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It was the summer of 1962, I was 11 and going into the 6th grade...

Returning home with my dad from his stint at his company's headquarters, I was a changed boy.� I was eleven, going on twelve and no longer an innocent.�� I now had a different outlook on life than I� had before I met Kipper at the Y.� Keenly aware of the unforgiving stigma associated with being labeled a homo, I wondered how I would fit in.� Would Kenny, my best friend, notice the change in me?� Would I be ostracized?� I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn't see any apparent differences in my appearance.� Would I suddenly start talking funny with a fagot's lisp?� Would I uncontrollably be groping other boys in the school locker room or at the local YMCA? Would my dad disown me if he ever found out?� These questions weighed heavily upon my young mind.

But, who would find out?� I wasn't talking and I was confident that the sailors I'd had sex with wouldn't be talking except among themselves. What was there to worry about?� I determined that my best course of action was to pretend that it never happened, except that is, when I was whacking off at night in bed.� Then the lewd memories would fuel my libido, as I furiously abused myself over and over.

Kenny was still out west somewhere with his folks and wouldn't be back for another two weeks or so.� I needed someone else to pal around with and I knew exactly where to find them, at the local YMCA. It was located near the university and was a good twenty minute bike ride from my house, but I had plenty of time and much to gain from the effort.�� My scout troop and church were also in that vicinity, so I knew a lot of guys who lived near to and used the Y.�

This local Y was much like hundreds of other YMCAs scattered across the country.� It was a male only institution.� It had an indoor pool, a gymnasium, a weight room, and several meeting rooms.� Unlike the large downtown YMCA where I had stayed at with my dad, this Y did not have rooms to rent.� It strictly served the local community.� What it did have that the big downtown Y didn't have were softball fields. Here there were four of them, arrayed with the back stops more or less back to back in a neat geometric pattern.� There were league games to be sure, but there were also casual unstructured pickup games.� I loved playing softball, so with my glove hung from the handlebars and a PBJ sandwich for lunch, I headed to the Y to play softball.� It was now mid-to-late July and by 10:30 AM it was hot out under the blazing sun.� So we played softball from around 8 AM until 10:30 AM, then called it a day.� Some of the guys went home, some stayed and went swimming.

I always went swimming.� More would have stayed and swam, except that they closed the pool to kids from 11:30 to 1:30 so that adults could get in some lap swimming during their lunch hour. Like almost all YMCAs with indoor pools, it was strictly nude swimming.� Here they had a modern locker room, with individual lockers to keep your stuff while swimming or exercising.� You could put a lock on them and not worry about thief.� Like most of the other kids, I didn't have anything worth stealing, so I never used a lock.� Trouble was, you had to remember which locker was yours that day, something us kids all did reasonably well and reasonably consistently, but not all the time.

The first day I was back, I went for a quick swim before lunch. There I ran into a buddy from my scout troop.� Like me, Todd had joined the troop just before we went to camp, but I got to know him fairly well. Like all the other guys in my troop, he lived near the Y and didn't go to the same school as I did.�� He was somewhat short and overweight with dark curly hair, dark brown eyes and large dark nipples.� He had a knack for sarcastic remarks and seemed to be immune to caustic remarks directed at him, such as the oft repeated suggestion that he should wear a bra for his flabby tits.� Todd wasn't very popular, but I liked him well enough, well enough that I was happy to find him that day in the pool.� I don't remember giving him a second thought in the showers at camp, but now as he ran about jigging completely nude, I took notice, or at least my dick did.� That of course kept me in the water while he repeatedly hit the diving board doing monumental cannonballs.

After we had been chased from the pool for the adult lap swim session, we both drip dried in the locker room as neither of us had bothered to bring a towel.� When I was dry enough to slip on my gym shorts, I was ready to eat my sandwich and then think of something to do until 1:30 when the pool was opened to us kids again.�

Seeing my meager lunch, Todd suggested that we go to his house, which was only a few minutes away.� There we could feast on ice cold Coca Cola, potato chips, cookies and whatever else was available.� A cold Coke sounded much better than the tepid water at the Y and it was no contest when it came to potato chips and cookies.

Like my dad, his mom was single and was at work when we got to his house. There he made himself two meatloaf sandwiches, one of which he split with me in exchange for half of my PBJ sandwich.� In addition to Cokes, he also had root beers and several other sugar-laden soft drinks to choose from, as well as corn chips in addition to the potato chips and several bags of cookies to choose from.� It was indeed a feast!

Once we'd eaten everything in sight, it was time for a rest.� We were already half naked, having both left our shirts back in our lockers at the Y and kicked off our shoes.� I think he noticed me looking at him, as he suddenly pulled back the leg hole of his shorts to expose himself.� Now we'd both been completely nude at the Y together, but this was an unexpected vulgar display.� I thought it was funny and laughed, which only encouraged him to do the same with his other leg hole.� Wasn't long before he had his shorts down exposing his fat ass to me.� Naturally I got in on the fun too and soon we were laughing, running around naked, wrestling on the floor and goosing each other in the butt.

Out of breath from the exertion he asked me, "You ever beat off?"

"Yeah, all the time," I admitted.� I don't think I'd admitted that to anyone before.

"Wanna do it?" he asked while already starting to do it.

So, there we were, shamelessly watching each other whacking off.� That's all we did that first day until it was time to return to the Y and go swimming during the heat of the day.�

Next day we did pretty much the same thing and went to his house for lunch and for some naughty fun, only this time he stripped off as soon as we were inside. Normally being naked wasn't a big deal for me, for in addition to swimming regularly for years at the Y, my dad and I both slept nude and at times walked about the house nude. Sex and nudity are not the same thing as any nudist will tell you. But this was different.� This was about sex, boy sex and we hadn't even eaten when he went to his knees before me to gobble my cock.�

Let me tell you, we had fun that day during lunch and many days afterward.� I didn't ask him where he learned to suck cock and he didn't ask me where I learned it either.� Nor did I question it when after we ate, he got down on the rug, hiked his ass in the air, reached back and spread his ass cheeks.� I knew exactly what he wanted and I skewered him.� I was glad to reciprocate a few minutes later. From then on we were fuck buddies, holding our mutual secrets near and dear, as only fuck buddies do.

I talked him into joining the morning pick-up softball games the Y.� He was reluctant at first, claiming that he was no good at softball.� Sure enough, he wasn't worth a damn when it came to fielding the ball or throwing the ball.� He was, however, a hitter.� If he didn't strikeout, he'd cream the ball.� If he wasn't such a slow runner, he'd made more homeruns than anyone else.� As it was, he could barely make it to third safely, but with the bases loaded, he was to be feared at bat.

He didn't show up at the Y every day, explaining that he had to go to art class.� On those days, I ate my sack lunch at the Y, drank the warm water at the Y and waited for the pool to reopen for general swim.

Notwithstanding Todd's lopsided prowess at softball, I also soon learned that he was an incredible artist with a photographic memory.� The kid could draw!� He was one of those talents who could render an exact copy of the Mona Lisa with nothing more than construction paper and a pack of Crayons.� That's an exaggeration, but not by much.� He could do lifelike cats, dogs, flowers, you name it, but what he did best were his portraits, convincingly catching the expressiveness of his subjects eyes, as well as other facial features.� He did several sketches of me which were uncanny likenesses, both clothed and unclothed. Despite his talent for capturing a lifelike face, Todd mostly drew nude men and boys from the wealth of material that the YMCA pool provided him. There was absolutely no question as to who these people were in his secret stash.� He even had one of my dad with a hard-on.

One day he proudly showed me a circular drawing he made of the erectile stages of a man's cock.� This was a man's cock, not a boy's, complete with pubic hair and a low hanging hairy sack of testicles.� At the bottom was an uncut flaccid penis.� Moving clockwise to the 7:30 position, was the organ in a semi-flaccid state.� At 9 o'clock it was mostly erect, but with the head just poking out from the foreskin.� At 10:30 it was fully erect and the angry looking head fully exposed.� At 12 o'clock it was copiously ejaculating. At 1:30 with cum dripping down the stalk, the head was beginning to retreat into its sheath.� At 3 o'clock, the head was fully retracted with the stalk streaked with rivulets of cum.� At 4:30, the cum coated cock was drooping until at 6 o'clock it was back to completely soft again.� What made this so intriguing was the detail rendered.� At first I didn't believe that he'd drawn it, so he whips out a #2 pencil and� draws my dick, in detail, on his mom's spiral notebook where she kept her shopping list.� He tore it out and presented to me.� The masterful circular drawing was his alright!

By then we were the best of friends and trusted each other completely.� I told him about my two week stay at the big downtown YMCA and about my encounters with the merchant seamen and what I did with them.� He then tells me that his mom has had him in art lessons for the past year and that in addition to the lessons he took, he modeled nude for the man and sometimes modeled nude for his art classes. Not only that, but he got paid five dollars an hour for it. Five bucks was good money in 1962 for a twelve year old and explained why he always had cash handy when the ice cream truck came by.� He also proudly admitted that he did more than just model for his teacher and had sex with him nearly every session and sometimes he had sex with his teacher's friends and other art students.� And here I was thinking that I was experienced!

About a week before school started, Dad was called back to the company's headquarters.� Naturally we stayed at the big downtown YMCA. We were there for only two nights and nothing much happened.� I didn't recognize anyone there except for staff and no one recognized me.� I did my best to advertize that I was available, walking the residential hall naked several times a day, hanging out in the changing room and going back and forth to the pool, but no one approached me.� From that perspective, the trip was a bust for me.�

For my dad though, it was a hugely significant trip.� He had been called in to be informed of his promotion to Manager of the District Office he worked in.� He not only received a big pay raise, but now he was to receive a share of the company's profits, as well as stock options.�

Like I said before, my dad was a fugal man and hated to spend a nickel if he could avoid it.� But with his promotion, came some changes.� I was totally shocked and totally delighted when he traded in his old light green 1954 Ford Mainliner that was equipped with just the very basics, plain as plain could be trim and interior, in-line 6-cylinder engine, three-speed manual transmission, and no radio (at least it had a heater).� He traded that in for a fire-engine red 1963 Ford Thunderbird hardtop with a white leather interior, you know, the big T-bird that looked like a torpedo. We now suddenly had one of the coolest cars on the road and it was decked out with all the latest whistles and bells; power windows, power door locks, swing-away steering wheel, automatic transmission with a huge V-8 engine, air conditioning and an AM-FM radio though there weren't many FM radio stations then.� He bought that to project the proper image of someone in his position with the company.� He also joined a country club and took up golf.�

Over the years, I rarely went to the club as that was for "business purposes" only.� Other than the window dressing, he was still as cheap as ever.� We still lived in the same house and he still stayed at the big downtown YMCA whenever he went to meetings at the company headquarters. I still cut the grass, washed dishes, and vacuumed the floor.� He still did the laundry, fixed anything and everything that broke and still changed the oil in his car. But, hey, we now had the coolest car in the neighborhood!

With his promotion, Dad now had to make frequent trips to the company's headquarters for various executive meetings. This presented a problem, as I couldn't very well stay home by myself and the meetings were always in the middle of the week.� So, Dad talked to the parents of a few of my friends and arranged for me to stay with them on school nights whenever he had to go out of town.� Todd was by then my best friend and I usually stayed with him and his mother, but I sometimes stayed with Kenny or with other friends.� Todd's mom was very nice, and like him, overweight.� She seemed to cook nothing but meat and potatoes with gravy, followed up with cake and ice cream, not cake or ice cream, but cake and ice cream.� No wonder they were fatsos!�

Like me, Todd had a double bed in which we slept together, making for easy fun and games at night. Never once did his mom "check up" on us after we closed the door. The only issue was finding our underwear in the mornings buried somewhere in the covers at the end of the bed.� Like me, Todd made his own bed in the mornings, so it wasn't too big of a deal if I couldn't locate my drawers, I'd just go to school commando.� A day or two later, Todd would return my errant apparel at the Y.

Of course Dad was happy to reciprocate with Todd's mom when she had to go out of town to check up on her aging mother.� Todd hated to go to the nursing home and so he often stayed with me.� No matter the situation, Todd always pushed against boundaries and the boundaries my dad set were no exception.� By then, my dad was familiar with Todd. He truly liked Todd, despite his sarcastic wit (or perhaps because of it) and truly admired his artistic talent after being presented with two excellent portraits of me (just from the neck up), one done in oils and the other on done with pen and ink.

Before my mom was killed, it was always loose fitting pajama bottoms for me at night.� I had no idea what my dad slept in until after Mom was gone.� I discovered that he slept nude the morning he walked to the kitchen in his birthday suit to get his morning coffee.� Naturally at nine years old, I wanted to be just like my dad and adopted his sleeping habit.� He knew, as he saw me going to and from the hall bathroom in the buff, as well as in my room just before turning in for the night.� He never said anything and the casual dress code for sleeping was adopted.��

I had confided in Todd some months before, that my dad and I slept in the nude every night.� So what does he do?� He tells Dad that his mom told him to live by the rules of the house where ever he was visiting, and that he knew the rules at my house were that Dad and I slept in the nude.� I was rather mortified that he'd revealed that info. Then he asks if he could sleep nude too, especially seeing that we all swam together nude at the Y and that was no big deal.�

Dad looked at him incredulously and told him, "Todd, what Randy and I do in our home when in private is no one's business, but our own. You are our guest and when we have guests over, we don't sleep in the nude."

"It's not like you haven't seen what I've got," Todd answered rather flippantly.

"When you are here, you must wear something," Dad replied evenly.���

Our answer to that was to just wear our underwear.� Dad was okay with that, even when it wasn't anywhere near bedtime.� Except that for Todd,� it wasn't the underwear he usually wore.� When he slept over, he always wore the tightest briefs he had, drawers he'd outgrown years ago.� Stretched tightly around him and sometimes disappearing altogether, he was all but nude and quite the sight, but it met my dad's minimum requirement that he wear "something".

But Todd just wouldn't take no for an answer.� Whenever he stayed over, he asked my dad the same question.� Dad would always reply the same, "You must wear something."� And Todd did, even if it wasn't very much and left little to the imagination.� This happened every time he slept over.�

Of course once the door was shut for the night, we didn't comply with Dad's rule, nor did Dad check to see if we were.� In my bedroom and behind closed doors, the underwear came off.� My door didn't latch properly and could be pushed open at anytime.� This was a concern of mine, even if Todd didn't care, but Dad left us alone to do what naked boys do when alone.

*****

Two months or so after school had started, Todd took me to meet his art instructor, Casey.� The day before we'd been messing around when he asked me if I'd like to get fucked again with a big dick.� I was happy getting fucked by Todd, but I was also ready to relive spreading my cheeks for an adult.� He said he needed to check to be sure if it was alright for me to come with him the next day for his "lesson".� He made the phone call and we were on!

I met Todd Saturday morning at his house, then we rode our bikes to his art teacher's house.� It took a while to get there.� We rode up to this dilapidated looking old farmhouse, obscured by overgrown bushes on a main artery surrounded on the sides by businesses and backing up to an upscale subdivision. I learned later that Casey's grandfather owned the farm and ran dairy cows on it.� As our town grew out to it and then grew around it, it became quite valuable real estate.� Once his grandfather died, Casey's dad began selling off parcels until only the house and four acres around it were left. He kept that, saying that one day someone will want to build a high rise on it and when they did, he'd make a killing.� The house had remained vacant until Casey moved in and made it into his home and studio.� ��

No one paid any attention to two kids turning into the property clearly marked, "No Trespassing".� Passing a souped-up old car parked out front, we rode around to the back, ditched our bikes and walked in through the back door.� Casey was there, working on a painting.� His subject was a muscular guy, maybe twenty or so who was nude and lying on a pile of pillows, fondling himself and keeping himself hard. Until I saw the model lying there, I still thought Todd was bull shitting me about Casey and what he mainly painted, homo erotic art.

Casey told the model, "That's all we have time for today.� Same time tomorrow?"

The guy rose from the pillows answering, "Sure thing, Casey.� It's your money."

Once he was dressed, he left through the front door.� Casey tended to securing his painting for the day.� We heard the hot-rod crank up with a roar, and then fade as he pulled away, only to hear the engine roar once again and tires squealing on the payment.� A moment later, the sound faded.

Casey turned and with a friendly smile said, "You must be Randy.� Todd's told me a lot about you."

"Please to meet you, Mr. Casey," I replied taking his offered hand.

"Drop the Mister, Randy.� It's just Casey.�

"Now, Todd's here for a lesson.� You can either quietly sit and watch or you can help out."

"Help out? How?"

"Have you ever modeled before?"

"No, sir."

"Want to give it a try?� Going rate is five dollars an hour."

"Oh, okay," I replied happy to rake in some easy money.

"Good.� Just put all your clothes in a pile over there and we'll get started."

I don't know what I was thinking, but the suddenness of being asked to get naked surprised me, even though I knew that's what happened in this studio.� But then again, before I got there, I wasn't expecting to make an easy five bucks either.

I stood around naked while Casey and Todd set up two easels.� Then Casey brings over a stool and has me sit on it, kind of half-on half-off, facing away from them at an angle to the left.� He then had me turn my shoulders and head looking back at them. He took my right hand, placing it on the stool and a little behind me.� Then he takes my left thigh and tells me to rest my leg on the ball of my foot.�

"Now don't move," he instructed me.� He stepped away several times and came back to make minor adjustments of my head, my shoulders, arm and leg, all the while he's taking the opportunity to touch me here and there, including running his hand up my thigh and grazing my cock.

Let me tell you, it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be to stay in one position for very long. With Casey constantly telling me not to move, the minutes ticked by slowly.� I was finally given a reprieve and was asked to turn the other way, facing away at an angle to the right, and look back over my other shoulder in a mirror image of the previous poise.� This was fine for the first few minutes, but then the fatigue set in again as the minutes crawled by.�

Finally Casey said, "Thank you, Randy.� That will be all for the moment."

It felt great to be up.� I walked over to my clothes and began to pull on my underwear.

"No, Randy," Casey called out.� "We're not through for the day.� Come over and see what we've done."� I dropped my drawers back onto the pile and nude, walked over to Todd and his teacher.�

"These are what we call, studies," Casey explained.� "They'll form the basis for a future painting."� The two renderings were both the same, yet they were somehow different.

Turning to Todd, he said, "Todd, go get you and your friend some refreshments while I set up the next poise."

Todd and I went to the kitchen and helped ourselves to a Coke and a handful of cookies.� When finished we returned to the main studio which had been the living room of the farm house. Casey had placed several 12-inch square boxes scattered and stacked, a beach ball and over to the side a large stuffed dog.�

"Okay, Todd," Casey said, "you're up this time."�

Todd, who had previously discarded his shirt, now discarded his shorts.� It kind of surprised me to realize that he hadn't worn any underwear. With Todd now nude too, Casey placed me standing at an angle to the side of the boxes and a little behind.� He then placed Todd in front of me.

"Okay, Todd.� I'm sure you've done this before," Casey said, "so kneel and place his dick in your mouth.� You don't have to suck him, just hold him in your mouth."�

Todd, of course began sucking me.�� Casey then gave me a large teddy bear to hold in one hand.� He stood back and then told me to hold the teddy bear by one leg.� I did as he asked, only to have him come over and make me switch legs so the stuffed bear faced outwards.� He then placed Todd's hand on my hip.� Satisfied with his tableau, he returned to his easel and quickly began sketching.�

So there I stood, blonde with a flat top, naked, holding a stupid teddy bear while curly haired Todd massaged my dick with his tongue and lips. The first poise had been artistic, this one was simply obscene.� I felt obscene, standing there and being so closely observed getting a blowjob, and not just observed, but having the act recorded.

After several minutes I came in Todd's mouth.� From my expression, Casey knew when that moment arrived. His detached demeanor momentarily changed to one of amusement, then he resumed working while Todd continued to gently suck on my now soft dick.� Eventually he stopped sucking and just held my renewed erection in his mouth.

Finally Casey put down his pencils and told us, "That will do for now, boys."

Todd rocked back muttering, "My fucking knees are killing me!� And I think my jaw is broken!"

"You'll live," Casey commented.

"Well, you're not getting a blowjob from me today!� At least not for a while," Todd grumbled.

Casey motioned for me to come see what he had.� Todd followed.� Looking at the sketch, I was astounded and somewhat confused.� Casey had clearly rendered us as two little boys, four maybe five years old, engaged in play, sex play.� The boxes he had drawn as play blocks, with letters and numbers on them, using the boxes to scale us down. The big stuffed dog was now a small inquisitive puppy watching the curious actions of his master and his friend.�

Casey covered his newest sketch and told us, "You boys better get dressed now and run along. I'd like to play some this afternoon, but someone is coming over in a little while and I don't want you two around when he gets here.� So hurry up, boys."�

We dressed and before we left, Casey gave me two five dollar bills and gave Todd a single five dollar bill.� Easy money!

"I hope you'll come back, Randy," Casey told me.� "You have a beautiful body."�

No one had ever before told me that I was beautiful, handsome maybe, but not beautiful. Girls were beautiful.� Still, I rather liked the compliment.� I was a husky kid, not fat like Todd, but solidly built and I thought I looked pretty good.� It was flattering to know someone else thought I was good looking.

Riding back to Todd's house, I felt a little disappointed.� Casey had touched me, but I was expecting maybe a little more.� Actually a lot more.� Maybe if I hadn't been so passive.� But then again, until now, I didn't know Casey nor anything other than what Todd had told me.� He was a nice man and I found that I really liked him.� Would I go back?� You bet!

A few weeks later, Todd and I wandered over on a Saturday morning. Casey was working in the old barn behind the house, where he was setting up his press to make prints of one of his art works.� It was pretty fascinating to see how he printed one color at a time, slowly building the finished print.� That day he was working with yellow.�

He took a break and we went inside his house.� We were sitting at the cluttered kitchen table having a Coke when out of the blue, Todd says, "Randy wants you to fuck him in the ass, Casey."�

Both Casey and I nearly choked on our drinks.

"I told him how much I like you doing me and he said he wants to try it too.� He's not a virgin, you know.� I've been up ass several times this week."

"Todd, you're embarrassing your friend," Casey admonished.

"Get him naked, on his knees with your dick up his ass and he won't be embarrassed anymore," Todd quipped.

Todd then turned to me, "Go on, Randy.� Take off your clothes.� That's why you wanted to come here this morning. Isn't it?"� Todd was very blunt at times.� What he was saying was mostly true too.

Casey interjected, "Todd, let Randy speak for himself."

I didn't know what to say or what to do, so I just sat there while Casey's eyes bore into me.� After a few moments when I hadn't moved or spoken, Casey asked, "Randy, how old are you?"

"Twelve," I said in a whisper.

"Twelve.� That's a good age.� Two weeks ago you didn't have any problem getting naked. Having second thoughts?

"Well, I'm not going to force you or trick you into doing anything you don't want to do," he continued. "If you want to play, we'll play.� If you don't want to play, that's fine too, but I've got better things to do than just sit here.

"Now, I need to do some additional sketches for our previous session, mainly just the head for facial expressions.� So, are you interested in making a few quick bucks?"

Money talks!� He then proceeded to explain just what he wanted.� For the first piece, I was to sit and look back at him and give him a relaxed smile.� For the second piece, the one with Todd sucking me, he wanted a surprised expression.� He then explained that we could do it right there at the kitchen table, then he left to get a sketch pad and pencil.

Returning, he acted surprised that I was still just sitting there.� "This is where you said I would be sitting," I defended.

"Yes, but my models are always nude."

"Why do I need to be nude?� You're just drawing my face."

"That's true, but I still want you nude.� It relaxes me."

It didn't make a whole lot of sense to me, but I did what he asked. Even though he was only working with my face, I took off all my clothes, and poised while he made his sketches.

It would be a few weeks before I saw Casey's finished pieces that Todd and I had modeled for him.� The painting of me seated nude on the stool and looking back blew me away, it was so lifelike.� It was me, as if I was somehow looking at myself in a mirror, except there was nothing in the mottled background to distract the viewer from the subject.�

The second made me laugh. It was a spoof on the covers for the Saturday Evening Post. Those of you old enough, know what I'm talking about.� The iconic covers of SEP featured slices of Americana, circa 1930-1970, wholesome paintings of Americans going about life, having Sunday dinner with the family, praying in church, playing sports, children at play, teachers teaching, snippets of life and often with a humorous twist.� Norman Rockwell's work was prominently featured, his style unmistakable.�

Casey had rendered a Norman Rockwell styled Saturday Evening Post cover with two little boys in their romper room, toys scattered about, a pair of underwear carelessly discarded and another down around the ankles of the blonde with the startled expression as his naked friend with dark curly hair knelt sucking the blonde boy's dick while a curious cocker spaniel puppy looked on. There was no question in my mind who these two naughty little boys were, only Todd and I were suddenly four or five years old� instead of entering puberty

When Casey had finished his sketches, he put down his pad and pencil. "There, that should do it, Randy.� Thank you."�

He then handed me a five dollar bill for the hour that I was poising. I needed to secure my money, so I stood up from the chair and bent over to pick up my shorts.� I felt a hand, a fairly large hand slide up over my bare butt along my cleft.� Freezing in position from that first touch, Casey continued to take liberties stroking my butt.

"Damn, you have the most perfect butt of any kid I know," he said as he probed deeper between my cheeks.�

"What do you say if we take this to my bedroom?"

My heart was racing by that point.� Was this what I really wanted?� To be taken by this man? His finger began rubbing my anus.

"Well, if you want my cock up this hole, tell me.� Otherwise, put your clothes on and go home."

The finger wormed into me up to the first knuckle.�

I made no complaint as he poked at me. Turning now to Todd he said, "Take Randy to my bedroom.� I'll be there in a few moments," and pulled his finger from my hole. Willingly, I went with Todd to Casey's bedroom.� At that point there was no doubt in my mind what would soon happen.�

Casey's bedroom was pretty much a shamble.� The bed was unmade and the sheets were dingy.� There were clothes strewn about on the floor with papers and magazines seemingly everywhere. But what really caught my attention was the art work on the walls.� It was all Casey's work, of course, and it all featured naked men and boys. I wondered how Todd's mom could have come into this place and not notice the subject matter.� I didn't know that she simply found Casey's name in the phone book, called and sent Todd to the lessons with a check in hand.

I crawled into the unkempt bed.� I looked over at Todd, who now had his pants down and was jacking his dick.� Casey entered the room, naked, his cock bobbing with a full erection. It was apparent that he wasn't as big as the merchantman sailors at the YMCA, average in size.

"One last chance to back out, Randy," Casey said.� "Leave now or get up on your hands and knees."� I got on my hands and knees.

"Spread your cheeks, boy," I heard him say as I felt him climb into bed behind me.�

Lowering my head to the mattress, I reached back and spread myself open. I felt him apply KY Jelly to my hole to lubricate it, slipping his finger deep inside me in the process.� For several minutes he fingered me, working his finger this way and that, adding more lube and working it up my hole, hooking into me and stretching my sphincter.

All the while he was talking to me.� "Do you like this, Randy?� Does this feel good?� You have such a fine ass," and things like that.� Me, I just enjoyed it in silence.�

He pulled his finger from my ass, repositioned himself pressing the head of his cock against my hole.� Firmly grasping me by the hips he said, "Your ass is mine, kid."

In one hard push, he buried himself in me.

"Uugghhhh!!!" I grunted with the abrupt full entry of his cock into my rectum. As I gasped for a breath, he paused for a moment, deep in my ass and pulled out completely.��

"Uugghhhh!!!" I grunted as he drove deep into me once again.

The third time he drove it into me, the shock and discomfort began to give way to something more pleasurable. With the fifth stroke, I didn't even grunt as I was suffused with pleasure, pleasure from being fucked in the ass by a cock larger than Todd's. Lately I had been thinking a lot about Kipper and my summer at the big downtown YMCA, and I really needed this.

"Todd, give him your cock to suck," I heard Casey say.�

Todd crawled up in front of me and scooted into position where I could root around his hairless genitals while my defilement continued.� Casey settled into a slow steady fucking of my ass.� He'd fuck me for three or four minutes, then pause, not moving his cock in my ass� for a minute or so, and then resume fucking me.� This went on for I don't know how long before he pulled out, rolled me over onto my back, applied fresh grease and reentered me.

Lying on my back and holding my legs back, I could have watched Casey's prick sodomizing me, but Todd decided to dangle his nuts on my lips and rubbed his asshole across my face.�� Again Casey repeated the same pattern of fucking for three or four minutes and then pausing for a minute before resuming.� Later I learned that he was pausing to let his building orgasm subside and thus ensuring a massive moment of ecstasy when he finally allowed himself to unload his over-primed prostate.

After he creamed my guts and pulled out for good, I was in a dazed stupor.� I lay in his bed, my poor asshole hot and throbbing, leaking his cum for a good long while before venturing out into the studio.� There Casey was modeling his barefoot for Todd who was sketching away, neither having bothered to dress, nor would any of us dress before mid-afternoon. It was a day of illicit sex between two willing boys and a very willing man.� By the time Todd and I went home, we both had sore jaws and sore assholes.

Soon after my first Saturday butt fucking at Casey's in early October, my Dad needed to go to the company headquarters again.� This was about his fifth or sixth trip since he was promoted.� Each time before, I stayed with Todd. This time Todd was in some sort of hot water with his mom.� Dad told me to call one of my backups, so I took the opportunity and called up Casey to see if I could stay overnight with him.� Naturally he said yes.� I told Dad that I was staying with another friend, Casey, whom he assumed was a school chum of mine.

Dad called the number I provided him and spoke to Casey, who he thought was Casey's dad and not Casey himself.� Of course it was alright if I stayed overnight and not to worry, Casey assured my dad.�� I would repeat that deception several more times over the coming year with my dad none the wiser.

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