely proud attendant at the gentlemen's lavatory on the Parade.

This job had provided him a passionate reason to live!

Oh, it had not always been so!

Indeed, on that very first day when he had arrived at work for the first time, he felt humiliated.

He hated the place before he even entered it. The stench of urine assaulted his nostrils as he descended the steps into the dark dankness under the Parade.

But what else could he do?

He had no family and lived on a tiny benefit, which barely covered the rental of the single room in Mrs. Trollop's boarding house that he called home.

At first he wished everybody that came in there to piss or shit, would die of a horrible disease that involved pain and decaying flesh.

He was mortified, but he needed the money! The lousy pay for the job was originally designed to supplement the meagre pension of a war veteran but he had to take what he could get and he was determined to do it.

A foul, stinking lake of water covered the floor. The mournful sound of gushing water told him that several of the cisterns were broken and a single surviving pear-shapes bulb illuminated the gloom.

But Felix was no chicken. He would get this place sorted!

Day after disgusting day, he worked at it. He got the Borough council maintenance department to fix the plumbing; he mopped up the lake of piss-rancid water, fished out disgusting things that blocked drains; cleared up syringes that junkies had left behind.

He hated the drunks that came in and pissed on the floor he had just cleaned; in fact he hated everyone who came near the place.

It was several days before he could replace the missing light bulbs and found he had sufficient light for him to be able to see the cum-stained walls and doors of the cubicles.

Felix Jollybottom drew on a pair of heavy-duty rubber gloves, mixed-up a bucket of strong detergent and set about cleaning off the grime and graffiti.

That was when it happened - in the very last of the cubical he saw in a childlike hand the following message:

Felix Jollybottom stood rooted to the spot -- his scrubbing-brush frozen in an upward-stroke.

It could not be! He reread the message.

With trembling legs he walked back to the small room that was his office and put on the ancient kettle to make a good strong cuppa! He needed the solace only tea could give an English lad.

Felix, an only child, had always longed to have a brother. In his minds-eye his perfect age for his brother was nine!

Many a night he had lain in his narrow bed masturbating while he was dreaming of his imaginary nine-year-old brother. The thought of rubbing him till it was good and stiff, and then sucking him good and hard were precisely what he had dreamed of doing! And here he was -- he had just managed to stop himself before he had destroyed forever some young school lad's deepest confession!

It had shaken him deeply! Suddenly he felt differently about the gentlemen's lavatory under the Parade. It was not just a place where people came to perform disgusting bodily functions, it was also a place filled with secrets.

If he could do his part to make this a place where that little lad, whoever he was, could feel safe and secure while he had a wank and confessed his sins in writing, then Felix Jollybottom would be proud to be a part of it!

That had been a good few years ago.

The Gents' under the Parade had since won several awards as the best kept in the county and Felix had succeeded in getting rid of the more undesirable elements and was popular with the remaining visitors.

But Felix still had problems! He could only work a limited number of hours and there were never sufficient funds to pay overtime or provide Felix with even a meagre wage increase.

He had to find an extra source of income.

The idea of becoming a bike courier in his free time came from one of his regulars at the Parade Gents', a good-looking lad of twenty-two, himself a courier, who used the facility while on his rounds and often stopped for a cup of tea with the happy attendant. Felix had Wednesdays and Saturdays off and on these days he supplemented his income by freelance courier work.

And so it was, on a fine summer's Saturday morning that Felix Jollybottom set out to cycle the several miles to a place with the unlikely name of "Once-upon-a-time" in Columbine Dell in Windsor Great Park.

In his satchel he carried a small parcel addressed to a Mrs. Whyte from a London based company.

It was an easy way to make extra money -- he would collect a consignment, when there was one requiring delivery; deliver it and get a signature and keep the delivery fee, which operated on a sliding scale.

In the mean time, Felix got some outdoor exercise and could get to wear his beloved spandex cycling-outfit, which hugged his slim body and made his cock feel good.

The place was easy to find and he knocked smartly. A thin-lipped woman opened the oak door and peered down her nose at this odd looking courier with flame-red hair, a red spandex outfit and wrap-around sunshades.

"Yes?" she regarded Felix suspiciously.

"Parcel for Mrs. Whyte, Ma'am." Said Felix holding the parcel for her inspection.

"For me?"

"I reckon, vat is, if you are Mrs. Whyte, Ma'am." Felix permitted himself a good-humoured jest.

She examined the parcel haughtily, then she spotted the address of the sender and her whole demeanour changed dramatically.

"It is from dear Madame Zelda, why didn't you say so you silly young man." She snatched up the package and fled down the hall leaving Felix with an unsigned receipt and an unpaid delivery fee.

"Well bugger me!" said Felix the slightest trace of a frown creasing his normally happy face. Unsure what to do next, but not wishing to miss out on the £30-00 for his delivery service, Felix stepped over the threshold and calling out: "Hello? Hello? Mrs Whyte? Where are ya?"

She appeared to be oblivious to all and had her back to the door, when Felix pursued her into the Morning Room.

"Yes! Yes!" She was exclaiming ecstatically as she held up a piece of funny looking brown paper cover in strange characters. Now Felix was quiet and authority in strange and incomprehensible scribbling - you couldn't be a Gents' room attendant without being able to tell your "Killroy-was-here" from your football logos! But he had never in his life seen anything as queer as this -- it was all birds and fans and squiggly lines!

And what is more the old bat was talking to herself in a very eccentric way:

"Ah yes! Yes here it is the original message from the spirits in hieroglyphics! And this must be dear Pricilla's name in Egyptian!"

The old bat was clearly barking mad, Felix concluded. Hoping she was not dangerous, Felix Jollybottom tried to draw her attention once more by coughing loudly, but she just kept scratching through the parcel then withdrew a sheet of printed paper and read it aloud:

"Hail to thee Daughter of Isis,

Hail Princess of the upper and lower kingdoms,

We hail the divine one, reincarnated in a different time.

Hail seed of the mighty goddess!

The Gods of ancient Egypt call upon you

To fulfil your royal destiny

Yours will be riches beyond toll

And blessed will be the fruit of your womb,

The reincarnation of Princess Nephri

Born to thee by the blessed name Pricilla.

"The Gods command thee to reclaim thy inheritance!

"Away with the male line!

Let they daughter take her place

At the head of the list of claimants.

"If the father will see the way the Gods wish it,

The boy will be spared.

If not then so be it.

"If harm must befall the boy,

Let violence be done,

And done swiftly.

"The Gods have spoken - If you act

You will have fame throughout the land,

And shall be in care,

Till the end of your days

On this, the lower earth."

Felix had heard some babbling drivel from drunks in his time, but this took the bleeding cake!

"Mrs. Whyte..." he began a little unsure of himself, "could you sign for the parcel please?"

She spun around and saw the lad in his flame-red suite and matching hair.

Her eyes shone demonically and she seemed to gaze at him with awe:

"Why, you must be a messenger sent by the God Ra himself," she said, quivering with agitation.

He had the odd feeling she would have paid him a hundred quid, if he had asked for it, but Felix just wanted to get the hell out of there.

"Barking!" he exclaimed as he shut the solid oak door firmly behind him.

It was only on his way back to Windsor that he reflected on what he had herd and hoped that the angels would watch over the poor lad that the mad woman had been ranting on about.

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