Malcolm, Chapter 17

Malcolm

Chapter 17 The Saga Continues

by Michael Peterson

Be advised that in the following one will find graphic sexual depiction between minors and minors and adults. The story is fiction but based on real characters, events, places and situations. There is no relationship between the names used and that of any real person.

Though I didn't pass out as I lay there curled up on my grandparent's entry hall rug, my mind was unable to focus on anything specific. Even the raging pain from the beating and the fall down the stairs seemed not entirely real. Neither my father nor the reasons for all that pain were more than disconnected bits of information flitting in and out of that portion of my brain that was my conscious. It was almost as though I was outside my body looking down on it, sensing the pain rather than feeling it.

Then there were voices and hands that lifted me. They nearly dropped me as they struggled to get me to something softer, probably the living room sofa. I had a strong desire to sleep or get into a bathtub.

Every once in a while the name 'Henry' and the word 'jail' slipped in and out of my floating thoughts along with a strange desire to laugh even though I was sure it would hurt. Eventually, I was able to zero in on that thought and make it somewhat coherent. I was going to put my son-of-a-bitch father in jail, him and that rapist Washburn. Henry Lloyd's reign over his son was going to end. The war was won. I had him and there was no escape. Even with that creepy lawyer of his, there was no way he could explain over two hundred thousand dollars suddenly appearing in his possession.

My grandmother's voice came through the fog. 'Malcolm, dear, please, tell me where you hurt.'

I understood the question and who asked it but wasn't sure whether I was supposed to respond.

'Malcolm, dear, look at me.'

She had my face in her hands, turning it. I saw her. She had a hat on. I wondered why.

'Malcolm, where do you hurt?'

The word hurt yanked my brain into focus. I did hurt, a lot. I looked down at myself, trying to think where to point. My head hurt but so did my shoulders and back and ribs and legs but mostly my ribs. I pointed to my left side. It hurt to do it. My ribs really hurt.

I heard my grandmother say, 'I think we ought to take him to the hospital just to be on the safe side.' I wasn't sure who she was talking to.

Hands tried again to lift me, this time by the arms. That really hurt. I shouted, 'Aaaahh'. They let me down.

'Maybe we ought to wait until Daddy gets back.'

I curled up again and tried to re-direct my thoughts to Henry Lloyd in jail. My grandfather came in from the back of the house a few minutes later. Freddy was with him.

'Oh, Maacum, what he do to you this time?' He fretted then insisted I be taken to the hospital even while my grandfather was trying to get me up for that purpose. I resisted. He tried to pick me up but I was far too heavy.

'Malcolm, you're going to have to stand. Can you? I'll help. Can you stand up?'

I shook my head. Freddy insisted on an ambulance as my grandfather was calling one. The attendants were smart. They let me stay curled up and put me on the stretcher that way. However, in the hospital, they made me stretch out for the x-rays that turned up two fractured ribs. The doctor taped up my chest and told me it would keep on hurting for a few weeks. The tape helped though also restricted my breathing a bit. I was able to walk out to my grandfather's car.

All the way home, Freddy sought assurances that I'd never again be sent back with my father.

'I don't think you have to worry about that,' answered my grandmother.

My grandfather remained silent all the way home. Freddy and my mother helped me to the third floor bedroom. On the way up the stairs, I lamented to myself the fact that my Christmas holidays were likely to be sexless then was buoyed by the thought that this would be the end of my hateful father. He was going to jail. However, I was thinking of tax evasion, not what my grandfather had in mind.

Half an hour after we arrived back home, two policemen came upstairs to speak to me.

'Hi, Malcolm. I'm Officer Tasker and this is Officer Pritchard. We'd like you to tell us what happened to you.'

Freddy piped in, 'Tell 'em, Maacum. Tell 'em everything.'

I started to speak then stopped. Was this going to be like the last time I told the police about being beaten up?

Freddy squeezed my arm. 'Maacum!'

'My father hit me and threw me down the stairs. Then he hit me some more. And he broke my radio.'

They asked for details, lots of details. I noticed my grandfather in the door. He nodded for me to cooperate. I told them a lot but not about him calling me a faggot or what I'd said about being one.

Freddy pressed me to tell of the other beatings. The officers took many pages of notes.

It was at least half an hour before they left.

Freddy said, 'That's it now, Maacum. You ain't never gonna have to go back with him again. That's it.'

My mother didn't appear again that evening.

Freddy slept with me, pressed against my back, my head on his arm.

Saturday evening, Freddy's mother came by and did some fretting of her own but assured me that, after all he'd done, there would be no way I'd be going back with my father.

To get out of the house, I went with my grandparents and Freddy to Mass Sunday morning. It wasn't too bad as long as I didn't laugh.

Tuesday, a plainclothes police detective and Officer Tasker came to see me. They went over the same ground as the officers had Christmas evening but dug more into previous beatings and the reasons for them. I explained my father's hatred for Freddy. My grandfather later told me that during his long talk with them, he showed the policemen some of Freddy's school work and what a great person he was. I hoped the two officers weren't as prejudiced as the last ones had seemed to be.

Georgie came down Wednesday for the New Year's weekend. Freddy filled him in on every detail of the Christmas day battle and the police inquests. During the entire discourse, I was debating if and how I could get Georgie's certainly growing dong up my rear. Freddy had refused sex, sure it would hurt me. I hoped Georgie would be hornier.

That night, when he stripped to bathe, I saw his semi-hard, still hairless four inches dangling between his legs, looking even larger on that small frame. My devious mind went into high gear. Freddy knew what I was thinking and held me back as the three of us headed out the door for the bathroom down the hall.

'Maacum!' he whispered, 'You're gonna mess up your ribs if you do what you're thinkin'.'

'Now you can read my mind?'

'I been readin' your mind since you were six. You see a dick and you wanna, shit, you know.'

I sat on the side of the tub and tried to wash them both but stretching my arms too painful. I did manage to fondle Georgie's cock and balls. He was hard before I touched him like his cock knew what was on my mind.

In bed, with Freddy again pressed against my back like a rear door chastity belt, I played with Georgie's pecker some more and felt carefully for any sign of pubic hair.

Georgie understood. 'No hair yet,' he said. Every kid I know, you guys, everybody's got it there but me. And I'm bigger than some of the kids in my class, well, my dick's bigger, balls too.'

'Maacum doesn't have that much, just a little.'

'Some's better than nothing. How much sperm you got, Malcolm?'

'Not a whole lot, some, you?'

'Shit, I got a lot, not a whole lot but when I jerk off it goes up to my chest if I aim it. How much you got Freddy?'

Freddy thought. 'I don' know. I only do it inside Maacum so I never see it. Some, I think. Feels like it.'

'Bullshit, Freddy. Every kid in the world beats off. Most do it a lot.'

'Not me. I got this fine ass here to do it fo' me. My hand isn't near as good as this thing.' He patted my rear end and grinned.

Sometimes I wondered about that but Freddy always told me he saved himself for me.

Georgie pressed. 'C'mon, Freddy, you never, ever jerk off?'

'Unh uh. I only do it with Maacum. Won't be as good if I jerk off too. And we always do it twice, sometime three times.'

'You see, that's where you two are really lucky, like Harry and Michael from camp. Me, I gotta jerk off,' he rolled my way and smiled, 'except when I'm here.'

That was all it took. I insisted on and received a screwing from behind. Freddy watched from in front as Georgie gently plumbed away. He'd entered with my saliva as lubricant, something no longer possible with Freddy. We were using a small bottle of Bobby's special oil that I generally carried in my coat pocket where it wouldn't be so obvious.

Freddy's cock was stiff as a ball peen hammer head. My curiosity had been piqued.

'Let me suck you, Freddy. We can see how much sperm you've got. I won't swallow.'

He started to argue but was turning around as he did. Georgie's fucking had him turned him on far too much to say no more than once.

I had to straighten out a bit to take him in making me a slightly uncomfortable but Georgie's cock was doing wonderful things with my innards, creating powerful feelings that obliterated what little discomfort there was elsewhere. And, Freddy's cock fit so nicely into my mouth, tasted to smooth and good. It went in just short of my epiglottis. I massaged it with my tongue and cheeks. He began pumping slowly.

'That's good, Maacum. Just do that. I'll do the rest.'

Georgie had my hips in his hands. He pulled and pumped harder. Each thrust felt incredible down below but piqued my cracked ribs. I doubt they were on his mind. It did distract me from Freddy.

Georgie said, 'Shit! Oh shit!' His fingernails dug into my flesh and he throbbed inside me. I could feel his body was rigid hair to toes. 'Oh, Malcolm. This is so much better than jerking off. Shit!'

Freddy's hand took soft hold of my head, reminding me that it was his turn. Georgie nestled against me, keeping himself pushed well up inside, pumping slow every few moments as Freddy made long, slow thrusts into my mouth, his tummy hardening slightly on the in stroke. I ran my hand over his smooth flesh and played with the kinky pubic hairs on the flesh just above his cock. I tried to see his face but lifting my head hurt my ribs. I wished I had mirrors on my wall and ceiling like my paperhanger customer on the East Side.

George raised up his head and watched. Freddy began to stiffen, his cock thickened. I pushed out my lips to hold more of him longer. His middle hardened. He stopped pumping, his dick full inside. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, I felt and tasted the first of several squirts of semi-sweet liquid fire off into the back of my mouth. The pulsing went on for at least half a minute. I couldn't tell if more juice was being ejected. I kept all I could on the back of my tongue, forcing myself not to swallow.

Freddy was breathing hard. I pushed him back. He pulled out. I dribbled the contents of my mouth onto my hand. It looked mostly like saliva but there was some semi-opaque liquid there too. Freddy sat up to look. Georgie leaned across my body, careful not to let his cock slip out of my hole.

'Not all that much,' commented Freddy.

'Some of it's still in my mouth.' I smiled at him. 'Tastes good.'

Georgie examined our balls then insisted on jerking me off to see how much I had. I was to tell him just before I came. By pumping into me while he masturbated my peter, it didn't take long.

'Now,' I groaned.

Georgie caught it all in his hand. I looked down. Three times there were short streams of opaque liquid then it just dripped a bit with each throb, about average for me.

Georgie examined it then said, 'Shit, now what am I going to do with this. I can't get up.' He put his hand up to my face. 'Wanna see what it tastes like?'

I already knew. 'No. Freddy, go get some toilet paper.'

Freddy laughed. 'Un unh. I don't need none.'

After enjoying our discomfort for a few moments more, he went to the bathroom and, after washing off his hand, brought back a roll of toilet paper for us. Georgie had a theory about ball size and the amount of sperm one could produce.

He seemed to have the biggest balls of the three of us with Freddy second. 'Balls make as much sperm as they have room for. I'll jerk off tomorrow so you can see what I'm talking about.'

He stayed inside of me then made another attempt at orgasm. After a while pumping hard, Freddy worried he was hurting me. Actually, he was. Georgie gave up but stayed inside until he slipped out after we'd fallen asleep.

The next morning, he fired a shot of cum right to his collar bone.

Freddy and I went for our annual simultaneous New Year's climaxes. Georgie was in my mouth. He came first, thirty-six seconds before the New York City ball hit bottom. Freddy came seconds after, closer than the year before.

Georgie went home Monday. Freddy and I accompanied my grandfather and him to the train station. The discomfort in my ribs had become a constant, only worsening when I laughed which was hard not to do with my two best friends.

My mother had stayed with us through Thursday evening then went off and didn't return until Sunday afternoon. I only knew she was there when Freddy told me he'd seen her going into her room. She didn't seek me out until Monday shortly before we were to take Georgie to his train.

Coat and hat on, she kissed me on the head and said, 'I'll see you at dinner.' Then, she scurried out the front door.

'She's seeing my father, isn't she,' I said to my grandfather.

He just frowned. I worried.

'Are they going to arrest my father, the police?'

'I don't know. They say they're still investigating.'

'There's nothing to investigate. He broke my ribs.'

Freddy put his hand on my shoulder. My grandfather looked glum.

'It depends on what your mother says. She, the lawyer..'

The deep breath I took hurt my ribs. 'Is she saying he didn't do it? She always takes his side!' Tears of frustration welled up.

'Slow down, Malcolm. She hasn't spoken to them yet. His lawyer, well, the law is, well, a wife can't be forced to testify against her husband but she can say things in a case like this, for him, but that doesn't mean she will. She's very angry at him for what he did to you.'

'So he can beat up a kid and nothing happens! Just like always! What about the money? The taxes he didn't pay? What about that? Is he gonna get away with that too?'

'Malcolm, he hasn't gotten away with anything yet. Just take it easy. There's a lot going on right now. Lawyers can slow things down. That's all that's happening right now. The police are on your side, especially Officer Tasker. So take it easy and let him do his job.

My ribs hurt, badly. With Freddy helping me, I went up the two flights of stairs to my room.

He tried to reassure me but didn't sound so convinced himself.

My mother came back as grandmother was serving a fruit desert. Her smile was forced. I knew the expression of betrayal from before and didn't want to hear the words.

'Malcolm, dear, wait..' she said as I got up and headed out of the room toward the stairs, Freddy close behind.

Freddy stopped at the turn in the stairs and waved me on. He sat and peered through the railing as I continued up.

When he showed up sullen faced twenty minutes later, I said, 'She took his side, didn't she?'

Freddy dropped into the easy chair by the door. 'My mama never would a done that. She'd a put that motherfucker in jail.'

My mother had gone with my father's lawyer to the police station for her interview and agreed with my father's story that I had been playing my radio loudly and when my father tried to take it away, I ran down the hall with it. I'd been going too fast when I turned onto the stairs and fallen, landing on top of the radio at the bottom.

On top of that, he'd sent a message via mother to all of us that there was no money to be found. In other words, he'd hidden it rather than banked it under his name.

My mother had gone back to the house where she would be staying with him. I'd be allowed temporarily to stay with my grandparents. Waiting for Freddy, sure I knew the gist of what he was learning, I drifted toward the conclusion that I had two choices, run away or kill my father. I wondered if there was a way to murder him and escape undetected. That night, I remained awake long after Freddy's cock had deflated and slipped out of me, trying to come up with a plan. There was nothing frivolous about my thinking. I was absolutely serious in my determination to end my father's life.

Although the means didn't occur to me, some parameters did. First, no one else could be involved. It had to be something I alone would carry out without anyone else's knowledge. It wasn't a matter of trust, there were those who I knew I could trust implicitly even with something as grave as murder. There were two reasons. If it went wrong, no one else should be affected by it. If it went wrong, it should only be because I messed it up, not someone else. A second or third party was an element not as easy to control as oneself.

It also had to be done in such a way a no one else would be hurt by the actual act. He had to be murdered when he was alone, certainly not in bed with my mother, unless, of course, I could come up with a death that would appear natural, like a heart attack.

The difficulties were numerous and huge. A physical attack with a knife, a gun or something to hit him with required my presence. I needed an alibi that didn't require someone else to lie. However it was done, I didn't know how well I could hold up under the questioning that would surely come my way. Far too many people knew the intense hatred I felt for my father, how much I wanted to be out from under his power. This latest incident was known to the police. They would surely see me as a prime suspect.

Tuesday morning, Freddy and I went off to school. I had a note from my grandfather explaining that gym and swimming were out for me until the doctor said it was okay.

My friends were all horny having expected to visit me over the holidays then being told I wasn't available. The morose expression on my face and glum attitude told them they'd have to wait some more. Tommy pulled me away from the rest and walked me up toward the grotto.

'What happened? He hit you again?'

I nodded affirmation.

He touched me on the shoulder then dropped his hand. 'You okay? I mean, you hurt anywhere?'

'Fractured ribs is all.'

'Jesus. He broke your ribs. Why isn't he in jail? Is he?'

'No.'

'I'm sorry, Malcolm. You want anything?'

I shook my head.

Victor came up behind us. 'Malcolm, you okay?'

Tommy told him, 'Broke his ribs this time.'

'Fractured,' I corrected.

'Same difference!' interjected Tommy.

I was protected from further inquiries the rest of the day except, of course, for Sister Kathleen, the principal, who wanted more details on what was so wrong I couldn't attend physical education classes.

'My ribs are hurt. I'm all taped up there.'

'Your mother said you fell down the stairs. Is that what happened?'

I wasn't prepared for that question. Trust wasn't one of the feelings I had for the nuns. If I told her the truth, would it come back to hurt me? I waited too long to answer.

'Did your father do that to you?' asked Sister Kathleen.

She didn't need my answer so I didn't give one.

What happened next was even more unexpected than the question. Tough Sister Mary Kathleen came over and hugged me to her. 'You have friends here, Malcolm. If there's anything you'd like us to do, you just say so, okay?'

I hugged her back and left. There was really nothing she could do. It was in my hands at that point. I had to solve my own problem.

The nun's words were not empty. My mother was waiting for me after school. Sister Kathleen, staring hard at my mother, deposited me on Martin's bus. Mother didn't get out of the car.

I called my grandmother from Martin's house. My mother was there waiting. I hung up when she came on the line and headed for Bobby's to ask to stay the night, running away again on my mind. At the end of the block, I turned toward the supermarket to speak first with Freddy.

'You sure she wants you to go back to the house?'

I wasn't absolutely sure. Maybe she had just wanted to talk to me. Freddy counseled me to go back to Martin's and call my grandparents. Concerned she probably knew where I was, I went to Bobby's to call around dinner time in hopes she'd gone home or out to look for me.

Martin had told Bobby what little he knew of what had happened over the holidays.

'You thinking about running away again?' he asked.

'Maybe. I wanna talk to my grandfather first, see if I can keep staying with him.'

'Who knows you came here?'

'Nobody, but they'll guess.'

'Don't worry.' He closed and locked the front door. 'Spike'll be back with collections in a few minutes. You go in the bedroom when he comes. Then Martin and Steven but you don't have to worry about them. You can stay here as long as you have to.'

I hugged him as hard as my ribs would allow.

My grandfather answered my five thirty call.

'You mother just wants to talk to you. No one's saying you have to go back home yet. And I'm working hard so you can stay here. You know that, don't you, Malcolm?'

We exchanged 'I love you's' and I agreed to take a cab to their house. They'd pay and hold dinner for me.

I didn't see a cab so took the first trolley and was there at six fifteen.

Mother showed up at seven thirty with the same old song and dance. Everything would be different as long as I obeyed the simple rules, blah, blah, blah.

'I am not going back with him. Period.'

'Dear, he can make you.'

'No he can't. I ran away before. I'll do it again. I know how to do it.'

'Dear, then you'll be caught and be sent to a boarding school.'

'And I'll run away from there. You can't force me to stay with him.'

My grandfather interrupted, 'Sandra, this isn't getting us anywhere. And, this time, I'm prepared to take some risks too. Malcolm is right. I don't think he should have to live with that man either.' He stopped and looked at me for a moment. 'Malcolm, please go upstairs or in the kitchen so I can speak with my daughter.'

I didn't feel I should have been excluded from any talk regarding me but there was no way I could refuse my grandfather's request. However, I could cheat. I walked out of the living room, into the hall and up the stairs, all the way to my room where I quickly took off my shoes and silently went back down the stairs, staying tight to the railing side to avoid creaking wood.

My grandfather was in mid-sentence. '..may take time but he took that money and I'll find it. Remember, I'm in the insurance business. We have excellent investigative means when it comes to tracing money, especially large amounts like two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. And, dear, you lied to the police and apparently to Sister Kathleen. She knows it and so do a lot of others including the police, especially that Officer Tasker. He'd love to lock your Henry up. So just remember, if you two try to force my grandson back into that house, I will help hide him and do everything I can to put the two of you in jail. Am I understood?'

'But, Daddy, all Malcolm has to do is be obedient..'

'Not to a tyrant like Henry Lloyd, he doesn't. Not my grandson. You've heard what I said and I hope you understand how serious I am. Now, you go home and tell that man what I've said. Malcolm is staying here.'

I had to roll back up into the second floor hallway as he strutted out of the living room toward the kitchen. The front door didn't open for some time. I watched mother drive away.

I wanted to rush down and embrace my grandfather. I don't believe I ever loved a man as much as I did him at that moment. No adult had ever stood up for me as he had to my mother. There was no doubt in my mind that he knew how furious his words would make my father, how determined Henry Lloyd would become to beat him, even destroy him for daring to stand by me against him. It was as direct an attack on his pride as had been my accusation that he was the cause of my homosexuality. There would be hell to pay before this was over.

It was much easier to fall asleep that night.

The next day before classes, I went with Victor into the same toilet stall where I'd been caught by Tommy and the others with Francis. We did it the same way, with me sitting on his lap, impaled on that great long dong of his. It was hard work for Victor but his best screw ever for me. His cockhead plowed across my prostate time and again. I dropped my hand between my legs to feel him sliding in and out. I shot my little load into my hand well ahead of him.

Francis and I went to the same place for the same purpose at recess. It was fine but not nearly as good as Victor's performance. Francis was nearly as long and quite a bit thicker so I've no explanation for the difference. I shot into his hand when he jerked me off.

I made a clean sweep of my school sex chums by sucking Tommy while Martin then Pat screwed me from behind. Pat's broad glans felt great as it popped in and out of my anus then pushed back and forth over my sweet spot. Tommy's deepening voice had me prepared for the nice drink he provided.

I had to go back to the toilet afterward for an easy though noisy shit.

Freddy beat me to my grandparents house. He was in the kitchen with my grandmother, doing his homework when I arrived. He called his mother at Bobby's and got permission to spend the night.

When we went upstairs before dinner, I told him what my grandfather had said to my mother.

'Yo daddy isn't gonna take that very good. You best be careful he doesn't try to have somebody snatch you right offa the street.'

'So what if he does. The minute I go out for anything, I'm gone. Fuck him.'

It took my ribs another two weeks to stop hurting. The tape had come off for the last time two days after my grandfather told off my mother. I was still tender to the touch but was running and doing many of my exercises again, even push ups though no pull ups.

I called Butch and he informed Franklin and the others that I would be available Friday. There were five of them waiting for me when I arrived after school.

The only significant event before Freddy's March birthday occurred the last Thursday in February. Pat invited me to have lunch with him in our classroom. I expected at least Tommy to be joining us so was quite surprised to find Bradley waiting beside Pat. I had never expected him to be interested due to his shyness over what Pat told me was his very small penis.

Bradley hardly looked at me for the longest time. He insisted we eat first so we did even though Pat clearly had a roaring hard on in his pants. Bradley talked on and on about the upcoming baseball season and the strengths and weaknesses of our local professional team. Finally, Pat couldn't wait any longer.

'Damn, Bradley, if you're not gonna do it, I am. He pulled Francis' tin of white crème out of his shirt pocket and went for his belt.

'Okay, okay. Wait. I'll do it.'

Pat slowed but continued to open his pants. Bradley did the same but on his knees with his back to me.

'C'mon, Bradley, you know Malcolm's never gonna say anything.'

His back still to me, he slowly pushed down his clean white briefs then turned, his arm covering his crotch, and sat down. My pants were at my ankles as I slid in close to him. I nudged my hand into his crotch. I felt his pubic hair first then the base of a moderately thick, very hard cock. I wrapped my hand around it. The head was between my thumb and forefinger. It was shorter than mine, probably not more than three inches long. I hoped he just wanted a blow job.

Pat crawled over the two of us and said, 'Lie down, Malcolm, like the other day. He was already greasing up. I lay down on my side and pulled Bradley down with me, his head to my crotch. He didn't resist.

Before Pat could get inside me, I was down on Bradley's prig, massaging it with my tongue. It might well have been the hardest cock that had ever been in my mouth. He stretched his body out and sighed. His cock hairs were a couple of shades darker than the blonde hair on his head but still light colored. There was none on his tightly bagged, shooter marble sized balls. I let go of his cock and sucked them into my mouth. He squeezed his legs closed then slowly loosened then opened them, raising one knee. I let my upper lip slide down his slick, white perineum. I felt his hand on my shoulder. After a moment, he reached in and pushed his cock at my mouth. I took it back in. He pushed in hard and held it there as I ran my tongue all over the shaft and circumcised head. I slid my hand across his abdomen. He stiffened. I pulled my hand away, concerned he'd get off too quickly. He pulled my hand back. I massaged his tummy side to side, up and down. He kept his cock pressed into my mouth. Anyone else that hard would have been firing off by then.

Pat poked the head of his cock between my cheeks making me realize he hadn't been doing anything yet. I arched my ass back at him. He found my hole and pushed inside sending sparks up through my middle, somehow making my head begin to go back and forth on Bradley's short prong.

Pat began fucking. Bradley picked up his rhythm and started in too. I held my head still and he followed his friend's lead. I pulled my bottom arm free and used that hand to continue working on Bradley's middle while my top hand went to his back and down over his rock hard ass muscle to his equally rigid thigh. Bradley might have been in the middle of one powerful whole body cramp for all I knew. Every muscle I touched was taut. There was only the brief flexing as he pumped into my mouth in perfect time with Pat's thrusts into my rectum. The fat head on Pat's dick was doing wonders with my prostate. I was soon on the edge of orgasm and worried that I'd squirt all over Bradley's face until I saw his head was up and watching his friend's fucking.

Suddenly, Bradley jammed his crotch into my mouth and shot his sweet juice over my taste buds. He didn't make a sound but his eyes were closed. His throbbing went on and on, nearly in time with Pat's thrusting. I hugged him to me then had to pull loose quickly as my own juices fired out of my balls. I barely got to my cock before I shot all over Bradley's arm. Bradley's eyes followed my hand and watched as drops of cum oozed out between my fingers.

Pat took another couple of minutes then pumped his load up inside of me. Once his pulsing stopped, he asked Bradley, 'Good?'

'Malcolm came without even touching his. No wonder he likes this so much. Man!'

Bradley hadn't returned by the time Freddy turned fourteen on March 14th.

Nor had my mother put in an appearance when I was at home. Grandmother told me she came to visit her a couple of times and asked how I was but that was it. It didn't seem like my father to give up so easily.

Freddy's birthday came on a Sunday so we planned a big party at his house then we'd spend the night at my grandfather's.

There was quite a crowd including Martin, Dickie and my grandparents. Bobby catered it but couldn't come himself due to other customers also having affairs.

Freddy tried to sing Happy Birthday too but his adolescent voice wouldn't go the high notes. Mine was dropping too but still had the needed range. His mother cried.

'My baby ain't no baby no more. An' you getting bigger'n him, Maacum.'

I was, by at least three inches, nearly Aunt Martha's height. Martin, however, surpassed us both though his voice wasn't the baritone Freddy's tended to be.

That night, we did our birthday measurements. Freddy's penis was four and five eights inches long. Mine reached just short of the four inch mark. I insisted on sucking him to see how much would come out. He was in a very playful mood and jumped on top of me.

'Okay, but I'm not gonna suck yours, just beat the sperm outta you.'

I tickled him hard just above his hips, his most sensitive place. Freddy fell clear off the bed, dragging me with him. I ended up on top of him, sitting just above his crotch.

'You didn't let me give you your birthday kiss,' I purred.

'Long's you don't try to stick your tongue in my mouth like last year,' he grinned.

'I didn't!'

'But you wanted to, like you're always doin' with Bobby.'

'Mouth closed, okay?'

He pulled me down and allowed a fairly long kiss. I lay on top of him and whispered in his ear, 'I love you.'

'Me too. Now you gonna blow me or do I gotta go in your other hole.'

He didn't release the hug he was giving me until I turned to do him right there on the floor. His cock went right to the back of my mouth. In another year, I'd have a hard time taking it all without gagging. I lay on him. My crotch lay against his shoulder, my stiff peter on his neck. He massaged my back lightly while I went up and down and around on him. When he was close, he whispered, 'Almost' and started to masturbate me. The roll of toilet paper was up on the bed. He was going to have to catch my sperm in his hand.

He bloated and stiffened. I waited until I was sure he was beyond the point of no return and lifted my head off. I pushed his cock down and held my hands over the head. Shot after shot of potent, thick white liquid fired into my palms. He worked mine fast as he could. I wished his cock was inside me. It took another minute or so.

'Now!' I grunted.

He held both hands over the head of my cock but some squirted out onto his chest. He moved one hand back and let the rest follow it onto him, my white sperm on his black flesh.

When we caught our breaths, he asked, 'Who's got more. Me, right?'

'Of course. You've got bigger balls.'

'An' a bigger dick. Let's save this on something and I'll use it to fuck you later.'

While he lay there, I got up carefully and dripped what was in my hand into an old glass ashtray that was on the bureau. Then I tried to scoop mine of Freddy's chest. It didn't scoop very well.

'Suck it up and spit it in there,' he suggested, then we gotta take a bath.'

I tried that then ended up licking it up and scraping it off my tongue with the edge of the ashtray.

Freddy laughed then ran naked down the hall and into the bathroom.

Half an hour later, we used our homebrew lubricant.

Talk at school was about the upcoming entrance exams for the various high schools that graduates from our school generally attended, two Catholic institutions in particular. The one I expected to attend, run by the Jesuits, was supposedly the top Catholic high school in the region.

Many of my fellow students spent a major part of the Easter Week break boning up for the exams. I reviewed math and some history but didn't study for more than a few hours due to a feeling that I'd ace the test easily. I'd always done so in grade school.

What I did do over those days of freedom was fairly profitable. The Friday before Holy Week and Wednesday afternoon of Holy Week, my mouth and rear end earned thirty-four dollars at Franklin's. Monday afternoon, on a lark, I went with Butch to the 'bank corner' on the East Side where I'd hustled during my time as a runaway. Butch found it hard to believe my stories about the openness and volume of the boy prostitution in that part of town. First, a former customer picked me up, hoping I could finally cum then was very happy when I did. Butch, more out of curiosity than anything else, agreed to be blown. He too could provide a mouthful making our customer quite content to pay the two dollars I'd negotiated. Moments after we were dropped off a block from the corner, on our way to the streetcar to go back home, a boy I vaguely remembered from the corner told me a man wanted to meet me.

'We gotta get home. Tell him I'll try to come tomorrow.'

'Just come talk to him. He'll give me fifty cents if you just come to his car. He's just across the street.'

His car was a late model black Chrysler. He was middle aged, dressed casually but well. We went to talk.

'Hi, I'm Marvin. You're Malcolm, aren't you? My friend Bill told me about you a year or so ago but you disappeared.'

I had no idea which Bill he was talking about. He might have been counting on that. 'Yeah, but we gotta go home for dinner. I can come back tomorrow if you want.'

'Where you gotta go. I'll give you a ride.'

He seemed okay but I wasn't sure. 'No, thanks, I got my friend and he isn't allowed to go in cars with strangers.'

'Oh, c'mon, Malcolm, you just got outta another guy's car. Ask Steven here, he knows me.'

Steven was being paid to help get me in the car, not a good reference.

'Nah, maybe tomorrow.' I pulled Butch away from the car.

Steve shrugged his shoulders as I walked off.

Then, before the streetcar came, another former customer pulled over.

'Malcolm! Malcolm, where you been?'

I agreed to let him put his hands inside my pants for a ride to the trolley line.

'You have grown. Let's go for a quick suck.' He lived to the south of where we were, no more than ten blocks away.

'Buck each. Buck fifty more to do you.' That was a fifty percent increase over what I'd charged him the last time, I smiled.

He smiled back. 'What the fuck. Your friend suck too?'

'Unh uh. Just me.'

We went to his house and undressed as we ran up the stairs to his bedroom. His cum was as nasty as I remembered.

He agreed to take us downtown to the trolley. I asked him about the man in the Chrysler.

'That's Marvin. Get your money up front with him. Where'd you see him? I heard he only took boys off the meat rack.'

'What's that?'

'What? The meat rack? You never heard of that?'

I shook my head.

'It's mostly older kids, pros. Only a few your age go there. Kinda dangerous late. Kid like you could do pretty good there. They pay more. Just don't let them drop you off where the others can see you. Might get robbed.'

'How much they pay there?'

'Actually, about what you charged me, two fifty, three for a blow job, or more, depending.'

'Depending on what?'

'You know, what else you do, who the guy is. Some of 'em are rich. I probably shouldn't be telling you this. Might find yourself a sugar daddy and we'll never see you again on the East Side.'

I'd already shown my ignorance once and was reticent to do so again. Butch hadn't the same concern. 'What's a sugar daddy?' he asked.

'That's a guy who makes you his special. You don't go with anyone else but he gives you a lot of shit. But you gotta see him a lot, do whatever he wants.'

It didn't sound very appealing. Still, my curiosity had been piqued. 'So what's the best time there?'

'After seven, 'til about midnight.'

'None of them come any earlier?'

'I don't know. Don't see kids hustling much before seven so I guess they don't.'

Butch, then a believer, wanted nothing to do with that scene. 'Sounds dangerous,' he declared on the trolley. But, then, Butch was one who never faulted for money.

I, on the other hand, had become accustomed to have money in my pockets but didn't have parents, or grandparents, who handed out the kind of cash I felt I needed.

The problem was the hour. The solution was to stay the night at Bobby's which I could go to at any hour. I asked for and received permission to stay the following night there with Freddy.

When I called Bobby to tell him my plans, he was concerned but curious what I'd find hustling with the 'big boys' as he called them. He promised to get word to Freddy about us sleeping with him the next night.

What happened shouldn't have been a surprise. The first car to stop was a former customer from the West Side. He had expectations of paying the same as he had before. Mine were twice that.

'Can you cum now?'

I nodded in the affirmative.

We went to his little apartment twenty minutes away. A sixty-nine earned me three bucks. We were back before eight. I got off a block away.

Several other older boys, about sixteen to eighteen, were standing around when I walked back up the street. One commented, 'Fresh young meat' as I passed him and his partner. I sat on a stoop near the corner. The drivers of three different cars looked me over. One picked up a bigger boy across the street. The second one made another pass then parked around the corner. He walked back to the stoop and sat beside me. He was young, no more than twenty-five, and dressed in jeans and a dark cowboy shirt.

He held his hand out. 'Hi, I'm Chris. What's your name?'

'Tom.'

'You're new here.'

I looked at the other boys, hoping for a hint regarding who this man might have been. They all had their eyes out for clients. I supposed that was a good sign. 'Sorta.'

'I've never seen you here before. What do you like to do?'

'Depends.'

'On what?'

I was winging it, unsure of what the rates were. 'How much?'

'Suck?'

I had to say something. 'Three.'

'Fuck?'

I took a breath. 'Depends on how big you are.'

'Not that big. Five?'

'If you're not too big.'

He stood. 'C'mon.'

'Where?'

'My place.'

'Where's that?' I was becoming nervous. I'd always had someone to vouch for new customers or, at least, had seen them around enough to feel reasonably secure.

He named a street not far away in an arty section.

I went.

He was a photographer. His apartment was a large one room studio with a bed, bathroom and kitchen stuffed into one corner. The bathroom door was open. Dark room paraphernalia was inside alongside a shower stall.

I'd had my picture taken a few times before but never completely naked. Chris wanted me bare. I refused.

'Okay, but you've got to think about it. God, you've got a great body. Let's fuck. Who goes first?'

He wasn't terribly large, smaller than Kenny, and fucked well though the grunting was a bit distracting. It kept me from cumming, and good for another customer before going to Bobby's.

The next man was older, slim and graying. He too had a downtown apartment though it seemed too spare to believe he actually lived there. He too wanted to screw me and was of a size I could handle. And, he was fast, cumming on the fifth or sixth thrust. He requested a return engagement the following Monday. I promised to try.

I got to Bobby's at ten fifteen with thirteen additional dollars and an ass and gullet full of cum.

'Well? How was it?' I'd told him my plans. Freddy stood behind him with his hands on his hips.

I held up the money.

'God, you are a whore, but a successful one. Maybe I should stop cooking and go with you.'

'You're gonna get arrested one of these days,' said Freddy with a frown.

Bobby fucked the rent out of me. Freddy just cuddled, making me feel guilty, worried he might be right about the dangers of hustling downtown.

Robert, weighing nearly a hundred and eighty pounds at that point and with six inches to stick me was there in the morning after Freddy went to work.

I spent the rest of his free time with Freddy. Sunday, one of Butch's neighbors had an Easter Egg hunt on their vast lawn. The homeowner was a regular customer at Edward's and knew Freddy from there. Freddy and I arrived after Mass with my grandparents and helped supervise the twenty or so four to ten year olds as they dashed around searching for hard boiled treasure.

The high school entrance exam wasn't what I expected. It was both harder and touched on subjects I hadn't studied, ever. The proctor, as he called himself, said we'd find such material and to try it out. The English part was the easiest. Being a regular reader, my vocabulary and comprehension skills were well up to the challenge. Math was more difficult getting farther into algebra than I'd gone. Nonetheless, I figured I'd done reasonably well. The science part I wasn't prepared for at all. In addition to the biology I was somewhat familiar with, it also dealt with physics which I'd barely touched. Still, I guessed a lot in hopes that I'd get lucky enough to pass.

I went home worried I hadn't done well enough and angry at my school for not teaching what was on the exams.

The worry was unnecessary. I got a letter of acceptance two weeks later. My grandparents, Freddy, Beatrice and I celebrated at the University Club which hadn't kicked my grandfather out yet.

The next day, I learned that Tommy, Bradley, Francis, Herbert Reisin, three others and, surprisingly, nasty Paul Simpson would also be studying with me there. Francis wanted and got a celebratory screw in the john.

'We gotta find a place there too,' he said as he was pumping up into me.

It wasn't for a few days that I learned Victor had failed the entrance exam to my high school and would be going to a rival school also run by religious brothers. Next to Martin, who'd be going to school with him and Pat, he was really my best friend there at our school. Our parental problems provided an emotional tie that I didn't feel with anyone else. He took it worse than me.

Lying on top of me, his five plus inches deep into my plumbing, he said, 'You're the only kid I can really talk to, the only one who understands what it's like to have shitty parents. I'm gonna miss you.'

We spent a lot of time together those last few weeks, talking more than anything else. He still had his father's black employee's nephew for sex. 'I fuck him every weekend, sometimes twice. He loves it as much as you.'

Grade school ended with a rather dull graduation ceremony. At least it seemed that way. Our group of friends was breaking up. I'd see Martin often enough, continue to spend nights at his house, but Victor and Pat would be memories. Those wonderful lunchtimes spent against the wall in my classroom were over. The grotto and the patch of bushes behind the school building would be used by others. Tossing baseball cards was for little kids then. That part of my life was over.

Sister Kathleen gave me the second hug of our seven year relationship and admonished me to 'make me, all of us proud of you'.

My mother came. My father didn't. She told me how proud she was of me. I had the top grades again, just a hair better than Herbert, but still the best. She told me that she and my father would be going away for the summer and be back in the fall.

'I miss you very much. Please think about coming home in the Fall.' Then came the same crap about how much my father had changed and so on.

'But he's not here, is he?'

'He just wanted to avoid any unpleasantness on such a special day.'

My grandparents planned to take me and Freddy out to dinner. Tommy Atkin's family was having us all over to their place for a graduation party. Their next door neighbor had a swimming pool which we could use. The pool had cubicles for changing clothes. Tommy and Pat screwed me standing up inside one. Bradley came in afterward. I gave him a blow job that almost made him fall over on orgasm.

Victor hadn't been allowed to come.

Toward the end of the afternoon, Tommy, Pat, Bradley, Martin and I wandered off to a small park down the street and lamented the end of grade school.

'We gotta do three hours of homework every night, more on weekends,' complained Bradley.

'Same at our school,' said Pat.

Other things were on our minds. Tommy voiced one. 'We gotta find a way to get together every once in a while, like once a month or something.'

'Yeah, but where? We need someplace private,' submitted Pat.

Tommy smirked. 'Shit, Pat, not just for that. We do more than that.'

'We've got all summer. We can get together a lot,' I said.

'Yeah, but where?' Pat knew what he wanted.

We settled on calling and watching for chances when parents and other family members wouldn't be around.

After dinner, Freddy, in a very upbeat mood, possibly because we'd be working together again, decided to try the standup sex I'd admitted to that afternoon.

Being a few inches shorter than me, it worked out fairly well. It was harder work for him but I just leaned into the wall and enjoyed it, shooting into my hand at the end.

The job at Edward's was more like work that year. Michael had quit and the other baggers were new and inexperienced. Mr. Johnson split our days so we could help with the novices. Freddy and I did work together Saturdays. Even with just a thirty hour week each, we still didn't see each other as much as I'd have liked. Worse, it gave me too much free time to fill.

Martin was working more than the legal thirty hours at Bobby's. Bobby was busier still. Butch was off at Camp McFarlane with Georgie, who was there for free.

I tried some variations on my running and exercise routine. The university my grandfather had attended many years before was nearby. The large campus offered plenty of places to run including their small stadium and the track around the sports field. Some mornings, I'd get up early, around six thirty and enjoy the cooler, seemingly fresher air at that hour.

Freddy came with me most of the time, the only black face around except for a few workers who started appearing around seven thirty. There were occasional dirty looks but more smiles, even friendly greetings from others exercising here, especially on the stadium track.

I occupied some more of my time reading, often at the main downtown library. Then, I went to a sort of four bladed, statue filled park a few blocks away. It turned out to be the daytime annex to the meat rack around the corner from one end of the park. I was hit on my third time there by the young photographer.

'Hey, Tom. You like to read, huh?'

His presence surprised me. I wasn't sure how to react, if anyone else might recognize what was happening. He sat beside me and closed the book enough to see the cover.

'Dostoyevsky, heavy stuff. You got some time?'

I was, in reality, bored. The book was a mistake, way over my head. There was five dollars to be had. Still, I didn't want to be seen leaving the park with him.

'I'll meet you somewhere.'

'Now?'

I nodded.

He gave me a corner. I was there in four minutes. He was waiting, his motor running. At his flat, he tried again to convince me to let him take naked pictures.

'How's an extra five sound? Just a few.'

I shook my head.

'Don't worry. They're just for me. I develop them myself.' He pointed to his bathroom / darkroom combination in the corner. I'd cleaned up my backside there after our first encounter. He used a lot of Vaseline.

'Let's just do the other thing.'

'Okay, ten, but that's all I can afford.'

Ten was tempting but I'd heard of magazines with naked teens. That was too risky.

I shook my head. He sighed and began to undress.

Maybe to impress me, but, for whatever reason, he was really good that time. First, he licked between my legs and sucked in my balls. Then he rimmed me for a while before licking his way back to my very stiff cock, all the while caressing my chest and tummy with both hands.

He looked up from between my legs and asked, 'You're really ready now, aren't you.'

I had to smile back. My cock was ready to burst.

He gave my balls a twirl with his tongue and reached under the bed for his jar of Vaseline and a roll of toilet paper. I rolled half way over. He stopped me.

'Let's do it from the front this time.'

He was nearly as big as Kenny. I worried it would hurt. 'Okay, but you gotta stop if I say.'

'Don't worry, I'm good at this.'

He was. His angle of entry was perfect. He stretched himself over me, held up by his arms, my knees pressed to my sides, and grinned as his cock slid smoothly and with very little discomfort, completely up inside of me. He leaned down and kissed my lips then dropped his head down to watch himself fuck me. His head blocked my view so I closed my eyes.

He fucked slowly, sliding ever so gently in and out, seemingly in a perfectly straight line. Other than the nudge of my prostate with each entry, I felt little movement inside. I knew he could see I was enjoying it. My cock was pointed straight at his nose.

Twice he slowed, looked up and smiled, kissed me on the lips then the cheek. Without thinking about it, I took his ribs in my hands then slid further down toward his buns to follow the action. His breathing picked up. I moved my head to one side to see what I could. His skinny hips were flexing like he was hinged just above them. His one foot went slightly off the bed with each thrust.

He made a breathy grunt and stopped, his cock throbbing strongly inside me. He lowered himself to one elbow, rolling us both slightly to one side, and masturbated me. I was close. He pulled out and pushed in twice. That was all it took. I shot more than I thought I had to shoot up onto my chest and gut. He fell onto his side, tugging me with him.

'God, that was good, Tommy.' His head dropped back onto the sheets.

I felt my cum drip across my body. My cock continued to pulse slowly.

After we'd showered and dressed, he offered me a glass of wine. We sipped while he suggested I come by more often.

'You know where I live now. Just ring the bell. It's the top one. And let me take your picture one time. The ten dollar offer will always be there. Just not now. I take crappy pictures right after I get off.'

I jerked off that night with a picture of the photographer's swivel hips animating my thoughts.

Tommy and the rest of us did get together a few times, mostly at Tommy's house while his father was working and his mother off visiting or shopping. Bradley tried to fuck me on top of Tommy's bed but ended up washing himself off and reaching climax via my lips.

Pat was upset with himself for not passing the exam into our school. Francis just came for my butt.

One morning on a day off during the middle of July, I forced the basement window of my former home and went upstairs to get the money I had stashed there. My bedroom was as I'd left it except that the bed was made. The money was where I'd hidden it. I put it in the bank where I was saving most of my earnings in case they were needed one day. By the first of August, including the money from the previous summer and some I'd put in during the school year, there was nearly seven hundred dollars in my account.

Though Franklin was gone, his friends were able to get me into one of their houses about once a week. I was hustling in the park two to three times a week, never taking home less than eight dollars a day.

Freddy and I had one day during the week plus Sundays along with a few nights to be together. However, at our age, the simple pleasures of a day at the stream weren't enough. Due to Freddy's skin color, there was little we could do together in places frequented by whites. So, we went to the black section of the city park, a few times to restaurants in a Negro business district and once to a smelly theater there.

In the park, we became friendly with other black kids, mostly early to mid teens, boys and girls, who came there to play baseball and socialize. Apparently, they picked up on my homosexuality right off. A couple of them made remarks though with smiles and a non-threatening demeanor.

For instance, when Freddy got friendly with one of the girls, a slightly older boy suggested they needed to 'find yo' white boy a boy friend'.

I smirked. Freddy poked me in the ribs and the conversation went off in other directions.

I did feel a bit left out. I was hardly a good teammate on my team though they always made sure I played. Much of the conversation was sufficiently strange to me that I wasn't sure what was being said. However, I enjoyed their humor, some of it ribald.

'Marcy got legs so skinny they gotta tie knots in 'em ta make knees.'

Bootsy so ugly when he cries his tears go up inta his hair to keep from goin' neah his face.'

On our fourth or fifth time in the park, Freddy disappeared for about twenty minutes with his girl friend. His friends kept me busy playing a card game I never really understood.

When I asked him about it on the way home, he just smiled. However, after dinner, he pulled me upstairs.

'Shit, Malcolm. We gotta do something. My dick is still hard from that girl.'

'You gotta tell me everything you did before.'

'Damn, Malcolm. Lemme tell you while we're doing it. Don't worry, I'll tell you everything.'

There was none of the foreplay we'd gotten into. The oil went right on and his dick went straight inside.

'Malcolm, that girl was lickin' mah tonsils and rubbin' her body all over me but every time I tried to put mah hand on her tits or between her legs, she just pushed it away. Didn't say anything, just kissed and rubbed. I was as hard as I am now, mebbe harder. Damn, she was hot. Bootsy was right.'

I held his head in my hand, probably tighter than I did when he was on top like that, and wondered how much longer we'd be doing what we were. Freddy had found a girl, possibly the first of many. Sooner or later, one would let him screw her. He'd never had his cock inside a girl, other than one time with Georgie, his cock had never been inside anyone but me. I almost cried.

Bobby's was a frequent stopover. I enjoyed being with him, talking about pretty boys and their body parts. I told him about Freddy's fling with the girl.

'Well, you knew this was going to happen one day. Anyhow, he's still gonna wanna do it with you for a long time. Freddy likes sex and the girls don't give it out as much as he'll want it. Look at Simon, he's screwed a couple of girls but he still wants your sweet ass too.'

'I was just hoping it would take a little longer. He's only fourteen.'

And he's going to be your friend until you die. You get enough sex.'

But former couplings were melting away and newer ones were taking their place.

Martin was with Steve more than any of us except when he was working. Dickie felt very left out. His mother let him go out with me so I was occasionally able to get him into Bobby's bedroom and satisfy his cravings.

Robert found a girl friend and only screwed me three times the entire summer. Most of the others were also then into females. Simon showed up occasionally and showed off his magnificent torso as he screwed me.

By that first week of August, I was feeling bored again, and thinking, of all people, about Sammy, curious what he looked like at that point, wondering if there was any way we could get back together without damaging my relationship with Freddy.

One afternoon, while driving back from the West Side row house of a customer, I asked him to divert his route to pass Sammy's. The only boys I saw were unfamiliar.

The next week, after servicing a customer, I used some of my earnings on a taxi and got off a block from Sammy's. It was after five. I needed to be home by six for dinner. I sat on a stoop and watched the street for a while then lost my nerve and took another taxi to my grandfather's. Freddy was with me shortly after nine, tired from a hard day's work. Lying in bed that night, I told him where I'd been.

'Damn, Maacum. I thought you forgot that boy. All he did was make you crazy. Why're you trying to see him again?'

'There was nothing else to do, so, well, I didn't really go to his house, just looked.'

'Bullshit. If you'd a seen him, you'd a run right over.'

I pondered my feelings for Sammy. Did I still love him, even a little bit? I hadn't really thought about him much until a couple of weeks before. Why then?

'Maybe. But maybe I'd have remembered the rest, like I am now, and gone away. I do kind of wonder what he looks like now.' I turned on my side toward Freddy. 'He's gotta be bigger. Look at us.'

'Look at you. You're the one getting bigger. Soon I'm gonna need a chair to talk to you.'

I leaned in to his ear and reached over to his crotch. 'But you'll always have a bigger dick.'

He grinned and said, 'That's true.'

He let me cuddle up to him.

I worked Mondays from eleven in the morning until eight at night, eating my midday and evening meals, as Freddy, as a guest at Martin's. We'd both offered to contribute something toward the food but Martin's wonderful parents wouldn't hear of it.

The Monday night after the Sammy discussion with Freddy, Martin, without Steven, was waiting outside when I finished, looking like a like kid about to ask his father for a dollar he wasn't sure he'd get.

'Wanna stay at my house tonight? Freddy's at his house.'

It had been a couple of weeks since I'd done so. I assumed he wanted something bigger than Steven's still little thing inside him.

We called my grandmother and got permission. Mrs. O'Malley fixed us a late ham sandwich snack. The moment I put my plate in the sink, Dickie wanted to bathe and get to it. Martin remained shy, a bit to the side of the action. He let Dickie do all he wanted with me which was nearly all that we could do. First we necked. Dickie ground his body into mine while shoving his tongue as close to my epiglottis as he could. Then we did a sixty-nine for a while. A few minutes into that, Dickie wet his finger and shoved it up my butt. He did that before he tried to fuck me, an increasingly impossible task with the great difference in our sizes and my now really big butt. Muscles don't give as much as the fat I had the first time we had serious sex. Dickie's dick could only poke its head inside. Mine was way too big for him. Nonetheless, he did eventually get off between my cheeks and finally fell asleep. It was time for me to see what Martin really wanted.

When I turned to him, he pulled me tight and rolled on top of me. The kissing was as passionate as it had been back when we were both pre-pubescent. He kissed my mouth, eyes, cheeks, neck and nibbled my ears. I felt like we were both smaller again. He didn't say a word, aiding the illusion by not using his changed voice.

He slid down my body, mouthing my tits then sides then sucking in my balls. His right hand went over the side of the bed and pulled a small bottle out from between the mattress and box spring. It was some of Bobby's oil. With my balls still in his mouth, he dribbled it over the swollen head of my cock and spread it around with his fingers.

Martin closed the bottle, wiped his fingers on my abdomen and slid forward on his belly, ass up.

'Fuck me,' he said unceremoniously.

I fucked him, slow and long as I could. He held his legs tightly together so my cock could slide virtually all the way out and slip right back in with ease. He squeezed his anus each time I entered. His body heat ran up my cock as it slipped inside, warming my pelvis at the bottom of each stroke. I had to slow even more to hold back a rising climax.

After a few minutes, he gripped my hands on his shoulders and said, 'Do it harder. Go in more.'

I kept the same rhythm but put more force at the end of each thrust, banging as far up inside him as my four and a half inches would go. I tried to keep my orgasm at bay but it wasn't to be. A few strokes later and I fired my juice up inside him. I reached under to work his cock. He lifted up to let me in and shoved a roll of wad of toilet paper into my hand. Three movements up and down and he shot his warm liquid into my hand and the tissue.

In the bathroom a few minutes later, he came up behind me and gave me a hug. 'I still love you.'

I turned to face him, gave him a kiss and said, 'I know. And I still love you.' We embraced for a few moments. My curiosity blew away my tact. 'Why so romantic all the sudden?' I kissed his neck to make up for my brashness.

'I don't know. Freddy and I were talking. You and I aren't together as much any more.' He ran his hands up and down my bare back. 'We're both working and Steven wants to go everywhere with me and, well...'

I hugged him tightly. Freddy had made him feel guilty about not spending more time with me so he'd spend more time with me and make me forget Sammy again. Did Freddy see Sammy as a threat to our relationship or just as a problem for me. Either way, the message was clear, the answer clearer. Forget Sammy.

Or, it later occurred to me, maybe Freddy was preparing me for a change in our relationship, with him moving toward sex exclusively with girls. The thought sent a chill through me. Having Freddy lying on top of me, his cock buried deep as it would go, had been about the most comfortable thing in my life for seven years. I didn't want that to end, ever.

So, I hustled more, ran more, sucked more, did more one handed push and pull ups, got screwed more, made more money and took another stab at The Brothers Karamazov. The book was tedious for a while but soon became increasingly interesting, so interesting, I went to the librarian in the history section for some background information. He was thrilled a thirteen year old would be reading such a book and sat with me three times to discuss it.

'Tell your teachers you've read this and they'll probably give you better grades just because you'd be the only one.'

Freddy was disappearing with his girl, Linda, every time we went to the park and coming home horny as a Brahma bull. I enjoyed his passion and began to appreciate Linda's ability to excite him. My concern about the end of our sexual life abated though I expected Linda, or some other girl, would finally let him go where I'd gone with Mary a couple of years before.

A week before the opening day of high school, my grandparents took Freddy and me to a department store and bought school clothes, gym suits, sweaters, jackets, ties, underwear, dress and tennis shoes, boots, wool caps, and duffel bags then fountain pens, pencils, a mechanical pencil sharpener, notebooks, wooden rulers and, in case they could be used, slide rules. We'd gone just for the basics but they got carried away. I lost track of how much they spent but it had to have been nearly two hundred dollars.

Mother had dinner with us that week. She bubbled about me entering high school, insisted on seeing my school uniform with me in it, admonished me to study hard and was civil with Freddy. I'd expected an attempt to get me to go home with her but it didn't happen.

When she left, at my grandfather's covert urging, I gave her a hug. It seemed to confuse her.

Labor Day weekend, so Freddy could be involved in a fun trip, we went with a Negro business acquaintance of my grandfather to a black beach on the Atlantic Ocean. We were the only whites as far as the eye could see and got a lot of smiles. Even with the Sea and Ski, I received a nasty sunburn, Still, over two wonderful days so I didn't miss much of the fun.

I did find out that Freddy couldn't swim a lick, was even a little afraid of the deeper water. In fact, very few of the Negro children could swim. The adults stayed almost entirely on the beach, merely wandering through calf high water when they went in at all. The waves were fairly small, rarely rising over four feet but still seemed to terrify everyone.

Freddy tried to learn but the ocean isn't a good place to float so swimming instruction was difficult. I did manage to coax him and a few of our new friends out into slightly deeper water but never more than thirty yards from the safety of the beach.

There was music in the late afternoon and early evening. Several bands and acts performed on a stage set up at the back of the beach. Fats Domino, who I'd heard on the radio, was the main attraction. However, I preferred the band that came on first each day. They were loud and fast. People tried to jitterbug but the sand was a difficult surface for the athleticism they attempted. I just enjoyed the sound.

When I looked at myself in the mirror at the hotel the last night, I was as red as an over sucked pecker, and very tender to the touch. My grandmother put Noxzema cream all over me. It helped, but merely lying on the cool sheets hurt.

Freddy commented, 'Your ass looks okay. Lemme see if I can make you forget the rest.'

We tried, using Noxzema and saliva as a lubricant, but my thighs were far too sensitive. I got on my hands and knees but Freddy was touching my sensitive calves. He washed himself off and I blew him then wondered how sperm would feel on my sunburn. I let go of him just as he was about to blow and caught it all in my hands. He laughed as I rubbed it gently on my shoulders. The Noxzema was better.

My first day in high school was interesting, even fun. We were instructed to check the lists on the large main hallway bulletin board for our home rooms and to go there. I was in 1A. So was Herbert Reisin. Tommy was in 1 C, Francis and Bradley in 1B, Paul Simpson in 1E. Based on our grades the previous years, I guessed 1A was for the brightest kids. Paul probably squeaked in. There were only five classes of freshmen.

Our homeroom teacher was a tall, thin, older priest with a grey crew cut. Father John Barrett looked to be one tough cookie.

He wrote his name on the blackboard and, 'Your English assignment for tonight is to fill a blue book with everything you can think of about yourself. Now, go down the hall to the left, down the stairs to the main hall. Brother Mark is there and will tell you what to do. I expect you all back here at nine thirty sharp.'

He held his arm out toward the door. We followed his instructions. Brother Mark was there to take us for our physical exam, the one Bradley had feared so much because they reportedly pulled your pants down. We entered the room in our stocking feet wearing only briefs, our clothes over our arm, shoes dangling from our fingers. Then, after being weighed, measured for height, a going over with a stethoscope, some body thumping, knee and elbow banging and gazes down our throats, up our noses, in our eyes and ears, not only did they pull our underwear down, they did it within sight of everyone close by. The doctor told us to turn our head to the side and cough while he held our balls in his hand. Herbert was two in front of me. I'd never seen him naked nor had any idea what he carried between his legs. All I saw was his flat ass. However, the boy in front of him turned unselfconsciously my way to pull his briefs back up, revealing, to my chagrin, nothing spectacular, about my size, with a bit more pubic hair.

When we left, we were handed a list of books and school supplies we needed to buy at the school book store. I had fifty dollars in my pocket for that purpose but only needed twenty-two thirty-five. Nonetheless, it filled my duffel bag.

Back in our homeroom at nine thirty, Father Barrett told us to take out our Latin notebooks and write the vocabulary words he put on the blackboard. 'You will know these by tomorrow.'

At ten fifteen, we had a twenty minute recess. I sought out Tommy. He and Bradley were chatting with two others I later learned were from their part of town. The five of us, soon joined by Francis, sat under a tree and compared notes. I wanted to hear how the physical went for Bradley.

Tommy said, 'I think that doctor was queer.' He shrugged his shoulders at me.

Francis said, 'I don't know. My doctor did that to me a couple of times. Said it was checking for a hernia, whatever that is. Anyhow, Malcolm oughta get that job. Guy musta had a hundred fifty pairs of boy balls in his hand this morning.'

'Unh uh,' said Tommy, 'there's two of 'em. Just seventy-five each.'

Bradley remained quiet. Just as I was about to change the subject in deference to Bradley's uneasiness, Paul Simson came by with another boy.

'Still hanging with your protectors, queerbaits? They can't help you here.'

Tommy jumped up but Simpson was moving away. He sat back down. 'Ignore him, Malcolm. He's just a jerk.'

Perhaps, I worried, but a mouthy one.

Father Barrett was replaced by Mister Horrigan, also wearing a cassock, when we returned to our classroom. He led us down the hall and upstairs to a third floor classroom where the blackboard announced his name and that we were to study algebra.

Mister Horrigan, a short stocky man with a receding hairline and a ready smile, was, he explained, was not yet a priest, but studying to be one.

'All right, let's get right into it.'

The 'it' was material my grandmother had taught me the previous year though a bit clearer. I liked our math teacher immediately.

Religion was next, back in our homeroom with Father Barrett. The old Baltimore Catechism was out. A thicker text, the ' Principals' took its place.

We were allowed forty-five minutes for lunch. Mine was a pair of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on whole wheat bread, the same I'd been eating since first grade. Grandmother included an apple in the brown paper bag. I bought a cardboard half pint container of chocolate milk in the cafeteria and joined my grade school chums under another tree.

'Anyone seen Frank Stillings?' I asked. He figured to be a senior if he was still there.

'Frank Stillings?' blurted Bradley with a piece of lettuce sticking out of his mouth. 'He go here?'

'Uh huh. He and Mitchell Saunders. Remember them, huh?'

'Shit,' said Tommy, 'My big brother was with him. Always talking about his girl friends. Burt says they all loved his eyes. Shit. Wonder what he looks like now. Gotta be eighteen years old.'

After lunch was American history with another not yet priest named Mister Winters, one very dry man with one of those scrunchy, meaningless smiles.

We finished off the day with Father Samuels and Greek. I hadn't imagined it was so different from English or Latin.

Freddy's school didn't open until the next day so he was waiting at my grandparents'. I told him all that had occurred including the doctor holding everyone's balls.

'Bet you'd a loved being him!'

With Freddy's help, I started my 'all about myself' homework for Father Barrett. Obviously, it wouldn't be 'all' but there was plenty to write. Some of the 'all' that didn't get in was, obviously, the sex, the beatings and the Washburn affair. I gave my grandparents address as mine but told that my father was a defense contractor doing equipment design without mentioning that I didn't live with him. I wrote about my long friendship with Freddy without mentioning he was black. I told about my friendships in grade school and baseball card throwing without getting into the business end we developed. I bragged a bit about my physical capabilities and the self imposed exercise program that developed it. I even mentioned my multi-year academic battle with classmate Herbert Reisin. By the time it was finished almost two hours after dinner, the bluebook was nearly filled.

The Latin, Greek, religion, history and math homework kept me up until after ten. I didn't get in any exercise that day.

The first few weeks of high school went by quickly. The homework load was over double what I was accustomed to. Frank Stillings finally found me during the second week and offered to be of any help he could. He and Mitchell were still best buddies, and, to me, full grown men.

When I looked at Frankie's crotch, he grinned then shrugged his shoulders. 'This isn't like grade school. There's no place to do anything around here. You think you could still take me?'

It was my turn to shrug my shoulders but there was an urge to give it a try. He'd been pretty good before.

'You wanna? I'll try to find a place if you do.'

I nodded affirmatively with a half smile. The idea was making me hard. I was sorely tempted to feel him but there were too many others around.

We bumped into each other every once in a while. He claimed to have been searching hard for a secluded spot but without any success. He did, though, fill me in on Father Barrett.

'The guy's a good teacher but a real prude. Gets off by saying the rosary if you know what I mean. A lot of us don't think he touches his dick except to pee. Don't let him know you don't go to mass. And try not to act, you know, too much like you do around him.'

I got in some of my running by jogging from school Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons to the city line where I took a bus either home, Martin's or downtown. Friday afternoons at Franklin's house didn't materialize. Butch said he and the others had found girls.

After dealing with my unruly duffel bag as I ran those first two times, I went to a surplus store and bought a backpack that I could strap tightly to my shoulders. I must have looked like a kid who missed his bus and was hurrying home because I received a number of ride offers from passing drivers. Soon, I realized that I could save bus money by hitchhiking which often got me home or to Martin's faster than the school or transit bus. Freddy tried it but only black drivers would pick him up and there weren't many of them. He went back to public transport.

For some reason, possibly because of how Frankie and the others said I acted, Father Barrett wasn't very friendly toward me. To be fair, he wasn't friendly toward anyone really but just seemed a bit cooler when dealing with me. He only called on me when my raised hand was the only one. The few times I asked him questions before or after class, his response was where to look for the answer.

Mr. Winters, my American history instructor, on the other hand, who had seemed so stand offish at first, enjoyed my curiosity and would help me find answers, even recommending additional reading. Once he personally took me to the school library to find a book that dealt in part with King George's personality and the motivations that led up to his hard line attitude toward the colonists in the years before the American Revolution.

The only hassles at school were the occasional remarks by Paul Simpson.

'Queer baits' was his favorite insult as he walked by showing off for his seedy friends. They'd guffaw as if on key.

Twice, though, he addressed his nastiness directly at Tommy. 'You two get married yet?' 'Got your wifey with you, huh?'

We had to restrain Tommy who never liked Simpson in the first place and was used to the respect he'd received from everyone in grade school.

My sex life settled into a pattern. Freddy slept over at least four nights a week. We'd get physical on at least two of the nights together. Freddy was very much into experimentation. He'd try three or four different positions most times though generally ended up on top of me when he came. I think part of his reason was to prolong the event since he could no longer get off twice in a row.

Most Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, I went downtown to the park and, after a trip to the library, allowed myself to be picked up. Friday afternoons, I had a steady date with the photographer who never gave up trying to convince me to pose nude for his camera. I did allow a few shots in my briefs when the offer reached fifteen dollars. Nude, though, didn't have a price.

Most of my customers wanted to screw me but a couple wanted the other way around. It was hard to believe my paltry four and a half inches could excite them but it did. One chunky older guy, with no manual help at all, got off ahead of me both times we were together.

Friday nights, I slept at Martin's. The sex was great but the loving even better. He and Dickie always fell asleep wrapped around me.

Saturdays were spent on chores for my grandparents in the AM and then back to Martin's neighborhood though mostly at Bobby's. Simon was the only one who showed up regularly for some action. I only saw Robert once though he was hot as a pistol that one time giving me the best fuck I'd had in weeks, better than the photographer who was really good.

Saturday nights and Sundays were spent with Freddy.

It was Tuesday of the fourth week of school that Paul Simpson made his first remark at us right in front of our homeroom. We were seated against the wall waiting for Father Barrett when Paul came by with his same chums and said, 'Hey queer baits, you two get married yet?'

Father Barrett was right behind him and heard what he said.

'Young man!' he said calmly but forcefully.

Paul kept on going but one of his friends looked back and had to grab Simpson's arm when the priest stared him down. Father Simpson got his name and class.

Nothing more was said then but the following morning, Father Barrett pulled me aside outside the classroom and asked, 'Why didn't you tell me you lived with your grandparents in your personal report last month? I asked you to tell me everything.'

I wasn't sure how to answer that. 'I didn't think of it,' was all I could come up with at the moment.

'Apparently, Mr. Lloyd, there was a quite a bit you didn't tell me. And what's between you and Mr. Simpson?'

'He's just a jerk, Father, just like he was in grade school.'

He nudged me into the classroom.

The next morning, I was called to the counselor's office.

The plaque on his clean desk said 'Charles Rowley, Student Counselor'. He had one of those paste on smiles one usually sees on a department store sales person.

'Malcolm. Thanks for coming. Sit down.' He motioned me to the chair at the right front corner of his desk.

I sat.

'This is just an opportunity to get to know you. You come highly recommended. Top grades three years in a row. How are you doing with your studies here?'

'Fine, sir.'

'No problems, understand everything?'

'So far, yes, sir.'

He paused and tapped the desk with his fingers of both hands.

'And everything else okay?'

I shrugged my shoulders. 'Sure, sir.'

Another pause though this time his fingers remained raised and didn't tap.

'All the other boys treating you okay? No one bothering you?'

'Not really, sir.' I knew where the interview was going.

He looked at his fingers then back at me. 'And that boy Simpson? No problem there?'

'He's just a jerk. I ignore him.'

'Why does he call you those names?'

I wasn't going to let him play with me. 'What names, sir?'

He sighed. 'Oh, queer, like that.'

'He says that to everybody.'

He didn't seemed satisfied with my answers. 'And you and Thomas Atkins? You're pretty good friends?'

There it was. Another go around with another Father Simons. 'Yes. He and Bradley and Francis and I were friends in grade school.' I had a smartass answer on the back of my tongue but kept it there.

'Well, uh, do you stay at each other's houses overnight?'

'Yes, sir, sometimes but not that much.'

I expected the next question would be about doing boy things or some such. I was wrong.

He pursed his lips and looked briefly at the ceiling. 'Do you mind if I give you a few tests, just standard stuff?'

'What kind of tests, sir?'

'Oh, standard personality profile. They help me better understand my students.'

'Why?'

'Oh, I give them to a lot of my students, Malcolm. They are just, helpful.'

'I'll have to ask my grandfather first, sir.' I figured that was as close to a no as I could give under the circumstances.

'That's something else I'm curious about, Malcolm. Why do you live with your grandparents and not your parents. They live closer to the school in a very large house.' He'd been investigating. Had he spoken to my father?

I wasn't going to be suckered into saying anything I'd regret. 'My father works a lot and my mother is out a lot.'

'Many of our boys have parents like that but they live at home.'

'It's just easier, sir. I'm missing a lot of class, sir, and I don't want to get behind. Okay if I go back to class?' I gave him one his own cheesy smiles.

'Well, sure, just don't forget to ask your grandfather about those tests, okay?'

There was a strong urge to tell him to go screw himself but I squeezed out, 'Yes, sir', and left.

At recess, after I'd told him of the interview, Tommy said, 'It's that fucking Paul and his big mouth. I'm gonna have to shut him up.'

Francis and I suggested that would just make things worse. But Tommy was very angry. I hoped he'd control himself but knew another face to face remark by Paul would be a fight starter.

That night when I told him, Freddy also saw the Father Simons parallel. His counsel: 'Same as before. Just lie and deny. Remember?'

My grandfather was disturbed by it all. He twice asked me to go over everything I'd been asked before saying, 'Just try to avoid him. If he asks, tell him I don't see what purpose the tests would serve and would prefer that you spend you time doing more important things like studying.'

Charles Rowley, Student Counselor didn't bother me for quite a while. Father Barret mentioned him once, asking if we'd been seeing each other. I said no and moved away. Paul Simpson did stop bothering me for a while though he did give me dirty looks whenever he caught my eye.

Georgie made it down during mid October for a four day weekend. He spent Friday night with me at Martin's and was completely unprepared for the heavy affection of the brothers. Dickie tried to kiss him a couple of times but Georgie fended him off. Dickie thought it was funny.

Georgie lay with his dick up Dickie and watched Martin and I making out.

Afterward, he said, 'I think it's neat you guys can do that. I really think it's neat.'

'So how come you won't do it with me?' asked Dickie less amused than before.

'It's just that I'm not like you guys. I'm not saying I'm, well, any better or anything, just different. I just think people should be able to do what they want without everybody getting all pissed off. It's nobody's business but yours and anybody else who wants to do it.'

Dickie didn't appear entirely satisfied but apparently didn't want to lose the pleasant feeling in his rear.

That Sunday, Freddy and I took Georgie to the restaurant in the black commercial district and fed him his first ham hocks. Freddy loved them but his mother didn't. Georgie was nervous at first but all the greetings and smiles we received eased his concern.

In bed that night, he did something he'd obviously been thinking about a lot: let Freddy screw him while he was buried in me. I wanted to do it face to face so I could watch but it was too awkward. I had to suffice with reaching back and feeling Freddy's thick, round buns rise and fall. Entry had been more difficult than Georgie had anticipated. Freddy had a fairly thick cock. We had to use a lot of my Vaseline but Georgie was determined to try it. Georgie had continued to grow but had the smallest dick I was taking those days next to Dickie's. It was nice enough, rubbing my prostate each time Freddy thrust into him, but insufficient to get me off. Worse, he did enjoy it and got off a couple of minutes before Freddy meaning he had to put up with Freddy's hard pumping after the pleasure was over.

When I admitted my hustling activities to Georgie, he was concerned about venereal diseases. I hadn't thought about it until one of my customers put a condom on before fucking me.

When I asked him why, he said, 'I don't want to pick up anything any of your other customers left behind.'

At my request, he provided me a more detailed explanation including what to watch out for. 'Don't let anybody put anything in you, anywhere, if it's got any sores of any kind. The five bucks isn't worth what could happen. And how're you gonna explain it to your parents. You're just thirteen, right?'

From that October afternoon on, I checked every cock that came my way, even the photographer's.

'You don't have to worry about me,' he said. 'I only fuck you and this other kid and I'm the only one he goes out with.'

He'd never admitted to another steady. I'd always assumed he picked up other kids, maybe a lot.

'How old's he?'

'Fifteen but don't worry. You're better at it than him.'

'I don't care. You take his picture? Naked?'

'None of your business,' he smiled. 'I never tell anyone anything I do with others.'

'But you said I was better than him so you're fucking him too.'

'Of course. Everybody knows that's what I do.'

'Everybody? You tell people you're fucking me?'

'No, I mean, the kids that, you know.'

I figured I did and that included him with more than one other kid.

Later, while he was exciting every nerve ending inside my pelvis, I asked him, 'Is this all you do? Fuck?'

'What else is there to do? This is what sex is all about.'

I smiled to myself. I fucked too but what he was doing inside me was better than that. His cock plowing in and out of my rectum was good as it got for me, except, of course, with Freddy.

The week before my fourteenth birthday, mother came by again for dinner. It was just the fourth time I'd seen her since leaving grade school. Freddy was at his house.

'How are you doing in school? Do you have your first report card?'

'That's not for a few weeks. There's some tests in a couple of weeks but I'll do okay.'

She stared at grandmother for a moment. 'That's good,' was all she got out until we were eating.

'You know, it would be nice if you came for dinner with us one night, just dinner. Mother or daddy could come too.'

I mixed peas with my mashed potatoes, hoping one of my grandparents would handle that loaded request. They didn't.

'So, what do you think, dear, you birthday's next week. I know you'll probably have a party here but you could come on Wednesday, or Monday.'

'I don't really want to, mother. Why don't you come here? Or you could come to the party on Sunday except it's going to be at Freddy's.'

'Dear, your father would like to see you, too. You are his son and, I know you don't believe it, but he does love you. It would just be for dinner, an hour.'

I lowered my head and shook it.

There was silence for a while, then grandmother told my mother about me having read 'The Brothers Karamazov'. She acted sadly impressed.

Before leaving, she asked to re-consider the dinner invitation and call her. I probably should have.

My fourteenth birthday rolled around on a Tuesday. Georgie couldn't make it but would be coming for Thanksgiving a couple of weeks later. We celebrated on Sunday the seventh at Freddy's house. Bobby catered the affair and made it for the first time along with Martin, Dickie and my grandparents. My mother, though invited, didn't appear.

That night at my grandparent's, cuddled in bed against Freddy, I realized, 'This is my first birthday really away from my father and all his crap. And we get to be together all the time we want.'

I embraced him tightly, and worried a bit that I might be inviting problems just thinking about how wonderful life had been.

Previous
Chapter

Next
Chapter

Talk about this story on our forum

Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.^* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.

[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]

^* Some browsers may require a right click instead

We support Ukraine — Мы поддерживаем Украину — Ми підтримуємо Україну

We support Ukraine — Мы поддерживаем Украину — Ми підтримуємо Україну

Iomfats.org

Malcolm

Chapter 17

The Saga Continues

by Michael Peterson