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Chapter 2

Third Grade Camp, Summer 1949

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.

The second day after Labor Day, nineteen forty-eight, marked the abrupt end of the last month's freedom. White shirt, blue clip-on tie, school blazer and, as a third grader, long pants. No more book bag. I carried a blue duffle bag over my shoulder. Also, no more ride. My parents deemed me old enough to walk the mile distance. After all, the kids who took the streetcar had to walk only three long blocks short of that, why not me?

Freddy also went to school that day, to a black institution a streetcar and bus rides away. His mother had been very happy with the education I'd given him, told me so many times, and wanted Freddy to get the formal kind with a diploma at the end.

At my semi-posh private school, the nuns acted as though they were excited to see us. My new teacher, Sister Mary Bernadette, was an older nun known to be tough. We started right in on catechism. Who made the world? God made the world. Why and so forth. Same crap as the year before. Good old Baltimore Catechism. Every Catholic kid on the east coast had to memorize the same tired answers, got the same indoctrination.

Forty-five minutes later, we broke out our crisp mottled black and white notebooks and copied the definition of a noun off the slate blackboard.

I dreaded recess on that first day. Once again, I'd be alone on the wall, watching the others play tag, tell lies about their summer adventures, be with their friends. I didn't have any friends in my school, not one. Howard Paisley and Glen Harrison would talk to me if I joined them, Glen in that awful nasal voice of his, Howard all whiney. They didn't seem to mind their low position on the popularity totem pole. I wanted to be popular. I wanted Tommy Atkins and Martin O'Malley, the two most popular kids in the class, to seek me out, shove others aside to be able to sit with me.

Of course, that wasn't to be. Tommy, Martin, Victor Cibelli, Paul Simpson and Jimmy Smith were throwing a football. I hated that they caught it almost every time. I'd never even had one in my hands. There was no way I'd be able to catch it successfully.

I went to the nuns candy table and spent my daily five cent allowance on a Clark Bar. The profits went to the missions in China to feed cute little slant eyed brown kids I fantasized feeding and bathing. Their little penises were always long and plump, perfect for a good fuck.

Thursday, it was back to the swimming pool, into our cubicles to change in absolute privacy into our uncomfortable, heavy bathing trunks. Once again, I would have to display my soft body along side those of the muscled athletic bunch. There was blond haired, blue eyed, handsome Tommy Atkins on the diving board doing a forward flip. Muscle boy Martin O'Malley could swim like a fish from one end of the pool to the other, nearly twice as fast as me. Nonetheless, the coach was always putting me in competition with kids like him, never against the likes of skinny Glen and puny Howard whom I cold beat.

The kids not in the water were required to sit on the side of the pool. Some sat with their legs up, crossed or sitting on them. That first Thursday, I noticed as I went by in the water that I could see up inside some of the baggy trunks, especially Victor Cibelli's. I stopped when I briefly caught a clear view of his bare crotch and one very long peter that hung down, it's head buried in the fabric of the suit below his balls. No one, certainly not Victor, seemed to notice when I halted my stroke.

Later during free swim time, Victor again rested on the side in the same position. I dove right in and swam until I was across from him near the middle of the pool. There it was again. Victor was having an animated conversation with Bradley Burnham. His leg wiggled, squeezing his balls and moving his snakelike penis slightly. It produced a hardon in my trunks. I treaded water until two other kids dunked me for no special reason. When I came back up, Victor had shifted position and the view was gone.

I spent the rest of swim time trying to think of a way to get into his cubicle while he was dressing. But Sister Mary Bernadette was in the walkway in front, enforcing chastity.

After lunch, I tried to strike up a conversation with Victor but only succeeded in drawing a strange look. I'd asked him how long he could tread water. It was the only thing that came to mind when I got close to him.

When I told Freddy that afternoon that I'd seen a white boy with a penis longer than his, he laughed.

'Mah five yeah ole cousin gots one bigger'n mines too but he don' know shit 'bout usin' it like I do.' He looked at his shoes and asked, 'How come you is lookin' at them white boy's dicks, Maacum?'

Freddy had yet to understand why I liked what I did. I was just coming to realize that my interests were not the same as other boys. I hadn't considered why yet. 'I don't know. I just like to, I suppose.'

Evasive answers weren't generally part of our conversations so I felt compelled to seek a better explanation, for me as well as my friend. Freddy was waiting. He knew me well enough to tell when I had more to say.

'I think they're pretty.'

'You like lookin' at mines?'

We were sitting side by side in our tree house. I leaned against him, needing him to be happy with my answer. 'Mmm hmm.'

'I think you a fag, Maacum,' said Freddy matter-of-factly.

I'd heard the word used derogatorily by my schoolmates but didn't know what it meant. After all, I was still a couple months short of my eighth birthday. Asking my classmates what such a word meant would have resulted in ridicule. I could ask Freddy anything. 'What's a fag?'

'Shit, Maacum, you don't know nothin' yet. A fag's a man likes sex wi' other mens.'

'I'm not a man yet.'

'Same differnce. You likes boys, fer sex.'

'You like sex with me.'

Freddy had to think that over. 'But I do it to you an' you like it when it gits done to you. An' I jus' do it wi' ya'll 'cause we's friends. You wants ta do it wi' e'rybody.'

I put my arm around him. This was all too much at one time. It needed a lot of thought. Even though he was only eight months older, Freddy had seen, experienced and understood things I hadn't. I taught him reading and writing. He taught me about life.

That night, I found myself unable to concentrate on my homework. Freddy was right. I didn't see many other boys interested as I was in the bodies of their classmates or camp mates. Jimmy and I and Carter and I had done things with each other but even the two eleven year olds at the camp only got done by their counselor. Other than allow the counselor to put his dick between their legs, they hadn't actually done anything in return. I knew most boys played with their penises. They spoke of it openly among their friends. But I never heard anyone admit to being fucked or sucking or even looking at another boy. Of course, except with Freddy, I never admitted it either. Were they lying or was I the only one?

The following Thursday, I tried an experiment I'd been thinking about all week. Every chance I got, I sat on the side of the pool with my legs up just enough that anyone who was directly in front of me in the water could see my penis.

No one looked. I did it again the following week making sure anyone looking wouldn't realize I was watching them. Ronnie Stevens seemed to glance at me but didn't come back for a second look.

The following Thursday, I watched from the wall for any boy who might be looking up Victor's or the trunks of anyone else who was sitting with his legs up. Ronny and Tommy Atkins, of all people, did seem to glance. Then Tommy walked up behind Victor and whispered something in his ear. Victor lowered his legs. That left only Ronnie as a possible fag like me.

Ronnie Stevens, wasn't one of the more popular boys in the class but neither was he avoided like me. He played sports and hung with groups. Academically he was middle level, except in geography in which he excelled. He was heavy but not fat and had a nice face that smiled a lot. I decided to go the same route I had with Jimbo and watched for a chance to be alone in the boys' room with him.

It took nearly a month. My problem was an opening line. Where Jimmy had been constantly admonished by camp staff to keep his hands out of his crotch, my classmate Ronnie rarely, in my sight, touched himself there.

From the urinal along side his, I giggled. 'My cock's been hard all day. I hope Sister Mary Bernadette doesn't see it.'

Ronnie looked straight ahead and said, 'You better be careful.'

I came out from behind the barrier with my hardon in my hand. 'It just won't go down.'

Ronnie zipped up, backed away then headed straight for the door without washing his hands. I was afraid he was going to say something to the others so followed at a distance. He went back to the playground and joined a group near the wall. No one looked my way.

I'd been telling Freddy of my experiments since planning them and told him Ronnie's reaction. 'Jes' soun's like that boy don' wanna see yo dick, Maacum.'

My birthday came. I'd never had a real birthday party before and didn't expect one this time. There was generally some cake and ice cream and a gift or two but that was it. This year was to be different. That afternoon after school, Freddy took me straight to his house.

I wanted a present there in the woods.

'We ain't got time for that now. My mama wanna see you and she gots to get back quick to yo' house.'

I was genuinely surprised, then very emotional, when we arrived and about a dozen kids along with a sprinkling of adults awaited me with a full blown birthday party. The sign over the room said 'Happy Birthday Malcolm', spelled correctly probably by Freddy whom I had taught how to write my name. Everyone wore party hats and cheered when I entered. Though I tried mightily not to, I cried. Freddy's mother helped me hide it with a big hug then wiped my face on her apron.

We played chase games right there in the house, dunked for apples and ate chicken and cake. I got lots of simple gifts including toy cars and trucks made in Japan from old tin cans, a home made jump rope from Douglas and a stick drawing of me in front of my house by Freddy's six year old sister. Even nearly everybody's great grandmother gave me a handkerchief she'd made. I'd never felt more loved, more part of family.

The moment the cake was served, Freddy's mother raced off to my house. Freddy's little sister, cake in hand, came and explained everything in her drawing. Douglas took me outside to give jump rope instruction. Two other boys brought ropes from their houses. The girls had a long rope and did group jumps. I tripped a lot.

At six, I had to leave for home. Freddy took me to the edge of my back yard. I saw my parents seated in the living room. Hoping they'd see, I gave Freddy a long embrace until he chased me off and ran up the street.

I really wanted to rub my parents' faces in what Freddy's family had done for me but Freddy's mother admonished me not to say anything.

'I know you gots a full tummy but eat anyways so none a us gets in no trouble.'

I hugged her and forced myself to eat. However, I hardly said anything to my parents. Mother gave me a boxed game set. My father said ´Happy birthday´.

I celebrated Christmas with Freddy's family too, again giving away more than half of what I received and a few things I bought with money I'd stolen from my mother's purse and father's wallet. The chicken and corn bread at Freddy's tasted better than the turkey at my house.

As the school year wore on. I became more and more resentful of my parents. I was having less sex with Freddy so we could go more often to his neighborhood where I played with everyone Freddy played with. I learned how to shoot marbles, jump rope, and throw and catch an old tennis ball. I did less well at tag and tree climbing. Freddy, I found, was quite an athlete, far faster than me and some of his older cousins. Every child there was a first or second cousin to most of the rest.

Freddy's ninth birthday rolled around. With money I'd been stealing during February and the first two weeks of March, I bought Freddy a set of toy construction trucks and a sweater. I bought his sister a small doll since she celebrated her seventh birthday the same week.

These people who my father and mother said didn't like to mix with whites were much more family to me than he was. I never got hugs at home. Every woman in Freddy's neighborhood hugged me on seeing me and called me 'sweety' and 'sugar'. I hardly ever saw any of the men except the drunk who stole our seven dollars because they were out working everyday but Sunday. Sunday, most of them went to a black Baptist church. I wanted to go too but Freddy's mother told me that wouldn't be a good idea. Were my Catholic parents ever to get wind of it, she'd be fired for sure.

My relationships in Freddy's community enhanced my academic self esteem, too, motivating me in school. At eight years old, I was the most literate person in Freddy's settlement and often helped kids with their homework and adults with letters or things they had to write down. I think Freddy began to get a bit jealous of all the attention I received but it didn't affect his lovemaking, which was warm as ever.

I flunked out in school with all my attempts to make friends with everyone but Glen and Howard. I knew Glen was unendowed in front from seeing him briefly in his underpants when he playfully jumped out of his swimming pool cubicle after Sister Bernadette went upstairs. Howard was still a mystery but was such a sissy, I suspected he was as small.

Summer and camp rolled around. I tried everything to avoid going. Summer with my new friends was far more appealing. My parents said they were going on a trip so I had to go.

'I can stay at Martha's,' Freddy's mother's house. It was the wrong thing to say.

'Look boy, I better not find out you're hanging with that nig, negro again,' warned my father through his teeth.

I'd been claiming to be playing by myself and with a white boy from the far side of the woods who was not allowed to pass through to my side.

'I just don't want to go to camp. I'll run away!'

That made it worse. My father grabbed me by the arm and literally dragged me upstairs to my room and pushed me inside.

Before slamming the door, he said angrily, 'You stay in there until you are ready to do as you're told.'

I waited a few minutes then sneaked out and down the back stairs. My father was outside when I opened the back door.

He used his belt on my bare fanny. I screamed and called him a fag. The beating got worse.

Mother rushed in. 'That's enough, dear. I think he's learned his lesson.'

He dropped his arm, tossed me on the bed and stormed out. I wanted to call him names again but was crying too hard to get anything out. I went to camp two days later, still hurting, red stripes on my butt, and without having seen Freddy to say goodbye. My mother drove me to the YMCA headquarters in the center of the city. I whimpered all the way.

'Oh dear, it's not all that bad. You're going to have lots of fun and make lots of new friends.'

The only ray of hope I had was Jimmy, but he didn't return. With one exception, and he wasn't the one who had blown his eleven year old charges, all the counsellors were different. I did the same thing that night that I'd done the first night a year before, cried. The counselor tried to comfort me with promises of 'loads of fun' but I'd been there before and he hadn't.

The next morning after breakfast, when we were supposed to go to the archery range, I walked away from the group, up the path along the stream to an area beyond camp property and played in a small tributary much as Freddy and I should have been doing at that very same time.

The staff mounted a search for me eventually involving all the older kids. I ignored their calls and just wandered back in the afternoon. The police were there. I was taken straight to the camp director.

'Where have you been, Malcolm?'

Half a dozen adults including two policemen awaited my answer.

'I wanna go home,' is all I would say.

The cops put on their hats and waved goodbye. The director took me into his office. He dug out a file from a cabinet and read it quietly. He sighed and shook his head.

'Malcolm,' he said wearily, 'your parents are away so you have to relax and enjoy your stay here.'

'I can stay with Martha. She'll let me.'

'Who's Martha?'

'She's our maid.'

'Okay, I'll see if I can contact your parents but meanwhile, there's lots of fun things to do here. You had a good time last year, didn't you?'


'Aw, c'mon, I saw you swimming and playing and making things. That wasn't fun?'

'The counselor made me.'

And so it went. The poor camp director did his best to lift my spirits and promised to look in on me as often as he could. After a whispered consultation with my counselor, I was sent off for a late lunch, which obviously irritated the women in the kitchen.

When I was taken to re-join my group, they were swimming which, having just eaten, I was not allowed to do. After they finished pointing at me and gossiping briefly, they got back to having fun in the water and on the large rocks surrounding the swimming hole. I studied bodies. Two had on tight wool swimsuits that showed their little baskets. The rest had on trunks that hid them. The counselor kept going to the side to check his watch to see if my 30 minute digestion time had elapsed and I could join in the 'fun'.

 None of the bodies in the water having 'fun' excited me. The part that would was well hidden in their bathing trunks. That would have to wait until showers that evening. I decided right there on the rocks with my bathing suit over my shoulder that I was going to find someone who would share his body with me over the next month. I was not going to endure four weeks of absolute boredom and longing for Freddy without someone to alleviate some of my unhappiness. The first step in that search would begin the moment the counselor said my half hour had passed. Moments later, it did.

I stood up and stripped naked, carefully watching out of the corners of my eyes for who might be watching the show with more than just a casual interest. I took my time fiddling with my trunks to get them right side out and front in front.

 The only one who couldn't seem to pull his eyes off me was the very nervous counselor who kept urging me to hurry up.

The evening shower was a failure too when the counselor decided we were all clean enough after our swim.

I didn't cry that night but I didn't sleep either. After a couple of hours of quiet misery, I jerked off to thoughts of Freddy fucking me from the front. Then I fell asleep.

By Friday, I was so frustrated I was sneaking up to the showers whenever I heard anyone using them. The twelve year old group had a few interesting growing cocks but none of the boys did more than glance at me as I walked down the row of stalls.

Saturday was hike day for our group. By that time, I hated every kid in my cabin just because they seemed to be having so much fun. I claimed I'd hurt my ankle and couldn't walk very far without pain. The counselor took me to the camp nurse who said she couldn't find anything wrong but had to issue permission for me to stay behind just in case.

'Malcolm, we're going to have a great time in the woods, have a great lunch and cook marshmallows over the fire afterward. You're going to be sitting here all alone with that fake hurt ankle of yours.'

He all but begged me to come along but I refused. The director put me with the nine year olds in arts and crafts to make lanyards and belts. That wasn't too bad. I made a belt for Freddy including an engraved strip of leather with his name on it. The director came by and made a big deal over my 'beautiful work' and suggested maybe I'd like to make some other craft items.

Later that evening after dinner, the ten year old group passed my cabin wearing nothing but towels around their waists. I told my counselor I was going to the bathroom, grabbed a towel and headed for the showers just above the latrine. When the counselor for the tens tried to stop me from bathing with his boys, I told him I had missed bathing earlier and was smelly. He reluctantly let me pass.

 The showers were in a series of stalls open across the front. Two boys generally occupied each stall, one in the water, the other out front soaping and washing. I took off my clothes and walked down the wash area to see who might be interested. The only one who looked at all was a puny kid with a puny penis, insufficient to titillate my prostate. The longest dick belonged to a tall boy soaping himself in front of the next to last stall. I tossed my towel over the wooden wall along the walkway and waited for his partner to leave the shower. The water was cold so none of us stayed very long. He came out and I darted in.

'Hey kid,' said the boy with the long cock, 'we're using that now.'

'I'll just be a minute.' I looked him over in such a way that he could see me doing it.

'What're you looking at?'

Without answering, I turned around so he could see my greatest asset.

 'Hurry up.'

I took my time. His buddy dried himself and walked off. I got out and soaped up while long dick rinsed off. Half the others were leaving with their counselor.

'What's your name,' I asked, staring at the boy's long penis.

'Philip. How come you're looking at my thing?'

'Yours is two times as long as mine.' I had no plan, was just winging it. Eight year olds don't plan well.

He looked at mine. 'Yeh, and it gets bigger.' He didn't say it in a friendly manner.

'What's it feel like when it gets big?'

'That's a stupid question. Normal.'

'Don't you go up and down on it?'

'It's none of your beeswax.'

'Well, you do it, don't you?'

'I told you, it's none of your beeswax.'

'I do it in my bed at night.' I worried that I should be shutting up but the conversation was making me horny, which meant out of control. My cock was growing.

'Is that all you think about? You're...'

I interrupted. 'It's better with soap but you gotta keep it out of the hole or it can sting sometimes.'

The boy stared at me massaging my now very stiff penis between my fingers. 'You better watch out the counselor doesn't see you doing that.'

'He's gone.'

Philip looked around the corner of the stall then stepped back inside. 'You're sex crazy, kid.' He stepped to one side of the stream of water and pulled gently on his. It grew quickly. That excited me.

'See,' he said displaying better than three inches of boyhood, 'mine gets real big.'

I walked in tight beside him and asked, 'You want to stick it in my rear?'

The boy recoiled against the back wall. 'You're crazy.' He moved across the stall and out the front, grabbing his towel and wiping himself as he walked toward the exit. He looked once back at me with disgust on his face. I knew I'd made a big mistake. While I rinsed, dried and rushed back to my cabin, I tried to think what excuse I'd have if the boy said something to his cabin mates or, worse, his counselor.

I told my counselor I showered because I felt sweaty and smelly.

He frowned. I went to my upper bunk and stared out the window, terrified of what might happen the next day.

It didn't until midday. The director told me to come to his office after lunch. Although he'd been smiling, I knew it was bad. Adults can't hide their true emotions.

I decided my best defense was to tell them that the other boy was the one who said whatever he claimed I had said.

'Malcolm,' he said after sitting me in front of his desk, 'last night in the shower, you said something to another boy that we don't understand. Did you ask Philip Ashton to put his penis in you?'

I jumped up, trying to look surprised and angry. 'Uh uh! That's what he said to me. I was just trying to take a shower. I told him to go leave me alone.' It sounded good to me.

The director looked perplexed, distraught. 'Wait here.'

He came back a few minutes later with Philip and his counselor. He asked the counselor to wait outside and sat my accuser next to me.

'Now, Philip, what happened last night?'

Philip looked at me with derision. 'This kid wanted me to fuck him.'

The director closed his eyes and lowered his head.

I stood and pointed angrily. 'He's a liar. He tried to touch me and I told him to leave me alone but he wouldn't. He's a liar.'

Philip was quickly on his feet too, yelling. 'That's bullshit! You were looking at my cock and wanted me to fuck you with it.'

'Just hold on, you two,' interjected the director sternly.

I resorted to a kid's best defense. I cried and blubbered. 'He said he was going to hit me if I said anything.' I backed around the director's desk.

The director called in the counselor who burst into the room before his last name was completed.

'Take Philip out front and wait for me.'

Without a word, he took me gently by the shoulder and led me back to my chair. I rubbed my eyes to bring up at least wetness if not tears.

'Look, Malcolm,' said the director sympathetically from the chair Philip had occupied, 'I need you to tell me the truth. What.....'

I interrupted. 'Philip was trying to touch me and said he'd beat me up if I said anything.'

After another ten minutes of going back and forth with the same, I was sent back to my cabin and Philip and his counselor called in.

At dinner, I learned that Philip had been packed up and sent home. My first reaction was that adults were easy but then guilt set in over what I'd done to Philip. It was eased somewhat when I heard stories of his bullying kids in his group but I carried that around with me for years, wishing I could find him and apologize.

But the matter wasn't over. Tuesday morning of the following week, two twelve year olds followed me to the latrine. They stood smiling in the doorway of the toilet where I was having a bowel movement. One was not a lot taller than me but muscular like Martin O'Malley from my class. The other was bigger and slim with long fingers. He pointed at me.

'That's right, get it good and empty, boy, 'cause we're gonna fuck your ass tonight. We know Philip was telling the truth and if you don't do what we say, we're gonna tell the director we heard what happened.'

'Yeh,' said the second softly, leaning in toward me. 'We were walking up from the latrine and heard him tell you you were crazy. You see, we know, so you better come right after dark behind our cabin.'

'It's not gonna hurt and you'll like it. Right after dark.'

They left, still smiling. I shivered. Right then I really wanted to go home.

I went to the director's office. He was at the water pump, which was being worked on. I pulled him aside.

'Did you call my parents so I can go stay with Martha?'

He squatted in front of me. 'We tried but they're in Europe and we can't locate them. Anyhow, don't worry. Philip isn't here any more and you can concentrate on having fun. Aren't you supposed to be at the obstacle course right now?'

He took me there and handed me over to my counselor. The obstacle course would have been more fun if it hadn't always been a race against boys I couldn't beat. The fun of climbing, jumping and dodging was ruined by the competition.

That afternoon at the swimming hole, the same twelve year olds were there with their group. They grinned at me. I stayed out of the water trying to think of an escape plan.

Running away wasn't an option as I had no money or any idea where I was. If those two were to tell the truth to the director, I'd be in very serious trouble. A boy had been kicked out of the camp probably forever and, worse, my parents would learn about my sexual interest. For sure, I'd get another beating. They might even blame Freddy. His mother would be fired and I'd never see him again.

I wondered how big their dicks were. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad unless they were as big or bigger than Douglas, then it would hurt. A plan occurred to me. If it hurt, I could scream and claim they had grabbed me. Then nobody would believe anything they said. That was it. I'd scream the minute it hurt.

At just before eight, when the others were in their beds, I told the counselor I was going to take a poop and headed directly to the back of cabin six where the twelve year olds were housed. The two were waiting for me.

'C'mon,' said the shorter one and led us at a trot up a path to the woods above the latrine and showers. Both had flashlights. They already had a spot with a blanket hidden under the leaves.

'Hurry, take off your pants,' ordered the taller one as he pushed off his shorts. He wasn't wearing briefs. His cock, already hard, wasn't any bigger than Philip's.

'Put spit on it,' I told him.

'Wow,' said the shorter one, 'he's done this before. Fuck him Benny.'

Out of my shorts and underpants, I lay on my stomach. Benny spit into his hand and wiped down his cock. He lay on top of me but had no idea how to get inside.

'Get up,' he ordered, 'on your hands and knees. Mark, shine the light in here.'

I got up and Benny moved in again. His dick had dried and hurt.

'Ouch! You gotta get it real wet.'

'Crap,' muttered Benny and dribbled spit onto his cock and the hand held below it.

He poked around then found the hole and pushed right in. It felt good to have something back in there after a week and a half.

'Fuck him', whispered Mark.

Benny grabbed my hips and slammed away, repeatedly coming out and having to re-insert. I was loving it. My dick was stiff as a board. This wasn't going to be so bad after all. Benny hit my sweet spot every time he pushed in.

When his grip got stronger, I knew he was getting close. 'Mmmph,' he grunted when he began pulsing inside me.

Mark quickly stepped out of his shorts. His cock was longer but only by a half inch or so and not much thicker. He spit into his hand and lubed up.

'Okay, my turn. C'mon, Benny.'

Benny pulled out and Mark pushed in behind me. I felt the head of his dick slide up and down seeking my pucker then ramming in the instant he found it.'

'Oh man, this is great,' he said and began fucking erratically. Benny squatted beside my rear and shone the flashlight in at Marks's cock sliding effortlessly, and gradually more rhythmically, in and out of my hole. Mark was being more careful, as he withdrew right to the tip of his glans, not to pull completely out. Only Freddy was this good. I wished Mark was a little bigger. I could clearly feel him sliding back and forth inside me, poking my prostate with each slow thrust. Rather than hold me by the hips, he lay has hands on my back, tugging my skin with each entry. I had to do something for myself. I held my cock and massaged it slow enough so I wouldn't reach climax before Mark. His orgasm came with no warning. He just stopped and began to throb. I masturbated quickly and got off with him.

'I wanna do it again,' said Benny.

'I gotta go back. I just told my counselor I was going to poop. We can do it tomorrow, in the morning. I'll come here after they start bows and arrows.'

Still inside of me, Mark said, 'okay, but you better be here.'

'Or else,' added Benny.

Or else, what, I said to myself. They had just screwed me. I could tell on them too. But I felt too good, too physically satisfied, to argue.

My counselor was too intimidated by my many problems to contest my desire to skip archery. Benny and Mark were waiting on the hill. It wasn't as invisible in daylight as it had been in the dark. We walked further until we felt there was sufficient solitude. Mark laid the blanket on the ground and stripped.

'Hey,' said Benny also taking off his shorts, 'you went last.'

'Go ahead, I'm just getting ready.'

Benny pulled my ass to him, lubed up his cock with saliva and pushed in. I closed my eyes so I could concentrate on his presence. Mark lay down beside me on his back.I

'You like this, don't cha?'

I ignored what I saw as an attempted slight.

'It's okay,' he continued, 'we don't care. You're happy and we're happy. I mean, I'm sorry we kind a threatened you. You're a good kid.' He was silent for a while.

Benny banged away, again repeatedly pulling back too far and coming out. Mark noticed. 'Slow down and it won't come out like that. Do it like me, slow. And it lasts longer.'

Benny slowed but not by much.

Mark slid in close to me. 'Wanna suck on mine for a while?'

I opened my eyes and looked at him. His face was almost within kissing distance. 'I washed it good last night,' he added.

I looked. It was a nice mouthful. I nodded affirmatively.

He moved onto his knees in front of me but it was too high.

'Sit down,' I said.

As he did, I dropped to my elbows and sucked in his cock. It tasted clean and smooth and firm. I moved my head up and down lazily, running my tongue over his glans every time I came to the top. Mark took gentle hold of me just below my armpits. Benny's hard thrusting moved me back and forth a little, making the blowjob more interesting for both of us. I slid my mouth all the way down and licked his soft balls in their silky sack. They'd begun to grow and were the size of grapes.

Benny slammed inside me and got off. I was able to relax and put my arms around Marks's waist and caress his back. I wanted to see his tummy while I worked.

'Lay back,' I told him.

After stretching out myself too, I enjoyed the view of his abdominal muscles and played with his pronounced pectorals while running my mouth and tongue all over his cock and balls. Benny lay beside us and watched. Mark took my head between his fingertips and moved with it, nudging me to go faster. His stomach muscles began tensing, forming soft ripples up to his ribcage. I ran my hands across them to his crotch and back. I felt his thigh muscles flex under me. He pulled my head down and gasped. His cock throbbed strongly. He sat up and held my head tightly to his crotch.

'Can I fuck him again?' asked Benny.

'If he wants,' answered Mark.

Benny poked me on the shoulder. 'Okay, uh, what's your name?'

'Mmmh hmmh,' I answered, my mouth too full to say anything more.

So Benny screwed me again and Mark, after getting my name, followed. I enjoyed all four of their orgasms and mine, self-induced, at the end.

The next day, while Benny was fucking me for the second time and Mark had been satisfied by my lips, Mark lay beside me on his side and asked, 'Malcolm, you do this at home too?'


'How long you been doing it?'

'A couple of years.'

'Gees, since you were six?'

'Mmm hmm.'

'Do your parents know you, uh, do this?'

I nodded no. Mark was interrupting my concentration on Benny's cock sliding in and out of my rectum. He'd gotten better and wasn't coming out. Mark continued.

'So, other boys fuck you too, since you were six? And you suck them too? How old?'

I nodded assent to all then, 'like you.'

He pursed his lips considering his next question. 'You always like it?'

'Yes,' I answered irritably.

'Sorry, I'm just real curious. I never met anyone, well, like you. Where do you live?

I told him.

'Crap, that's too far.' He told me where he was from, the same area as Jimbo but I couldn't say anything. Jimbo was like them except he let me do it to him too.

Mark questioned me nearly every time we did it and that was at least five times a week through the end of camp. It did get me thinking again, especially when he asked what I thought about girls, would I like to fuck one. I was certainly curious. In Freddy's neighborhood, I'd seen baby girls having their diapers changed so knew they had a vagina instead of a penis but that was about it. Douglas was fucking a thirteen year old girl named Brenda and described to Freddy and me what she was like and what fucking her was like. I figured I'd try it one day and maybe, as Freddy had suggested a number of times, would eventually forget about being a fag and go with girls.


Again, once back in the city from camp, I again had to be taken to my house by a YMCA station wagon. My parents were both home in the living room, my father with the evening newspaper, my mother with a pair of friends she'd invited to dinner. Leaving my trunk in the driveway, I walked into the front hall and stood there for a moment. Quickly realizing neither of my parents was going to come greet me, I went to the kitchen where Martha figured to be preparing dinner. I knew she'd be far more interested in seeing me again. After enjoying her hugs and happy words, I went up to my room. Some time later, Martha called me to dinner.

My mother said, 'Oh, you're home. Well, how was camp?'

Knowing it would embarrass her in front of her friends, I ignored her and looked out the window at my trunk still sitting where the Y driver had put it. I knew they'd heard the car come in the drive and me open and close the front door.

My father said, 'Malcolm, your mother asked how camp was.'

'I know,' was all I'd say.

He called me out into the front hall. 'What's wrong with you now?'


'Then you go back in there and speak to your mother. She hasn't seen you in a month.'

'So why didn't she come see me when I came in?'

'She has guests.'

'You don't have a guest.' I frightened myself saying that. The boldness came from anger growing in my gut.

'And now, smartass, you don't have dinner. Go to your room!'

After a quick mental calculation that he wouldn't be able to make too much of a scene with mother's two guests, I pushed past him and went to the stairs. I calculated wrong. He followed me briskly into the back hall and swatted me hard across the base of my skull, knocking me into the wall. For a moment, I lost track of where I was. When I recovered and turned to face my father, he was gone. I sat on the bottom stair for a while until my head cleared then went upstairs, down the hall and into my room. I slammed the door so hard it bounced back open again. I kicked it closed and threw myself face down on my bed.

Welcome home!

Martha brought me some dinner. 'When you gits finished, bring the plate and silvaweah back down but jes' wait 'til yo' folks is back to the livin' room.'

I got in bed early and was up well before seven. I went to the kitchen and fixed myself a bowl of Shredded Wheat and poured a glass of orange juice Martha had squeezed the night before and left for us in a glass pitcher in the refrigerator.

My mother came in as I was putting the bowl and spoon in the sink.

'Oh, Malcolm. I'm sorry about last night. I had those two guests and it would have been rude to leave them when you came in. I'm sorry.'

A smart remark was on my tongue but I swallowed it and headed for the back door. I had the belt I'd made for Freddy around my waist under my shirt.

'Where are you going dear?'

'Out of here,' I said and opened the back door.

'But I was hoping we could talk and you could tell me about camp.'

'I'll tell you later,' I replied and closed the door.

Halfway down the back yard, I looked back. My mother was inside the back door, watching me go through the window. 'Shit her,' I mumbled to myself and kept going.

Freddy was just getting out of bed when I knocked on his door.

'Mama said you was home. I was gonna go to the stream an' wait fo' ya'll theah.'

As he spoke, I pulled up my shirt and took off the belt. He looked at it suspiciously until I showed him the leather patch in the back with his name on it.

'Thanks, Maacum. I think you was gittin' ready to whup me one fo' not bein' outta bed.'

I put the belt on him and he gave me a brief hug. It would have been

longer but his two sisters were watching.

My first fuck by Freddy that morning was wonderful but not quite as good physically as Mark's with his larger penis. Emotionally, though, it was pure heaven.

As expected, Freddy wanted to hear all about my camp experiences, especially if I'd had any sex. Rather than have to struggle with his questions about which felt better, I lied and told him my ass had been empty until he filled it just a few moments before.

'Maacum, you cain't lie worth shit.'

'Well, you get angry when I tell you about other boys doing it.'

'When I ever get mad 'bout that?'

'Well, you don't like it.'

Freddy reached down and pulled a loose thread out of his overall leg. 'Nah, it's okay.'

I knew it wasn't and felt guilty that it was hurting him. I turned to him and took his arm in my hands. 'I won't do it any more, Freddy, just with you.'

He sat there thinking then, 'You still gots ta tell me what ya did in camp. Everything, an', don' worry none, I ain' gonna git mad. I like ta heah 'bout all the crazy shit you do.' He was grinning.

I told him everything, even what I did to get Philip kicked out of camp.

'That was bad, Maacum. Ain' nevah right ta snitch on nobody. But I guess ya had to do somethin'. I don' know what I'd a did. You right, you was in some bad shit if'n they b'lieved him.'

With the exception of Sunday mornings when I was now forced to go to nine o'clock Mass with my parents, I spent all of August during the day with Freddy, mostly in his neighborhood where I now knew everyone by name.

My parents never spoke during Mass, just knelt, sat and stood at the right times. When they were short of men to make the collection, my father helped out but always returned to our pew right after handing in the basket. I heard him complain several times to my mother about men who hung around in the church vestibule conversing rather than paying attention to the Mass.

There were always kids from my school there though most were unknown. There were no Negroes. I tried to get into the pew before my parents so I could sit semi-sideways against the mid pew wood post and look around. I played a game with myself trying to figure how long a penis each boy around me had. There were a number of indicators I established. Before seeing how short that tall Glen Harrison's peter really was, I'd made the assumption that tall kids had long cocks. Now, my primary indicator was how much they squirmed. It seemed logical that the longer a boy's penis, the more he'd need to adjust it when sitting for an extended length of time. If my father was seated beside me, I wasn't allowed to look behind me so I concentrated on the altar boys.

Of the two altar boys, one boy, about ten or eleven, was there almost every week. He wasn't particularly pretty but had an interesting gaunt face with huge intense eyes. When he went to get the wine or water, I stared at him both to enjoy those eyes and in hopes he'd look back. I was sure he had a long penis. I also liked the long red robes they wore and the way they flowed about when the boys walked from place to place. I wanted to try one on.

On the last Sunday of August, the altar boy caught my stare and looked back as he stood waiting for the priest to come for the water cruet. I smiled and nodded. He glanced at the priest then lowered his head though looking at me out of the corner of his eye. On impulse, I pursed my lips as in a kiss. He grimaced but didn't stop looking until he had to return to the service table. As he walked back to his position in front of the altar, he glanced again in my direction.

During the sermon, the altar boys sat in chairs on the right side of the altar near the service table with the water and wine. Feeling very daring, I put my finger in my mouth and stared at him. Though he kept his head lowered as though looking at his fingers, I saw quick glances my way. Then, to my surprise, he raised his right hand and stuck his index finger briefly into his mouth. He flashed a slight smile then returned examining the fingers in his lap. I sat with my arms folded across my chest looking around but returning every minute or so to the altar boy.

Toward the end of the sermon I didn't hear, he glanced at his partner then up at me. Twice, he looked from me to the sacristy door on the far side. My heart jumped. Was that a signal to meet him?

I had no idea where that door led though guessed that beyond it there had to be a door out of the church. When we stood after the sermon, I noticed a door at the left wall that had to open onto the room the altar boys and priest went through at the end of mass. He would probably come out that door when he was finished.

The priest was a middle-aged man who sometimes came to our school and, for some reason, knew my name. He would be my excuse to go to the sacristy door. My parents always chatted with friends after Mass so I had ten to fifteen minutes before we went home for breakfast.

As we walked out of our pew, I asked my mother if I could speak with the priest for a moment.

'He's probably very busy today, dear. Why?'

'I'll just be a minute. Please.'

A woman greeted her quietly. I scooted around and headed for the sacristy door. For you never were-Catholics, the sacristy is the anteroom beside the altar where the priest puts on his vestments and prepares for Mass.

The boy came out just as I got to the door. He was wearing a cowboy shirt, jeans and what appeared to be new shoes.

He grinned and asked, 'How come you're always looking at me? I saw you every week.' He had an accent a bit like Freddy's.

'Just playing.'

'What's your name?'


'I'm Stewart. You wanna be a altar boy?'

'I don' like church that much.'

'How come. It's fun and you get to eat breakfast with the priest if you want. They got really good food.'

'You gonna eat with the priest now?'

'Uh huh. You wanna too? I'll ast him.'

'No. I've got to go with my parents. Where do you live?'

'Other side the tracks behind the lumberyard. Wanna see?'

My heart was racing. 'I can't now but maybe after I eat. I can come down

here to the church if you want.' Freddy wouldn't be home from his church until after one.

'Okay, I'll jus' wait in front after I finish eatin'.

'Don't you gotta go home with your parents.'


I expected more of an answer. He looked at me anxiously.

'Okay, I'll eat quick.'

My parents were still talking. Stewart waved at me as he walked briskly up to the rectory.

My mother wanted to know what I'd discussed with the priest.

'Nothing. I didn't see him.'

'Is there something you need to know or, well, whatever?'

'No, just something about Catechism.'

'What, dear? Maybe I can help.'

We were in the car turning out of the parking area. I struggled to find something I could say that would end the interrogation without having a problem with my father who seemed to be listening to us.

'He said he was going to give a test when school started. That's all.' I hoped she wouldn't ask about it.

'Oh, um, well, you'll probably see him next week in school.' We were due back a week from that Wednesday.

Stewart was as good as his word, sitting on the corner of the bottom steps as a steady stream of people walked past him on the way to the eleven o'clock Mass. I saw Ronnie Stevens from my class with his parents and seven brothers and sisters. He hadn't spoken to me since the day I showed him my erection in the bathroom.

Stewart jumped up and threw his arm over my shoulder.

'C'mon. What'd you eat? I had bacon and eggs and toast and juice and milk. I'll bet you didn't eat that good.'

I'd eaten almost the same less the milk. 'Who's at your house?' I asked.

'Don' know. Mebbe my big sister.'

'What about your mother and father?'

'They don' live with us, jus' my big sister and her boy friend and sometimes my uncle.'

Home for Stewart was a pair of rooms attached to the back of a clapboard house not a whole lot better than Freddy's. He had a key on a string around his neck.

'Ain't nobody home 'cause door's locked.'

The inside stunk. It hit me the moment he opened the door. Inside was a mess. Unmade beds were on opposite walls. One corner of the wooden table in the middle of the room was held up by a piece of lumber wired to the broken original leg. An upholstered chair covered with a bed spread was along side the door. A good bit of the bad odor seemed to come from it. The floor was unpainted wood that squeaked as we walked over it. He sat on one of the three chairs at the table.

'Whatta you like to do?' asked Stewart. 'I like to play cowboys but I ain't got no pistols so I gotta use sticks and stuff. Wanna play?'

'What do you do?'

'We hide behind stuff an' shoot at each'n other.'

 It was more boring than Mass. Stewart squeezed himself behind a bed and went bang, bang at me on the other side of the room. I was supposed to die and fall on top of the bed. Then it was my turn to kill him. He was having a blast. I wanted to see if I was right about the size of his dick.

I asked for the bathroom. He took me outside to another small room in the side of the house. It was filthier than the house but, strangely enough, didn't smell as bad. There was a small hand sink that hung out over the toilet that was pressed along side a narrow metal shower stall. There was no toilet seat to lift up. I pulled out my paltry peter.

'Don't you gotta pee too?'

'Not much.'

'Why don't you pee now so you won't have to later.'

'Okay, I'll try.'

He pushed in beside me bent over trying to extract whatever he had inside the fly of his new jeans.

'These here pants the priest give me is hard to use.'

I saw the opening and leapt to it. 'Just open them up and push them down.'

He struggled with the top button, finally releasing it. The zipper made a loud zipping sound as he pulled it down. I was becoming very impatient. He pushed down on the sides. There were no underpants. His new shirt extended out over his front hiding whatever he was uncovering. I couldn't wait any longer and reached over and pulled it up.

He said, 'Thanks,'

I was surprised at how thin he was. His skin stretched over his hipbones. His narrow thighs had stringy but hard looking muscles. He was pulling on his cock with his fist. I watched, waiting for him to open his hand and show me what he had.

'I don't think I can pee,' he said with a strain.

'Don't hold your penis so hard.'

He released it and let it hang. It wasn't as long as Freddy's but easily as thick. Mine grew in my hand. I stood so he could see, but he didn't look.

'You ever play with yours?'

'Like jerkin' off? Nah, my uncle caught me once and beat my ass. He says we gotta wait 'til it gets big or it might get all rotten and I can never have babies.'

'That's stupid. I play with mine all the time and look.' I thrust my hips forward and pressed my pants against me so it stuck out as far as possible.

'Yeah, but look. It's little, like my uncle said. That's from jerkin' off. You better stop or it'll get really really little. I can't pee.'

He pulled his pants up.

Frustrated, I told him I had to get home for lunch.

'But you jest ate breakfast. Let's play some more.'

He looked very sad but I couldn't handle any more cowboys. 'Okay, but let's do something outside.'

He showed me the lumberyard from the railroad tracks. I asked him where he went to school.

He was ten and entering the fifth grade at the parochial school under the church.

'Where are your mother and father?'

'My father got killed by the Japs and my mother kinda went crazy so they got her in some place out in the county.'

We climbed the lumberyard wall but jumped back down when a large dog leapt at the wall making a thud that had us running across the tracks. He showed me where the train tracks crossed over the stream. A walkway went under the bridge. We went down by the water.

Stewart shouted, 'Stewart!' The sound of his voice echoed off the walls. I shouted my name. We made a variety of sounds to see what each sounded like. Two women walked in from the far side and gave us a look of exasperation. We shut up until they'd left then laughed, found that had a different sound and laughed louder.

When I asked Stewart about his friends from the neighborhood, he said, 'I don't like to play with them. They're always fighting. I don't like to fight.'

'Don't you got friends at school?'

'I got plenty there but none a them live aroun' here.'

He tried to get me to be an altar boy. 'All you gotta do is learn the Latin words on this card. And the fathers are nice. They give me clothes an' shoes an' I can eat there when there ain't no food here.'

I promised to think about it and meet the next week after Mass.

I felt bad leaving him but knew Freddy was waiting.

When I told him about Stewart, Freddy was concerned.

'Don' never bring that white boy in heah. He sees you with a nigger an' he'll come back with a bunch a his white friends and beat the shit outta all us, especial you fo' bein' with us. They hates whites what goes with Negroes.'

I promised I wouldn't.

Anyhow, I missed seeing Stewart the following week. Once again, my parents went off somewhere for the Labor Day weekend, leaving me this time with my mother's sister out in the country. My grandparents were away, too.

It wasn't too bad. I learned a little about riding a horse and where eggs come from.

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