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 Wild Talents by Wrestlr

   //Begin Standard Headers//

   Author: Wrestlr

   Title: Wild Talents

   Summary: Three friends, two of whom have telepathic talents, set off on
a road trip.  An Institute story.

   Keywords: MC, MM //End Standard Headers//

   Disclaimer: The naked hypnotist strides confidently into your room.  His
lips curl in what might be a smile as he dangles his shiny crystal pendulum
before your eyes and announces, "Listen and obey.  If you are not of legal
age, or if you offended by sexual situations, you will leave this place
immediately.  From here on, no matter how realistic it may appear,
everything will seem like fiction to you, a pleasant dream where scientific
possibilities and laws may change according to my suggestion.  Now, if you
are willing, sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride."
Copyright - 2017 by Wrestlr.  Permission granted to archive if and only
if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read
the file.  If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use
this without the express permission of (and payment to) the author.  This

paragraph must be included as part of any archive.

   Comments to wrestlr@iname.com

   Wrestlr's fiction is archived at the following URLs:

   o /~wrestlr (MC and general M/M stories)

   o http://www.mcstories.com/Authors/Wrestlr.html (MC stories)

   * * *

   *Wild Talents* by Wrestlr

   *Chapter 1: Mitch*

   Mitch never much liked the small town where he grew up: too quiet, and
everyone knew everyone else's business.  He never much liked his family
either.  Four older brothers, and not one of them understood a thing about
him.  His father, the family despot, ran the household like a military
dictatorship; his brothers seemed to thrive on it, growing taller, more
arrogant, and tougher every day.  Mitch's mother died years ago, and
without her there to balance his father's tyranny, home and the whole town
felt like a prison to Mitch.  The best he could hope from his father and
brothers was to be left alone.

   Mitch hungered for companionship and understanding, but through the
years he turned more and more to his friends and the basketball team for
that.  At times he felt that he was living with a house full of strangers,
and that the only family he really had were the group of friends he had
been hanging out with since he was ten years old, especially Ron and
Scotty. They were so much like him, and in so many ways.  Those two were
the closest things Mitch had to brothers--real brothers, not the arrogant
assholes he lived with--and everyone in the town knew that the three were
practically inseparable.  Mitch considered himself the smart one and the
instigator.  Ron was the most handsome and the most mischievous.  Scotty
was the most muscular, the best athlete.  They had shared a deep friendship
since before they could remember, so naturally they shared even their
deepest secrets.  When a distant cousin in another city was discovered to
be a Talent, Mitch even told Ron and Scotty, disregarding his father's
insistence that this family shame was a big secret never to be mentioned to
anyone, ever.

   The other guys in their crowd had steady dates and bragged nonstop about
their sexual adventures, though Mitch suspected most of that was made-up
bullshit.  Mitch, Ron, and Scotty did not date much--though Scotty did date
a bit.  They found that they were much happier spending time with each
other, rather than going through the phony games of girlfriends and the
drama that always seemed to come along with them.  A buddy was a buddy no
matter what.  They found all the fun and excitement they needed with each
other, playing basketball, zipping around town on their bicycles, exploring
the nearby woods.  About the only thing that Mitch did alone was jerk off,
though in a house with multiple brothers he never had the privacy to
indulge in that necessary release as much as he wanted.

   Mitch took great comfort from the release that playing with his body
gave him.  No other experience came close, especially when he was really
feeling oppressed by the world and his family.  In those times when Mitch
was alone with his pleasure-giving cock in hand, he felt that he could
tackle just about anything.  His dick: he was really proud of his longer-,
thicker-than-average dick.  He studied himself naked in the full-length
mirror on the back of the bathroom door every day after his shower.  When
he was younger, he had seen his father and older brothers naked and wished
with all his might that his dick would someday be as big as theirs.  The
growth over the years had been too slow to notice but inevitable, until one
morning when he awoke from a vague dream about his basketball coach. 
Reaching down to feel for an uncertain ache, he discovered that he had a
hard-on, a particularly needy and tingly one.  He had had hard-ons before,
had been jacking off occasionally for a year or two but had not been able
to cum yet and did not understand what the big deal was.  But this time his
dick was harder than it had ever been.  Mitch could still remember that
morning when, with great excitement, he jumped out of bed and stood in
front of the full-length mirror and saw that, somehow over the years
without him realizing, his cock had really grown to look enormous.  *Yes!*
Mitch pumped on his dick the way he had seen guys do it in porno flicks,
and less than twenty strokes later--*Ah, fuck!*--something different
happened in his cock and balls, and he felt that world-exploding pleasure
burst through him for the first time.  For those few seconds, everything
went away except for the overwhelming ecstasy.  Gasping in its aftermath,
he felt soothed.  That blissful pleasure from his cock had made everything
feel all right.

   As soon as he had an opportunity to swipe a tape measure from the tool
box in the garage and get some privacy, Mitch measured his erection.  His
cock stood proudly at just past eight inches, which according to a bit of
Internet research, was longer than most other guys' dicks--well, not
counting the guys in porn videos, of course, but Mitch realized a
bigger-than-most dick was probably required for starring in porn anyway, so
video guys did not count.

   The secret of his larger-than-average cock finally gave Mitch a sense of
equality around his brothers--and even gave him the self-confidence he
needed to stand up to his father once in a rare while.

   Mitch's other secret was that sometimes, if he concentrated a certain
way and thought it hard enough--*You don't see me; I'm not here; You don't
see me; I'm not here*--his father, in one of his moods, would storm right
by Mitch and find another target, or one of his brothers would pass by
without seeming to notice him, no teasing, no whack on the arm.  Sometimes
it worked, like a mantra or an incantation, sometimes not, but it worked
often enough that Mitch thought it might be magic, or more.

   And then, that morning just the week before, Mitch had been walking past
the bedroom his two oldest brothers shared.  The door was closed, but
somehow Mitch knew his brother Kenny was in there.  Somehow he knew Kenny
was excited and jerking off.  Mitch could practically feel waves of sexual
energy coming through the door.  How did Kenny jack off?  Did he do it on
the bed like Mitch did?  Same grip?  Was his dick as big as Mitch's?

   Curiosity overrode his caution; Mitch turned the knob slowly, eased the
door open a silent crack.  Kenny lay on his back on his bed, shirt pulled
up to his ribs, pants and underwear pushed down to his knees.

   Maybe that secret of his would work here, if he concentrated on his
mantra hard enough.  *Don't see me--don't see me*, Mitch thought as hard as
he could because, more and more lately, thinking it seemed to help him
evade his brothers' notice.  In a house with four testosterone-fueled
brothers and an authoritarian father, evading notice had become practically
a survival tactic for Mitch.  Now, though, if his brother caught him
peeping, Kenny would smack the hell out of him, Mitch feared, maybe more.
His brothers usually stopped short of beating the shit out of each other or
him, but this intrusion would definitely be an offense that warranted
sterner punishment.  *Don't see me--I'm not here--don't see me.*

   Kenny never took his eyes off his cock, which stood straight up from his
crotch.  Mitch watched as Kenny jacked it a few strokes with one hand, then
a few strokes with the other.  Doing it that way had never occurred to
Mitch.  Kenny spat in his palm, then smeared the saliva around the head of
his cock.  Mitch had never thought of using spit for lube either--he
usually did it dry or with lotion for lube--and he decided he would try
spit as soon as he got the opportunity.

   Kenny's body shuddered with pleasure as he began stroking again.  *You
don't see me--I'm not here*, Mitch recited in his head, but indeed Kenny
did not seem to realize he was there, had never looked away from his cock,
the center of his universe.  Mitch widened the door further.  Somehow he
knew Kenny would not realize he was there.  Emboldened, Mitch crept into
the room, eased the door shut behind him.

   "Oh," Kenny moaned quietly, which spooked Mitch for a moment, but Kenny
stayed lost in his masturbation fantasy and whispered, "Fuck, yeah!"

   His brother was thinking of some chick, a blond, boob-job-sized tits. 
Mitch was uncertain how he knew what Kenny was thinking, but he was sure he
knew.  This was a woman from a porn vid that Kenny had seen; she was on her
hands and knees, and Kenny himself instead of the porn actor was the one
fucking her from behind, feeling the heat and clench of her pussy muscles
along his cock.

   Which, Mitch noted smugly, seemed about half an inch shorter than
Mitch's own.

   Mitch knelt by the side of the bed and watched Kenny pleasure himself.
Kenny's cock was thick, red with arousal, and his hands worked it with a
familiar efficiency.  Kenny was not trying to make the fantasy last, Mitch
understood, but instead wanted to reach his orgasm quickly, before someone
discovered him.  *Too late for that*, Mitch thought with a smirk, only to
feel whatever hold he had on Kenny threaten to slip for just a moment. 
*Don't see me--don't see me*, he thought frantically, trying to regain it.

   Mitch felt something in Kenny flare up, bright and intense.  Mitch did
not realize what was happening until Kenny gasped, "Fuck, yeah!  Fuck!"
Orgasm?--Yes.  Kenny was getting his nut.  Mitch could practically feel
Kenny's nervous system flaring up with sensation, like slow lightning
running through him.  The first rope of cum jumped out of Kenny's
cock-head, as his body spammed.  Kenny gasped again, and a second rope, a
third, leapt out of his dick.  More and more cum oozed out as Kenny's body
shook.  "Oh, fuck," he sighed finally, then all of his muscles relaxed. 
His hand slipped away from his still-throbbing cock.  "Mm."

   Kenny felt drowsy, and Mitch nudged his mind further in that direction.
Yeah, a post-orgasm nap.  All those hormones and brain chemicals released
by a good cum made a nap easy.  Kenny's thoughts slowly went quiet.  His
eyes closed, and he dozed.  Bolder now, Mitch reached out and touched the
puddled cum on Kenny's bared stomach, felt how warm and slick the liquid
felt.  He wrapped his fingers around Kenny's semi-hard dick.  His brother
would have kicked his ass had he realized Mitch was here, touching him like
this, but Mitch could make sure Kenny stayed unaware.

   Mitch became aware of his own hard-on.  He had been so focused on Kenny
that he had not paid attention to himself.  He needed to jack off, and
quickly, but Kenny would not stay asleep long.  Mitch let go of Kenny's
cock and slipped away from the bed, back to the door.  He exited quietly.
Kenny would be waking up in moments.  But by then, Mitch was safely out the
door and heading into the bathroom, where the door had a lock that worked
and he could jerk himself to quick release in privacy.

   In the week that followed, Mitch had to learn *not* to hear what
everyone around him was thinking.  After somehow sensing what Kenny had
been thinking, Mitch seemed to know what a number of people were thinking
just by being near them.  School was the worst, with so many other people
thinking so many different things, like voices jabbering simultaneously in
the background, but home was bad too, with his father and brothers thinking
loud variations of the same things all the time.

   Still, just remembering that day he watched Kenny gave Mitch an aching
hard-on now.  He shared his bedroom with his third brother, but tonight his
brother was out on a date.  Mitch was alone in the bedroom, had plenty of
time to indulge in what was becoming his favorite hobby.  In his underwear,
he lay back on the bed and already felt his anticipating cock begin to
rise. He wished for a way to get away from this house once and for all.  He
wrapped his hand around his erection and just held it, liking the feeling
of anticipation.  He wondered whether Ron and Scotty did that when they
beat their meat.  How did they stroke?  Did jacking off make them feel as
great as it did him?  They had all seen each other naked in the locker room
thousands of times, more times than he could count, and they had compared
notes with a laugh about how their balls were hanging.  Mitch knew that,
soft, his cock seemed just a little longer than theirs were.  Erect,
though, how would they all match up in a contest?  His cock gave another
jump at the thought.  He could see it all now.  He and his two best
buddies, sharing the common joy of a really good jerk-off.  Mitch squeezed
his cock, took a long, hard pull at it.  This past week had been fucking
rough--on top of the noise in his head, he had had trouble in one of his
classes, and last night he had another fight with his dad.  He needed
relief badly.  Looking down, he saw that first drop of juice at the end of
his cock-slit, precious since it announced he would be ready to cum soon.
The old curiosity came back to him again.  What did a dick taste like?  Big
as his prick was, he just could not reach it with his tongue, so he was
left to wonder.  What would Ron's taste like?  And Scotty's?  Stories he
read online never agreed; they variously suggested cum tasted bitter or
salty or sweet, a range he found unhelpful.  Those questions would have to
remain unanswered for now, but Mitch wanted to find a way to discover the
answers for himself.

   Again, he teased the head of his hard-on and began to stroke his
throbbing toy in earnest.  Immediately, the week's tensions faded, and his
mood began to improve.  Being horny made him eager, made him want to do
things, but orgasm was even better.  Every time, jerking off had the same
magical effect; it could turn a nightmare week into a promising new day.

   Pressing his head back against his pillow, he closed his other fist
tightly around the shaft too and began to pull at his dick with slow,
steady two-handed strokes.  The sweet, familiar feeling made him sigh.  He
closed his eyes and thought of his friends.  Would Ron's dick feel just as
hard in his hand?  Would Scotty's cream a really big load?  His imagination
created pictures of his two buddies, naked, standing at attention, hands
behind their backs, surrendering their exposed hard-ons for his
examination. Mitch felt his arousal spike at the thought, and he began to
beat his meat faster, harder.  His imagination galloped.  He could
practically see them in the room with him, could almost feel their cocks in
his stroking hands, Ron to his left, Scotty to his right.  Mitch pulled his
dick hard and fast now, reaching under with one hand to bounce his balls
around a little; they felt supercharged and ready to explode at any second.
Mitch moaned as he felt himself climbing to the point of no return.  Would
Ron moan too?  Scotty?  He imagined their voices as Ron and Scotty gasped
and groaned while he stroked their erections, pushing them both toward a
massive climax.  Mitch decided his jerk-offs were getting better all the
time, especially when he thought of his buddies like this.  How come?  He
felt himself about to shoot and fought to hold on just a little longer.  He
wanted to make these great sensations running all up and down his dick last
forever--wanted to keep himself just on the cusp of orgasm, without falling
over.  But then his imagination gave him the image of Ron's cock spitting
cum, Scotty's too, and Mitch's hand went flying, and his body and brain lit
up with buzzing sensation.  His last thought was to squeeze his nuts again,
and suddenly he was there.  Red flashes erupted inside his clamped-shut
eyelids, and his body blazed, and he rode a wave of bliss as he felt his
balls emptying their tremendous charge.  "Ungh!  Ungh!  *Ungh!*" Like a
warm shower, the white fountain of cum splattered on his belly.

   "Awww, yeah!" Now Mitch's sigh was one of tremendous relief, as all his
cares were washed away by the orgasmic flood.  He was always amazed by how
just a few short minutes of pulling on his joint could have him feeling so
blissful and content and confident.  He wiped up his mess, tucked his
softening prick back into his underwear.  Fully relaxed now, he fell
asleep, only to find that his slumbering fantasies were just the same as
his jerk-off ones.  They featured his two closest buddies, and sometimes
his dad or one or two of his brothers.  But always the dream was the same:
They played with each other's dicks, they orgasmed together, and they
became much more compatible because of what they had shared.

   When morning arrived, Mitch awoke with a start.  Was that the answer? 
Was his constant restlessness because he needed the intimate companionship
of other guys?--As intimate as any companions could get?  At first, the
thought both thrilled and frightened him.  He knew, yes, that he wanted it,
but people had names for guys like that, and none of them were good.  Even
if he was willing to risk the humiliation and aversion by all his other
friends and family, could he face the danger that Ron and Scotty would also
be repulsed by just the mention of the subject?  He could try to do more
than listen to their thoughts, maybe try to get inside their minds and see
what they were thinking, like he had done with Kenny, but what if that did
not work?--or worse, backfired?  The idea of touching their bodies
intimately was so appealing, so arousing, but was it worth the possibility
of losing their friendship forever?  He depended on those guys.  On the
other hand, if Ron and Scotty *did* go for it, then the three of them might
discover a richer relationship in a whole new world of sexual thrills that
they never knew existed.

   Mitch rushed down to an early breakfast so he could beat his brothers to
the table.  He desperately needed the time to be alone with his thoughts.
This would not be an easy decision.  Even if he chose to take the risk and
approach Ron and Scotty, he had to decide on just the right way.

   That afternoon was basketball practice, and all three were on the team.
Being such close buddies, they always hung out together as they showered
and dressed, and then they walked home together.  If his nerve held out
until the end of the day, Mitch decided, their private time on the walk
home might be a great opportunity to start the ball rolling.  If his nerve
held out.

   Most of the school day went by in a nervous haze.  Mitch found himself
unable to concentrate on almost anything except what he hoped would happen
after basketball practice.  He worked through various scenarios in his
daydreams, but all he really knew was that he had to find a way make his
fantasies come true.  If he could just manage the courage to start this,
Mitch was sure he would figure out a way to get them to agree to the end
result he craved.  He was always the instigator, so why not now too?  He
had done it with them a dozen times before, even if it was only during his
masturbation fantasies.

   Mitch expected that he would also be too nervous to do anything halfway
decent at practice, and he was amazed when the coach patted him on the
shoulder and told him this had been one of his best practices ever.  Mitch
told himself that all that extra adrenaline of anticipation must be the
reason.  Just thinking about what might be happening soon had given him the
spark to bounce that ball all over the court and to net almost double his
usual total.  He was glad he wore a jock-strap, because this afternoon his
hard-on was a dick to be reckoned with.  He was grateful that his erection
was tightly under wraps, to save him the embarrassment of having the whole
team see his unexplainable stiffy.

   But keeping his wood trapped in his jock was damned painful.  His
swollen prick begged to be free of the confining fabric, and its hardness
threatened to break right through his shorts at any moment.  But the moment
practice ended, with the first step of his plan immediately ahead of him,
fear made Mitch's erection vanish.  The sudden limpness left him almost
relieved; ten minutes more of that hard-on, and he probably would have
strangled himself.  Mitch rushed to the showers ahead of his buddies and
zipped through the process of soaping himself, thinking he might have a
better chance of success if he smelled nice and clean.  *What the hell!* he
berated himself.  They were all guys and could stand a little sweat.  He
admitted to himself that he was terrified of rejection, and he worried that
even a little thing like sweat-stink might become the one reason they
turned him down.

   He left the shower and hurried back to his locker.  He watched his naked
teammates stroll into the steamy showers, heard them laugh and jostle each
other into the spray.  Guys flicked towels at each other's asses on the way
back to their lockers, and no one thought anything of it.  Even when a guy
grabbed another's ass, they still thought everything was all in fun. 
*Good, wholesome fun*, the coach might say.  But would they still call it
good fun if that grab lasted a little longer?--or if something else touched
those asses?  Looking at his teammate's faces, Mitch could not tell what
any one guy in particular liked for his masturbation fantasies.  He tried
to listen in on one or two's thoughts, but he could not focus on just the
one--the background yammer of so many other minds in the locker room turned
every attempt into a noisy din that threatened to give Mitch a headache. 
But he just could not believe that he was the only dude in the whole school
who had come up with the idea of making it with another guy.  He knew at
least one other guy in this bunch must have the same kind of dreams as him
and must share the same needs.  He needed to find just one besides himself
who wanted the hand on the ass to linger just a moment longer, wanted it to
lead to something more.  If not Ron and Scotty, maybe one of his other
teammates?  Who might be interested?  If only he could decide on some way
to find out!

   *That dick looks like it might swell up really big, and that one really
looks delicious*, Mitch thought--then he immediately chided himself.  What
was he thinking?  *Big?  Delicious?* That sounded like he actually wanted
to suck someone off!

   At that moment, as he pulled on his underwear with all his study
teammates horsing around in front of him in the shower room, Mitch realized
that he was probably gay.  Not just curious about sex, but actually,
really, and truly gay.  *Gay, queer, homosexual.* Were all those terms
supposed to describe him too?  So many conflicting thoughts went through
his head.  *Fag, cock-sucker, fudge-packer.* He admitted to himself that,
yes, he probably was gay.  Now that these ideas were all collectively
bubbling to the surface in his mind, the sum total of his new, unique sense
of manhood nearly overwhelmed him.  But he rejected the idea that being a
gay guy made him a sissy.  In fact, he felt even manlier than he ever had
before.  Guys in porn videos he had downloaded strutted and sucked cock and
took it up the ass without being sissies.  They seemed manly, and Mitch
felt manly too.  The feeling came from the satisfaction of knowing that he
had finally found an identity where everything in his head would fit
together like a puzzle.  But the configuration was still all in his head
and churning around in his balls.  Gay.  He needed to say the word out
loud, to tell someone, in order to make his new identity concrete.  His
cock was beginning to stir again; Mitch decided to pull on his pants before
someone spotted it.

   While almost all his teammates looked good enough to fuck, like being in
a candy store and not knowing which flavor to pick, Mitch decided to stick
with his plan.  He should approach Ron or Scotty first, singly or together,
no matter how good any other teammate looked.  Mitch just could not trust
his plan to unfold the way he wanted it to, at least not yet.  First, he
needed to see if he could actually succeed with his closest buddies.  After
all, he acknowledged a good chance that they might beat the shit out of
him. So why he was not really scared?  Even though, as he pulled on his
T-shirt, he had turned his back on all that succulent teammate meat, his
own cock had again turned into an iron pipe in his pants.  Nothing seemed
to bring it down.  And the swollen tip of his dick felt so good rubbing
against the fabric of his underwear.  The tingle went from the cock-head
all the way to the base.  How come underwear had never felt so good before?
Even the brush of his T-shirt against his nipples felt good.  All his
senses were coming alive and his cock gave a jump.  Mitch had been
concentrating so hard on his own thoughts of fucking with one of the guys
that he had forgotten they were even there, and now he felt like he was
close to cumming right there in the locker room-

   A fist nudged his arm.  Not a hard punch, but the contact snapped Mitch
back to reality.  His buddy Ron, still wet from the shower and wearing
nothing but a towel around his waist.  "Earth to Mitch.  I've been standing
here for, like, five minutes while you're off in another world."

   "Ron, you don't know how right you are."

   "What does that mean?"

   "I'm still working on that one myself." Mitch chuckled nervously,
because just the touch of his friend's hand on his arm had his cock
throbbing again in his pants.  The locker room was almost deserted except
for Mitch and Ron and a couple of other guys, and Mitch did not even think
to ask where Scotty was.

   "Okay, if that's the way you want it." Ron pulled his clothes out of his
locker and sat down on a bench.  The side of his towel fell open.  While
the front still covered Ron's cock and balls, Mitch had a view of a strip
of intimate bare skin from Ron's waist to his knee, and something about
that skin today made his breath catch.

   Mitch jerked his gaze away from that skin to find Ron was still talking
about something or other as he sorted his T-shirt from the wad of clothing.
"But," Ron continued as he began to wrestle the shirt over his head, "if
you have something you wanna talk about, you know I'll be willing to
listen."

   Ron always got dressed from the top down--shirt, then underwear, pants,
socks, and finally shoes--because when they were kids he had read a western
story that said cowboys always got dressed from the top down, starting each
morning by putting on their Stetsons; Ron, fancying himself growing up to
be a cowboy, adopted the practice and somehow had stuck with it.  Mitch
smiled, knowing no one but him, Scotty, and Ron would ever know each other
well enough to understand how they came to develop their various quirks.

   But right then, Ron was looking at him, seemed to be waiting for a
response.  Mitch nodded.  "Sure, Ron.  Thanks."

   Ron was a good-looking guy; just about all the girls thought so.  He
stood up and whipped off his towel, reached for his underwear.  Mitch
decided that, even limp, Ron's cock looked kind of terrific.  Mitch's hands
itched from the desire to reach right in there and grab onto Ron's swinging
stuff.  He was staring so intently that Ron flashed Mitch a questioning
look, for the first time sensing that there was something new in the air,
something that Ron did not understand.

   "Uh ...  What's up with you today, Mitch?"

   "Just trying to work something out."

   "You think you can do it by yourself?"

   "Not likely.  I've just been thinking about what great pals you and
Scotty and I are.  Between guys like us, it just seems that there could be
something a little more.  You know what I mean?"

   "Not exactly.  Listen, I'm getting tired of these word-games."

   "Sorry, Ron.  I didn't mean to sound like a jerk.  I just, uh, don't
know how to say what's on my mind."

   "Why don't you just spit it out?"

   Again Mitch was grateful for the close relationship between himself and
his buddy.  He hoped that, even if Ron turned down his sexual advances,
maybe Ron would still want to be his friend.  But was Mitch really willing
to risk everything?

   Ron looked up at him once more and cocked an eyebrow.  His buddy's stare
fascinated Mitch; his expression was strange and mysteriously exciting, and
Mitch could not quite decipher it.  Regardless, he knew he would have to
break the tension that was passing back and forth between them.  Ron,
always impatient and sometimes inconsiderate, would not be willing to wait
much longer for an answer.  Maybe, Mitch decided, he could risk opening his
mind just a little, just to see if he could catch a quick flash of what Ron
was thinking, some clue to help him know whether to proceed and how.

   Mitch patted Ron on the shoulder, and then let his hand linger there for
a meaningful extra second.  If Ron caught the emphasis in the touch, he did
not jump.  The two of them had been buddies so long that something as small
as a touch was hardly unusual.  Mitch opened his mind and reached his
thoughts toward Ron and felt-

   --felt Ron's mind reaching toward his.

   *What the hell!*

   Mitch's jaw dropped.  He thought at Ron, *Did you just--?*

   And Ron thought back, *You can do it too--?*

   *Yes!* they thought in unison, then, *Holy fucking shit!*

   The two looked at each other, wide-eyed, and grinned with wonder and
disbelief and a new understanding.

   Mitch felt Ron brush against his mind, as if probing for what Mitch had
been trying to say, and he knew Ron would understand what he saw in Mitch.
Even Ron's eyes were glittering--wild and adventurous.  Mitch pushed his
own thoughts toward Ron.  He felt amped up on adrenaline, his breathing
jittery, and sweating a little.  From what he saw in Ron's head, he knew he
was right to trust his friend; Ron seemed to want many of the same things.
*Take it slow--nice and easy*, Mitch kept telling himself over and over. 
*Whatever this is, don't blow it now.*

   Mitch slid through Ron's thoughts, and he felt Ron flit though his own.
Memories came out of nowhere--some he recognized as his own, which must
have been Ron's doing, and some he didn't recognize, which much have been
images he stumbled upon in Ron's mind.  The imagination picture of Ron
naked and jacking off--well, now Ron understood what Mitch wanted.  A
moment later, Mitch found an image of himself naked and hard in Ron's head,
along with a sense of intense curiosity, and Mitch smirked when he realized
Ron had not imagined Mitch's erection being nearly as large as the real
thing.  What would Ron say when he saw it in the flesh?

   Suddenly--*yank!*--Mitch found himself back in his own head.

   "Ow," Ron muttered, rubbing his forehead and frowning at the pain,
already passing.  "That never happened before." They grinned at each other.
"But it was really cool."

   Mitch nodded.  He head felt a little achy, maybe over-exerted, but he
felt the relief of the knot in his belly relaxing a little.

   Ron said, "Wanna practice this ...  *whatever it is* some more?  Let's
go to my house." Both of his parents worked and would not be home for over
two hours.  They would have time alone to-

   Mitch realized something.  "Where's Scotty?"

   Ron cocked that handsome grin.  "Oh, I think he remembered something he
needed to do.  Don't worry about him." Mitch wondered for a moment whether
Ron had said something to Scotty--or done something to him, like the way
Mitch used his mantra to avoid being seen.  Could the mantra be used to
make someone decide he needed to be somewhere else or do something else? 
Mitch decided to follow up on that thought later, because he agreed with
what Ron said next.  "I think just the two of us should experiment with
*this* by ourselves first, in private."

   Once they were finished dressing and their lockers were squared away,
Mitch and Ron left the locker room and rushed down the hallway.  Without
warning, Ron grabbed Mitch's arm and tugged him toward a door--a
seldom-used storage room, Mitch recalled.  As he pulled Mitch inside, Ron
said, "If we're gonna do this, I think we should try something in real life
first.  Just to see if we like it."

   Ron pushed Mitch back up against one wall and pressed himself in close.
Mitch tried not to flinch.  Ron moved in closer and closer, then gingerly
put his hand around Mitch's neck.  Now there was a questioning look in
Ron's eyes, but he still said nothing.  He pushed his head forward until
his lips met Mitch's.  Just a small kiss.  Mitch put his hands on Ron's
arms, pulled him closer.  Mitch pushed his thoughts at Ron, and found Ron's
mind waiting to meet him.  The sensation of rightness, the *yes-yes-yes*
racing through both of their minds, gave them the courage to continue.  The
kiss deepened.  Ron's body melted against Mitch's.  Their tongues met.

   Ron pulled back and smiled, nervously, glancing quickly away, and Mitch
tightened his hold on Ron's arms just a little, unwilling to let him go. 
Everything was unfolding just as Mitch had hoped, except in a completely
different way.  The pressure of Ron's body against his felt so perfect. 
Ron's presence in his head was unexpected but welcome.  Mitch's cock had
gotten hard at some point, which he realized when Ron ground their crotches
together.  That hardness in Ron's pants--he was erect too!

   The reality was exactly the opposite of how Mitch had imagined this
situation would unfold, since he had planned to be the one in charge, yet
everything felt exactly right, even the tingle that ran from the top of his
head all the way down to his balls.  Mitch felt hot and cold at the same
time.  This was actually going to happen.  He could not believe his good
luck, and just then he saw something that was the final incentive he could
possibly need.  Images flashed through Ron's thoughts: actions, sexual
actions, things he wanted to try, things he wanted to do to Mitch, things
he wanted Mitch to do to him.  Ron's cocky grin said he was sending those
images intentionally.

   Mitch ran his hand down Ron's torso, to his groin.  Ron had a needy
hard-on.  In addition, it felt nice and thick, getting thicker as Mitch
squeezed it through Ron's jeans.  Mitch wanted to get his hands on Ron's
body.  Without waiting for the extra second that might let him lose his
nerve, Mitch pulled at Ron's pants, unbuttoning the waist, unzipping the
fly.

   "Yeah, that's the way," Ron crooned.  "Go for it."

   Mitch thought Ron's voice sounded tremendously calm, much too calm to be
believed.  Mitch could not stop trembling as he tried to work his friend's
jeans down.  Mitch reached into Ron's underwear, found his excited cock;
his fingers moved up along the base of Ron's shaft.  The thing was already
big, but it continued to grow, as Mitch began to run his fingers carefully
along the underside of it.  Mitch discovered that he had guessed right
about his friend's size; Ron's cock seemed a good seven inches, maybe a bit
more.  That dick felt too great, too nice and meaty, to even think of
stopping now, but Mitch had to be sure.  "You want me to stop?"

   Ron frowned, and his thoughts did a curling thing.  "Don't ask me that."

   "Why not?"

   "If you ask me to say something, I'll have to tell you to get your hands
off me."

   "Is that what you want?" Mitch faltered, because Ron's thoughts instead
definitely seemed to be pulling him in, pushing this action forward.

   "No.  But I'd have to say it."

   Now that he was sure, Mitch did not waste any more precious time with
words.  He grabbed the hem of Ron's T-shirt and started lifting.  *If we're
gonna do this*, he sent into Ron's mind, *we're gonna do it naked.*

   Ron pulled back.  Mitch felt a rush of panic, expecting rejection, but
Ron simply took two steps, flicked the door lock, and then returned,
shedding his shoes as he came.  Mitch's breath strained, hoarse wheezes, as
he stripped himself.  His ears told him that Ron's lungpower was in pretty
much the same condition.  Ron's mind seemed a mess of nervous arousal.

   They had seen each other's bodies a thousand times, but never before
with erections, and never while their minds were touching like this.  They
had been *nude* together many times, Mitch realized, but now they were
*naked*, their bodies, their most intimate parts, their most intimate
thoughts open for the other's inspection.  Even though he was not sure what
to do next, everything felt so very important to Mitch, as if his
life--their lives--were changing and about to change even more.  He felt
excited, aroused, a hundred things too balled together to identify.  He
pushed down his underwear, finally, and let his hard-on swing free in the
air.  Ron stared straight down at it and gulped.  Mitch grinned, knowing
Ron was indeed surprised by how much Mitch's real-life size exceeded Ron's
fantasy guess; Ron had not expected that his friend was so well-hung, and
he definitely admired Mitch's massive dick.

   Ron looked up and met Mitch's stare.  His mind offered Mitch a series of
images for what Ron wanted to do next.  Mitch grinned and nodded.

   Wanting a closer look at Ron's dick, Mitch knelt.  Ron stepped closer.
The tip of Ron's rod dripped just a little, and Mitch licked his lips.  He
longed to taste it, but he had to pull his eyes away from his friend's cock
before he lost control and creamed himself too soon.

   *I like this*, Mitch thought to Ron.  *It's the way we should be.*

   Ron thought back, *Yeah--it feels right, doesn't it?*

   Mitch stared at his friend's equipment again.  This was the closest he
had ever been to Ron's dick, and that dick was hard, hard for him!  Mitch
could actually see Ron's heartbeat making the veins pulse in his organ. 
*Man, that's one hell of a beautiful dick.*

   *Thank you.  Go ahead and touch it.*

   Mitch snickered.  He had not been expecting Ron to hear his thought;
this was all so new.  His stomach jittered.  *Let's do it together.*

   Ron's gaze landed on a number of exercise mats stacked against the rear
wall.  He pulled one down to the floor and stretched out on it.  Mitch
joined him.  Ron seemed to know what to do; he turned until they lay with
their heads at each other's crotches.  Mitch knew the position from
countless downloaded videos but had never done it--had never done anything
with a guy.  Had Ron?  Mitch was about to peek into Ron's memories when
Ron's dick gave a jump and reminded Mitch of the wonder right in front of
him: his buddy's erection.
Mitch coiled his fingers around Ron's dick.  His heart pounded painfully
in his chest as he felt Ron's hand wrap around his prick, exactly
duplicating what Mitch was doing.  He did not see it happen because he
could not force his eyes away from Ron's crotch.  This was like watching
himself in a mirror as he jerked off, and yet it was something completely
different, more thrilling.  Again Mitch's heart jumped as Ron started to
tug at his cock.  Mitch was surprised, but pleased, that his pal was taking

such a big step without being coaxed into it.

   Mitch stroked Ron.  Ron stroked Mitch.  Then Ron slid his other hand in
to play with Mitch's balls, hefting them in their sack, tugging gently on
them.  Mitch answered by doing the same to Ron's testicles.  Mitch kneaded
the balls together in the palm of his hand.  This felt good when Mitch did
it to himself; would Ron like it too?  He tugged harder at Ron's dick, and
Ron groaned his approval.

   The images from Ron's mind--mingled bits of porn and fantasies--were
intoxicating.  Mitch wondered whether Ron was trying to push those ideas
into his head, but he decided to try a few of them anyway.  He bent his
head toward his buddy's crotch, and he paid close attention to Ron's
reactions: the way Ron shuddered with excitement when he felt Mitch's
breath on his dick, the way he jumped when Mitch's lips first brushed the
tip of his cock-head.  He found he liked causing Ron's body to react, liked
to feeling of being the one in charge of making Ron quiver and shake; this
in-charge feeling was something Mitch had never experienced before, at
least not in this way, and he did not know quite what to do with it.  The
feeling aroused Mitch, made his dick and balls tingle--almost too much.  He
wanted to act cool and not blow his whole manly image by emptying his nuts
just when the fun was starting, so he tried to concentrate on Ron's hard-on
instead of his own.  But in spite of all his best intentions, he felt
himself dangerously close to orgasming.

   Ron gasped, "Suck it, Mitch.  Really suck it."

   Mitch was not completely sure how.  He had seen sucking done in porn
videos, and the act seemed simple enough: open the mouth, fit it over the
cock, move forward and back.  But sometimes suckers in videos gagged and
retched, and sometimes their faces went red and they seemed to be choking.
Mitch decided to go slowly.  He put his lips around Ron's cock-head, making
him moan, and he slid his mouth an inch down the shaft.  The flavor was
odd, like freshly showered skin and soap with something musky mixed in too.
Mitch wanted to swallow the whole thing, including his friend's balls, but
then his gag reflex threatened to kick in, and Mitch decided Ron had just
too much meat to get all of it down his throat.  Mitch hoped Ron would
settle for having Mitch take in half of it and use his hand to work over
what was left of the shaft.  Ron moaned and pressed his face into Mitch's
crotch, and Mitch decided he must be doing a good job.  Arousal and
pleasure colored the pulses coming from Ron's mind.

   Ron nuzzled Mitch's crotch and then took an inch or so of Mitch's cock
into his mouth too.  Mitch's eyes widened at the intense sensation of
warmth and wetness around his cock-head.  Ron could not take much of
Mitch's big dick, but for Mitch, just knowing his cock was penetrating
Ron's handsome face was enough of a rush to nearly push him into climax. 
Mitch fought to control his arousal, to hold back his orgasm.  Ron moaned
around Mitch's cock, and Mitch loved the additional sensation.  He did the
same around Ron's.  Mitch snorted a laugh, amazed at how greedy he was for
Ron's cock--and how greedy Ron was for his too.  Now that Mitch had it in
his mouth, he wanted as much of it as he could get.  What should he do with
his teeth?  What should he do with his tongue?  The reaction-impressions he
saw in Ron's thoughts provided feedback and Mitch tried to figure out ways
to make the experience feel better for his friend.

   Mitch felt something sputter to life in Ron's head, and he realized
something similar was now unavoidable in his own body too.  *Gonna cum*,
they warned each other simultaneously.

   But Mitch ignored the warning and stayed clamped to Ron's cock as it
slid along his tongue.  Ron did not back away either.  Who began to orgasm
first did not matter, because one's orgasm pulled the other's into full
bloom and they were cumming together.  A new flavor--not pleasant at all,
bitter--burst across Mitch's tongue, and he realized this must be Ron's cum
he was tasting.  But he did not have time to take in the specifics because
his orgasm made his eyes clamp shut and his body shudder as it took over
his entire being.

   Soon, too soon, Mitch's body went slack and he fell back.  Ron did too,
panting, "Fuck! ...  That was so good!"

   The taste of Ron's load was still in Mitch's mouth.  Spitting it out
seemed rude, and where would he spit anyway?  He forced himself to swallow.
*Bleeh.* Mitch felt Ron's mind probing around that thought, maybe comparing
their impressions of how the other tasted, but Mitch did not want to think
about that, not yet anyway.

   Ron rolled away, bounced to his feet, reached for his T-shirt.  Mitch
worried that something was wrong; was Ron having regrets, running away,
about to kick his ass?  But Ron said, "Hurry up and get dressed.  We're
going to my house so we can do this again!"

   Again?  "Fuck, yeah," Mitch whispered.

   They ran most of the way to Ron's house, usually a half-hour walk but
far faster today.  One would run on ahead while the other hung back,
testing--*Can you hear me, what am I thinking?*--the limits of their
mind-speaking.  Their thoughts could touch at distances of up to nearly a
block.  Within that space, they could tell what the other way thinking, and
saying it back made it more real, made all of *this* more real to them.

   When they reached Ron's house, they had about an hour remaining before
one of his parents returned.  Ron ran up the stairs to his bedroom, Mitch
following closely.  There, clothes were shed, and naked bodies smacked into
an embrace and fell onto the bed.

   Each's horniness in their connected minds fed the other's, arousal
spiraling impossibly higher.  Their cocks were so hard they hurt, begging
for relief.  Mitch had one overwhelming desire.  While Ron's cock had
tasted so good earlier, Mitch wanted to try more, something that would
cement this new stage of their friendship.  He wanted to try it, while they
still had the hard-ons and the opportunity.  Mitch said, "Will you let me
fuck you?"

   "An hour ago, I'd have punched you for saying that.  But as horny as I
am, I'm willing to try just about anything." Ron retrieved a bottle of the
lotion he used for jacking off, passed it to Mitch, rolled onto his back on
the bed, lifted his legs in the air.  "I saw on the Internet," he
explained, "that this way makes it easier the first time."

   Mitch, caught in an intensity that he could not fully understand,
crawled between Ron's legs.  He covered his cock with lotion.  That
slickness always felt good when he was jerking off, and logic suggested it
would help a dick as big as his slide into Ron's ass.  Mitch squirted more
lotion on his finger and reached down between Ron's legs in search of his
asshole.  Fucking was something else Mitch had never done, and he felt a
sudden uncertainty that he tried to mask as tenderness, though he realized
Ron probably knew the truth and felt equally apprehensive.  He worked the
finger and lotion around Ron's ass, tried to push into the tight bud.  In
porn vids, that seemed to be all that was needed: squirt lube on a finger,
stick it between a guy's butt cheeks, and then stick the dick in there. 
Those guys were experienced professionals, though, so Mitch worried that
Ron would need more preparation first.  Maybe he would need to use more
lotion.  Ron's ass cheeks were round and smooth and hard with muscle, but
the flesh quivered lightly against his hand.  Ron tried to push his ass
against Mitch's finger, and finally Mitch got the idea of what his friend
was looking for.  He could not stop himself now; he had to learn everything
he could about Ron's body.

   Ron was quivering and moaning, pressing his ass even more against
Mitch's finger, grinding against it.  "Stop teasing me," Ron panted.  "I
don't want to shoot until you ..." Instead of words, images told Mitch what
Ron wanted: Ron wanted Mitch's cock inside him.

   Mitch had never fucked before, but like sucking an hour before, the
mechanics seemed simple.  The only way to learn was to try, he decided. 
All that was left now was to scoot his hips closer, take his lotion-slicked
cock in hand, and push it home into Ron's puckered asshole.  But something
seemed amiss.  Ron's ass seemed clamped shut.  How was Mitch supposed to
get his dick inside?  "Help me, Ron."

   "Tell me what you need; I'll do it."

   "Move back to me, Ron.  Move back.  That's it." As he was coaxing his
friend to grind his asshole back at him, Mitch pushed forward with his
stiff dick.  This was trickier than it looked on videos, where the
big-dicked porn stars just poked their penises right in and sank all the
way to the base.  Mitch was aiming blindly, in a way that just was not
working.  "Come on, Ron.  Spread your cheeks.  I can't get my cock in."

   "Okay, Mitch.  Make it fast.  I can't wait to feel that stiff dick in
me."

   Both boys were surprised at how intense their emotions felt--passion,
arousal, a dozen things too mixed-together to identify.  But neither felt
fear or reluctance.  Everything that remained was some flavor of pure lust.

   Mitch felt along the crack of Ron's ass again until his finger found the
tight hole.  Ron gasped as he felt the lotion-slick digit press into his
virginal spot; even this slim intrusion into his ass needed some adjusting
on his part.  Mitch felt Ron's mind light up with multiple thoughts: the
physical discomfort of being penetrated, the thrill of experiencing real
sex for the first time, curiosity about how getting fucked would feel, a
small amount of shame at being the one getting fucked, but a desire to do
this with Mitch, for Mitch.  Ron gritted his teeth.  Mitch worked his
finger around in a slow circle.  Could he reach into Ron's mind and make
this better for him?  Ron had hinted that he had influenced their friend
Scotty, so could Mitch do the same for Ron?  Mitch probed deeper into Ron's
head, sliding past the thinking parts, until he found an area that reacted
mostly to the physical stimulation, the part that seemed to interpret
impulses as pain.  Mitch worried at it a moment, found a way to quiet it.
Ron sighed and relaxed.

   "You ready for something bigger?" Mitch asked.

   "Yeah, I'm ready now, Mitch."

   "Let me hear you say it."

   Ron hesitated.  "Fuck me.  Fuck me, Mitch."

   That was the go-ahead signal Mitch could not ignore.  He reared back
just a little so that he could get his dick pointed in the right direction.
He pushed forward, felt his cock-head press at Ron's sphincter.  Where was
instinct when he needed it, Mitch wondered.  Or was that the
answer?--Forget what he had seen in videos and just do what instinct
demanded?  With a grunt, Mitch suddenly lunged all the way forward.  He
groaned again, heavily, as he felt the first wild sensation of his
cock-head piercing through Ron's asshole.  Ron's eyes went wide, and he
yelped: "Aaaaah!"
"Does it hurt, Ron?  I don't want to hurt you." But Mitch could not,
would not, stop now, not when he and Ron had come this far together.  Mitch
tried to find that pain-processing spot in Ron's head again, to calm it,

but his thoughts kept slipping.

   "Don't stop, Mitch," Ron grunted, huffing through the pain.  "Keep
going. I can take it.  The pain's supposed to fade soon.  Let's do this!"

   One more deep breath and one more heavy lunge, and Mitch felt his shaft
start to slide right in, moving easily on the greasy slickness of the
lotion.

   Ron grimaced and sucked in a breath and moaned loudly: "Whooooah!"

   Mitch fumbled in Ron's mind again for that place that processed pain,
and this time he found it, lit up like a beacon.  As he pushed more of his
cock into Ron's ass, Mitch probed the place and worked at it quickly,
muting it down to almost nothing.  He wanted Ron to feel no pain, only
pleasure.  He bent forward and said to his friend, "Ron, I'm going to fuck
you so good.  I'm going to fuck you right up a wall.  Fuck you until we
both cream a river.  You want that, too?"

   "Yeah, Mitch," Ron panted.  "I want that.  More than anything." Now
Ron's eyes rolled, and he seemed to be enjoying the sensations.  "More. 
Gimme more of your meat.  Fuck my ass, Mitch.  Fuck me."

   "It doesn't hurt?

   "It did.  Now it feels great.  Keep going."

   Knowing he could tweak his friend's mind was a rush that Mitch filed for
further consideration later.  Right then, he needed to push his cock in
deeper, because getting more of his dick into Ron's ass, fucking that ass,
was the most important thing in the world.  Mitch wanted to stay like this
forever, but he wanted, needed, to fuck, and fucking involved motion--in
and out.  So, okay: motion.  Mitch pulled back, until only the tip and a
bit of shaft remained gripped in his friend's ass.  He pushed down once
more, sliding in, pulled halfway back, and then went down again.  Clumsy at
first, too stop-and-start, he figured out quickly that the good sensations
felt even better when he kept moving, found a steady pace.

   Soon he felt he was fucking like a champ.  Being close friends who were
able to tell what the other was thinking offered unexpected advantages:
They needed little time to find a compatible rhythm.  Asshole and cock were
moving back and forth as if they had been doing this together for years.

   Mitch decided to try varying his strokes.  Ron had been straining his
face up to watch Mitch fuck him, but suddenly he threw his head back and
arched his body off the bed.  Mitch felt Ron's mind flare up with a
lightning jolt of pleasure.  "Fuck!" Ron declared.  "Do that again!"

   What exactly *had* he done?--Mitch tried to remember.  He had been
pumping his hips just like he had done for the last minute or two, and then
he had tried ...  *The prostrate!* he realized--his dick must have found
Ron's prostate.  Mitch had heard about that from videos.  He tried to
replicate the thrust.  No, that did not seem to make Ron's nervous system
light up.  Maybe this angle?  No?  Or this one?  Mitch tried to remember
exactly where the prostate was; they had studied that in biology class a
while back.  *Let's see*, Mitch assessed, *Ron's on his back, and the
prostate is in front of the rectum, so it's above my dick, so if I--*

   "Fuck!" Ron swore as another burst of pleasure went off inside him.

   *Found it!* Mitch congratulated himself with a smirk.

   Ron's cock bounced against his stomach; he grabbed it and stroked it. 
"Oh, man, I gotta cum!" In just a few seconds, Ron's body was bucking and
his mouth was a silent *O* of ecstasy and his mind--*I'm cumming!*--was
abuzz with an orgasm that obliterated all thoughts.  His load of sperm
spurted out onto his chest and belly and hand.  Mitch had never felt
anything like the chain of sensations Ron's climax initiated, and the
clamping of Ron's ass-ring around Mitch's cock-shaft sent electricity down
into Mitch's balls, through his body, and he felt his own climax begin.  He
threw his head back and hollered his bliss at the ceiling.  He knew he
should pull out his cock out, but instinct overcame him and instead he
drove his cock all the way into Ron's ass and held it there as he shot and
shot and shot.

   When his balls were spent and his whole body went limp, Mitch fell onto
the bed alongside Ron.  He was starting to register the full impact of the
new step they had taken in their lives, and it overwhelmed him.  Mitch
pushed his head in and nibbled at Ron's neck, which made Ron chuckle
drowsily.  The intensity of his ejaculation and all the happy brain
chemicals released by a good orgasm had Ron falling asleep.  Mitch could
see it happening in Ron's mind, the way certain parts were fading down, and
he yawned, suddenly aware that Ron's descent into sleep was pulling at him
too.  *Maybe just a short nap*, he told himself ...

   But suddenly something awakened him.  Groggy, Mitch needed a moment to
process it, and then he realized.  That sound was the garage door
opening--one of Ron's parents was home!  Mitch stumbled off the bed,
adrenaline snapping him fully awake now.  He shook Ron's arm.  "Wake
up!--Somebody's home!"

   "Fuck!" Ron swore, rolling to the floor and fumble-scrambling for his
clothes.

   Later, as he began his walk the few blocks farther to his house, Mitch
wished they had had time to take a shower.  He feared his father and
brothers would be able to smell the sex on him, though Ron assured him
otherwise.  They knew their friendship was going to be completely different
now, because of the sex and the mind-talking, and both would take some
getting used to.

   Mitch walked slowly, so he and Ron could stay in mental contact for as
long as possible.  Mitch brought up the obvious question: *What about
Scotty?*

   Ron responded, *Listen, we took to this easily, so we'll be able to make
it easy for Scotty too.  I bet we can persuade him.*

   Mitch was not sure whether Ron meant the sex or the mind-talking.  He
chose to assume the sex.  *I dunno.  Scotty won't always say what he really
thinks.  He might be willing but think he has to say no--or he might say
yes even though he doesn't want to.*

   Ron sent back, *Then maybe we'll have to work him into it, a little at a
time, kind of natural-like, before he knows what's happening.  With both of
us working on him, how can he say no?*

   Again Ron's thoughts held a hint of pushing Scotty to agree.  Mitch was
not sure he liked that idea.  He sent back a thought with a warning tone:
*Scotty won't go for something he ain't prepared to do.*

   *We could arrange it like a little surprise.  You know.  Let him kind of
find us at it.  Like he caught us in the act.  Then when he sees what we're
into, he can make up his mind if he wants to join in or not.*

   That plan seemed more promising to Mitch.  *Yeah.  I guess that might
work.  Either way, we'll have to make sure he knows he's still our friend,
whether he joins in or not.*

   *Sure.  We've been friends too long for this to get in the way. 
Besides, if he wants to miss out on all of this*--Ron's thoughts carried
mashed-together impressions of the mind-talking, the sex, and Mitch's large
penis, and Mitch felt himself blushing--*well, that's his problem.*

   Mitch felt himself reaching the limit of their range.  His connection to
Ron's thoughts faltered.  *But we gotta play it cool, Ron.  Promise me. 
Play it cool.*

   *We will.  Just promise me this won't be the last time.* Another
impression of them naked together in Ron's bedroom and Mitch's erection.

   *No way, man.  I enjoyed it too much.  I want as much of your ass as I
can.*

   *Know what, Mitch?  How about next time we can turn it around, and I
fuck you.  Only fair, right?  I'll show you how good it--*

   *I'd like that*, Mitch thought, but distance had already broken the
connection to Ron's mind.

   * * *

   *Chapter 2: Scotty*

   Ron called Scotty and raised the idea of a weekend camping trip, just
the three of them.  Scotty's family owned a two-room cabin on a plot of
land beside a mountain lake, and Scotty had a car.  This late in the year,
the lake would be too cold for much besides maybe a little fishing; but if
the fish weren't biting, the three of them could easily find something else
to do.  Friday was two days away; right after school they could make the
two-hour drive and get to the cabin around sunset.

   Scotty liked the idea, and he knew Ron's father and Mitch's would say
yes.  All three fathers were always encouraging them to spend more time
playing sports or hunting or fishing.  A weekend away for a little fishing
seemed perfect.  Excited now, Scotty and Ron talked on the phone for nearly
an hour as they planned their weekend.  The world for them was getting
brighter every minute.

   Ron had not said why the camping idea struck at the last minute, but
Scotty knew doing stuff like that was about the only time Mitch's asshole
father seemed to approve of him, and Mitch was always looking for ways to
get his dad's approval.  Ron and Scotty helped as much as they could,
because they knew Mitch's father made his life hell sometimes.  Maybe a
weekend break was exactly what all three of them needed.

   Naturally, the next two days passed in a blur.  He thought Mitch and Ron
seemed more excited than he was, and Scotty almost decided those two were
planning something in secret and not telling him.  Those sly glances Mitch
and Ron kept flashing each other when they thought Scotty was not
looking--what else could they mean?

   Finally, Friday afternoon arrived.  Scotty had a full tank of gas, and
his buddies had already loaded their stuff into his car the night before.
As soon as classes let out, they all jumped into Scotty's ancient,
beaten-up car, which they had long ago nicknamed Mister Rust Bucket, and
set off.  Naturally Mitch asked, "You sure this old heap will make to the
lake," like he did every time they started a long trip in Mitch's vehicle,
a recurring joke.

   Scotty mock-scolded, "Don't say things like that.  You'll hurt his
feelings." He patted the dashboard.  "There, there, Rusty.  He didn't mean
it."

   The sun was already setting when they reached the cabin, and the
temperature was already beginning to drop, chilly but not yet cold.  On the
trip up, they had decided on one last campfire, so Scotty took charge of
unloading their gear and flipping on the electricity breakers in the fuse
box, while Ron and Mitch began gathering wood and starting a blaze in the
fire pit.  Since they had not brought much stuff, Scotty considered himself
to have gotten the better part of that bargain.

   Mitch was a decent cook, and the meal of hamburgers and roasted potatoes
he whipped up over the fire pit tasted great.  They talked about past
basketball games, recent pranks, events in mutual friends' dating lives,
and they stared into the dancing flames.

   The moon continued its post-dark climb as they sat by the fire.  Mitch
and Ron seemed to be absorbed in their own thoughts, with the occasional
stare or expression back and forth between themselves that Scotty could not
completely read.  Well, whatever was going on between them, best he let
them work it out on their own.

   With all the other lights off, the cabin took on a mysterious air in the
dark.  Scotty's mind kept wandering as he watched the flames, and now and
then some brief fantasy made his cock jump with excitement.  He decided he
was horny.  If he were to sneak off into the woods, maybe under the
pretense of taking a leak, would they even notice if he was gone just a
little longer than needed for a piss?  Would they give him his privacy?--Or
would they come sneaking after him, spy on him as he stroked himself?  Or
would they want to come closer, maybe join in--?

   That last thought shocked him.  The idea of him jacking off in the woods
with his buddies seemed shocking but also strangely thrilling.  He had
never had such a thought before about his friends.  Scotty had loaded his
phone with plenty of downloaded porn, but as horny as he felt just then, he
knew he would not need it.  Embarrassed at his fantasy and his arousal,
Scotty glanced at Mitch and Ron.  Mitch was oblivious, staring at the fire.
Ron had been looking at Scotty as if he suspected something--no, how could
he?--but looked away quickly.

   Scotty's mind raced ahead with possibilities.  He could excuse himself
to go piss.  He could say he wanted to take a walk, or make a call to his
folks, or--or--Fuck!--He was so horny that just sitting here and thinking
about jacking off had his cock hard and about to cum!  Was that even
possible?  Scotty felt as though he might find out in moments.

   Ron stretched and stood up.  "I'm going to take a shower."

   Mitch stood up too.  "I better go with you and stand guard.  Never know
when some wild animal might come along and attack your ass."

   That seemed odd to Scotty.  Sure, they had seen each other naked in the
showers before, and sure, wild animals lived in the woods along the lake,
but why would Mitch want to invite himself along to Ron's shower?  Scotty
decided to make a joke of it: "But, Mitch, who's going to protect Ron's ass
from you?"

   All three laughed.  They had made gay jokes at each others' expenses a
fair amount over the years, but tonight something seemed forced about Mitch
and Ron's laughter, something that made Scotty wonder if he had stumbled
too close to a truth.  But Scotty pushed the thought away: *Mitch and
Ron?--No fucking way.*

   "Well," Scotty said, looking another direction, "you know where the
towels are."

   The shower was a semi-enclosed space Scotty and his father had built
around behind the cabin a few years ago.  The water was powered by a well
pump, and the water heater would provide maybe twenty minutes of hot water.
The towels and their shower kits were in the cabin, so Scotty followed Ron
and Mitch inside.  The cabin's two rooms did not leave much space, but they
had never bothered much with privacy among themselves.  Ron and Mitch stood
in the center of the main room as they stripped and wrapped towels around
their waists.  While they were in the process of doing this, Scotty was
startled to find himself checking out his buddies' nude bodies: Mitch's
chest, Ron's ass, Ron's dick, Mitch's dick.  He had seen them bare-ass
naked hundreds of times before, but tonight their athletic bodies took on a
whole new tone.  Not wanting them to catch him staring, Scotty tried to
turn away.  Whenever his friends were looking away from him, though, Scotty
found himself sneaking peeks at them.  Smooth chests.  Trim, muscular hips.
Something about their physical development thrilled Scotty, made his skin
prickle.  More and more, his eyes uncontrollably traveled down to their
groins.  He had stolen peeks before in the locker room after basketball
practice, comparing his physical development to his friends' and his
teammates', but tonight Scotty just could not rein in his curiosity about
the other guys' equipment, almost as if something was making him take
special notice.  Right now he could tell that his two best buddies really
stacked up close in the dick department.  Mitch looked to have the bigger
dick, but Ron had a bigger pair of balls.  What would their dicks look like
hard?  Would Mitch's get even bigger?  Or Ron's?  How would theirs compare
to Scotty's own?

   Mitch's voice snapped Scotty out of his daydream: "We'll see you in a
couple of minutes."

   *Shit!* Scotty thought.  Had Mitch caught him staring at their cocks? 
Scotty decided to try to joke it off.  "Okay.  But if you two get scared
out there all by yourselves, you know where to find me." He knew he sounded
grouchy, but he wanted them to leave already; he needed to jack off a quick
load and planned to do it while they were in the shower.  If they did not
leave soon, one of them was sure to notice the hard-on he was trying to
conceal in his lap.

   "Don't worry," Ron grinned.  "If *you* get scared all by yourself in
here, there's always room in the shower for one more."

   Scotty had to look away.  "Might be a tight fit."

   Ron cracked his handsome grin.  "We're all *real* good buddies, ain't
we?"

   "Enough with the gay jokes, Ron," Scotty warned, "or I'll decide you
mean it."

   Ron looked shocked.  "Gosh, we wouldn't want that, would we!"

   "Okay, you dick-heads, get the hell out of here and go take your showers
before I decide to kick both your asses."

   "Now who's making the gay jokes?"

   "Out!"

   Mitch made a sudden grab for Scotty's crotch, but Ron caught Mitch in
the middle and bent him forward.  Laughing, Ron got behind Mitch and
pretended he was ass-fucking Mitch right there.  "Oh!  Oh!  Oh!" Ron
faux-moaned.

   Scotty continued laughing too, until he caught sight of something harder
than it should have been under Mitch's towel, and maybe evidence of a
hard-on under Ron's as well.  Scotty suddenly found himself fantasizing
about sinking to his knees, right then and there in front of them, and
reaching for their stiff cocks, and opening his mouth ...

   Scotty broke out of his daydream with a start.  Where the hell had that
idea come from?--And why did it feel so much like something he was almost
compelled to really do?  No, it must have been his imagination.  What else
would it be?  Still, he stopped laughing and became deadly serious.  The
little pretend-fucking game was disturbing him in a way he did not
understand.  "That's enough, you guys!"

   Ron pulled back.  "Hey, what crawled up your ass?  We were only fooling
around."

   "Well, fool around with each other, if you think it's so funny," Scotty
growled, making an extra effort to resist the almost overwhelming urge to
look at Ron's crotch.  "If you don't get out there and get your showers,
I'm gonna beat you to it and use up all the hot water."

   "Okay, okay--message received, loud and clear."

   Ron and Mitch chased each other out of the cabin.

   Maybe this weekend was not such a good idea after all, Scotty wondered.
He threw himself onto the ancient couch under the front window.  Now he
felt too spooked to be horny.  His cock had gone completely soft, and he
resisted the urge to scratch it.  What the hell had gotten into Ron and
Mitch?  And what was getting into him too?  A lot of his thoughts tonight
did not make much sense.  Why was he so curious about what was going on out
there in the shower?  What could possibly be going on anyhow?--Some washing
and the usual horseplay, probably, just like after every basketball
practice, but why was he wondering if maybe Ron and Mitch were playing a
different kind of game?  All the other times they had come up here to the
lake, they had each showered singly, but tonight Ron and Mitch had made no
secret of their intent to shower together.  *No*, Scotty corrected himself,
*not together, just at the same time.  Big difference.*

   Somehow tonight Scotty found himself practically consumed by fantasies
of things he had never wanted to do before.  *Fuck*, he thought, *maybe all
that shit will go away once I jack off.  I'm too horny--that's it--and I
just need to pop a load and take the edge off and everything will go back
to normal.*

   The window over Scotty's head faced out the front of the cabin.  He
could not see the shower area around back, but he heard the water come on,
heard Mitch and Ron hooting about something, probably the chilly
temperature, before the hot water made the long trip from the heater to the
shower.  Scotty looked up and he could see the sky, pitch-black and clear,
the barest crescent of a moon, the sparkle of about a million stars. 
Everything out there looked so peaceful and tranquil.  Scotty wished he
could quiet these new thoughts, restore his own tranquility.  He just
needed to jack off, pump out a load of cum, take the edge off these damned
hormones that had him so horny and on edge.  He just needed to ...

   A calm, quiet night.  Quiet outside.  Quiet inside.  He just needed ...

   Scotty's cock stretched and thickened in his pants.  Something in his
head seemed to calm down.  His cock quivered, his erection back to full
strength and achingly hard now, and his thoughts were calm and quiet, all
worry forgotten.  Tonight was a great night for a moonlight ...  what? 
Somehow the thought just slipped away before it got completed.  He just ...

   Scotty found himself standing on the front porch, pulling off his
T-shirt, dropping it, then stepping off.  He calmly walked the little
graveled path that led around the house and back toward the shower stall.
He felt eager, but peaceful, not anxious at all.  No need for anxiety; just
be calm.  He very much wanted, needed, to join his friends.  He stopped
just before the corner, pulled off his right shoe, then the sock, repeated
the process for his left shoe and sock.  The smooth gravel felt good under
his feet.  The cool night air felt good caressing his chest and back.  Yes,
a calm, quiet night.  No worries.  Just perfect acceptance.  He just needed
to let whatever was about to happen ...  just happen.

   Another step, then another.  His erection seemed to be stretched out
wrong for some reason.  Cramped.  Needed more room.  Scotty paused, opened
the front of his jeans, and slipped his pants down and off.  Better.  Much
better.  A breeze teased around his bare legs.  He reached into the front
of his briefs to adjust his hard-on and scratch at his balls.  That felt
good.  He scratched a moment more, and then absent-mindedly took a little
tug at his dick.  The chilly night air felt good, made his prick grow
harder, throb more.  Suddenly, Scotty found himself imagining himself, Ron,
and Mitch naked together, naked and hard, found himself wondering which of
them had the biggest dick when they were all three hard and jacking.  Which
of them would cum first.  Shoot the biggest load.

   What was happening to him?  Looking down, he saw that his briefs were
really bulging now.  He had a throbbing hard-on, and he did not even know
why.  He could hear the water, but he could not hear Ron or Mitch.  Could
not see them either--he had to round the privacy wall before he could see
them, but surely he should be able to hear them?  Scotty realized his pole
had risen when he had been thinking about his two naked buddies; maybe it
had risen *because* he was thinking of them.  The realization scared him
for a moment, but then that terrific calmness oozed through him again,
gentle as the night wind and the starlight, and he realized something else:
nothing was worth worrying about.  Mitch and Scotty were his two best
friends, and they had all been looking at each other ever since they were
children.  So what was stopping Scotty from just walking around the wall
and getting a good look if he wanted?  What harm could it do?  Why, he
could even take off his briefs and climb right into the shower with them,
and neither Ron nor Mitch would push him away or say anything about it. 
This seemed the most natural decision in the world.  Curiosity and calmness
filled him, defined him, consumed him.  Should he take off his briefs, or
just walk the rest of the way as he was?  He felt a little shy, but then
came the thought that he had no reason to stand there modestly in his
briefs while Ron and Mitch were romping naked in the shower.

   Scotty slipped his briefs down and tossed them aside.  There.  He felt
more natural.  His naked body felt good in the nippy breeze.  He liked the
way the chill prickled his bare skin.  He loved the idea of being naked out
here in the country with his two best friends.  The most natural thing in
the world.  He smiled and walked the rest of the path with his hard cock
leading the way and his balls swinging in the breeze.

   By the time he rounded the privacy wall, Scotty's eyes had adjusted to
the dark.  He was surprised by what he saw: Ron had Mitch bent all the way
over at the waist, and Mitch had his hands braced low down along the
plywood shower wall.  Ron grunted quietly, and Mitch moaned.  He could hear
Ron talking, but not out loud.  Scotty heard Ron's voice not in his ears
but in his head.

   *You really want it bad, Mitch.  I'm fucking you good.  Just stay
relaxed and let me fuck you deep and hard.*

   Scotty's cock hardened further, so hard its throbs were just short of
painful.  He almost came right where he was standing, as he saw Ron's hips
push his erection deeper into his buddy's ass.  Ron grunted again, and then
gave one heavy push.

   Then Mitch groaned, a low animal sound coming all the way from his
belly. His eyes were half-closed, as if he were dazed with lust.  Somehow
waves of sensation seemed to be rolling off of Mitch, and Scotty could
almost feel Mitch being penetrated by Ron's chunk of meat, as if it were
invading Scotty's own asshole, and he felt his asshole clinch in sympathy.
His prick jumped again, begging to be stroked, but Scotty's arms were too
relaxed, and he could not reach his hard-on to do it.  He stood and
watched, fascinated, as Ron's length of meat plowed in and out of Mitch's
asshole.

   Ron turned his head and smiled at Scotty.  *Look who decided to join
us*, Ron's voice gloated in Scotty's head.  *Come on in, Scotty.  There's
still plenty of hot water left.*

   Scotty stepped up.  The rough lumber of the slatted shower floor
replaced the gravel under his feet.  Another step, and he was right there
beside Ron and Mitch, at the edge of the spray, close enough for the heat
from the water to chase away the chill of the night air.

   Ron's face was pressed closely against Mitch's neck.  *Don't tense up,
Mitch.  Relax.  Just the way you taught me.  I've got my dick in you now.
Just take it easy.  Feels great, doesn't it?  You just settle down, and
I'll give you a nice ride.*

   Mitch made a mewling sound.

   *That's right.  I'll take good care of you.  I'm going to fuck you so
good.  Tell me what you want.  Say it out loud.*

   "Fuck me," Mitch murmured.

   *Louder.  Say it louder.*

   Mitch called out, "Fuck me!  Fuck me!"

   Scotty watched Ron's hips pump at Mitch's butt.  Ron held on to Mitch's
shoulders to anchor himself and fucked away, making his balls swing and
smack wetly against Mitch's body with each thrust: *whap-whap-whap!* Though
he knew he should, Scotty could not look away, did not want to look away.
He would never have believed he would be watching his two best buddies
fucking in the moonlight, but now the sight and sounds of them doing just
that were far too erotic.  Scotty wanted to touch his own cock, wanted to
fist it until he shot his cum all over them, but somehow his arms would not
obey.  Instead, he stood there and watched their bodies move together.

   Something in the back of his mind nagged at Scotty.  What had happened
to them?--And what was happening to him now?  He felt confused for a moment
before his peaceful calm reached and overwhelmed that last little
uncertainty too.  No need to figure it out now.  He could worry about
everything later, when it would all make sense.  Too much was going on, and
he did not want to miss a single moment of the action.  Scotty felt as if
he were trapped in some sort of web of sexual haze.  He wanted to be more
than an observer.  The sex seemed more than just the act he was seeing; it
felt like something bigger, something they formed together.  Scotty wanted
to be as much a part of the much larger something as Mitch and Ron were.

   Scotty wondered about what he was seeing.  Whenever he read a story
online where a man fucked a woman in the ass, whenever heard the jokes and
insults guys shouted at each other in the locker room, he had imagined that
the one on the receiving end of a stiff dick always got the worst of the
deal.  Buttholes were small.  Dicks were thick.  Butt-fucking had to hurt,
right?  He thought Mitch should be feeling some pain, or at least
complaining about that dick up his butt.  But no, Mitch's eyes were
half-closed as though he was in another world of pleasure; he was grinning
and seemed to be having a good time with Ron's dick in his ass.

   Mitch eyes--something about their dazed emptiness made Scotty curious.
"What's with Mitch?" Scotty asked.

   *Fuck-trance*, Ron replied, as if he were pulling the words right out of
Scotty's memories.  He knew the phase.  He had encountered it in a favorite
erotic story he found online and read often when he was horny and needed to
get off quickly, and he had always liked the phrase.  Just saying it in his
head sometimes when he was fantasizing and jerking at his dick was so
erotic; he had always wondered how a fuck-trance would feel, imagining it
to be a state in which he was so turned-on that every other concern was
obliterated, where nothing would register other than how horny he was and
how much he needed to fuck.  Somehow Ron seemed to know exactly how
arousing the phrase was for Scotty.  Ron's voice in Scotty's head curled
around that thought and said, *Mitch needs to get fucked.  He's in a
fuck-trance.  Fuck-trance.  Fuck-trance.  Fuck-trance.*

   *Yes*, Scotty thought, *Mitch's in a fuck-trance.  I'm in a fuck-trance
too.  I need to fuck.  I need to fuck Mitch.*

   Yes, of course.  Everything made sense now--so perfectly obvious!

   Ron stepped back, pulling his cock out of Mitch's ass, stepped aside. 
Scotty felt dazed, unable to focus, his eyelids drooping.  Ron's face swam
closer, examining Scotty's expression.  "Damn," Ron breathed.  "That's
about the sexiest thing I've ever seen!"

   *Fuck-trance.  I need to fuck Mitch*, Scotty thought again.  *Mitch
needs to be fucked.  He needs me to fuck him.* Scotty moved closer to
Mitch's ass, a nice ass, firm and round and ready to be fucked.  Ron
reached in, smeared some sort of slick liquid all over Scotty's stiff dick.
Yes, Ron had loosened Mitch up, and now Scotty was going to fuck him. 
Scotty put his hand around his rigid cock-shaft.  He eased the head around
in Mitch's crack until he found the hole.  Scotty had fucked girls a couple
of times, something he had never told Ron or Mitch because he knew they had
not and he did not want to make them jealous.  The ass was supposed to feel
tighter than the pussy, but he decided fucking an ass could not be much
different from fucking a girl, right?  He could do this.  He would give
Mitch a really nice fuck.

   Mitch's hole was snug, but Scotty's need felt relentless.  Buttholes
were shaped differently than pussies; with the girls, Scotty's dick had
slid right in.  But the ass was a ring of muscle, and even loosened,
Mitch's was still tight, tricky to penetrate.  After a few false starts,
Scotty had his cock-head and an inch of shaft pressed into Mitch's ass. 
That was too much to process all at one time, so Scotty was glad for the
quietness that kept wiping away his worries.  He could not back out now--he
had to give Mitch a good fucking.  Wanting to give Mitch the fucking he
needed and wanting to put on a good show for Ron, Scotty pulled back until
only the head of his cock was locked in Mitch's asshole.

   Scotty pushed his cock into Mitch's ass again, working another couple of
inches inside.  He felt like he could shoot at any second, and he badly
wanted to cum.  But neither of his friends seemed ready yet, and he did not
want to drop his load before they did.  Lasting was going to be tough,
because his balls were riding up and his gun felt like it was ready to go
off.  Nothing ever before--not his hand, not the girls--had ever felt as
good around his cock as Mitch's wet, warm ass.  Scotty realized he had
begun fucking without consciously making it happen, and his cock was
plowing deeper into his buddy's butt.  Scotty wondered if Mitch could take
the whole thing, and so he pushed extra-deep, until his pubes mashed
against Mitch's ass cheeks.  Scotty watched with awe as his prick slid out,
was swallowed whole again, slid out, and then sank back into that butt.

   In his effort to keep from shooting, Scotty looked up at Ron and found
Ron was watching him.  *Cum*, Ron's voice said in Scotty's head, a simple
message that tripped a switch inside Scotty.  His climax was spiraling
higher now, unavoidable, and suddenly his cock jerked like a rifle kick as
his load began spurting into the depths of Mitch's butt.  Shot after shot
after shot, and Scotty's eyes were clamped shut, his world became a dark
burn of ecstasy.

   Coming down, Scotty staggered.  His limbs felt rubbery.  His cock popped
out of Mitch's ass.  He had fucked an ass, Mitch's ass, Scotty realized,
and he had enjoyed it.  His mind had started to clear, briefly, but now
somehow he knew more was coming and already everything was going
foggy-headed again.  *I'm in a fuck-trance*, Scotty thought.  *I need to
fuck.  I need to get fucked.  I need Ron to fuck me.*

   Scotty stepped up alongside Mitch, leaned forward like Mitch, and
pressed his hands against the shower wall like Mitch, stuck his ass
backward like Mitch.  Something wet slithered back and forth along his ass
crack: Ron's tongue.  That should have seemed gross, Scotty realized, but
it felt great, so he sighed and pushed his ass back harder against Ron's
mouth.  Scotty's cock, spent just a few moments before, began again to
stiffen.
A finger, slick, probed at his hole.  *Relax.* Okay, Scotty could try to
do that.  The finger penetrated up to the second knuckle.  Not unpleasant,
but mostly what Scotty felt was anticipation.  Of what?  Of more, he
decided.  He wanted more up his ass.  More of that finger.  More than just
a finger.  Ron.  He wanted Ron's cock up his ass.  Just thinking that felt

scandalous and dirty and fun, and Scotty giggled.

   "Scotty, you're such an easy one," Ron chuckled out loud.  "Trust me,
Mitch, when you snap out of your fuck-trance, you're gonna be real glad I
did this my way."

   *Fuck-trance*, Scotty thought.  *I'm in a fuck-trance.  Ron's been
fucked before.  Mitch just got fucked.  It's my turn.  I need to get fucked
too.  I need Ron to fuck me.*

   Then he felt the fuck begin: Ron's cock-head pressed up against Scotty's
hole.  Pressure.  A jab of pain, then the sensation became not pain exactly
but an uncomfortable feeling of more pressure.  He felt his hole being
forced open.  Why was he feeling no pain?  He seemed to be feeling a
blankness where pain should be.  His ass felt full, stretched and full. 
Something slid into his ass, slid deeper into him, paused, slid deeper,
pulled back a little, then slid in again.  Fucked.  He was getting fucked.
*I'm in a fuck-trance.  Ron is fucking me.* Scotty sighed and surrendered
himself to Ron's ministrations in his ass.

   The quick slide in.  The long, slow slide out.  His ass tingled and shot
sparks through his body.  Something deeper inside him answered those sparks
by adding electric jolts.  Being fucked felt great.  Better than he could
ever have imagined.  No wonder girls liked getting dicked.  How had he not
known about this before?  Why had he and his friends never done this
together before?  The idea of Ron's cock inside his ass should have been
gross, disgusting, repellant, but the reality of Ron being inside his body
and whispering encouragements inside his mind felt so incredibly intimate,
so comforting.  Scotty smiled and let himself relax into his friend's care.
He knew Ron would take extra-special care of him, would make everything
feel really good.  All Scotty had to do was let himself enjoy it.

   Ron said something to Mitch that Scotty was too distracted to catch. 
Mitch got down on the floor and slid under Scotty.  Scotty felt Mitch's
hair brush his stomach, which made his torso shiver.  Mitch licked at
Scotty's reawakened cock-head, which felt good enough to divert Scotty's
attention from the pleasure in his ass to the pleasure around his rod. 
Mitch's mouth opened and he swallowed most of Scotty's cock easily.

   Scotty gasped as new sensations jittered along his cock.  No one, not
even the girls he fucked, had ever sucked his dick before.  Mitch seemed a
little clumsy, but Scotty could not be sure.  Maybe all blow-jobs were
supposed to be like this?  Mitch's warm, wet mouth felt great, though, the
way he darted his tongue around the shaft and then licked the head before
swallowing Scotty's pole back down.

   A noise from behind and Ron's hands squeezing his hips brought Scotty's
attention back to his butt.  Ron was getting ready to cum, Scotty
realized--had to be!--and Scotty was ready for him to cum, even if it meant
the fuck-trance and the terrific feeling in his ass would end.  Ron groaned
and hissed.  His hips slammed forward against Scotty's body.  "Ahh!  Fuck!"
Yes, Ron was definitely cumming, probably spraying down Scotty's intestines
with his cum, and Scotty realized that idea was not gross after all; no, he
wanted it, wanted Ron's load inside him badly.  The thought was so sexy and
dirty and exciting that Scotty lost control and began to cum too, spurting
his second load into Mitch's mouth.  Mitch, jacking himself furiously as he
swallowed Scotty's swimmers, moaned around the prick in his throat as he
began to orgasm as well.

   * * *

   *Chapter 3: Ron*

   When I couldn't ignore the daylight any longer and began to wake up, the
cold had me trying to burrow deeper under the blanket--unsuccessfully,
since the narrow bed in the cabin's second room didn't offer a lot of space
for three bodies.  And somebody was lying on top of the blanket, dammit,
which limited my ability to pull, burrow, and generally hog the covers.

   My whole brain hurt, like a sore muscle.  I must have pushed my
mind-trick too hard last night, but damn, it had sure been fun!  After the
shower, I'd led Mitch and Scotty into the cabin, and we must have each cum
four times before we were done--I know *I* came four times.  I don't know
when we finally were too exhausted to continue and had to sleep, but it was
somewhere in the a.m.  hours.  I was so spent that even now, waking up, my
usual morning wood was only three-quarters hard.

   I knew Mitch was going to be pissed at me.  Ever since we found out we
could both do this mind-trick just a few days ago, he'd been telling me all
about how we should and shouldn't use it--he had all these weird hang-ups
about it.  His telepathy seemed to be best for reading thoughts, tweaking
perceptions and emotions, and going for distance.  Mine was shorter in the
range department, but I was a lot better at manipulating thoughts and
making people do what I wanted.

   Telepathy.  That's a Talent.  There, I said it.  Mitch and me, we're
Talents.

   I knew Mitch was going to be pissed off at what I'd done with him and
Scotty last night.  Mitch didn't mind when I took charge and made him do
things he wanted to do anyway, but he would no doubt have a lot to say
about me making Scotty join us, rather than giving him a choice and letting
him work through his curiosity on his own like we had.  But Scotty was
super-straight, not gay like Mitch and me; I didn't want to run the risk of
Scotty saying no before he at least tried guy-on-guy sex with us.  Right
then I didn't care what Mitch thought.  I just wanted to ignore the
sunshine coming through the window, get warm again, and stay asleep a
little longer.  I'd face Mitch when my headache was gone.

   Somebody groaned, and I turned my head.  Well, looked like I wouldn't be
getting shit from Mitch after all, because Scotty was acting on his
curiosity just fine and all on his own this time.

   Mitch lay beside me, on top of the blanket.  Scotty hunched on elbows
and knees over him, face in Mitch's crotch, using Mitch's erection for a
bit of impromptu cock-sucking practice.  Right about then, Mitch was busy
coping with the sperm-jets that were gushing out of his cock and into
Scotty's mouth.  Scotty's blow was probably awkward as hell--no one gets
good at oral sex overnight, or after only five or seven tries, whatever
Scotty's count was up to by now--but his suck got the job done, and Mitch
was sure enjoying the results.

   Chill air be damned, I had to get in on this.  I rolled out from under
the blanket and between Scotty's legs.  I pressed my face to his ass crack.
By now my cock was steel-hard again.

   "No," he came off Mitch's still-hard cock to growl over his shoulder at
me.  "Ass is real sore."

   *Hair of the dog, best cure*, I thought into his mind, so subtly he
probably thought the idea was occurring to him on his own.

   Scotty shrugged and went back to licking Mitch's cock, but he lifted his
ass and spread his knees, which gave me easier access to his crack.  I took
that as an invitation, and my tongue slid toward his hole.  His abused hole
tasted like sweat and something funky.  I licked at his hole, his taint,
the back of his swaying ball sack.  I couldn't reach Scotty's erection with
my tongue, but I knew it was there, swaying in the air just on the other
side of his scrotum.  After I teased his balls a moment, I slid my tongue
back up to his butthole again.

   Ass-licking was something I'd seen a lot in pretty much every gay porn
video but had zero interest in doing until Mitch and I tried it.  Now, just
a few days after that first time, I couldn't believe how good it felt or
how often I was doing it.  Mitch and Scotty would probably have been
satisfied with doing nothing more than hand-jobs and blow-jobs, maybe with
the occasional butt-fuck, but I wanted to try more.  I wanted to push some
boundaries and try all the things I'd seen in videos and discover all the
things that made my body feel good.  Lapping away at an asshole wasn't my
favorite thing, not by a long shot, but getting their asses licked affected
Mitch and Scotty the same way: it felt good and it distracted the hell out
of them, so I could slip into their minds unnoticed.

   That's what I was doing to Scotty now, licking his asshole, sending
little flickers of pleasure along his nerves, and poking around in his head
until I found that fantasy I'd stumbled across last night, the one he
really got off on.  I located it readily, because it was one of his
favorites and shone brightly in his jack-off memories.  I eased my thoughts
around Scotty's and teased him with the phrase: *Fuck-trance*.

   *Fuck-trance?* his mind echoed, already quieting in anticipation.

   *No.* That came from Mitch, butting in and trying to push me out of
Scotty's thoughts.  *Let him be.*

   I know Mitch hates when I don't do what he tells me, but the temptation
was too great.  *You sure?  I thought back to him.  You seemed to enjoy
last night too.*

   Mitch's eyes widened as he realized I was up to something.  *No!  Ron,
I'm serious.  Stop.*

   Too late.  *Fuck-trance*, I repeated in Scotty's mind, and I grabbed the
fantasy and unfurled it and wrapped it around Scotty's thoughts.  And not
just Scotty's--I ran it up along the linkage Mitch had in Scotty's mind and
swooped the trance fantasy around Mitch's thoughts too.  Fucker had no clue
what I was up to until too late.

   *No!* Mitch thought, but Scotty's mind was already sinking into that
blank daydream-y fuck-trance state, nice and smooth, and he was pulling
Mitch's mind down too.  Scotty's thoughts curled up into the trance
fantasy, forcing Mitch's mind into the same state.  Sometimes Mitch wasn't
as sharp as he thought he was, and he never expected me to use his
connection with Scotty's mind against him.

   *Fuck-trance*, Scotty purred happily.

   *Fuck ...  trance ...*, Mitch confirmed too.

   *Good boys!*

   Knowing I was the one who in charge?  Knowing I was the one who was
going to make my buddies cum and feel such intense pleasure?  That was kind
of a rush, and I liked it, liked it a lot!

   Scotty just settled in, ready to let me take care of everything.  Mitch
struggled but couldn't find a way out of the trap, not yet.  He'd find his
way out eventually--or maybe sooner, if his mental muscles were developing
as quickly as mine.  But for now, I had two obedient puppets naked and
still horny and ready to do whatever I wanted.

   What I wanted first was Mitch on his back with his legs in the air and
me between them.  "Lie back and relax," I told Mitch out loud.

   Lube, lube, lube.  In order for this to work, I needed to make sure lube
was liberally applied to all of the holes and cocks involved, which took a
little time.  That chore done, I tried to guide my cock to Mitch's entrance
smoothly, but I was still kind of new at fucking and the mechanics felt a
little clumsy.  I bent forward and pushed my cock into him, then eased my
hips back and up until his sphincter gripped just my cock-head and an inch
or so of shaft.

   Scotty let me guide him.  He got behind me, scooted in close, and began
inserting his cock up my ass.  I sucked in a breath as his cock pierced
into me.  I'd seen a porn video in which three guys fucked like this, and I
wanted to try it.  Somehow I was going to find a way to make this work.

   A conga-line fuck, though, proved more difficult than I expected.  I
couldn't quite figure out how to move into Mitch's ass without Scotty's
cock popping out of mine.  Finally I gave up on the idea, at least for now;
I'd have to check the Internet later for pro-tips so I could try again.

   Meanwhile, Mitch still had his legs in the air, so I decided to go for a
standard fuck instead.  I ran my hand across Mitch's torso, enjoying how
his muscles twitched under my touch.  I had him stroke his cock a few times
as I tickled my fingers along his ball sack as I tried to get Mitch to
relax a bit more, but part of my exploration was purely for my own
enjoyment, to see what sounds, movements, and expressions I could tease out
of him.  Pre-cum beaded at the head of his cock, and he shuddered.

   I pushed my cock into Mitch again.  He pressed his head back and began
to buck his hips toward me in need.  I ran my hand up to his chest.  He
shuddered again, smiling at the sensation.  I felt his body relax slightly
around my cock.  He was ready to get fucked.  *Fuck-trance*, I thought at
Mitch and Scotty.

   *Fuck-trance!* Scotty responded eagerly, kneeling beside us, jacking
himself slowly and grinning as he watched me impale Mitch.  For a straight
boy, Scotty sure didn't seem to mind gay sex as long as he was
fuck-tranced.

   *Fuck ...  trance ...*, Mitch replied.

   I worked my cock deeper.  The sight of my dick disappearing into Mitch's
body, hungry and demanding, had Scotty over there hovering near the brink
of orgasm.  I had to agree: this view of our buddy Mitch, naked and needy
and fucking his hips back against my groin, was incredibly erotic.  The
feeling of his butthole, hot and slick and impossibly tight around me, made
me let out a long, hoarse groan.  I had to force myself to go slowly,
because my body was screaming for more--more motion, more slide, more
sensation.  I shifted my grip on Mitch's thighs and slowly continued to
rock my hips, thrusting my cock in and out.  Pacing myself was hard--I kept
reminding myself to go slowly, be gentle, make this so good for Mitch.

   But Scotty, jacking off beside us, was much closer to the edge of
cumming than I realized.  When I reached out, ran my hand up to Scotty's
chest, circling my thumb lightly over his nipple, brown and peaked, he
shuddered and gasped.  I'd accidentally triggered his orgasm.  He threw his
head back and threw his hips forward.  His hand froze on his cock.  He
shuddered again; his body bucked and he yelped, and the first rope of hot
liquid flew from his cock and landed on Mitch's chest and arm.

   Suddenly Mitch was rocking his hips to meet my thrusts.  And when I
looked down at him, he moaned loudly--Mitch's head was writhing back
against the bed again, exposing the smooth column of his neck, his hands
clutching desperately at the blanket, body working wantonly against me.  He
looked euphoric.  The inside of his head was lighting up with pleasure.  I
didn't hold back now.  I fucked him harder, and it still didn't seem to be
enough--Mitch was moaning, the most delicious sounds I had ever heard.  I
loved knowing I was the one giving him this bliss.  I dug my fingers into
his hips, lifting him up a little more and slammed in deeper.  Mitch
gurgled a cry so loud it could have been heard in the next county, and I
knew I'd found the right angle.

   I wasn't going to last much longer, but I wanted to get Mitch there
first.  Without breaking my rhythm, I reached into Scotty's head and gave
him his instructions.  Scotty bend his head into Mitch's crotch, swallowing
half of Mitch's neglected cock; Scotty held his head still, let the
thrusting--Mitch's and mine--move Mitch's cock in and out of his mouth.

   Suddenly Mitch's whole body tightened--and then he was cumming, arching
his back, making the most amazing noises.  Most of his load went into
Scotty's mouth, but some escaped and ran down his shaft.

   No way could I hold myself back after watching that, and suddenly my
body took over, driving into Mitch, deep and hard, and I was pulled
dick-first into waves of orgasm that rolled through my whole body.

   When I came back to myself, Mitch was scowling at me.  He had finally
broken free of the fuck-trance.  I knew I'd be getting a lecture from him
later.  I decided, though, that this fuck had been worth it.  Definitely
worth it.

   I released my hold on Scotty, and he slowly awakened from his own
fuck-trance.  I hoped that my two best friends were as happy as I was,
though Mitch looked kind of pissed and he'd have to get over that.  After
all, Mitch had agreed from the start to the whole idea of getting Scotty
involved, and using Scotty's fuck-trance fantasy twice now was really a
dream come true for Scotty, even if Mitch and I were guys instead of
chicks. If we played things my way, we had nothing to worry about, and so
much more to enjoy.  We were on the way to achieving what Mitch and I had
been dreaming of separately for so long.  The fantastic triple cum, plus
the satisfaction that I was the one to bring so much happiness about, made
my legs suddenly buckle, and I fell alongside Mitch on the blanket.

   Scotty was straight but he sure didn't seem to mind doing gay stuff with
Mitch and me.  I took a quick peek into his thoughts: Scotty by now has
roused from his fuck-trance but he couldn't figure out just what he was
feeling.  He felt relaxed, exhilarated, and confused all at the same time.
His asshole was itching more than ever now, and he finally understood its
condition.  Even though he probably would have denied the desire to get
fucked, the truth was that he had liked it last night and wanted it--a lot.
He was trying to think of a way to ask to get fucked again just as soon as
we all recharged our sexual batteries.  In fact, just the thought of
something going into his ass had Scotty's cock starting to stir already.

   Mitch's cock was the longest.  Mine, at about seven inches, was in the
middle.  Scotty's was approximately six but was the thickest; his cock was
impressively *wide*.

   Scotty was the one who said, "That ...  was incredible."

   Mitch put aside his annoyance at me, slapped on a smile for Scotty, and
replied, "Yeah."

   "Why didn't you guys tell me this was going on?  The sex--that stuff in
my head--wow!  Just how much did I miss?  How long have you two--?"

   I chimed in with, "Only a few days.  We didn't know how to tell you
about it.  You can be pretty stuffy sometimes."

   "Oh, fuck you!  I am *not* stuffy."
Mitch: "Yeah, you kinda are, sometimes."
Scotty: "Oh, whatever.  So you just figured that seeing is believing."

   I couldn't help smirking.  "It worked, didn't it?"

   Scotty thought about that for a second, then nodded.  "No argument
there."

   Scotty looked first at Mitch, and then at me, as if he might be seeing
us for the first time.  Before this, he really had never thought about us
sexually; now he was not only *thinking* about sex with his two
good-looking best friends, but he'd been *having* sex with us--and was
expecting to have sex with us again soon.  Lots of sex, before the weekend
was over.  In fact, he was wondering if he could make us get hard and have
sex again right now.

   I shook my head.  "Be patient.  Let's rest a little and get some
breakfast--"

   "Lunch," Mitch interrupted.

   "Fine--lunch.  We've got all weekend, and there's nobody to interrupt
us."

   Scotty blushed, realizing I'd been inside his head again and had seen
what he was thinking.

   I poked at Mitch.  "You said Scotty would be the one to veto the whole
deal.  Turns out he's hornier than both of us together."

   "Naw, he ain't," Mitch yawned, as if just a few days of more experience
made him some big expert.  "It's just newer to him than it is to us.  He'll
catch up quick."

   Eventually we managed to get to the other room, where one corner had a
stove and a mini-refrigerator and a small table, making it "the kitchen."
We had sandwich fixings, so that's what we made.  Besides, sandwiches were
quick and easy, and all three of us knew we'd be doing something else just
as soon as we refueled.  In spite of the chilly air, and the lake cabin was
always chilly even during the day this time of year--we hadn't bothered to
get dressed, not when we were just gonna need to be naked soon anyway, and
we hadn't bothered to get cleaned up yet either.  Maybe we'd head back to
the shower after lunch.  Yeah, that thought had my dick waking up.  But
first, the sight of food had my stomach waking up, and that became the
priority.

   "Something I want to ask you." This was Scotty, talking around a
mouthful.  We were sitting around the tiny table.  "You said the first time
you found out about each other being telepaths was at school, right?"

   Mitch replied, "Yeah?" He was talking out loud for Scotty's benefit, and
also because both of us had pretty much exhausted our telepathy in the last
twenty-four hours.  I guess new Talents need time to build up their
endurance.

   "Well, they have Talent scanners installed all over the place.  Weren't
you worried about tripping one?"

   Mitch went pale.  "Oh, crap."

   *Crap* was right.  The school would have to report the matter to the
Institute, and the Institute would send someone to investigate.  They were
called "recruiters," but basically it meant someone would be coming to haul
us off to the Institute for "training" or whatever.  How could Mitch and I
have been so stupid?

   Mitch swallowed hard and looked at me.  "Scotty's right.  We're so
completely fucked.  They're gonna come get us any day now, and then
everyone will know." I remembered what Mitch had said about some cousin of
his getting taken to the Institute, and how his father declared that to be
a big family shame.  His father was going to shit himself when his own son
got picked up and hauled away.  Hell, my parents were going to shit
themselves too.

   Scotty asked, "Scared to have everyone know you're a Talent?"

   Mitch shrugged.  "Guess I am.  Or at least I was.  Not much I can do
about that now."

   I put down the remainder of my sandwich.  "They'll probably be waiting
for us when we get back.  Or when we show up at school on Monday."

   Scotty said, "Maybe the scanners didn't pick up anything.  Maybe they
don't know about you yet?"

   I couldn't fault Scotty for trying to lighten the mood, but he was a
Normal.  Worrying about the Institute had taken on a new level of
importance for me in the last few days--probably for Scotty too, though we
hadn't discussed it.

   Mitch considered what Scotty had said.  "Yeah, maybe you're right.  If
they knew, they should have sent someone already.  Maybe they don't know it
was us, and all we have to do is never give them a reason to find out.  We
just gotta be sharper than they are.  Stay one step ahead of them all the
time."

   I shook my head.  "You know that's not the way things are going to
happen, right?  You know what the law says; we studied it last year in
civics class.  They won't stop looking--"

   "Come on, Ron.  Everything will be okay." But then Mitch's smile
faltered as he admitted the facts to himself.  "Fuck.  Compared to the shit
I deal with from my dad and brothers, the Institute's got to be better.  So
what if they pick us up?  The Institute's not a prison, right?  As long as
the three of us are together, we can get through anything."

   Scotty didn't contradict Mitch, but everyone knew Scotty had tested out
at pretty much flat zero on all the latency scales.  That meant he had no
possibility of ever becoming anything but a baseline Normal.  The Institute
wouldn't be interested in him, not at all.  Mitch and I would get taken
away.  Scotty would be left behind.  Left to deal with the gossip and
rumors and the loss of his two best friends, while Mitch and I had to deal
with whatever the Institute was like.  There was a lot of gossip and rumors
about that too, and I guess nobody but the Talents they'd "recruited" knew
for sure.

   Mitch tried to smile.  "Well, the worst is over now.  I know what I am,
so I might as well relax and enjoy it."

   Scotty asked, "Where do we go from here?"

   I said, "Let's get through the weekend first.  Discover all the things
we never knew about each other.  Have as much fun as we can with each
other. I'm pretty sure all the other questions will answer themselves in
the next few days."

   Scotty popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth.  "You know what
I've been thinking while we've been sitting here?  I know it's a long shot,
but ...  Naw, maybe I shouldn't say it."

   Mitch naturally asked, "What?  No secrets between us, remember?"
Besides, we all knew Mitch and I could pick the idea out of Scotty's head,
if we wanted to.  But right then, we didn't; we were still resting our
mental muscles.

   "This is going to sound weird.  I know you two don't have too much cash
saved, but I've got some ..."

   Yes, we all knew Scotty's family had some money--enough to afford this
lake property and the cabin and gasoline for Scotty gas-guzzling car,
anyway.  No news there.

   "If you don't tell us soon," Mitch said, "I might have to choke the
words out of you with a mouthful of my dick."

   "You can do that later, but let me tell you first.  My mom taught me
it's not polite to talk with my mouth full." Scotty's joke wasn't that
funny, but Mitch and I smiled anyway; I think we both needed to break the
tension.  "They'll be waiting for us at school, probably.  That's where the
scanners are installed, right?  When we get home tomorrow night, what would
you to say to packing some clothes and hitting the road?  Instead of going
to school on Monday, we'll just leave.  Down south, or up north, east,
west. I guess it doesn't matter much."

   "We're going to run away from home?" Mitch asked.  We all knew he had
thought about it a lot the last few years, since he wasn't happy with his
father and brothers, but we also knew he wouldn't do it alone.  But was
Scotty suggesting all three of us go together?

   "More like a road trip," Scotty stressed.  "Find a place where nobody
knows us.  We can get jobs.  If you two can keep your heads down about the
telepathy stuff, we can stay off the Institute's radar."

   Mitch looked at me.  "I always wanted to go up north.  Really rough it
in those big forests.  Live off the land."

   Since when did I become the voice of reason?  "There really aren't too
many places left where you can rough it in the wild."

   "Suppose you're right." Mitch sounded disappointed.  "Even out here, you
can only go so far before you're right on top of another cabin.  And if the
Institute comes looking for us, it'd be just a matter of time before they
find out about this place and come looking here.  We'd have to find some
other place really off the beaten path."

   Scotty perked up.  "Then you think it's a good idea?"

   I considered for a moment.  "Maybe.  Let's all think about it a while
and discuss it more later.  Right now, I have an even better idea."

   Scotty smirked at me.  "Oh?  I bet I can guess what it is." As he pushed
back from the table, he dropped his hand to his crotch and began to play
with his semi-hard dick.  He stretched his legs out and spread them.  "I
bet it has something to do with this."

   I wasn't going to let Scotty steer the conversation so easily.  "Maybe.
But what if it has to do with your ass instead?  You wanna get fucked?"

   "Not yet."

   I smirked at Mitch.  "Big bad Scotty the stud: he's brave enough to plan
a road trip but not brave enough to get a dick up his ass again."

   Scotty huffed.  "I'll get to it.  Just give me a chance.  I never could
get into anything as quick as you guys.  I want to try everything you two
have done, but all this--everything--it's a lot to take in all at once.  Go
slow is all I'm saying.  You know, maybe just jack off together, swap
blow-jobs, give me some time to get used to it all.  Maybe I can watch you
two fuck again or something.  And maybe stay out of my head for a while,
okay?  I need to know I'm the one doing this stuff and working through this
stuff on my own, without either of you influencing me, okay?"

   As much as I wanted my stiffening dick rammed into Scotty's asshole
again, I realized I had to be patient with him.  I had to think about the
long game.  Scotty was balanced between his old life where gay sex was bad
and Talents were worse, versus his new reality of knowing his two best
friends were Talents and he enjoyed having gay sex with them.  If we tried
to push Scotty too hard, though, things might backfire and he might go back
the other way.  I didn't want to lose him.  Mitch probably didn't either;
plus he had been telling me all along that Scotty needed to make up his own
mind.

   Scotty seemed tense but also super-excited; his cock was stiff now. 
"I've got an idea, but I don't know if you'll go for it ..."

   Mitch of course had to be the one to ask: "What is it?

   "I want to watch you two fuck, but first I see you two wrestle--you
know--winner gets to choose who fucks and who gets fucked."

   Mitch grinned at me.  "That's it?  Hell, I'll kick Ron's ass, and then
I'll fuck it!" He stood up and flexed his arms and showed off his biceps.

   I rolled my eyes and thought at him: *Yeah, right.* I stood up and
puffed out my chest and worked my arms through a bit of a gun show too.  We
had similar builds.  Whenever we wrestled around, we were pretty evenly
matched.  I was probably a bit stronger, but Mitch was a little faster.

   "That's not what I mean," Scotty interrupted, still parked in his chair.
Mitch and I looked down at him.  "I want you two to wrestle mentally.  I
want you to do it with your telepathy.  See who's stronger and can dominate
the other.  Whoever gets control of the other first wins and gets to choose
whether he fucks the loser or gets fucked by him, but the winner has to
stay in control of the loser the whole time.  Okay?"

   Mitch and I had never really gone head to head in a telepathic way.  I
narrowed my eyes, considering him carefully.  I had the feeling my
telepathy was stronger, but I wasn't sure.  Hell, I'd never even thought
about how to fight against another telepath with my mind.  That's probably
the sort of thing they teach at the Institute, but Mitch and I were
figuring all this out on our own.  Either this fight would be over in
moments, or it would take forever.  I never back down from a challenge,
though.  I'd figure out what to do somehow.  "Okay, I'm in."

   Mitch sneered.  "You got control of me last night 'cause you caught me
by surprise.  This time I'm ready for you.  Bring it on, Ron!  Hope you
like the taste of my cock, 'cause you're going down--on me!"

   With that, Mitch formed his thoughts into a lance-thing and heaved it at
my mind, but I was expecting him to attack first--on the basketball court
he has always been an *offense over defense* kind of guy.  I thought of
raising my mental "arms" to block him, and I slammed his push away.  That
seemed to surprise him, and it kind of surprised me too.  Now that I'd seen
him throw his thoughts at me like a spear, I knew how he'd done it--and now
that he'd seen me block, he'd soon figure out how I'd done that too.

   "Damn!" Scotty whispered.  He probably couldn't tell exactly what was
going on, but he could see our expressions, and even a Normal like Scotty
could probably feel the mental energy flying around between Mitch and me.
Maybe it felt to him like a really big static charge in the air.

   But I'd think about that later.  Right then, I was going at Mitch like a
jack-hammer, trying to crack my way into his head.  I don't know how he was
doing it, but he had his thoughts formed into some sort of barrier that I
couldn't seem to power my way through.  As long as I kept on the offensive,
though, he was forced to stay defensive, which was never his best play.  If
I just kept up the pressure, maybe I'd wear him down--before I wore myself
down.

   Mitch's eyes flickered, which was the only warning I had before he came
at me.  Like an egg speed-hatching, his mind opened and he thrust his
thoughts at me, hard and fast.  I managed to deflect his jab, but just
barely; if I hadn't seen his eye twitch, he might have caught me completely
off-guard.  I played it hard too: angle under his thrust and smack it just
hard enough to knock it aside, then push my own drive at Mitch's head.  He
realized what I was doing, but too late and he'd invested too much of his
attention into his attack--he'd kept only a little in reserve to defend
himself.  I punched through what little barrier he had left like a soap
bubble.

   I was in Mitch's thoughts, but I was a long way from being in control.
This time he knew I was there and why, and his thoughts twisted around me
like a labyrinth made of angry snakes.  If I could find his memories of
*fuck-trance*, I could win this.  He kept diverting me, hiding the memories
I wanted to use against him.  Being inside a mind that didn't want me there
was tricky; one misstep would let him push me out.

   "Damn, that's hot." Scotty.  Dammit, I'd forgotten about him.  His voice
distracted me and I automatically glanced over to see him leaning back in
his chair, stroking his erection.  *Fuck!* But he had distracted Mitch too.

   I managed to swing away from Mitch's latest push and I got a good hold
on his thoughts, and I yanked them in the direction I needed them to go. 
If I could just find a way to subdue him, I'd win this.  Just because I had
a grip on his thoughts, though, didn't stop them from wriggling.  And then,
there it was.  The memory of *fuck-trance*.  I don't know how he'd hidden
it, but there it was.  Even if I still couldn't find the parts of his mind
that I'd used yesterday to put him in a fuck-trance, now I could do the
next best thing.

   Mitch was shoving me hard, and I was starting to lose my hold on him.  I
was tiring, and maybe so was he.  I put all my strength into one last drive
into the fuck-trance memory.  If I couldn't dominate him into a fresh
trance, maybe I could at least distract him with the memory of being in one
last night.

   Just as Mitch finally managed to bulldoze me nearly out of his head, I
reached the memory and gave it some juice, and the memory of last night's
fuck-trance exploded all through his mind, vivid as fireworks.

   "So fucking hot." Back in the outside world, that was Scotty talking
again, a breathless whisper.  He'd stood up, was standing close to me and
to Mitch, watching something go quiet in Mitch's eyes.  I'd worry about
Scotty later--right then, Mitch's mind was vulnerable, and I had to push
all the way back in and take control.  Getting back inside was easier this
time because his resistance was faltering.  I found what I needed, and
within seconds I had his resistance virtually all shut down; I had his mind
officially entranced again and under my control.  I won!

   And I was holding him too.  An inconsequential part of his mind still
resisted, but I had everything that mattered, and in another moment I'd
have all of him, even that twisty resisting part, dominated and obedient.
Mitch's gaze looked glassy, dazed, one of the sexiest things I'd ever seen.
There!--Now he was completely under my control!

   "Aw, fuck, Ron!--You got him!  That was so fucking hot," Scotty said
again.  He stepped back and looked at me.  "Well, go ahead.  You won.  I
wanna watch you and him fuck."

   I could have snuck into Scotty's mind and flipped him into a fuck-trance
too, and part of me wanted to do just that.  I could even have made him
think it was his idea.  But I'd told him I wouldn't, and I kept my word. 
Putting on a show with Mitch under my control, though, was a nice enough
prize.

   I was already naked.  Mitch too.  I was hard.  He wasn't.  But most
importantly: I was in charge, and he wasn't.
"Talk to me," I ordered Mitch out loud, for Scotty's benefit.  If Scotty
wanted a show, I'd give him a fucking command performance.  I waved my

erection back and forth.  "Tell me what you think of my cock."

   "It's beautiful."

   "You gotta do better than that.  That's the kind of silly crap you'd say
to a girl.  Get on your knees, and open your mouth."

   Blank-eyed, Mitch obediently knelt and opened wide to receive my dick.

   * * *

   *Chapter 4: Mitch*

   They all awoke with the sharp sunlight glaring in their eyes: Mitch
first, then Ron and Scotty once Mitch began to stir.  Sunday morning, after
a long, exhausting Saturday night of more sex-play.  Mitch glanced out the
window; somewhere near midday already, and they still had done none of the
fishing they had promised their fathers they would.  They had to come back
with a few fish at the very least, or they would face uncomfortable
questions about what they had been doing all weekend.

   "Come on, you guys," Mitch sleepy-mumbled.  "Rise and shine.  Either of
you know what time it is?  We've got to do at least a little fishing before
the weekend is over."

   "Too fucking cold," Scotty groused.  "Let's just tell them it was too
fucking cold and the fish weren't biting."

   Mitch shook his head.  "And then what will we tell them we did instead?
Spent the whole weekend playing cards?"

   Scotty snickered.  "Yesterday we were talking about leaving home
tomorrow.  Now you're worried about what our folks will think?  Are we
scrapping the plan if they ground us?  Are our dads gonna say, "Sorry,
Institute, you can't take our boys 'cause they're grounded for a week'? 
Bet the recruiters will *love* that!"

   Mitch rolled his eyes.  "Come on, guys.  You know what I mean."

   Ron yawned.  "Yeah, I suppose we better make a show of it."

   They pulled on clothing against the lingering morning chill and, rather
than take turns using the outdoor john behind the cabin, ran to the edge of
the woods to take a shoulder-to-shoulder piss against a tree, feeling a
weird satisfaction that their piss was running down the same tree trunk.

   After a quick breakfast, the boys gathered up their fishing gear and set
out for the lake.  Aside from the chill, the day seemed to be off to a good
start, though.  After a minor disagreement over the best location to catch
the mountains of fish that they were going to take home, they settled
alongside the water and set up their poles.  Yes, they agreed, they were
going to catch fifty fish--no, a hundred!--in spite of the cold, and their
dads would be so proud!

   Mitch did not bring up their plan to leave home, though he mulled the
idea while they sat on the lake bank.  He decided they would have plenty of
time to talk it over later in the day, after they had caught plenty of
fish.

   Exactly who got an erection first, Mitch was not sure.  As he re-baited
his fishing hook, he became aware of the increasingly sexual charge to his
friends' thoughts.  After he cast his line back out into the water, Mitch
turned and saw Ron had pulled his erection out through the fly of his pants
and was stroking it, while Scotty massaged a large lump in his own crotch
and stared at Ron's cock.

   Both of them looked at Mitch and grinned.  *We're all thinking about the
same thing*, Ron mind-purred, nodding at Mitch's groin, *and it ain't
fishing*.

   That was the last time Mitch thought about fishing.  They fell into each
others' crotches, fully clothed except for their dicks out in the chilly
air--Mitch sucking Ron, Ron sucking Scotty, Scotty doing the same to Mitch.

   Every time that Mitch pushed his face down on Ron's rod, Ron groaned. 
Mitch felt Scotty's thoughts twitch with the pleasure that the vibrations
in Ron's throat and tongue were sending up his prick.  Scotty started
answering with groans of his own, and Mitch immediately loved the way that
felt on his cock.  Scotty also began trying out little tricks with his
tongue; now that he had surrendered completely to the experience and
stopped holding back, the same competitive nature that made him such a
great athlete was driving Scotty to get more skilled and more confident at
cock-sucking with every mouth-stroke.

   Minutes later, one of those new little things Scotty tried with his
tongue shoved Mitch over the edge faster than he expected.  Mitch gasped
and opened his eyes wide as he started to shoot into Scotty's mouth.  His
whole body, not just his balls, seemed to be emptying itself into Scotty.
Mitch sensed that his friends were about to climax too.  He tasted Ron's
load gushing into his mouth and felt Ron's mind blaze with orgasm, and then
Scotty was cumming too, both of them cumming as hard as Mitch had.

   Even after Mitch finally finished shooting, being buried balls-deep in
Scotty's mouth was such a pleasure that he did not want to pull himself
out, not even as his cock started to go soft.

   Finally, Scotty pulled his lips off Mitch's cock.  "Damn," Scotty
grinned.  "I don't know about you guys, but sucking cock is hard work.  I
worked up an appetite."

   Ron pulled his phone out of his pants pocket.  "Wow!--It's 2:30 already.
We just fucked practically the whole day away.  We have to start home
soon."

   "And we haven't caught a single fish."

   "And just what do we tell our folks?  That we were too busy sucking cock
to check our lines?"

   Mitch shook his head.  "No, I don't think that'll go over too well."

   Ron rolled his eyes.  "If we're still leaving home tomorrow to get away
from the Institute, I'm not sure that's a big concern.  We're still going,
even if they ground us, right?"

   "Sure, but I don't want to piss them off right before we disappear. 
That wouldn't be right."

   Scotty grinned.  "Don't worry, guys.  I've got the perfect solution. 
There's a fish stand at the foot of the mountain, and a diner too.  Let's
go get packed.  We'll hit the diner for a late lunch, and then we'll pick
up a mess of fish on our way home.  Our folks won't know the difference."

   After getting their clothes fastened and straightened, they loaded the
last of their stuff into Mister Rust Bucket and drove down to the truck
stop diner at the foot of the mountain.  The parking lot had more trucks
and cars than Mitch would have expected, and they had to park some distance
from the door.  As they walked toward the diner, Mitch thought back.  Had
just a few days passed since that day in the locker room?  Already he felt
as if a century had gone by.  Even his walk was different now.  He strode
with his head held high and his shoulders proudly back.  He noticed with a
grin that Ron and Scotty had also picked up this very same gait, as if
copying him.

   They took a booth by a window in the back.  The waitress brought them
burgers and heaps of fries.  While to everyone else in the diner they might
have seemed to be eating in silence, they were discussing their plans
telepathically.  Mitch and Ron fired ideas back and forth, but they were
always mindful to include Scotty, sending their thoughts into his head,
reading his thoughts too so he could have input into their plans.  They
were careful to keep their broadcast thoughts reined in closely, so they
would appear like three good friends sharing a quiet meal, not a group of
Talents flaunting their telepathy in public.  They did not want the other
diners to realize what they were.  But anyway, the three of them would be
long gone from this diner soon enough.

   The plan.  Mitch, always the organized leader, was interested in
determining the details: Where would they go, where would they stay.  He
had some ideas, but he did not want to go through with any course of action
until they had planned it out and knew what to expect.  What about
money--how would they pay for gas and food?  What if they did not like
being away from home?  What if they did not find a place where the guys
felt the same way they did about Talents or sex?  If they could not find a
spot with more guys who were into guys like themselves, which seemed
unlikely, then they always had each other no matter where they went.

   Mitch was having second thoughts.  He could sense Ron's anxiousness for
him to endorse the plan.  The idea had been Scotty's, but Mitch was the one
who had been considering leaving home for a long time now.  Of the three of
them, he was the one who had thought the most about what they would be
getting into, what they would need, where they could go, what resources
they could draw upon.  Ron and Scotty certainly would not run away without
Mitch--and not just because plans always seemed to fall apart when Mitch
was not there to help hold everything together.  Mitch also sensed Ron's
certainty that all three of them had become inseparable in a completely new
way, as friends, lovers, and rebels against the Institute.  Mitch was not
so sure Scotty felt fully the same way; certainly Scotty loved Mitch and
Ron, and he enjoyed the sex they shared, but would he still feel the same
once they were out in the world among other people and around girls again?
Were Mitch and Ron wrong to sweep Scotty up in this mess, even though he
claimed he wanted to come along?  Scotty was not a Talent; the Institute
would have no interest in him; and Scotty could always go back to his life
if he wanted, any time he wanted.  Mitch needed to mull these and other
factors carefully before he completely gave his approval to the escape
plan.

   While Ron and Scotty mentally debated some finer point of the plan,
Mitch looked around the diner.  He noticed the scruffy man a few tables
away, over Ron's shoulder.  The man kept staring at them as he chewed,
looking away, staring again, watching them carefully.  Something about the
man seemed suspicious, but Mitch decided not to try reading his mind; they
did not want to reveal their Talents.  Besides, Mitch did not have much
experience reading minds other than Ron's and Scotty's--what if he did
something to tip the man off that they were Talents?  While the man seemed
like some type of pervert, he was not doing anything except watching them.
*Probably just some nosy local*, Mitch decided, *probably harmless.  No
need to tell the guys and get them upset.*

   "Why so quiet, Mitch?" Ron asked out loud, snapping Mitch back to their
conversation as Scotty went to the cashier to pay the bill.

   "Just thinking.  And you?"

   "Oh, we've been thinking too.  While you've been off daydreaming, Scotty
and I have been working through our next steps.  We've got a great plan. 
We're gonna find us a little place in the middle of nowhere.  Maybe build a
town and have only Talents and gay guys living there.  And we'll all share
a great big orgy at the end of every day."

   Mitch smirked.  "Your own private playground.  I can see why I make most
of our plans instead of you.  You've got some imagination."

   "Maybe, but would it be such a bad idea for the three of us to get far
away from here and see what else the world has to offer for guys like us?"

   "Not a bad idea at all, I guess.  I'm not sure about the 'middle of
nowhere' part, but it's not a bad idea."

   "Glad to hear it, because Scotty says he has some money saved up, and we
can pool our camping gear.  Be a shame to leave you behind, even if you're
a real dick sometimes."

   "You just can't stop thinking about my dick, huh?" Mitch teased.

   "Fuck you.  There's more to you than just your dick, you ass," Ron said,
grinning.  "You were our best friend in the world even before the
mind-tricks and the cock-sucking.  You know we can't do this without you."

   Hearing things said out loud made them seem more real.  Mitch frowned a
moment, then smiled, his decision made.  "I guess that's my answer then."

   Ron's rush of enthusiasm made his thoughts glow brightly.  "You mean we
go?"

   "Sure," Mitch shrugged with a grin.  "Why the hell not?  School's a real
pain lately.  Scotty's the only one that enjoys it, and that's mostly for
the sports."

   "Hot damn!  Oh!--And I can keep a chronicle of everything that happens
to us along the way.  Like those journals all the great explorers kept. 
Someday the whole world is going to want to read about this great adventure
we're starting and everything that happens to us along the way."

   "Maybe 'starting' isn't too accurate.  'Bringing along' is probably more
accurate.  We started it that day in the locker room when our minds--"
Mitch stopped, suddenly aware that he had almost blurted something about
them being telepaths and Talents out loud, in public, where anybody could
overhear.  He glanced around.  No one seemed to be paying any attention to
them--even the pervert-guy from earlier was gone--so Mitch relaxed.

   "Damn!  I should be writing this all down," Ron muttered.  "This would
be a fantabulous way to start Chapter One."

   "'Fantabulous,' huh?" Mitch teased as they stood up and walked to the
door of the diner.  "Is that a real word?  You been reading the dictionary,
Ron?  You turning all poetic on us?"

   "Fuck you.  Maybe I'll be a writer someday.  You think the world will be
ready for a big gay love story by the time I'm ready to write it?"

   Mitch pushed open the door.  "I think somebody already beat you to the
'big gay love story' part--the world already has *Brokeback Mountain* and
pretty much every James Franco movie ever."

   "No, I mean a gay love story featuring three guys."

   Mitch snickered and shook his head as they headed across the parking lot
toward Scotty's car.  "You'll probably write it, all right, but I don't
think the world will ever be ready for any story that involves you."

   As they cut through a row of vehicles, between an overgrown minivan and
a panel truck, someone stepped in front of them, blocking their path. 
Mitch stopped, and Ron barely managed to avoid colliding with him.

   "Howdy," the stranger said cheerfully.  "Ya boys're going my way.  Can I
get a lift to the next town?"

   Mitch recognized the stranger as the staring pervert from the diner. 
*No, not a perv*, he told himself, *just a nosy local*, though he did not
know why he thought that.  Something was off about the stranger's intense
smile, his rough appearance, the jittery way Mitch felt when he looked at
the man.  What was wrong?  A gut feeling?  Why did he feel so nervous? 
Just a harmless stranger.  No need to be nervous.

   "Sorry.  We don't give rides to people we don't know," Ron growled over
Mitch's left shoulder.

   "Well, then," the man fawned.  "Name's Viper.  Nice'ta meet ya.  Now
we're all friends, right?"

   No, something was off.  Mitch couldn't identify what, but something was
not right.  Something was definitely wrong.

   "Your momma really named you 'Viper'?" Scotty snickered.

   "Naw.  Viper's my work name.  I'm a bounty hunter by trade."

   "Bounty hunter?" Scotty sounded impressed.  "For real?  I never met a
real bounty hunter before."

   Viper ignored him, focusing instead on Mitch and Ron.  "Now, how 'bout
that ride?"

   Mitch shivered.  What was making him so nervous?  The
stranger--Viper--was just a harmless coot.  *Maybe just a quick peek in his
thoughts*, Mitch decided.  Then he'd know for sure whether he had any
reason to be skittish.  Surely he could manage a quick peek without Viper
knowing what he was doing-

   The moment Mitch touched Viper's thoughts, something yanked at his head.
He had never felt anything like it: dizzying, disorienting--something
pulling and twisting his telepathy.  And he could not break away.  He could
not disengage or draw back.

   "Mitch!" Ron gasped behind-beside him.  "What's he--"

   *Sleep.*

   That whatever-it-was, not a word exactly but a concept, came out of
nowhere and hammered into Mitch's mind, loud, the way his military father
gave orders that demanded obedience.  A powerful feeling of weariness,
drowsiness, threatening to drown his thoughts.  An overwhelming need to
close his eyes and let go.

   *Sleep.*

   The concept again punched hard into his head, making him groggy, drowsy,
sleepy.  So hard to resist, but Mitch tried to fight it anyway.  What was
happening here?  Why did his mind feel like his telepathy was spiraling out
and being twisted into something else?  Why could he not pull back or shut
it off?

   "Mitch ...," Ron whined, a plea for help.

   "I ain't got much by myself," Viper was saying, sounding like he was
concentrating on something else, "but I got enough to take down a coupla
untrained newly manifested Talents.  The Institute didn't want me 'cause I
can't read minds worth shit--"

   The Institute?  Just the word made Mitch panic, and he struggled to
regain control of his telepathy, to push back the grogginess that was
starting to make thinking so very, very difficult.

   "--but I can sense telepaths, and when they ain't got no training, I can
twist their shit around and use it like it's my own.  You two
newbies"--Viper laughed--"are like shootin' fish in a barrel.  The
Institute'll pay me a real nice finder's fee for bringing the two of ya
in."

   Mitch heard something heavy, a body, slump against the metal fender of
the minivan, and he knew Scotty was out.

   "And then there were two," Viper hissed through his smile.

   *Sleep.*

   "Ron, we can ..." But Mitch could not concentrate, could not finish. 
His mind reeled.  His mouth just would not work right.

   *Sleep.*

   That was Ron's mind-voice too, Mitch realized.  "Ron!--What ..."

   "Yer buddy ain't home no more.  He's taking a little nap and all his
Talent is dancin' to Viper's tune now.  Give it up, boy.  Ya know ya can't
win."

   *Sleep*, Ron and Viper ordered in Mitch's head together.  *Sleep.*

   Mitch snapped awake.  He had not been aware of passing out, but he had.
He was awake now, lying in the empty back of some ancient panel van. 
Plywood floor.  No seats behind the driver and front passenger seats. 
Windows in the front and back, but none along the sides.  Where the fuck
were they?

   Mitch tried to sit up.  He was naked--where the fuck were his clothes?
And his hands--handcuffed in front of him.  He pulled at the chain
connecting the cuffs.  Too thick and solid.  He knew for a certainty that
he would never be able to break them.

   The van was bouncing, speeding down a rough patch of road.  A bump
caused the van to jump on worn shock absorbers, and the body beside Mitch
grunted quietly.  Ron.  Naked.  Handcuffed too.  Ron seemed to still be
unconscious, but Mitch saw his eyelids flicker, knew his friend was faking.

   Mitch dared not reach out with his telepathy, not after that had
happened earlier.  Eyes and ears would have to do.  Where was Scotty? 
Where were they?  Why were they naked and handcuffed?  How long had they
been unconscious?  Mitch could see little out the windshield or the two
back windows from this angle.  The trees looked like those around the
diner. Okay, so they had not been out long, maybe just a few minutes, and
had not gotten far yet.  From the way the driver was speeding and not
bothering to dodge potholes or rough patches, he surely seemed to be trying
to get them somewhere in a hurry.

   "I know yer awake back there," came a voice, Viper's, from the driver's
seat.  A metal mesh, too fine to reach their hands through, separated the
boys in the cargo area from the front seats.  "And don't get any bright
ideas about tryin' to mind-zap me neither, or else--"

   Sudden images from Viper filled Mitch's mind.  He saw the van jerk to
the right, felt the sickening, jolting rush over uneven ground as the
speeding vehicle skidded sideways, out of control, felt the bone-shattering
slam of metal against a tree truck, just feet from where Mitch and Ron lay,
and the inferno of pain exploded everywhere, and then cold blackness.

   What the fuck?  Mitch blinked as the world returned to its true self. 
Was that warning based on Viper's sick fantasy, or a memory of something
that had happened to one of his other bounties?  Either way, Mitch decided,
no telepathy.

   Ron's mind-voice whispered, *He's bluffing--trying to scare us.  He's
trying to get us somewhere in a hurry--can't split his attention between
the road and using our minds against us.  If we hit him hard, we can take
him.*

   Mitch considered this for a second, remembering the image of impact,
then shook his head *no*.  The risk was too great.

   Ron scowled but did not argue.

   Viper continued yelling over his shoulder at them, half-watching the
road.  "We could'a done this the easy way.  We could'a gotten in yer car,
real nice and friendly-like, and I'da influenced ya to drive us right to
the nearest Institute outpost and turn yerselves in--hell, ya'da even
thought it was *yer* idea, like doing yer civic duty or something!  But
noooo, ya fuck-heads just had'ta make things difficult.  Now I gotta
collect my bounty the hard way."

   *What would Scotty do*, Mitch wondered while Viper ranted at them. 
Scotty was the best athlete, used to dealing quickly with opposing players.
Where was Scotty anyway?  Mitch considered asking Ron, but Ron was busy
studying the rear doors of the van--pointlessly, Mitch thought, because
they were likely locked, and anyway the van was moving too fast for them to
jump out.  No, Viper had them naked and helpless for a reason: to keep them
cowed, vulnerable, and too humiliated to attempt an escape.

   "I've got to pee," Mitch tried, calling to the driver over the growl of
the overtaxed engine, hoping Viper might slow down, pull off to the side of
the road, open the back, let them out.  Not much of a plan, but all he
could think of.  If they got out of the van, maybe Ron and Mitch could take
him, or run, or-

   Viper just laughed.  "Hold it in, boy.  We'll be there in half an hour.
If you gotta go before then, well, maybe there's an empty drink bottle back
there somewhere ya can piss in!"

   Damn!

   Why was Ron so fascinated by the rear doors?  No, not fascinated, Mitch
realized.  He sensed a thin tendril of thoughts running from Ron's head
to--no, through--the doors.  Ron was up to something, but what?

   "Hold on," Ron warned, quietly enough that only Mitch heard him over the
engine noise.

   At first he thought Ron meant *wait*, but then he realized Ron meant
*anchor yourself*.  But to what?  The back of the van was an empty open
space except for them and a few items of trash like burger wrappers and
plastic drink bottles by one tire well.

   Another engine *vroom*-ed alongside and past the van.  Mitch caught a
glimpse of a car roof through the windshield, cutting dangerously close in
front of the van.  Viper spat, "What the fuck--?" And then Mitch heard
tires screech, the car ahead swerved at them, in front of them--too
close!--and the nose of the van tipped down as the brakes caught, and the
van jerked to the side as Viper twisted the steering wheel hard to the
right.  The van bounced over the shoulder, and Mitch and Ron were tossed
back and forth inside the cargo area, as the tires left the road and
contended with bumpier ground.  "Fuck!" Viper swore again as the van bucked
and swayed and somehow managed to stay upright.

   Mitch saw the tree trunk coming through the windshield and he had half a
second to flatten himself against the plywood floor before the crash of
metal and glass against wood.  Airbags at the front of the van.  The
windshield cracked.  The van came to an abrupt halt, but Mitch and Ron kept
traveling as the velocity flung them against the metal mesh behind the
driver's seat.

   Shaking, ears ringing, not thinking too clearly yet, Mitch raised
himself off the floor and looked around.  Ron looked back and nodded
curtly. They were okay.  Viper--Mitch thought at first he was dead,
collapsed against the steering wheel and the airbag--no, his mind
flickered, so just unconscious, but he would not stay that way long.

   Ron was already at the back of the van, on his back, kicking with both
legs at one door.  Mitch joined him, slamming his bare feet against the
metal door, as hard as he could, which somehow hurt less than Mitch
expected.  Must have been the leftover adrenaline rush from the crash, he
decided.  The door jumped but held.  This was their one way out, so Ron and
Mitch kicked again, and again, and again.

   Somebody pounded twice on the door from the outside: a warning.  Ron
pulled back, so Mitch did too.  Something hit the door hard; the blade of a
crowbar punched into the gap between the doors.  The tool moved, and metal
protested.  Somebody grunted hard outside the door.  Mitch shook his head
to clear it.  The latch popped louder than a firecracker, making Mitch
flinch, as the door swung open hard.

   Scotty stood there, crowbar in hand.  "Come on!" he yelled.  "Move!  He
won't be out long!"

   Mitch and Ron followed Scotty, and the three of them scrambled out of
the van and up the ravine to the road where Mister Rust Bucket sat idling
on the shoulder.  Scotty threw open the back seat door on the driver side,
then yanked open the front door and hopped into the driver seat.  Ron
ducked into the back seat, and slid across, making room as Mitch followed
him in.

   Doors slammed.  Tires squealed.  They were off and picking up speed down
the road.

   Scotty had not yet said anything about them being naked and handcuffed,
which Mitch decided spared them some embarrassment.  Instead Mitch asked,
"How'd you find us?"

   Scotty glanced at him in the rearview mirror.  "I woke up in the parking
lot, and you guys weren't there, so I figured you'd gone this way.  That
Viper guy mentioned the Institute, and the nearest city big enough to have
an Institute recruiting office is this way.  I knew you didn't have much of
a head start on me, and when I got closer, I felt Ron reaching out"--which
Mitch realized was what Ron had been doing when Mitch thought he was
staring at the van door--"and I knew I was on the right track.  I tried to
make him pull over.  I didn't expect him to run off the road, but it all
worked out, and I got you out!  You guys owe me big time!  I definitely
saved your asses today and that makes me the M.V.P.  You can pay me back
with blow-jobs after we get someplace safe."

   Mitch remembered the way the front of the van accordioned around that
tree trunk, a front wheel nearly horizontal.  They had nearly been killed.
That van would not be going anywhere anytime soon, but they still needed to
put distance between themselves and anyone Viper might summon for help. 
Scotty steered down turn after turn.  None of them knew this area, and Rust
Bucket's ancient navigation system was shot, but Scotty thought taking
random back country roads would make them harder to track.

   "Fuck!" Ron swore.  "That bastard took our phones--we can't look up a
G.P.S.  map!"

   "He didn't take mine.  Here." Scotty waved his phone over his shoulder
as he steered around a bend.  "Look up a map site.  Tell me where the fuck
I'm going."

   Ron fumbled at the phone with his still-cuffed hands.  "Okay.  Okay. 
Let's see where we are ...  Around the next curve, there's left turn; take
it."

   "Left turn--aye-aye, captain!" Scotty gave Ron a mock-salute and a grin
in the rearview mirror.  Then Scotty frowned.  "Uh, why are you two holding
your hands like that?"

   Ron held up his cuffed wrists and tugged at the chain holding them
together.  "Because we're handcuffed.  Duh."

   "Handcuffed?" Scotty looked at them oddly in the mirror.  "What are you
talking about?  You're not handcuffed.  Did you hit your head in the
crash?"

   Was Scotty being serious?  To Mitch he seemed so.  But obviously they
were handcuffed.  Heavy silver-chrome handcuffs like the ones Mitch
remembered from those old television cop shows his father liked.  Why could
Scotty not see-

   With his head still feeling shaken up from the crash, Mitch knew he was
taking a risk, but he slid his thoughts into Scotty's head anyway.  Just a
light contact; not enough to distract Scotty from his driving, but enough
that Mitch could see what Scotty saw.  And when Scotty flicked his eyes off
the road and at the rearview mirror again, he saw ...

   Mitch saw Ron sitting in the back seat, fully clothed, his wrists held
together but no handcuffs.  Scotty tilted his head slightly, and Mitch saw
the shoulder of his own T-shirt.

   Not naked?  Not handcuffed?  No wonder kicking the van door and running
up the incline hurt less than he had expected, thinking he was barefooted.
"Fucking shit!" Mitch swore as he broke contact with Scotty's mind.

   "What?" Ron asked.

   "Give me a minute." Now that Mitch knew Viper had done something to
them, made them believe they were naked and handcuffed, probably to
discourage escape attempts, he just had to find a way to undo it.  He
squeezed his eyes shut, searched through his thoughts--and found a
*something* that was not quite right.  He wasn't sure how even to
conceptualize what he was sensing.  He had so much to learn about his own
Talent and what it could do, Mitch realized anew, if somebody with as
little power as Viper could do something like this to him.  Mitch
concentrated on it: a small little thing, easily snapped.  Was the fix as
simple as this?

   Mitch opened his eyes and looked down at himself.  Pants, the hem of his
T-shirt.  His wrists separated easily.

   "How the fuck did you do that?" Ron gaped as Mitch's hands came apart.

   "It's easy.  Let me show you," Mitch said as he slid into Ron's mind and
found that same *something*.  Snap.

   A moment later, Ron blinked at himself and muttered, "That bastard! 
That fucking bastard!"

   Since Viper truly had taken Mitch's and Ron's phones and wallets from
their pockets, the boys had new reasons not to go back home.  Viper would
know where they lived; he could report them to the Institute or he might
even stake out their houses himself.  Either way, home was definitely out.
Their families were safer without them there.

   Ten miles turned into fifty, and they finally had a direction.  They
passed from one town to another, with wide stretches of farmland or forest
filling the gaps whenever they were leaving this forgettable little burg
and heading toward the next.  They stopped and swapped license plates with
another car before they crossed the state line.  Since the tags were both
from the same state, maybe the owner of the other vehicle would not notice
and report the swap, they reasoned, and the police would not pull Mister
Rust Bucket over if its tag did not match the number their parents were
sure to give the authorities when the boys did not return home as
scheduled. They congratulated themselves on their smart thinking as they
hit the road again.  They were hoping to reach a mid-sized city a couple of
hundred miles away by midnight.

   Scotty stopped at an automated teller machine as they passed through
another small town and withdrew the maximum it would allow from his
savings. The money problem thus was temporarily solved.  They had enough
cash for gas and food to last several days, even enough for cheap hotel
stays, so they would not have to sleep in the car.

   They talked about their plan.  Now the idea of finding somewhere safe
for Talents, somewhere with other gay men, seemed more necessary, more
real. Happy as they were with the sex that they had been giving each other,
all of them realized that they would be meeting all kinds of guys along the
way.  Young and older, all colors, and those guys would know a lot of new
ways to have sex that the three of them had not even thought of yet.

   Scotty seemed was less keen on the idea of experimenting with other
partners.  "Can't we just fuck only each other?"

   "Be serious, Scotty.  We're not getting married to each other, so we
don't have to be tied down to fucking with just each other," Ron groused.
"You know men aren't wired for monogamy.  It's a great big world out there.
This whole trip is our big chance to try new things--learn who we are, what
we can do, what we want."

   Mitch had taken charge of Scotty's phone and was looking up information,
so he only half-heartedly rejoined the conversation.  "And we've always got
each other to come back to."

   "You can't promise that," Scotty persisted.  "I don't think I want to
fuck other guys too.  And what if one of us finds somebody else he likes
having sex with more?"

   Mitch wondered whether Scotty was hinting he might want to go back to
being straight and fucking girls, but he did not look up from the phone. 
"We'll figure that out if and when it happens."

   In simple conversation, the possibility of meeting some new stud who
might become a boyfriend sounded too far-fetched.  They were on the move;
one-time hookups only, and then they would be gone.  But Mitch understood
something serious might happen.  If so, they would deal with it.  No sense
letting the thought hang over them like a dark cloud.

   * * *

   *Chapter 5: Ron*

   At some point--well after dark, getting late, probably close to
midnight, I woke up, sat up.  Scotty was still driving, Mitch dozing in the
front passenger seat, me in the back, the music player blasting.  I noticed
that Scotty was driving with only one hand on the wheel; his other was in
his lap, lazily rubbing his crotch, as if he was using horniness to keep
himself awake.  Now that I was awake too, I could practically feel the
throbs of arousal rippling out of his thoughts.  Scotty's cock was so stiff
and needy.  His horniness was contagious, and I felt my own cock start to
stiffen.  I decided we'd been good boys long enough.  We were in the middle
of nowhere, still at least an hour outside the city; we'd hoped to be there
by midnight, but the city would still be waiting for us if we fell a little
behind schedule.  We deserved a little fun.  Time for a play break.

   I leaned forward and slipped my seductive whisper into Scotty's head:
*Pull over.*

   "Mmm," Scotty moaned as he slowed the car and eased it toward the side
of the road.  Mitch started to rouse as the tires met the gravel shoulder.
Here in the ass-end of nowhere, we could see nothing but trees along both
sides of the road, and no other headlights or taillights at all.

   *Pull it out*, I told Scotty.

   Scotty unzipped his jeans.  No underwear.  The head and half his
cock-shaft were exposed to the dashboard glow.  "So fucking horny," he
hissed.  "What about you guys?"

   "Right behind you, stud," I said.

   Mitch smiled as he realized what was about to happen--he didn't know I'd
initiated it, but he was definitely ready to participate.

   Now the car seemed to be filled with exposed, stiff dicks being stroked.
All three of us beat our meat in time with the music.

   I opened my door, stepped out.  "What's he doing?" I heard Scotty ask as
I stripped off my clothes and tossed them on the seat, but I didn't hear
Mitch's reply.  I waded naked into the pool of headlights in front of the
car and waggled my dick at my friends, who immediately climbed out of the
car and peeled away their clothing too.  The autumn night was chilly, but
tolerable.  Scotty went to the trunk to get a blanket.  Mitch came to me
and embraced me, kissed me.

   I raised an eyebrow.  *Say, buddy, as long as you're here--*

   *How about a blow-job?*

   *My thoughts exactly.*

   *You can suck me too.*

   *Hell, yeah!  When Scotty finishes spreading out that blanket, we can
sixty-nine!*

   Scotty watched Mitch and me lie down head-to-crotch and begin kissing
and licking each other's shaft.  "Hey, what about me?" he grumped, stroking
his hard-on slowly.  "I'm horny too."

   *You'll get your turn*, came my reply.

   *You can beat off while you watch*, Mitch said.

   Scotty complained, "Can't do much else.  You sure I can't join in?  I'm
the M.V.P.  I saved your butts, remember?"

   From Mitch: *Stop complaining.  You've got two good hands.  You'll get
your turn in a few minutes.*
Me: *Yeah--you'll find some way to keep your dick happy.*

   "I thought I gave up jacking off when I started fucking your ass."

   *A hand is always good for emergencies.*

   Mitch and I began to lick up and down each other's shaft.  Scotty was
aching to push his prick into someone's mouth, but he didn't dare interrupt
us.  He would continue to stroke until Mitch or I gave him the go-ahead by
join in.  And eavesdropping on us broadcasting head-talk dirty to each
other was a real turn-on too for Scotty.

   Mitch to me: *Gonna suck you now.*

   *Then get down there and suck me, fucker.  I'll match you suck for
suck.*

   *Don't have to tell me twice.*

   Our two mouths opened wide, and two throats soon became packed with
long, hot meat.  I took the lead in using various kisses and tongue-flicks
on Mitch's sensitive meat, and Mitch quickly followed suit on mine.  Our
breaths and slurping noises were loud in the quiet night chill.

   "Take it easy, you two," Scotty grumped.  "Save some for me."
Me: *Jealous?*
Scotty: "Fuck you.  Fuck you both.

   Mitch and me in unison: *Maybe later*--which made us all laugh a little.

   I pressed my crotch harder into Mitch's face, as Mitch's tongue worked
double-time along the shaft of my dick.  I forced my mouth all the way down
Mitch's shaft, swallowing and humming around the stalk once my nose nestled
against Mitch's belly.

   Suddenly, too soon, Mitch's body spasmed and crashed his cock against my
mouth as he shuddered to a blazing orgasm.  That pushed me to my climax
point, and seconds later I began my own cum.  I almost bit Mitch's cock as
my teeth clamped together from the force.  But Mitch's fate was worse: my
cock dislodged from his mouth, and my cum spilled out all over his face.

   Both our cocks were still spurting as Scotty finally decided to take the
initiative.  "My turn." He pulled my shoulder away from Mitch.  "I saved
your asses, and now I want my reward."
Me: *So what do you want, Mister M.V.P.?*
"Blow me, Ron.  That's what I want.  And stay out of my head--none of

that funny stuff this time.  I just want a blow-job."

   *Aren't you gonna give me a chance to catch my breath?*

   "Later, after I shoot a load of cum down your throat."

   *Can't turn down an offer like that.*

   "I said stay out of my head, fucker!"

   Okay, no fuck-trance needed for Scotty this time.  Maybe he was making
progress, though I thought taking absolute control of him with a
fuck-trance was a lot of fun.

   Scotty stood in the pool of light from his rusty car's headlights, and I
knelt in front of him on the blanket.  He offered me his erection, and I
opened wide, and he practically punched a hole in the back of my head in
his haste to shove his thick cock deep in my throat.  Scotty was ramming in
and out of my mouth before I even had the chance to get used to the size of
his cock.  I came off his rod, gagging, and I changed tactics and went
after his overheated balls.  My sucking at the succulent globes made Scotty
moan and press his crotch into my face.  While I licked, I reached under
the tasty tidbits and ran my finger back and forth across his taint, then
up and down his butt slit.  Scotty didn't object, so I moved my fingertip
in to find his love-hole.  Then I paid Scotty back for that face-pounding
by jamming my finger right into his hole, up to my second knuckle.  Scotty
yipped so loud the night bugs stopped their faint buzzing for a moment.

   "Your tongue, man," Scotty groaned.  "Stick your tongue up there."

   I'd licked Scotty's ass last night, or this morning, or both--all the
sex was kind of a blur--and he obviously remembered and enjoyed it, so I
decided why not?  I pulled my finger out of his butt.  *Turn around.  Bend
over and put your hands on your knees.*

   "Stay out of my head!" Scotty snapped, but he did as I said.

   I spread Scotty's cheeks with both hands and eyed his puckered hole in
the headlights.  The smooth crack looked too good to be true, and I
couldn't resist diving in tongue-first.  With one smooth motion, I lapped
across Scotty's butthole and again and again, and he instantly threw back
his head and went incoherent, moaning stuff like, "Aww, fuck,
that's--Fuck!--So--Fuck!--Awwh!" I knew he was trying to tell me how great
it felt, and I told him I understood by lapping harder at his bunghole and
using a finger to help out around the rim of it.  Driving Scotty to the
brink of bliss was easy; every time his thoughts lit up about how good
something felt, I did that more and then improvised a little for variety.

   I caught sight of Mitch, hard again, standing nearby, watching us,
stroking himself, swaggering a little closer for a better look, stroking
himself more.

   I liked the idea of performing for an audience, especially when that
audience was Mitch.  Again and again, I used only my long, wet tongue, not
my mind, to do wild and wonderful things to Scotty's asshole, and Scotty
kept calling out his appreciation.  My spit-slick finger went into his
sphincter; my digit wasn't as big as a hard cock, but it was nice and
slippery and it could bend to find all the best spots.  Scotty moaned as my
wet finger turned and twisted in his anal channel while my tongue flicked
around the outside of his hole.  I reached my other hand under and between
his legs to fist the fat cock that was in need of attention.  He pressed
his ass back against my hand and face.  I used the chance to get my finger
in a little further--I was going to get Scotty's ass red-hot and then I was
going to fuck it!  No way was he going to keep me out of his ass!  And once
his guard was down, he wasn't going to keep me out of his mind either.  We
both knew he wanted it, even if he said he didn't.

   Mitch stood in front of Scotty and presented him with a hard prick. 
Scotty twisted his torso around a little more and swallowed about a third
of Mitch's long erection.  After a few tries, Scotty had Mitch's cock down
his throat as far as it would reach, and I had Scotty's asshole filled with
two fingers as deep as they would go, and I had his dick humming nicely
with my hand-strokes.  Scotty's head was sparking all over the place with
arousal, Mitch's too, as they go closer to their inevitable orgasms. 
Scotty's cock was throbbing so hard in my hand as if it was going to burst.
I kept working his ass with my fingers and tongue.  My jaw was starting to
ache, and so was the root of my tongue.

   Wouldn't be much longer anyway.  Scotty's nuts were so tight and high
that he was going to shoot in less than a minute.  Mitch wasn't far behind.
I slipped my thoughts into their minds, so quietly I doubt either of them
noticed.  No fuck-trance this time, but I was going to make sure they came
soon and came hard.  Then, once they were all worn out and cooperative
after cumming, I'd make them beg me to fuck them--I've have my choice of
both their asses!  Big-dicked Mitch and buff jock Scotty, both begging to
be my sluts.  Yes, a few little sneaky tweaks, and I had them both gasping
and racing toward orgasm.  Would they cum at the same time?

   Scotty's ass couldn't go any higher against my face and hand, and his
cock couldn't get any harder.  His mind was ablaze with sensations, and his
balls were badly aching.  Mitch whimpered happily as Scotty swallowed his
pipe in one long gulp and moaned along the whole length of it with his
hungry mouth once more.  Mitch sucked in a tight, hard breath, trying to
stay in control, trying to make it last.  Fat chance, Mitch!--Not with me
sneaking around in your head.

   I did a couple of tricks I'd figured out inside Mitch's mind, and he
felt his balls begin to jump even as his body heaved and writhed against
Scotty's face.  Orgasm lit up his mind.  One spurt after another of hot
cream exploded through his cock and down Scotty's throat, and Scotty gulped
hard.  I did the same thing to Scotty, and suddenly he clamped his eyes
shut, seeing stars before his closed lids as his climax began and his cum
spurted out, coating my pumping fingers around his cock.  A little tweak,
and the experience of their orgasms stretched out, lasting longer.  Instead
of cresting and coming down, they both kept right on orgasming.  Both of
them were cumming long and hard, their nuts squeezing like crazy to shoot
out every last drop of sperm.

   It was over then, and Mitch pulled his still-throbbing cock out of mouth
Scotty's mouth, and Scotty sank exhausted to his hands and knees on the
blanket.  Mitch fell to his knees too, both of them spent and gasping the
fresh night air.  I wove my thoughts inside of Scotty's head, and he was so
distracted and exhausted he never even realized.  His expression went
blank. My thoughts diffused through Mitch's head too, and his mind came
under my control without even knowing I was in there.  There!  Two willing
slave-puppets for me to play with!  I waved my hard-on at them and
announced, "Okay, guys, whose ass do I fuck first?"

   We didn't make it to the city by midnight after all.

   After a couple of good, healthy orgasms, and probably closer to two in
the morning, we were somewhere between the outer suburbs and the city
itself.  I was exhausted from fucking them, making them want to get fucked,
making them forget afterward that I'd taken hold of them, and I slept most
of this last leg of the trip.  I woke up to Mitch using Scotty's phone to
navigate.  He said he had something to show us, a destination in mind,
something he'd planned to do if he had ever run away from his old man and
his asshole brothers.  Now he wanted to share it with us.  Okay,
whatever--typical Mitch cryptic talk.  I was too mind-tired to peek in his
mind to see what he had planned.

   We stopped at an all-night burger place for food and a restroom break.
Scotty went to the counter to order, while Mitch and I hit the restroom. 
Only one urinal, and I got there first.  I pissed, and Mitch waited his
turn.  He was doing something at the sink, then running water.  I finished,
zipped, and walked over, in time to see him drop Scotty's phone into the
sink.  On purpose.  He'd partially plugged the drain with a wadded paper
towel and had the sink half full of water--more than enough water to cover
and short out Scotty's phone.  The screen flashed, and it went dead.

   Mitch explained without me having to ask.  Scotty's parents had been
calling and texting for the last couple of hours, since we were long
overdue, and Mitch's asshole dad had tried Scotty's phone once too.  Soon
somebody would try tracking the phone's chip--if it wasn't Scotty's
parents, it would be cops or the Institute.  Now that we were nearly to
this place where we could stay the night, Mitch said, we didn't need the
phone anymore.  Time to get rid of it.  He dropped the phone on the floor
and stomped it to crack the case for good measure.  On television, people
always seem to know which chip to remove to prevent tracking, but neither
Mitch nor I had a clue.  Shorting and smashing would have to do.  Mitch
dropped the pieces into the trash can and buried the phone wreckage under
some paper towels.

   Mitch was right.  The phone had to go.  Scotty would be majorly pissed
when he found out his precious phone was history, so we decided not to tell
him for a while.

   The coffee was mediocre, but the food was great, and we wolfed
everything down.  Then Mitch directed us to a place that he said had cheap
rooms.  He had, he said, looked it up months ago, when he was planning
where he'd go if he ever ran away.  We couldn't stay at a regular
hotel--the authorities would look there if someone put out missing persons
reports on us, and hotels might enter Scotty's I.D.  into a database that
authorities could find.  Since this other place wasn't a regular hotel,
Mitch said, it would be the last place anyone would look for us.  Exactly
what we needed.  We'd come a pretty long way.  This mid-sized city was near
the larger city we had decided would be our first destination, and we'd
reach it tomorrow, but we had to think long-term, had to make our money
last.

   Mitch made us park several blocks away and walk to this place.  That
way, he said, anyone who identified Mister Rust Bucket wouldn't know where
we were.  Five blocks later, well, the place sure didn't look like any
hotel I'd ever seen.  For one thing, it looked like a warehouse.  The
simple sign out front had none of the neon and flashy stuff I'd have
expected from a hotel, just the name of the place.

   Exhaustion made Scotty grumpy, and his question came out like a whine:
"Mitch, what's a bathhouse?"

   Mitch was already opening the front door and didn't answer.  We
sauntered into the nearly dark front office, and the desk clerk, a skinny
blond guy in his late twenties, called out a friendly greeting.  "Hey,
guys. I haven't seen you in here before.  You members?"

   "No, we need to start a membership," Mitch said.  None of us had ever
rented a hotel room before--or a bathhouse room, or whatever--and he was
trying to act cool, like he did this every day.  "Can we get one membership
and share it?"

   The clerk grinned.  Man, there should be a law against being that
chipper that late at night.  "Trying to save dough, huh?"

   "Something like that."

   "Sure, I can set you up with one membership.  Members can bring guests,
so the other two can get in on guest passes."

   "Can we get a room too?"

   "You got it.  Just one room?  I think you should know there's only a
single bed in there.  Won't be much room for three of you.  You want more
than one room?"

   "We'll be fine.  One room is fine."

   The clerk nodded.  "You're easy to please.  We don't get many guys your
age.  You guys must be brothers or something." Which seemed like an odd
thing to say since Mitch and Scotty and I don't look at all like brothers.
We're good-looking in different ways, but we don't look at all like each
other.  Was he serious?  "Most guys who come in here with together wouldn't
dare share the same bed.  Guess brothers like you guys ain't afraid of
being called queer."

   Mitch's jaw stiffened for a moment, then he said, "What's there to be
afraid of?"

   The clerk nodded again.  "You're so right.  Long as you know you ain't a
fag, that's all that matters." I would have sworn he winked at Mitch.  Was
this guy just making conversation, or was he being serious?  Trying to
provoke us?  Just joking?  I was way too tired to figure this shit out.

   Mitch took a second to decide and then said simply, "Yep."

   The clerk passed over three clipboards and pens.  "Just fill these out."

   Mitch took the clipboards, passed them around, and we each started
filling out the short form.

   Mitch sent to us: *Use a fake name, guys.*

   I rolled my eyes.  *No shit, Mitch!*

   Scotty hadn't said a word yet, but I could tell he wasn't happy.  I
still wasn't sure whether the clerk was joking, but it didn't matter. 
Though his comments weren't meant as insults to us personally, the words
still hit home for Scotty, and for Mitch and me too, and they hurt. 
*Queer*, the clerk had said, and *fag*.  The guy didn't know how close to
the mark he was.  He was trying to be friendly, but maybe he had no liking
for guys who liked other guys?  What would he have said if he knew two of
us were also Talents?  Would he freak out and call the cops?

   While the three of us had terrific sex, I could tell from Scotty's frown
and the way he chewed at his bottom lip that he now questioned whether he
could handle the name-calling and finger-pointing behind our backs.  As a
team, and in private, we were proving we could handle pretty much anything
life threw at us.  But out here where the whole world could see and judge
us, well, how was Scotty going to deal with all the prejudice?  How were
Mitch and I going to deal too?  We'd never see this clerk again after we
left here, so why did we care what he thought?

   At least we didn't have to think everything out on the spot.  Our brains
were too sleep-fogged from the late hour, having fucked all day, driven all
night--and fucked half the night too--for us to come up with anything
worthwhile.  Scotty looked at Mitch, pleading silently him to hurry this up
so we could get some shut-eye.  Mitch nodded slightly at Scotty,
acknowledging.

   "Now," the clerk said, "will that be cash or charge?  And I'll need to
see your I.D.  too."

   "Cash," Mitch said, and held out his hand to Scotty.  Scotty dug his
I.D. card and some cash out of his wallet and passed everything to Mitch.

   The only I.D.  we had was Scotty's, since that bounty hunter asshole had
taken mine and Mitch's.  But if we didn't want anyone to know who and where
we were--?

   *Got it covered*, Mitch thought to me.

   He handed his clipboard and Scotty's I.D.  to the clerk.  Mitch looked
intently at the clerk.  I felt Mitch's telepathy buzz, but I was too
head-tired from controlling him and Scotty earlier to have the energy to
investigate what he was doing.

   The clerk checked the I.D.  against the form and entered information
into the ancient computer.  "Mark ...  Peters ...  Five ...  oh ...  seven
...  Maple Drive ..."

   None of us was named *Mark*, and none of us lived on a *Maple Drive*.

   The clerk handed the I.D.  card back to Mitch.  Mitch passed the next
clipboard to the clerk--with Scotty's I.D.  once more.

   "Mike ...  Peters ..." More typing.  Then the third clipboard.  "Maurice
...  Peters ..." The clerk looked up at me.  "You don't look like a
Maurice."

   "He gets that a lot," Mitch muttered, still frowning at the clerk.

   *Maurice?* I was going to murder Mitch for that!

   I figured out what he was doing.  Somehow Mitch had learned to do what
that bounty hunter did to us, and he was doing it to the clerk, making him
see whatever Mitch wanted on those forms and the I.D.  No matter what the
clerk's eyes actually saw, his mind believed whatever Mitch told him he
saw, backed up by a powerful desire not to believe anything to the
contrary.

   "That'll be twenty for the membership, fifteen apiece for the entry fee,
so sixty five total.  Since it's your first visit and you're all really
cute, I'll throw in the room for free--no charge." Another wink, this time
aimed at me.

   Mitch thanked him and counted off some bills, passed them to the clerk.

   A printer sputtered.  The clerk handed Mitch something.  "Here's your
membership card, Mark." He reached under the counter and came up with a
stack of three folded towels.  Three keys on short accordion lanyards, the
kind that go around your wrist, on top of that.  He pushed the stack toward
Mitch.  "Locker room's through there.  No clothes, drugs, alcohol, weapons,
phones, or cameras allowed beyond the locker room.  Leave everything in
your lockers--clothes, wallet, everything.  The management is not
responsible for any loss or theft.  You need anything, ask for me.  Name's
Thomas.  Have fun, guys!"

   The lock buzzed, and the door popped open a crack.

   "Thanks," Mitch winked back as he scooped up the towels and keys.

   Towels?  Locker room?  What the hell?

   Beyond the door, sure enough, was a bargain-basement version of a locker
room.  A narrow space with blocks of tiny square lockers against the left
wall, a few ancient benches by the right, and another door at the far end.

   I looked at Mitch.  He shrugged, started taking off his T-shirt, and
said, "A bathhouse is a place men go to have sex with each other, and they
have rooms with beds for guys who want some privacy.  We can have some fun
and try a bunch of new things at the same time."

   "Mitch, you should have asked us about this.  I know we talked about
doing it with other guys, but--"

   "You know what?" Scotty interrupted.  "I don't care.  You got us a room,
right?  I been driving all fucking night while you guys slept.  As long as
there's a bed I can crash in, I'm good.  You two can stand around talking,
fucking, whatever, all night long if you want, long as you do it somewhere
else and I get some shut-eye."

   We started stripping.  None of us was wearing underwear, so our dicks
were swinging free the moment our pants went down.  Clothing went into
lockers.  Key lanyards went around wrists.  Scotty wrapped a towel modestly
around his waist.  Mitch threw his over his shoulder brazenly.  I
considered for a moment, then decided to wear my towel around my waist too,
at least until I scoped out the place.

   We passed a shower area where an older guy was kneeling before a black
bodybuilder and blowing him.  Holy crap!--Guys were having sex with other
guys right out in the open like that?  And then we passed a dark room with
wall-mounted televisions showing gay porn, with ten or fifteen guys having
what looked like an orgy!  Mitch was practically crackling with excitement,
but Scotty reminded us, "Where's our room?"

   We found the door number.  The room was maybe ten by ten, with a
pathetic little mattress barely large enough for one person to sleep on. 
But I suppose not a lot of sleeping went on in a place like this.  That
didn't stop Scotty from declaring, "Wake me in the morning," and falling
face-first onto mattress.  He was asleep before his body stopped bouncing.

   Mitch and I eased out, shut the door.  His exposed cock was half-hard,
anticipating.  His eagerness was contagious.  If he wanted to do this, I
could do it too.  At least I could have a look around, maybe more.  Just
the thought of the sex we were about to have was stiffening my joint under
my towel.  His thoughts touched mine and we made a pact: This was for the
three of us.  The three of us weren't married to each other--no need to be
faithful, or monogamous, or monotonous.  I'd pushed for an experience like
this, they'd both agreed, and now for Mitch and me it was about to happen.
We agreed--we'd go our separate ways, look around, and take a shot at
whatever came our way; we'd do whatever and whoever we wanted, no jealousy,
and the only rule was we each had to learn something new to bring back to
make our sex life together better for all three of us.

   Time to explore.  I started off in the shower area we'd passed.  I felt
grungy after a day on the road and the sex we'd had earlier, and a shower
sounded good.  Besides, locker rooms and showers were familiar turf.  I'd
start there and work my way out.

   No sign of the older guy and the bodybuilder we'd seen a few minutes
before.  I had the shower room to myself.  I tossed my towel over a bench
and stepped under the warm spray.  Ah, paradise!  I just leaned my head
against the wall and let the water drench me.

   "Hey," said a voice as the shower next to me turned on.  "My shift just
ended.  Can I join you?  You looking for a friend, Maurice?"

   Thomas, the guy from the front desk, except he wasn't wearing his staff
T-shirt now.  Naked, wet, smiling at me.  And calling me *Maurice*.  I was
going to kill Mitch for that.

   "Hi," I replied because I couldn't think of anything else to say.  "Uh,
hi, Thomas."

   "You remembered my name.  Cool.  Most people don't.  And you're not
really a Maurice either, are you?"

   How'd he know?  Had whatever Mitch did worn off?  "I'm Ron," I
confessed.

   "Hi, Ron.  That suits you better than Maurice.  You're not from around
here.  How'd you guys end up at this place?  Just happened to be driving by
and decided to stop and check it out?"

   I chuckled, embarrassed.  "Yeah, something like that."

   "You did look kind of surprised when you came in.  Guess you didn't
expect to find a place like this.  Especially when you're a long way from
home."

   "Yeah.  Mitch didn't tell us anything about this in advance."

   "Mitch--that's the one who did most of the talking?  Are you like him?"

   I picked up an image of Mitch from Thomas' surface thoughts, but somehow
I couldn't seem to get onto his head; I just skated across surface
thoughts; something kept me from getting beneath them.  *Like him?*--Did he
mean gay or a telepath?  Both questions had the same answer, but I hoped
like hell he was talking about us being *queers* and *fags*.  Even if he
didn't like queers and fags, that seemed easier to deal with.  If he worked
in a place like this, he could at least tolerate queers, but a couple of
Talents might be a different matter.  "Yeah," I confessed.

   "What about your other friend?"

   Scotty.  "He's ...  We're not sure yet."

   "That Mitch, he's pretty new at it, isn't he?"

   Being gay or being a Talent?  Still the same answer, but
please-please-please be talking about being gay.  "Uhm, yeah."

   "Thought so.  I could tell what he wanted me to see when he kept handing
me the I.D.  card, but I could also see through it to what was real."

   I froze, except for a little choking sound.  "You knew he's a telepath?"

   "Well, yeah.  What did *you* think we were talking about?"

   "Being gay."

   "Well, that too, obviously.  That's okay.  I get it.  You don't have to
tell me your story.  None of my business.  We get a lot of guys who come by
to check out the place.  They swear up and down they're not gay.  Then they
sign up for long-term memberships and show up every week; probably tell
their wives it's poker night with the guys.  Sometimes we get newly
manifested Talents in here who are on the run from the Institute recruiters
too.  They're looking for a place to hide out for the night that's off the
grid, and somehow they got the idea from some Internet site to try a
bathhouse because it's a place that has beds but isn't a hotel, since most
hotels got scanners.  They think they can handle being in a gay bathhouse
for a night, but sometimes it's too much.  Too much sex.  Too much gay. 
Sometimes they freak out.  Happens often enough that my last
boyfriend--*ex*-boyfriend--who has a little bit of telepathic *oomph*
helped me learn some mental defenses, just in case.  You might meet him
later; his name's Marcus.  He's good with defense shit.  That's why your
friend's little trick didn't work as well as he planned, but I didn't know
your story or whether the gay bathhouse thing would be an issue."

   I remembered him saying *queer* and *fag* earlier.  I'd been really
tired, so maybe I'd misunderstood?  Maybe he was joking or trying to put a
few junior newbies at ease by reassuring them they weren't gay just because
they came to a place like this?  "Well, I'm gay," I said, "and I'm a
Talent." Having the words hover in the air like that felt weird, but also
right, like things falling into place.  "To tell you the truth, we're so
new to this queer stuff, we were beginning to think we were the only gay
guys in this part of the country."

   "Then you'll be glad to see that you're not alone.  I think all of us
have felt that way at one time, regardless of what it's about.  At least
you guys have each other."

   "Oh, we're not ..." What?  Boyfriends?  Lovers?  Except I felt like we
were, no matter what Mitch said.  Even though I wanted us to fuck other
guys to get some experience, I knew we'd always be connected, always come
back to each other.  But how the fuck did I explain that to someone who
wasn't Mitch or Scotty?  "We just share ...  Uhm ..." I decided to shut up
before I embarrassed myself more.

   "Cool.  I didn't mean to rush you.  Just wanted to let you know I think
you're cute.  I like your body.  And I think it's hot that you're a
telepath.  I, uhm, kind of have a thing for telepaths."

   From the way he was grinning at me, I knew where this was going, and I
didn't have to read his mind to know.  "None of us ever did nothing like
this, except with each other."

   "Cool.  You can sample things when you're ready."

   Now that we were making small-talk, I finally started to get over my
nervousness, and I really looked at Thomas.  He was gray-eyed, blond, and
not bad-looking at all.  In fact, seeing him naked and wet, I decided he
was cuter than I'd first thought.  Tall.  Nice smile.  A little skinny,
maybe, but his lean muscles looked good.  He had a quiet confidence around
him that I liked too, like a guy who knew what he wanted and was used to
getting it, without being swagger-y; his confidence seemed more genuine
than the friendliness he had shown at the front desk.

   And from the boner he was sporting, he definitely didn't mind me looking
him up and down.  Thomas was hung like a horse.  Much more cock to him than
either Scotty or me, probably long enough to match Mitch's, and about as
thick as Mitch's too.  Thomas' hand reached down to scratch his balls,
making his meat bob.  A hard-on like his was a pretty awesome sight.  That
cock could easily rip my asshole open, but I felt comfortable around
Thomas--he seemed like a nice guy who had plenty of experience--so I
decided his big dick looked very appealing.  My mouth and asshole started
to twitch just at the sight of it.  This time, when I looked back up at his
face, Thomas and I both were wearing shit-eating grins.

   Thomas' ball-scratching turned into something different as his hand
wrapped around his tool and started rubbing it.  I watched him play with
himself, his hand moving slowly up and down along the shaft.  I felt all my
shyness fading as I watched.  My own dick was now at peak hardness too.  I
wondered how his cock would feel in my hand, and how his hand would feel on
my cock--or better yet, how his grinning mouth would feel on my cock.

   "So, Ron, how about we get to know each other better?  Why don't you ask
me for what you want?"

   "Suck my cock," I declared.  Purely by habit, I went into his mind to
back up my request with a little compulsion to do what I said--and ran
smack into his mental walls.

   "Stay out of my head, Ron.  That's not part of the offer.  And I said
*ask*, not *demand*."

   I could have tried busting through his defenses, but I decided to play
nice.  I pulled back my thoughts.  "Would you suck my cock?"

   "Say please."

   Dammit, he was going to make me beg for it?  Or maybe he was trying to
show me that dominance didn't always involve using telepathy.  Either
way--fine--I was too horny to argue.  We'd play it his way.  "Please suck
my cock, Thomas."

   That damned grin of his.  "Such a cute young guy like you?--How could I
refuse?" He sank to his knees.  "Fuck, yeah, that's a beautiful cock, Ron.
Do you want me to taste it?" Thomas sputtered through the shower spray,
eyes on the prize that reared up in his face.

   "Yes.  Taste my cock, Thomas.  Please."

   "Since you asked nicely ..." Thomas placed his hands on my waist, and I
thrust my hips forward a little, grinning as my cock banged against his
nose, just before he snatched it by the head with his hungry lips and
enveloped the first quarter of my shaft in moist heat.

   "Oh, yeah," I murmured as his velvet-smooth lips slid further down my
rod.

   Thomas moaned as he began to suckle on the knob between his lips.  His
wet suction vacuumed at my sensitive cock-head as he transferred one hand
to the base of my shank and his other hand crawled up my flat stomach.  The
kneeling blond began to feed my bone into his mouth, gulping, slobbering,
pushing his face down on it, swallowing inch after inch.

   Thomas had some skill!--More than Mitch or Scotty, that's for sure!  I
had to laugh, amazed at how greedy he was for cock.  Now that he had it in
his mouth, he obviously wanted as much of it as he could get, and I wasn't
saying no.  Not only was he gulping three-quarters of my length, but his
tongue danced wildly under and around what he'd managed to swallow!  Mitch
and Scotty and I had sucked a lot of cock recently, but Thomas obviously
had years of cock-sucking experience on us.  And then the hand he had been
running up my stomach reached my nipple and--*ow!*--the way he pinched it
hurt and felt terrific at same time.  I'd paid some attention to Scotty's
and Mitch's nips, and they to mine, but only as a sidebar to cock-sucking
or fucking.  What Thomas was doing to my nipple was practically a sex act
all by itself.  Man, the things he was making me feel with his tongue and
fingers!--I could barely concentrate enough to memorize what he was doing.
I definitely wanted to do those things to Scotty and Mitch later!

   And Thomas was just beginning.  Moaning and snuffling under the shower
spray, he began to bob up and down along my rod, opening up his pink lips
wider than I thought possible, and using his velvety tongue to swab and
lick at my shank and the bulbed crown.  He was bringing me quickly to the
brink of orgasm-

   And then he stopped.  He let go of my cock and nipple and instead
chastely kissed my thigh.

   "Why'd you ...?" I bleated.

   "Slow down.  No need to cum so soon.  We're gonna make it last." Well, I
didn't argue.  He stood up and said, "Your turn." While my cock cooled
down, I got down on my knees under the shower spray and proceeded to do to
him everything I'd just learned.  His big cock in my mouth made
reciprocating difficult, but I did my best.  Thomas sure seemed to
appreciate my efforts.  "You're doing great," he assured me, and I must
have been, because he was shuddering and obviously getting close to cumming
after just a few minutes.

   But he didn't cum.  He pushed me back off his dick, and we swapped
places again.  Five or six times we swapped, going to the edge of orgasm,
then backing off, until my balls were so backed-up they felt ready to
explode.

   Thomas pulled off of me and stood up, only instead of letting me take a
turn sucking his dick, he turned off the water, tossed my towel at me, and
declared, "Dry off.  We're going to the orgy room.  For a telepath like
you, that place will be better than any drug you can imagine."

   The orgy room smelled like pot and sweat and sperm and was only dimly
lit, but I could see that everyone in there was stark naked--not towel or
stitch of clothing to be seen.  Must have been nearly thirty guys in there,
and most of them sported hard-ons, in a variety of sizes.  The guys seemed
mostly older, ranging from one or two just a little older than me to
several in their thirties and forties.  They were there for one thing--to
get off--and they weren't hiding that.

   Thomas was right: the sex-thoughts rolling off those guys hit me hard.
My skin tingled.  My cock throbbed.  I was practically drowning under all
that lust pouring into my head.  I needed a couple of minutes to look
around, get my bearings, find a way to handle the flood of feelings. 
Fortunately, the other guys were so engrossed in what they were doing that
no one noticed Thomas or me just standing there.

   Thomas saw I was struggling.  "You're gonna be fine.  Focus on me.  Stay
close, and focus on me."

   I pushed my telepathy toward his mind, instead of letting it just *be*
pushed by all of the other incoming thoughts.  I felt the cool blankness of
his mental defenses and--somehow I felt clearer, like grounding an electric
charge, as if having something to pour my thoughts against distracted me
from everything else, even if I couldn't get into his mind.  His mental
walls felt smooth and solid as ice, buttressed by an interior strength, and
I wondered if I could build something like that around my own mind for when
I needed it.  I sure did have a lot to learn about my Talent.  Now, instead
of being overwhelmed, I felt merely overstimulated.  I could give this orgy
room a try.  I could look around and really see what was happening, instead
of being at the mercy of feeling it.

   Couples and trios all over the place.  On the furniture, against the
walls, and all over the floor.  I saw a gray-haired man who looked like he
might have been a stockbroker if he had clothes on; he was presently lying
on the floor, on his back, with his legs spread.  A multi-pierced guy my
age knelt over him, feasting on the man's cock.

   Right beside them was another couple that looked like a sandwich as they
sixty-nined on their sides.

   Over a carpet-covered bench, one blond dude hunkered on his hands and
one knee, his other leg straight and anchoring him to the floor, as another
guy leaned in behind him and munched on his balls.  The munchee's head was
thrown way back, and his mouth hung slack-jawed, waiting to be filled with
the stiff dick that a third guy was rapidly lowering to him.

   While I watched, a middle-aged construction worker type walked up to a
mid-twenties punk, grabbed him by the dick, and led him over to another
carpet-covered bench, where the punk promptly lay down on his belly and
spread his ass cheeks, an invitation to fuck.

   Two slim thirty-ish guys leaned against the wall and kissed.  They were
joined by a muscular guy who knelt and, instead of choosing between the
first guy's long, slender cock and the other's short, wide one, simply
grabbed onto them both and began stroking.  The two men didn't seem to
mind. As they continued their kiss, one of them reached down to caress the
stroker's head.

   One guy lying on the floor seemed to be stoned out of his mind.  His
eyes were closed, and he lay on his back beating his meat.  Two other guys
with aching hard-ons stood over him, jacking off, obviously about ready to
shoot.  Then they looked to each other for a signal, and both aimed their
cocks right at the guy's face as they shot.  I heard their moans all the
way across the room as the sensation of two gushers of cum poured through
the waves of sex-thoughts buffeting me.

   All these and more.  Which studs would I join first?  I picked a pair of
nearby guys almost at random and started toward them--but Thomas' hand
closed on my bare shoulder.  *Wait*, he thought, out front where he knew
I'd pick up on it.  *You will ask my permission before you join anyone, and
you will ask my permission before you cum.  You can use your telepathy in
order to ask me, and only for that.  Keep that telepathy of yours in
contact with me at all times, but do not enter my mind or anyone else's for
any reason.  Do I make myself clear?*

   Ordering me around?--Normally I'd have been pissed, but something about
Thomas' casual dominance comforted me.  He made taking-charge seem so
natural and so right.  I said, *Yes*, and then hastened to add, *sir*,
because I knew he expected that.

   *Good boy.  Have you decided where to start?*

   I nodded and told him and asked for permission.  He glanced at the guys
I'd chosen and nodded his approval without hesitation.

   I walked over to the pair.  The thirty-something who looked like a
marathon runner smiled, happy to see a good-looking young guy like me
joining them, and the other, a gorgeous olive-skinned hunk with
bleached-blond hair, held out his hand, and I took it easily and let him
pull me toward his thick hard-on.

   A few minutes later: *Thomas, may I cum, sir?*

   *Yes.*

   Ahh!--My balls finally got rid of their backlog.

   On and on.  I saw nothing but bodies moving all over the place, doing
just about every kind of sex I'd ever imagined men could do with each
other. I even saw several things that I'd never even known about.  This
stop on our trip was turning out to be a revelation.  Obviously the orgy
room was the place to be this time of night.

   As a few men left and more guys kept arriving, in twos and threes, the
party tempo rose.  They all seemed to be regulars, judging from the rapid
manner in which they charged right into the crowd with their dicks held
high.  I joined a pair, or a trio.  They came.  Once or twice I came too,
but always I moved on to the next set of men, and the next.  Thomas almost
always gave me permission, though he steered me away from one domineering
man he called *too hardcore*.  The flood of sexual energy would have
overpowered me if not for Thomas, and even so it still had me so buzzed
that my cock never went soft, not even after the times I came.

   I finally spotted Mitch.  He was on his back on one of the
carpet-covered benches.  The grey-haired man I'd seen in the shower room
when we first arrived hunched between his upheld legs, feeding a long, thin
cock into Mitch's ass.  Mitch had his head turned so he could suck another
guy, and he had an arm outstretched in either direction to stroke the dicks
of two others.  Four at once?--Go, Mitch!  He seemed to love drowning in
his new role as their sex slave.  His mind had been overpowered; his
thoughts were a big mess at the mercy of the horniness radiating off
everyone around us.  That would have been me too, I realized, if Thomas
hadn't offered me a lifeline.  Mitch was too busy and too sex-dazed to
notice me watching him work.  Judging from the way a new guy took the place
of the one he had just sucked to climax, Mitch was going to be occupied for
a while.  I was definitely going to tease him for the next days about
letting himself be turned into a sex-crazed slut!

   More and more guys for me to join too.  I came--I don't know; at least
four times?  Six?  More?  My balls were empty, so my last couple of orgasms
were dry, and my cock was starting to protest from all the friction, and my
jaw ached.  The time had to be closing in on dawn, though the dim orgy room
had no windows; impossible to tell.  Everything that was happening to me,
around me, became a blur.  I was tiring fast.  In spite of Thomas' help, I
could feel myself slipping into an overwhelmed state, like Mitch.  I could
hear Thomas' thoughts trying to call to me, but I couldn't pull myself
back--didn't want to pull myself back.  I wanted to let go.  I was reaching
for another hard-on and opening my mouth when I felt myself submerge lost
in a sex-daze, and I loved it.  Was this what a fuck-trance felt like?  No
wonder Scotty loved it!  Being overwhelmed felt so intense I could see
myself starting to crave it, like a drug.  Men and more men, all that
virility, and me soaking it in.  But I was nearing my end-point.

   A pair of hands on my arm and shoulder pulled me back from a pair of
cocks I was sucking and stroking.  "My turn to have him, guys," a voice
behind me said.  When I roused from my sex-trance enough to look around, I
found Thomas hovering over me, and all I knew was this: I was ready for him
now.

   I lay on my back with my legs over his shoulders.  Plenty of lube
allowed Thomas' big, long cock to slide slowly in and out of my sore,
reamed-out asshole.  In spite of the ass-pain, I wanted this, wanted it
badly.  Now that I was focused on him again, my head felt clearer, and I
wanted his cock in my ass.  He fucked me slowly, long strokes, his cock
doing a lot of really great-feeling things up inside my ass that Mitch's
similarly sized appendage hadn't hit in all the times we'd fucked.  I tried
to pay attention, because I wanted to make sure I could guide Mitch through
doing all those things later, but I kept slipping, fading, then coming back
again.

   "Stay with me, Ron," Thomas said.

   "Yes ...  sir ..."

   I liked having Thomas so close to me, liked having his face hovering
over me.  It felt ...  comforting and somehow right.  Like I'd always heard
falling in love should feel, though we'd just met and I couldn't possibly
be in love with him, not yet.  Thomas bent down to reach my mouth.  We
kissed.  He was good at that too--better than Mitch or Scotty.  Man,
there's a lot to be said for an experienced lover.  I was right to have
Mitch and Scotty and I try new guys--no way would we learn this kind of
stuff this fast on our own!  I followed Thomas' lead, and our two tongues
danced against each other.  I reached my hands to his chest to explore and
do to him some of the things I'd learned about nipple-play tonight.  I was
determined to show him I'd learned to do them well.

   Thomas guided me through a change in position; now I was on my hands and
knees on the carpeted bench as he fed his cock into my ass.  I looked
around for Mitch and didn't see him.  No clue what time it was--early
morning--after dawn, maybe?  The crowd had started to thin out.  I didn't
see Mitch, but Scotty was awake and had joined us.  I saw him on the other
side of the room, sitting on a bench against the wall, between the
punk-looking kid and the olive-skinned bleach-blond dude.  Scotty had his
towel clinched tightly around his waist--he was the only guy in the room
with a stitch of clothes on.  The three of them were sharing a joint; the
tip glowed red as Scotty sucked in the smoke.  I knew how much Scotty liked
pot, though as a serious athlete he didn't indulge in it too often.  One of
the guys said something and they all laughed.

   Then Thomas' cock did something extra-specially nice in my ass that
snapped me back to our sex, and I gasped.  I arched my back and would have
cum, except that Thomas froze and stayed still until my balls eased off. 
The smell of pot and sweat and cum, the blaze of sex still filling the
space and me too made the whole room reel, but Thomas kept me anchored. 
I'd learned a lot of about sex tonight, and I already felt more mature and
manly for it.  I felt like I knew exactly what was expected of me.  I loved
the feeling of his body against mine, in mine, the way his mind felt when I
touched it.  I felt like I belonged here.  I liked the idea of belonging to
Thomas.  I leaned closer to his face.  "I'm really starting to like you."

   He chuckled and shook his head.  "It's the atmosphere in here.  You
aren't thinking clearly."

   "No, I mean it.  I think you're--Ahh!" I gasped as he gave a little
hip-jab that introduced his cock to my prostate again.  "Fuck!  May I cum,
sir?"

   "No." This was the first time Thomas had really refused me, though his
playful grin told me he had more in store.  He slid his oversized cock out
of my ass.  "Turn over."

   Back to me on my back with Thomas holding my legs high and spread as he
slow-fucked me.  My erection kept thumping against my stomach, and I didn't
dare touch my cock, but even those little taps were pushing me closer and
closer to cumming.  I looked around for a distraction, needed to think
about something other than shooting.  What I saw was Scotty, still sitting
on that bench and sucking on a joint--it must have been a new one because
it was longer than the one I saw before.  His erection poked up
unmistakably against the front of his towel--pot always did get Scotty
horned-up--and the punk dude was kneeling between Scotty's spread knees and
was in the process of reaching up and opening the towel knot.  The other
guy, the bleach-blond, played with Scotty's nipples, then leaned in to lick
and kiss the closest one.  Well, it looked like Scotty was learning
something to bring back to Mitch and me too!

   Scotty blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling.  Emboldened, the punk dude
pulled open the flaps of Scotty's towel like he was unwrapping a birthday
gift, leaving Scotty fully exposed, naked now.  Scotty's stiff cock bobbed
up in the air as the punk eased his mouth toward it.  Knowing I was
watching Scotty surrender his body to be used by the first men other than
Mitch or me, knowing how horny pot made him, knowing he'd soon be cumming
down that punk's throat--all that made me want to reach out my mind
and--*fuck-trance*--reach out and-

   "Ow!" I barked when Thomas slapped my thigh.  My head cleared a bit as I
glared at him.

   *Whatever you were thinking, don't.  Stay with me.*

   *Yes, sir!*

   Now I focused on moving in tune with Thomas' deep cock-strokes in my
ass. "I'm getting close," he hissed.

   "Not yet," I responded, my turn to refuse him.  "Fuck me deeper. 
Harder. More, Thomas.  More!"

   Thomas grabbed my ankles and pushed them up, then toward my head.  Now
my body was bent nearly in half, and that big dick of his could not
possibly go deeper inside my ass than it was now.  The constant downward
pressure made me feel as if I would burst, but I kept right on moving along
with Thomas as best I could.  I felt like I was being pounded into a sexual
heaven where only the sensation of getting fucked mattered.  I could tell
Thomas was reaching his own limit, and I wanted him to cum--I wanted us to
cum together.

   "Come on, Thomas; fuck my ass."

   And he moved even faster, and faster and faster.  His cock in my tender
butt felt like it was moving with lightning speed, sending little shocks of
pleasure through me.  I wrapped my hand around my dick; I wouldn't need
many strokes to bust.

   *May I cum, sir?*

   *First, come into my head, Ron.  I want to feel what you feel, and I
want you to feel what I feel.  You may come into my head to share that
experience with me, but only for that purpose.  Understand?*

   *Yes, sir.*

   I felt Thomas' mental wall ease down, an act of trust.  I could have
done anything I wanted--gone through his memories, taken control of his
thoughts--and for a split second I considered doing some mischief because
that's always been who I am.  But I needed to cum badly, and I didn't have
more than a few seconds, and I liked Thomas too much to break my word.

   *Now, kid, now!*

   *Yes, sir, Thomas!*

   Both our orgasms began, his first, and our cocks began to shoot, his in
my ass, mine barely managing to pump the last few drops my spent balls had
managed to build up out onto my dick-head.  Everything got more intense,
spiraling higher and brighter, as everything seized up and nothing existed
but the pleasure, his, mine, without regard to where who came from or who
experienced it.  Sharing intensified everything.  Upward, stronger, still
stronger, cresting, then cycling down, panting, fading, our bodies going
limp, orgasm ending, us coming back to the real world.  And not a second
too soon, because I was just about ready to collapse--no, Thomas was ready
to collapse--those were his feelings.  Every muscle in his body was
sex-loose and aching, and he longed to lie down and sleep.  My feelings
were the heavy fucked-out limpness in my arms and legs, the sore ass, the
aching back, the need to stretch my bent-upward legs.  I slid my thoughts
out of Thomas' head as he began to pull his softening cock out of my ass. I
was already missing the way his dick filled me.

   Sleep sounded good to me too.  Aside from naps in the car, I'd been
awake all night.  Maybe I'd just shut my eyes for a moment-

   Thomas slapped my cheek sharply but not too hard.  "Ow," I protested.

   "Before you pass out on me, kid," Thomas murmured, "there's something
really important you need to do.  You need to talk to Big Marcus." His
mental walls were back, but I picked up a mental image of the black
bodybuilder.  "Then come find me afterward."

   Why the hell did Thomas want me to talk to Big Marcus, especially at a
time like this?  I couldn't tell, but I said, *Yes, sir!*

   * * *

   *Chapter 6: Scotty*

   Scotty woke up on the narrow bed in their bathhouse room.  He had slept
a while earlier, then gone to investigate the noises that turned out to be
a full-blown gay orgy.  After sharing some of that punk guy's pot that made
him horny, letting himself get talked into receiving a blow-job, more pot,
reciprocating with a blow-job, and then still more pot that made him
sleepy, he had returned here for a nap while Mitch and Ron continued
through the orgy.  No sign of them now--they must have found other places
to sleep, unless they were still somewhere sucking and fucking.  How long
did orgies last, anyway?  Scotty had not even known that bathhouses existed
or that gay orgies were possible before last night.  Now, he had learned a
few new tricks that he wanted to demonstrate on Mitch and Ron.  But Scotty
had learned something else too, something about himself that worried him:
While he was being sucked by that other guy and while he was reciprocating
the suck, he had not given a second thought to where his friends were or
what they were doing.

   Scotty waited until his post-nap erection faded, then tightened his
towel protectively around his waist.  He needed to piss, badly, and a
shower to wash off the pot smoke and sex-stink would be welcome too.  He
found the restroom and emptied his bladder at a urinal.  Beside the row of
urinals sat an ancient bathtub.  Scotty wondered for a moment why a
restroom would have a bathtub beside the urinals; then he decided, after
everything he saw earlier, this was a question he did not want to have
answered.

   As Scotty left the restroom, he saw the punk-looking guy who had given
him such good weed and such a good blow-job.  The punk, naked except for
the towel slung casually across one shoulder, was leaving--that door led to
the locker room, and then beyond to the regular world.  "Hey," Scotty
called after him, "you got any weed I can buy off you?" Indeed he did, and
Scotty followed the punk into the locker area.

   The black bodybuilder that Scotty had seen earlier was in the locker
area already, almost fully dressed.  Scotty was nervous for a moment about
someone watching him buy pot from the punk--what if the bodybuilder was a
cop?  But, "That's Big Marcus," the punk reassured him, as if knowing why
Scotty seemed spooked.  "He's cool."

   When Scotty had been busy getting high and watching the gay orgy go on
around him earlier, he had enviously noticed multiple reasons why Big
Marcus would be called *Big*.

   They agreed on a price as Scotty retrieved the cash from his locker. 
While the punk, still somewhat high, fumbled with his own locker and pulled
out a backpack, Scotty turned to find Big Marcus looking at him intently.
Scotty had been an athlete long enough to recognize macho dominance
tactics, and he had been trained from an early age not to let himself be
viewed as a push-over.  He straightened his shoulders and met the man's
gaze.  Marcus' eyes were dark brown, unremarkable, except something about
them fascinated Scotty, made staring into them easy.  Scotty found he did
not want to look away.

   Marcus put his hands on Scotty's shoulders, guided him backward, pushed
him down.  Scotty sat on a bench.  The bodybuilder peered at him and shook
his head.  "Man, those amateurs really did a number on you.  Like bulls in
a china shop.  I wasn't gonna risk getting involved, but seeing you
up-close ...  Least they ain't done no permanent damage yet."

   The punk asked, "You got enough mojo to fix him?"

   Scotty sat quietly.  Why were they talking about him as if he were not
there?  And why could he not seem to think clearly?  Must be the residual
pot.

   "Not all of it, but I think I can help some.  Least the mess they made
makes it easier for me to get inside his head.  The mind's a resilient
thing.  I can slap a bandage on some of the worst parts, but he'll have to
repair the rest on his own in a few days, if they leave him be.  Now hush
and let me do my work." Marcus sucked on his lower lip for a moment.  Hi
fingertips touched Scotty's scalp.  To Scotty he said, "Shh.  Don't worry,
boy--you won't feel a thing."

   Scotty blinked.  The punk and Big Marcus were gone.  Had time passed? 
What just happened?  His towel was still intact.  He had a bag of pot in
his hands.  Wait--the punk and Big Marcus were gone?  Scotty jumped to his
locker.  He fumbled with his key, jerked it open.  He counted quickly.  No,
his cash was all there, minus the price he and the punk had agreed upon. 
The punk had taken only the money he was owed--Scotty sighed his
relief--and the punk had added a pack of rolling papers into the bag as a
bonus.

   After stashing the pot in his locker, Scotty headed back inside to the
showers.  He heard water running.  Mitch, having emerged from wherever he
had slept, leaned headfirst against the wall under a shower spray.  Mitch
had seen him naked thousands of times before--Mitch was familiar--so
Scotty's nervousness faded.  He flourished off his towel, tossed it across
a bench, and chose the shower head two down from his friend.

   "Oh, man," Mitch moaned from under the spray, head hanging, "I really
lost it last night." Scotty turned himself to get every part wet, and he
waited.  "I just ...," Mitch continued.  "So much sex ...  I just got lost
in it.  Maybe the Institute is right--maybe being a Talent is as dangerous
to us as it is to everyone else.  Maybe I do need training.  'Cause last
night, I lost control.  I couldn't shut anything out.  I came so many
fucking times last night!--I probably won't be able to get it up for at
least a week."

   Scotty did not know what to say, so he said nothing.  He concentrated on
soaping his arms.

   He looked over to see Mitch peering at him.  "Why can't I hear your
thoughts?" Mitch said.  Then his eyebrow rose and he grinned.  "Barriers?
You've learned to put up mental defenses!  You'll have to show me later how
you did that." Scotty was not aware of anything being different about
himself, and he did not know how to respond.

   Before Scotty could reply--"Hi, guys"--Ron shuffled in, looking still
half-asleep and yawning.  He was naked, followed by that desk clerk, also
naked, that Scotty remembered from the night before.  What was his
name?--Tommy?--Tony?--Terry?  No matter.  Ron and the clerk seemed pretty
tight earlier.  Scotty had been higher on more pot than he had ever smoked
in one sitting before, had been loose and relaxed enough to allow that
punk-looking guy, who really loved sucking cock, to give him the longest,
most sensual blow-job he had ever experienced; and Scotty had not given a
fuck where his friends were or what they were doing; but later, once the
blow-job was over, Scotty had watched Ron and the clerk fucking and felt
somehow jealous in spite of the pleasure he himself had just experienced.
He watched them now, their casual ease with each other as they moved under
a showerhead together, Ron's soft expression when he and the clerk began
soaping each other's chest and arms.  Scotty blinked when he realized he
had seen that expression on many friends' and teammates' faces: *In love?*
Ron looked like he was in love.  *Already?--With a guy he's known for less
than a day?--Can't be*, Scotty told himself, shaking his head under the
water spray.

   But he knew what he was seeing, and the jealousy was back.  What did
this clerk have that Scotty did not?  The clerk was skinny, lacked Scotty's
muscles; not as cute as Scotty either, he thought--so if Ron wanted a nice
body, why not stick with Scotty instead of going with the clerk?  The
clerk's cock hung long, longer than Scotty's, maybe as long as Mitch's, but
surely Ron was not *that* cock-crazy?--If Ron wanted a big cock, why not
choose Mitch's?  Scotty could not understand why Ron, after all his
seemingly contradictory talk of them sticking together as a team but doing
a bunch of one-time sex with other guys, was so obviously attaching himself
to someone who was not one of them.  The clerk did something while soaping
Ron's ribs, and Ron giggled like he had been tickled and tried to pull away
but did not try very hard.  They ended up embracing, grinning like puppies,
kissing under the water in a way that seemed somehow far too intimate. 
Scotty had to look away, embarrassed, for fear that Mitch or Ron would
detect the from-nowhere stab of betrayal that gashed through him.

   "Knock it off, you two," Mitch groused.  "It's too early in the morning,
and we need to get on the road."

   "Early?" This from the clerk--Teddy?--Tyler?  "It's past noon."

   Added Ron, "And I have an idea for where we can stop when we get to the
city."

   Later, dressed, the boys shuffled out the front door into early
afternoon sunshine.  The clerk checked to make sure the door locked behind
them.  Ron and the clerk were mind-talking, virtually ignoring Mitch and
Scotty, much to their annoyance.  Ron and the clerk must have been shutting
out Mitch's attempts at telepathic eavesdropping, because Mitch held his
mouth in that lips-pressed-together way he always did when he was
irritated.

   Ron looked at the clerk with obvious affection, must have been begging
him to come along.  The clerk looked at Ron and shook his head with an
expression Scotty interpreted as wistful regret.  The clerk gave them a
ride to where they had parked Scotty's car, saving them the walk, for which
they were grateful.  While Scotty started Mister Rust Bucket's
engine--sometimes an iffy task that required a couple of attempts--Ron
leaned his head in the clerk's car window, kissing him a last time.  Scotty
heard the clerk say, "No promises.  But yeah, once you have some training,
definitely come look me up." If Ron replied out loud, the sound was lost as
Mitch hollered for Ron to get in the car so they could leave.

   After a detour into the drive-through window of a taco joint, they left
the city limits.  Mitch and Ron spent the first hour of the drive
congratulating each other about all the sex they had had and discussing
what they had learned from last night's orgy.  Scotty did not add much,
tried not to listen to them, claiming he needed to concentrate on his
driving, but he felt oddly uncertain about what he had experienced.  He had
accepted a long, lazy blow-job, and had later reciprocated with a clumsy,
fumbling suck, but he had had none of the serial fucking and sucking he had
watched Mitch and Ron enjoy.  Scotty had slept through the first half of
the orgy, but in the time that he had been there, he had still seen Mitch
and Ron cum far more times than he could count.  *How are their dicks not
rubbed raw?* Scotty wondered.

   Shortly thereafter, conversation lulled.  Mitch nodded out on the front
seat, leaving Scotty to do both the driving and the navigating.  Ron
stretched out in the back seat; when Scotty checked on him in the rearview
mirror some time later, Ron had slipped into his own private slumber-land
too.

   Scotty did not mind that they were getting more much-needed sleep while
he drove.  He had gotten more shut-eye last night--*this morning*, he
corrected himself--than they, and he felt very much wide awake.  The
weekend, and especially the last twelve hours, had given him much to mull
as he drove.  Driving always helped him figure things out.

   Part of him had been excited to watch Mitch and Ron fuck and suck and
get fucked and get sucked so many times during the orgy.  But part of him
also felt jealous, wishing his friends had been doing those things with and
to him, instead of complete strangers.  Scotty figured he had better get
this worked out in his head before he said anything to his friends.

   And then there was Big Marcus.  What had he done to Scotty?  Were the
defenses Mitch mentioned Big Marcus' doing?  He had said he was doing
something for Scotty's good, but Scotty did not feel anything different
about himself, could not sense anything that had been done to him--but
would he?  What had Marcus meant about damage, and Mitch and Ron, and their
lack of training?

   While Scotty drove and tried to work through his confusion, Mitch began
to dream.  Scotty knew because Mitch was somehow broadcasting what he
dreamed.  Scotty saw the images in his head, like a memory or a fantasy. 
Mitch dreamed that he was down on all fours, with his ass held high.  As
far as he could see, a long line of athletic guys with tremendous hard-ons
stood waiting, eager to get into his mouth or ass.  His dick got rock-hard
in his dream.  His real-world cock hardened in his pants.  *So much*,
Scotty thought, *for Mitch not being able to get it up for a week*. 
Mitch's hand moved to his crotch, and he tugged at his cock through the
fabric now and then as he slept.

   A day or two ago, being hit by dream images like this would have swamped
him, Scotty realized, which would have been dangerous since he was driving
a few miles over the speed limit on the highway.  But now, all he saw were
the images like something he remembered or imagined, not something that
replaced the real world.  Still, Scotty's cock stiffened in his pants too,
and he debated pulling off to the shoulder for a quick jerk-off.  Instead,
he poked Mitch's leg.

   "Whuzz?" Mitch murmured groggily, blinking, looking at the road ahead.

   "You were talking in your sleep," Scotty said, which he considered
partly true.

   "Mmnnh," Mitch groaned, shifted in his seat, and settled back to sleep.
But his dream had ended, and Scotty drove in peace.

   Until a few minutes later when Ron began to dream.

   In the back seat, Ron dreamed of the clerk from the bathhouse.  The guy
had erect dicks, dozens of them, sticking out all over his body, and Ron
could not decide which one to suck on first.

   This time, the onslaught of images smashing into Scotty made him gasp,
and the car swerved a bit before Scotty recovered control of himself and
the steering wheel.  His still-hard cock jolted painfully in his pants. 
The images seemed too strong and too real, almost real enough to block out
Scotty's view of the road in front of them.  Was Ron just having an
especially vivid dream, or was his telepathy getting stronger?  Scotty
thought back over the last few days.  Definitely getting stronger, he
decided, each time Ron used it, like a muscle developing and increasing its
capability.  Maybe this was what Big Marcus meant.

   "Ron!" Scotty called to his friend in the back seat.  "Ron, wake up!"

   Ron's eyes were closed tightly.  Scotty looked at him in the rearview
mirror.  Ron's hand twitched next to his crotch.  He was not broadcasting
his dream constantly; the images assailed Scotty in waves, as if the
telepathic part of Ron was only sporadically connecting to the dreaming
parts, like the way Scotty remembered the family dog kicking its leg every
now and then when it dreamed of running.

   Another barrage, and Scotty got lost for several seconds in the image of
sucking a cock growing out of the clerk's' elbow, so real Scotty could
taste the salty pre-cum and see nothing but the clerk's arm and the cocks.
The vision faded just as the car tire was about to run off onto the
shoulder, and Scotty jerked the wheel back into the lane.  Fortunately the
road was almost deserted.

   Scotty slowed, then pulled over, hoping either to wake Ron or at least
get the car to a safe point before the next dream-tide came.

   Mitch sat up and blinked.  "Fuck, I was having the strangest dream."

   "That guy from the bathhouse?  Body covered in dicks?"

   "Yeah!  How'd you know?"

   "That's not your dream.  It's Ron's." Scotty brought the car to a full
stop.  "You see what he's doing?"

   "Yeah," Mitch said, distracted.  He had turned to look into the back
seat, was perhaps looking into Ron's mind.

   "Look, you're both driving me nuts with these sex dreams.  Why don't you
climb in the back seat and help him out.  We both know what he's dreaming
of, and you've been having the same kind of dreams.  Maybe popping a load
will dial you both down for a little while."

   Mitch smirked.  "You gonna be able to keep your eyes on the road?"

   "Don't worry about me.  You two have a good time.  Just try to keep him
from blasting out to the whole world while you play, okay?"

   Mitch looked back at their friend.  "Man, Ron's really deep asleep."

   "Then wake him up, dummy."

   "I guess I'll have to do it the old-fashioned way."

   "Whatever.  Just get on with it."

   Mitch pulled off his T-shirt, unzipped his pants, and pushed them to his
ankles.  Once his feet were free, he climbed into the back as Scotty had
suggested.  Scotty opened his pants, lifted his hips off the seat, and slid
his pants to his mid-thigh, freeing his cock, because he knew what was
coming, knew he would not be able to stop it, and wanted to be ready.  This
way he would not cum inside his pants.  Nothing worse than a big sticky wet
spot in his pants.  He turned the rearview mirror so he could see better.
*Might as well enjoy the show*, he thought.

   *Pervert*, Mitch sent back, and Scotty blushed, having not intended for
Mitch to catch his thought.

   Ron was sleeping with his back leaning against the door, his head tilted
face up, mouth cracked open.  Mitch took advantage of that by sliding his
finger between Ron's lips.  Ron's mouth closed around Mitch's finger and he
sucked as Mitch slid it back and forth like a penis.

   Then Mitch pushed his finger in farther, and Ron work up gagging and
sputtering.  "You fucking bastard!" Ron barked, while Mitch laughed.

   "What's the matter?  Didn't it taste as good as the one you were
dreaming about?"

   "I'll teach you not to wake me up like that!"

   Ron and Mitch wrestled in the back seat, rolled and pushed, squirming
against each other and tickling each other.  The only way Scotty could tell
them apart was by which body parts in the squirming mass were clothed and
which were bare skin.  Then Ron's T-shirt went flying, and a shoe, then
another.  "Now you're really gonna learn a lesson," Ron swore.  Telepathy
flared--Scotty could not identify whose, perhaps both's, and he gasped. 
Mitch's body seemed to be on top and Mitch looked angry, but Scotty knew
better.  That pissed expression was all part of Mitch's act.

   Ron resurfaced, and tossed his pants into the front passenger seat.  Now
he was on top of Mitch, slapping a hand on either side of his friend's
skull and holding his head still.  "Mitch, you fucker!--I swear I'm
gonna--!"

   "Oooh, is that supposed to be a threat?"

   "You're about to find out, you giant ass!  Now lick my asshole!"

   In the confines of the back seat, Ron managed to get his butt into
Mitch's face.  At once he began to lower his cheeks down onto his friend's
waiting face.  Mitch snickered as Ron fumbled through trying to press his
butt closer to Mitch's face.

   "Lick my asshole, dammit!"

   Scotty could not see Mitch's head underneath Ron's ass, but from all
their sex-play this past weekend he remembered well what Ron's asshole
looked like close-up--or at least, what it had looked before the clerk's
monster cock probably wrecked it for eternity.  Scotty saw Mitch's busy
arms move; Mitch was not trying to get free but instead gripped Ron's ass
cheeks, spreading them.

   Ron ground his ass against Mitch's face mercilessly, grabbing the hair
on his head and yanking at it with a growled demand whenever he felt that
Mitch was not lapping hard enough, deep enough.  But Ron did not have to do
that often, because Mitch seemed to be working hard to please him. 
Probably, Scotty realized, Mitch knew damn well that in a few minutes he
would get his turn, and he wanted to make sure Ron owed him a great
ass-licking.

   What Scotty expected was happening.  Even these new mental defenses he
supposedly had were not able to hold back the point-blank bursts. 
Accompanied by the sound of Mitch tongue-washing his friend's ass came the
wildly erotic sensations Ron could not seem to stop broadcasting.  Scotty
gasped as the waves, steadier now, washed through him, and his cock
stiffened and throbbed.  With his buddies going at each other like that and
with himself lost in the sex-feelings, everything felt right, but nothing
felt like Scotty.

   He tried to fight back the sensations Ron was sending.  He popped open
the car door and staggered out, needing some distance.  Yes, distance made
these waves easier to resist.  His cock bobbed as he hobbled, shackled by
his half-lowered pants, toward the front of the idling car.

   Why did they need other guys?  Scotty had little interest in other men.
He only wanted sex with Mitch and Ron.  The three of them could easily give
each other all the sexual thrills they could possibly need.  How could he
convince Mitch and Ron to keep the play among just the three of them? 
Maybe this desire to sample other men was temporary; maybe once Mitch and
Ron had some experience, they would naturally come back to an arrangement
that closed around just the three of them?  Scotty remembered the way Mitch
and Ron threw themselves into guy after guy during the orgy, topping,
bottoming, sucking, fucking, and more that he had never imagined before. 
Would they be willing to give that all up just because Scotty asked? 
Probably not, he admitted to himself.  He knew they would not stay together
if they kept having sex with other men--last night at the bathhouse had
proved it--they would be pulled in too many directions.  Scotty had already
seen it happening with Ron and that clerk.  Just a matter of time. 
Promising each other they would stay together had been easier before, when
Mitch and Ron had not yet known what they were missing.

   The next wave of sexual pleasure that breached his mind caused Scotty's
legs to give way, and he sank to the graveled shoulder.  His pants bunched
around his knees prevented injury, but Scotty did not care.

   "Aw, yeah!  Suck it, man; suck it," he heard Ron cry.

   Scotty grabbed his stiff rod and stroked it--fast, efficient strokes. 
He felt the world begin to shudder as Ron started another one of his
crashing orgasms.  Scotty gasped.  His body lurched forward, and he began
to cum hard himself, spurting his sperm across the gravel.

   He knelt there, panting.  The intensity of the orgasm that had overcame
him both thrilled and scared him.  The sensations felt great, better than
anything he had ever felt when masturbating, and they made everything bad
go away, at least temporarily, but he had begun to worry about how he might
begin to crave them, become addicted to them, like a drug or worse.

   Scotty did not want other men.  The only guys he wanted to have sex with
were Mitch and Ron, and in the last few hours even that had begun to turn
scary as their telepathy made the sex more and more intense, easier to get
lost in, harder to come back from.  Why did his buddies want sex with
strangers who did not know or understand them?  What would happen if they
got involved with others who wanted different things, pulled the three
friends in different directions, and what would happen if Scotty found
himself all alone?  But if things kept getting more intense emotionally and
mentally, did Scotty want to remain part of it himself?--Did he need to
pull back to preserve himself, to hold on to something that was Scotty
himself and not what his friends said he should be?  What would happen if
Big Marcus was right and the combination of sex and telepathy caused Mitch
or Ron to burn out something in him, like an overloaded electrical
circuit?--The thought made him nervous.

   Scotty would have to answer these questions soon, because they would be
entering the big city shortly.  This morning in the showers Ron had told
them about a place in the city, a combination hotel and apartment building
that was clothing-optional and catered to gay men.  And damn it all, Mitch
had agreed with Ron that staying there for the night or two was a great
idea.  Scotty supposed he would have to get used to being outvoted two to
one.

   Scotty wiped the cum off his hand on a patch of grass.  The situation in
the car seemed to have quieted down.  Scotty stood up, pulled his pants up.
Time to get back on the road.

   Scotty had half made up his mind to drive right past the exit where he
was supposed to turn off.  Night was coming down on them pretty fast now
and he was really tired, if he accidentally-on-purpose missed the turn,
they would have no choice but to go on, find someplace else to stay the
night, someplace that was bound to have fewer gay men--and be safer for all
of them.

   "Hey, slow down, or you'll miss the turn," Ron snapped from the back
seat.

   Scotty flicked his eyes at them in the mirror.  Mitch and Ron--shirts
still off but pants on--had been sitting in the back seat, intently
mind-debating something for the last several miles without involving Scotty
in the discussion.  Whatever argument they seemed to be having, Ron seemed
to be winning.  Mitch had a faraway expression--similar, Scotty thought as
he glanced in the rearview mirror, to when Ron had won at the
mind-wrestling back at the cabin.  Maybe they had been testing their
telepathy against each other's again?  If so, Scotty had not felt the
backwash that he normally did.  Scotty could not decide whether he was
annoyed at being left out or happy to have been excluded.  He had been
hoping they were not paying attention to the exit signs.  He sighed and
tried for an innocent-sounding tone.  "What turn?"

   "Don't be a jerk.  The next exit is the one we take to get to the hotel
I told you about."

   "It's still early.  Why don't we drive on a little further?"

   "What are you talking about, Scotty?  I thought we decided ..."

   "I know what's bugging him," Mitch taunted, rejoining the conversation.
"He must be turning straight again, and he's afraid to stay at a gay hotel.
He's afraid they'll try to have sex with him and bust his gay cherry ... 
again." Mitch and Ron laughed.  Sometimes, like now, Ron seemed to bring
out the worst in Mitch.

   "Is that it?" Ron grinned, though his voice sounded accusatory.  "That
gay cherry's long gone, Scotty-boy.  When I saw you at the orgy, you had
your cock down a guy's throat and later you had a mouthful of cock
yourself."

   Ever since Big Marcus had done something to his head, Scotty felt more
like himself--the Scotty from before this weekend, at least--and he knew
Mitch and Ron were having more difficulty reading his thoughts.  They had
said nothing about that so far, aside from a few snippy comments like
these, but sometime soon one or both of them would decide to barge into
Scotty's mind to investigate.  Right now, driving kept him safe from their
intrusions, mostly, since they knew not to distract him.  Their wisecracks
were just that, though maybe not far off the mark, Scotty thought.  Best to
laugh it off if he could, before Ron's mean streak kicked in.

   Scotty shook his head and tried to smile and a light tone.  "That was
different.  I was fucking stoned.  You know how horny pot makes me. 
Couldn't help myself."

   "Fuck that!" Ron spat back, his aggressive side threatening to turn the
conversation into an argument.  "You wouldn't have done it if you really
didn't want to.  You just keep it all bottled up inside of you."

   "No, I--" Scotty took a deep breath.  He decided to be serious and just
tell them what he thought, while driving kept him more or less safe from
their telepathic intrusions.  "Look, guys, I just don't want the three of
us to get broken up."

   Mitch clasped his hands over his heart and rolled moonstruck eyes at the
sky.  "Listen to that.  He sounds like he's in love." Yeah, Ron really
brought out Mitch's pissy side sometimes.

   "In love with you and me," Ron groaned, mimicking Mitch's skyward
expression, "except he's not really gay like us." Ron looked at Scotty in
the mirror.  "Listen, I thought we had an agreement.  We're going to try
everything that comes our way, right?"

   "That was okay with me before," Scotty tried, unsure how to persuade
them.  "But now, everything's ..."

   Ron's voice turned serious.  "All right, Scotty, I'll lay it out plain
and simple for you.  Mitch and I have been talking about this, and we want
to keep trying other guys.  We like it, and we're having fun.  Either you
go along with the agreement, or we'll put you on a bus for home."

   "You can't do that, Ron.  Tell him, Mitch.  Rusty is my car, and
besides--"

   "Like hell I can't," Ron snapped.  "You're not a telepath.  The
Institute wouldn't be interested in you.  The only reason we brought you
along was because you're our friend.  But you've been holding us back from
the very beginning, and maybe we'll do better without you."

   "I won't go back, Ron.  Please, Mitch--tell him."

   No," Mitch said, scowling, "Ron's right, Scotty.  That's the way it is.
You have to go along to come along.  Understand?"

   "I--" Scotty shut his mouth, stunned.  He knew he would never be able to
persuade them.  Ron had a vicious side and he liked to push boundaries, see
how much he could get away with.  Somehow he had talked Mitch into backing
him, and the two of them were quite capable of doing anything they said. 
Scotty opened his mouth, then shut it again.  What should he say?  The
alternative was to leave his friends behind, and they might need him again,
like earlier when that bounty hunter had found them.  Scotty could
not--would not--abandon them.  Was all of them having sex with other guys a
price he was willing to pay?  He loved Mitch and Ron.  Was their friendship
worth it?  Were the three of them together more important than Scotty by
himself?  He thought for a moment and decided.  "Okay."

   Ron leaned closer.  "Yeah?  No more arguments, then?"

   Scotty nodded.  "No more."

   Well, if those two wanted him to be a wild fucker, then that was exactly
what, and who, he was going to be.  *I'll show them!* Scotty decided, no
longer caring whether they picked up on his thoughts or not.  He would have
sex with so many men that Mitch and Ron would not see him for days and
days. They would be so jealous.  He would have so much sex with other guys
that he would learn to like it.  And maybe he would find some great male
lover that he could keep all to himself, and then maybe *he* would leave
Mitch and Ron.  Maybe never come back.  That would sure show them!  That
would make them sorry for having busted up their threesome.  If he ran off
and never came back, that would serve them right!

   *That's the exit*, Ron mind-barked, loud in Scotty's head.  *Take it,
man.*

   "Okay, okay," Scotty winced.  "You don't have to yell."

   They were heading into the downtown area now, no going back.  Not that
Scotty would.  He had given them his word, so now he was resigned to his
course of action.  Soon they would find new guys and have sex with them. 
Only, Scotty's reasons would be different.  And if he needed it, he had
that large bag of pot; he could get super-stoned, and that pot-induced
horniness would make sex with other men easier.

   Finding the hotel took over an hour of Scotty carefully driving through
city streets while Ron tried to remember the directions he apparently had
not memorized as well as he believed.  Mitch wore his best friendly face
when asking people in the street for it by name, but he inevitably received
snickers and often the wrong directions.  They finally found it, close to
midnight, then parked Mister Rust Bucket in a garage two blocks down.  The
parking garage was expensive; still, they could afford it for one night,
Scotty decided, because finding a parking spot on the car-lined streets
would have taken hours more.

   All through the walk to the hotel, with a *no telepathy in public* rule
agreed upon to keep people from calling the Institute on them, Ron kept
pointing to good-looking guys nearby and wondering if they were gay.  Some
of the men they passed cruised them right back--in public!--to Scotty's
shock.  He saw Ron's eyes roam greedily as he openly appraised the nearby
men and declared all the cutest ones definitely had to be gay.

   Scotty frowned.  "The whole city can't be gay!"

   "Who knows?  We've passed lots of good-looking guys.  If they're not
gay, maybe we can convert them, like we did you, Scotty."

   Scotty frowned and said nothing.  Maybe his friend meant it as a joke,
but Scotty wondered how much truth Ron had just revealed.  No, he decided;
he still felt like himself and he still liked women, so they had not
"converted" him--more like they had opened up a whole new sidebar world of
a different kind of sex that existed for Scotty alongside of being
straight.

   The building was older than he expected.  The hotel lobby showed age,
but seemed well-maintained.  The sharply dressed clerk at the front desk
greeted them cheerfully.  "Three young men traveling alone, this time of
night--you must be the boys Big Marcus told us to expect.  He called and
made a reservation for you."

   Mitch stepped up--probably, Scotty thought, ready to work this clerk
like he had the guy at the bathhouse desk yesterday.  The clerk refused the
I.D.  card when Mitch tried to hand it over: "Big Marcus mentioned your ...
*special* situation.  We won't be creating a record of your visit." He
refused money too: "A short stay has already been paid for, complements of
Big Marcus." Scotty wondered whether he should be suspicious of all this,
but the clerk seemed so persuasive.  And neither Ron nor Mitch seemed
worried.

   "You'll be wanting one large room, of course."

   Mitch nodded.  "Yeah."

   "As Big Marcus must have told you, beyond that door this hotel is
clothing-optional, which is one of our major draws." The clerk grinned at
Mitch.  "For our regular guests, their rooms are on the first through third
floors.  Big Marcus made a special request for us to give you a room on the
fourth floor.  That's normally devoted to apartments, but--well, I think
you'll find the residents there more *simpatico*, if you know what I mean,
to your *special situation*." He tapped his temple with two fingertips.

   *You know what we are?* Ron sent, breaking the *no telepathy in public*
rule.

   The clerk smiled.  "Of course.  We consider ourselves something of a
haven for those who enjoy male company and a waystation for Talents trying
to evade the long arm of the Institute.  That's why Big Marcus recommended
us to you.  You can't stay here long, of course--you're too strong and the
Institute will detect you if you're here more than a couple of days, but in
that time we'll be happy to accommodate you.  We don't have anyone near
your levels, of course, mostly low-level Talents of little interest to the
authorities, but we are quite discreet anyway.  I think you'll find
yourselves among peers." He slid a key card with their room number across
the counter to Mitch and smiled again.  "And you'll also find complementary
condoms and lubricant in your room."

   The ancient elevator slowly carried them to the fourth floor.  Along the
way, Mitch and Ron mind-jabbered about how great being able to just speak
right out with their minds would be; here they did not have to worry about
anyone knowing what they were.  Their thoughts whizzed by so quickly,
Scotty could not keep up.

   The elevator door opened to a long, well-lit hallway.  Their first
impression: "Guys, there's no doors to the rooms!" Ron stage-whispered. 
Not a door to be seen.  This had to be an open invitation to whatever stud
might come along and see something that he wanted, Mitch and Ron decided,
further proof of how enlightened and progressive this hotel, this whole big
city, was.  The idea of a lack of privacy, though, made Scotty nervous.
Scotty checked the key card Mitch had handed him--but it wasn't a key
card; it was a simple paper card with a room number on it.  Numbers were
posted on the door frames.  They started down the hall in search of their

room.

   They passed rooms in which naked guys read or watched videos.  A room
where two pairs of feet stuck off the edge of a bed; the motions clearly
showed the feet were attached to bodies fucking.  In another room a naked
golden-skinned man just a couple of years older than they stretched into a
yoga pose that accentuated his long, lean muscles.  "Yum!" Mitch whispered,
looking in at him.  The man's perfectly proportioned body impressed Scotty
too, and his long-ish cock, though soft, looked like it-

   The man turned his head toward them, smiled, and nodded a greeting, and
Scotty felt himself blush, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

   Their room was across the hall from the yoga man's.  Mitch flipped on
the light; he and Ron headed for the bed and fell across it.  Scotty
changed course into the bathroom, which had the first door they had seen on
this floor, and he shut it behind himself.  Privacy at last!  He needed
very badly to be alone for a few minutes, and he hoped neither of his
friends would eavesdrop on his thoughts.  In the car, he had decided to be
a really promiscuous fucker, just to get revenge on them.  Now the plan
worried him: He would be fucking a whole lot of guys that he did not know
or even care for.  Taking a dick in his mouth or up his ass from one of his
friends, someone closer than a brother, was one thing, but fucking and
getting fucked by a whole line of strange cocks?  Or maybe he should go the
other way: be really selective about which guys he chose to have sex with,
select only the best ones, but really fuck the hell out of them when he
did. After all, a clothing-optional rule did not mean he had to drop his
pants every time a dick walked in the door, right?  Yeah, being selective
might work better, since a hotel with no doors meant everyone knew
everyone's business; Mitch and Scotty would doubtlessly hear within minutes
that Scotty and some guy were doing bed-gymnastics with the gusto of
Olympic athletes.

   "You okay in there?" Mitch's voice, accompanied by a soft knock on the
bathroom door.

   "Yeah, just taking a shit," Scotty called back, using the least-sexy
bathroom act he could think of to keep Mitch from invading his brief
privacy.

   Finally Scotty knew he could stall no longer.  He made a show of
flushing the toilet, turned on the sink, and rinsed his hands.  He splashed
a little water on his face, gazed at himself in the mirror for a long
moment.

   Scotty opened the bathroom door to find Mitch and Ron.  He half-expected
them to be *clothing optional* by now, maybe even fucking, but they were
still fully dressed.  They were also leaving.  Mitch told him, "Ron and I
are going to find something to eat.  Want us to bring you back something?"

   "Naw," Scotty replied, feeling hurt that they expected him to stay
behind.  "I'm not hungry."

   Alone in the room, Scotty sat on the bed and considered what he would
do. He had more money with him than Mitch or Ron, and more money in the
bank too, though withdrawing it would be a red flag for anyone looking for
them.  With money, he could really teach them a lesson if the going got
tough--he could take his money, his car, and just leave them right here
alone in this big, expensive city.

   "Who needs them, anyway?" he said to his reflection in the mirror on the
closet door.  The thought made him feel big and courageous.  So now if his
sex plan backfired, he had a fallback, though he still needed to work out
where he would go with his money, car, and clothes.  Back home?--A
possibility.  He missed his parents, the family dog, the home he had grown
up in, basketball practice, even school.  They had only been gone for a
couple of days; hardly a blip on the schedule.  Scotty could fit himself
back into his old life easily.  Nothing would be the same without Mitch or
Ron, but Scotty would cope; he would find new friends, better ones.  Or
maybe he would go somewhere else?--Some completely new place where he could
make a life on his own.  That idea sounded more exciting but also scarier.
Well, no need to be like Mitch and plan everything to the *nth* degree;
some things he could work out later.

   Happy now to have a plan, he lay down on the big bed.  Making his brave
dreams, wondering how he could keep them private from his mind-snooping
friends, Scotty began to play with his cock through his pants, massaging,
stroking, squeezing.  Just the idea of being courageous enough to go out
into the world alone excited him emotionally, though physically his cock
only responded halfway and stalled.

   Scotty wondered whether he had time to jerk himself off.  Mitch and Ron
would be gone a while.  When they got back, they were sure to go at least
one round of sex and sucking and fucking before they all got some shut-eye.
Scotty wondered whether he should shoot a good load now and beg off later,
or save it for sex with his buddies so they would not get suspicious.

   No, what he really needed, he decided, a nice, hot shower.  Something to
relax him and take away the sweat, road grime, and tension of the day.  He
had expected to be feel scared, alone in the big hotel room in the middle
of a strange city, with Mitch and Ron nowhere nearby.  But instead Scotty
was feeling somewhat elated, nervous but in a hopeful way.  He gave his
cock a few more gropes through his pants, and it hardened.  Clothing
optional?  Well, okay, he decided.  Just like being in the locker room,
right?--No big deal.  He kicked off his shoes, stood up.  T-shirt up and
off over his head.  Pants down and stepped out of.  No big deal.  He could
do this.  His hard-on bounced in the air as he walked to the bathroom.

   He left the bathroom door open.  All the rooms on the floor were open
just like his, so an intruder could just as easily walk into some other
room as his.  He was as safe as if the door were locked and bolted, and
anyway his friends would be back pretty soon.  Besides, so what if someone
walked in and saw him naked?--Guys saw each other naked all the time in
locker rooms, and just looking was not the same as touching or fucking.  He
could always say no, and he was physically strong enough to fight off
anyone who failed to take the hint.  Nothing to worry about at all.  He was
as much a man as anyone.

   Scotty turned on the water.  Waiting for it to warm, he looked at
himself in the mirror, turned his face, examining various angles.  He
considered his reflection; he thought himself good-looking, and the girls
at school seemed to think so too, as did Mitch and Ron.  Tonight he
confirmed that his skin was clear, his hair looked okay.  He could use a
shave; he had not shaved all weekend--no time, with all the sex-play--and
though his stubble did not grow quickly yet, it had accumulated over the
days.  And he noted that someone had stocked the bathroom counter with the
accoutrements likely to be needed by three young guys traveling without
much gear: soap, shampoo, toothpaste and three packaged toothbrushes,
plastic-wrapped disposable razors, shaving cream, a strip of condoms, a
small bottle of lube.  Were their needs that obvious?  Scotty shook his
head and chuckled.

   He stepped into the shower.  The water felt great; just what he needed.
Scotty leaned and let the water sluice off of him.  Then he turned his body
a different way and let the heat penetrate other body parts for a while.

   He was not aware that someone else was in the bathroom room while he saw
a shadow against the shower curtain.  Scotty called over the water, "That
you, Mitch?  Ron?"

   An unfamiliar male voice replied, "No, my name's David.  Will I do?"

   Scotty sucked in a nervous breath.  "I'm not alone."

   "You mean there's someone in there with you?"

   "No--I mean, my friends--they'll be back soon."

   "Doubt it.  I saw them get snared by Spider and go into his room--or her
room--whatever; it seems to change from time to time.  That's as far as
they got.  And if I know Spider, which I do, they'll be gone for a while."

   "Those bastards!"

   David chuckled.  "Hey, not their fault.  Spider doesn't have much juice,
but when he--she--weaves his web, he gets what he wants.  And everybody
wants to meet the new telepaths we heard were coming to stay a while.  I'm
betting that's you and your friends." Another chuckle.  "Listen, why don't
you come out of there, before you get all wrinkled like a prune."

   This David sounded friendly enough, and anyway he was just a guy, right?
Scotty turned off the water and pushed the shower curtain back with a firm
flourish, displaying his naked wet body to his visitor.  Scotty intended
the sudden reveal of his naked body to shock his visitor, a jock-ish way of
saying, *Here I am, nothing to hide*, but his visitor was naked too, and
Scotty found he himself the one taken aback.

   David was the well-built man they had seen doing yoga across the hall.
Nude, his all-over golden coloring made him look Latin, and his body had
the trim muscles of a natural athlete; he had the casual *bon homme* and
confident smile of a jock too.  Scotty relaxed a bit.  He always felt more
comfortable around athletes like himself.  David's relaxed attitude made
him feel as if he was back home with the basketball team.

   "Hand me a towel?" Scotty asked, since David was leaning his bare ass
against the bathroom counter between Scotty and the stack of folded towels.

   "Sure, as long as you only use it to dry yourself.  Be a shame to cover
a gorgeous dick like that."

   "Uh ...  Thanks?"

   Scotty tried to smile and took the towel that David passed him.  As he
worked the thirsty terrycloth across his wet chest and down his stomach, he
took a good look at the visitor.  Scotty had been impressed earlier when he
glimpsed David through the doorway doing yoga poses, but this close, seeing
him clearly, Scotty decided that David was more than just good-looking. 
His body was lean, muscular, the body of someone who took great care of
himself.  And his cock, while not as big as Mitch's--but whose was?--seemed
a respectable size.  Big balls in a low-hanging sack.  Mitch had been
correct: David was positively beautiful, for a guy.
Scotty ran the towel alongside his cock.  From the hungry way David was
looking at his meat, Scotty decided the man must have come here looking for
some action.  But was Scotty ready to give him some?  *Won't that show
Mitch and Ron*, Scotty gloated, imagining how they might come back and find
he had scored with one of the residents before they did--and the one Mitch

had thought was so hot, at that!

   Scotty saw David's cock twitch.  "I'll stay keep you company a while, if
that's okay?" David said, his voice low and lust-husky in a way that made
Scotty's balls tingle.  "Keep you from getting lonely, since you're new in
town."

   David moved closer.  Confronted with the fact of sex with him, Scotty
felt his resolve crack.  Suddenly nervous, defensive, he struggled for a
joke to break the tension.  "Uh, is that what you call it?--Keeping guys
company?"

   "Well, I could have just come right out and said, 'Let's fuck,' but some
people think that's rude." David quirked an eyebrow and smiled like a
hungry wolf.  "A sexy kid like you?  Who wouldn't want to fuck you?  And a
telepath too?--So fucking hot."

   "I'm not a kid," Scotty said, puffing up his chest to seem as manly as
possible, "and I'm not a telepath."

   David seemed surprised--and then disappointed.  "I thought ...?"

   "My two *friends* are telepaths.  I'm just a guy.  Normal."

   "Oh.  Me too--a Normal, I mean.  I just like having sex with telepaths.
There's nothing better than having someone in your head when you cum.  I
guess it's kind of a fetish.  I just assumed you ..."

   "Sorry."

   "Don't be.  I do Normal guys too sometimes.  You're really cute.  Let's
fuck anyway."

   Scotty found something about David's forthrightness extremely exciting,
but he had no desire to let the guy fuck him.  This time Scotty would be
the man and do the fucking.  He would show Mitch and Ron that he was just
willing to try out other men as they were.  They would be back any second
now, in spite of what David had said, and they would walk in and catch
Scotty fucking David, and they would know.  He would show them!  He was
going to fuck this sexy guy.  Give it to him right up the old shit-chute,
and right where they were, in the bathroom.  It seemed so much sexier that
way--less formal and less planned than going to the bed.  Scotty liked the
idea of having Mitch and Ron catch him doing something that seemed
spontaneous.  That would show them.

   Scotty said, "Okay, man.  I got just what you came here looking for, and
I'm gonna give it to you, nice and hard."

   From the way David's face lit up, Scotty knew his tone, almost growling
and incredibly manly, had been exactly right, and his confidence rose.  His
cock began to rise too.

   "You think you can fuck me, kid?" David said quietly.  "You sure got
some balls; I'll say that for you.  I usually do the fucking--been a long
time since I took it up the ass.  You got a damn nice dick, though.  Tell
you what: you can fuck me first, if I get to fuck you next."

   Scotty smirked.  A next time?  Beyond proving himself to Mitch and Ron,
Scotty was not sure he wanted a next time with David.  Besides, when they
left the hotel in a day or two, Scotty would never have to see David again.
If Scotty did not want a next time, all he had to do was stall for a day or
two.  But for now: "Sure.  Pass me that bottle of lube," Scotty growled,
"and bend over the counter."

   The visitor did as Scotty ordered, planting his elbows on the counter,
and spreading his legs wider.  This was it, Scotty realized, his chance to
have sex with a man without Mitch or Ron influencing him.  Now Scotty would
be the one in charge, and he would learn whether he could go through with
his plan to fuck around, or whether Mitch and Ron were the only guys he
wanted to fuck.  David was attractive, even if he was a stranger.  Maybe a
hot, willing ass was just what Scotty needed.  Fucking this guy would be a
great experiment--might even feel good too.  Either way, Scotty was going
to have some certainty when he was through with David.  And afterward, he
never had to see the guy's face again.  He and his friends would not be
staying in this hotel for long.

   David pushed his back toward Scotty.  He waited patiently, letting
Scotty take his time and touch wherever he wanted.  But to Scotty this
still did not feel like fucking Mitch or Ron.  They were his best friends,
and he loved them like brothers; he knew every inch of them before he ever
touched.  And during the sex, they had both told him how to go about
whatever they wanted, either with their minds or their voices.  Now Scotty
was expected to play that role, and he was not entirely sure how to take
charge, but now he had to carry out the act, if only to prove he could.

   Big and well-muscled as the yoga man was, he did not tell Scotty to
hurry up, or demand that Scotty touch him somewhere else.  David was taking
the submissive role, but doing so did not make him seem weak.  He stayed
bent over the counter as Scotty had ordered, and allowed everything. 
Scotty ran his hands over David's solid back.  He kissed David's shoulder
blade.  He reached around and toyed with David's nipple.  Scotty was
pleased to find that even a guy from a big city could simply be still and
accept whatever was done to him.  Suddenly, Scotty's own often-passive role
with Mitch and Ron did not seem quite so embarrassing.  He was finding he
liked being in charge--knowing he was in control gave him a flush of
excitement--but maybe being controlled was not so bad either.  Maybe Scotty
would be able to handle the obedient role they usually expected him to play
a whole lot better as long as he could also play the controlling role from
time to time.

   Scotty felt so strong and powerful.  So much more manly now than even if
it were Mitch or Ron he was about to fuck.  David was a couple of years
older, far more experienced and worldly, and he had one gorgeous ass. 
Scotty ran his hands over the sides of David's unfamiliar body, and his
fingers tingled at the feel of David's hard muscle and smooth skin.

   Scotty knelt behind David's spread legs and pressed his palms against
the hard-muscles of David's ass.  David had the lightest down of hair back
there, and feeling it reminded Scotty that he was about to fuck a man, not
a girl, no matter whether he closed his eyes and fantasized about the
things he had done with females so far.  A man--a real man!  He reached
around and groped for David's cock, which he found hard and pulsing. 
Knowing he had given this man a hard-on--well, that excited Scotty too. 
His hand gripped the proof of how much David wanted him.  Was what Mitch
and Ron felt when they were in charge?  This sense of power: exhilarating!
Scotty gave David's cock a stroke or two, and his own cock jumped with
excitement as he explored David's erection: a nice seven-incher, not as
large as Mitch's, thankfully, but larger than Scotty's, maybe about the
size of Ron's.  Scotty hoped maybe he could sample that dick some other
time, maybe get David into a great sixty-nine.  That thought shocked
Scotty. What was he saying?  Another time?  Was he becoming just like his
friends, willing to suck and fuck with just any man that came along? 
Scotty shook his head to dismiss that idea.

   Still, knowing he had a more experienced, more muscular, better-hung man
bent over and submitting to whatever Scotty wanted to do to him was such a
rush!  He would worry about everything else later, after this experiment
was finished.  David's hard-on throbbed, and the feel of another man's cock
in his hand knocked all other thoughts out of Scotty's head, except for
getting into that nice, hard ass just as quickly as possible.

   "How long you think my buddies will be gone?"

   David replied.  "Maybe all night.  Spider's got a telepathic angle, so
they'll have lots to talk about.  And Spider's a real horny motherfucker
too, if they decide they want to do more than talk."

   "So we've got plenty of time?"

   "Yup.  And just so you know, I like a nice, long fuck."

   Somehow that struck Scotty as being funny, and he snickered.  The
confirmation that Mitch and Ron would not be back soon disappointed him at
first, but then Scotty felt pleased; now he could afford to take his time,
play with David's body and ass some more.  He rubbed his palms all over the
guy's ass, and just knowing what he was about to do made him feel hornier
and hornier.  Yeah, this had to be what Mitch and Ron felt, he decided. 
Being in control felt almost as good as dominating a basketball game.  No
wonder Ron liked mind-zapping him so much.

   Scotty leaned forward, bent his head around David's shoulder, pulled
David's face around, and kissed him.  Scotty plunged his tongue into the
man's mouth before David had a chance to do it to him.  *Yeah*, Scotty
thought, *being in charge rocks!* Kissing a guy was new to him--he had
kissed Mitch and Ron, but did that count?--and Scotty found he did not mind
it so much.  A mouth was a mouth, and kissing a guy felt a lot like kissing
a girl where the mouth part was concerned, except that David kissed back
more aggressively than any girl Scotty had experienced.  Scotty broke the
kiss, sucked in a breath of air, and went back for more kissing.  Just a
week ago, back home, he would never have dreamed he would ever kiss a guy,
and yet here he was: hundreds of miles from where he grew up, in a big
city, with his tongue in another guy's throat.  He wanted to think he was
willing to try anything now, but he knew that was not the case, not yet--he
still had limits, even if he was pushing at them right this very moment.

   David broke the kiss to gasp for breath.  "Fuck, you're a good kisser!
If you fuck half as good as you kiss, I have to might kidnap you and keep
you all to myself while you're here."

   "I don't think my friends would go for that," Scotty laughed, though he
felt oddly flattered that a guy--a guy!--thought he was a good kisser, "but
they weren't here now and what they don't know won't hurt them."

   Scotty wondered whether his buddies would mind if he decided to have sex
with another man for a while; would they think this was a great idea, or
would they be jealous and possessive?  They had already seen him get a
blow-job at the bathhouse--was that really less than a day ago?--and they
would probably encourage him to go further, do more.  He was not happy
about that part.  He wanted them to be jealous.  More, he wanted David to
think that his friends would be jealous.

   "Get ready," Scotty told David.  "I'm gonna fuck your ass.  Gonna fuck
the shit out of you!"

   "I've been ready ever you told me to bend over," David smirked.  "But
it's been a while.  Better work on my ass first--don't just stick it in. 
And use plenty of lube."

   Scotty barely remembered Mitch talking to him like that, and the shower
back at the cabin where just a few days ago his friends had first taught
him about ass-fucking.  Now he was reliving the past, but in his own
private way.  David braced his palms against the counter and spread his
legs further apart, like he was going to be frisked, which made Scotty
giggle--why would someone need to frisk a naked man?

   Scotty moved close to David's back and took a second to rub his hard
dick-head across the guy's ass cheeks.  He got a wiggle of anticipation out
of David, who hissed, "Lick my ass, man!"

   "Gonna fuck you!  Gonna fuck you!" Scotty said the words more to himself
than to David.  He needed to remind himself that he was in control.  Maybe
David was telling him to lick his ass, but Scotty was the one who decided
what to do; Scotty was the one in control.  He knelt, David's ass now
directly in front of his face.  Scotty found himself wishing Mitch and Ron
would walk into the bathroom right then and see what he was about to do. 
They both would have to respect him then!  Maybe they would even stop
treating him like some kid they had to drag along and show how to do
everything, even though they could not possibly know that much more about
sex than he did.  He was the one who had already fucked a couple of girls,
right?--He had plenty of experience!

   Scotty stared at the ass pressed toward him, just inches away from his
face.  He still could not believe that he was actually going to fuck this
man.  Scotty realized suddenly that his cock was hard, had been hard since
he told David to turn around, stood hard and ready to fuck the hole in
front of him, even though it was a man's ass.  Scotty did not dare touch
his cock for fear he would climax immediately.  He needed to see this fuck
all the way through to the end.

   "Come on," David grumbled.  "Quit stalling and lick my ass."

   "What the hell," Scotty muttered to himself.  He would have plenty of
time for reflection later, after he did the deed.  He put a hand on each of
David's ass cheeks, parted them to expose the hole better.  Though Scotty
had seen David doing yoga poses earlier, the man's hole and crack looked
pristine--no trace of sweat of funk.  Good.  Scotty was not sure whether he
would be able to go through with this if he encountered ass-funk.

   He bent forward and pressed his face into David's ass crack, just like
he had done to Mitch and Ron.  He stuck out his tongue and licked.

   "Damn!" David spat out.  "Fuck, your stubble feels good on my ass."

   Scotty took another swipe at David's hole with his tongue.  He was doing
it!--He was licking ass!  David gasped and grunted as Scotty licked more
confidently, pressing his tongue more firmly across the pucker and the
crack, then probing right at the center of David's hole.

   David moaned, "Yeah, stud.  Eat my fuck-hole!"

   Scotty felt more confident, went at his task with more enthusiasm. 
While this might have been easier with Mitch or Ron forcing him, telling
him exactly what to do and what felt good, Scotty found that he was quite
capable on his own, judging by the sounds David made.  Scotty closed his
eyes, tried to focus on the task of licking and tongue-drilling.  *Lick
now, worry later*, he told himself.  He pulled David's ass cheeks farther
apart to get better access.

   Scotty's mind was full of chaotic, conflicting emotions.  David was a
stud, muscular, masculine, all-man; and now he was bent over and letting
Scotty eat his ass, and moaning like Scotty was doing a really good job of
it.  No sense holding back now, Scotty decided.  He went after David's ass
with gusto, determined to drive the man crazy with pleasure.

   David's thighs trembled and he shoved his butt harder against Scotty's
face and lapping tongue.  David mewled like a horny slut, with little
grunts: "Yeah!  Ungh!  Yeah!  So good!  More!"
Scotty slobbered all over David's ass-slot, not caring about anything
except making David moan more and louder.  Let the guys in neighboring
rooms here!  Let the whole floor hear!  The neighbors would tell Mitch and
Ron, and then they would be so jealous.  His tongue in David's ass was just
a prelude to a deep ass-pounding, and Scotty's cock throbbed at the
thought. Scotty tried tongue-flicks that fluttered, twisted, and stabbed at

David's hole.

   Scotty squeezed David's ass cheeks, finding he appreciated the round,
muscle-hard feel of them, even though they belonged to a man.  David
obviously worked hard to keep himself in shape, and Scotty respected that
too.  David's big, shaven balls dangled down between his open thighs and
banged around as he squirmed back and forth under Scotty's tongue assault.
Inspired, Scotty suddenly reached between David's legs and grabbed his nut
sack, used his grip to pull David back against his face by the balls, not
hard but enough firm hand-pressure to make David understand he was serious.
David responded by bending further forward and wiggling his can against
Scotty's salivating mouth, all the while gasping, "So good ...  So good
..."

   Soon David bucked and twisted his head back toward Scotty.  "You got my
fuck-hole nice and wet.  Use your finger--get it loose for that dick."

   Scotty wet his index finger and pushed it into David's ass lips. 
Mitch's ass and Ron's were tight.  A lot of lube was required.  Would
David's squeeze as tightly?  Scotty had fucked a couple of girls, and their
cunts were loose compared to his friends' asses; would a guy like David who
lived in a gay clothing-optional hotel be loose like a cunt?  Looser?

   Scotty's spit-wet finger slid into David's ass, which seemed tight
enough.  He was uncertain about this part, not remembering too clearly what
he and his friends had done when finger met ass.  *Poke, poke, poke.* In
and out.  Was that all he was supposed to do?  He had fingered girls, and
they liked the in-and-out, but they also liked other things.  Maybe a
little up-and-down?  No change from David.  Guys were built differently
from girls; guys did not have a clitoris.  What did guys have?  A prostate?
Where was it?  Scotty tried to remember his biology lessons--school seemed
so long ago--and then tried to remember where that special spot inside his
own ass was, where a dick in his butt felt the best, and where his own
fuck-strokes had made Mitch and Ron moan the loudest.  Maybe press down a
little?  He felt something rounded and hard.  "*Fuck!*" David burst
breathlessly.  Success!  Gloating, Scotty went after that spot mercilessly.

   David's eyes seemed unfocused and his mouth hung open as he groaned in
pleasure.  He looked crazed and dazed at the same time.  *Fuck, yeah*,
Scotty congratulated himself.  *This must be what a fuck-trance looks like.
I've practically got him in a fuck-trance, and I'm not even a telepath! 
Mitch and Ron ain't got nothing on me!*

   "I want your cock," David announced over his shoulder.  "Put your cock
up my ass.  Do it now.  Fuck me now!  Give me your cock!"

   Right now Scotty wanted to fuck David's ass more than anything else he
could think of.  "Lube.  I need some lube." Where the fuck has the lube
gone?

   David fumbled on the counter, and after a moment he passed back the
small bottle.

   Scotty finger-worked what seemed like a generous amount of lubricant
into David's butthole, then slicked his cock with plenty more.

   "Would you *please* stop playing around back there," David ordered,
scowling, "and just fuck me already?"

   Scotty knew now that the guy really wanted it.  "Okay, you asked for
it!" He knew he sounded kind of rough, but he had to let the guy know he
was in charge.  "I'm gonna fuck you so hard," Scotty declared.  "Ready?"
Scotty's belly kept fluttering nervously.  He moaned as he slid the tip of
his dick up and down over David's asshole.

   "Sure." David sounded offhand, as if growing bored that this was taking
so long.

   *Well, fuck that*, Scotty thought.  What did he care whether the guy's
ass was or was not sufficiently lube-slick yet?  He knew sometimes getting
fucked hurt, especially at first.  Deep inside, Scotty admitted maybe he
wanted to hurt the guy a little.  Wanted to make David feel some pain, just
a bit, because of his impatience, or because of what Mitch and Ron were
forcing Scotty to do.  And if David got hurt more than just a little, then
that was their fault, not Scotty's.

   Scotty knew that he better hurry.  His balls were churning and he could
easily cum without even getting the tip of his cock into the guy.  But his
hands shook so much that he could not seem to guide his dick in there. 
"Shit!"

   "Having trouble?"

   "No.  Uh ...  no."

   David looked over his shoulder.  "You *have* fucked a guy before,
right?"

   "Sure.  My friends and I--we--lots of times." Scotty did not want David
to feel all superior just because he had more experience.  Scotty needed
David to think he was confident and manly.

   "How about I do that for you?"

   "Uh, sure, I guess," Scotty said, not quite knowing what David meant or
what he offered to do.

   David grabbed Scotty by the wrist and pulled him into the bedroom area,
pushed him down on the bed, face-up.  David stepped up onto the mattress,
straddled Scotty's hips, lowered himself.  Scotty's cock was not as long as
Mitch's but was thicker, much thicker.  Would David be able to stretch his
ass around it?  Scotty watched as David reached back and took a firm grip
on Scotty's slick dick.  He felt David tilt his cock, and then David slowly
lowered himself.  A series of sensations hit Scotty: Cock-head against
asshole, pushing into asshole, starting to penetrate asshole.  David's
sphincter seemed to envelop Scotty's dick like a tight little mouth. 
Scotty gasped as the lubed tip of his meat pushed through the ring and his
shaft began to stretch the hole.  This felt terrific, hotter than a
furnace, and he wanted to plunge all the way inside.  He pushed his hips at
David's ass.

   "Shit, man!" David admonished.  "Take it easy!  Let me do the work,
okay?"

   Being scolded brought out a sadistic feeling in Scotty--he would show
David!--and he forced his dick straight ahead, without even thinking what
he would be doing to the guy's ass by ramming into it so hard.

   "*Shit!*" David yelped and glowered down at Scotty.

   Scotty's turn to smirk: "Glad you like it."

   David ignored him and instead focused on pressing Scotty's body down
with his hands and lowering his ass onto Scotty's hips.  David's eyes were
clamped shut, and he whispered what sounded to Scotty like nonsense
syllables.

   David ground his butt cheeks against Scotty's pubes.  Scotty grinned
sarcastically.  "Nice and full now?"

   David did not seem to notice.  "Fuck, yeah," he whispered intently. 
"Big, thick dick!  Fuck, yeah!"

   With his cock fully inside David's body, Scotty felt confident and
arrogant as a son-of-a-bitch.  He felt like the strongest stud that ever
lived.  And his cock felt like the biggest and best cock ever.  Bigger and
better than Mitch's dick could ever be, even.  Fuck Mitch!  Fuck Ron too!

   David lifted, moved his ass up, gliding along the length of Scotty's
dick.  "Nice dick.  Fucking nice, big dick.  Let's go, kid!  Fuck the shit
out of me!"

   *Kid?* Scotty was no kid.  He was only a couple of years younger than
David himself.  Well, he would show David he was a man, not a kid.  Then
David's asshole did this clampy-massaging thing around Scotty's cock, and
the zap of pleasure up through his nervous system made Scotty forget all
about the insult.

   "Been a long time since I fucked a Normal," David gasped.  "Long time
since I got fucked too."

   Scotty pushed in and thrilled to the grunt of pain coming out of David's
mouth as the last of his supercharged dick slid all the way home in David's
ass again.  "Nice tight ass," Scotty moaned.  He reached for David's
nipples.  At the bathhouse, one of the guys had played with Scotty's
nipples, pinching and pulling and twisting a little, and that felt kind of
good, so he decided to try the same things on David's tits.  "Nipples,"
Scotty corrected himself.  "Girls have tits; guys have nipples."

   David looked down and asked, "What's that," reminding Scotty that he was
not alone.

   "Nothing.  Shut up and let's fuck!"

   When David began to move, Scotty could not speak any more.  All his
strength was drawn to his hands on David's chest, and his hips and
overheating dick working against David's ass.  He pushed harder, and David
moaned, not in pain but finding real pleasure in the fuck now.  David
arched his spine, threw back his head, eyes shut, biting his lip, and
worked his body up and down, masturbating Scotty's cock with his ass. 
David's erection stood straight out over Scotty's stomach, occasionally
smacking Scotty's abs when David slammed his ass down on Scotty's groin.

   "Fuck me hard, kid.  Fuck my ass."

   Scotty ignored the *kid* remark again and focused on their bodies moving
together.

   "Fuck my ass.  Fuck me so hard I can't walk for a week."

   "Uhrr-ugh," Scotty replied, as whatever smart-ass comment he started to
make got drowned out by another quivery zap of sensation from David's
snapping sphincter.

   Their voices were chains of grunts and groans and moans coming from deep
inside their throats.  David's body rode up and down on Scotty's cock, from
that cock being buried all the way in, to just the head being inside, the
ass-ring gripping Scotty's cock just behind the flared crown.  Scotty felt
he was fucking like a champ.  No way would David be able to tell Scotty was
still new to butt-sex with guys.  Once he had gotten past the problem of
getting his cock inserted, Scotty figured out how to move with David's body
as if he had been doing this every night for years, letting David's
muscular legs and torso do most of the work.  The way they moved together
seemed like a dance, clumsy bodies but beautiful sensation.  Scotty felt
like the star attraction, definitely the M.V.P.  And he knew that he was
doing a great job because David was moaning louder and louder, and the bed
was squeaking louder and louder too.

   The fuck seemed to last an hour but only minutes must have passed. 
Hands on David's hips, Scotty pumped at that ass as fast as he could
manage. The heat.  The clamping pressure.  Scotty hoped the more
experienced man was suitably impressed with his cock-action because he knew
he could not last much longer.  Scotty grabbed David's erection and stroked
it.  He wanted David to cum first, wanted to show David that he had more
stamina.  David's cock felt so hard and scalding hot in Scotty's hand.

   Lust climbed through Scotty, and nothing was more important than his
cock in David's ass and David's cock in his hand.  Scotty enjoyed the rush.
He was fucking a great-looking guy, but even more than just the great feel
of his cock in that asshole, he liked the sensation of power over another
person.  He had taken a man, more worldly and experienced than himself, and
with each heavy lunge of his cock into that great asshole, he was reducing
that man to a quivering mass of moaning flesh.  When he felt the first
warning tingles of his orgasm begin, Scotty knew his cum was going to be a
fast one, and the best one he ever had.

   David beat him to the climax.  He gurgled something incoherent, and hot
wetness squirted out of his cock, coating Scotty's fingers, dripping on his
stomach.  Scotty was too far gone too, and began shooting into David's
butt. Scotty's body bent upward like a bow, eyes pressed shut, firing his
load as deep as he could reach into that ass, every muscle tensed, and
then--"Ahh, fuck!"--every muscle went limp, body falling back on the bed,
panting, too spent to move.

   David dropped heavily onto the bed beside him, not touching him, just
there, a couple of inches between them.  "Thanks, kid.  You were pretty
good, I guess, for a Normal."

   Right That *kid* insult again and the telepathy fetish that Scotty could
not fulfill.  His doubts provided other failings: *Pretty good for a
beginner, pretty good for having no idea what to do.* Was this the sort of
placating thing adults said to each other after they had mediocre sex? 
Scotty suddenly realized: *That really was mediocre sex.* Sure, David was
beautiful, for a guy, and the friction of that ass on Scotty's penis felt
good and made him cum, and David came too, but something had definitely
been missing, was still missing.  He did not feel bonded with David.  With
Mitch and Ron, Scotty felt a connection--they had years of shared
experiences and affection--but David was just some guy, a convenient body
Scotty had used for an experiment.  And the experiment had told Scotty just
what he needed to know; David bore no blame if Scotty did not like the
results.

   *Worry about that later*, Scotty told himself.  Right then, he had just
cum, and he saw no reason to spoil whatever he could still enjoy of the
afterglow.  He closed his eyes and savored how drained he felt.

   Scotty dreamed that he was fucking David in the shower.  He knew he was
dreaming, and he knew he was fucking David's fine ass.  Mitch and Ron
returned from wherever and caught them, just as he had hoped.  Both of his
friends cheered to see what a great fucker Scotty had become.  Crowded in
the bathroom doorway, they opened their jeans and pulled their hard cocks
out as they watched Scotty nail David's ass in the shower.  Mitch's cock
and Ron's popped out, hard and throbbing, and they beat their meat
gleefully with their gazes glued on Scotty's inspiring performance.  Scotty
fucked with impressive skill.  His wish had come true: Mitch and Ron had
found him in the driver's seat for a change.  Now he would show them that
they were not the only ones who could go out and grab the world by the
balls.  Scotty grinned as his friends beat their hard-ons; for once *they*
were the ones unable to resist the force of *Scotty's* fuck.  He looked
down at David, bent forward, taking Scotty's cock up his ass.  David was
pretty far gone in lust, his eyes dazed, mouth gasping under the shower
spray.  Scotty knew that all David wanted was to cum and to be filled with
his cum.

   *Cum, cum, cum*, Mitch and Ron were cheer-chanting, like this was a
basketball game and Scotty was about to make the winning shot.  Scotty lost
control of his weapon, spiraled into orgasm, and he slammed his dick into
David's butt with a last heavy lunge.  His hips smacked hard against
David's ass.  He came hard in David's ass, shooting every cum-burst into
David's firm, round butt, shooting, shooting--.

   Scotty opened his eyes.  The early stages of dawn were beginning beyond
the crack in the curtains.  Morning?  Scotty was not in the shower; he lay
face-down on the bedspread.  He was shirtless but wore his jeans.  His
crotch and stomach felt sticky--he had cum in his sleep, his cock pressed
happily between his body and the bed, the final tingling dick-pulses and
ripples of his orgasm just now ending.  Just a dream, a wet dream whose
powerful afterglow left his body feeling limp and pleasantly languid, a big
load of cum emptied into his pants.  He yawned and looked around, groggily.
David was gone.  Ron slept beside him, on his back, mouth cracked open,
naked, a morning hard-on in full force.  Beyond him, Mitch lay on the far
edge of the bed, equally naked, on his side, his back to them.

   Scotty's bladder demanded relief.  He eased himself off the bed, crept
into the bathroom, passing the chair.  Memories came back slowly.  After
David had left, Scotty had pulled on his pants, somehow once again nervous
about other residents seeing him naked, maybe using of the lack of doors to
take sexual advantage of him while he slept.  Before he turned off the
light, he slid the chair into the path from the door to the bed as an early
warning system: anyone sneaking into the room at night would trip over the
chair, which would wake Scotty.

   Except Mitch and Ron had come back sometime during the night and crawled
into bed without waking him.  So much for his makeshift warning system.

   Scotty pissed, then took off his pants, cleaned away the spunk from his
wet dream.  No way could he wear these pants again, not with the
embarrassing huge cum stain in the front.  If Mitch and Ron saw, they would
tease him about it all day.  He ran water on the stain, hoped maybe to wash
enough of it away, but his pants would still be unwearable for hours until
the fabric dried.  Scotty hated wearing wet clothing.  He hung his pants
over a towel rack.  He would tell Mitch and Ron he spilled something on
himself; they would believe that.  Had they brought in a backpack with more
clothes when they checked in?--Scotty tried to remember, but he thought
not. Well, he decided, maybe he would just have to go along with the
clothing optional policy after all, at least until his pants were wearable
again.  No problem, he told himself; no need for shame if he was proud of
his body, right?  Who cares who saw him?  Just like being in the locker
room, right?  Would not be so bad as long as not too many other residents
were around.

   Scotty looked at his naked body in the mirror.  David had sure seemed to
like his looks the night before.  He remembered the way David's body had
felt while they fucked, all hard muscles and tight skin, and that clenching
pressure of David's ass around his cock.  Scotty's dick lurched, and in
spite of having cum minutes before, he wondered if he had time for a quick
jack-off before-

   Ron staggered into the bathroom.  "Morning," he slurred, as he sidled up
to the toilet and began to piss.  "Why's the chair in the way out there?"

   Scotty did not answer but yielded the bathroom to the pissing, farting
creature that was Ron first thing in the morning.  He pushed the chair back
to its normal position.

   "Ohhhhh!"

   Scotty looked up.  Mitch was awake too.  Having decided the demands of
his morning wood outweighed a full bladder, Mitch was stretched out on the
bed, on his back, stroking his erection.  Scotty wondered what having a
cock that big must feel like.

   "Can't keep your hands off your favorite toy, can you?" Scotty
mock-scolded, trying for a smile.

   "Me?  You're the bad boy who started fucking as soon as we left last
night."

   "You knew about that?"

   "The whole floor knew about it--and we didn't have to be telepaths
either.  Next time, if you don't want anyone to know, don't keep moaning
like a bull in heat and making the bed squeak like it's an earthquake."

   Scotty blushed and looked away.

   "Of course, Ron and I got to eavesdrop a little more directly, since we
could pick up on what you two were feeling.  Hey, don't look at me like
that.  What do you expect?  We're only human.  Now, you want to come over
here and give me a hand?  Or a mouth?  Or some of that ass?"

   Scotty felt Mitch's telepathy caress the outside of his mind.  Scotty
immediately thought of walls, trying to block Mitch out.  Shit, Mitch was
getting to be as bad as Ron!  "Stay the fuck out of my head, Mitch."

   Mitch shrugged and kept stroking his cock.  *Have it your way.  But is
that what you really want?*

   Mitch's thoughts eased across the outside of Scotty's mind, a light,
seductive touch, and Scotty was tempted to give in, to let Mitch in.  But:
"Stay out of my head, Mitch.  Just jack off if you're going to, and leave
me out of this."

   Mitch grinned and tilted his oversized cock this way, then that, showing
off its length.  *You sure that's what you want, Scotty?* Another
mind-caress.  Yeah, Scotty decided, Ron was definitely being a bad
influence on Mitch.

   Mitch was trying to seduce him, Scotty knew, and trying to make him
lower his new defenses.  If Scotty continued to say no, would Mitch accept
that answer?  Or would he lose patience and just punch his way into
Scotty's mind.  And what would happen when Ron came out of the bathroom and
they ganged up on him?--How long could Scotty hold out against both of
them?

   Last night had proven that male sex meant something different for
Scotty. For Mitch and Ron, sex with guys meant *I'm horny and I want to use
your body to get off.* For Scotty, sex with Mitch and Ron meant *We're
closer than brothers and I want to give you the gift of feeling good*.  On
a physical level, Scotty enjoyed the sex with Mitch and Ron, but last night
had proven to him that he was not wired for sex with other guys in general,
and he did not want to let Mitch or Ron change him.  But would his friends
accept that?

   Standing there naked, with Mitch's gaze raking up and down his body,
Scotty felt physically vulnerable.  A week ago, Mitch would never have
looked at him with such open lust.  Or did he, and Scotty just never saw
it?

   He felt mentally vulnerable too.  A week ago, Mitch would never have
been able to go into his head and make Scotty do whatever he wanted.  No,
strike that--Mitch would have been able to do it; he just had not.  Just
because Mitch had not done something yet did not mean he would never do it.

   Scotty realized: He disliked being afraid of his friends and what they
might do with their telepathy.  He loved Mitch and Ron--they'd grown up
together--and he wanted to believe they were the same great guys he had
known all along; but the more they used their new Talents to do just
whatever they wanted without concern for his desires, the more he felt
afraid that he would cease to be himself and become just a meat-puppet for
them to use.  Surely Mitch and Ron would not go that far, would they?  What
if they did without meaning to?

   *Meat-puppet?--Nice image.  But that's more Ron's thing than mine.  You
don't have to be afraid of me.  C'mere and I'll prove it.*

   Scotty felt compelled to take a step toward the bed, Mitch, and Mitch's
hard-on; he barely resisted it.  "Don't, Mitch."

   *But Scotty, you know how much you like it.  You know how good my dick
feels in your hand.  Don't you want to stroke it?  Maybe taste it?  Not
even just a little?  Just a little?  What do you say, Scotty?  Maybe just a
little?* The mind-caress seemed firmer, as if Mitch was preparing to use
more effort to crack into Scotty's mind.  Mitch had always hated being
refused.

   In spite of his fears, Scotty felt his balls tingle.  After this past
weekend, some part of him had come to associate his friends' mind-touches
with the promise of sex and orgasm.  They were horny guys, after all, and
Mitch's erection was proof of his arousal.  Besides, Scotty was more than a
little flattered that Mitch found him attractive and wanted to have sex
with him.  Maybe just this once-

   No, Scotty needed to stay resolute.  More forcefully: "I said no,
Mitch."

   *C'mon, don't be like that.  You know you want to.  Maybe just a little?
You know how good it'll feel, for both of us.  You know--*

   "Mitch, drop it.  I said no.  And keep your telepathy out of my head."

   Ron's voice, calling over the sound of the running shower: "Keep it down
out there, you two."

   Had he shouted that last part, Scotty wondered.  Surely not?  But Mitch
stared at him with a surprised expression, open-mouthed, and a raised
eyebrow.  Maybe Scotty *had* shouted.

   "Just ...," Scotty started, "jack off if you're going to, and leave me
out of it."

   Mitch nodded, avoided looking at Scotty.  *I bet Ron is horny.* He stood
up, and his lengthy erection swung in the air.  *I need a shower anyway. 
Invitation's still open, if you change your mind.* Then Mitch disappeared
into the bathroom, followed by the rustle of the shower curtain.

   In a few moments they would being having sex, Scotty knew, and they were
likely to broadcast arousal to every mind in range.  If he stayed in
proximity, that would probably overload his mind with lust again, like
before on the road.  Scotty needed to get out of there, but with his pants
wet and hanging in the bathroom, he had no clothes and could not leave the
hotel.  Since Scotty was more muscular than his friends, their pants would
not fit him.  Too, he had no place to go and knew no one else here.  Not
altogether true, he realized.  He knew David, though he had hoped to avoid
the man, following the embarrassment of their sex last night.

   Scotty walked to the room across the hall.  Was he really thinking this
through properly, he worried.  Was that vague damage Big Marcus mentioned
affecting his judgment?  Scotty did not feel damaged; what he felt was a
need to avoid the loss of self that lately accompanied Ron's broadcasting
whenever he was horny.  Was David's room far enough away?  What other
option did Scotty have?  He took a deep breath to steel himself, then
knocked quietly on the door frame, as if David's room had a door.  "Uh,
hi."

   David stood at a closet.  He was surprised to see Scotty.  Scotty was
surprised to see David wearing a pair of socks and a T-shirt but no pants.
He had thought *clothing optional* meant no clothing ever.

   "Hi," David said, his tone uninterpretable.  "I was just about to leave
and go get food, and then I have to go to work."

   "Work?"

   "Yeah.  Some of us have jobs."

   "Oh." Well, of course.  Life in the big city must be expensive, and
living here would not be free.  Still, Scotty's stomach twisted at the word
*food*, demanding breakfast.  "Can I come too?"

   David narrowed his eyes.  "Look, you're a cute kid, but last night
was--"

   "I know," Scotty said, though not really.  "I just mean, I'm new around
here and I don't know any good places to eat yet." That sounded plausible.

   David studied him, then nodded, relenting.  "Well ...  Okay.  But you
can't go out like that.  Go get dressed and--"

   "Can I borrow some clothes too?  Mine got kind of messed up, and my
friends and I are having an argument and ..." *Shut up, shut up, shut up*,
Scotty chastised himself, ashamed at how much personal mess he had just
revealed.

   David sighed.  Scotty prepared for him to refuse, after hearing all the
drama packed into Scotty's last statement, but David said, "Here," and
tossed Scotty a folded sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants from the closet.
David was wider through the shoulders, and Scotty was taller, but sweats
would adjust enough to fit.  As David turned away and reached for a pair of
pants for himself, Scotty wriggled his head and arms into the shirt, trying
to figure out a way to sneak past the sex-broadcast that must be in full
force by now to get his shoes and money.  Which did Scotty dread
least?--The Mitch-and-Ron-fucking-like-bunnies feelings that might overcome
him if he got near the shower, or asking David to borrow shoes and cash? 
Asking seemed as though it would push David too far.

   Scotty's head popped through the neck-hole.  Ron and Mitch stood in the
doorway, naked, not dripping wet, but not completely dry.  "There you are,
Scotty," Ron scolded.  "Mitch and I want to talk about what you just--"

   Scotty doubted talking was what they had in mind.  Mitch had that
glassy-eyed look again, and Scotty feared Ron was firmly in charge.

   Ron noticed David on the other side of the room.  Since David had not
out on his pants yet, Ron's eyes zeroed in on his swinging dick.  "Well,
hello there.  We're Scotty's friends.  Don't bother getting dressed on our
account."

   "Uh, hi," David said, seeming displeased at the prospect of Scotty's
drama following him across the hall and into David's space.

   "You're hot," Ron said.  "In fact, I wanna see more ..." *Strip.  Show
me everything you got.*

   Scotty had heard the echo of Ron's command, but it must have been a
shout in David's mind.  David stood frozen.  His cock was in the early
stages of stiffening.  He spoke slowly.  "Show ...  Okay ..." David dropped
the folded pants, lifted his arms, lifted his T-shirt, lifted it off his
head, dropped it onto the floor.  He stood there, displaying his body,
naked except for his socks, to Ron.  "Fuck, man, you're strong," David
cooed appreciatively.  His cock was almost fully hard, and Scotty knew Ron
was about to give it, and David's telepathy fetish, a good workout.  "So
strong ..."

   "That's a real nice cock," Ron hissed as he concentrated and took
another step into the suddenly too-small room.  "Scotty and us--we share
everything.  I bet you'd like to share too, wouldn't you." *Get on the
bed.*

   Scotty said, "Ron, don't ...," as David climbed onto the bed, slid
himself into its center, but Scotty found himself unable to do or say more.
He was transfixed, unable to move.

   His interruption had, however, brought Ron's attention to him.  *That's
enough out of you*, ordered a voice in Scotty's head, sounding mostly like
Ron's but Mitch's too.  If Ron had control of Mitch and was using his
telepathy as well, how long could Scotty hold out?  *I'm tired of your
bitching.  Sit down, shut up, and don't move.  It's my turn to have some
fun with your friend, and you're gonna watch.  When I'm through, we'll deal
with you and this rebellious streak of yours once and for all.*

   As if pushed by an invisible hand, Scotty found himself compelled to sit
on the chair.  His arms found the arm rests--and stayed there.  Scotty
found himself unable to speak, unable to make his hands or feet move from
where they rested.

   *Gonna fuck your ass so hard*, Ron was purring to David as he put his
knee on the bed and leaned forward.

   "No ...," David's voice cracked.  "I'll fuck you ...  but ...  m'ass ...
off-limits ..."

   Ron's mind-voice sounded amused.  *Scotty got a piece of your ass. 
What's so special about him?*

   "Jusss ...  happened ...  Don't usual ...  get fucked ...  Hurts ..."

   *Poor guy.  I know what will get your mind off the pain: more fucking.*

   "Spider!" David called out.  "Spider ...  Hel--"

   David's voice cut off when Ron ordered, *No more talking.  Stop fighting
me.* These were not just instructions--they were powerful compulsions. 
David would be unable to resist.  Scotty could feel Ron's gloating.  Though
a Normal, David had experience dealing with telepaths, probably knew how to
resist them.  But to Ron?--Ron loved a challenge, if he knew he was likely
to win.  The idea that he would have to force David to fall under his
control really seemed to appeal to Ron, made him push into David's mind
even more forcefully.  Scotty could feel that from the way the echoes of
Ron's mind-orders were getting louder, clearer, in his own head.

   Over the last several days, Mitch and especially Ron had become much
stronger every time they used their telepathy.  Just how much stronger
would they become?  And then how much of the old Scotty would be left?

   Ron had gotten up behind David.  Ron's dick had been hard since he had
spotted David.  Now, with his hands and thoughts, Ron guided David onto his
hands and knees.  David must have stopped fighting Ron; he did not appear
to resist at all.  Or maybe Ron had found a way to override any struggle.

   Mitch stood passively in the doorway, arms limp at his sides, cock limp
too.  His glassy expression told Scotty that trying to appeal to him for
aid was hopeless; whatever was going on inside Mitch's head, he was not
conscious enough to register Scotty's silent appeals--and if Mitch did pick
up Scotty's thoughts, Ron was sure to intervene.  Whatever Ron had done to
Mitch was not a fuck-trance, but it seemed close.

   Obviously Ron had learned a lot over the course of their adventure--too
much.  From Scotty, Ron had gotten the idea of *fuck-trance*, a way to
overcome all resistance by keeping a guy's mind focused on sex and empty of
everything else.  From that bounty hunter, Ron had learned that he could go
into another telepath's mind and find a way to use the guy's Talent to
bolster his own.  And from the bounty hunter and Mitch, Ron had learned how
to make the mind believe something so strongly that it simply refused to
acknowledge any evidence to the contrary.

   Knowing nothing was really wrong with his voice or his arms or legs,
though, did not seem to help Scotty break Ron's command to *sit down, shut
up, don't move*.  He simply could not seem to think of how to speak, could
shake the absolute conviction that, no matter how hard he concentrated, his
limbs simply would not move.  As a basketball player, Scotty practiced a
fine level of control over his arms, whether dribbling or shooting for the
basket--aim, force, speed, if he thought it, his body obeyed.  But now:
nothing.  Not even a twitch.  How did Mitch say he broke the bounty
hunter's mind-spell?  Something about finding the part within his mind that
did not belong and snapping it?  That might be easy for a telepath, but
Scotty was not accustomed to thinking of his mind as a thing with parts,
and he was unsure how to even start searching.

   "Nnnnnuh ..."

   David's voice brought Scotty's attention back to the bed.  Ron, on his
knees, knelt behind David on all fours.  Ron had a hand and a small bottle
of lube resting in the small of David's back as he guided his cock into
David's asshole.  Ron frowned, concentrating.  David pushed his ass back,
moved it in a faint circle.  Scotty wondered whether Ron was making David
do that little trick Mitch had showed them, how the grinding motions of a
man's ass would surely help open up that tight hole.

   "Nrrh," David moaned.  "Too much ...  Too ...  Stop ..."

   Ron's hips moved forward.  He looked up at Mitch and Scotty and grinned.
"Okay, fuckers, here we go."

   The force of what Ron broadcast smacked into Scotty's mind almost like a
physical blow.  He felt David pushing backward, and Ron pushing in, and
Scotty gasped as he felt--as if it were happening to him--the sharp pain of
Ron's swollen cock-shaft starting to slip into David's recently fucked
asshole.  Everything would be all right, Scotty told himself, once
he--David--they--whatever--got past the pain of entry.  The pleasure would
come soon, once the waking-up nerves got over their distress.

   Ron thrust again, and another stab of pain made Scotty wince, and his
hand came off the arm rest.  So he could move!--The unconscious flinch
proved it.  But when he consciously tried, his hand stayed limp.  *Dammit!*
Scotty swore, not caring whether Ron heard.

   David might not have liked to get fucked, but he knew *how* to get
fucked, knew how move so he derived some pleasure from the act, and Ron was
manipulating him through that.  The fuck looked clumsy to Scotty; Ron had
none of the style or grace Scotty had seen in downloaded porn videos, and
Ron was concentrating too hard to spare much attention for improving how
his body moved with David's.  But the hard mind-pressure radiating off Ron
had begun to pick up flecks of enjoyment, as David got used to the
intrusion and began to find pleasure in it and as Ron's cock began to
register the blissful pressure and slide, in and out of David's ass-clamp.
Scotty felt he was simultaneously fucking and being fucked, his cock
feeling what Ron's dick felt inside David, and his ass burning as David's
did from Ron's invading meat.

   A fiery flash, almost agony, shot through Scotty as Ron pushed in hard,
burying his cock finally all the way in David's used hole.  Scotty could
feel Ron manipulating David, making him relax, preventing his muscles from
tightening up too much, to help David through the pain.  That reassured
Scotty that, while Ron could be cruel, at least some of his friend's
capacity for kindness remained.

   The relaxation commands took too hard a hold on David's mind, and his
arms buckled, his shoulders sagging toward the mattress, tilting his ass
still higher into the air to meet Ron's thrust-and-pull motion.  David
stopped moving his own body, and now Ron was doing all the work.  Ron moved
himself a little more slowly--Scotty could feel the horniness Ron radiated,
and the desire to push his meat in David's ass full force with every
stroke, but instead Ron was moving less aggressively, as if holding back to
let David adjust to each one.  Scotty sensed Ron's satisfaction as his new,
decelerated strokes led to David's ass muscles relaxing, which made his
fuck-work much easier.  Ron was able to slide in, slow and steady, all the
way to his balls every time.

   *That's it.  Open up.  Relax.  Let me in.*

   The pain was gone and Scotty felt their combined pleasure.  Nothing left
but the stroking and the resulting pleasure, which would soon start to
build as orgasm approached--still some time off, but getting closer.  The
sensations were seductive, and Scotty wanted to relax himself into them
completely, fall back into them, lose himself.  In spite of having had no
choice, he was starting to like the physical part of what he experienced.
Or maybe Ron's last orders to *relax* and *let me in* was not intended for
David at all, but for Scotty himself?  Scotty felt himself sinking, almost
too submerged to care.

   Ron had David on his back, legs over Ron's shoulders and Ron's cock deep
in his ass.  Ron had a grip on David's erection and stroked him hard and
fast, in time with Ron's fuck-strokes in David's ass.  Scotty could feel
Ron's glee at having complete control over the situation, over David and
Mitch and Scott, all three of them.  The sex-sensations that Ron was
blasting into Scotty's head had him at the cusp of cumming.  His cock was
hard and he longed to stroke it, but he still could not move his arms.  He
could only sit and ride the spiraling arousal as his cock throbbed in the
air.  From the look of his hard-on, Mitch was in similar straits.

   Scotty's balls rode up, gathering force.  David moaned in bliss, beyond
any pain now, and approaching his climax.

   *See how much you like it when I'm in charge*, rang Ron's voice in
Scotty's head.  That voice was still part Ron and part Mitch, too loud, too
strong, too much to resist.  Like a yell, it punched its way into his head.
*You like how good this feels, don't you.*

   Yes, Scotty thought back helplessly, because part of him did like it. 
Part of him craved it, and part of him feared it, but the fear part kept
going quiet--Ron's doing?--and Scotty's dick kept throbbing, and he needed
to cum soon.

   *You know how deep I am in your head, don't you?*

   *Yes*, Scotty thought back.

   *No more complaints.  No more rebellion.  You're gonna go along with
everything I say, aren't you.*

   *Yes.*

   *Good.  Work with me now.  We're going to make you a nice, obedient
friend.*

   Scotty was not sure how to do that, but his body jolted as if Ron's hand
on David's cock was teasing his rod too, as if Ron's cock drilling into
David's ass was hitting Scotty's prostate.  Whatever Scotty had been
thinking about slipped away.  Ron was broadcasting harder now.  Louder. 
More forcefully.  Scotty felt spiraled out of his own head, somehow, and he
felt--sensed-

   He knew-

   Others.  There were others down the hall.  Scotty could feel them
getting pulled into Ron's telepathic quagmire.  The telekinetic with barely
enough juice to affect a coin toss.  The mute twins whose telepathy
connected only to each other but not to anyone else.  The pyrotic who could
warm objects by a few degrees.  The emotion-reader.  They all felt the fuck
like a floodlight in their heads and were helpless against the psychic
onslaught Ron was unleashing.  And near the far end of the hall, something
dark that preferred to stay unseen.  Something surrounded by lines and
threads.  Something awakened by Ron's broadcasting, which was so loud now
the Institute's scanners in nearby schools, churches, malls, and other
public gathering places must surely be registering it.  Spider?--Was that
Spider?  David had tried earlier to yell to Spider for help, before Ron
silenced him.  Scotty tried to call to the dark mind in the middle of the
threads, in hopes that this was Spider and he or she could help.  Scotty
was no telepath, but with all the telepathic energy Ron was radiating,
maybe Scotty's thoughts could be heard, if Spider were listening?  As
Scotty tried to reach out, something began to stretch toward him--no,
toward Mitch and Ron.

   Ron had now yet noticed.  His growing orgasm had brought his mind back
to his body and the point where it intersected David's at the hole he
fucked.  David gurgled something incoherent, and that sound made Ron's
intensity climb higher.  Ron still had not developed much style, but his
body was strong and he delivered powerful cock-strokes, in and out, fast,
hard, and he matched them with a clamped grip on David's cock.  His tempo
was gaining force with each stroke.

   Scotty perceived somehow, rather than saw, threads of something, not
black exactly but dark, slowly creep in at the edges of the room.  Thin. 
Barely there, and not there at the same time.  Scotty perceived them
through his awareness of what was on the periphery of Ron's senses--Ron was
throwing around too much telepathic energy.  Would he burn himself out?

   Scotty pulled hard at his muscles, trying to fight the intense feelings
that felt like they were burning him inside.  He wanted to move his arms,
his feet, if he could only figure out how Mitch had broken the mind-spell
back when the bounty hunter had done it.  Scotty had saved his friends'
asses--he was the M.V.P.!--and he tried to reach out to Mitch; if Scotty
could not break the spell himself, maybe he could wake up Mitch and Mitch
could do it?  Sometimes even the M.V.P.  had to pass the ball when he could
not find a shot.  Scotty thought he felt Mitch's mind stir against whatever
Ron had done to him, but he could not be sure.

   Ron fucked David harder, faster, buffeting Scotty and probably everyone
nearby as though their fuck was a hurricane.  Scotty's balls and cock
ached, and still he could not cum.  He felt each crushing thrust of Ron's
hard, hard dick.  He felt each twist of Ron's hand on David's cock.  The
sensations were overwhelming.  Scotty stopped pleading with Mitch, stopped
calling for help, because his attention was being sucked elsewhere,
irresistibly.  He knew he should continue to fight, but everything was
being replaced by the fuck.  Now all Scotty cared about was the incredible
pleasure of cock and ass that rushed through him, like the force from a
high-pressure hose.  If those threads were forming something, a net or a
web, Scotty no longer cared.  If the threads were sharp and maybe somehow
venomous, Scotty could pay attention.  The pleasure Ron blasted pushed away
everything.

   *Cum, cum together*, the Ron-Mitch voice ordered.  David's cock erupted.
Mitch's cock began to spurt.  And Scotty's balls burst as sperm rocketed
out of him in a fiery bliss that finished the job of burning away
everything else.

   In mid-orgasm, distracted, Ron looked up from David's body and realized
too late.  The threads and their venom struck deep into his mind, and the
sudden, shocked energy Ron released hit Scotty so hard that for a moment
his vision nearly went black, and then his whole world did go black.

   Sometime later, when Scotty opened his eyes, everything was white. 
White and bright.  Very bright.  He was sitting cross-legged somewhere. 
Too bright to see the walls.  Everything was silent, too silent.  This room
did not really exist, he understood, not in the physical world.  This was
in his head, a metaphor his mind was using to make sense of something
taking place.  Two other bodies sat cross-legged with him.  Familiar
bodies. But one was aware, and the other ...  somehow wasn't.  Scotty
looked at the aware one and said, "Hi, Mitch.  What happened?"

   Scotty was naked.  Mitch was naked too.  Ron, the other unaware one
there with them, also naked.  Mitch's head was surrounded by a ball, wider
than his shoulders, of bright white light, so bright Scotty could barely
see his face.  Was this some metaphor for Mitch's telepathy?  A similar,
larger ball surrounded Ron's head, but it seemed inert somehow. 
Unconscious?  Or simply prevented from waking up?  What was going on here?

   "I'd say things got a little out of control," Mitch replied.  His voice
was sluggish, muted, like he was stoned and not fully awake himself.

   "This isn't the time for your wisecracks, Mitch.  Give me a straight
answer, please."

   "No wisecracks.  Never again."

   "Where are we?  What is this place?" This had to be some sort of mental
place.  They had to be talking in their minds, but it felt and sounded like
talking with their voices always did.

   Mitch shrugged.  "We're still in the hotel.  We're ...  I think we're
sleeping, or something close to it.  Our bodies are sleeping, at least.  So
our minds can heal.  All this"--he made a faint gesture around them--"is to
distract us, like a dream or something."

   Sleeping?  That made sense, explained why Scotty felt so quiet and
groggy himself.  He peered against the glare.  He could see two or three
dark tendrils, not black or gray exactly, barely visible in the whiteness.
They stretched from some distant point in the background, and disappeared
into the back of Mitch's head.  Several more, a larger number anyway, and
thicker, sank into the back of Ron's head.  Were similar tendrils going in
the back of his own head, Scotty wondered, but could not seem to turn
around to look.

   "Ron lost it.  He got a little intoxicated by using his Talent--"

   "More than a little, Mitch.  Felt like he was frying my mind from the
inside."

   "Yeah.  He really lost it.  Spider says that happens sometimes.  Newly
manifested Talents do too much too soon, and they burn themselves out or do
damage to those around them.  Spider is trying to heal us, I think, the
worst of it, at least." He paused as if listening to something faint that
only he could hear.  "Don't worry, Scotty--you'll be fine.  Spider says
minds are resilient, and those psi-shields Marcus showed you how to do
deflected the worst of it.  You might have some weird dreams or nightmares
for a while, like a light case of post-traumatic stress, but those'll fade.
All you need is some time and your mind will heal itself."

   Scotty peered at Ron, who sat unknowing.

   "Ron didn't mean to, I guess," Mitch said, "but he's always been a joker
and kind of manipulative, and the temptation was too much ...  Anyway, he's
going to stay asleep for a while, until Spider can get his Talent turned
way, way down.  He'll need to get some training.  His power will start
coming back gradually over time.  By then maybe he'll know how to deal with
it, won't make the same mistakes again."

   "Oh," Scotty said, because he could think of nothing else to say.

   "Scotty, do you know what that means?"

   "Uh, no?  Tell me?"

   "The Institute, Scotty.  Ron and I will have to turn ourselves in.  It's
the only way."

   Scotty said, "Oh."

   "We need training.  Ron and me--we're too strong.  We can't just go out
in the Normal world.  What Ron nearly did today is only the part of the
damage he could do--or me--if we lose control.  And the Institute is the
only place Talents as strong as us can get the training we need."

   "But Big Marcus, or Spider--"

   "Neither of them is strong enough.  Spider caught Ron by surprise and
barely got him.  Since you and I were pretty much out of it, Spider was
able to nail us too.  If Ron had been ready, Spider wouldn't have stood a
chance.  And after what Ron did, the hotel probably blipped up on the
Institute's to-do list.  Probably didn't have enough time to zero in on its
location, but they'll find it soon enough, now that they know to look.  The
residents are already packing up.  They'll be moving out shortly, going
into hiding somewhere else."

   "What about me?  Am I supposed to go with them?"

   "No, Scotty.  You need to go home.  The Institute won't care about you
once Ron and I turn ourselves in.  Your parents are probably worried sick
about you.  And if my dad or Ron's folks want to know what happened to us,
you might want to clean up the story a little.  Like, maybe, not tell them
about all the sex we had."

   "Yeah, the sex was kind of weird.  I don't regret doing it with you or
Ron, but I think maybe butt-sex with guys isn't for me."

   "Yeah," Mitch seemed to smile through the glare.  "I kind of figured
that.  But it was good, the three of us, what we had, right?"

   "Yeah.  I'd do it all again ...  except maybe the part where Ron lost
it."

   Mitch snickered.  "Yeah, except that part."

   Scotty shook his head.  "So much has changed, and in less than a week."

   "Less than a week since you found out.  A little longer for Ron and me."

   "But I'm still the M.V.P., right?"

   "You'll always be the M.V.P., Scotty."

   "I think you still owe me a blow-job from, you know, the last time I
saved your asses.  I wish ..." Scotty stopped, trying to think of how to
continue.

   Mitch seemed to know; he nodded.  "It's private here.  Just you and
me--and Ron too, but he's ...  Spider knocked him deeper than us, for his
own safety.  Anyway, Spider isn't watching you or me right now.  If ... 
you know ...  you wanna ...  collect one last time for the road?"

   Scotty blushed under the long, hard stare that Mitch was giving him.  He
was tired and somehow distracted, but he also felt more self-confident than
he had ever been before.  Enough to take on even Mitch.  He and Mitch has
always loved each other as friends, but Scotty wanted to show Mitch he was
more than just a horny boy demanding blow-jobs; he wanted to show Mitch the
man he felt he was becoming.

   Scotty spread his arms, displaying himself to Mitch.  "You like what you
see?  I'm hot, aren't I?  All the girls back at school think so."

   "You're a real stud, Scotty," Mitch agreed with no sarcasm.  "I've
always thought you were hot, and not just your body.  Whoever you end up
with will be very lucky."

   "Well, today only, I'll be happy to give you one last sample of the
goods, before our road trip ends.  That is, of course, if you have the
balls."

   "Oh, I've got the balls, all right!"

   "Then watch out, Mitch, because I'm going to plug your butt.  You can be
a real arrogant ass sometimes, so I'm gonna show you what your ass is for!"

   Mitch stayed where he was as Scotty leaned forward and crawled the short
distance between them.  Scotty's cock was hardening, slowly, not fully hard
yet but getting there.  Previously Mitch had mostly done the fucking during
their sex, but Scotty's hard-on came from deciding he was going to be the
one giving dick to Mitch's ass this time.  Scotty half-expected his friend
to protest or try to reassert his leadership position, but Mitch simply sat
as if spellbound by Scotty's new virility, and he did not move as Scotty
approached.

   Scotty had grabbed Mitch around the torso, and they rolled,
play-wrestling, though Mitch yielded too easily, grinning groggily. 
Scotty's cock was fully stiff now.  Scotty guided Mitch into the position
he wanted, an arm around Mitch's waist, bending him over, guiding him down
onto his back.  Mitch's ankles seemed to fit naturally over Scotty's
shoulders.  Mitch had offered a blow-job, but Scotty decided he wanted
more. Mitch seemed to brace himself, but Scotty did not give him the
benefit of any preparation.  Mental "bodies" were constructs and needed no
lubricant, Scotty reasoned; this was not the real world, so all he had to
do was think and make it happen, right?  Time to test that theory.  Scotty
leaned forward, pressed; his cock went right into Mitch's asshole, and
Mitch hollered, not in pain from being pierced dry, but from the pleasure
of Scotty's erection riding directly into his prostate.  "Fuck, yeah!"
Mitch swore.  "Fuck me, Scotty!"

   Scotty loved the way arousal shaded Mitch's voice; knowing that Mitch
was submitting to the ass-fucking, knowing Scotty himself was the reason
for Mitch's husky tone and his pleasure-cry gave Scotty a sense of
incredible power.  He felt proud and virile.  Was this what Ron had felt?
Was this how he got started?  Scotty decided to worry about that later and
concentrate on the now, on the pleasure of Mitch's hole around his cock,
and the pleasure that Scotty's fuck was going to give both of them.  He
liked feeling dominant and strong, and he refused to hide it.

   Grunting with smug satisfaction, Scotty pushed the rest of his dick into
Mitch's butt.  Mitch growled in bliss; Scotty imagined Mitch was
overwhelmed by Scotty's new strength, unable to do more than submit to him.
This feeling was a new thrill, and Scotty decided he could enjoy it, as
long as he remembered submission had to be agreed to and given, not taken
by force.  That was what Ron had ignored.  And what Mitch and Scotty were
doing in this mental place was different from the way the physical world
anyway; things worked easier here--want it and it happened, even without
lube and twenty minutes of slobbery foreplay.  Doing it next to their inert
friend Ron felt a little weird but oddly thrilling too.

   "Relax your ass," Scotty mock-snarled, trying to sound tough and
domineering.  He spanked Mitch's thigh for emphasis.  Something about
Mitch's ass shifted, and allowed Scotty's cock to slip into the hole even
easier.

   "Oh, wow!" Mitch laughed.  "I don't believe it."

   "Just what don't you believe?"

   "That you're the one with your cock up my ass, and I'm the one getting
fucked.  I've usually been the one *doing* the fucking."

   Scotty laughed too.  "Fuck you, Mitch."

   "That's the idea, stud.  Give me your dick!  Fuck my ass, Mister
M.V.P.!"

   The mental version of Mitch's ass accepted Scotty's cock easily.  Once
he was sure Mitch was really submitting to what was happening to him and
was not going to try to turn the tables somehow, Scotty was able to relax.
His dick had room to move easily in and out of Mitch's hole now, and Mitch
shuddered in pleasure.  Scotty watched Mitch's face, the way his eyes
clamped shut and the way his mouth kept making little sounds of passion. 
The feel of Mitch's ass around his dick, the strength of Mitch's muscles
where their bodies pressed together, knowing Mitch's ass and body were his
to fuck gave Scotty the most intense rush he had ever known.  His body was
alive and singing.

   "Fuck!" they swore in unison on Scotty's in-strokes.  "Fuck!"

   Mitch's body heaved under Scotty's.  "How'm I doing?" Scotty asked.

   "Urk!" Mitch yelped with a grin, which was answer enough to Scotty's
question.  Scotty had proven his point, and now he needed to make sure
Mitch never forgot it--or Scotty--by giving him a screwing that he would
remember for the rest of his life.

   "Urgh-k-kuh," from Mitch.

   Scotty did not need Mitch's assurances any longer.  He latched onto
Mitch's nipples and gently pulled and twisted, making Mitch hiss in
pleasure.  He fucked Mitch slow and deep, then fast and shallow, then slow
and deep again.  Mitch made incoherent sounds.  Knowing he had fucked his
friend into an almost mindless state of bliss, not a fuck-trance but damn
nice anyway, aroused Scotty too much, too fast.  He felt himself climbing
toward his orgasm.  He grabbed hold of his friend's dick and started to
pump it furiously.

   Mitch opened his eyes and managed, "I'm gonna shoot soon if you don't
slow down.  I wanna make it last."

   "Me too."

   But instead of slowing down, Scotty began to fuck harder, deeper,
wanting to hit all the best spots that made Mitch go wild, and each
push-pull of his cock in Mitch's squeezing hole tugged Scotty inevitably
toward the sharp edge of orgasm, too soon.

   Mitch's cock began to throb in Scotty's hand, and then cum erupted from
it, and Mitch groaned some primal sound.  Then Scotty too was there.  He
felt himself start to explode, but he thrust deeply into Mitch's asshole,
even as his body locked up and shuddered through his climax, and his balls
emptied themselves in spurt after spurt, and orgasm shattered his
consciousness.

   Awareness returned slowly.  Scotty found himself fully clothed; behind
the wheel of Mister Rust Bucket.  He was driving along a stretch of
highway, with Ron dozing in the passenger seat beside him and Mitch napping
in the back.  Somehow he knew they had been on the road for a couple of
hours already, though he did not remember getting in the car, or what time
they had left.  A mileage sign indicated that in another hour they would be
reaching another city.  Already, the way they had come--the path back to
the hotel, even the name of it, the look of it, the city where it was
located--were fading from his memory.  Likely Mitch's and Ron's memories
were also fading.  This seemed to Scotty a necessary security tactic,
tracks being covered, so that no one from the Institute would be able to
pick the hotel's location from his mind.

   Mitch knew exactly where to go, every street, every turn.  After he
realized he somehow knew the route, he stopped questioning.  Whoever
planted the knowledge in his mind wanted to make sure they reached their
end point.

   "Maybe the Institute won't be so bad," Mitch said from the back seat. 
He had awakened a few blocks away from their destination.  "It's more like
the Army than a prison, right?  Once the basic training is over, they let
the Talents have leave now and then, like when my cousin came home to visit
a few times.  We'll come back and see you, Scotty, as much as we can.  I
promise."

   "I'll hold you to that," Scotty said, looking at Mitch in the rearview
mirror.  But would the Mitch and Ron who came back to visit after training
be anything like the Mitch and Ron who had been his friends for so many
years growing up?  Would the Scotty they found be the same as the one they
remembered, or even the one who sat behind the steering wheel right then?
Change was inevitable and unpredictable.  Two weeks ago, having Talents for
best friends, having sex with men, leaving home, all of it would have been
unfathomable to that Scotty, whose life seemed a thousand years ago.

   Scotty pulled up to the Institute recruitment field office, a small
local outpost for the people who went out to "recruit" or "retrieve" or
"capture" new Talents.  He guided Rusty into the empty parking spot for
visitors, right outside the front door.  After so much effort in running
from the Institute, driving right to it felt iffy, and part of Scotty hoped
Mitch would change his mind and tell him to keep driving.  But Ron, who
still slept in the passenger seat, was a time bomb until he got trained. 
Mitch too.  More inevitable changes to handle.  Holding on to the way
things had been would never work.  Scotty understood he could no longer
pretend he was still his small-town self living his insular life, using the
way things had always been between them to keep change and the world away.
Things never stayed still.  Sex and control had been the ways Mitch and Ron
tried to deal with their emerging selves.  Well, all right--Scotty would
have to find his own way.  He knew he could no longer pretend to be living
in a world without goodbye.

   Ron woke when Mitch's telepathy touched his mind and broke the fragile
lock that had kept him slumbering.  Ron yawned and blinked and looked
around, but he seemed to understand where they were and why.  No words were
spoken.  Ron seemed to accept what needed to happen.

   The three friends group-hugged one last time on the curb outside the
front door.  Scotty considered kissing them--after all the sex they had
shared, something more than a hug seemed warranted, but a kiss would have
felt too final.  Instead, after another promise from Mitch to visit, Scotty
gave back only a smile and a promise to be waiting.  Was this, he wondered,
the sort of placating thing adults said to each other when they said
goodbye?

   Ron said nothing and looked at the door.  Then he hugged his friends to
him again and said, "I'm such as fucking asshole."

   Scotty felt vindicated, a bit: some part of the old Ron *had* remained,
underneath.  Maybe changes were not always absolute.  "True," he smiled,
"but you're *our* asshole."

   Farewells were inevitable.  Scotty stepped back.  He waved.  They waved.

   Scotty turned the key in Mister Rust Bucket, which started on the second
try.  He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.  The traffic
light turned red and he stopped.  Scotty turned the rearview mirror so he
could watch as his friends opened the office door, paused, then disappeared
inside into whatever awaited them.  He watched another few seconds after
the door closed.

   Ahead, the traffic light cycled to green.  Scotty did not look back
again.  He eased the car forward and began his long drive home.
   * * *