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This is a work of FICTION for ADULTS only. Do NOT read this if you
are under 18 or if you are not an adult according to the laws of your
State or Country. Do NOT read this if you are easily offended or if
you are not interested in fantasies involving young boys. This file
contains sexually EXPLICIT material.

The author does not condone any of the acts in this file. This story
was not written to advocate sexual activity with minors. Agatha
Christie wrote about murderers all her life. She was not a criminal.
Please support free speech and stop censorship.

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story codes: (bb, tb, mb, oral, anal)
style: contemporary 

"Shut your fucking face uncle fucka. You're a cock sucking ass licking
uncle fucka. You're an uncle fucka, yes it's true. Nobody fucks uncles
quite like you. You don't eat or sleep or mow the lawn, you just fuck
your uncle all day long. Shut your fucking face uncle fucka."
- T & P





DIRT    by DEBONAIR

CHAPTER 1.

   The first kid I dragged back to my house was at death's door. He held on
to my hand and limped beside me in the snow, utterly confused that someone
would show any interest in his frozen carcass. The street boy was recently
nine-years-old, with sunken hazel eyes and gray skin. He coughed like a
veteran smoker and whined when shifting his frail body on my couch. Like a
wounded animal, he avoided my touch as I approached to undress him. However,
in his condition, it was an easy task to remove his dirty clothes. I cradled
the inert boy and carried him to the tub where I laid him in the warm water.

   While he soaked in the soothing ocean, I admired his beauty.
Regardless of the fact he was sick, there was an angelic aura
emanating from his naked form. His purple extremities were slowly
thawing. I diagnosed a severe case of bronchitis, hoping I was
correct.

   Assuredly, no doctor would dare consider taking care of this street
trash anyway. A mere rat. It was somewhat ironic, I thought, that the
only person noble enough to nurse this reject of society was the very
one whom the community would forbid from even getting close to a
child. That individual was I. A boylover. A pederast. Call it what
you want. I would be an hypocrite if I denied my attraction to this
boy floating in the bathtub. But at that point, my only concern was the
kid's illness.

"What's your name?" I asked my ailing guest.

"Alex." he peeped, barely audibly.

'Alexander the Great', I whispered to myself, withholding inside me my
twenty questions for the efforts that were required by the poor kid to
answer them.

   For five days, I kept the boy bundled up in blankets, feeding him
hot soup, medicine, and whatever he had the appetite to ingest. Alex
gradually accepted the possibility that I was indeed a good Samaritan.
He had been raised on the streets where you got nothing for nothing.
The simple notion that a forty-year-old man would tend to him like a
mother was alien to him.

   I closed the antiques shop for the sole purpose of being there
throughout Alex's convalescence. Each amelioration of his health was a
reward. I watched the boy's skin return to its soft pink glow, the
highlights in his brown hair shine more brightly with every passing
day. His fever became less dangerous and his boyish enthusiasm began
to fill my lonely home.

   He was an independent child, preferring solitary games than long
talks with me. I fetched my dear collection of green plastic army men
from my childhood and observed him create grand battles on the floor.
Seeing the bare boy sitting on a blanket and playing was enough to make me
wish for a child of my own. I read the newspaper and peeked at him. At
times, he fiddled absentmindly with his recurring boner, reminding me that
little boys were barely conscious of their penises.

   I washed all of Alex's rags but he strictly jumped in his briefs.
I smiled at the boy's modesty for the thin garment was almost
transparent and left little to the imagination. At night, he removed
his underwear and wrapped his limbs around my nakedness. I massaged
his buttocks tenderly until he snored on my chest, feeling his
small erection poking my thigh.

    To celebrate his recovery, I cooked a feast of gargantuan
proportion. Alex wolfed down the piece of meat I had bought at high
cost. He accompanied me in drinking red wine and soon was giddy like a
hyena. I sighed, remembering that a week before, he had been destined
to die on a bench park. Then suddenly, as if afraid to anger me, he
gulped down a chunk of saliva and looked straight at me.

"Where's the old man who lived here?" he inquired solemnly.

"He died a month ago. It was my grandpa."

"He was a nice man. He gave us candy."

"I know. He gave me this house and a store. It's.."

"You speak funny." he interrupted my sentence.

"That's because I'm not from around here."

   For a moment, I observed the ravenous kid gnawing at a bone.
His legs were swinging under the table, his eyes alive as he chewed on
every piece of food adorning his plate. A real wild child. Eating with
his fingers and smearing the juices of his meal all over his face. I
knew all the responses to the interrogation I was about to commence.
Nevertheless, I ventured into Alex's private life.

"Is your grandpa still alive? or your folks?"

"Nope. I live on the street with my friends." he mumbled with his
mouth full.

"What do you do to get money?"

"I steal." he answered seriously. "Sometimes I go to hotel rooms with
tourists. I suck their dicks. Sometimes, they stick me in the butt..."

"Do you like that?"

"Depends." he shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerated manner.

"Do you want to return to the street?"

"I wanna go back tonight!" Alex brightened.

"You can come here anytime you want." I muttered after a short pause,
resigning myself to the reality of his life.


                                -=-


   My house seemed empty without a child's presence. I took to the
snowy streets on a mission to find the stray lad. Just to see if he
had not fallen ill again, decomposing in a shadowy alley of the
ancient town. No kid believed me when I told them that this city was
a diamond of the old world. All they could see was the crumbling
facades of the grey buildings. The sullen people trying to remain
decent, scraping the bottom for a ray of hope. Lining up for the few
cans that were available at the only grocery store.

   It was a strange ballet I witnessed on the avenues. An eerie
commotion in slow motion. People in no hurry to get anywhere.
Absolutely unconcerned by the environment they evolved in.

   I spotted some boys huddled near the steaming windows of a
restaurant. They were invisible boys. Passers-by didn't even acknowledge
their existence. Over there, another group of kids were loitering, sniffing
glue in a bag. Warming their brains for their worn-out winter garments could
not do it.

   Whenever a boy needed money, he trotted alone on the eroding
sidewalk. Men and women were oblivious to him. They didn't look down
at his cute face smudged with dirt, nor did they care about his tiny
hand reaching out to them for a coin. I validated what I already knew.
The little beggars were not truly taking a stroll for the measly
donations of the compassionate crowd. It was merely an excuse to be
out there. Where they were the bait for adults with cash. They were
picked up by local men or foreigners who gestured to them their vile
intentions.

   Very near my home, I stumbled onto Alex. He was sleeping in the
arms of another boy. His nose discoloured by the bitter frost. His
torso bloated by five wool sweaters one of top of the other. I petted
the huge brown dog guarding their slumber and scurried back to the
warmth of my fireplace, somewhat relieved that I had seen him breathe.
But completely depressed by the feelings of powerlessness that tore
my soul upon pondering the possibility of helping out all these
unwanted runts.

   A few days later, I chatted with Alex in the cemetery. Boys went
there for elaborate snowball fights, using the fresh snow on the
tombstones as projectiles. "Can I take a bath?" he asked tentatively,
afraid to irk me. "Of course." I said to the hyperactive boy, charmed
by his insignificant request. Alex trudged next to me and let me peel
his layers of clothes in the bathroom.

   He literally leaped in the tub. The cleansing water unmasked the
pink little boy under the coats of grime. I ran a lavender soap
tenderly on his frame, washing every crevasse. Take special care of
his used brownhole. Retracting the foreskin on his delicate penis to
wipe away the gunk three days old. Alex whistled a childish tune
while I bathed him.

"You're squeaky clean little man!" I cheered.

"Dry me!" he exclaimed, rising to his feet and extending his arms.

"I don't have any towel." I lied.

   Alex didn't think twice when I guided him to the couch. He laid
passively and giggled when I sucked the pearls of water rolling on
his skinny legs. Depositing my lips on the humid portions of his body,
I absorbed the delectable moisture off of him. My mouth travelled to
his tits, his bellybutton. Down to his toes where I suckled each one,
making the nine-year-old squirm and scream out of glee.

   His pre-pubescent worm flared under my ministrations. I had to be
quick to engulf his little balls before they were drawn up his
abdomen by the waves of his arousal. Licking along the swollen
morsel, I reached the cherry dickhead and teased its pissslit. Alex's
moans resonated gloriously. More so when I gobbled up his tender woody
in one bite to suck it in earnest.

   He cooed like a siren with each suction. I couldn't wait to hear
him come. As I bobbed my head on his finger-sized organ, he suckled his
thumb, muffling his wails of joy. I was determined to lick and suck
that little joystick to its maximum capacity for bliss. Alex bucked his hips
on the cushion suddenly. He exhaled loudly, riveting his eyes on his dick. I
siphoned his pricklet like a madman, paying close
attention to the sounds coming from his gaping mouth.

"ANNNGHH! ANNGHHH! ANGGGH!" he yelped.

   With his climaxing boydick in my oral cavity, I glanced at the
kid's face. Even though, the masterpieces of all great painters are
the object of my utmost awe. They always paled in comparison to the
infinite beauty of seeing little boys come. The way they shut their
eyes upon the first jolt of gigantic pleasure. The way their jaws
dropped in a silent scream. And that dizzy look of utter admiration
in the final seconds of their orgasm as they drowned in the inexplicable fog
of pure ecstasy their willies had provided.

   I let go of Alex's softening wet penis and he grinned at me. There
was no use for words. He thanked me with his twinkling eyes. How cruel
it was that so very few boys on this planet could experience the same
delights as my lil' Alex. Boys and girls should be taught by their
mothers how to masturbate starting from infancy. It should be criminal
to rob children of their sexuality.

   The stories of friends who discovered onanism by accident at the
old age of twelve or thirteen made my teeth cringe. And I never
understood their reactions of shock when I divulged that I was
molested by a teenager as a toddler and later hooked up with him
to express my gratitude that he had showed the more interesting
function of my teeny appendage.

   I watched Alex from my window, disappear again in the distance. But
I didn't have to chase him anymore. He returned once in a while,
usually before supper. Along with him, there were other boys. Hesitant
children standing stiffly in the hallway. I welcomed them in my
refuge. The careless joie de vivre of their lives overwhelmed me.

   As if going to a spa, they shucked their clothes for me to give
them a spin in the washer. They took baths or showers. Sprawled naked
in the house. Some of them playing checkers or poker at the table. I
filled the fridge with milk on a daily basis. Overloaded the kitchen
counter with fruits and bread.

   A few of the striplings were very young, five or six-years-old. I
purchased bath toys for them. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence to see
four of these ankle biters packed in the tub. The tots were inhibited.
They played with their stubby peckers without guilt. They groped each
other and explored their bodies. The room was alive with giggles and
their cries of immature climax.

   I spent all my evenings surrounded by a nude mob. Rambunctious boys
of all sizes and colours cavorted endlessly. Quiet lads sat next to me
for the tales of Dickens that were similar to their existence. I
befriended a sergeant of the local militia. He traded with me khaki
sleeping bags for bottles of vintage Porto. The more robust boys slept
under the stars, the others inside the comfort of my house.

   Not all of my guests were living the life of vagabonds. A few had
families. Mothers and fathers who pushed them out the door come
morning and secretly wished they never returned to the nest. One kid
admitted his dad was selling him to whoever would help pay the rent.
The butcher frequently lent his son to the mafia in exchange for a
rain check on the monthly payment the racketeers imposed on him. The
boy was used by them or resold to men to pay off the storeowner's
debt.

   There was no sex when the group present exceeded three kids.
However, when only a duo or a trio graced my old dwelling, they
usually jacked-off mutually or sucked their dicks to alleviate
boredom. The pre-teen males did it in front of me, unbashful.
Slightly tickled by their exhibitionism. When an adolescent boy was in
the picture, it was a different story. They fled to my bedroom to do
it and I could hear the sounds of their lovemaking in the background.
The older lads had already been shamed into thinking there was
something wrong with their behaviour. That they should hide their union
with an hairless boy.

   It may seem that my house was a jungle. Strangely, the urchins were
quite obedient and I seldom raised my voice. I prohibited the older
ones from ejaculating on the furniture or my expensive carpets,
threatening I would rub their nose in it. The message was understood
and they were cautious. They lapped up the dollops on their partners
or made sure the mess was deep inside the receiver's tummy. Younger
tykes were harder to control. I resorted to spanking one to give an
example of my authority.

   The streets started to shed their blankets of white snow with the
onset of a precocious spring. The number of kids who had visited me
throughout the harsh winter months shrank to a clan of regulars. There
was Alex, my brown-haired angel. Ahmet, a frisky oversexed ten-year-old with
a shaven scalp. A couple of gypsy boys, Francesco and his brother Enrico.
Respectively twelve and seven who lived on the outskirts of town in a
makeshift trailer park. The elder of the siblings was tall and lean. The
only one I suspected of being truly homosexual. He carefully suppressed that
part of him though. Boy who spread their cheeks too easily were at the
bottom of the pecking order. Treated as second class in the pack. It was an
unwritten rule. You were obliged to do it in order to survive, you weren't
allowed to enjoy it.

   Then there was Stefan, a black-haired warrior, the protector of all
the street kids. Even though he was only thirteen, he carried the
burden of taking care of the meek on his shoulders.

   Lastly, there was Julian, also twelve. A stunning blond boy with
closely cropped hair. The comedian of the troop who made lewd jokes
and grabbed the spotlight to entertain the youngins. The exuberance
of his personality lifted up the spirit of everybody during those
gloomy rainy days when the mood was filled with self-reflection.

   All the boys were uncircumcised, except for Ahmet. He was of Turkish
origin and had been brought in a park four years before for the rite of
passage by a distant uncle who later died in some war. He recited the saga
at great length. Telling of the terror in all the kids' eyes. He told of his
uncle hauling him on a table where five men immobilized him to cut the tip
of his foreskin while he screamed his lungs out. The surgeon had obviously
been in a hurry, I pointed out. He glanced at his penis and grinned,
registering my allusion to the small donut of flesh around his crown which
he used to stimulate his glans when he jacked off.

   I never participated in the kid's sexual encounters, content to be
a voyeur. It all changed one evening as Ahmet was pleasuring Alex with
his mouth. I didn't envision they could accept me. Then again, I was a
kid myself, at heart that is. The naked couple was beautiful, overcome
with youthful lust. Ahmet was kneeling in front of Alex, bobbing his
baldhead on the wobbly hard-on. I took my post behind the
nine-year-old's bubble butt and snaked my tongue up his pliable anus.
The tight orifice opened up to my slimy probe, letting itself be
invaded. I ran my hands all over the kid's hairless legs as I rimmed
his asshole. Sensing him vibrant and calm at the same time. Alex
undulated in the midst of the double assault on his midsection. His
high-pitched cries were panicky as if he was about to faint from our
oral attacks.

   As my partner in vice intensified his sucking, I fucked the little
boyhole vigorously with big tongue, prying his buttocks wide, jamming
my chin in there to stuff all of my spongy dart into his rectum. The
small boy sang his song of joy, climaxing between out two faces. He
selfishly slid on the bed and purred like a well-fed cat, forsaking
his comparse with an unattended stiffy.

   Ahmet's pecker had me salivating. The little mushroom head was
completely uncovered, gleaming proudly atop the stem of his child
penis. I lurched on the ten-year-old and proceeded to devour it.
Slurping on his scrotum, swallowing his rod to the root. I lubed my
index with spittle and inserted it gently in the cleft of his plump
buns. Ahmet squealed when the target was hit. I massaged his
tiny aperture and continued sucking him.

   The little boy lay his deep blue eyes on mine. I noticed the utmost
surprise in them. The men he had had sex with before had only used him.
Exploited both his holes for their own gratification. Never given the proper
sexual attention a young boy deserved. Ahmet propped his right feet on my
back, allowing me access to his crotch. I doubt I disappointed him. With 
renewed passion, I pursued my onslaught on his dick and nuts, 
fingerfucking him madly. He shook his head and shrieked as the jolts 
of orgasm lashed at his sanity. I watched his penis pulse
and kissed it one last time. It was maybe the hundredth kid I had sent
to heaven. Still, I looked forward to the next one hundred.

   Unlike Alex, the latter was more generous with his mouth. He tugged
on my trousers, his cute mug beaming. I unzipped my pants to expose
for the first time my cock to my acolytes. Without a second thought,
the boywhore licked the underside. He pursed his lips over the head
and crammed my pole deep in his little mouth. Ahmet was an experienced
cocksucker. I couldn't compare to the other boys who had done that
wicked deed in the past. His lips were like a vise on my turgid
member. Brushing all the right spots, strangling my shaft in their
moist grip. He was worshipping my penis, determined to conjure the most
fantastic sensations out of it.

   I watched the child's mug with a love struck expression on mine. He
made me hiss, made me groan. The eight inches of hard flesh could not
fit the limited space of his cavity. So he fondled it, licked it and
sucked it. I came rapidly, flooding his mouth with my sauce. Ahmet
didn't shy away. He drank my spunk in big gulps and recuperated the
streams of sperm rolling on his chin to consume them. He didn't let
go of my prick until it was clean and devoid of any stickiness. I
kissed his forehead lovingly, unable to put into words the
appreciation that was enveloping my soul.


                                -=-


   Julian and Stefan weren't troubled by homosexual taboos. Any
observer would have come to the conclusion they were lovers. It wasn't
the case. They were straight boys who had learned to please each other
in bed. Each lad was complimentary to the other. Meeting when they
required affection or sexual release.

   They often talked about the girlfriends they wished they had. But
mostly, they dreamed about a woman that would enter their life and
pamper them like a mother, a mother they could fuck. A replacement for
the one who had abandoned them. Some sort of idyllic siren with soft
hands to cuddle them, a stern mouth for discipline and a warm belly to
lie on.

   One time, Julian dressed up in feminine clothes. Looking exactly
like a cheap whore in a pink dress with high heels shoes on his feet.
I was bothered at first by the theatrical disguise. Why would a cute
boy want to be a girl? But I reasoned myself. Humouring the puerile
drag queen and telling him he would make a pretty girl. He did have
feminine appeal with his lips painted red, a dirty wig on his noggin
he had found in the trash along with the other stuff. Balls of old
newspaper were strategically taped on his chest at the correct level.

   The audience present at the spectacle roared with laughter as he
pushed his false tits in their direction. Stefan was the rowdiest,
courting the transvestite with a debonair attitude. He circled the young
bitch and pinched her butt, much to the amusement of the other boys glued to
their seat as if they were watching clowns at a circus.

"You look lovely tonight!" he spoke gentlemanly, giving a peck on
the outstretched hand of the boygirl.

"Thank you mister." Julian responded, changing his cracking voice to a
soprano girlish tone.

"Do you want to accompany me to my hotel?"

"I'm not that kind of girl!"

"Come on baby." Stefan pressured on, rubbing his groin on the harlot.
"Let me play with your boobs." he insisted, squashing both paper bumps
on the kid's front.

"Stop it at once!" the victim yelled.

"Your mouth may say no but your body says yes!" the thirteen-year-old
continued, humping the child's ass. "Let me touch your pussy honey!"

   The crowd of boys was fascinated by the vulgar show. They laughed
wholeheartedly, bringing a smile to my lips as much as I resented the
crude display. Stefan sneaked his hand under Julian's dress and
lowered his panties to his ankles. He raised the long gown and gasped
when the stiff evidence of Julian's male identity was revealed.

"You're a man!" he shouted in disgust.

   The boys surrounding the actors squealed and rolled on the floor,
signalling the end of a memorable performance.

   It was a magnificent celebration for the eyes to see the two older
males unite. They could be bickering one instant and the next minute
roughhousing with gusto to prepare their bodies for sex. The playful
aggressively was an excuse to touch each other. A kind of foreplay
inevitably leading to a sultry kiss and mutual groping.

   Then obeying a ritual, they bared themselves below the waist,
keeping their socks and undershirts. Forgetting in their haste the
remaining pieces of clothes to focus on the essentials; dicks, balls
and assholes. I marvelled at the animalistic energy of the pubescent
couple. Lovers are gentle. Fuck friends burn with a different flame.
They give and take pleasure with no strings attached, unencumbered by
the dignified sentiments of love.

   Julian liked to shove his boycock in Stefan's mouth, grasping his
black hair in his fists to hold steady the skull he was fucking. The
helpless young teen didn't resist. He submitted to the blond devil,
awaiting his turn right around the corner, when he would use the
younger boy the same way. Even if Julian was plunging his penis rudely
down his throat, gagging him, it was a small price to pay. Assuredly,
he would be as dirty with his pal.

   I stared silently at the horny duo, drinking in their lust. Julian
guided Stefan on the ground and straddled his face, forcing him to
sniff his shithole. He spread his buttocks and sat his hole on the
humid lips. Stefan flicked his tongue at the brown ring, lapping up
his own saliva like a thirsty kitten. The testicles of his buddy
drooped on both sides of the bridge of his nose. He suffocated under
the other boy's perineum, nevertheless, he licked that asshole for all
he was worth.

   Tiring from his chore, he flipped the moaning boy on his back and
straddled his chest, demanding his share of the fun. There was no
doubt. Not one second of his hesitation when he presented his hard
prick. The kid was going to blow him. It went without saying.
Uncovering his glans, he rubbed his beefy meat on Julian's cheeks and
his lips. He flaunted his swollen organ like a flag. The smaller boy
lay still trapped under the weight of his mate.

"Suck it!" Stefan growled. "Yeah, suck it all." he reiterated, peering
at the twelve-year-old stretching his neck to reach the tip with his
lips. As the greater part of his shaft vanished in the tunnel of
Julian's throat, he groaned, pulling on the kid's head to get more of
his teenage sausage inside him. "Use your tongue!" he commanded,
ordering the lad to taste his cock, to taste the hard piece of flesh
he would utilize to fuck his shapely little behind later on.

   I unleashed my manhood from my trousers to masturbate. The boys
didn't mind. They were somewhat flattered by the erotic stirrings
they were summoning in my old willy. I had to restrain my jerking
motions in front of the pornographic scene. The sight of Julian sucking his
friend's six-inch cock nearing me to the edge of an orgasm.

   I didn't know how I was going to maintain the juice in my balls
as both kids lubricated their jutting fucksticks in preparation for
anal sex. Stefan bent over slightly, offering his buns to the younger
child. Julian's eyes were glazed as he searched for the entrance to
the older boy's rectum, poking his randy boydick frantically.

   Suddenly, he gripped the thirteen-year-old by his hips and slipped
into him. Both of them grunted as Julian's penis penetrated
the shit tube. Julian was an inch smaller then his buddy, which made
the upright coupling awkward. He perched himself on his tippy toes to
slam his boner up Stefan's ass, exhaling loudly each time. He thrust
his erection into the other boy again and again.



CHAPTER 2.

   I must admit I felt a twinge of guilt when I observed boys having
sex. No one can be one hundred percent sure of his convictions. The
norm is to intervene when a child is being royally buggered by a
friend. The omnipresent cloud of oppression adults imposed on kids had
its effect on me. I questioned myself.

   However, society's moral code was powerless to disturb me when it came to
mature boys, lads like Stefan and Julian who had wet orgasms. They were fair
game. The act of shooting sperm is itself a proof of
adulthood. A biological recognition of a boy's readiness to begin
an active sex life. I verified over the years, time and time again, the
truth of my theory. And I have yet to meet a boy able to produce a
wad who was ignorant of the ways of physical love.

   Therefore, I felt no remorse permitting those two sex demons to go
at it roughly. The young sodomites enthralled me. In time, Julian
rolled on his back and drew his knees to his chest to invite his friend.
Both boys whimpered for different reasons. Stefan's rigid teenage meat slid
easily into the accustomed arsehole. They stiffened and gripped each other
for the exquisite ride that was to begin. The thirteen-year-old fancied
buggery. I was sure to witness a great show once again. The young boy could
fuck for hours. I was impressed by his stamina. My cock couldn't have lasted
more that ten minutes in that firm round bottom.

   Stefan pumped his buddy's rear end more and more vigorously with
each passing minute. The tempo always reached mind-numbing speed. I
spilled my load, watching the wrinkled face of the blondie. His wails
and the sounds of Stefan's balls slapping against his buns were enough
to give me thunderous orgasms.

"UH Uh owwww! Owww! UHHHH!" Julian cried out throughout the intense
copulation.

"Oh Oh! I'm gonna cum.." Stefan repeated again and again, even though
his younger partner knew better to believe him. His climax wasn't
triggered until at least twenty minutes had elapsed.

   Eventually, the stimulation of Julian's prostate gland made him
shoot his wad. Stefan doubled his efforts then, nailing the child's
butt like a pile driver. He rutted his full weight and groaned with the
ecstasy of his quaking prick lodged deep in the anal cavity of the
twelve-year-old.


                                -=-


   Those press releases of cases of sexual abuse are funny. I love the
way they are written to make the culprits look like monsters. And they
always include the number of videotapes or pictures seized during the
raid. I can picture the cops counting them. "I got 76."

"Hey I counted 75. I didn't include this one, because the kid is
wearing a bathing suit."

"Yeah, but he's got a boner, see?"

"Oh! I guess it's porn then."

   Those tid bits of information make a splash on the six o'clock
news. The masses quietly watch, eating their meat and potatoes while
millions of children starve on the rest of the planet. The anchor
woman recites a story and the word pops up: sodomy. A great ratings
grabber. In fact, they should have a TV station airing someone saying
sodomy 24 hours a day. It would be a big hit. "After this short break,
the story of a boy who was sodomized."

   It would assuredly spice up those phone-in shows on the radio too.
"Caller #1, you're on the air!"

"I love your show Jeff!"

"Thank you maam."

"Did you watch the sodomy channel yesterday? They mentioned this
young teenager who sodomized his brother! Why the hell would he want
to sodomize his brother? This boy can go on sodomizing like that!
What's wrong with kids nowadays? Sodomizing each other like that!"

"I hear ya caller #1, it's a sick world we live in..."


                                -=-


   I wasn't surprised to see Francesco at my door one evening. He came
alone and wandered aimlessly in the living room. Going from one corner
to the next. Examining the yellowed portraits of my grandfather.
Touching the crystal vases. He had that look on his face and I knew
right away he badly needed a good fuck.

   I was fond of the twelve-year-old gypsy. His brown skin smelled
like vanilla. His eyes were smiling all the time. He was a little man
yet he loved to cuddle up with me on the sofa like a toddler.
Presently, he had something else on his mind. His stare lingered on
mine. He bowed his head once in a while, ashamed of his craving, of
his lust for a pulsating prick up his fanny.

   I stayed poised in the armchair. Teasing the boy, waiting for him
to express more clearly his desires. The taste of the wine in my glass
was sweeter as I toyed with his young mind. I didn't fear losing my
chance of making love with the beautiful boy. Francesco loved men. He
wasn't about to dash out the exit because I was playing hard to get.

"Why are you here?" I asked wryly.

"Cuz' I felt like it." he responded matter-of-factly.

   I stood up and unbuttoned my shirt. Francesco smiled from ear to
ear. His clothes piled up on the carpet as he discarded each piece
feverishly. Despite his bad fate, he had a zest for life that was
contagious. Francesco was poor. He was a fag and a whore. Three
humiliations other boys had a difficult time handling.

   I scrutinized his naked silhouette. The boy's body bore the scars
of past beatings. Men were rough with willing children. They wanted
innocent boys in their beds. Inexperienced lads that screamed when
they split open their tiny bottoms with their massive cocks.
Francesco's maturity was unnerving to them. They didn't wanna fuck a
man after all. And so, he submitted to their abuse. The brutal tourists
called him a slut, a piece of shit, slapped him around until he cried
and satisfied their perverse need for domination.

   I squeeze his nuts, triggering an immediate hard-on. He shivered
when my lips kissed his greasy dark hair. My hands roamed freely on his
smooth flesh. The kid was so easily pleased.

"What do you want?" I murmured.

"I wanna be fucked." he panted, resting his little head on my broad
chest. My penis throbbed between his slender thighs. He crushed his
legs together, compressing it, stimulating my hard cock with his
muscles.

   We ambled like newlyweds to the bedroom. Francesco arched his back
and wiggled his rump. I lubed my tool behind him, drinking in the
sight of the impatient laddie sticking his ass out obscenely. He was
a bitch in heat, smothering his face in the sheets, contracting his
anus as if to entice a stud to impregnate him. Acting the opposite of
when he wallowed in an orgy with other boys, where he boasted his
virility, played the macho, to hide his homosexuality. Going as far
as pretending it was unpleasant when they fucked him.

   He cooed as I crept to him. My rampant erection bounced on his firm
golden buttocks. I guided it with my hand into his elastic anus,
feeling it yield to the intrusion of my bloated end. With every
slippery inch penetrating him, Francesco squealed in delight. He was
relaxed, giving himself away, surrendering to the blissful merging of
our bodies. I showered his back with wet kisses and relished the
unholy union. He seemed so small, so fragile under me. How could this
angel enjoy the violation of his body?

   Much has been debated about the consent of children. I often amused
myself wondering what happened at the stroke of midnight on a boy's
eighteenth birthday. How a young male is suddenly enlightened by some
magical force. A mythical elf perhaps, who will grant him the power to
make a clear decision in regards to the choice of his bedfellows.

   It's funny how humans desperately try to control nature. How they
can make something as innate and pleasurable as sex sound dirty and
complicated. I'm astonished that have not yet found a way to contain
little boys' sperms in their sac until they were enrolled in a big
corporation with a good job, a pink house and a brainwashed mind.

   What a great day it would be for THEM if little boys and little
girls remained sexless. Adorable dolls with no genitals between their
legs. Just a blank slope of flat skin like the dummies in store
windows. Then, as society was assured they had reached full maturity at the
ripe age of eighteen or twenty-one, there would be a keyhole
in the back of the kids' heads, cleverly concealed in their hair. Only
then, with the written approbation of the moral elite of the community
could parents unlock their children's libido. It would be a special
day. The kids' sexual organs would sprout from their crotch already
grown.

   I fondled Francesco's peter, it was so hard, so excited. He braced
himself, ready to be washed in the subtle regale of buggery. His
plaintive moans ignited my passion. I slid my fuckpole gently in and
out of his bum. Then with more fervour I began fucking him, gripping
his hips in a strong hold.

"Uhhh Uhhhhh Uhhh Yeaahhh Uhhh Uhhhhhh" he grunted.

   My penis grazed his prostate, sending him in a frenzied spiral of
insane lust. He thrust his little ass back to swallow more of my
hardness into him, urging me to plow the depths of his entrails. "Fuck
me! OH FUCK ME!" he yelled. Who was I to deny this rascal his dose of
cock? I slanted myself and pounded into the boy with frantic lunges.
Ramming my entire prick between his velvety cheeks. The mattress
creaked as our bodies collided. My groans of joy echoed those of my
juvenile partner. For ten minutes, I sodomized Francesco steadily. I
fucked him hard and fast like every little boy with a penchant for it
should be fucked.

   We only disjoined an instant. For me to stretch on the bed and
Francesco to sit on my engorged phallus. He impaled himself in one
swift motion and bounced on my prong like on a galloping horse. I
slipped my hands behind my neck and contemplated the sweaty child
riding me. The muscles of his legs strained as he flexed and unflexed
them awkwardly to piston his rectum. He wanked himself violently, tugging on
his little penis with two fingers at the same rhythm he was sitting on my
dick. To help him out, I raised my hips, rattling his cage, slamming inside
him from under.

   He cried out an hymn of pleasure, spreading his knees wide, losing
his balance and pointing his spasming boydick like a canon to shoot
weak ropes of milky jizz on my belly. "OHHHHHHHH" he lamented, his
head tilted back, basking in the intensity of his kiddy orgasm. I
joined the boy in ecstasy. My repetitive explosions of rich semen
splattered his aching guts.

   He lay on top of me afterward, with my deflating penis embedded in
his canal, offering me his small feet to kiss and tickle.

"Do you think I can be a soldier?" he peeped.

"Just stay a little boy for now Francesco." I frowned.


                                -=-


   My friends, back on the western continent, were annoyed by the
constant testing of their mindset on sexual issues. They were
defensive. Often huffed that I forced them to put their balls on the
table. That I made them express their opinions on the subject using
subversive methods. I couldn't help it! I believed and still do that
sex was the driving force behind humanity. It is one of the only
things we all have in common. I was fascinated by people's fear of and
aversion to sex and, of course, by the little ironies it brought into
the world.

   Such as the story a boylover once told me in a French café. He
related the evening he had spent at his sister's house, describing
with details the charismatic boyishness of his eleven-year-old nephew,
and how he despised the man she had married. It took all his courage to go
there just to see the boy he adored dearly.

   The climactic scene happened after supper, when they all went
downstairs to check on the boy who had been oddly quiet the last hour.
What a shock it had been for those middle class parents to find their
son, shorts down, pounding his pud in front of a porno movie the
father had forgotten in the VCR the day before. Like all 'good'
mothers, his sister had administered a few swats to the kid's bottom
while his brother-in-law ejected the forbidden tape.

   Here's where the irony kicked in. The woman handed five bucks to
her son and sent him to Blockbuster to get a more suitable videotape
for his innocent eyes. The kid brought back 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre'
from the family chain. Neither of his folks batted an eyelash as he
viewed for two hours, women being slaughtered and torn into pieces.

   The old American way. The most advanced nation, where people
have more hang-ups about the gun a boy has jutting from his groin,
than the gun a boy has hidden in his schoolbag...

   I also had an interesting experience with a single mother whose
twelve-year-old son I was giving piano lessons along with sex Ed on
the side. The boy was hopelessly in love with an outgoing girl in the
neighbourhood. They were doing more than holding hands. So I explained
to him meticulously the potency of the fresh boyjuice he had started
spilling from his cocklet.

   I was speechless at first, when his mom berated me because I had
supplied condoms to her precious darling. She had a fit, yelling out
that her boy was not to have sex with any slut until she had decided.

"Is broccoli good for kids?" I butted in.

"Well yes." she calmed down, utterly confused.

"Of course!" I hailed. "Great vegetable! lots of vitamins and
whatever. Do you put it on your son's plate once in a while?"

"I do. Kevin's eating habits are a daily concern of mine. I make sure
he eats properly. He is in perfect health, don't you think?"

"Indeed." I nodded. "Now, is sex a good thing or a bad thing?"

   She paused an instant, realizing exactly where I was headed with my
simplistic rhetoric. "But, but he is so young and immature..." she
stuttered.

"Answer the question!"

"It's a good thing." she blushed.

   I stepped toward the door and glanced back. Her mind was spinning,
her face was flushed as if she had been hit with horrible news of a
death. It was obvious she was still tackling the touchy issue.
Twirling it to study it from every angle. Searching for a clever
excuse to support the irrational protection of her kid's virginity.
Just as I exited, I glared at her and yelled out: "Let the boy FUCK!"

                                -=-

   I had to be careful with the boys I mixed with before I landed on
European soil. All these programs they had in school on private parts
were somewhat effective. It served the cause of moral tyrants well.
They succeeded in strapping an invisible chastity belt on every kid
from coast to coast.

   The fact that children were even more ashamed of their bodies
wasn't a big deal. Kids are the possessions of their parents after all.
Just like the car and the BBQ. So what if they are not treated as
humans for the sake of their own security?

   Cunning boys exploited the propaganda to their advantage. Bribing
men they slept with, making false accusations to dismiss a teacher.
I gloated, reading the reports popping up all across the country of
childminders who were denounced by their charge. Suddenly everyone was
a pedophile! Disgruntled kids had ultimate control of grown-ups with
the key sentence: "He or (she) touched my pee-pee."

   Amidst all this hysteria, brainwashing and denigration of sex.
Finding a boy, intelligent enough to understand the insignificance of
sexual encounters was extremely perilous. As soon as the sparks of a
possible union were flying, most kids backed off, even though they
were sporting a raging boner. Their curiosity and adventurous nature
were stumped by the pressure of social conformity.

   Fortunately, they were boys like Damian, a mousy thirteen-year-old,
very small for his age. He had short brown hair, a pair of silvery
glasses on his nose and he seldom smiled. The kind of kid who read
books and wasn't duped by the inane prohibition of things that were
allegedly bad for him. Then again, all children will seek anything
banned by adults.

   I used to play a lot of tennis back in Philly and practiced alone,
smashing the ball against the brick wall of a grocery store on
Sundays. The kid came to me, asking is he could play shyly, strumming
the strings on his racket nervously. He lived next door and had seen
me through the window while I pretended to be Ivan Lendl.

   I was never swept away by kids with eyewear. But when Damian took
off his glasses to wipe the sweat off his brows, my jaw dropped. He
had been transformed from a reserved intellectual boy into a hunky
little stud. I taught him how to place the racket at the level of his
waist, guiding his motion with my hand on his shoulder. He had already
lobed two tennis balls on the roof. Something had to be done!

   Damian didn't mind being touched by a perfect stranger. I tousled
his mop, nudged him in the ribs and attacked from behind to tickle him
like I would a younger kid. All this under the nose of his folks
probably scared shitless, spying on us from behind the curtain.

   Playing tennis with Damian became a weekly routine. I looked
forward to ringing the doorbell of his home to greet him once again.
We had long conversations on life. The boy surprised me with his
arguments and I forgot over time I was chattering with a young boy.
Any topic was okay with me. And so no stones were left unturned. He
discussed the woes of an alcoholic aunt. The use of drugs by his pals.
Religion, sex and crimes. Asking all the questions he never had the
guts to ask his entourage. How come his parents were still living
together even though the love was gone? Why he felt compelled to jack
off upon stumbling on pictures of naked people?

   The day his parents were away, he invited me inside to visit his
bedroom. The only thing he was wearing was a skimpy red bikini,
hugging his round butt snugly. Hopping from one model plane to the
next, he enumerated the characteristics of his creations. I climbed on
the bed, sliding on my flank as he showed me the objects in his little
world. "This is the trophy I won at the spelling bee!" he grinned.
"And this it my pet turtle Wagner!"

   I regressed to my childhood when it was easy to meet friends. Just
on the spur of the moment, because we were at the same spot at the same time
and happened to talk to one another. Damian welcomed me like I was a child.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he blurted out abruptly, making
me wake from a trance.

"Cuz' you're sexy."

"You think so." he muttered, examining himself, unaware of the
alluring elegance of his perfectly proportioned body. "Do you wanna
see me naked?" he chuckled.

   I nodded, resting like a roman emperor in his palace, awaiting to
be wooed by his entertainer. Damian lowered his skin-tight underwear
down his lean legs and stepped out of them. He stood like a statue,
anticipating the verdict of my wandering eyes. I studied the curb of
his tail and the plump roundness of his testes. His penis was
circumcised, incredibly long for a boy that young. It looked out of
place on his petite stature, dangling there under a sprinkle of dark
hair.

"You have a big dick Damian." I commented.

"I know!" he acquiesced. "All the guys in gym wanna look at it in the
showers.."

   The admission brought a smile to my lips. I felt blessed just to be
near the carefree boy. "Take your clothes off too!" he exclaimed,
removing one of my tennis shoe to indicate he was serious.

"Okay! Okay!" I whined and nonchalantly exposed more of my body. The
kid was tickled pink by the situation, sitting there on a computer
chair, naked as a jaybird, watching an adult take off his socks, t-shirt and
shorts for him. His beady eyes scanned my nudity wildly. Not for long
though. I blinded him by taking off his glasses.

"I can't see!" he complained.

"You're too young to see this." I whispered, dropping to my knees at
his feet. His flaccid prick twitched on the first contact with my
tongue. It ballooned and lengthened to its full six inches in a matter
of seconds. I went down on him like a slut. Eating his lovely pole
right down to his pubes. The automatic expansion of young cocks never
ceased to amaze me.

"Uhhhh Uhhh! Lick there! Oh yessss Oh yes there! Hmmm oh suck it!" he
cried out.

   I bobbed my head slowly to savour all the juices of his penis.
Damian's paws clenched my shoulders with every new level reached in
the escalation of his pleasure. "Come here." I said, pulling on his
arm to go on the mattress. I arranged our bodies facing each other in
the infamous sixty-nine position. While I continued blowing him,
Damian licked the precum seeping from my pissslit.

   His lips opened wide and he dove on my tool, swallowing his first
mancock. He examined every ridge closely and fondled my penis like it
was an undomesticated animal. An alien thing, he had never seen right
under his nose.

"Isn't it bad what we're doing?" he asked in between his sucking.

"Very bad. How do you feel?" I mumbled, before engulfing again a
mouthful of boyprick.

"Very good!" he cheered and rolled on top of me.

   We resumed our sixty-nine, slurping away hungrily. I thought of
his parents bursting in the room and finding us like that, the
ultimate shock. The prospect of getting caught was titillating. The
thirteen-year-old kid siphoned my hard cock so well. I was paralysed,
unable to do anything besides kissing his nuts and anus. We stopped
altogether the dual blow jobs and alternated in giving each other
a slice of ecstasy.

   Damian moaned loudly when I worked his pubescent rod in my mouth.
I imitated him, groaning as he jerked my large organ in his fist and
suckled the helmet. He shuddered over me. His timid load exploded on
my palate. I drank his sweet boysauce, smearing his face with my own
abundant cream at the same time.

   Damian refused to be fucked. His body was more than willing I
noticed. The wilted boydick between his legs had been rejuvenated from
all the teasing I was doing to his backside. For long minutes, his
sphincter pouted and remained shut when I attempted to insert a
greased index or the tip of my member. It was friendly to my tongue
though and relaxed completely for its moist tickling.

   I didn't force myself on him, content with the boy's mouth. Over
the weeks, I found myself eating his pretty ass out repeatedly. Damian
admitted he had started fingering himself and was addicted to my
tongue up there. Eventually, he was ready, bent over his desk, legs
spread wide, urging me to plug him so that he could finally experience
what it felt like.

   I dunno who enjoyed more our first coupling. But I do remember his
quivering lips, his teenage cock spurting on the wooden surface as I
stabbed my swollen fuckpole deep up his cherry ass.

                                -=-

   But all this was so long ago. Now, as I contemplate the last moments of
my life, I ponder the future of this house and its inhabitants. Who will be
the heir of this labour of love? Who will take care of these lost boys?
Certainly not the government, nor the decent modern people of our great
societies.

   I can only be proud of what I have accomplished, no matter how
revolting it might be that a grown man would share the intimacy of
these orphans. I treated them as humans and understood the priceless
value of their majestic souls. Every boy was a king in my home: the
ones who soared and grasped everything this world had to offer. The
crippled ones. The sad ones, smart enough to figure out they weren't
getting their fair share of the pie. And the ones that died, whose only
heritage is a few minutes of pornography.

   They were considered thieves and diseased whores. I welcomed them
as my friends, my sons and my lovers. Perhaps I shall go to hell for
what I have done in my bed. Everybody will tell you, years of devotion
do not compensate for such sins of the flesh. Fortunately, the flames
of Hades are much less painful than the scorn of humanity. I will
probably like it there.

   After I'm gone, the world will be back to normal. My diaries
will be read by someone. Maybe they will be resumed in ten lines on
page twelve of the newspapers of the world. Honest well adjusted
citizens will turn to their spouses and say: "Did you read about this
guy?"

"I did! Thank god those children are safe now!"

"Yes. Hand me the bag of potato chips. ER is on..."

"Yes dear..."


THE END.