PZA Boy Stories

Beautiful Creamer

Try Boys


"Tired of the nagging, manipulation and emasculation?" a newspaper advertisment asked. "Try boys." Here are a number of vignettes of men following that instruction.
Publ. Jan 2009-Sep 2011 (Nifty); this site Jun 2010-Dec 2016
Finished 57,000 words (114 pages)


Many boys (9-12yo) and adult men (most in their 30s)

Category & Story codes

Consensual Man-Boy story/other
Mbcons oral analfirst


If you are under the legal age of majority in your area or have objections to this type of expression, please stop reading now.

If you don't like reading stories about men having sex with boys, why are you here in the first place?

This story is the complete and total product of the author's imagination and a work of fantasy, thus it is completely fictitious, i.e. it never happened and it doesn't mean to condone or endorse any of the acts that take place in it. The author certainly wouldn't want the things in this story happening to his character(s) to happen to anyone in real life.

It is just a story, ok?

Author's note

Sorry, since June 2011 I haven't heard from Beautiful Creamer, and his e-mail address is no longer active. The last two stories I found only in December 2016.

Table of Contents

  1. Rob Philbutz (35yo) and Skippy Spermero (12yo)
  2. Clint Mountboy (30s) and Devin Sphincter (12yo)
  3. Rick Topman (34yo) and Gavin (12yo)
  4. Jake Pierce (32yo) and Garrett Sweetbum (12yo)
  5. Dick Pohl and Tommy Pertbutt (11yo) and Jason Creamworthy (9yo)
  6. Nick Followell, Brett Creamload with Chrissie and Jackie (11yo) and Skip & Chip Knoblicker (10yo twins)
  7. Charlie Bohner and Trevor Moistbum (11yo)
  8. Rob Needlove and Jonathan (12yo)
  9. Justin Cockthrob and Alex Needcock (10yo)
  10. Eric Leapsperm (32yo) and Corey Jalebate (10yo)
  11. The Fix-Up: Tony Spearbum (34yo) and Julian Headturner (11yo)
  12. The Best of Times: Blake Bumrider (27yo) and Max Finebum & Holden Nutbutter (11yo)

Try Boys – One

Rob Philbutz (35yo) and Skippy Spermero (12yo)

One – Rethinking the basics

Rob Philbutz was having a typically rotten Saturday morning.

Though with all his genetic gifts, he should have been having 365 good days each year. 366 in a leap year.

Rob was in the full flower of his virility. Thirty-five years old. Head-turningly handsome. Fit and buff.

A large, fat, highly rechargeable cock with huge balls that produced oceans of thick man's cream.

But sexually and romantically frustrated.


He had 'known' several women since achieving puberty. But, though he had deposited hundreds of creamy loads within a great number of stunningly beautiful women, he found them to be uniformly self-centered, bossy, manipulative, pussy-stingy (when it suited their purposes), controlling and generally emasculating.

A sad realization for our hero.

Still, he never considered men as an alternative.

Rob never felt 'those urges'. And saw no signs that he would.

So there he was that Saturday. Alone. Reading the sports section. Trying to avoid the dumb 'sexual performance' ads that, these days, seemed to be next to the football accounts. Pictures of incredibly alluring women, suggesting that only a man who used the advertised product could ever 'fully satisfy' her or himself.


Rob was almost ready to abandon the newspaper, flip on the television and see what Scooby-Doo was doing at the old Spunkspill Manor. But then he saw it.

Another sports section ad.

Similar to the other, sexy ads. Yet markedly different.

It was a picture of two boys, photographed from mid-chest, just above the nipples up.

The boys were achingly beautiful. Even a committed-though-frustrated heterosexual like Rob could see that. He could also see that the boys were shirtless. Exposing their creamy shoulders.

Rob knew he should ignore the ad. It was some sicko's idea of a joke. Especially the ad copy.

"Tired of the nagging, manipulation and emasculation?" it asked. "Try boys."


Try boys?????

That was nuts.

Who did that nutcase who placed the advertisement think he was?

Those boys looked like they were eleven years old. Twelve at most.

Wasn't it illegal to even show them like that?

And the looks they were giving the camera.

They looked so… needy.

Needy for a man.

A man like Rob.

Rob groaned. With unexpected lust. And disgust at himself for even thinking what he was beginning to think.

Being in bed with one of those boys.


Being in bed with both of those boys.


The boys looked as if they wanted that. To be in bed, naked, with a man. They looked as if they wanted that a lot.


Poor Rob's cock was iron-hard.

But that was wrong. So wrong.

Wasn't it?

Exerting the full force of his will, Rob closed the newspaper, rolled it into a ball, and buried it in the trash bin.


That was close.

Rob went to his couch and sought the familiar comfort of Scooby-Doo.

Pushed all that 'Try boys' stuff from his mind.


For about 15 minutes. At which point he frantically dug the newspaper out of the trash and found the 'Try boys' ad again.

Oh. Those boys were such angels.

What would it be like to make love to them?

How would he even go about that?

Whatever he did, Rob was sure that the boys would be sexually enthusiastic. And grateful. Plus Rob would know whether his efforts had produced an orgasm in his love partner.

All of which would be distinct advantages over the women he had dated.

Try boys, eh?

There was a web site. No phone number.

Dare he visit the site?

Would a battalion of vice cops break down his door five minutes after he logged on?

Rob thought about it. Realized that with the current state that his life was in, he had little to lose. Cranked up his computer and typed in the 'Try boys' site.



Pretty boys.

Gorgeous boys.

Photos of dozens of them. All fully clothed, except for the boys wearing modest bathing suits.

Candid shots of boys – young, beautiful boys – being boys.

No men.

No words. At least on the home page, except, 'Try boys'.

Inexplicably, the 'innocent' pictures had poor Rob's cock nearly bursting.

His upper lip was perspiring.

Dare he double-click on the 'next' button at the end of the page?

He dared.


Men were on the second page. Good-looking, 30-something and 40-something men. Walking with boys. Talking with boys.

The looks they were giving each other! Admiring looks. Loving looks.

Poor Rob.

It was too much for his balls.

They exploded and his spewing cock drenched his pajama bottoms with thick, hot man's cream.

Rob was alone, but that didn't stop him from being humiliated.

He had just blown his testicles out looking at pictures of fully-clothed, twelve-year-old boys.

The horror!

That was it. No more of this nonsense.

He was going to shower off the cum, get dressed, call a woman, take her to lunch, then fuck her. Prove his heterosexuality once and for all. Settle things.

Right after he looked at the next page of the 'Try boys' website.

Rob actually trembled with anticipation as he watched a collage of pictures load onto his browser. What would he see?

More men and boys. Together. Everyone still fully clothed. But this was different.

The men were kissing the boys.


And even though they were all fully dressed, every man or boy in the pics was [gasp] sporting a stiffie. Tenting his pants.

It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen in his life.

Beautiful boys submitting to the adoring kisses of sexually aroused, rampant, snorting men!

Rob cried out and, for the second time in 15 minutes, shot a devastating load of creamy sperm into his already-drenched pajama pants.

How mortifying!

How totally, achingly erotic!

When Rob's eyes managed to uncross, he took stock of his situation.

He had just had two debilitating orgasms from looking at pictures of pretty boys being seduced by men.

Which meant he was gay. At a minimum. And a pervert. For certain.

How did he feel about that?


Disgusted at himself.

Horribly excited about the sexual prospects for his future.

Especially the prospect of what he was sure would be on the next page of the 'Try boys' website. Naked boys. Sucking the cocks of naked men. Maybe even naked men fucking naked boys.

He was sure of it.

And he was very wrong.

The next page, which was unfortunately the last page, had no pictures at all. Just links.

Which disappointed Rob tremendously. Though he was hopeful about the links.

Though they held no pictures either. Just links to something called 'gay adult-youth' stories.

Filthy drivel written by a number of hack authors, such as some guy with the ridiculous name of 'Beautiful Creamer'.

Rob knew it was time to put an end to all this and get back to his real life. Dull though it may be.

Back to the routine. That would do it.

Rob worked out seven days a week. Five days at a gym near his office. Weekends were for a three-mile [5 km] run ending in the park a block from his house.

A run would clear his head.

Rob cleaned himself up a bit, put on his exercise gear and took off on a run. A run away from the notion of making love to a boy.

Two – Trying men

Skippy Spermero was a very determined young boy.

Despite four straight, unsuccessful Saturday seductions, Skippy was about to embark on a fifth attempt.

Love makes people crazy.

And 12-year-old Skippy was in love. With a man whose name he didn't even know.

All he knew was that the man was gorgeous, he appeared in the neighborhood park sweaty and shirtless from a run at the same time every Saturday and he didn't even know that Skippy existed.

Which would have discouraged most pretty boys. But not Skippy.

In his daydreams, Skippy called the man, 'Tummy Drencher,' since every time Skippy thought about the man and touched himself, the boy drenched his tummy with hot sperm.

The man was that hunky!

Skippy didn't quite understand the art of flirting yet. And he certainly didn't understand men completely. Though he knew more than most.

Skippy knew that some men liked women and only women. Some, he knew, liked other men. Some liked girls. Young girls.

He also knew that a whole lot of men, maybe most men, liked boys.

And that most boys liked men.

Skippy liked men, though he hadn't been 'with' one yet.

He liked boys too. And boys liked him.

Skippy had been sucking his friends' cocks for at least a couple of years. And they sucked his cock too. He had sucked other boys' cocks too. The kind who loved having their cocks sucked but wouldn't suck a cock in return.

Mommy knew about Skippy's 'activities' and didn't seem to mind. Though it wouldn't matter if she did. Skippy was who he was,

Daddy knew too, but wouldn't admit anything about Skippy's 'interests' to himself or Mommy.

Skippy flirted with Daddy sometimes, but Daddy never seemed to react to it. Though Skippy saw Daddy's cock 'fill up' and twitch whenever Skippy was wiggling his bottom around Daddy.

Skippy would have loved it if Daddy would be his 'first man'. Though that didn't seem to be imminent.

Skippy was pretty sure that sooner or later, 'Skippy and Daddy' were inevitable.

That's how sure Skippy was of his beauty and appeal. And he was probably right.

But if he was so beautiful and appealing, how was 'Tummy Drencher' able to ignore Skippy for so long?


That Saturday morning, Skippy resolved to make an extra effort to flirt with Tummy Drencher. If the man had one or more palpitating testicles, Skippy would figure out a way to empty them for him.

The boy checked himself out in the mirror. Tiny, tight short pants. A very brief t-shirt that showed a hint of his boyish navel. Sandals that exposed his lovely feet. A baseball hat, glove and baseball.

Pretty face, with beautiful eyes and impossibly long lashes. Rosebud, highly kissable mouth.

Pronouncing himself scrumptious, the boy left for the park.

Three – Man tries Boy

Skippy was disappointed when Tummy Drencher wasn't at the park at his usual time. The man was usually dead on schedule.

Little did the boy know that the object of his desire was having an 'unusual' morning that had set him back 45 minutes and two guilt-ridden orgasms.

Rob made up a bit of that time by pushing himself extra hard on his run. Punishing himself for his gayness.

So he was 40 minutes behind schedule and quite exhausted when he hauled himself to his usual park bench for his usual cool-down.

On previous Saturdays, Rob had enjoyed the looks he got from the teenaged girls who always seemed to be around his bench. Pretty girls. Jailbait girls. Who flirted with him. And he noticed. But didn't flirt back.

That morning, though the thought of a shirtless 'Runner Man' (as the barely pubescent little femmes called him) was enough to make their little pussies soppy, the girls had not waited for Rob.

Rob sat, his chest heaving. Sweat covering his muscled torso. He noticed vaguely that there were few girls around. He had bigger notions on his mind. Like this crazy 'Try boys' thing.


Trying boys.


But just then, Rob saw a baseball bounce past his bench. And a boy chasing the ball. Catching up with it. Bending over to pick it up. Plump, round, short-shorts-covered bottom pointing at Rob.

And, despite the exact same situation occurring each of the past four Saturdays, that time, finally, Rob noticed.

He straightened his back a bit and watched as the boy stood straight, then turned around. Looking at Rob.

Smiling at Rob, when he saw that Rob had finally made eye contact with him.

Involuntarily, Rob smiled back.

Danger alarm bells clanged in Rob's brain.

The boy was clearly underage. By maybe six years!

And he was a boy!

It was gay to smile at boys.

And imagine that they're sucking your cock. Which was the image forming in Rob's troubled mind.

The boy was intensely cute. And heart-breakingly beautiful.

Where had he been all of Rob's life?

Apparently right there, waiting for Rob's brain to reboot.

Skippy was new at this, but he knew he had to take a bit of the initiative.

"Hi," he said, to Tummy Drencher.

Rob was startled. He felt a mating ritual beginning and he didn't want it to. Not with a 12-year-old, magnificently gorgeous boy. So he did the only thing possible. He said, "Hi. My name's Rob. What's yours?"

So much for discretion.

Skippy's little sissyboy heart fluttered. If he played his cards right, he figured this man's cock would be in his boyish bum within two hours. And Skippy was holding all the aces.

"My name's Skippy. My friend Tommy went home and I don't have anyone to play catch with. Will you play with me?"

The thought of 'playing' with this angel's private parts had poor Rob gasping. But he took a deep breath and said, "Sure, Skippy. I don't have a glove, so take it easy on me, OK?"

Skippy smiled with satisfaction and his three-inch [7½ cm] penis gained its full height. He ran about ten yards away and then 'burned' in a pitch that stung Rob's hands.

Just because you're a sissyboy doesn't mean you can't throw a fastball.

Rob chuckled at Skippy's aggressive throw, then threw a hard pitch back. Skippy caught it easily in his glove and burned another back.

At that rate, Rob would be going to the emergency room with two broken hands. So he proposed an alternative. "Do you like ice cream, Skippy? Maybe I could buy you an ice cream and you won't kill me with the baseball."

That was the Rubicon. A catch can be innocent, but a proposed trip for nourishment signals clear intent (See North American Mating Rituals, 4th edition, by Creamer, pp 126-134).

Skippy hadn't read that particular field manual, but he knew what the ice cream thing meant. He agreed eagerly, then said, "I have to tell my Mom that I won't be home for lunch. Do you have a cell phone?"

Clearly Rob didn't, since he was dressed for a run. So Skippy proceeded with, "If you live nearby, I could call Mom from your place, Rob. You could clean up and change too, if you wanted."

Game, set and match to Skippy.

Rob agreed, dazzled by the possibilities of having the young beauty in his apartment. Just the two of them. And their stiff penises. Which neither of them was capable of hiding from the other's lustful gaze.

Rob and Skippy walked the block to Rob's apartment, talking about Skippy's school and baseball team and friends. But Rob wasn't really listening. He was thinking, "Are people watching us? Calling the police? Writing down our descriptions?" And most importantly, "What will I do with this boy? What will he let me do?" and, "Can I really go through with this?"

Poor Rob's heart rate was higher than it had been on his run when he opened his apartment door and ushered Skippy in.

Skippy was trembling too. He hoped Rob wasn't an axe murderer or anything. Though it might be worth it if Rob was a really, really good fuck.

Nervously, Rob said, "Get yourself a soda from the fridge, Skippy, while I shower. Make yourself comfortable."

Skippy smiled at Rob so brilliantly that Rob almost creamed his pants.

Then Rob scooted off to the shower to get the sweaty stink off. In preparation for creating a much better stink.

Rob half-expected Skippy to join him in the shower and was mildly disappointed when he didn't. Though he was still pretty sure where his cock would be within the hour.

At the moment, poor, agitated Rob's cock was iron-hard and flat against his hairy tummy – the drooling knob was leaking into his belly button.

Rob ached to cum, but knew he should wait and deposit that load somewhere more appropriate than the drain of his shower.

Skippy was pretty sure about Rob's imminent penile relocation too, so he didn't want his first fuck to be a 'join-me-in-the-shower-and-bend-over' cliché.

Instead, he used the five minutes of alone time to snoop around Rob's apartment.

No girlfriend pictures. No boyfriend pictures either. Just one of an older couple who must have been Rob's Mom and Dad. Hmmm. Rob's Daddy was kind of 'mature hunky,' Skippy thought.

So, Skippy thought, Rob's looking for love. Thus far in all the wrong places. Then Skippy saw the crumpled-up newspaper ad for 'Try Boys'.


So that was why Rob finally decided to look at Skippy that particular day. The power of suggestive suggestion.

Men are so shallow, Skippy thought. Then he added a 'thank goodness' to all that.

Skippy heard the shower turning off, so he sat on Rob's couch, removed his sandals, put his pretty feet onto Rob's coffee table, pointing his pink toes, and waited.

Not for long.

Rob dried himself off, brushed his hair, but didn't dry it, slid on a pair of Bermuda shorts, a t-shirt and deck shoes and hustled into the living room to reassure himself that Skippy was still there. And wasn't accompanied by several members of the local police force – whose guns were drawn at Rob.

Just Skippy. Sitting there. On the couch. Looking sweet and innocent. And fucking gorgeous. With the prettiest, pinkest, bare toes and feet Rob had ever seen.

Rob groaned softly and prayed Skippy hadn't heard him do that.

Skippy had heard the groan and loved it. It was a huge ego burst to know that one's beauty drives men wild.

And Rob was only a step or two from 'wild'.

Rob opened his mouth and, after a brief interlude, words formed. "Say, uh, Skippy. About that ice cream. Maybe we could get that later."

Skippy smiled. And moved over to make room for Rob on the couch.

Rob gulped. Drew in a breath. Decide it was time to 'man up'. Take charge.

Rob sat next to Skippy on the couch and looked at his beautiful face – smiling at him so innocently.

Could he really 'violate' that perfect, little, innocent angel?

Just try and stop him.

Skippy knew that his time had come. He had had his playtime with other boys. Now was the time for him to be loved by a man.

Rob's time had come too. He had tried women and been disappointed. Bitterly disappointed. Now it was time to try boys.

Rob surrounded the boy with his arms and, for the first time in his life, kissed a boy. On the lips.


That was nice.

Skippy's kissback was just tentative enough to maintain the illusion of 'innocent, but ready for change he could believe in'. The boy's lips seemed to get hotter and more supple as Rob and Skippy adored each other's mouths.

When tongues entered the picture, Skippy acted unschooled at first. Then showed himself to be a quick study. Sucking Rob's tongue as it licked Skippy's tonsils.

Rob had never been so excited in his life. Or as terrified. He was positive that an anti-gay, anti-man-boy-love SWAT team was going to break down his door at any moment.

The only breakdown, though, was in Rob's inhibitions.

As the man and the boy heated each other up, Rob managed to remove both their shirts.

Skippy's bare torso was delicious. Pink and delicate. With big nipples aching to be sucked by an adoring man.

Rob's bare torso was delicious too. With rippling muscles that would overpower Skippy and make him submit to the complete satisfaction of every one of Rob's numerous, limitless, and totally disgusting needs.


Rob drew Skippy to his lap and worshiped the boy's nipples with his tongue and mouth. Groaning with pleasure as the boy squeaked and squealed out his love for what Rob was doing to him. Skippy ran his delicate hands all over Rob's bare shoulder flesh as the man sucked on Skippy's tender, right nipple.

None of his boyish lovers had done anything like that, and it had poor Skippy in a major dither.

The boy soon felt stirrings in his peeny. THOSE stirrings. He would be filling his shorts soon if Rob didn't stop licking his nipples that way. Rob needed to know that, so Skippy tried to squeak out a warning, but he just couldn't.

Suddenly, Skippy's pants were down. Rob had eased him off his manly lap into a standing position, facing Rob, who then lowered Skippy's shorts and skimpy boypanties all the way down to his pretty ankles. Skippy's little cock was breathing free air.

Then it wasn't.

The randy man had been able to decipher all the warning squeaks and, taking the greatest risk of his life, erotic or otherwise, Rob consumed Skippy's aching, near-orgasmic cock with his mouth. Sucking it frantically and inexpertly until Skippy cried out and pumped six thick, creamy globs of boy's cream into his bold lover's hungry mouth.

Rob was mortified and terrified at what he was doing. Swallowing a naked, 12-year-old boy's big, creamy load. Sucking the boy's tiny cock to a screaming orgasm.

It was immoral.

It was illegal.

Worst of all, it was gay!

It was also the most exciting moment of Rob's life.

No woman had ever excited Rob half as much.

No woman had ever appreciated Rob's voracious lovemaking half as much.

No woman had ever been so eager to reciprocate as Skippy seemed to be. The boy was on his knees, naked as the day he was born, pulling at Rob's waistband in a frantic effort to get at the man's cock.

Rob lifted his bottom off the couch and allowed his beautiful lover to 'de-pants' him.

Skippy actually gasped when he saw Rob's cock for the first time.

No woman had ever done that either.

'Trying boys' was working out for Rob so far.

Trying men was good for Skippy too. The boy's mouth actually watered when he saw the stiff instrument that he was sure would soon rid him of his useless, anal virginity.

It was a magnificent cock.

Tall and proud, with a thick hood of skin and prominent, blue vein that went all the way to the tip. Massive, heavy testicles enclosed by a hairy bag that Skippy ached to kiss and bathe with his wet little tongue.

Skippy just had to see the head, so he put his angelic, right hand on Rob's 'boypleaser' and skinned the tip, exposing all of the fat, drooling, almost purple head.

Skippy moaned at the sight.

Rob heard that and almost spurted right then.

Needless to say (but let's note it anyway), no woman would have moaned like that upon first viewing Rob's cockhead.

Rob knew what was next. A beautiful boy, kneeling at his feet – on his KNEES, for goodness sake – was about to suck Rob's cock.

Rob shuddered with lust. And prayed that his spermies would not 'leave home' early. This was going to be something to savor.

There were definitely some close calls. Like when Skippy gave Rob's hairy balls a good, eight-minute, tongue bath.

That was sweet agony.

How Rob ever managed to 'hold things together' during that delicious torture should be analyzed and recorded for posterity.

As should Rob's restraint when the young beauty kissed and licked Rob's pole as he skinned the cockhead. Making Rob actually begin to sweat, but only on his upper lip.

Twelve minutes into the splendid anguish of Rob's first 'boyjob,' Skippy began to pleasure Rob's cockhead with his tongue and mouth.

Licking all around the tingling flesh. Lapping up the sweet, drip juices as he stirred Rob's balls with a free hand.

By the time Skippy had consumed the entire, pulsing knob with his wet, warm mouth, Rob was half-mad with lust.

Skippy went for the knockout punch. Stepping up the intensity of his tongue on the 'arrow-point' as he locked eyes with Rob and telepathed him a message of raw lust.

That did it.

Slam, bam, young man.

Rob cried out – manfully, let the record show – and deluged the boy with more sperm and semen than a man should ever spurt. Rob drew on his emergency sperm reserves or something to engender seven thick, globs of 'crème de sperm' soup.

Skippy gagged.

Having previously only sucked off boys, Skippy was unprepared for both the volume and thickness of the 'sissyboy's big reward' that Rob generously donated to his 'education fund'.

Still, Skippy soldiered on. Swallowing what he could and drooling the rest all over his neck and chest. All the way to his extra-large, erect nipples.

Rob 'suffered' through the best orgasm of his life. The one by which all others would be measured. The one he would think about in his cell at night if Skippy was a boy who 'kissed and told'.

Somehow, Rob didn't think so.

It wouldn't have mattered at that point anyway. Rob's decision-making functions had migrated from his big head to his little head. And the little head said, "Re-grow that woodie and fuck this little doll."

Rob had the boy stand and drew him back to his lap. Kissing his cum-soaked face. And neck. And chest. And nipples.


Rob picked Skippy up and effortlessly carried him to his bedroom. Placed Skippy on his back – on the bed.

Rob looked at the new love of his life and for a moment, rationality almost took over. "I don't even know this kid's last name. Or his real first name. And I'm about to stick my cock into his bottom. Am I crazy?"

The answer was surely affirmative, Rational Rob thought. But then Lustmeister Rob took over all command functions and the games resumed.

Rob thought for a moment about telling Skippy how beautiful he was, but decided that was a waste of time. He could tell him that as he fucked him. And make no mistake. He was going to fuck Skippy that day. Twice if hen had the time.

The little cutie was ready for it all right. He was wriggling and holding his arms out for Rob to cover him with his manly body.

Not yet. Rob reviewed what he knew about assfucking. Lubricate, dilate, penetrate. That was it. He had only gotten as far as dilate with the women he had known. Most didn't even want lubricate. Some silliness about not wanting a good assfucking. [Sigh] There was a certain logic to it, though. Women didn't have a prostate.

Rob needed a bit of time before he got to all that. He was still limp-cocked. Wasn't 18 anymore. Skippy was stiff and drippy.

There was something he had wanted to do since he first considered 'trying' Skippy. So he did it.

Rob sat on the bed, near Skippy's feet and began to massage the boy's tootsies.

Skippy was a bit puzzled by that, but it felt nice. Not as nice as the fucking that he knew was imminent. But nice.

Skippy was really surprised when Rob drew Skippy's right foot to his manly mouth, then began to kiss each toe, gently and lovingly.


That was nice. And got nicer when Rob sucked his little toe. Mmmmmm. So loving. So adoring.

Rob proceeded to kiss, lick and suck every toe on Skippy's right foot. Taking his time. Then the left foot.

Skippy tried to hold back his creamies. He really did. But it was just so sexy. A man 'worshipping' him like that. So as Rob sucked the middle toe of Skippy's left foot, the boy squealed and spurted. Which pleased Rob very much. Though not as much as it pleased Skippy.

It was a VERY nice orgasm. Inspired by some very dirty, very unconventional, very imaginative lovemaking. Skippy was very lucky that Rob was his first man.

Rob was feeling pretty lucky too as he finished off Skippy's toes and flipped him onto his stomach. Spreading that cum all over his bedspread. Oh well.

Rob pulled a chair over to the bed and sat.

"Huh?" formed in Skippy's lust-filled brain. Followed by "Unnnhhhhhh!!!!"

The man had spread Skippy's bottomcheeks apart with his thumbs and was licking Skippy's bottomhole!!

Skippy screamed, which seemed to egg Rob into deeper excavation.

It was all very logical.

Rob had no suitable lube in the house, so he used his tongue. Well. Very well, if we were to ask Skippy.

Rob had always loved eating pussy, but this was way better. Tastier. Dirtier. And more appreciated by the recipient.

No one had ever even licked Skippy's 'private place' before. Some of his 'boyfriends' had entered it with their fingers, as boys do. But he had never dreamed of this – nor imagined how good it would feel.

It was incredible!

The man was licking out the place where Skippy made poop! For Skippy's pleasure. That was an incredible, selfless act as far was Skippy was concerned.

Another good reason to 'give himself' to this loving man.

Who was also enjoying himself.

He loved all of Skippy's loving squeaks and squeals. It was great to be appreciated by one's sex partner, wasn't it?

And the appreciation was flowing right to his Johnson, which had refound its manly vigor.

After 12 delicious minutes of analingus, Rob moved to Phase Two – Dilation.

He joined Skippy on the bed, lying on his side next to the boy, enduring the storm of grateful, lustful kisses the boy hurled at him.

All the while finding Skippy's sopping anus with the middle finger of his right hand, then entering him.

Skippy grunted softly when Rob entered him, then resumed kissing his lover. Until Rob found the boy's prostate. And rubbed it for the first time in the boy's life.

Skippy's beautiful eyes widened. Then filled with adoring tears as Rob's second finger joined the prostate party.

Skippy saw the birth of the Universe as Rob massaged his prostate. Witnessed the Big Bang. Felt it. A new world for him. The one he wanted to live in forever.

Skippy heaved and shuddered through his first prostate orgasm. Only able to produce three watery drops of boy's cream. But hurtled through the galaxy, through new stars and old.

Knowing that the time to penetrate Skippy would never be better, Rob managed to get a limp Skippy onto all fours. He knelt behind Skippy, spat on his hand and lubricated his cock with his own saliva.

Lined up his peehole with his sweet prize. Sighed. Pushed the head and two inches [5 cm] into the hottest, tightest place his cock had ever been.

Listened to Skippy scream with the pains of sweet lust realized at last.

Checked Skippy's vitals. Waited for the screams to evolve to whimpers. Then shoved in the rest.

More screaming.

Gee, Rob thought, I'm glad I'm giving, not taking.

At one point in this, his first fucking, Skippy considered going straight. Burning his Streisand CDs. Trashing his Judy Garland posters. Joining the Republican Party.

Ass fucking hurt!!!

But then it didn't. And the man knew it. He picked up a rhythm. Each stroke rubbing against Skippy's tender prostate.


That was good.

Then it was great.

He was being fucked. By his dream man. Whose life changed when he saw a newspaper ad to 'Try boys'.

Who said the newspaper business is dead?

Try Boys – Two

Clint Mountboy (30s) and Devin Sphincter (12yo)

One – Another man ready to 'reboot'

Clint Mountboy didn't know it, but he was particularly vulnerable to suggestion that Saturday morning as he sat and read his newspaper.

As many thirtysomething men were, he was frustrated in love and beginning to despair that he would ever make a real 'match'.

Clint liked women. Pretty women. And women should have liked him. He was fit and buff. Quite handsome and quite adequate in the penile department.

So why had he struck out with women?

Two big reasons and lots of smaller ones. First, and most importantly, he was far from rich. And had few prospects to change that situation. Clint was a junior-high-school English teacher. And quite dedicated to the education of 11 to 14-year-old minds and their future success. So he was pretty much guaranteed a low-paying job for life.

Second, Clint was a nice guy. A really nice guy who treated women with respect. Which, combined with his low income, made desirable women think he was a chump.

It's inaccurate to say that Clint had sworn off women but, unlike Kermit the Frog, he wasn't really hoping that 'something better' would come along. Mainly because Clint never imagined that there was an alternative.

Until he saw that advertisement in the sports section of his newspaper that life-changing morning.

It was a picture of two boys, photographed from mid-chest, just above the nipples up.

The boys were achingly beautiful. Even a committed-though-frustrated heterosexual like Clint could see that. He could also see that the boys were shirtless. Exposing their creamy shoulders.

The ad copy stabbed Clint's brain.

"Tired of the nagging, manipulation and emasculation?" it asked. "Try boys."


Try boys?????

That was crazy.

Those boys looked like they were eleven years old. Twelve at most.

Wasn't it illegal to even show them like that?

And the looks they were giving the camera.

They looked so…needy.

Needy for a man.

A man like Clint.

Clint was disgusted at himself for even thinking what he was beginning to think.

Something that he as a junior-high teacher could never think.

Touching one of those beautiful boys. One of his own students even.

Many of his boy students, had his brain allowed him to think of it, were in fact beautiful.

But he was their mentor. Entrusted with their chastity.

He couldn't think of those boys, or any other boys in 'that way'.

Could he?

Clint looked at the ad again. There was a web site. No phone number.

Against every instinct except the all-powerful urges between his legs, Clint fired up his computer and typed in the 'Try boys' site.



Pretty boys.

Gorgeous boys.

Photos of dozens of them. All fully clothed, except for the boys wearing modest bathing suits.

Candid shots of boys – young, beautiful boys – being boys.

No men.

No words. At least on the home page, except, 'Try boys'.

Clint went to the next page. Men were on the second page. Good-looking, 30-something and 40-something men. Walking with boys. Talking with boys.

The looks they were giving each other! Admiring looks. Loving looks.

Clint was trembling as he moved to the third page and saw more men and boys. Together. Everyone still fully clothed. But this was different.

The men were kissing the boys.


And even though they were all fully dressed, every man or boy in the pics was [gasp] sporting a stiffie. Tenting his pants.

Beautiful boys submitting to the adoring kisses of sexually aroused, rampant, snorting men!

Oh no!

It was disgusting and demeaning and where was the button to the next page, where Clint was sure he would see the men and boys naked?

Where was it????

There was no such button!

That was it.

Clint's face was flushed and his brain steamed with wild conjecture.

Clint didn't know what to do. His cock was outrageously and immorally stiff.

He would have to calm down and get this 'filth' out of his brain. The school year was starting in two days and if he went back with a 'Try boys' attitude, it would man ruin!

He would be 'checking out' all of his male students. Thinking crazy thoughts. Maybe even [gasp] touching one of the boys in his care!




Clint ached to empty his balls at that moment, but that would just make things worse.

Wouldn't it?

Clint closed down his computer, grabbed his car keys and drove to the grocery store. To cool off. Think of something else. Get his mind off boys. Look at the women in the store. Lots of them.

There. Good. Pretty women in summer dresses.

Clint settled down a bit.

Until he saw Devin Sphincter.

His 12-year-old, former sixth-grade student and future seventh-grade student.

Who smiled sweetly and greeted Clint with a "Hi, Mr. Mountboy! Did you enjoy your summer?"

Oh dear.

Crisis time already for Clint. Two hours ago, Clint could have responded with asexual politeness.

But now!

Devin was every bit as pretty as those boys in that evil ad and filthy web site.

The boy was smiling at Clint. And he was real – not a picture.

Clint's manmeat betrayed him. It stiffened and tented his trousers.

Devin noticed. The boy was surprised that Mr. Mountboy was looking at him 'in that way,' though the boy had been hoping against hope that his teacher would do just that someday. It appeared that the day had arrived.

Against most of Clint's instincts, the man wanted the boy and the boy knew it.

That changed everything.

Clint wanted to streak out of the store and get home, lock the door and jump into an icy shower.

And he wanted to grab up Devin, take him to a sleazy hotel, strip the boy naked and kiss him all over.

To this day, Clint can't remember how he disengaged from that conversation. Somehow he managed to take his purchases to the checkout. He would pay for his things, go home and that would be that.

But no.

There, in the checkout line, was an item he had never noticed before, but had been a mainstay of the store (and big money-maker) for six years.

It was the latest issue of Sissy Boy magazine.

Clint's eyes burned into the cover, which proclaimed that it was the special, annual 'frosted faces' issue. Then punctuated that claim with a picture that buckled Clint's knees.

An outrageously beautiful and totally naked young boy (12-years-old tops) was on his knees facing the camera. The boy's gorgeous face was framed with a hundred soft, blond curls and drenched with what could only be the sperm and semen of a well-testicled man. Cum was drooling from the boy's kissable chin and had migrated to his chest and erotically erect nipples!!

The boy was smiling joyfully. He loved having his face 'frosted' by a man! If the smile didn't prove that, his ultra-stiff three-inch [7½ cm] pricket affirmed his love of man's cream.

The boy's arms were bent forward and his wrists were sissily limp.

Clint almost creamed his pants right there in the checkout line.

Clint's cheeks were flaming with shame and there was no way he should have bought that magazine – right out in public like that. Worse, since it was a 'special issue,' it cost an outrageous $49.95! But he HAD to have it! So he bought the magazine, hustled his purchases to the car and sped home.

Somehow he managed to put the groceries away before attending to his 'needs'.

But then he could wait no longer.

Clint stripped naked, found his bottle of babyoil gel, set out a worn t-shirt for 'mopping-up' operations, and began.

Trying not to cum too quickly, Clint applied the slick oil to his large, red-hot cock and fat, hairy balls.

When he had applied a sufficient layer of lube, Clint took a deep breath and opened the Sissy Boy magazine.

"100 pages of cream-faced boys" it promised. And delivered.

Beautiful boys. All, as the promise stated on page three, between the ages of 11 and 14.

Boys in various poses, but all sopping wet with man's cream.

Oh, Clint thought, to be one of those men.

On page six, with 94 pages as yet unexplored, Clint lost his first creamy load of the day.

It was a boy on all fours, looking back at the camera with a smiling, cream-covered face. Exposing his perfect bottomhole, which, thrillingly, had clearly been freshly-fucked. It was open and drooling every bit as much sperm as the boy had on his face.

The boy was so sweet and cute and sexy. And he was looking at Clint as if he wanted Clint to be 'next' and that did it for our hero.

The man spunked all over his stomach in an agony of guilt and fear and wild ecstasy.

That boy, that beautiful boy, wanted to 'give himself' completely to his man. He was eager to satisfy his man's carnal needs, asking nothing in return.

That was what was so fatally arousing to Clint.

Probably because it was what he had always wanted, but never gotten from a woman.

The women Clint had known had never 'surrendered' to Clint completely the way the boys in those pictures did. They loved when Clint ate their pussies – sometimes for hours – and would cum their girlish guts out. But when Clint wanted them to reciprocate by sucking his cock and swallowing his cum – or even better, letting Clint 'frost their faces,' they went all 'icky bad' on him. He was lucky if he got a 'missionary fuck' out of them. The enthusiasm wasn't there. Nor was the sense of sexual giving that men crave.

The boys in Sissy Boy, at least in Clint's hasty assessment, were willing to do whatever a nice man wanted them to do. They were willing to 'emasculate' themselves – letting a man 'have his way' with them. Which was what Clint felt was the love he was missing.

Or maybe he was reading too much into that 'Try boys' Website and a few smutty pictures.

Clint decided to see what the other 94 pages were all about.

Each page was a glorious, new delight. Boy after beautiful boy taking the full measure of his man's love and love cream.

On page 24, two angels sixty-nined each other to twin facials.

On page 32, a man spunked a boy's face just as the boy was helplessly ejaculating all over his own flat tummy. Filling his boyish belly button and creating 'Lake Semen,' which was a 'man-made' lake in its truest form.

Clint emptied his testicles 'reading' that page, crying out so loudly that he was afraid the neighbors had heard him.

As we know, there is a brief moment after an orgasm in which men stop thinking about sex for some microseconds. The only recorded such time.

Clint used that unusual 'gap' to motivate himself to clean up and try to stop the maelstrom of new ideas that were consuming him.

He quickly got into his bathing suit, slid on a t-shirt and flip-flops, and headed for his local swimming pool.

His plan – swim laps. Clear his head. Change his attitude. Stuff the toothpaste back into the tube.

No problem.


Two – Perhaps a problem

Clint's arrival at the pool was timed perfectly. The last 15 minutes of each hour were reserved for 'adult swim'. During which the frolicking little ones had to get out and the fitness-centric adults could swim laps and exercise. Clint staked out his lounge chair and laid out his towel just as the lifeguard's whistle blew for adult swim.

Clint shucked his t-shirt, dove into the chilly water and for 15 asexual minutes enjoyed the endorphins of exercise. Free of the world's naughty concerns. At last.

The whistle blew to resume 'general swim' and Clint went to his lounge chair. Dried himself off. Put on his sunglasses. Settled in to read a good mystery story. Until…

"Hi, Mr. Mountboy! Wow. Twice in one day!"

Oh no!!!!!!

It was Devin again! Devin Sphincter.

The cutest boy Clint had ever taught.

But that wasn't all.

He was with the second cutest boy Clint had ever taught – Mason Goobum! And they were both wearing [gasp] bathing suits!

Not just bathing suits. Super-skimpy-show-the-whole-package bathing suits!

Clint had come to the pool to make things 'better,' but they seemed to be getting 'worse'.

If two beautiful, half-naked, smiling, flirty boys could be considered 'worse'.

Clint cleared his throat. Carefully moved his towel to cover his lap. Then said, "Hello again, Devin. Hello, Mason. Beautiful day isn't it?"

Clint winced internally at his lack of 'smooth'. If he acted like such a klutz, he thought, he would never have to worry about losing his 'boy chastity'.

Devin and Mason didn't seem to mind their once-and-future teacher's klutziness. They each gave him a dazzling smile. Mason said, "We were watching you swim, Mr. Mountboy. You're really good."

Clint blushed at the compliment from someone whose bathing suit he would clearly want to remove. And there were 'stirrings' under his lap-located towel.

Devin chimed in with, "Were you a swimmer in high school, Mr. Mountboy? You're so strong and manly."


Poor Clint was fully and shamefully erect.

What to do?

He couldn't get up. He couldn't think of anything to say except, "Thank you, boys" followed by an inane, "Are you looking forward to school starting the day after tomorrow?"

Every adult knows the answer to that is always a resounding "NO!!"

But Devin said, "Oh, yes, Mr. Mountboy. We miss our friends and our teachers. Especially you."


Ashamed at the praise and baffled by the strange events of the day, Clint broke eye contact and, as he formulated a response, looked down. And saw the boy's brief bathing suits.

Tented by their stiff penises.

Unashamedly so.

The boys conversed as if there were nothing going on 'down there'. Yet, their contact with Clint had aroused them.

Which was flattering and terrifying. In equal measure.

Clint noted that for young boys, they had ample packages. Which excited Clint even more – despite himself.

Clint opened his mouth to say something else, but Mason said, "We have to go. We'll see you in school on Monday, Mr. Mountboy."

Then Devin made Clint's cock twitch when he said, "If not before."

And they were gone.

What did that mean – If not before?

It took Clint a good 15 minutes for his cock to subside. Then he decided to cut his losses and go home.

The exit from the pool to the parking lot goes through the men's shower room. As Clint approached it, he heard water running and boyish giggling.

Oh no.

Devin and Mason were taking a shower. Sharing a fixture. And they were naked!

Clint only allowed himself a quick glance. But the captured image was burned into his brain.

Two naked dolls rubbing soap on each other and giggling girlishly. A flash of Devin's penis – five red, erect inches [12½ cm] accessorized beautifully by a lovely pink bag. Mason's plump, pink bottomcheeks.

Clint stepped up his pace and stormed past the boys, hoping they hadn't even seen him.

They had.

The 'little show' was for his benefit. Though Mason and Devin always liked being naked around each other.

Three – A moist Saturday night and a moister Sunday

Clint was feeling beset by demons when he got home that late Saturday afternoon.

Was the universe conspiring to turn him into a boy lover?

If so, why him?

If not, was this all just really what happens when repressed feelings and desire begin to be unrepressed?

Clint made himself a nice dinner – fish, baked potato, broccoli. Turned on a football exhibition game. Tried to think of something other than sitting naked with a naked Mason on his left knee and a naked Devin on his right knee. Kissing them. Feeling their stiff peenies.

Couldn't think of much else.

So he stripped naked and got into bed with his babyoil gel, old t-shirt and Sissy Boy.

Page 33.

A kneeling boy in a speedo bathing suit, pulled down to mid-thigh. Receiving a man-sized facial from a large-cocked man as he wanks himself to a spurting explosion. The spray pattern went all the way to the boy's hairline, with a good blob covering his eyes. One large glob seemed to have gone up the boy's nose. Yet, he didn't flinch. Seemed to enjoy it all immensely.

As he exploded his man's cream in thick arcs, Clint wondered, "Why would anyone want a woman when he could have a boy like that? Or a boy like Devin or Mason?"

Good questions.

Clint barely survived the evening, cumming three more times between pages 34 and 72.

He fell asleep, exhausted, at around eleven and awoke on Sunday at eight. Full of resolve to put all the 'boy silliness' behind him.

He got himself together, made coffee, and went out to get the newspaper at his favorite stand. Reading the newspaper would be a good distraction. And it would have been, had not the newsstand's proprietor been putting out the new shipment of magazines. Including the new issue of Sissy Boy.

Once again, it seemed to be Universe vs. Clint Mountboy. A dog-eat-dog tussle and Clint was wearing Milkbone underwear.

Clint wasn't buying that new Sissy Boy. He hadn't even 'read' all the other one yet. But then he saw the title of the lead story: Andy's Anal Adventures.


New stuff. Different from the frosted faces. Instructive in a new area. Plus, as a 'non-special' issue, the cover price was only (only!) $29.95.

Maybe it was worth it. To see what he shouldn't be doing to/with his students when school started the next day.

So he bought two Sunday newspapers and Andy's Anal Adventures.

The newspapers were never opened.

Sissy Boy was VERY well read. In bed. t-shirt and gel in hand.

An excruciatingly delicious 12-year-old boy named Andy left school one day, then met his teacher at a local motel. Where he and the teacher shared many anal adventures. Five thorough fuckings by Clint's count, though his eyes were a bit blurry at the end. Andy then went home, had dinner with his family, then dressed for bed, where he was joined by his naked Daddy, who gave him five more 'adventures' in anal antics.

Unbelievable! Preposterous!

But fatally exciting to an exhausted Clint, who had cum three times in two hours.

Prior to that literature review, Clint didn't think it possible that a cock his size could ever penetrate a boy's anus.

It was well worth $29.95. plus tax, to discover that he was very wrong. Andy took cocks as big or bigger than Clint's and accommodated them with ease. Gratefully. Lovingly.

It was clear that Andy LOVED being fucked. By his own father! And even more thrillingly to Clint – by his teacher.

Would Mason and/or Devin…?

Clint needed to think about that. He cleaned up as well as he could, though he was unable to clear the house of the smell of freshly spilled man's cream. Took a shower. Changed the cummy sheets.

Maybe if he could just take a walk. It was almost noon. Lunch, then a walk. That's it.

The doorbell rang.

He wasn't expecting anyone.

It rang again.

Clint opened the door and saw… Devin!

In his bathing suit. Carrying a towel.

A knife of terror stabbed Clint's heart.

What did Devin want?

Even Clint knew the answer to that one.

But what Devin said was. "Hi. Mr. Mountboy. This being the last day of vacation and all, I thought I would go to the pool. I was walking by your house and wondered if you wanted to go with me."

Innocent enough.

Against his better judgment, Clint said, "I wasn't planning on it, but you're right. It's a beautiful day. I'll just get into my suit."

And then Clint added, fatefully, "You can come in and wait, if you want."

Devin smiled and walked into Clint's house.

"What have I done?" Clint asked himself. "This boy, this beautiful, ultra-randy boy is in my house."

But he couldn't really say, "On second thought, step outside and wait," now could he?

That would be rude.

He would get dressed quickly and walk to the pool with Devin and that would be that.

Clint noticed that Devin was sniffing the air. Smelling the fresh cum.

Was Devin completely 'onto' Clint? And everything Clint had been thinking and feeling?

To distract the boy, Clint said, "There's soda in the fridge. I'll just be a minute."

Devin gave him a smile that would melt glass. But he didn't move toward the fridge. For that soda.

Instead, the boy tossed his towel aside and walked toward Clint's bedroom.

Clint gulped. And followed Devin.

Clint arrived at his bedroom door to see Devin standing at the foot of Clint's bed. Looking back over his shoulder at Clint. As he eased down his bathing suit. To reveal the roundest, plumpest, most beautiful boy ass in the galaxy.

Way better than Andy's. And Mason's.

And it seemed to be all for Clint. To possess. And love. And deposit his cock and sperm into.

In a near-trance of lust, Clint stripped naked, stepped behind Devin and began to kiss the boy's soft, creamy neck and shoulders.

Devin gasped.

Clint LOVED that!!

Clint ran his hands all along Devin's arms, shoulders and sides, then all over his boyish, hairless chest and even [pant] nipples.

The boy squirmed with hot lust. And turned to face Clint.

Still standing, the lovers kissed ravenously. Tonguing deeply as they held each other in their arms.

Then, driven by scorching desire, they rubbed cocks as they kissed.


Clint knew that he hadn't been the seductor in this sweet drama. He knew that Devin was the seductress who had made Clint's loins burn. Clint also knew that at that moment, control had shifted from Devin to him.

Devin had surrendered his body, his love and whatever remained of his virtue to his man.

Which made Clint wonder why anyone would prefer women to boys.

Good question.

Clint clutched Devin's bottomcheeks in his strong hands and rubbed against Devin hard – stiff, needy privates to stiff, needy privates.

Devin squeaked and grunted. Clearly having a good time.

Then the sweet boy squealed loudly and began to spurt his cream – in thick globs.

Clint was in love!!

And needed to cum very badly.

A fact that was not lost on Devin.

In a selfless act to please his man, Devin fell to his knees. Looking up at Clint, with full eye contact, the boy began to kiss his teacher's hard cock. With occasional pauses to lick Clint's hairy ballsack.

Clint was in heaven.

He was already having a better time than he had ever had with a woman. And it was getting better.

Devin took Clint's cockhead into his warm, wet mouth and began to consume it with his tongue and lips.



Clint was beginning to think that he was not Devin's first man. And he cared not a whit.

The boy could suck cock.

Without inhibition. With great love and emotion.

It was apparent to Clint that the boy loved sucking cock. And that he loved sex.

More tangible advantages over women.

Clint dispensed with all that useless thinking and concentrated on feeling.

A delectable young beauty was tormenting his cock with loving skill. And his cock wasn't worried about which chromosomes the cocksucker carried.

It just enjoyed the sucking.

And the way Devin stroked and cuddled Clint's balls as he sucked and licked.

Soon enough, the inevitable happened.

Clint's balls exploded. Large, creamy globs of man sperm surged out of his cock and into Devin's mouth. Devin gagged for an instant, then released the spurting cock from his mouth and allowed it to drench his pretty face.

Just as in Sissy Boy. Only real.

Letting his man dominate him. Emasculate him by shooting his cum – his cum! – all over his face!

No woman had ever allowed that.

Clint was sure he was in love.

And so was Devin.

As he greedily sucked and licked up all the cum he could reach with his tongue, between gasps and pants, Devin said, "I've wanted to [gasp] do that for you [pant] ever since I can remember."

Clint's eyes opened wide at that remark. And he thought, "He's wanted me for years and I haven't even noticed."

Then he scolded himself for being stupid and insensitive. Followed by some heavy regret. "I could have been fucking Devin for years!" he thought.

But, as we've long been told, today is the first day of the rest of our lives. And it was Day Two for Clint Mountboy.

Clint helped his lover to his feet, then exchanged a big, cummy kiss.

It was time to make use of that big, comfy bed. The naked couple lay on their backs, side by side. Touching each other's cocks as they kissed softly.

Clint rolled onto his left side and began to kiss his way down Devin's perfect body. Pausing at the boy's puffy, right nipple.

He asked himself, "Do boys enjoy having their nipples worshipped?"

Then he got his answer.

Clint kissed, then gently licked and sucked Devin's right nipple. All the while playing sweetly with the boy's testicles.

Devin grunted in obvious appreciation at Clint's loving efforts.

Boys are so straightforward. They tell you when they like something. And they can't fake an orgasm.

Devin was enjoying himself.

Clint kissed his way over to the boy's left nipple, dallying nicely. Arousing the boy even more.

Slowly, Clint kissed a trail to Devin's belly button. Then lapped up the remains of the boy's earlier orgasm.

Devin was whimpering and stiff by that point. Mumbling something that sounded a lot like "Fuck me, please, Mr. Mountboy."

Clint wanted to comply, but was unsure about his methodology.

Good thing he had consulted that 'how-to' reference earlier.

It wasn't "What would Andy do?" It was "How do I do 'Andy'?"

Let's see.

There was one way that looked pretty good to Clint. When Sissy Boy star Andy's teacher had first fucked Andy.

Gently, Clint rolled Devin onto his stomach and slid two pillows under his tummy. Then he knelt behind Devin and considered his prize. A perfect, plump, pink posterior. Round and ample.

The little prickteaser even parted his legs a little so that Clint could 'see pink'.

Clint had eaten a lot of pussy, but had never licked anal. He thought it might be a bit unpleasant. He was wrong.

It was the most fun he had ever had.

He kissed all around the boy's perfect mounds, then got to serious matters. Kissing Devin's wrinkled 'spot,' then giving it a series of thrilling licks that had the boy squealing and begging for a proper fucking.

Clint's cock was quite outrageous by then. And he was aching to fuck the boy's sweet bottom.

But he wanted to be absolutely sure that there would be no pain involved.

So he continued excavating Devin's anus with his tongue.

He loved it. Devin loved it. He loved Devin. Devin loved Clint.

Devin almost spurted and would have if Clint had eaten him out for 30 more seconds. But Clint stopped just in time. Got on his knees, lined up his peehole with the boy's sopping anus and pushed.

Devin cried out. Not in pain. In agonizing lust.

Clint cried out. In true sexual fulfillment for the first time in his life.

He was all in. To his pubic hairs.

Devin felt stuffed. With the biggest cock he had ever 'entertained'.

"It's so big and hot and hard," he said to Clint. "Please give me a minute to get used to it."

Clint complied. Letting the boy's magnificent ass adapt to its welcome visitor.

127 seconds later, the boy grunted out, "OK"

Clint withdrew his cock four inches [10 cm], then pushed it all back in.

Devin screamed and released all his sperm in thick ropes, soaking the pillows.

Everyone was having fun. Better than if they had gone to the swimming pool. Involving almost as much liquid.

Clint set about some serious fucking. In and out. The best fuck – bar none – of his life.

Devin was an active, enthusiastic participant in the fuck. And his grunts, gasps, whimpers, squeals and 'fuck-me's' made everything intensely more enjoyable to Clint.

Clint held back from cumming for 18 minutes – admirable under the circumstances. Five of those minutes involved intense warning signals. Building toward a true 'climax' that nearly ripped Clint's testicles off.

The perfect fuck.

Especially since Devin joined Clint in paradise yet again at the moment of the 'little death'.

Could life truly be this good?

Only if a man 'tries boys'.

Try Boys – Three

Rick Topman (34yo) and Gavin (12yo)

One – Barbershop Buddies

Rick Topman had to sweep out his brain.

All week long, the home remodeler had been thinking about that advertisement in the previous Saturday's newspaper.

"Tired of the nagging, manipulation and emasculation?" it asked. "Try boys."

And that picture. Beautiful boys looking at him. Urging Rick to 'try' them.

Why had that small, 4 by 4-inch [10 cm] ad affected Rick so much?

First of all, he was tired of the nagging, manipulation and emasculation he got from his relationships with women. Really tired.

But that was pretty much the way the world was. Wasn't it?

There were no real option B's for a 'normal,' supposedly heterosexual male. Women with all their faults. Or some exceptional, thus rare, porn; slick babyoil; and an old t-shirt for mop-up.

That was what was so darned stupefying about the ad. It had grabbed Rick's 34-year-old brain, shaken it and given it a good twist.


So pretty, sweet and innocent.

So needy of sex.

So submissive.

Everything a hetero man wanted but wasn't getting from women.


It was immoral. Probably. And illegal. For a certainty.

Rick knew there were web sites that glorified man-boy 'relations'. He had never been to one of them, but he knew that every single fetish in the world was represented on the Internet. So there had to be such sites.

He stayed away from those. Didn't even go on the 'Try boys' site. Which he had convinced himself was a 'trap' for men who didn't have Rick's self-control.

A self control that was 'sorely' tested the following Saturday – the day of this story – when Rick looked in his sports section and saw a second 'Try boys' ad.

Bigger this time. A full quarter of a page. Same stuff about what a man was tired about. And this ad had a man in it – as well as a boy.

The man, who was about Rick's age, was walking hand-in-hand with a boy. A beautiful boy, who was looking at the man with what had to be love.

Everyone was fully clothed. There was no 'penetration, however slight'. But it was the most erotic picture Rick had ever seen.

That man and boy were lovers. Rick was sure of it. And off camera, the man was sticking his cock into that boy's ass. Rick was sure of that too.

Rick actually groaned out loud at the thought.

And the shame and guilt he felt for thinking it. Among other shameful, guilt-worthy thoughts. Like what he was thinking all week about Carter, the boy at the house where Rick was putting in cabinets.

The boy was a stunner.

Not that Rick would have thought of him in those terms before he had seen the first 'Try boys' ad. That darned thing had 'rebooted' Rick's psyche somehow.

Which allowed Rick to notice how Carter had been hanging around Rick as he worked. Wanting 'something' from the man. Something Rick never could and never would give him.


Had there been other boys like Carter at Rick's job site? Thinking about it, Rick was sure there were. Other boys, flirting with the hunky carpenter.

Why hadn't Rick 'noticed' that before?

And why hadn't he 'noticed' Gavin?

Aaahhh, Gavin.

Rick's 12-year-old, next-door-neighbor Gavin.

Prettier than Carter. Cuter too. Blonder. With curlier hair and bluer eyes.

And, since he was living mere yards away from Rick, a permanent threat to the man's life and liberty. Though not to his pursuit of happiness.


It's accurate to say that Rick had never really 'noticed' Gavin until he saw that ad one week earlier.

Since then, he had wanked himself dry thinking about Gavin.

He would have to move. Or buy a state-of-the-art chastity belt for himself. Or just do normal things that would put his head back on straight.

Normal things. Like going for a haircut.

Good idea.

Rick collected himself, got into his car and drove the eight blocks to Mario's barber shop – his usual place. He walked into Mario's at 10:23 that Saturday morning.


Greeted Mario. And his business partner Enzo, cutting hair in the other chair.

Three people waiting.

Took a seat.


Looked at the magazines spread out on the well-worn coffee table. The normal stuff. Sports magazines. Big glossy magazines picturing women in black, seamed, fully-fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings, showing their wet pussies to whoever was interested.


Something not normal.

Mixed in with all the titty mags were…

Oh no.

Three back issues of [gasp] Sissy Boy magazine!!


Abnormal filth!

In his hairy sanctuary.

Rick knew about Sissy Boy, of course. Their ads were all over the place – TV, buses, posters. And you couldn't pass a newsstand or a supermarket checkout without seeing the abnormally filthy rag prominently displayed.

But Rick had never been interested Sissy Boy. Or its little cockteasing models.

Rick looked at the top issue. And it looked at him. Were the other men in the shop watching his moralistic struggle against picking up that filthy filth?

He sneaked a peek.

Oh no!

The other three men waiting were also each reading a Sissy Boy! And their khakis were all 'tented'.

Rick sighed and picked up the Sissy Boy issue that promised "Daddy teaches Timmy to love anal."

Rick's eyes surveyed the cover. A standing, delicious, naked, young boy who was almost as pretty as Gavin was wide-eyed and obviously crying out as a big-cocked man standing behind him stuffed the boy's tiny bottom with his raging cock.

Rick gasped.

And was immediately embarrassed. Had anyone noticed? The three other 'readers' wouldn't have heard a train crashing into the barber shop. Mario and Enzo were busy cutting hair and discussing world events with their patrons.

Rick turned to the inside cover.

An advertisement. Though not for 'Try boys'. [Unbeknownst to new reader Rick, Sissy Boy had recently been accepting 'theme-appropriate' advertising. This ad was quite appropriate.] The ad showed a beautiful, naked, young boy. He was in the 'doggy' position and drooling an extremely thick wad of sperm from his bottom. His little balls were just hanging there saucily. The boy was looking back at the camera and smiling angelically. The copy said, "Daddy just fucked me with new 'Spermbutt' lubricant. It felt awesome!"

Then, as if that weren't enough, on the facing page, the boy was on his knees. Stiff little prong standing tall and drooling boyjuice. His 'Daddy' or at least the visible, bottom half of him, was standing to the boy's right. The man's huge cock was drooling sperm from a recent orgasm onto his 'son's' fully-spunk-glazed face. The happy, beaming boy was saying, "Thanks, Daddy!" At the bottom of the page was a package of 'Spermbutt,' with the tagline, 'Your sissyboy will thank you'.

Rick gasped again. Focused on the boy's pretty eyes. Through that mask of sperm and semen. The boy wanted 'it'. Rick was sure of it. He hadn't been forced or even persuaded. The boy loved being fucked and spunked.

Rick turned the page and was assaulted with a 20-page 'pictorial' about a boy named Timmy whose father, one evening, taking his paternal duties seriously, taught his son everything he knew about anal sex.

And he knew quite a lot.

Was someone calling Rick's name?

"You're next, Rick," Mario said.

Reluctantly, Rick put the magazine down and, hiding his erection as well as he could [which was not well as all], he sat in Mario's chair. Barely hearing Mario say something about, "I brought those magazines in from home because so many customers asked for them, you know. They're really exciting. Don't worry about the erection. Every man who reads them gets one. But I don't let kids like the little guy in Enzo's chair read them. Don't worry."

A kid? A kid saw Rick reading Sissy Boy?

That was a bit unnerving. But not terrible.

Until Rick looked over and saw said kid.

It was Gavin.

Beautiful, spunk-worthy Gavin.

And he was smiling at Rick with that 'glacier-melter' of a grin.


The worst!!!

Gavin would think he lived next door to a pervert. Rick would be on a list at police headquarters. Nancy, Gavin's single mother, would wait for the right moment, then snip Rick's balls off with huge, ultra-sharp, serrated scissors.

If that were all true, why was Gavin smiling?

Rick ignored Gavin and half-listened to Mario's take on world events.

The haircuts for man and boy ended the same time. They both paid and found themselves outside the shop.

Politely, Rick asked, "Is your Mom picking you up, Gavin?"

"She's at an all-day quilting party with her friends, Mr. Topman. I walked here."

The smart thing would have been for Rick to tell Gavin he wasn't heading home just yet. Let the boy walk home. Anything else would be life-threateningly risky. So Rick said, "Can I give you a ride home?"

Which engendered another glacier-melter, cock-raiser smile from Gavin.

It was a very short ride and nothing of import happened, except for Rick stealing peeks at Gavin's long, bare, beautiful legs.

They arrived home and that could have been it. Should have been it.

But after saying goodbye and "Thanks for the ride, Mr. Topman," Gavin said, "Darn it. I forgot my key. That's OK. I'll just sit on my porch until mom gets home in six or seven hours."

All those who believe Gavin really forgot his key, can I see a show of hands? I thought so.

Another opportunity for Rick to do 'the right thing'. Which Rick, of course, rejected.

"No need for that, Gavin. Come on to my house and I'll give you lunch."

Gavin hoped that his lunch included that big piece of meat he saw sticking up when Mr. Topman read that sissyboy book.

Two – Lunch for Two

Gavin and Rick's first 15 minutes together were pretty uncomfortable. Sort of fencing around. Both looking for an opening. Or in Rick's case, an exit.

How was Rick ever going to endure six or seven hours without fucking this perfect boy's perfect butt?

Answer – no way.

Rick fed Gavin a baloney sandwich when, in fact, he wanted to feed the boy his own baloney.

The kid was so effing sexy.

As they cleaned up the dishes, Gavin took the initiative. Carefully. The meaningless conversation had been about school and baseball until Gavin asked, "Mr. Topman, do you think it's OK for guys to talk about feelings?"

Dangerous ground, but an answer was required, so Rick said, "Everyone has feelings, Gavin. It's OK to talk about them."

Rick waited for Gavin's reaction. It took two or three minutes. Clearly, Gavin was weighing his next statement. Then he said it. "I get funny feelings sometimes when I see you, Mr. Topman."

Rick gulped. Things weren't going the way he wanted them to. Or were they?

"What kind of funny feelings?" Rick asked throatily.

Gavin blushed crimson and said. "The feelings a boy gets when he sees a man working in his yard with his shirt off. The way you were two weeks ago. I didn't know what those feelings meant."

Rick gulped twice that time. Then said, "People can't help how they feel. Gavin. What were the feelings like?"

Gavin bit his lower lip, then said, "They were nice feelings, but they hurt a little too. Like an ache for something I wanted, but I couldn't have."

Gavin paused a moment to let that sink in with Rick, then added, "Then they were sad feelings, because I knew you didn't have those feelings for me. Even when I sunbathed in the backyard."

Rick knew a big corner had been turned. The boy had just confessed that he wanted Rick and was sad that Rick didn't want him.

Rick was treading the most dangerous minefield of his life and knew he should end it right there. Instead, he was trying to remember Gavin sunbathing. And was kicking himself for not noticing the boy lying semi-nude and pining for Rick to notice him.

Gavin again moved things along. "I know you could never have those kinds of feelings for me. I know I'm not as pretty as those boys in that magazine you were looking at." And he looked down sadly. Fluttering his long, long eyelashes.

Rick's ego swelled. And so did his penis.

This stupendously gorgeous boy felt he wasn't worthy of The Great Rick Topman!

Rick was faced with one of life's defining moments. A true fork in destiny's road. Safe and soulless or insanely risky and ferociously rewarding?

Rick chose the bumpy road.

"Gavin, you're the prettiest boy I've ever seen. And I'm flattered that you get feelings when you see me." Then, the unambiguous "I have feelings for you too, Gavin."

Words not necessary from here on.

Gavin looked up. Showing his wide, deep-blue, moist eyes to the man he admitted having feelings for.

That was enough of an invitation for Rick.

He held his arms wide. Gavin sissy-ran over to his man and flung himself into Rick's lap.

Rick's mouth consumed Gavin's. Kissing. Tonguing.


Though both lovers were fully clothed, Rick couldn't remember anything in his life that had been half as erotically thrilling.

The boy was an inexperienced kisser. He and his schoolmate Carter (the lad who was flirting with Rick on the job site) had sucked each other's peenies a few times. But no kissing. When Carter had told Gavin about his inability to seduce Rick that past week, Gavin was concerned that Rick may have been one of that infinitesimal percentage of men who didn't like sissyboys.

Now he had something to brag about to Carter. And he was getting more to brag about every minute.

Rick was in for a penny, in for a peeny. So as he kissed Gavin, he removed the boy's short shorts and began to run his rough, work-callused fingers all over the boy's private parts as they kissed hotly.

Rick was startled at how small the boy was 'down there'. Fully stiff at 2¾ inches [7 cm]. With little pearls that throbbed when he caressed them.

Gavin was delighted with the proceedings. Rick was Gavin's first man. His Daddy had skipped out on his responsibilities – to Gavin's mom and the boy's sex education – years earlier. And gentle, loving treatment from a man with rough hands is a sissyboy's wettest dream.

It was time for Gavin to get naked. He broke the kiss and began to pull off his shirt. Rick assisted. And had a delicious, naked, eager-to-make-love sissyboy on his lap.

The recipe for a great Saturday afternoon.

Rick showered the boy's body with hot kisses. Fondling Gavin in sensitive, intimate places.

Gavin squealed with sexual heat when Rick licked his middle finger and slid the rough, callused digit into Gavin's boiling bottom. Rick knew he had a winner with that, so he decided to give the boy something his girlfriends had always liked – nipple adoration.

Rick sucked and licked Gavin's right nipple as he found, then rubbed the boy's prostate. Gavin's first P-spot massage. In a place Gavin didn't even know he owned.

The boy screamed in sexual fury, then pumped out six creamy ropes of boy's cream. All over Rick's hairy chest. Shuddering with raging lust throughout his ecstasy.

Oh my.

Rick resolved to remember that in six hours, he would have to return Gavin – walking under his own power – to his mother.

Thank goodness the boy recovered quickly and was soon on his knees, pulling Rick's pants down to get at the man's big, thick cock.

Out it sprang. In all its virile glory!

Gavin gasped and said, "It's huge!"

Who among us doesn't appreciate that comment now and then?

Rick appreciated it all right. And liked things even better when the kneeling Gavin took Rick's hot meat into his tiny, stretched mouth and gave it the sucking of the new millennium.

The boy was an enthusiastic cocksucker. And quite active with his wet, scorching tongue.

Rick's orgasm was cathartic. Ridding the man of 34 years of hetero BS. And nearly fossilizing his testicles in its raw, sexual intensity.

Rick LOVED watching Gavin valiantly choke and gag down as much of Rick's thick load as he could manage.

His women dates had always thought that was 'icky'.

Women know all about men's wide range of repulsive needs. They just have no intention of satisfying them.

Gavin wanted to satisfy every one of Rick's sordid desires. Perhaps all that very afternoon.

They were both eager to cross items off that long list.

Leaving their clothes heaped on the kitchen floor, the lovers moved upstairs to Rick's bed. Where the man set out to repay the boy for his oral efforts.

Gavin lay on his back, whimpering and squealing so sexily as Rick dove into his cocklet and balls with mouth and tongue. Rick licked up the boy's previous creamy emission, then set about creating a successor.

The boy was consumed by sexual fever as the man sucked and licked his privates. But the Big Moment arrived when Rick slid two fingers into the Gavin's sweet pootie as he sucked his little pearl bag.

Two callused-yet-gentle fingers on his vulnerable prostate as his balls were tongue-bathed.


Gavin spurted again.

A real gusher that time.

Allowing Rick a moment of self-satisfaction. Apparently, Rick was good at this.

Gavin certainly thought so.

If the man wanted to fuck him, Gavin was almost ready. The fingers had opened him nicely. One last thing.

Gavin breathed out, "That was awesome, Mr. Topman. Please fuck me now. I want you to be my first. There's some 'Spermbutt' in my backpack. I use it when I 'rub myself' thinking of you. I'll go get it."

And he did. Running downstairs and returning quickly with a half-used tube of the lube guaranteed to "make your sissyboy thank you."

Giving Rick a moment to consider the possibility that he wasn't Gavin's first. Dismissing that as irrelevant. Then considering the long-term consequences of fucking the 12-year-old neighbor boy. Also dismissing that as irrelevant.

After all, his cock WAS really hard. And would accept no further logic or reason.

Gavin lay on his stomach and opened his legs to give Rick full access to paradise. Rick decided to take his time. Savor the moment.

He kissed Gavin's soft globes, making the boy moan and squirm softly. Then, in an impulse of passion that surprised him, he licked Gavin's sweet asshole.

Gavin squealed loudly at that. No one had ever done THAT for the pretty boy.

Rick liked lick one, so he proceeded to lick two. Followed by a barrage of licks and tasty tonguings that had the boy squirming and whimpering to be fucked.

Almost ready.

Rick applied a generous portion of Spermbutt to three fingers, then used them to lubricate and dilate the boy's 'pussy'.

Nothing had ever looked more fuckable than Gavin's bumhole to Rick as he slathered Spermbutt onto his red, thick, angry cock.

He paused behind his lover, then pushed the head and an inch of shaft into the impossibly tight quasi-opening. The boy screamed. But didn't use the word 'stop'. Instead, he grunted out the 'more' word.

Rick complied. Shoving in another generous portion of manmeat. Lighting the boy up, since that dose of cock rubbed his prostate.

A pause for discomfort to pass and then the repeated request for 'more'.

'All in' that time.

Gavin was literally stuffed with cock. So tight! Rick wondered idly how the boy ever made a proper poop with such a tight butt.

But enough thinking. Rick started fucking. And did it very well.

Rubbing Gavin's sweet prostate on each long stroke.

Gavin's gasps and whimpers getting louder until…

The boy's third shuddering orgasm of that wonderful day.

Followed closely by Rick's own 'trip to the other side'.

All because Rick got over his inhibitions and decided to 'try boys'.

Try Boys – Four

Jake Pierce (32yo) and Garrett Sweetbum (12yo)

One – Inspiration

The world was changing.

Jake Pierce knew that. He could see it changing.

No, it wasn't merely the global economic crisis that was changing things. Nothing as trivial as that.

What was changing was the way men and boys were 'relating' to each other.

That's not exactly right. What was really changing was the frequency and the number (by a very large factor) of men and boys who were 'relating' to each other.

Men and boys have always 'related' to each other. Despite, during the past couple of centuries, those 'relations' having evolved into one of society's biggest taboos. A taboo every bit as strict as the big three: drawing to an inside straight, agreeing with a woman that she looks fat, or eating half-priced sushi.

But over the past two months, that man-boy taboo was eroding.

Jake saw it happening everywhere. And he knew why.

It was those advertisements.

First they were just small ads in the Saturday sports section.

"Tired of the nagging, manipulation and emasculation?" it asked. "Try boys."

Try boys?

That was crazy, right?

Not to the men who took the advice.

They discovered that boys were sweet, uncomplicated, sexy as H-E-hockey-sticks, docile, submissive and sexually ravenous – eager to please their man.

All the stuff women weren't.

Jake tried not to think about all that 'try boys' baloney. Thought it was a ridiculous fad that would pass quickly and leave all the men who bought into it embarrassed, if not incarcerated.

But the so-called 'fad' was growing. By the fifth week, the newspaper ads had expanded to full-pagers – three days a week. There were ads on the sides of buses and on the Internet. Not to mention all those radio and television commercials.

The ads weren't illegal because all they showed were fully-clothed, hunky men holding hands and looking deeply and lovingly into the eyes of exquisitely-beautiful, fully-clothed boys.

Could something that simple, along with that unfortunately dead-accurate question really change a society?

Reports and features on the 24-hour news channels and newsmagazines were calling it the strongest 'movement' of the new Millennium.

Jake felt pretty good about himself for not buying into it though.

He was fiercely hetero. And proud. Liked women. And they liked him.


OK, the stuff the ads said about 'nagging, manipulation and emasculation' was all true. But he liked sex with women.


When he 'got some'.

Being with a boy was wrong. Everyone said so. At least until two months ago.

Since then, the world was acting a bit loony. The world would get over it. Jake was sure of that.

Plus, Jake was pretty sure that he would be finding a 'special lady' really soon. One who wouldn't nag, manipulate or emasculate. One who would do everything in her power to satisfy every single one of Jake's despicable sexual urges.

Really soon.

Though Jake had to admit that the 'Try boys' ads had gotten him thinking. Jake was a very handsome, buff, articulate, intelligent, reasonably-hygienic, 32-year-old man. If a guy like him couldn't find that 'special lady' he fantasized about, did she exist?

Or were all women pretty much like the ones Jake had met so far?

Jake was thinking about all that on Saturday morning as he stopped at one of those ubiquitous Novastag's Coffee places for a super-bold-extra-grande cup of Joe.

His bladder was telling Jake that he'd better pee before ordering, so he went to the single-holer men's room.


Jake could 'hold it in' for a few minutes, so he ordered his coffee and asked for 'room for cream' – a request that is never honored at any coffee shop in Christendom. Jake dumped an inch of coffee, added cream and waited for the men's room to open.

Ten minutes.

Tried the door again. Locked.

Five minutes more. Jake considered finding another place to pee, when the door opened. And Jake saw who emerged.

A lovely, 11- or 12-year-old boy. Face flushed. Breathing heavily. A suspicious wet spot on the back of his very short shorts. Right where the bottomhole would be.

The boy scooted past an astonished Jake and out the door.

Jake forgot about his urinary issues to consider what he had just seen. Had the boy been wanking off in there? It was clear that he had been involved in some sexual activity. But if he was just wanking, what about that wet spot?

Less than a minute later, a forty-something man emerged from the same men's room – also flushed – and smiling to himself. Feeling pleased about things. With apparent good reason.

The man locked eyes for a moment with Jake, said, "Sorry to keep you waiting, Sport," and left the store.

Was that…?

Did they…?

For the first time in his life, Jake was feeling 'left behind' of things in the world in general. Had men and boys gotten that bold about having sex?

Had man-boy 'cuddles' gone mainstream?

If so, what did it mean to Jake?

Jake still had to go winkers, so he stepped into the men's room. As he peed, his nose was assaulted with the unmistakable smells of 'man's sperm' and 'boy's cream'. Not to mention the sight of a wall that hosted a streaky puddle of what must have been the boy's sincere appreciation of pleasure.

That man had just fucked that boy in a Novastag Coffee men's room! And didn't even make a half-hearted effort to conceal it.

Jake was baffled by what was happening to the world he once knew.

And, for the first time, he began to consider the 'consequences' of choosing to live in the world it was becoming.

Could he, Jake Pierce, former all-conference defensive tackle for the Northeast Central High School Westerners, do gay things? With an underage – the more underage the better, he posited – boy? Did he want to do those things? Or was he just playing along with trends as they evolved?

He began to think of possible boys that he might…well…associate with.

And he thought of Garrett Sweetbum. His ex-girlfriend's younger – much younger – brother.

Garrett was maybe 12 – almost 12 anyway – by then. And he was always hanging around Jake when the man was squiring Tiffany around.

Tiffany Sweetbum was a looker all right. And a great – though far too infrequent – fuck. But, Holy Harvey Milk, could that woman nag, manipulate and emasculate!

Garrett, on the other hand, had always been sweet and nice. And now that Jake allowed himself to think about the boy 'that way,' Garrett was every bit as pretty as his sister. Though in a different way. He had a cock. And no titties.

Jake knew something about Garrett and his cock, now that Jake thought about it. Garrett's cock was always stiff whenever Jake was around. Jake used to chuckle to himself about it because the little nipper had a fine Johnson for a young lad.

Jake's guestimate on Garrett's cock size was at least a six-incher [15 cm]. Which was especially incongruous because the boy was quite sissyish. Giggly. Pretty. Almost feminine. Flirty too. Jake would have imagined that a sissyboy like Garrett would have had a two-incher [5 cm]. Three [7½] at most.

Thus demonstrating his ignorance of the wide diversity of sissyboyhood.

But why was a straight man like Jake even hosting thoughts like that?

Answer. He had decided to try boys.

Not 'trying' as in 'fucking,' or 'cocksucking'. Or even 'fondling' or 'kissing'. Just 'trying' as in, 'getting to know better'. Yeah. That was all. That kind of trying.

And Garrett was a great boy to 'try'.

Two – Perspiration

But how was Jake to hook up with Garrett?

Jake considered the possibilities as he walked down the street.

None of them were plausible.

But then…

"Hi, Jake!"

Oh my stars!

It was Garrett!

Walking in his direction.

Fate. Coincidence. Stranger than anything Hollywood or Charles Dickens could ever postulate.

Cruel fate. Because Jake hadn't thought through how he was going to 'try' Garrett.

Which was why Jake acted kind of dopey when Garrett greeted him with a billion-watt smile that practically gave Jake third-degree burns.

Worse, Garrett hugged Jake as he said, "It's so good to see you, Jake. I missed you since you and Tiffany broke up."

Oh. That hug felt very nice. But they were in public, so Jake just sort of half-hugged Garrett back. Then he backed away from the hug and gave Garrett a pretty good smile – maybe 100 watts. Though it's hard to measure with those new, curly bulbs these days.

The smile was good enough for Garrett. Jake almost blushed when he saw Garrett's stiffie practically bursting through his extremely short shorts. Had the boy grown 'down there' in the two months since Jake had broken up with Tiffany?

Why did the sight of that 'concealed weapon' make Jake's face feel hot? His ears especially.

It was time for Jake to form some words, so he did. "It's great to see you, Garrett. I missed you too."

Jake winced when he said that. Was he being too forward? Was he out of line? Was he being friendlier than he should be?

Garrett seemed very pleased with that simple statement.

Nothing was said for several millimoments.

Just a man and a boy standing there. On the street. Smiling at each other.


So Jake said, "Say, Garrett, could I buy you some ice cream?"

[The offer of nourishment to the potential, sweaty-sex partner. Still ambiguous, but moving forward slightly.]

Garrett said, "That would be great. I don't have to be home until dinner – six hours from now. My family has so many kids, my Daddy wouldn't even notice if I was missing for a week."

Jake knew that Garrett was kidding. Charlie Sweetbum, Garrett's widowed father, loved his seven children very much – from the oldest, Tiffany, to the youngest, Garrett.

Still, wasn't that a bit 'flirty?' Was Garrett saying he was at Jake's 'disposal' for as long as Jake wanted?

Jake could only hope.

As Jake and Garrett walked the three blocks to the ice-cream parlor, Jake couldn't help noticing all the man-boy couples they encountered. And many of them were holding hands!

Jake flinched a little when Garrett slid his hand into Jake's. But he held the boy's warm, dry hand. And prayed that his own paw wasn't perspiring too much.

At the ice-cream shoppe, Jake watched in fascination as Garrett fired down a huge banana split while they spoke. Mostly about Tiffany. "She has a new boyfriend, Jake. A biker who treats her like crap. She's in love!"

Then Garrett said, "Tiffany didn't deserve you, Jake. You should have someone better."

Then the boy looked at Jake through his half-closed, beautiful eyes. And those inch-long lashes.

The man nearly creamed his pants.

Jake paid for the ice cream, noticing that he and Garrett were one of perhaps five man-boy couples in the shoppe.

Was the whole world going oddball?

When Jake left the shoppe, holding Garrett's hand, of course, he realized that he had no idea where they were going. Until Garrett said, "Can we go to the park, Jake? It's a beautiful day."

Jake wasn't about to deny the young beauty anything, so they walked the two blocks to the park, found a bench by a pond, and sat.

Jake looked around and saw two other man-boy couples sitting on nearby benches.

They were kissing!!!

In public!!!


Jake was actually trembling when he considered the impact of what he was seeing. Men and boys holding hands as they walked. Kissing openly!

Jake felt Garrett lean into him. Looking for comfort and love. Giving himself to Jake. Against all of his 'better judgment,' Jake put his arm around Garrett and was startled by the boy's purr of contentment.

The boy was so sweet and beautiful. And he was so submissive to Jake.

But it was wrong – so wrong!!!

Garrett looked up at Jake – locked eyes with the man and without speaking flashed Jake a huge 'green light'.

The boy parted his lips and leaned slightly backward.

It was wrong – so wrong!!!

Jake kissed Garrett. Right on the mouth.


It was a sweet kiss that the boy returned eagerly. Generously. Without an agenda. Donating himself to his man.


Jake had never been more sexually aroused in his life.

He and the boy were fully clothed. They were only holding each other in their arms. No 'private parts' involved.

But Jake's ears were boiling with sexual heat.


Seeking something Jake never realized was possible.

True lust. Raw. Unfiltered by manipulation. Perfect submission to one man. Offering yourself to the other person in submission to his needs.

Nothing is more exciting or fulfilling.

Jake's cock was frighteningly erect. Throbbing violently as his tongue found Garrett's tongue.

Jake loved what was happening. He loved the kissing. The hugging. The delicious intimacy and complete depravity of it all. But if he didn't cum soon, he would injure himself.

And he didn't want to spunk his khakis on that park bench.

So he broke the kiss, looked his lover in the eyes and said, with a large dollop of desperation, "My place?"

Garrett bit his lower lip and nodded.

In microseconds, they were off the park bench and walking arm-in-arm for two blocks to Jake's place.

Three – Penetration

Jake fumbled for his door key as he and Garrett kissed hungrily on Jake's front step.

Were the neighbors watching? And judging?

Jake's cock didn't care. And his cock was doing the heavy living on the thinking at that moment.

Though what was left of his reason also told Jake that it was time to really, totally 'try boys'. Garrett in particular.

The lovers scrambled inside and, kissing all the way, reached Jake's bedroom.

Exactly where Garrett wanted to be. The boy had hungered for Jake since Tiffany had first brought him home. Garrett knew that Jake would be his some day. And today was the day!

Garrett submitted to Jake completely, letting the man pull his shirt over his head and off. Then squirming with delight as Jake pelted his boyish torso with hot kisses.

Jake sucked Garrett's right nipple as he lowered the boy's shorts, leaving the young beauty's eroding modesty protected only by a thin pair of…oh my…were those panties?

Oh yes!

It just kept getting better.

Garrett's panties were lilac-colored and severely tented.

A scrumptious sight.

Jake kissed his way down Garrett's flat stomach, all the way to the boy's sparse pubic hairs. Feeling the boy's drippy, large, boymeat rubbing Jake's cheek as he kissed around the boy's pubic region. Thrilling the boy's near-bursting libido.

It was a wonder that neither had spunked yet.

Jake set out to change that.

Tossing patience and heterosexuality aside, Jake took Garrett's cockhead into his warm, wet mouth.

Garrett squeaked with delight.

Jake had never sucked a cock before.

What had he been waiting for all his life?

Jake loved the taste of boy cock. The texture. The dripping and drooling that demonstrated the boy's excitement. Garrett's squeaks and squeals as he pushed his nicely-sized dazzler in and out of Jake's mouth. Frantically seeking his orgasm. Then achieving it.


Pumping thick blobs of boy's cream from his pink balls, through his hard cock and into the man's boy-famished mouth.

Jake greedily swallowed nearly a pint of the pretty boy's sperm and semen.

This was not the way he thought his day would be going. But already it was the best day of his life.

When Jake took his pants off, his best day got better.

Garrett actually gasped at the sight of Jake's hard, fat meat.

Jake's cock was gasp-worthy. More than eight scorching inches [20 cm].

Even bigger than Tiffany had described it to Garrett. Tiffany liked to tease her brother about her boyfriends and their 'qualities'. Knowing that Garrett loved men. Confident that none of her boyfriends would ever stoop to making love to her baby brother.

Tiffany was spectacularly wrong.

Garrett drooled to suck that magnificent porkstick. But the boy wanted something else first. Something wonderful.

Garrett wanted to be fucked. Hard. Long.

He had been saving himself for Jake. Mostly. His bottomhole at least. That sweet place had not yet 'known' cock.

Jake was about to make the introduction.

Garrrett knelt on Jake's bed. Right in the center. Burying his head in two pillows. His bottom raised and pointed at Jake. In sweet invitation.

Jake considered his prize.

A historically-beautiful, frantic-for-a-fucking boy was showing Jake the path to paradise,

An impossibly-tight, pink-and-brown door to bliss. Accessorized with the cutest little bag of 'dangling pretties' and an occasional glance of the boy's spent, drooping cock.

Garrett, the little cockteaser, was even wiggling his bottom and whimpering to be fucked.

Jake, being only human, was as able as the rest of us to resist that sight.

Though his experience in ass-fucking was limited – two girls – neither of them Tiffany – both quite inebriated – had allowed Jake to 'come in through the servant's entrance'. Jake had enjoyed it both times – very much – but the morning after, both girls acted as if Jake had been a pervert with them or something.


Anyway, Garrett was not drunk and was not likely to protest – before, during or after.

Garrett, like any self-respecting sissyboy – wanted a cock in his ass.

A trooper like that deserved a good, stiff fucking. And some nice lubrication and dilation before penetration.

Jake quickly considered his options. Like most men who didn't have a sissy boyfriend to take care of all of his 'needs,' Jake 'stroked the pole' now and then. So he had a number of fine lubrication products that would have done the job quite well.

But for an occasion like this – Garrett's first fuck and Jake's first boy fuck – called for something more…personal.

Women Jake had known loved being 'eaten out'. More than anything except nagging, manipulating and emasculating their men.

Would a lovely sissyboy like Garrett love being eaten out too?

Time to find out.

Jake leaned forward and, tentatively at first, licked Garrett's boyhole.

The first thing Jake noticed was the taste. Tangy.

The second thing Jake noticed was Garrett's reaction. Shock and awe! Jake had found a sissyboy 'golden ticket' on that one. Garrett gasped first – in delighted shock – then he squeaked and squealed as Jake dug and licked. Deeper. Deeper. Stopping now and then to withdraw and give the boy's dangling balls a nice tonguing.

After 18 minutes of that divine torture, Garrett screamed and shot six, thick ropes of Grade A boy's cream all over Jake's grandmother's 150-year-old quilt.

Oh well.

Jake licked and dug for six more minutes, then pronounced his 'boyfriend' ready for fucking. Poor Jake had been at maximum arousal for more than an hour and his balls were aching badly.

Moving quickly, Jake found a bottle of 'beat-off' lube, slathered it onto his cock and tossed it aside.

Jake lined up his drooling peehole with Garrett's sopping anus. Rubbed them together a little bit, just to hear the boy whimper to be fucked.

He was going to enjoy it all.

Then, thanking whatever stars there be, Jake thrust his hips forward and lodged the entire knob of his penis head into Garrett's bottomhole.

Several local cemeteries reported that their residents were awakened by Garrett's expression of his feelings on that occasion.

It was a whopper of a scream.

But neither lover was deterred.

Jake pushed again – engendering a second, merely scary-movie-level scream from Garrett. Followed, thankfully by the boy's sweet request: "Push it all in my Jake," the boy murmured through his tears and gasps. "I need it!"

Jake obliged. That time merely eliciting a loud intake of breath, a soft whimper, and a second request: "It's so big and hot and hard. Give me a moment to get used to it."

Jake did so. Feeling pretty good about things. Enjoying the moment.

Jake's cock was very happy sitting in the best home it had ever visited. His lover was obviously ravenous for Jake's erotic attentions. And lover was the right word. Jake could and probably would LOVE Garrett. It was more than lust. Jake felt something with Garrett. Something he had never felt with a woman. He felt the boy's generosity of heart. His own, boyish need to be loved. And his eagerness to return that love.

Back to the fucking.

After two minutes and 24 seconds, Garrett managed to whisper, "OK." Which set the fucking into full motion.

Long, slow strokes at first. Then increased velocity and friction. The boy gasping each time Jake's cock clipped his sensitive prostate. Thrilling the boy in ways Jake had been unable to thrill any previous lovers.

Which was, in turn, extremely stimulating to Jake.

Not to mention the fantastic friction of a cock in a virginal boyhole.

Jake held back his orgasm for nearly 15 minutes – and might have lasted longer, had Garrett not spilled his own sperm in a heaving, shuddering climax that threw Jake off the rear car of the Orgasm Express.

Jake pumped so much cum into the boy's sweet bottom, that when he finally withdrew, Garrett's bottom leaked sperm for nearly half an hour. A delightful half hour, during which man and boy kissed and fondled each other's private parts until Jake was stiff and ready for a delightful Round Two.

When he proposed it to Garrett, Jake was surprised to hear Garrett say, "Oh, yes, Jake. I want you to fuck me again and again. I'll suck your cock too, even though it's been in my 'dirty place'. I just have to call Daddy first. So he won't worry."

Calling Daddy! That was enough to slap Jake back to reality.

The boy was 12 and Jake had just sucked his cock, then fucked him! Was he crazy? The father would find out. And call the police! Was it worth it?

So far, Jake would say – yes.

Still, he was very fearful when Garrett dialed the phone and got the man whom Jake once thought might be (and still could be) his father-in-law – Charlie Sweetbum.

"Hello, Daddy," Garrett said. "I'm fine. Better than fine. That's right, Daddy. I'm at Jake's place."

Omigosh! Garrett was spilling the beans! Already! Ruin! Death!

"Yes, Daddy. [giggle] We're in bed. Oh, stop teasing, Daddy. Of course we're naked."

Jake looked on in horror as Garrett nailed the man's coffin.

"Yes, Daddy. Jake sucked my cock. Of course he swallowed. He's a gentleman. And Daddy. Jake fucked me! That's right. Your youngest isn't a virgin any more. Isn't that great? I know. Yeah. Oh it was better than great. He's a kind and giving lover. He even ate my pussy for like half an hour before he fucked me. First time I got that treatment too. Yeah. I know. I loved it. And Daddy, I love him."

Garrett looked into Jake's eyes when he said that and Jake melted. The man was totally in love with the boy.

More of the telephone conversation. "No, Daddy, I haven't sucked his cock yet. There hasn't been time. And he's got a really nice, 'second-time-around' stiffie that I think should go in my bottom, don't you? Right. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Is Tyler staying over with you tonight? I thought so. Well, you'd better get your rest before he comes by. Is it OK if I stay with Jake all night? Right. OK."

Jake was stunned by the half of the conversation he heard. Then his heart skipped several beats when Garrett handed Jake the phone and said, "Daddy wants to talk to you."


Jake took the phone from Garrett. Why was it so heavy? He held it up to his ear and said, "Hello, Mr. Sweetbum."


"Hi, Jake. Thanks for being so good to my Garrett. The little sexpot has been in love with you since you first started sniffing around Tiffany. I knew sooner or later you would try boys. I'm very pleased that it was Garrett you tried. The little cockpleaser introduced me to his school friend Tyler six weeks ago – right after those 'Try boys' ads started coming out. And I've never been happier. I'm 50 years old and I'm fucking more often than when I was 20. And enjoying it a lot more too. Well, enough about me. You and Garrett have a great time. Just don't hurt him – except for a spanking if he gets sassy – the little teaser likes that. Bring him home by 6 tomorrow evening. No overnights on school nights. Though we can arrange some briefer 'conjugal visits' now and then during the weeks. If you want, he's yours from after school every Friday until Sundays at 6."

Somehow Jake managed to grunt out a 'thank you'.

Had the world gone mad?

Or had it suddenly gone sane?

"Oh, and one more thing, Jake," Garrett's Daddy said. "Save some of Garrett's boy's cream for me. When I kiss him good night, I always suck down a bellyful of his sweetness. It helps him sleep. Then he sucks down a nice, hot load of my sperm too. Helps us both sleep. But I never fuck him. I'm no perv."

Of course not. "Yes, sir," Jake said, then handed the phone back to Garrett.

"Hi, Daddy. Yes, I'll miss you too tonight. But you have Tyler. Don't wear him out. [giggle] Yes, Daddy. Jake uses plenty of lube. Yes, Daddy. I won't forget to suck his cock. [giggle] I know I'm a great cocksucker, Daddy. And you know it too. Bye, Daddy. I love you!"

And there it was. The beginning of a beautiful relationship.

All because Jake was willing to 'try boys'.

Try Boys – Five

Dick Pohl and Tommy Pertbutt (11yo) and Jason Creamworthy (9yo)

One – Guarding the Wall

As far as Mr. Dick Pohl, principal of Hardman Elementary School was concerned, the barbarians were at the gates, and he was just about the only gatekeeper still standing.

The 'Try Boys' movement had gone way beyond grabbing a foothold in the psyche of American males. The movement was sitting on the summit. In a recliner. Drinking brewskis and throwing rocks at anybody climbing up to knock the movement off its commanding perch.

Millions of American men had decided that they were, in fact, 'tired of the nagging, the manipulation and the emasculation' they had been getting from women all their lives and were 'trying' boys.

Lots of boys.

So many boys being 'tried' by so many men that 'suitable,' willing boys were in shorter and shorter supply.

To expand the numbers of boys, one would have to either expand the definition of 'suitable' or the definition of 'willing'.

The great majority of men were not willing to amend 'willing'. Forcing themselves on boys was a dishonorable, disgusting nonstarter.

But the basic laws of supply and demand dictated that the men examine the concept of 'suitable'.

Hairy, ultra-butch, deep-voiced, older boys, well into puberty, were not desired by most men attracted to the Try Boys movement. So 'going older,' in most cases, was not seen as a fertile option.

However, standards of boyish beauty were, within reason, negotiable. Men were beginning to accept that every boy they lured to their beds didn't have to be a beauteous specimen of puerile, pulchritudinous perfection.

Though basic prettiness still mattered.

All that being said, it was becoming clear that the best option for boy-pool expansion was 'going younger'.

Which was approached, even by the randiest of Try Boys converts, with varying amounts of shame and guilt.

Necessity, raw sexual necessity made it happen anyway.

As in many sissyboy matters of great gravity, Sissy Boy magazine led the way in the cultural shift.

If you're a collector of Sissy Boy back issues, you'll remember that in the magazine's early days, some five years earlier, one could see that most of the boy 'models' appeared to be aged late 13, early 14 or so.

Billionaire publisher Biff Buggerall kept the age a bit higher than he would have preferred because of his concern (and his lawyers' panic) that a magazine showing vivid, four-color, glossy photos of naked, muscular, hairy men kissing, fucking and sucking every available body part of naked, sissyish, spurting 14-year-old boys might, just might, cause a stir in the culture and the courts.

Well, as everyone not living in a cave knows, there was a stir all right, but it was a stir in the testicles of the millions of men who bought Sissy Boy, first monthly, then bi-weekly.

The magazine became mainstream, so much so that it was even sold in supermarket checkout lines. Biff Buggerall was practically printing money. And fucking every one of his models, the world's prettiest 13- and 14-year-old sissyboys.

And all was well. For a while.

Until competition emerged.

Lots of competition.

Sleazy, icky competition like Little Faggot magazine, which depicted skinny, pimpled-all-over, undernourished, Eastern European boys fucking each other in sad-looking bedrooms with bad lighting and ugly wallpaper.

It was a wonder that, with classy, formulaically erotic Sissy Boy available, anyone would buy a magazine like Little Faggot. But about a million men bought each issue – one-quarter of Sissy Boy's sales at that time.

Worse were the letters to Sissy Boy headquarters. "Your boys are so beautiful, but why are they so old? I'm tired of looking at pubic hair in my pederastic smut. Why don't you get some 12-year-olds like Little Faggot does?"

Good question. Publisher Buggerall eventually agreed, believing that the risk was worth the reward.

The next issue contained two 'pictorials'. One with the usual 13- and 14-year-olds and one that was a 12th-birthday party that evolved into a spunk-filled session of spin-the-bottle.

Five million copies were sold that issue. And six the next, as Little Faggot disappeared from history.

Waves of congratulations and compliments flooded Sissy Boy. And all was well.

For 18 months.

Until Eleven magazine appeared, featuring some of the world's most delicious 11-year-old angels, all of whom could spurt thick ropes of sweet boy's cream onto each other and the men who adored him.

Buggerall adapted yet again. Eleven-year-old spurters became the norm for his magazine and sales climbed to seven million.

And all was well.

Until the Try Boys movement. Which some 'insiders' claim was a Biff Buggerall initiative. An attribution that Buggerall has denied, both publically and privately. To friends, he is reputed to have said, 'Why would I want to start something like that? Men buy Sissy Boy because they want sissyboys and aren't 'getting any'. When they're fucking their dream boys, why would they want to look at pictures of it?"

Plausible? Seems to be. Though sales of Sissy Boy have continued to increase during the Try Boys era.

The Try Boys movement and the boy shortage seemed to put pressure on Buggerall to lower the age limit of his pretty models yet again.

Which he resisted. Not necessarily for moral reasons.

"How can I find that many ten-year-old spurters?" he is said to have asked associates.

Thinking it through a bit more, however, Buggerall decided to send up a test balloon.

In the annually anticipated, One Hundred Creamy Cuties issue, Buggerall added 30 pages free of charge. 10-10-10 the cover teaser promised, with a subhead, Ten Ten-Year-Old Perfect Tens.

The randily curious bought 12 million copies of that issue (at $39.99) and they were not disappointed.

The ten gorgeous ten-year-old boys that Buggerall selected for that historic pictorial were awesomely spectacular. Drawn from the 'watch this boy for later'files of the Sissy Boy talent scouts worldwide, it displayed preteen beauty in its finest, purest form.

Perhaps 'pure' wasn't the right word.

In the 10-10-10 pictorial, each boy was well-fucked by a large-cocked man. And his pretty, often-freckled, smiling face was frosted by a man's thick cum ropes.

None of the boys spunked in any picture.

Which was why Buggerall held his breath awaiting reader response.

By rough count, 287,634 respondents reported that they had wanked so many times reading 10-10-10 that they had to ice down their testicles, yet begged for 'More ten-year-olds! More!' Five respondents liked 10-10-10, but wanted to see the boys spunk. No one condemned Buggerall and his ilk to perdition.

Buggerall had his mandate.

And Principal Pohl had his territory to defend.

Two – Contemporary Schools

Principal Pohl didn't like what was happening in his and other American elementary schools, but there were forces far behind his control at work.

His only consolation was that, ever since his state's age of consent for boys had been lowered to eleven (still 18 for girls, who could still get pregnant), middle schools, AKA junior high schools, were truly the Wild West.

The American middle school educates children from 6th to 8th Grades, ages of about late 11 to early 14… the period of rushing hormones and peak smartaleckness.

Principal Pohl's best friend, Fred Hungwell, who was the principal at Dribbler Middle School eight blocks north of Hardman Elementary School, had been fighting a losing battle with 'Change'. Sadly, in Principal Pohl's assessment, his best friend was considering surrender.

"I tell you, Dick, it's crazy," Principal Hungwell said. "Every day after school, the men are lined up to pick up their 'dates'. They kiss the boys right there, just as they leave school grounds and even slip their hands inside the boys' shorts as they're tongue-kissing. Then they take them off to lovenests somewhere, or who knows where? I know they fuck my pretty students and the boys suck their cocks. But what can I do about it? The law these days is on the pervs' side. I miss the old days when the pervs would take a boy to a filthy, public bathroom and degrade and fuck him inside its smelly confines. The way things should be.

"And my teachers! Every one of them is fucking at least three of their students. Legally! Off school property, of course, but for how long will even that last?"

Principal Pohl nodded in empathy. He had heard it all before from Principal Hungwell. But it was still poignant.

At least his best friend still stood for what was right. But for how long?

Principal Hungwell went on. "Confession time, Dick," Principal Hungwell said. Principal Pohl winced. Had his friend…?

"Some trends you can ignore. Or buck," Principal Hungwell said. "But not this one. I'm human, Dick. And those little junior-high cockteasers have been wiggling their pretty bums at me for 22 years. I resisted just fine for a long time, though I have to admit that I 'spilled my seed' a few hundred times dreaming about some of them. Now that it's legal, the boys are walking right up to me and asking me to take them home. Pretty boys. Gorgeous boys. I tried to resist, Dick. I really did. But just last week, this boy named Clay batted his eyes at me and I took him into my office and fucked him within an inch of his life. It was fantastic! Best thing that ever happened to me. And I've had a different boy every day since. Did I mention that I'm only human? You understand, Dick? Don't you?"

Principal Pohl absolutely did NOT understand. His former friend was a 'heretic' as far as he was concerned.

The law may not care about Principal Hungwell's morality anymore, but Dick Pohl certainly did.

The discussion ended abruptly. Principal Hungwell seemed hurt at the lack of empathy from his friend. But knew he could seek comfort in the naked arms of Tyler Bonemey, a delicious seventh-grader [12-13yo] whose parents had agreed to let spend that night with Principal Hungwell.

The righteous Principal Pohl sought comfort in his righteousness.

As the righteous do.

Though even the most righteous righteousness has its challenges.

While Hardman Elementary was no pit of perversity, changing laws and declining morality were having an impact.

Principal Pohl's school educated boys and girls from kindergarten through fifth grade, roughly ages five through age early- and mid-eleven.

The key number being eleven. Eleven-year-old fifth-graders. Eighteen of them by Principal Pohl's count. In this depraved era – they were legal! And another 26 ten-year-old fifth graders and 20 ten-year-old fourth graders!

Ten wasn't 'legal'. Not yet, anyway. And, Principal Pohl prayed it never would be. But the so-called 'authorities' were not very vigilant about such niceties these days. And that filthy magazine Sissy Boy was openly promoting pederasty with ten-year-olds.

A disaster waiting to happen as far was Principal Pohl was concerned. Or was already happening.

Three – Hard men at Hardman

Mr. Pohl couldn't expect much support from his faculty on his anti-pederasty campaign.

The six male teachers in his school had become uncharacteristically happy over the past year or so. With few or no complaints emanating from six men who once took complaining to an art form.

They didn't even complain about their meager salaries anymore and had recently insisted on signing five-year, teaching contracts with no planned salary raises.

Which was also completely out of character from men who had once claimed that they were paid so little that they had to reuse paper napkins and could rarely afford hamburger.

Mr. Pohl began to suspect that something 'improper' was afoot.

As principal, Mr. Pohl held regular 'morality' training with his faculty. The women teachers usually dozed. The men just smiled serenely at their principal as he preached abstinence from boys.

Still, while Mr. Pohl could control most of what happened within the school, at 3 p.m. every day, bad things had a will of their own.

The area in a one-block radius from school had become was routinely filled with men. Chatting up the Hardman Elementary boys. Flirting with them. The boys flirting back. Connections made, many man-boy couples went off, hand-in-hand to sordid trysts.

As if that weren't bad enough, Mr. Pohl had personally observed that it wasn't just 11-year-old Hardman boys hooking up. Or even 10-year-olds. Younger boys were [gasp] being led off to filthy perversion.

Mr. Pohl reported all this to the police, of course. And they promised to maintain solid vigilance. Which, Mr. Pohl learned, usually involved a police car parked in the 'Flirty Zone' every day after school. With the policemen flirting with the boys as flirtily as the other men. And young boys being driven off in the police car to further perversions.

Mr. Pohl got no help from his School Board. Oh no. They just told him to 'chill out'. And 'get a life'. Using stupid, outdated, 1990s catch phrases to gloss over the biggest crisis in education in world history.

The School Board members were probably fucking the boys too.

So there Mr. Pohl was. Surrounded by actual 'enemies'. Without the comfort of paranoia.

Sitting in his office an hour after his conversation with the heretical Principal Hungwell. Mr. Pohl looked at the 'old-school' paddle hanging on his wall – a joke gift presented to him when he became principal ten years earlier. Never used, of course.

Maybe that was a good part of the current 'problem'. Maybe he needed to step up discipline, rather than dampen it. Put a little fear of authority back in the mix.


As Mr. Pohl was musing about swatting a slutty boy's bottom with that wooden, perforated paddle, his door opened and he saw his secretary, Miss Spinster.

Miss Spinster was perhaps Mr. Pohl's last ally at Hardman. Having never experienced sex herself, she couldn't imagine why anyone would want or need it. So she was 100% with Mr. Pohl on his 'stamp out boysex' campaign.

"That little felon Tommy Pertbutt is here, Mr. Pohl. His teacher, Miss Bigjuggs sent him to you for violating the school policy on 'bling' jewelry."

Mr. Pohl sat up at attention. At last. An opportunity for discipline. Perhaps an offense worthy of the paddle. The first shot in the counterattack on immorality.

"Send him in, please, Miss Spinster."

Tommy walked into Mr. Pohl's office. Shyly. Timidly.

Mr. Pohl had two thought when he saw the fearful lad. 1) This one could even respect authority. If so, no need to paddle him. Rats. And 2) Tommy is a VERY beautiful boy! An eleven-year-old fifth grader. Tons of red curls. An angelic face, masked with cute freckles. And a…what was that?

Tommy Pertbutt was wearing an ultra-delicate gold chain which displayed, at his kissable throat, one word in 24-carat script: 'Sissyboy!'


In his school??!?!?

Blatantly advertising his perversity to all?!?!?!?!?

Twin snort of flame shot from Mr. Pohl's nostrils.

"What is this?" Mr. Pohl shouted. Scaring the boy and making him step back sharply.

No answer from the boy, though tears formed in his beautiful, green eyes.

More calmly that time, Mr. Pohl repeated the question: "What is this?"

Tommy blubbered out, "It's a necklace, sir."

"I know that, Mr. Pertbutt," Mr. Pohl shouted. Making the boy sob in fear. "Why are you wearing it?"

Tommy had to take a few moments to collect himself, but then he answered. "My Daddy gave it to me."

This was worse than Mr. Pohl thought. His FATHER was a partner in perversion with this poor angel? A soiled angel by all appearances now.

Mr. Pohl took a breath, and had to ask, "Did your father 'make' you a sissyboy, Mr. Pertbutt?"

Tommy had to think a moment about that question, but then appeared to catch its meaning and answered proudly, "Oh, yes sir. Daddy 'makes me a sissyboy' every night. And daytimes too, on the weekends."

Mr. Pohl gasped. So this was where we were these days. Boys proudly admitting that their fathers were fucking their pretty bottoms.

This boy is a victim, Mr. Pohl decided. And should be treated as such. He should call child services. Right after the boy removes that advertisement for perversion.

"I'm sorry for your situation, Tommy. Hand me that necklace and I'll start getting you some help."

Tommy looked puzzled. "But, Mr. Pohl. I don't need any help. And I can't give you my necklace."

A short burst of anger pricked Mr. Pohl. Trying to be calm, he asked, "Why can't you give me that necklace?"

Tommy smiled. It was a magnificent smile. "I promised Daddy I'd never take it off, Mr. Pohl. I'm sorry. I can't break a promise to Daddy."

Uh oh.

A Mexican standoff without guacamole.



Mr. Pohl walked to his wall and pulled down the mean-looking paddle. Tommy cringed when he saw Mr. Pohl slap it against his desk.

"I'm not kidding around Mr. Pertbutt. Give me the necklace or get the spanking of your life."

Tommy began to cry. Large, heaving sobs that nearly broke Mr. Pohl's heart. But not his resolve.

Then, the boy's courageous reply. "I can't break a promise to Daddy."

Damn, Mr. Pohl thought. Now I have to spank this boy. I don't want to… Wait! What?

Without being told to, Tommy had disrobed. Quickly and completely. Socks and underwear too. Quite naked.

Deliciously naked.

Mr. Pohl noticed. And so did his cock. Which threatened to rip through his pants.

He managed to sputter out a "What?…Why?"

"When I'm bad, Daddy always spanks me naked," Tommy said. He was aware of the effect he was having on Mr. Pohl. And he liked it.

Tommy had always had that effect on men. Ever since he could remember. When Daddy first 'made him a sissyboy,' his life finally made sense. Men liked him because they wanted to fuck him. It was all clear to him.

Tommy had never cheated on Daddy. Yet. But he and Daddy hadn't talked about being 'exclusive'.

Tommy was pretty sure he would know how to 'make friends' with men. Even 19th-Century prudes like Mr. Pohl.

Looking at Mr. Pohl's reaction to Tommy's naked body, Tommy was excited about his immediate future.

And Mr. Pohl could see Tommy's excitement.

All fiercely-stiff, 3.15 inches [8 cm] of it.

Tommy saw Mr. Pohl staring at Tommy's peeny. It appeared to Tommy that the man couldn't keep his eyes off it. Though, truth be told, Mr. Pohl was looking at Tommy's pink, wrinkly little ball sack every bit as much as he was looking at the boy's penis.

And Mr. Pohl was eagerly anticipating his first look at Tommy's pretty bum. Even if he had to spank Tommy to see it.

Already, Mr. Pohl had discovered the striking difference between the theory of being with a gorgeous, naked sissyboy (which was simple to resist) and the reality of being with gorgeous, naked sissyboy (which was virtually irresistible to all but the most resolutely celibate).

Mr. Pohl was standing in the center of his office. Holding his punishment paddle. Cock rampant. Trembling. Wondering what to do next.

Should he tell Tommy to get dressed and go back to class? Spank the evil out of him, then send him back? Throw Tommy across his desk and plunge his cock into the boy's bottom?

Two bad choices. Another unthinkably immoral.

What to do?

Mr. Pohl sat to consider that question.

Which spurred Tommy to help decide.

Sobbing miserably Tommy lay across Mr. Pohl's lap. Presenting himself for the discipline that was appropriate to his defiance of his principal.

Showing the full magnificence of his bare bottom to his potential 'abuser'.

Wiggling his bottom in fear. Moving around so much that his plump cheeks parted. Showing 'pink'.

Rubbing his stiff little soldier against his principal's thigh. Making a very naughty wet spot.


If Mr. Pohl didn't spank the boy soon…

The principal dropped the paddle, but raised his hand to swat the boy's plump, delectable bottom.

Tommy winced, expecting the first of perhaps several hard swats.

But Mr. Pohl couldn't do it.

Spanking that bottom would be like peeing on the Mona Lisa.

"Stand up, Tommy," Mr. Pohl said. "Please."

Tommy lifted himself up from his extremely compromising position. And stood in front of his principal. Awaiting developments.

Tommy's penis pointed at his belly button. Fear excited him. Being naked with a man excited him.

Mr. Pohl tried to keep things 'neutral'. Though he couldn't help looking at the wonder that was the skinned, dark-pink, drooling head of Tommy's 11-year-old cock. Which stood tall mere inches from Mr. Pohl's face.

"You're a brave boy, Tommy," the man said. "Wrongheaded about some things, but loyal and principled. Willing to face punishment for what you believe in."

Tommy smiled. And his cock twitched at the compliments.

"Thanks, Mr. Pohl," he said. He almost made a move to get dressed. But thought better of it. Didn't try to cover himself in any way.

Long pause.

Tommy could almost smell the smoke from Mr. Pohl's overheated brain.


"Your Daddy is a very lucky man, Tommy." Still neutral. Maybe. Mr. Pohl could have been talking about loyalty and all that.

But he wasn't.

Neutrality ended when Mr. Pohl took the boy's sweet cock into his mouth and licked it all over with his hungry tongue.

The principal had taken a position. Not unlike the position his friend, Principal Hungwell had recently taken.

It was a much better position than he had imagined possible.

The boy's cock had no particular taste. Skin-salt. Or was that traces of urine? Or pre-cum?

Tommy's reactions to the man tasting him delighted Mr. Pohl.

Tommy was squeaking happily as Mr. Pohl licked and bathed each of Tommy's tender balls with his tongue.

Oral sex certainly beat a spanking. For both of them.

Mr. Pohl pleasured Tommy's 'boy's things' a bit differently than his Daddy did. More licking than sucking. More attention to his tender testicles. Tommy like that. And he liked the variety of it all. Better than being 'exclusive'.

Mr. Pohl was having the best time of his life, while telling himself it wasn't actually happening. Sucking an 11-year-old babydoll's cock wasn't on that day's 'to-do- list for Mr. Pohl. It was something he had preached against and suppressed all his life.

Now that he had crossed the line, the biggest line of his life, he knew there was no going back. Once he fully convinced himself that it was all really happening.

He needed a 'sign'.

He got one.

It was wet.

Tommy screamed loudly. Which convinced Miss Spinster that the felonious fifth-grader was getting the whipping he deserved.

It was Mr. Pohl, actually, who had just sucked and licked a cock with passion and skill, who was getting what he deserved. The cocksucker's big reward.

Tommy's ecstatic scream foreshadowed by milliseconds his frantic, heaving, desperate thrusts and creamy pumps into his principal's throat.

Mr. Pohl hadn't believed that someone as young as Tommy could make 'boy's cream'. The boy excelled at production and distribution of the world's most delicious 'man-nourishment'.

Mr. Pohl gagged in surprise as he felt hot spunk hit his tonsils. His second emotion was pride. He had made a gorgeous boy so sexually excited that the boy shot his spunk!

Hey, hey!

And, he had enhanced the experience by swallowing the creamy treat. Every drop. Which seemed to elicit sweet, pleased little grunts from the boy.

Unselfishly, Mr. Pohl did what he could to prolong the boy's pleasure. He continued to 'adore' Tommy's cock until it had regained much of its stiffness. Mr. Pohl's evolving plan was to suck out a second load of 'boy's cream'.

Tommy had a better idea.

He slid his cock from his principal's lips, then sat nakedly on the man's lap. Throwing his arms around Mr. Pohl's neck, he kissed his new lover's hungry mouth. Tongues became involved. Sweet!

Tommy ran his hand over Mr. Pohl's clothes-covered cock. The boy judged its size as 'more than adequate'. And its excitement level as DEFCON FOUR.

The boy broke the kiss and breathed, "That was awesome. You need to cum, sir, or you'll injure yourself. Let me help you."

Tommy sank to his knees, maintaining eye contact with his new friend. Seeing the lust and need in Mr. Pohl's eyes as he unhooked the principal's trousers, then unzipped them. The boy parted the trousers, then unsnapped the fly of Mr. Pohl's boxers.

Freeing the neglected cock on Principal Dick Pohl. One of the last opponents of the Try Boys movement. Throbbing needily as a boy was poised to try him.

Tommy was delighted with what he saw. Mr. Pohl's cock was tall and fat. With a full foreskin and pouty, drooling, kissable peelips.

Still eye-locked on his man, Tommy lightly kissed Mr. Pohl's peelips. Giggling with pleasure when the man groaned.

With his right hand, Tommy pulled back Mr. Pohl's foreskin, exposing the dark-red cockhead swollen with years of unnecessary suppression. With his left hand, Tommy cuddled Mr. Pohl's hairy testicles. Gently, but impactfully. Just the way Daddy liked having his balls handled.

Another groan from the man.

Then some serious lickwork from the boy.

Tommy gave the man's 'three amigos' a full, thorough tongue bath. Finishing with a mouth-capping of the cockhead.

It was the best of times and the worst of times for Mr. Pohl. He was taken to new plateaus of pleasure and hellish circles of guilt and shame. As his orgasm approached, he was able, as we all are, to focus on his pleasure.

There was a lot of it to focus on.

The boy was an excellent cocksucker. And the man NEEDED to have his cock sucked.

Though there were at least ten warning pangs of approaching ecstasy, Mr. Pohl was startled by his orgasm's fierce intensity.

It nearly blew his toes off.

And it went on for almost two minutes. And seven thick globs of man's cream.

Tommy swallowed the first three. Then took the last four on his pretty face.

Looking at Tommy's cum-drenched face after his own orgasm had subsided, Mr. Pohl fought guilt and shame. He even managed a giddy thought of sending Tommy back to class with a faceful of cum. Instructing him to tell whoever asked that it was Mr. Pohl who had bedewed him like that.

Stupid thought.

Though what he did was almost as stupid. He stood Tommy up, then sucked him to a second boycum. Making him spurt and shudder when he entered his anus with a thick, manly finger as he sucked him.

Two cums for Tommy. One for Mr. Pohl. Cum on Tommy's face and a bit on Mr. Pohl's chin.

Mr. Pohl hustled around the room with a towel, cleaning faces and the floor. Then he opened his mouth to say something to Tommy, but didn't know what to say.

Should he apologize to Tommy? Thank him? Ser up a next date?

Tommy smiled sweetly as he got dressed, then went to Mr. Pohl and kissed him. That said it all.

Tommy left the room to return to class. Leaving Mr. Pohl stunned and drained. And strangely happy.

Four – Doing the really unthinkable

Later that day, Mr. Pohl presided at a 15-minute, previously-scheduled assembly. Speaking to the entire student body about upcoming school events. Looking out at all those beautiful boys. Including the one whose cum he had just swallowed. Trying not to look at Tommy. But occasionally catching Tommy's eye. Which made Mr. Pohl's cock twitch… almost imperceptibly.

Despite his angst, Mr. Pohl was a professional. For the most part, he kept it together during his presentation and no one noticed that he had become a different man. A man who had 'tried' a boy.

Except one boy. Who was sure that Mr. Pohl was different. And wanted to do something about it.

Nine-year-old Jason Creamworthy had had a crush on Mr. Pohl for as long as he could remember. He had known Mr. Pohl all his life. The man was an across-the-street neighbor and a friend of his Daddy's.

Jason wasn't one of those sissyboys who cockteased his Daddy until the paternal penis penetrated the boy. He thought incest was icky. But he thought man-boy sex was the natural order of things.

Jason was all for the Try Boys movement. It was a blueprint for his life. A life he wanted to get started right away. And not wait until he was an 'old codger' of eleven years old like that stupid 'consent' law said.

Jason had fooled around with his classmate and best friend Chip, of course. Kissing – naked kissing when they could manage it. Lots of mutual cock-handling and some cocksucking to dry, but shuddering climaxes. Jason and Chip had recently begun to explore each other's bottomholes with curious fingers, but neither had discovered each other's 'boy's place' deep inside their bottoms.

Boy stuff.

No men. Yet.

Jason wanted Mr. Pohl. He wanted Mr. Pohl to be his first man. And he wanted him now!

Looking at Mr. Pohl in assembly that day, Jason felt that his dream could come true. Soon. Really soon.

But he would have to do something about it. Not just wait for Fate.

Fate is way too passive for most of us.

Mr. Pohl arrived home from school at 4:15 that afternoon. He was happy to be inside. Away from all those boys. All that temptation.

Maybe if he just pretended that nothing had happened, Tommy would forget about it all and that would be that. Mr. Pohl could go back to being himself again. Stuffy. Judgmental.

Comfortable and familiar.

No excitement.

But for Mr. Pohl, Fate was on red alert and acting decisively.


The doorbell?

He wasn't expecting anyone.

Mr. Pohl answered the door.

It was the neighbor kid, Jason Creamworthy.

Looking extraordinarily cute! Sandy blond hair. Micro-mini shorts. Tiny t-shirt. Flip-flops that showed off his pretty feet and toes. And a newsboy's delivery bag.

Nine years old and already looking like a man's wettest dream.

Mr. Pohl's cock twitched. Which made the man hate himself, and what he was becoming. But less so than he had hated himself after sucking Tommy the second time.

Was that progress?

What did Jason want? And how could he get rid of him?

"Hi, Mr. Pohl," Jason said sunnily. "Would you like to subscribe to the newspaper?"

Mr. Pohl didn't know that the boy delivered newspapers. He hadn't seen him doing that. Not that he was watching the boy.

Mr. Pohl hadn't thought about the newspaper much lately. Got his news on line. But the kid was a family friend. Maybe he could help him out.

Because he was friends with the family.

Not because the boy was effing gorgeous.

And Mr. Pohl's cock was getting unnaturally stiff.

Well, the man would just sign up for the newspaper and send Jason off. Then go to sleep for the night. And start looking for a new job the next day. One that was free of the temptation of boys. He wasn't too old for manual labor. Or the fast food industry.

As Mr. Pohl opened his mouth to agree to becoming a subscriber, Jason added the deal sweetener. The boy had rehearsed the line. Realized that saying it was crossing a big line. Was nervous about saying it. Then said it anyway.

"This month only, Mr. Pohl, all new subscribers get a kiss."



A kiss?!?!?!?!


Mr. Pohl looked startled. Jason smiled, then said, "Oh, I meant a kiss from me. On the lips."

Still smiling at Mr. Pohl. Whose armpits had begun to sweat.

The man was thinking.

About kissing Jason.

And what might follow.

Mr. Pohl had to admit that the boy had excellent marketing sense for a nine-year-old.

Had he made that offer to other men? Or was it just for Mr. Pohl?

Good golly, Jason looked kissable!

Mr. Pohl wanted to kiss him. Badly. Then he did just that.

He took the boy into his arms, lifted him up, and kissed him. Right on the lips. The boy groaned with lust.

And opened his mouth to admit his dream man's tongue.

Mr. Pohl was tongue kissing a nine-year-old! Pulling down the boy's shorts and his, oh, dear, pink panties!

In for a penny, in for a pound. They can't hang me twice. Damn the torpedoes. Comforted by these and other rationalizing clichés too numerous to mention, the man stepped things up.

He hadn't done anything anal with Tommy. There hadn't been time. In his naughtiest, post-Tommy thoughts, Mr. Pohl had regretted that oversight.

Which he corrected with Jason.

Entering the angel's bottomhole with one finger – then two. Making the boy cry out, then scream as Mr. Pohl found Jason's prostate and rubbed it.

That was the moment when Mr. Pohl knew there was no going back. The only plunge he could take was forward.

Plunging seemed like an excellent idea.

With Jason.

The boy was squirming and squealing as the man kissed him desperately and massaged the boy's enflamed prostate with two rude, callused fingers. Jason had never felt anything half as good all his life and he was cumming frantically in less than five minutes.

No sperm. Too young. But the little doll was cumming nonetheless. And had lost none of the randiness we 'spurters' often experience temporarily after a ball-draining.

Jason was ready for more sex. Right away. Of any flavor.

So was Mr. Pohl.

The man had concentrated on the mouth and the penis with Tommy. Time to expand his repertoire.

Mr. Pohl had just learned that Jason loved to have his anus penetrated with fingers. Which suggested that other anal pleasures would be greatly appreciated.

Maybe even… fucking!

The ultimate violation. Of a boy too young to shoot sperm.

It was all too 'wrong' for Mr. Pohl's brain to process. So he transferred control functions to his penis.

Mr. Pohl stripped the boy's tshirt off, then carried the delightfully naked boy upstairs to his bedroom.

He laid the boy on his back on the bed, then got as naked as the boy.

He covered the boy with his manly, hairy body. He was so much bigger than the boy. It was all so wrong! Which made it so exciting for them both.

The lovers kissed and rubbed stiff cocks. Delicious!! Sweet!!

Hot appetizers before the main course of full, anal delights.

Mr. Pohl didn't want to 'lose a load' during foreplay. So he stopped kissing the boy's mouth and kissed his way down the boy's body. Making a nice, long, oral visit to the boy's stiff nipples. Something Jason and Chip had not discovered yet. [Wait until I tell Chip about this!!! Jason couldn't help thinking.}

Reluctantly abandoning the world's tastiest nipples, Mr. Pohl acquainted himself with the smallest cock he had ever seen. Barely two inches [5 cm] of exquisite, pink perfection. And a wrinkled ballbag that pouted for kisses.

Though Jason's bumhole was Mr. Pohl's ultimate objective, there was no rush. A nice cocksucking would relax the boy. Perhaps make Jason more 'hospitable' when Mr. Pohl proposed anal sex.

So Mr. Pohl gave the boy an enthusiastic cocksucking. Which engendered both a second, more powerful, dry orgasm for the boy and made the boy even more eager for anything his neighbor and principal wanted to do. Even [gasp] fucking!

Jason knew about fucking, of course. He and Chip had discussed it. They were both terrified of it and eager for it. Chip had recently begun to cocktease his Daddy, hoping for paternal penetration in his near future.

Despite Chip's incestuous activism, it appeared that Jason would be fucked first. Take that, Chip!

Jason was sure that fucking was imminent, because Mr. Pohl had flipped him onto his stomach and was doing something neither he nor Chip would have imagined.

The man had parted the boy's bottom cheeks with his thumbs and was [gasp] licking Jason's anus!!

And not just the outside of it. He was digging with his tongue. Digging inside of Jason's boyhole. Wetting it! Opening it! Getting it ready for his huge cock!

On the brink of realizing his dream of being man-fucked, Jason panicked.

He didn't want to die.

He was too young to die.

But not too young to fuck.

Mr. Pohl would have stopped if Jason had said, 'no'. Probably.

Though at this point, Mr. Pohl more closely resembled a feral animal than a ultra-square elementary-school principal.

Jason didn't say 'no'. Though he considered it.

Especially when he felt Mr. Pohl's cockhead rip into his far-too-tiny hole.

He did scream, however. Which Mr. Pohl interpreted as ecstasy, not refusal.

Mr. Pohl paused. Letting his lover get used to the huge invader. Three minutes of soft, subsiding sobs. Then, "Are you OK, Jason?"

A whimper. Then, "Yes. Is there more?"

"There's more. Lots more. Do you want me to stop? I can, but I think you'll want to feel my cock on your prostate. Or it wouldn't be a real fuck. OK?"

Jason felt a twinge of fear. But he couldn't hold his head up with Chip if he punked out, could he?

"OK," Jason whimpered.

Good boy, Mr. Pohl thought. Then he fucked him. Pushed his whole, fat cock in. Endured the screams and panic. Watched Jason settle down. Then pushed and pulled his way toward his own ecstasy.

Much to the boy's evident delight.

By Mr. Pohl's reckoning, the boy had three huge, dry orgasms as the man fucked the boy and rubbed his cock on Jason's 'boy's place'.

Mr. Pohl and Jason fucked gloriously for 23 minutes, the man emptied his balls, and both sank into an exhausted half-sleep.

Jason was limp, almost lifeless as Mr. Pohl reassembled him for departure. Five screaming, frantic orgasms mixed with large dollops of mortal fear will do that to you.

Another symptom of their passion was the boy's bottom. It was leaking man sperm that would stain the boy's panties and shorts.

Mr. Pohl hoped no one would notice. And made a mental note to buy some tampons.

Lots of them.

He planned to entertain many boys in the future.

Trying them as they tried him.

Try Boys – Six

Nick Followell, Brett Creamload with Chrissie and Jackie (11yo) and Skip & Chip Knoblicker (10yo twins)

One – The Cubicle Life

Nick Followell hated his boss, his job and his life – in that order.

Which wasn't surprising, considering that he was a 'cube drone' at Consolidated Snake Oil Industries.

For five years, ever since college, Nick had spent 40 hours a week in soul-crushing servitude to his boss, Snidely McNasty, and the other so-called executives of a company that cared only about its stock price. At the first sign of decline, CSO used the one trick in its bag – job cuts.

Getting fired terrified Nick almost as much as not getting fired. He definitely needed food and shelter – thus a job. But he dreaded the eight hours per day, five days per week, he spent in eight-by-eight-foot [2½x2½ m] cubicle incarceration.

There was nothing to get excited about at work. Nothing interesting or different. Except…

One thing.

His cubicle-next-door neighbor Brett Creamload was interesting. In a way. An odd way.

No matter how many indignities or how much BS was heaped on Brett, the man's attitude was cheerful and his disposition as sunny as Ecuador at high noon.

It was maddening for Nick to see that.

Nick and Brett weren't friends or anything. Nick had no friends at work. And few outside of work. In fact, he didn't have much of anything outside of work, short of dreading his return to work. Nick hadn't even really had a good fuck since college. The hot girls didn't want anything to do with a cubicle-drone loser like Nick. And he wasn't willing to settle for less hotness.

Though Nick and Brett weren't friends, Nick felt himself drawn to Brett. During the 30-second breaks they got between useless paperwork for meaningless company objectives, Nick would often visit Brett in his cubicle.

Brett had made his cubicle quite homey, with a calendar of world beaches and several family pictures.

At least Nick thought they were family pictures.

Brett always had five or six framed, 4x6-inch [10 x 15 cm] head-shot photos of his nephews.

At least Nick thought they were his nephews.

Nick imagined that Brett must come from a big family to have so many nephews all around the same age – Nick guessed 10 to 13. They were all very good-looking boys too – cute was probably a more descriptive word, had Nick bothered to think about it.

Was it family that kept Brett so happy? Unlikely, as we who have families can attest.

One other odd thing about Brett. The man was a work dynamo all day, but then, around 3:15, he would sort of shut down. It wasn't as if it were a low blood sugar situation. Brett would get on the telephone and have some long, low-volume conversations. Three or four of them each afternoon by Nick's count. The kind of conversations a man has with his girlfriend. During the first few weeks, when they've just started fucking and she hasn't yet begun to nag, manipulate and emasculate him.

Did Brett have those kind of girlfriends? And if so, why didn't he have any of their pictures out?

One Thursday afternoon, Nick's curiosity consumed him and he finally asked Brett, "Why are you so effing cheerful all the time?"

Brett gave Nick his million-watt smile and said, "Trust me, Nick. I hate this job as much as you do. Maybe more. But there are 168 hours in a week and they only have us for 40. Our real lives are what we do in the 76.2% of our lives, when we're not at Consolidated Snake Oil, that matters. I like to spend it with my friends."

Nick absorbed that wise counsel. But then said, "I see your point. It makes sense. But I don't have friends good enough that they can make me forget about this place."

Brett shook his head and said, "Well, then, let me introduce you to my friends. Come home with me after work today and I'll show you a better life."

Nick was not a risk taker. But how much worse could life be? So he warily agreed.

Two – New Friendships

Nick was wary and nervous about going home with Brett. He was sure that no one could be that happy all the time unless they were doing something that Nick would find distasteful. Like taking drugs. Or doing religious-cult things.

That was it, he decided. Brett must be in some cult where they wore long, hooded robes and prayed to some rock or something.

Nick wanted no part of that.

Still. How much worse could rock worship be than what he was doing at the moment.

He would go to Brett's house with him, but if he saw one hooded robe or big rock, he was out of there!

Brett made his usual, late-afternoon phone calls and at 4:50, ten minutes before quitting time, he reported, "It's all set, Nick. Chrissie and Jackie will meet us at my apartment. They're eager to meet you."

Sure, Nick thought. Rock-worshipping loves company, as the old saying goes.

Nick and Brett left work and were at Brett's at 5:20.

As Brett opened the door, he said, "The boys will be here in 10 minutes, Nick. "I'm going to change in my bedroom. You can change if you want. There's an extra set of things laid out on the bed in my second bedroom. I thought you might be coming over today."

And he was gone. Into his bedroom. To put on that long, hooded robe like the bad guys wore in those Indiana Jones movies. Or so Nick thought.

Nick was torn. Should he stay or should he go?

More data needed.

Nick began to snoop.

Nice apartment. Clean. Well-furnished. Hmmm. Plenty of healthy food in the refrigerator. There were lots of framed pictures on bookshelves and such. Time to look at those.

Nick picked up a framed, 5x7 [13x18 cm] picture on an end table.

And nearly dropped it.

It was horrible!!!!


And staggeringly interesting.

It was a picture of a naked – fully naked (!) – 10-years-oldish boy. It wasn't an 'art' pose. The boy had clearly just had an orgasm. His cream was splattered all over his flat tummy and drooling from his tiny cock onto his hairless balls. He was smiling at whoever was taking the picture.

Could it have been Brett?!?!?!?

Nick's ears were on fire.

Adrenalin was blasting through his veins.

Fight or flight?

Neither yet.

Maybe the pic was a joke.

So he looked at another.

Oh dear!

Another framed 5x7 [13x18 cm] of a naked, 11-ish boy – one of the lads from Brett's desk collection, Nick discerned. This one was [gasp] on all fours, looking back at the camera. His bottomhole (??!?!) was gaping open and drooling what could only be a man's thick, creamy load! The poor, underage boy had been cruelly violated, yet was smiling broadly at the photographer.

Was it Brett who was taking such a filthy, disgusting picture?

Oh no.


What nest of vipers had Nick fallen into?

He had to run away.


So why wasn't he doing just that?

Before Nick's brain could order his legs to 'do their stuff', two things happened.

Brett emerged from his bedroom. And the doorbell rang.

Nick was still holding the picture of the bum-fucked boy. And was staring dumbly at Brett. Who was wearing a robe. But not the variety Nick feared.

It was a shortie-short, white terrycloth robe that barely covered his 'man things'. No shoes or socks.

Brett saw the look of horror on Nick's face and said, "I was pretty sure you didn't know anything about the Try Boys movement. But no matter. Chrissie and Jackie are here. Practice is always better than theory anyway."

Brett strode to the door and threw it open to two squealing, hugging, jumping boys. Who overpowered Brett with their adoration. While sneaking looks at the man Brett had told them needed their loving attention.

Brett settled the boys down – though not until each had reached under the man's shortie bathrobe and given the man's cock a few nice strokes. Then Brett cleared his throat and said, "Chrissie, Jackie, this is Mr. Followell. Mr. Followell, this stunning blond is Chrissie and this ultra-cute redhead is Jackie."

"Hi, Mr. Followell," the boys sing-songed, then giggled.

Nick stood fast and vibrated with fear.

Boy fucking???

Why, why, [sputter]… It was an abomination! Illegal! Wretchedly immoral!


They did seem awfully 'willing' to be 'violated'.

If violating them was indeed the plan. And Nick had no reason to think otherwise.

My goodness they were cute, he thought. Almost like girls. Perhaps, Nick thought, even better.

Then Nick banished that evil thought from his brain.

It was a gay, pederastic thought.



Chrissie was, as Brett declared, a stunning blond with dark, huge, brown eyes. Long and curly locks. And the sweetest, prettiest face!

And true to Brett's description, Jackie's red hair and 'raccoon mask' of freckles headlined his youthful beauty.

It was getting more difficult to banish evil thoughts as Nick considered how miserable he was and how happy Brett was.

But for goodness sakes, the boys were maybe 11 years old – barely. And Brett was fucking them. In their bottoms??!?!??!?!

Those beautiful, plump, tight, young bottoms?

And spunking all over those iconic faces!?!?!?!?

Despite his purest intentions, Nick groaned softly. Which engendered giggles from the boys and deep blushes from Nick.

Why couldn't he just leave?

Because he wanted to see where this was all going. Brett seemed to have found the Road to Oz. Maybe if Nick just stepped on a yellow brick or two.

Brett took charge. "Boys, Mr. Followell is new to doing our 'favorite things'. He doesn't know about 'Try Boys' and how it's made the world a better place. But as you can see, he's a nice man and he's very good looking. So let's help him, OK?"

The two giggling boys moved easily into cockteasing mode. Giving shy looks at Nick. Fluttering their eyelids at the confused aroused man until Chrissie said, "Whatever you say, Mr. Creamload. You're always so nice to us."

Jackie joined in. "You're right, Mr. Creamload. Mr. Followell is really handsome. Maybe we can relax him a little and you won't need to take him to the emergency room with hyperventilation."

More giggling.

Which embarrassed Nick. Who decided to man up a bit or be looked upon as a wimp who can't handle a challenge. The biggest challenge of his life.

"I'm just fine, boys," Nick said. "This is just new to me. So I'll need a little help if I'm going to stay with you."

Had Nick actually said that? Did he really want to 'stay with' Brett and two impossibly young and delicious boys – in a completely gay, completely immoral and illegal situation?

Surprisingly, he did.

And the 'little help' he requested arrived forthwith.

Brett, the clear master of ceremonies, made a sensible proposal. "I think the way to get things going here would be for one of the boys to present himself to you in a more familiar, less difficult mode. I anticipated that and left some 'things' on my bed for just that. Chrissie, as the blond, you're the one most likely to trigger the right neurons in a new guy like Mr. Followell. Is that OK?"

Chrissie agreed eagerly and ran off with Jackie to Brett's bedroom. Brett led a trembling Nick to the spare room and handed him a shortie bathrobe that matched Brett's.

"You're doing great, Nick," Brett said. "The boys like you. Just take my lead and you'll have the night of your life. Followed by a great night whenever you want one. Just strip naked and put this robe on. Quickly. If we leave those two alone for long they'll be sucking the boy's cream out of each other's cocks. Which would be less for us. So let's move it?"

Nick hardly had a moment to contemplate what all that meant. Boys sucking each other off. Brett coveting their sperm. Assuming that Nick did too. So incongruous with everything in Nick's life thus far.

But Nick stripped naked. Though it was embarrassing to do so in front of his co-worker. Who was eying him up like a prospective car buyer looks at a Ferrari.

Nick quickly put the robe on and tied it at the waist. It was so short that he felt his testicles peeking out form under the hem.

That was humiliating. But it got worse when Brett stepped up, opened Nick's robe and inspected Nick's cock. Manually.

No man or boy had ever touched Nick's cock before. So Nick was mortified when he enjoyed the sensations. And the immediate stiffening attested to his arousal.

"You've got a nice cock, Nick," Brett said. "It's a shame you've been wasting it on women. Seven inches [18 cm], I'd say. About the same as mine, see?"

And Brett opened his robe to show Nick his proud Johnson. Stiff and drippy.

Nick was trembling at the raw gayness of it all. Then nearly fainted when Brett rubbed the very tip of his peelips against Nick's drooling cocktip. Mixing their goo."

Involuntarily, Nick groaned. Then reddened all over.

Brett looked as if he were eager to do something, but he broke off. "Let's go see our darlings," Brett said.

The men retied their robes and went back to the living room. No boys yet. Brett knocked on his bedroom door and said, "Let's go, you little prickteasers or Mr. Followell and I are going to Thailand where the boys know how to please men."

Giggling behind the door. Then it opened.

And two magnificent sights appeared.

First, red-haired Jackie stepped out. He was a spectacular sight, wearing only emerald-green panties so brief they barely covered his boy's things. His little penis had tented his 'skimpies' and there was a delicious-looking wet spot where his peelips pressed against their silken prison.

Nick gasped. Would this beautiful boy really submit completely to a man? Satisfy all of a man's disgusting needs? Allow a man to penetrate his mouth and [blush] bottom, squealing with delight and cumming in sharp heaves as his man inseminated him?

It was a thrilling, though still off-limits, thought to Nick.

Then he saw Chrissie.

At least he thought it was Chrissie.

Chrissie had transformed.

Into what Brett would sometimes call a 'starter kit' for men who were wavering about trying boys.

Unlike Jackie, Chrissie was wearing no panties. Instead, he was wearing full feminine 'sleep'wear. The kind of clothing that no one ever gets any sleep when they're wearing.

Chrissie's long, hairless, boyish legs were lusciously sheathed in black, seamed, fully-fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings, held up lovingly by a ruffled, black garter belt. Covering his chest and puffy nipples was a sheer, nearly translucent, black, babydoll nightie, whose hem rested on Chrissie's 18 sprouting pubic hairs. The piece de resistance of the ensemble was a filmy, long, black peignoir, open in front to expose all of the boy's sweet treasures.

Chrissie smiled, but didn't giggle when he saw Mr. Followell's bug-eyed reaction.

Giggling would have been emasculating and a sissyboy never emasculates his man.

Chrissie loved wearing lingerie to tease a man. He knew that some men needed to 'get over' the gay thing when they first started fucking boys. A little lingerie show before the first boy ravishment helped certain men sleep nights. Others dug into the boys just as they were – boys. Eager to be loved. And fucked.

Chrissie loved men. Teasing them any way he could. But he loved pleasing them even more.

Chrissie 'pleased' Mr. Creamload at least one night a week. And every two or three weekends. Mom arranged all his 'dates', and the young beauty had plenty of hunky suitors.

Chrissie used to think it was odd that his mother wanted her son to be bumfucked by hunky men nearly every day. Then he realized her motivation. She was keeping Chrissie out of the reach of his Daddy.

Chrissie, like most sissyboys, was fatally attracted to his Daddy. Naturally, Daddy dreamed constantly of thrusting his fat cock into his gorgeous son. But Mom did everything she could do to keep them apart.

Which is impossible, short of incarceration, when two people are in love. Daddy would take Chrissie shopping for school supplies, then they would park somewhere private and Chrissie would 'suck and swallow' Daddy so well that a CSI team couldn't detect the aftermath. They would go shopping for school clothes and Daddy would 'pork' Chrissie's exquisite bottom in the changing room. With Chrissie barely suppressing most of his orgasmic squeals.

Chrissie smiled as he thought of Mom going to see Grandma – all next week! His bottom tingled when he thought about sleeping with Daddy for seven nights!!!

His pretty anus also tingled from the looks Mr. Followell was giving him. The kind of looks that said, "OK, I'm not completely over my reservations, but I'm going to fuck you anyway. Because I have to!"

Chrissie held out his pretty hand to Mr. Followell.

Brett looked on, pleased with his work, as Chrissie led Nick to the spare bedroom. Then he picked Jackie up with one strong motion and carried the giggling boy to the master bedroom for a masterful fuck.

But let's peek in on Chrissie and Nick, shall we?

Nick's brain knew that Chrissie was an 11-year-old boy in lingerie. But all command functions had been transferred to his stiff cock, which was saying, "babe in frillies – wanting to be fucked – red alert!"

He took said 'babe' into the bedroom and held 'her' in his arms. Feeling Chrissie 'give himself' to Nick. Just from the embrace, Nick could feel that.

It was thrilling.

And it called for a kiss.

After Nick took a moment to absorb Chrissie's beautiful face into his memory. "This is so right," Nick thought as he looked into Chrissie's huge, brown eyes.

And then he kissed Chrissie.

The first time Nick had ever kissed a boy. Which deep down, Nick knew Chrissie was.

It was the single, best kiss of Nick's life. It promised more, with more sincerity and less guile, than anything Nick had ever felt.

Chrissie communicated his docility through his submissive posture as well as 'appreciative breathing'.

Nick communicated his mastery through the 'iron pipe' that was still covered by terrycloth and poking Chrissie in the belly button.

Nick loved kissing Chrissie's mouth, but wanted to kiss the young lovely all over.

Down his neck.

All over each creamy shoulder. On both sides of the babydoll's spaghetti straps.

Along his arms and hands. Which brought the man eye level with an incongruous sight. A stiff, pink popsy and an accompanying pink bag of 'boy peanuts' dangling prettily amid white thighs framed by black stocking tops and a garter belt.

The prettiest sight Nick had ever seen.

The man was drawn to the boy's sissycock. Perfunctorily at first resisting his raging urges. Then…

Against everything Nick had 'learned' in his life, Nick surrendered to the most natural of urges.

The man took the pretty boy's cock into his mouth and licked the knob all over with his hot, wet tongue.

Chrissie gasped, then uttered a stunning string of squeaks, grunts and gasps. Until.

Oh dear.

Nick wasn't ready for a boy to spunk into his mouth. Or all over his face.

Chrissie knew that. But he couldn't help himself. The lingerie. The loving attention from a man who was facing up his nature for the first time. A handsome man. Who was a surprisingly good cocksucker.

It was all so thrilling. And Nick was doing such wonderful things with his tongue on the boy's knoblet.

Chrissie squealed. One microsecond later, he helplessly ejaculated a good six fluid ounces of Grade A boy's cream all over Nick's startled face. And into Nick's startled mouth.

Nick recoiled for a picosecond. Reacting to the raw gayness of it all.

Then common sense took over.

Nick captured the last two spurts of the boy's pleasure with his mouth. And swallowed greedily.

When Chrissie's cum-shudders subsided, he knelt and leaned over to give his man a big, grateful, cummy kiss.

And the ice was broken between them.

Meanwhile, in the adjoining bedroom, Brett and Jackie were hotly engaged in a good, old-fashioned, belly-on-the-bedsheets bumfuck.

Jackie loved being fucked. Particularly in that position.

The man's full weight pinning the helpless boy down to the mattress as the rutting beast shoves his thick cock back and forth inside the 'innocent' youth's ravaged anus. It was a completely submissive act on the boy's part. A total donation to the man's dominant ego. And they both loved it.

Jackie loved the physical side of it all, of course. The burning ballbat afflicting his sensitive prostrate with each ruthless thrust. Making the sissyboy 'empty his purse' at least twice during each fuck.

But it was the surrender to a man's heaving lust that the boy liked most.

And Brett knew that. About Jackie and sissyboys in general. Dominate them and adore them in equal measure, Brett knew was the formula for success with the sweetie boys.

In bedroom two, Chrissie was maneuvering his 'rookie boylover' into domination. Rather than suck Nick's cock, Chrissie wanted to be fucked.

Which was the best next move for Nick too.

But how?

"Oh, Mr. Followell," Chrissie said, withdrawing his tongue from Nick's mouth after their long, cummy kiss, "that was awesome. I know I shouldn't ask this… and we just met and everything… but, if you lick my 'pussy' for a while, it'll be nice and wet and you can [blush] TAKE me! I know you're a man who takes what he wants. But maybe you don't want me. [whimper]"

Hooked, Nick immediately said, "Oh, Baby. I want you. I want to take you. Hard."

But then Nick had to reorder his universe a little. By licking his 'pussy', did Chrissie mean…?



Doing that.


He would have to lick 'it' quite a bit to get it wet enough for 'that', Nick reasoned.


For a nanosecond, Nick considered saying "Ick," then just having the lingeried boy suck his cock. If he would do it after being 'rebuffed…'

The sure thing is almost always the right choice in sex.

Time to man up and get licking.

Manning up manfully, Nick said. "Take that peignoir off, Chrissie and get on your stomach. You're getting your pussy licked."

Smiling and whimpering in sissy submission, Chrissie stripped off his babydoll too. Wearing just his stockings and garter belt (for easier access), Chrissie lay on his stomach. Exposing the eighth wonder of the world to the lust-infused Nick.

Chrissie's perfect, pink, upside-down-heart-shaped, deliciously-plump bottom. And the wrinkled bottom hole that winked at Nick teasingly.


Just lick 'it'.

Nick was apprehensive about the taste. And the smell. But both were a carnal delight. And the boy's happy squealing and squirming as he was eaten out made for a delightful half-hour.

Nick was iron-pipe hard. Chrissie was sopping wet. The sheets were sopping wet where Chrissie had doused them during analingus.

It was time.

But what was the best angle?

Chrissie knew. He slid two fat pillows under his tummy and wiggled his ass for a fucking.

Nick accepted the gracious invitation.

Sad to say, Nick had never fucked an asshole before. And he was surprised by the difference in 'grip' from a pussy.

It was tighter and sexier 'back there', Nick thought. And then he stopped thinking. And just fucked. Hard. With long, urgent strokes.

Feeling the rumblings in his testicles as Chrissie squeaked gratefully throughout his 'defilement'.

This was the way fucking was supposed to be!

Nick tried to hold back, but it was all so exciting and abysmally 'dirty' that he 'marked his territory' in six heaving thrusts. Inseminating his first boy in a shuddering, loud, tribute to Eros that convinced Nick of his destiny.

He was tired of the nagging, the manipulation and the emasculation.

He had tried boys and he would stick with boys. Forever.

Three – The day after the night before

Brett Creamload was very pleased with himself at work the next day. He had transformed his co-worker from soul-crushed drone to a man of hope and promise. And he had made it possible for himself to 'initiate' the Knoblicker twins. That very Friday evening as it turned out.

Their mother, Mrs. Knoblicker, had inquired about Brett's 'services' for her boys, and accepted his petition to be their first fucker, contingent on Brett's ability to produce a co-fucker. She wanted her boys FUCKED, not just sitting around all weekend watching. So two men were the minimum requirement.

Brett, who had always 'worked' alone to that point, had to find a partner. Thus, his initiation of his co-worker Nick Followell the previous evening.

And what an initiation it had been.

Like a duck to duck sauce.

Nick had spunked the pretty Chrissie, then traded him for Jackie, whose bottom he flooded quite nicely as well – without the lingerie 'stimulant'. Just to be sure he was truly a boyfucker, Nick had fucked a naked Chrissie a second time. Which was a pretty good evening, considering that the boys had to be home by nine on a school night.

It was ten a.m. Friday morning and Brett hadn't shared his weekend plans with Nick yet. Though he had vaguely hinted about imminent carnal delights.

Brett poked his head around Nick's cubicle and suggested, "I have to go to the men's room, how about you?"

Nick Followell followed well.

They were the only occupants of the men's room when Brett shared the good news. "Gorgeous, ten-year-old fraternal twins. Never been fucked. Mom wants them fucked by you and me all weekend. What do you say?"

Nick's eyes filled with tears. He could barely express his joy.

Brett found a way for Nick to do just that. Brett stepped into a stall and said, "Just thinking about us fucking those young lovelies has me in an awful state."

And he dropped his pants. Revealing his boulder-solid seven inches [18 cm].

Having lost many inhibitions over the previous 17 hours, Nick stepped into the booth, got onto his knees and kissed, licked, sucked and stroked Brett's thick cock until Brett exploded into Nick's hungry mouth.


Brett zipped up and they returned to work. Which didn't seem nearly as bad as it had a day earlier.

Promptly at 5 p.m., Brett and Nick headed to Brett's, where they put on their shortie bathrobes and awaited the Knoblicker angels.

They were prompt as well, arriving with their mother at precisely 5:30.

The mother, though Nick had sworn off women, was a stunner. Huge breasts. Beautiful face. Killer bod and legs.

Though submissiveness wasn't one of her virtues.

"The boys are in the car," she said. "Which one of you is Brett?"

Brett raised his hand and smiled.

Mrs. Knoblicker nodded. "Let's see what you've got. Off with those robes."

Brett slid his off immediately. A beat later, Nick complied.

"Hmmmm," she said, as she stepped toward Brett. "Is this as big as it gets?"

"Yes, ma'am," Brett said. "Seven inches [18 cm]. As promised."

Mrs. Knoblicker decided to see for herself. She took Brett's cock into her manicured hand and stroked it. It visibly stiffened, but didn't get bigger.

Satisfied, the alpha woman did the same with Nick, whose 'big boy' measured at seven-and-a-half inches [19 cm].

"You'll do," she said. "Here's the deal. I'm engaged to Bruno Gotbux, a very rich man with a very big – ten inches [25 cm] long – cock. The sex has been great for him and I won't start nagging, manipulating and emasculating him until we're married. I don't want a prenup, but I need some bargaining material to keep that from happening. The boys will do nicely. Like any sane man, Bruno will want to be fucking them every chance he gets. So I don't want them scared off and ruining everything by rejecting Bruno and his huge Johnson. I want them well fucked by some 'lesser men' [ouch] who will make them love man-boy sex and want Bruno no matter how huge he is. Got it?"

Brett and Nick got it. What a b-word!

But she would be gone soon and Skip and Chip Knoblicker would be in their loving hands.

Mrs. Knoblicker quickly stepped to the door and motioned for Skip and Chip.

They slid through the door of Brett's condo.

And the earth moved.

For the boys because the men hadn't had time to pull their robes back on, thus were standing, naked, hairy and fully erect when the blushing, visibly frightened Skip and Chip appeared.

For Brett and Nick because, if Chrissie and Jackie were 'tens', Skip and Chip Knoblicker were 'twelves!'

Twelves in beauty alone. Their trembling innocence made them fifteens!

They were clearly fraternal twins, since Skip had dark hair and darker eyes, while Chip was a blue-eyed blond.

Their greatest difference hadn't been revealed yet.

Skip and Chip were equally terrified to be spending a weekend with two naked men under their dommie Mommy's instructions to 'do whatever those men tell you to do'.

Neither thought that would involve nudity. In fact, the boys had no clue about why they were there.

Quickly, but with as much dignity as possible, the men slid their robes back on. Brett, of course, took the lead.

"I'm Mr. Creamload, boys, and this is my best friend, Mr. Followell. We're going to have a weekend you'll remember fondly all your lives, once we get acquainted and you relax a bit. Can we get you anything? A Coke, perhaps? We'll have pizza later if you want."

Skip and Chip were very wary. These had been naked in front of their mother. Just like they had glimpsed that Bruno guy was when he stayed overnight sometimes. They didn't know what was going on in Mom's bedroom those nights, but there were a lot of strange smells and noises. Nothing like that used to happen when Daddy lived with them. Before he left. Just a lot of nagging, manipulation and emasculation.

But pizza sounded good. And the men seemed nice. As if they wanted something. Other men had been looking at the boys as if they wanted something. Since they were about eight years old. Lots of men.

It was all very strange.

Skip and Chip accepted the Coke offer in unison. Which made them giggle. A sweet sound. That made the men's fat cocks twitch.

The four of them sat at Brett's kitchen table, sipping Cokes. Talking about school and stuff. As it turned out, Brett knew several boys whom Skip and Chip knew. Which Skip and Chip found odd, since Mr. Creamload wasn't old enough to have kids their age.

Eventually, they ran out of small talk. And the subject shifted to 'things I like to do'.

Skip said he liked to play baseball. Chip said he enjoyed swimming. And then it was Brett's turn.

"I like to have a pretty boy sit on my lap and hug him so he knows he's loved."

That startled the boys.

More so when Nick took his turn. "I like to make feel boys feel pretty and loved."


Skip and Chip needed to feel loved.

They got no love from their Mom. Bruno had potential, but he was scary. These men weren't scary. And the way they looked at the boys made them fell pretty.

Things just seemed to happen after that. Things that Skip and Chip could have hardly imagined when they awoke that morning.

Dark-haired Skip found his way to Brett's lap and Chip sat on Nick's.

Oh, those hugs the men gave the affection-starved boys felt so good!

Then a sweet kiss on each forehead. Which led to one mouth-to-mouth kiss. Another. And another.

Chip's hand accidentally found Nick's bare thigh, just below the hem of his bathrobe. So hairy. So hot. The boyish hand stroked it gently.

And there they were.

Chip and Nick.

Skip and Brett.

Kissing and hugging.

Making the boys feel loved. And pretty.

Surprisingly, Nick made the first move.

He pulled Chip's shirt off and kissed the boy's puffy nipples until the boy squirmed and squeaked.

It was awesome!

So intimate!

So loving!


Something that felt so good couldn't be wrong, could it?

The age-old question.

Chip glanced over at his twin brother Skip. Who had lost his pants and underpants as well as his shirt and was NAKED! And Skip's man had opened his bathrobe to reveal a very large, very stiff object.

Sibling rivalry kicked in and Chip removed his own things. And was naked. With a very excited Nick. Nick smiled and shucked off his robe.

Thus, everyone was NAKED!

A recipe for a really fun weekend.

The men interrupted their lovemaking to look at their prizes. And saw how they differed. Both were slim and gorgeous. With pretty, uncircumcised penises and hairless little 'danglers'.

Skip, the brunet, had a man-sized cock, however. Nearly six inches [15 cm] long at the tender age of ten. While blond Chip's tickler was sissyboy-sized – a mere 2.78 inches [7 cm], with mini-peanuts to match.

How delightful, the men thought. Brett was reasonably sure that in due time, perhaps right after the weekend, Skip would be fucking Chip, because Chip would be begging for it.

But why imagine the future when the here and now is so delicious?

The boys were all-you-can-eat buffets of love. Eager for affection their parents never gave them. Abandoning the ridiculous conventions that had restricted their natural lust.

Being naked in front of Nick and Brett made the boys feel good. But they were still bathed in blushes as their 'dates' carried them lovingly to separate, adjoining bedrooms.

Skip's man, Mr. Creamload, laid him onto his back on the bed and, between nipple kisses, told him how beautiful he was.

Skip glowed with lust and pride.

Skip hadn't seen many boy cocks, mostly his brother's, but was proud of his penis size. So it felt really good to hear Mr. Creamload say, "You have a spectacular penis, babydoll. Have you ever made boy's cream with it?"

Skip's confused look at the question made the evening perfect. The boy not only hadn't cum yet, he didn't know what cum was!

Brett set out to demonstrate.

"Boy's cream shoots out of a boy's penis when he's really happy. It feels really good to shoot it, but some boys can't make it until they're 11 or 12. May I try to see if your 'cream factory' is working yet?"

Skip nodded in wary assent.

He would have agreed to pretty much anything at that point.

But how does one become a 'cream factory inspector?'

Brett demonstrated.

Brett kissed the very tip of Skip's pretty knob. Right on the pouting peelips. Then reveled in Skip's startled reaction.

The boy simultaneously squealed in surprise and sat up straight.

The man had kissed his penis! Right on the head!

If Skip were to decide that he wanted to spend the weekend playing video games. While the men took turns so 'things' with his brother. That would be the time to speak up.

Skip decided to 'squeak up' instead. He lay back down and decided that submission was the path to delight.

Good choice!

Brett applied his considerable cocksucking skills to Skip's virginal prick. And the boy was very appreciative.

Brett kissed every square millimeter of Skip's burning pubic flesh. From the 'southern region' of the boy's nearly hairless ball bag to the 'far north' where Skip's 23 newborn pubic hairs were getting acquainted with their new neighbors.

By the time Brett began to lick and suck young Mr. Knoblicker's knob, the boy was in quite a 'state'.

Just to ensure that any infant sperm would make every effort to 'leave home',Brett slid a naughty finger into Skip's 'skippy' as he sucked the lad off.

Where's that tiny prostate. Ah. There it is.





Oh my!

Mission control had just cleared Skip to leave the planet.

He arched his back and, with no clue about what was happening with him, began to scream in startled, ecstatic agony.

Something new to Skip, but primal to humans, was happening.

Something amazing.

Something wet!

And creamy!

Though tender in age, Skip spunked like a stallion.

So much that he nearly drowned a surprised, though delighted, Brett.

Things were also going well in the next bedroom, where a very naked, very loving Nick and Chip were kissing and fondling each other's private parts.

Though new at such things, Nick had a somewhat innovative plan for introducing Chip to his future.

In a word, babyoil.

The love tool that makes one's entire body a slippery, pussy-like erogenous zone.

Nick reluctantly broke off his kisses, retrieved the babyoil and laid Chip facedown on the bed. His beautiful boy-bottom pointing skyward.

A sight for the world's greatest galleries.

Pink. Plump. Untouched by man or boy.


Nick uncapped the babyoil and began to slowly drizzle it along the back of Chip's neck.

Chip twitched at that, but seemed to like it. He liked it more when Nick bisected Chip lengthwise with the slippery love potion, all along the angel's spine and pausing at the small crevice at the northern juncture of Chip's bottom cheeks. Chip moaned as he felt Nick drizzle babyoil into the separation of his pink cheeks and when a drool of oil splashed on the underside of his baby balls, Chip squeaked sissily.

But he made no effort to get away. And no requests to stop.

Nick took his time rubbing the warm, slick pleasure oil into Chip's tense back muscles. Which relaxed the boy a bit until it was time to distribute the oil around the anal region.

That was the really fun part.

Nick used his strong, manly hands to massage the oil into Chip's 'cheeks'. The boy was gasping and panting appreciatively at that loving attention, but the volume and urgency of love noises increased when Nick slid his hand between the cheeks – into the boy's most intimate places.




Entry was inevitable.

And pleasurable for man and boy.

Nick slid an oiled finger into Chip's anus and the boy cried out in a mixture of wonder and desperation.

The man was taking spectacular 'liberties' with Chip. Doing things Chip never imagined he would allow anyone to do. Which had to be wrong. But felt so right. The man was saying something. What was it?

"…and now I'm going to find your 'boy's place' and show you the raw pleasure a boy gets when a man rubs it. There it is. Let me… There. Do you like that, Baby?"

Like it?

How could Chip tell?

His spirit had left his body and was traveling in hyperspace. Heading toward Vulcan or Romulus or the Gamma Quadrant of the Galaxy.

Chip didn't know such pleasure was possible.

The man's rude finger (actually two, then three) was remaking Chip into a pleasure junkie.

Which is never a bad thing.

The galactic journey was a stunner, but the boy knew he was headed toward a universe-altering climax – or beginning – like a Big Bang. He could feel something building within him as the intensity of the anal intrusion increased.

And then…


He was in an agony of ecstasy.

Squealing and squirting.

The first boy's cream of his beautiful life.

Sadly destined for the sheets.

Puzzling to the boy. A delight to the man.

Who was doing something behind Chip. Straddling his thighs. Holding one of Chip's hips in each of his strong hands. Lifting the boy, as if he were positioning him for something.

What was…?

Chip felt something at the gate to his anus. The man was putting his fingers back in for more boy's-place-rubbing. Which would be great. Chip just wanted to catch his breath…


That wasn't a finger.

It was too big!

The pressure!

The pain!


The man was sticking his cock into Chip's bottom!!!!!

It would never go in!

Mr. Followell would kill Chip!

Chip screamed.

Nick pushed.

And he was, as they say in Texas Hold'em, "All in."

Chip whimpered. Loudly. The man was a beast! An animal! Thinking only of his own pleasure!


Now that it was all inside him and he'd been able to rest a bit, it didn't feel so bad. So Chip stopped whimpering.

Which Nick took as a good sign to start fucking the little doll. So he did.

Rubbing his cock against Chip's sissyboy prostate with each long stroke.


Chip liked that.

Nick verified that by reaching around to feel the boy's peeny, which had re-erected nicely.

Man and boy enjoyed, really enjoyed, a long, slow, satisfying fuck.

When Chip spunked for the second time in his pretty life, Nick's hand was there to catch the sweet juices. The man licked his hand clean as he moved rapidly toward his own climax, which blew the top of his head clean off – from the eyebrows up.

Was Nick imagining what he heard when that happened? It sounded like applause?

Which it was. A cock-drooping Brett and fiercely-erect Skip were watching the final throes of Chip's first coitus.

Nick was a little embarrassed until he reminded himself that he had thrown the old rulebook of life away 27 hours earlier.

So he smiled at Brett and Skip as he pulled out, then leaned over to kiss the deliciously exhausted Chip's mouth.

"I see the boys are enjoying their weekend so far," Brett said. "Skip had a special request, Nick. He wants to ask his brother something, so why don't you sit with me on this couch?"

Nick Followell followed well yet again. And watched Skip whisper into Chip's ear, then light up with delight when Chip nodded consent.

In a flash, Skip got behind Chip and mounted him, sticking his large, sissyboy cock into his twin's well-buttered bottom.

As the men watched the boys rut ferociously, Brett reached over to skin Nick's cock to a fine erection. Nick returned the favor. And they were ready for more 'boy trying' as soon as the brothers concluded their sweet business.

A man won't be disappointed if he decides to 'Try Boys'.


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