Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Head-to-Toe

   (Bisexual pedophilia and heterosexual incest.)



   "I don't like to complain or anything, not my first night here, the
place seems pretty wicked, but what's this all about?" Timmy whispered. 
Again the raspy adult voice dominated the campsite.  "Gentlemen, gentlemen,
head-to-toe, head-to-toe."



   "Camp Gofor" is wicked," seventeen year old Josh assured his eleven year
old tent mate, "that's just a ritual they have to go through."

   "Well," the younger boy sighed, "like Audrey says in the movie,
`Weirdorama!'"



   Both scouts were taking off their boots and socks, and Josh could sense
his new little friend's tension as he removed his last sock, the next step
being either his shirt or shorts.

   "I can turn my back if you're embarrassed," he murmured softly, "I was
one my first night."

   "I guess what Mr.  Richards said has me a little confused," the boy
whispered in response.  "It's just something I never thought about."

   "I don't think they even do it in the Army," Josh said, "probably in any
army in the world, but these days every kid has a lawyer for at least two
of his uncles, so it's due-diligence by the numbers, a/k/a, The Game. 
Little boxes.  `Head-to-toe, gentlemen,' and our safety and moral purity is
assured, tucked neatly away and labeled: `problem solved'."

   "But what is the problem?  Cooties?  Spitting?  Germs?  Bad breath?"



   Jason laughed.  "First," he said, "there are no more checks.  If a boy
cries out, someone will be beside him in ten seconds, there are such things
as scorpions, but otherwise, it's the ritual, then lights so they can't be
seen, and everyone gets to sleep by eleven, which is cool because we don't
have to get up until eight-thirty."

   "That's civilized," Timmy agreed.

   "Camp Go-For is," the older boy said.  "They make a bluster for the
parents with uniforms this and hup-two that, but the commandant, Mr. 
Nevis, thinks the best thing to do with kids our age is mellow down and
chill out.  The world's complicated.  We grind all year in school, so the
best thing is to let most of it go for the summer; let the kids drift and
read, hack around at this and that, without taking anything too seriously.
If anything, the head/toe thing is a reminder of how it could be and how
lucky we are to be marching to a softer drum."

   "So we don't have to sleep that way?" was Timmy's next question.

   "Another reason they say it is to give younger boys the option," Josh
continued with his explanation.  "If they're more comfortable not sharing a
pillow, then they get to make the decision and the policy is on their side.
The choice is always the younger scouts, even if it's identical twins
separated by a few minutes."

   "So if we get caught, I'm the one who gets in trouble?" the younger boy
asked with a cute giggle.

   "No, silly," his friend laughed quietly back, "because you'd be the one
reporting the infraction, so how could you?"

   "'Catch Twenty-Two," Timmy whistled softly.  "Someone must think we're
pretty mature to truck with something like that."

   Josh laughed.  "I picked the right one, and just from your picture on
your application," the seventeen year old said.  "You have a bright face
and glasses and you look like you read a lot."

   "With my parents," the boy admitted.  "It's mainline outcast, but
walking around school I don't see all that many I'd want to be cast-in with
so I live with it."

   "Same boat, here," Josh said.  "Always the library, never the field.  Of
course, that's an ideal.  I do swim, and I even like it."

   "I read that on your matching-up sheet," Timmy responded, "that's one of
the reasons, the first two being your picture and your glasses, I opted in
as a possible choice for you."

   "It WAS your choice," the older boy reminded his friend, "remember about
the twins.  In casual social situations, youth rules.  When it comes to the
boats and safety, it's merit or age, and usually both, but after retreat,
it's the boy's world."



   "And it's only quarter to nine," Timmy noted, "so we don't have to play
beat-the-clock or anything."

   "Not unless one of us gets stung by a scorpion," Josh agreed.

   "Okay," the eleven year old said, trying not to evince haste in his
chance of subject, "there must be a theory or something behind the rule,
something for the lawyers to gnaw, if someone cuts them a check, and I'm
guessing it's not cooties."

   "You're right, of course," Josh said, his voice becoming low and raspy.
He yawned twice, though not sleepy, and added: "if boys share a pillow,
sometimes they get talking about mature things.  Have you ever done that?
Had a private talk with a guy, a man or a boy, about the locker room stuff,
only serious?"

   "No," came the answering whisper, the same sick slackness creeping into
the child's clear soprano.

   "Well, it happens," Josh said as both boys sat Indian style on their
sleeping bags, facing each other in the pup tent.

   "And that makes them talk all night so they can't get up even at
eight-thirty?" Timmy asked, feeling he was on to something.

   "I don't think that ever happens," Josh replied with a shy smile.  The
twilight was fading and they experimented with their flashlights, finding
cloth to filter them to a soft glow.

   "Then what does?" Timmy said, his older friend's voice a hot and
irresistible magnet.



   "Well," the older male whispered, "there's something more mature than
whispering together, and, if two boys really like each other, sometimes
that's what happens if they don't sleep head-to-toe."

   "Assuming they're mature enough not to try becoming blood brothers by
nicking their carotid arteries," Timmy mused, "I don't see how there can be
anything wrong."

   "Timmy," the older boy said in a fraction of voice a moment before,
"sometimes, and don't freak out or anything, but, you know, a younger boy
wants an older boy to pretend something.  It's all make believe and fantasy
and play and a game, and it doesn't mean anything in the morning, but
sometimes, in the privacy of a tent, or if you're out walking together and
don't have anything important to do, well, this is what happens: the
younger boy likes the older boy to pretend he, the kid, is, you know, a
little girl and he lets his older friend slip his hand into the sleeping
bag, unbutton his pajama top, and touch him as if he were a chick."

   "For how long?" the voice of curiosity and wonder responded.

   "Not past eleven," his friend said.

   "Is that homosexual?" he asked.

   "Highly," Josh said, "and not only that, it leads to other touching and
to telling really private stories, and that's homo, too."



   "But not gay, right?" the younger boy asked.

   "Never," the senior scout affirmed.  "Gay is something you wear like a
fluorescent medallion in the middle of your forehead; it's a play, or
perhaps plea, for identity, not an orientation.  It's artificial,
contrived, annoying, and often gets those of the fag persuasion in deep
shit trouble.  Boys teaching each other and men teaching boys is as old as
language and undoubtedly prehistoric.  Acting effeminate, not being bred
effeminate, which means nothing, but acting it out with public prancing and
lisping and mooning and hand holding is aesthetically offensive, to say
nothing of biologically and psychologically repulsive.  Taken to extreme,
it amounts to bearded dudes in Vermont kissing on the lips on television,
which always works for me as the conceivable extreme of ugliness."



   They shuddered together, thoughts of savage and searing scorpions
banished.



   "But it usually starts with talking?" Timmy wanted to know.

   "Yes," his friend said, "especially with as much age difference as there
is between us."

   "And I'm in command?" was his next question, to which the answer was
affirmative.

   "Then let's sleep the way we should and you can tell me everything," the
boy commanded softly.

   "There's something that comes first," Josh noted.

   "What?" the boy whispered.

   "Well," the older boy said with a shy smile, "I guess I'd call it not
sleeping in our uniforms."



   Josh was a near image of the youngest son on "Home Improvement", tall,
gangly, immature looking, but with a beautiful oval face framed in soft,
black hair and featuring huge gray eyes.  The new camper was a slightly
edgier version of Macauley Culkin; intensely blond with big blue eyes, like
his tent-mate, slim and delicately built.  Both were now barefoot, and
there was not where else to go.  They gazed nervously into each other's
eyes.



   "Do you want to pretend I'm in my pajamas," Jimmy whispered very softly,
"and touch me under my shirt?"

   "I want to, yes," Josh whispered, "very much, but you have to be sure.
There're not many rules here, about this kind of thing, just that the
younger boy always says what happens and doesn't happen, but there's also
an unwritten doctrine of fair-play, and that says that once you start
something, you go all the way.  No teasing."

   "That's as civilized as the reveille," Timmy Flagg said, "even though it
seems kind of abstract.  I mean, has any kid ever wanted an older boy to
stop pretending he was a little girl?  Hard to imagine such a thing."

   "I don't know," cute Josh said with his shy smile, "I guess the world is
made up of people who write stories, people who write texts, and people who
write rules."

   "So if you have people who write them, they must be written.  That's
pretty Zen."



   Both giggled nervously, but, be it noted, had managed to somehow close
the distance between them until their bare knees were an inch apart.  "I've
got to pull it out anyway," the eleven year old observed, looking Josh in
the eyes.  He pulled the green shirt from his shorts, his eyes huge and
hot, then looked down at the immature teen's hands, then back into his
beautiful face.  Instinct told him to lace his fingers behind his neck and
arch his chest toward the older scout.  Josh responded slowly, his hands
creeping to the younger boy's waist, then up inside the loose jersey.  He
unbuttoned his way up, his delicate fingers tracing the incredibly white,
smooth skin of the child up to his tiny nipples.  Neither spoke for long
minutes, their fiery breaths bestowing permission and acceptance and a
`thanks' they'd have been loath to verbalize.



   "This is child molesting," Josh explained, the boy's birdlike chest now
bare to him.  "They say in school, where they're in the habit of getting
things confused if not completely wrong, that `bad touching' is inside on
your bare skin where you wear a bathing suit, but any touch like this,
lingering, for it's own sake, and otherwise unnecessary, is sexual assault,
even two seconds a boy or girl doesn't want."

   "It's the best feeling I ever had," Timmy murmured.

   "And you feel beautiful to me," his friend responded.  "Men will always
say how soft your skin is while they're starting with you, it's sort of a
cliché, but yours really is.  Incredible.  Beautiful.  And I'm really glad
you're letting me do this with you."

   "You know what I feel like?" the child responded.

   "What?" Josh whispered in a quavering voice.

   "Like a little girl who wants her big brother to teach her," Timmy said
with a shy smile.  That did it for Josh's voice, completely, if
temporarily. After a wide-eyed minute he hissed into the game.  "Oh,
Becky," he stammered, "yes, you're so pretty and all the boys at school
want to do this with you."

   "I'm glad it's you, Jeffy," the preteen played, eyes glowing, "you're
smart, and you've got a quiet smile that melts me, and you read to me and
help me with my models, and you're cool and even tempered, and I like you
best of best of any other boy." As he whispered, Timmy began on the older
scouts buttons, starting at the top.



   "Becky," the husky whispering went on, "do you want to play a little
game?"

   "Yes," the eleven year old said.

   "It's just pretend, okay?"

   "Okay."

   "You're sitting in my lap with your back to me.  Your blouse is still
buttoned.  Your teacher, the one who looks like Rick Schroeder is sitting
on a stool between our legs.  His eyes are staring at you as I hold you
with my arms around your tummy.  Since you're eleven years old, you've
started to grow.  We both like Mr.  Scott, he's really nice, and we want
him to teach us about having incest.  Would you let him unbutton you?"



   "Am I to assume the incests are not cooties?" the wry cutie asked.  It
was a nice touch, bringing both boys back to the reality that they were
boys and just fooling around, and particularly nice because it gave the two
panting beauties an opportunity to start all over again.



   Back to tricks.  "If he unbuttoned me, " Becky said, "would you unhook
my training bra and pull it away from my chest and let me unbutton him so
he could put his bare chest against where I'm growing?"

   It was an idea too good for words.  Both boys shucked their shirts
completely off, folded them, and passed them to a corner of the tent. 
Spontaneously, they rose to their knees and displayed like mating birds. 
Torsos arched to each other, they crept forward, both gasping as the
sensation of muscular teen against developing child.

   "Does Mr.  Scott want to be a man with me?" Becky asked, eyes round and
innocent, but not overdone.

   "All the boys do, sis," Jeffy said.

   "But wouldn't it be more real with a twenty five year old swimmer?" the
pixie wondered.

   "He'd be the most likely to leave something very real in your tummy,"
the play brother agreed.

   "I'm glad I'm eleven," Becky said with a shy smile, "that could happen.
It makes it more of an experience than it would be if I was eight or nine."

   "For the male, too," came the returning whisper.

   "Does it give a man more, you know, energy if he knows there might be a
baby?" the child almost pretend simpered.

   "Partly," Jeffy said, "but what makes a man use you hard and fast and
leave you very wet after he whispers is if he knows you have another males
seed between your legs."

   "Is seed sperms?" she asked.

   "Yes," came the broken whisper.  "Cum.  Semen.  Sperm is singular unless
you're a doctor examining the sperms of three boys.  And a whole lot more
for the locker room and the fat kid at the back of the bus."

   "And so Mr.  Scott will be really interested in me, you know, as a
female, it would help if you put your sperm in me with your penis, right?"

   "Yes," Jeffy choked, eyes glowing down at his petite nymph of a sister
as they continued experimenting with moving their bare chests against each
other, "and erection's okay, and boner for boys under nineteen, and when a
boy or man makes sperm he cums or ejaculates.  With boys your age, it's
more like a spray when it happens, so that's okay.  Just not dick and cock
and those words.  Girls do have one secret worth knowing, and that is that
what happens is a lot more intense if it's serious and romantic, not like
splashing water on each other in the pool."



   "You must have had a totally cool teacher," Timmy observed as both boys
broke off their game and moved their hands to each other slim, heaving
flanks.

   "You were on the right track when you brought in Mr.  Scott," Josh said.
"I learned about it when I was six, but that was just curiosity.  I was
your age, eleven, when it really happened and I was led all the way."

   "There was another track I was on," Timmy responded, "when I started the
game story.  Can you guess what it is?"

   Gently holding each other, staring into each other's eyes, they paused
as Josh reviewed the question, then his eyes lit with more than
intelligence.  "A little girl," he whispered, "a little sister.  Becky."

   "But she's only five," Timmy said with a nod.

   "Is your penis like totally bigger than all the boys in gym?" the
seventeen year old asked, trying not to appear flustered, made easier by
the fact he was already flushed and openly panting.

   "Just, well, you know, quite a bit, but not totally," the child
murmured.

   "And does she like you and you like her?"

   "Yes.  All the time.  When we find each other playing hide and seek it's
like the whole rest of the world is lost."

   "Then," the senior scout advised, "don't worry about her being five
years old.  If she's normal size, a normal size adult could mount her if he
was very patient and gentle.  Do you think you're bigger than that?"

   "I guess I measured once," Timmy whispered.  "Almost but not quite six
and a half inches."

   "And not thick like a cucumber or anything?"

   "I can't think of anything I'm, you know, thick as.  Not my neck or
anything."

   "Then it's okay," Josh encouraged.  "Do you spend a lot of time alone
together?"

   "Yes," Timmy said.  "We call it `our house is our house' and we make a
game of how responsible we can be and how much we can read and how good our
homework is and even kind of play husband and wife and feed her dolls
dinner.  That makes Mom and Dad happy and tickle us when they get home."

   "And you've never touched her or tried to peek or thought of sneaking
into her bedroom at night and raping her really quietly and gently so no
one will hear what's happening?"



   "I guess I thought she was too young," Timmy said.

   "The only thing she's too young for, guaranteed," Josh responded, "is
getting a baby from you.  There's a video on Kazaa of a cute little three
year old being held around the chest by her daddy as she goes lower and
lower on his adult penis.  The only sound she makes is an almost inaudible,
"Oh, Daddy," when he's about half way up between her legs.  She's tiny,
probably three, not more than four, but he was gentle with her, probably
used something like KY gel to help, and after awhile it became totally
successful between them, you can tell by the look on her face, and that's
even with someone standing right in front of her and her dad making a
video."

   "We love playing at being romantic," Timmy responded.  "Everything is so
brutish and industrialized these days, schools, churches, stores, big,
cold, music, buffer overflow, and manic for money morons charging at it
night and day.  So we get all hearts and flowers and dainty with ribbons on
our plates and calling each other pet names like Fifi and Baboon."

   "Well romance without something serious is ten times better than
something serious without romance," the older scout observed, "and I
wouldn't want to spoil anything, for sure, but when you get home, well, if
it were me, I'd at least try picking a basket of wildflowers, then strewing
them from the living room of the house up to her bedroom, then across the
floor to her bed, then on the bed, you know, like a snow-angel.  When she
came in and saw them I'd say, `you can leave your door open, if you want
to.'"



   "After you waited a little while," a hoarse whisper asked, "would you
take your underpants off and take a chance?  Go and stand in her door with
a boner?"

   "Yes," the older tentmate said.

   "Would your arms be hanging at your sides, or would you have them up,
like we were with each other when we touched our bare chests together?"

   "At my side," Josh replied after a moment's thought, "I'd be really shy,
afraid, too.  I'd probably just look in for a minute, reach down and pick
up a few flowers, hold them out to her, then turn slowly and walk back to
my bedroom and like on my bed."

   "With your penis so she could see if she followed you?"

   "Yes."



   Well, they were on the same page, romantically speaking.



   "We're going to have to kind of strain ourselves not to, you know, like
fall in love," the teen observed.  "I mean, here in the tent, you rule,
but, like we were talking about earlier, nothing outside."

   "In the Navy," the boy responded "they say `take a steady strain'.  It
will be cool going around all day pretending that this isn't the happiest
day of my life or the happiest day I ever heard of and that you're not the
cutest and nicest and friendliest and most perfect friend anybody ever had
since the snake taught Adam about women, something Becky will never be
because she's too intelligent."

   "I'll pretend, too," Josh agreed.  "That I'm not thinking of you when
someone else is talking to me, and that it's not you quietly going off into
the woods with another scout or one of the leaders when there's free time,
and that I'm just as lucky as Becky."



   "Will I see you, too?" Timmy asked: "Taking other boys off in private
during free time?"

   "Yes," the senior whispered.  "It'll happen with both of us.  Two or
three times a week.  With other boys or the leaders."

   "I'm glad," the younger nodded.  "Because like we get talking and I feel
like my heart is going to kind of burst, and we're boys, and we like
listening to ricochets, and don't like mushy stuff."

   "Well, it is complicated," Josh observed, "because I think Mr.  Payne
really likes you, and I know he'll be really gentle with you, but I'll
still be a little bit jealous that he was alone with you for an hour."

   "I kind of notice how the albino boy in tent six was looking at you,
too," Timmy whispered, "and I'll feel the same way, especially if you hold
hands when you think you're out of sight."



   "Timmy," the teen whispered, "there's kind of some flexibility as to do
with privacy here.  Most homosexual experiences occur in secret, but not
all.  If we settle on bravo partners, and if you want to know what Selly,
the albino boy, looks like in my hands, you could come with us into the
woods.  If you wanted me to watch you with Mr.  Payne, the two of you could
invite me."

   "Would you bring Selly?"



   Josh nodded.  The boys became silent, their fingers tracing from flanks,
up over shoulders, to necks, to ears, to jaws, to cheeks then to lips.  "Do
you want to jump way ahead for just a minute?" the older scout asked.

   "Okay," the panting boy replied.

   The teen parted the child's lips with his right index finger, prompting
the boy's tongue.  "A week from now," he said, bringing his immature teen
mouth within an inch of the boy's rosy lips, "I'll be kissing you and my
lips and tongue will have Selly's sperm all over them." Literature for all
ages abounds with first kisses, and both boys were insatiable readers, but
neither had glommed eyes on a passage delineating the first touch of their
lips, nor any which came close.  Was the fourth dimension promise and
anticipation?  To the youngsters in the tent, with the thought of the slim
thirteen year old albino, glasses as thick as their own, and without his
glasses, it was a slam dunk to a fifth dimension, because it took less than
a minute, as they experimented with nuzzling, licking, and nipping each
other, to realize that Shelly's lips and tongue might also be slicked white
with their seed.



   They left it there.  A kiss of a lifetime was a kiss of a lifetime and
dueling tongues would have been superfluous.  Their lips separated, but
they remained leaning against each other, forehead to forehead, their hands
tracking each other's chest and belly lower and lower until the younger boy
led to his senior's scout buckle.



   "Have you started touching yourself at night?" Josh asked, "masturbating
or jerking off?"

   "I just know the words," the boy flushed.

   "It's usually what men like to do with boys your age the first time
they're together," the leader explained, "that way, a man can tell how
mature a boy is.  By how much semen there is and what color it is, either
thin and kinda watery, or thick and heavy and very white."

   "What' yours look like?" Jimmy said.

   "Still thin," the seventeen year old replied, "I'm more like a thirteen
year old when I'm naked than my real age, except, well, for one thing."

   "Your penis?" the understudy asked.

   "I guess so," the boy colored, "I guess it's kind of like a man's in a
way, except all around it I look like a little kid.  Maybe not even as
mature as you."

   They kept at each other's buckles, head to shoulder, panting lightly in
each other's ear.  Then sippers, and a little shuffling and they were in
only their briefs, now squatting, muscular legs spread widely, knees
pressing, staring at each other's hugely tented underpants.



   "Do you think Selly's getting molested?" Timmy asked.

   "If the wind doesn't come up," the older male replied, "you'll hear
noises from some of the nearby tents.  We try to be really quiet,
especially on calm nights, so as not to embarrass the leaders and put them
on the spot, but sometimes things happen unexpectedly and you can't help
making some noise.  This is Shelly's first night back with David.  He yips
softly, like a puppy, when David's successful with him, so we'll hear that
pretty loud, because everyone knows the leaders will say to themselves,
`that's just Selly,' knowing that anyone of them, if they were alone in a
tent with him, would make him noisy, too.  In fact his camp name, and it's
affectionate derisive, is Furthest in the Woods because you have to take
him furthest in the woods if something's going to happen, you know, to be
polite and unobtrusive."



   "I really like that part," Timmy said, "that it is refined, restrained,
whatever you want to call it and not, as you said, like splashing water on
each other."

   "It's kind of an opportunity to indulge in extremes in a controlled
situation," the older boy noted, "like firing a bazooka on a rifle range.
That would probably be pretty safe, however big the thrill."

   "Cool," Timmy said.

   "Yeah," his friend agreed with a nod.  "We can be sister and brother,
boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife, scout leader and camper,
explore all of those things, but when you go home Becky will be as safe as
she ever was, and probably about ten times happier, plus, at no extra
charge, while other kids your age are mooning about this or imagining that,
about ninety percent of what you see on the soap operas, and writing each
other notes and telling friends to tell friends stuff and asking friends to
tell you stuff, you'll have it all in perspective; not `been there and done
that' in any ironic sense, but in the sense that you don't need to it for
the sake of doing it out of curiosity or for bragging rights.  You can stay
home and read and let the Power Ball buyers of tomorrow dance the jealousy
fantastic and hum the lovelorn blues.  Then, dawnesth the light and behold
our loquacious and worthwhile man of twenty, not only able to have any girl
he wants, but cute enough and deep enough and rich enough, and for damn
sure sexy enough, to keep her."



   "I'm glad to hear that from you," Timmy responded, "I keep hearing it
from old guys, and they seem to have messed up things so badly I can't help
finding myself cynical."

   "Well," the older scholar said, "for a modern day cynic, the diet is
rich and plentiful, as if we could eat pavement and have it taste like
lobster."

   Bookworm II replied: "Not rich and plentiful, cheap and plentiful."



   They were finished with staring into each other's eyes from minimal
focal distance.  Been there, done that.  "Does the older boy show his penis
first?"

   "Yes," Josh said, "in case his friend changes his mind."

   The boys returned to a kneeling position on their sleeping bags,
adjusted the soft glow of the maglite, and moved together until their
foreheads again touched.  Josh displayed at his little friend's first
touch, and the boy went quickly to the band at the front of his briefs,
first pulling it out, then down as the boy brought his legs together. 
"We're kinda twins, I think," he whispered as the older scout's fingers
found him and stripped him.  Leaning for a moment into a huddle, the
skinned themselves naked, then regained their knees, Timmy spreading his
legs modestly and Josh more widely so their belly buttons could press
together.  They tucked their heads to each other, breathing harshly, and
Josh began masturbating himself to show the child how.  They took turns,
watching each other, whispering, then touched each other and experimented
with spreading pre-cum and peeling down their foreskins to show each other
their swollen, purple glans.



   "I have a feeling the splashing-water part could start any second,"
Timmy panted.

   "Sometimes you can make your friend splash right away by just saying
something," Josh advised.

   "What?" the boy asked, hardly feeling in need of an aphrodisiac, just
curious.

   "Timmy?  Do you love your little Becky?" That might work.

   "I get your point," the younger boy grunted, forcing himself by dint of
willpower and character to pull from his friend, hug him, and pant away the
tenth of a second miss.

   "Cool," Josh said, "it's meant to happen with me, first, because
sometimes a younger boy has a let down after it happens, and that's not the
right time for him to be getting sperm all over his belly and chest."

   "I just love talking to you," the panting child responded.

   "I love it too," the teen said, "and we've got an hour before eleven."

   "What do you want to talk about?" the eleven year old asked, as, by
accord, both boys lay back on top of their sleeping bags, the child's slim
right leg over the muscular left leg of the tall, rangy teenager as they
carefully experimented with masturbating while the other watched and
stroking each other.

   "If there are any men where you live," Josh answered.  "Probably not
your dad, that's kind of rare, but a teacher or coach or neighbor; usually
you can tell if a man sort of looks at you, and, even with Becky, it might
be exciting for you to have an adult male.  They're way intense and it can
go on for years."



   "Not to change the subject," Jimmy responded, "but you said something
before about being six years old.  There's a boy who plays with Becky from
down the street.  What you said about looking, he's the first one I though
of, because it kinda seems like he's always looking."

   "Is he nice?" Josh asked.

   "Very," the younger boy said.  "Real quiet and he build's models as well
as I do."

   "Well," the leader mused, "assuming he's not fat, because that's about
the only universal downer when it comes to how someone looks, you might
want to be a little bit bold with him.  Not flowers strewn to the nuptial
bed, necessarily, but spill some Coke on your pants when you're alone
together, then get out of your pants and underpants and stand close to him.
If he has any objections, you'll be sure to hear about them, but as long as
he looks, you stand, and if it's for more than half a minute, you can get a
boner and say something like, `Becky likes it when this happens to me.'
That should open up the can and let the worms out.  And keep in mind, boys
as young as five or six can be almost killer-so-you-don't-wake-up lovers.
They love to watch mature boys cum off and get sperm all over them.  Just
be really careful to warn them about what's going to happen, and I don't
mean two seconds before you start spraying all over everything."



   "I understand," the younger boy said.

   "And the same for you," Josh continued, "it's going to be very hard and
violent when it happens with me because I haven't jerked off or done
anything for the last five days.  For days is sort of an unwritten camp
rule for boys who are coming."

   "Do you think Selly goes by it?" Timmy asked, again bringing a stifled
gasp from Josh at the very mention of the lithe thirteen year old