Part 5: Jesus' Second Coming

Date: Sat, 05 Jul 2003 04:57:05 -0500 From: gloryhole JUNKIE gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com Subject: Whoring With Dad 5

Whoring With Dad Part 5: Jesus' Second Coming

By: Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com

Contact him! The author loves to hear from depraved, everyday blokes who need someone with whom they can share their darkest secrets (the nasty ones that mom or 'the wife' just couldn't handle)!

DISCLAIMER, WARNING, PREFACE, SPEECH TO THE NATION:

The author would hope his gentleman readers (a fine, varied bunch of lecherous fellas, they is!), will feel free to employ the following chapter of "Whoring With Dad" as a traditional bedtime story. Simply make certain to first disguise it from your wife, lover, mom or roommate between the covers of, oh, let's say, "Jack and the Beanstalk". (And make the evening complete

• serve up some "warm milk" to go along with it).

He also invites the gamblin' men of his audience, using their lap tops while away for the weekend, to enjoy this story as they celebrate a, um, "winning hand", by beating off in one of the Hotel-Casino's toilet stalls while you're there in 'Vegas. Hey, come on, we're guys -- we've all heard the wild meat-slappin' of high rollers in those adjacent stalls!

Additionally, he would encourage readers from the married business crowd to print out a copy (for personal use only, of course) in order to stay "boned up" during those "down times" when sitting in your vehicle cruising the local forest preserve for anonymous homosexual oral sex. It can, after all, be in excess of a ten-minute wait between tricks!

But please DO NOT publish, re-print and/or otherwise, in any manner, steal, plagiarize, pilfer, misquote, stage as a play, read aloud during home games at Wrigley Field, etc..."Whoring With Dad" without the direct written consent of the author.

The following masturbatory tale is intended for the salacious "groinal amusement" of adult men. Although the story's main objective is to "add to the intellectual dialogue about the true nature of male sexuality" (and inspire wild, sperm-spritzing ejaculations along the way) it should be pointed out that a number of female readers have also contacted the author to express the fact that the tale is causing rather intense vaginal arousal out there, as well.

Surely, females who reach orgasm using this story as a catalyst would seem far less common in numbers than males. After all, we, being fellow men, know that most guys can get off (a.k.a.: have boner fun) in a public men's room stall with virtually any wet, warm hole taking cumloads, regardless of its age or gender. Hence, it remains rather intriguing to ask ourselves, "Exactly who are these feminine readers whose cunnies grow moist with sexual arousal while reading about a little boy being rigorously gangbanged by numerous adult men?"

Are these females perhaps merely attention-seeking transgender Satanists ...and wannabe "Jerry Springer Show" guests? Or are they crystal meth addicts so whacked-out as to be unaware it's a boy who is our story's hero? Or could they be hashish-smoking, raspy-voiced madams (with home-perms) from the red light districts of Amsterdam looking for any hole to add to their stable of tourist-sex whores?

Or, perhaps they are women who were gangbanged relentlessly by their fathers, brothers and every neighborhood drunkard when they themselves were little girls. And then, in adolescence, they turned to hardcore "angry" lesbian living and are now beefy trucker-gals with their girlfriends' names (such as Stacey Jo Lynn or Caroline Mae) tatted onto each bicep. Women glad, finally, to read of a boy being treated the way they know those "asshole men" treat any piece of young flesh they may come upon. Is Rosie O'Donnell writing to me?

Hmm, or they could be pedo-moms! Those biological mothers who smirk as they shove a hand into the lace-trimmed panties they bought at Target in order to finger themselves while filming their well-hung husbands going from bedroom to bedroom screwing each of their offspring within their two-story colonials.

Indeed, they might just be one of those "accommodating" wives who, as they lie in bed alone watching "Jay Leno", are relieved to know the pressure is off their own cunts as they hear their husband's deep, penetrating, orgasmic grunts on the other side of the wall -- emanating from their own young son's bedroom!

My goodness, they could be any of those rare yet nasty young brides who, during procreative, honeymooning copulation, whisper into their new and happily-shocked groom's hear, "Let's make one you can take with you one day into the men's room at the park, hon!"

Or, heck, perhaps they're prostitute-moms, tired legs spread all day long, who've come up with a gimmick to service twice the numbers of truckers and sailors by turning tricks, side-by-side with their own grade school sons?! In the dark, their johns barely even know (or care) which tight hole they're seeding for their twenty bucks.

Or indeed, perhaps (just perhaps), they are those one-in-a-million, degenerate soccer moms who drop off their sons at the malls after, well,...soccer...full-well knowing that their athletic little boys (while still donning their soccer uniforms, of course) are going there only to cruise men in the toilets at Macy's.

Another guess may be that they are those ding-a-ling single moms who purposely date only tall, big-dicked strangers they meet in bars with the hopes that these men will also find their son's youthful bubblebutt hot -- thereby doubling the chances the guy won't walk out on them for a while. After all, having two hot cumholes to screw in a chick's townhouse can keep many a horny and unreliable boyfriend around for weeks!

Or could it be that they are shocked and disgusted Christian Taskforce ladies, who, in conjunction with their Mormon divorce lawyers, are simply playing games with the author as they seek to learn more about this "dark stuff" they find on their husbands' computers while their out at work. "Now I know you're grandparents and he's an Elder in our Church, Mrs. Smythington.", her Salt Lake City attorney explains, "But to get the house ...and the Lincoln Towncar, and since he admits he doesn't need Viagra, we must find out if its this story, "Whoring With Dad", at the core of why he pops a Joseph Smith-sized boner around your grandsons every time they come for a visit!"

And then there is the chance, however slight, that these female readers are simply and wonderfully "open and enlightened women" fully cognizant of the fact that men have secrets (big secrets) and that all boners are not the result of Pamela Anderson stimuli. They are those women who accept the hard, cold fact that all, which is "Male Sexuality", does not revolve solely around estrogen-related outlets.

They are women who are educated to the fact that vast numbers of adult men were sexually active with other males during childhood and adolescence -- and continue to indulge in such pleasures (even if only in secretive corners) despite twenty-five years of marriage and fatherhood. Heck, just one forest preserve, all male, afternoon sex orgy is comprised of more than a dozen area dads, after all!

Additionally, let us hope that these "persons of different chromosomes" know that male sexuality has, built into it, a component which makes their men virtually incapable of remaining "zipped up" wherever and whenever a mouth, offering fellatio, may be available. We can only hope to assume they are wives and mothers who know that the odds are quite high that their own husbands and sons have already received many quickie "homosexual blowjobs" within the men's rooms of our nation's finest sports parks, department stores, health clubs, as well as, in other assorted "adult entertainment" venues.

They are the females that understand and accept the basic, if rarely articulated, fact that their men, (yeah, mostly conventioneers and jocks), who patronize those glitzy, Vegas-style heterosexual strip clubs; who shell out big moolah for one of those notoriously exploitative lapdances by be-thonged strumpets (most of whom are lipstick lesbians anyway), often actually wind up their "boys night out" by unzipping for some anonymous dude giving out blowjobs to all the revved up fellas through a gloryhole in the bookstore arcade that's conveniently located next door to said club.

Or, could it be, they are those licentious wives who actually enjoy seeing the father of their children deep-throat other men through those same gloryholes!? Or females who know that dark secrets run within their son's or husband's veins - women who know never to disturb "her guys" while they're out in the garage together "lubing pistons". Remember, ladies, have some respect for dad-son "bonding time". Should you notice your young son slip into his father's bed while he's napping after having mowed the lawn, forcrissake, just go to the kitchen and start baking some muffins or something. Leave the guys alone for an hour or so (good...thrusting... dad-son-bonding time should take no longer than that anyway).

Clearly, and minimally, these ideal female readers would have to be women who know that homophobia only exists when the temptations of homo-sex get to be too much for their men and society-at-large.

No matter who they may be, it still remains staggering the overwhelming numbers of males who have written to the author telling him of what the story has done for their penises. From eighteen-year-old masturbating college dudes to nasty-minded married fathers of triplets to gay, cum-felching leathermasters to sneaky, white-haired Texas granddads, its gratifying to know so many guys, from every walk of life and age range, grasp the spirit and the truth of this tale as they blow their breeding seed all over their keyboards. (By the way, men - always scrub down your keyboard thoroughly prior to disposing of your computer system. Otherwise, unscrupulous "used hardware" dealers, oh, somewhere in Malaysia, could potentially clone you from the trace sperm left on your ctrl-alt-delete keys)!

The author has heard from literally dozens and dozens of you delightfully-perverted male readers. Its rather stunning to know that there are so many men out there with penises...cocked...and at the ready for such specific entertainment. If there is such a thing as "lust in one's heart", you fellas sure are doing it! Gosh, it makes one re-consider what all those dads are really thinking as they sit in the stands at their fifth-grader's swim meets!

Now, as you grab for the zipper of your slacks, with intention to, er, "take in some literature", consider the hundreds of others guys doing the same. Then, when you begin to feel your boner thicken in anticipation of this "Jerk'n'Read" program (a new literacy campaign for males designed by the author), be keenly aware that you are essentially joining in on an "unchaste group sperm-letting" among hundreds of other wonderfully "lewd and lascivious" (even if just on the inside) guys who come (!!!) to Nifty for their most back alley of scrotal needs!

Be reminded, my most erect reader, that "Whoring With Dad", although incredible at certain junctions, is all true and quite hair-raising. Feel that tingling inside your Jockey shorts? That, my fine men, is your PUBIC HAIR standing on end!

And, whereas the author loves the fact that so many of you big, well-built, adult men get off mentally on the events contained within the shocking story which follows, please be advised, forewarned or otherwise "enlightened" to the dead-serious fact that the Act of Reading is a far different thing than actually pulling a child into a public men's room toilet stall with intent to molest or otherwise commit acts upon him that would make even Bible-Belt Sodomy guidelines seem tame in comparison.

In a civilized society, learned men may read and write freely of things which would be ghastly, otherwise, if put into action. Surely Edgar Allen Poe or Mary Shelley should not have been tolerated had either acted out those pages they had written of morbid, and homicidal deeds. My guess would be that Stephen King would have been strung up long ago had he personally lived out scenarios from his horror tales. None of the aforementioned authors were actually serial killers, possessed or monsters stitched from dead pieces (hmm, but until you live with someone...who really knows, right?).

And although this is Part Five of this lurid saga, it again must be stressed that despite the fact the author did experience each sexual act related within "Whoring With Dad", it was in the role of our child cumpig protagonist and not as one of his myriad molesters. The author does not encourage his readers to take it upon themselves to re-enact or validate in any way the behaviors of the many adult males depicted in the following tale. The sharing of this true-life story is merely for informational purposes. It is purely a sociological work (lest we forget Sociology can be racy)!

To be clearer: If you are an adult man, when in the company of persons under the age of eighteen, simply refrain from ever pulling down your slacks (or those of the child) should sexual intent be what's on your mind! Avoid masturbating on playgrounds. Don't get a full woody in your Speedo while at the kiddy pool! Don't ask small boys to show you where the dark, sticky men's room is when at the carnival! Don't cajole your three-year-old grandson into reaching into your front pants pockets to help you find your car keys! Don't get a job as a department store Santa if you know that having the tiny butts of three hundred boys per day squirming all over your lap will leave your nuts empty (and the inside of your red velvet pants loaded in semen)!

Instead, do look for blowjobs in the back rows of adult porn theaters rather than at your son's next scout meeting! Do cruise college campuses with the goal of sucking off young-looking eighteen-year-old freshmen rather than seeking cock in the bathrooms at Chuck E. Cheese! Do jerk off to pics of smooth, barely-legal (yet legal) young men who pull down their pants willingly for the professional pornographer's camera (and for money) rather than molest the Little League team you coach.

See? It's all just common sense when you see it in writing.

If you are a father, you are additionally advised that if you are ever, in any way, tempted to use your son's nursery down the hallway, (the room you and your wife just decorated with Mother Goose wallpaper), as "daddy's personal adult bookstore booth"...or to use your toddler son's bath time as if it were an hour in a raunchy Castro bathhouse, it is wisest (and avoiding of illegality) to opt instead, to read a good Internet tale (like this one)! And, let's be honest here men, you know that once you blow your seed, you get your senses back anyway. Hell, that happens to most of us guys - some strange ejaculation-to-brain thing.

So don't be a victim of your own depravity. Be smart and "hit the books" rather than make another of those midnight visits to your kid's cribside (golly, I wonder how that would look as a slogan on an anti-child abuse poster?)!

Again, though, let us not forget, this is essentially a sociological endeavor here - a look at the "social interactions" between men and one very willing little boy!

Whoring With Dad Part 5: Jesus' Second Coming

By: Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE

Directly across the street from our Belle Epoch apartment building and hugging the shoreline of Lake Michigan, was Lincoln Park, one of the city's vast green spaces. It was the elegant, woodsy park which gave our neighborhood its name and its allure.

While still in the first grade, I was never allowed to go unaccompanied into the park proper. Although it was located merely yards from the building's canopied entrance, one had to cross our picturesque but very congested residential street in order to get over to it. It wasn't that there was a lot of moving traffic on the street so much as there was a constant wall of cars parked bumper-to-bumper along both curbs...and I barely reached the height of the vehicles' hoods!

As an adult, looking back, it was literally only three or four man-strides from one curb to the other. But to a child, crossing it was a big, risky adventure similar to facing any enemy line drawn in the sand! My mother would assure me that I would be hit by a car if I should ever dare to dart alone across the street. "Driver's won't be able to see you and will smush you like a little bug beneath their tires!" she'd warn. And so, in effect, that street became my castle moat!

Yet, to be most honest, even when I was seven years of age, that frightful blockade was rarely a problem since I'd manage to be in the park every day -- two or three times a day -- walking our small dog, Hera. Usually I would go along with my dad to the park in the evenings when he'd walk the dog after dinner. And, other times I'd go along with my mom who would walk Hera in the mornings before work.

And even, on a few occasions I would go with Maria, our maid, when she'd walk the dog once I'd get home from school. Maria barely knew English but she somehow learned the word "piddle". She would walk the dog begrudgingly only so it would "No piddle!" on her freshly scrubbed floors.

And at other times, on other days, like the Saturday following my molestations at the Lawson Y and in the taxicab, I'd be in the park in order to go to Lincoln Park Zoo -- its entrance just a couple of blocks down from our apartment.

This trip there would be a little different from all the other times though, because whereas, normally, I would go only with my mom or dad, it was Maria who was taking me to the zoo. My parents scheduled an impromptu business meeting at the apartment and so they asked Maria, in a last minute plea for a babysitter, if she wouldn't mind - for a few extra dollars -- taking me along for two or three hours. Maria had already been planning to spend a part of her day off at the zoo anyway with her live-in boyfriend, Jesus, and their new baby. Even if monkeys didn't particularly interest you, the scenic Lincoln Park Zoo was a cheap place to stroll and eat a big hotdog on a warm afternoon.

Maria and Jesus were both in their mid-twenties and had their baby out-of -wedlock only three months earlier. Although, admittedly, she refrained from scrubbing our bathroom floors on her hands and knees, Maria had refused to quit or even take it all that easy during the final days of her pregnancy. I did always think it was such an odd sight to see a very pregnant woman with an enormous belly washing out our bathtubs though. But I do recall hearing our neighbor lady, Mrs. Levin, telling my mother once, "These girls need the money, darling. Back in their own country if they don't dust, they don't get paid. So don't fret any...we people do these girls a favor by keeping them working. You want her beige baby to truly starve? Then you'll insist she stay off her feet until its born!"

And so, Maria never missed a day of housecleaning until the morning her water broke. But even then she was gone but a mere week before returning to the job. Only seven days after little Tomas was born, Maria was back on her knees scrubbing the tiles she'd ignored in her last trimester.

Perhaps because I saw her more than any one else in the three hours after school before my parent would get home, at that point I personally noticed a great difference in Maria. Although it would seem to make consummate sense, figuring in her manual labor, having given birth and breast-feeding, Maria seemed to be excessively exhausted all the time and not as strong as she'd once been while washing down the woodwork. I noticed she'd take much longer breaks watching Mexican soap operas on t.v. while nursing her newborn in our kitchen. She'd sit there with Tomas sucking on her teat as she'd slowly fold freshly ironed linen napkins. My mother told me that Maria had a very hard time with the birth and so I was to help her as much as I could until she was strong again.

Maria and Jesus shared a small apartment near Lawrence Avenue with Jesus' mother and her other sons -- his three half-brothers. Like himself, Jesus' little brothers were all from different fathers and yet each were only around my age -- or nearly twenty years his junior.

They had all come to Chicago from Mexico no more than eleven months earlier and none spoke much English. Maria did a lot of wild, gestural pointing while she'd vacuum. And I think, at the time, Jesus earned money sweeping up and rinsing off chile peppers in a small Mexican grocery store not far from their tiny apartment.

My mother, a rather devout Catholic (whose old-moneyed capitalistic elitism had her often confused with an Anglican), would host Wednesday afternoon high tea at the apartment for a few society friends from Holy Name Cathedral. She would take that opportunity to ask them (when out of earshot of Maria, of course), "Is the baby still a bastard even after they've had him baptized? How exactly does that work? Is a baptized baby still a bastard baby...I mean, in the eyes of the Church?"

Despite the fact my mom admittedly was uncomfortable with and could not officially condone pre-marital "knock ups", she had given Maria many of my old baby things to help them out. I suppose although I never quite heard her state it, she felt that, well, since Maria and her boyfriend were...you know...(shhh!)...Mexican...that's just something those people did...no "control" and all that, you know.

My mother was always one of those "superior" yet generous sorts who would give you the shirt off her back...and yet insist on showing you how to wear it as though you'd never encountered buttons before.

And my dad, a much more "live and let live" sort of person (obviously), gave Maria a raise after once seeing her naked infant son splayed out on the costly Art Nouveau rug from Paris in our library. Normally, Jesus' mother took care of their baby during the workday but oftentimes Maria had to bring the suckling child along with her as she worked. So, although my dad was being magnanimous, he also wanted to ensure that her new baby would have diapers -- especially on those days she brought the newborn to our apartment. At dinner, once Maria went home for the day, dad would exclaim, "I don't need to come home to see Mexican baby ass smearing up our rugs!" (I, ever since then, have always had to half-jest to myself, as the old vaudeville joke goes, "Where then did he go to see Mexican baby ass smearing up rugs?").

Personally, I had always been a little apprehensive about spending a lot of time alone with Maria. Although it was nothing I could quite put my finger on, besides the obvious language barrier, there was something about her that made me mildly uncomfortable. She was pretty enough and had a big white smile but her laugh was somewhat dirty and made me feel she was thinking things that were none too nice.

I had only seen Jesus a few times before. I'd look out from our living room window when he first started to come by, which was strictly after their baby had been born. He'd be downstairs on the sidewalk to meet a spent Maria at the end of her workday but only on those days she had brought the baby with her. He would never come up but instead would wait outside our building giving me ample time to look him over while Maria would be riding down the elevator. She would then emerge from the building and Jesus would give her a slight peck on the forehead. For some reason, they never used a stroller of any sort, (even refusing the old one my mother offered them), and so he'd take the carry-handle bassinet from Maria before they'd disappear around a corner headed to the "El" trains several blocks away.

Jesus was an attractive, slim and wiry guy with slicked-back jet-black hair, a goatee and a giant black and red tattoo of the Sacred Heart on his right forearm. He always seemed to wear a white tank t-shirt even on cold days. At once he was both scary and yet, even from a distance to a little boy peering through a bay window, undeniably and sexually magnetic.

Despite the fact there was a slight sense of dread within me about going, I guess the general excitement of doing something new or different was what had compelled me to dress early, gulp down my breakfast fast and watch my favorite cartoons with some impatience that Saturday morning. Why, you'd almost think I was a first-grader looking forward to spending the afternoon with virtual strangers from a foreign land.

"Let me see what you think you're going to wear today, Kevin.", my mom said, looking me over as she took an empty juice glass from my hand. I did a super speedy pivot showing my mom I could dress myself just fine.

"Well, I do suppose you'll be warm enough", she added. "It's a simply lovely day outside."

I wore a blue and white striped t-shirt along with a pair of my favorite pull on "play pants". Since I had to wear uniform dress slacks or woolen shorts to school all week long, I always loved the weekends when I could don simple khaki chinos. They had a length of elastic in the back of them, which meant great comfort. But the best part was that, unlike the tailored parochial uniform, these stretchy pants required no belt. The fact that anyone, even with a great big hand, could reach down into my pants with great ease had not yet occurred to me.

At about eleven in the morning, the doorbell buzzed. It was Maria, Jesus and their baby waiting at the desk in the lobby with our doorman. I suppose Maria felt she didn't even want to see the interior of our apartment on her day off.

Hera started barking and my mom handed me my little windbreaker jacket ("Just in case the lake winds bluster up."). Dad then suddenly appeared in the marble foyer from the kitchen and rubbed my head telling me to have a fun time. "Do whatever Jesus and Maria tell you to do...even if you don't understand anything they're saying", he joked. Dad then disappeared, coffee cup in hand, into the library where he'd start preparations for their meeting due to begin within the hour.

Mom went to her purse and took out some cash from her pocketbook. She slipped two ten-dollar bills into the small wallet that was pinned within my front pants pocket. She then re-adjusted my waistband and t-shirt, reminding me not to ask Maria or Jesus for any money but to buy my own lunch and any souvenirs that I might want. She paused for a moment and then re-opened her pocketbook, slipping me another five dollars adding, "With this money, buy something at the zoo for that little baby...a stuffed tiger perhaps."

The doorbell buzzed again so I quickly kissed my mom goodbye and ran out into the wide hallway. She stood at our doorway watching as I pressed for the elevator and again she reminded me to buy my own lunch. Then she waved one last time as the elevator doors closed between us.

In a flash, it felt like a different day and a different reality as the elevator doors opened again and I met Maria, Jesus and Tomas on the ground floor. Although Big Bill, our doorman, was standing behind his desk and gave me his usual happy hello and a wink, I felt as though I were inside some other child's life suddenly. The front double doors were opened to the brightly sunny sidewalk allowing breezes to waft into the lobby. The day was much warmer and even more beautiful than one would have suspected from our air-conditioned apartment. And my "parents" were now young Mexicans.

"Gooood maarning, Kay-veen", Maria said. With her thick, dark hair down and a big barrette in it, she was prettier than other days. But still, her thin face looked rather drawn.

"Hi", I said.

Although he was toting the carry-handled, woven bassinet containing Tomas, Jesus stuck out his free hand to shake mine.

"This...here...Jesus", Maria continued, making the introduction, "And there...you know, it is Tomas."

I nodded and shook Jesus' big, strong hand, noticing he had strange letters tattooed upon each of his knuckles. Our contact sent a vibration through my body. Up close I could suddenly see he had the darkest of brown, almost black, eyes. Their gaze seemed to penetrate me. Then he grinned, his teeth gleaming even whiter against his dark goatee making him look a bit like a swarthy Cheshire Cat.

Withdrawing my hand, I briefly stroked Tomas gently on his head but he seemed to be drifting into sleep.

"We go now", Jesus said in a gravelly voice. They picked themselves up and headed out onto the sidewalk.

"Where are you all going?", Big Bill asked as I was pulling up the rear. He was always very protective of all the residents, and especially me.

"Just to the zoo," I said.

"Oh, well, that should be awfully fun", Big Bill said with a smile. "And it's a perfect April day for it...I'm jealous! Be sure to make them take you to the Reptile House while you're there. I like to hang out over in that part of the zoo sometimes on my days off."

"Okay", I replied. I looked and saw that Maria and Jesus were bathed in sunshine waiting just outside the doors. "I better go now...and thanks Big Bill!"

"Bye-bye", he said in his always-cheerful tone.

I dashed out into the glorious day and without speaking we all began our short walk down to the main gates of the zoo. As we made our way, directly in our path, two men riding bicycles stopped to look at the newspaper headlines in one of the kiosks on the corner. I don't think that Maria and Jesus even noticed the men in particular but what caught my attention caused my eyes to bug out.

The two men, momentarily standing astride their bikes were wearing really tight clothing like I'd seen on t.v. once when my mom had us watch the Tour de France. As they stood in profile, the bulges between their thighs seemed huge. It looked like they each had stuffed a grapefruit down the front of their lycra pants!

I then thought about what Jerry, the super tall man at the Lawson Y, had told me to do - to go right up any to man I might encounter and offer to drink his daddymilk. Had Maria not been around, without giving it a second thought, I innately knew I would have gone up to these strange men and offered each just that.

The fact that my mother had repeatedly warned me never to speak to strangers didn't even factor into this newly discovered passion of mine. In fact, given my way, if I'd been alone I knew I would do more than merely speak to these men. Heck, I'd have taken their candy, hopped into their "unmarked van" and happily pulled down my little underpants for them!

And knowing I would really and truly do such a thing caused me confusion briefly since I couldn't even make out much of these two strangers' faces. Both men wore large bike helmets and mirrored sunglasses, which basically hid their features. Yet it was exactly at that same moment, as but a small child, that I realized I didn't much care how old they were or what they really looked like all that much. I just knew that I liked the way men were built and loved the big penises they had inside their trousers. Something within me, in that instant, told me that was all I needed to know about a man in order to play with him.

In the meantime, as I was experiencing this whorish revelation, the bicyclists had abruptly sped off in an opposite direction -- not even giving me a chance to be molested by them.

And that left me only to wonder what Jesus might have packed inside his dark blue Levis. I certainly knew he had to be loaded with daddymilk since he was toting around the baby that a few glops of it had made. As they walked slightly ahead of me, I raced forward a bit just to try to get a glimpse at Jesus' crotch. Tomas' bassinet was blocking my view of his father's crotch so I had to swing to the outside of our little grouping, toward the curb, in order to get a better look. I grimaced slightly since I couldn't see anything prominent pushing out the man's denim fabric.

Suddenly, Maria noticed that I was along the curb and she assertively gestured for me to quickly get to her right, far away from the parked cars. Although I was stuck to her side, I just knew that I had to figure out a way to find out what Jesus might have between his legs. It was a mystery I needed to solve! And since my jaws ached as they salivated to suck on yet another adult penis, I was determined to solve it that very afternoon!

Entering the gates, the blended aroma of cotton candy and baboon seized my little nostrils. Oddly, that zoo-specific smell is a rather stimulating mix

• not dissimilar in its erotic appeal to the combined scent of piss, semen and "powder fresh" urinal cakes which permeates most any busy public men's room.

Maria immediately told me, again via hand gestures and broken English, to stick by them and not to get lost. Jesus found a bench not far from the ticket windows and took the opportunity to place Tomas' bassinet down. As he did so, I could see his physique unobstructed for the first time that morning. He stretched lazily allowing anyone looking to see the undulation of his abdominal muscles which were barely obscured beneath a skintight white tank t-shirt.

Although lanky, he looked all manly and muscular to me. Still, though, I could only guess at what he might have hanging between his thighs. There was no obvious bulging in his jeans. I pondered that a moment as I spotted a large man with his family who just happened to walk by us at exactly that same moment. Carrying a small child atop his wide shoulders, I could easily see that man's bulge was very prominently displayed and even swinging a bit inside his loose sweat shorts.

While Maria and Jesus re-arranged Tomas, who started to cry as he was jostled slightly from a nap, I took the opportunity to survey the rest of the crowd flooding into zoo. More, honestly, I was surveying the crotches of all the men coming through the main gates. Some of them showed a lot of bulge while others did not. But since so many of these men were with kids my age, I knew they had to be dads, and therefore, I knew they all had to have daddymilk-making meat within their assorted shorts and pants and jeans.

I then looked back at Jesus' cryptic crotch and pondered some more. Even as a seven-year-old, I was slowly figuring out that perhaps it was a man's build or maybe the sort of pants he wore that played a factor in how apparent his bulge might show. I realized that the only way to figure out this mystery was to get behind Jesus' zipper.

I then saw a really fat lady with pork chop arms waddle by slurping on a blue Sno-Cone -- and that got my mind onto other things.

Being in just the first grade, I could read but not very well yet. So I was certainly glad to see that the Zoo was kind enough to place silhouetted images, along with names, on the sides of the various buildings. And up ahead, I saw a sign with a big black gorilla scratching itself, signifying what had to be where the gorillas lived (either that or a Sumo bathhouse lay ahead).

We stood at the bench for several more minutes while Maria adjusted Tomas' baby-blue crocheted hat and blanket. She then said something to Tomas and we all started over to a water fountain near a zoo directory map.

Maria took a long cool sip first from the tall water fountain and then Jesus stepped up and drank long and hard from the communal waters. As he stepped back and wiped his mouth with the back of his large tattooed hand, he looked down at me. Quickly he realized there was no way I would be able to reach the high, running spigot to drink. So he gave me a look as to ask if I needed a boost. I nodded and quickly he stood behind me.

The energy of Jesus' strong body coursed through my veins as he grabbed my small frame and lifted me to fountain-height. He was so sinewy strong that my feet left the ground in a comically speedy swoop. I began drinking the cold water but started to laugh just as Jesus also began laughing. Even Jesus was a bit amused by his own strength -- as I proved to be so light in contrast to the power he'd exerted.

Half the water from the continually-splurting spigot got into my mouth while the rest sort of hosed upon my striped t-shirt. But Jesus found that to be funny, too. And so even after I was done drinking, he wouldn't let me down. He playfully continued to hold me off the ground by at least foot as I continued to get wetter and wetter.

Maria, like any woman, or mother, told Jesus to stop it and to let me down. He reluctantly did as we both laughed some more. I suppose, since there was the language barrier, it was just an easy way for Jesus to feel we were bonding a bit - if we were to spend the while afternoon together anyway.

The collar and top part of my t-shirt were sopping wet, which Maria didn't find to be at all amusing. Although it was a warm day, it still wasn't summer and Maria knew the water would not simply evaporate as it might if the temperatures were in the nineties. She took a white cloth and began to wipe me off a bit but I was still soaking wet. She said something in an annoyed tone to Jesus. He just replied something back -- something about it not being any big deal.

He then stood behind me again and in one zippity-quick move, pulled my striped t-shirt up and over my head. "He is a boy", Jesus said to Maria. "He can walk like this."

Maria rolled her eyes.

"It dry and he then put on again", Jesus continued to explain.

I didn't mind at all because my bare little chest felt wonderful in the sunshine and warmth of the April breeze.

We all stood there for a moment, Maria apparently assessing the situation. She then smiled at me apologetically and asked, "Okay?"

I smiled and nodded. "Sure", I said. "It's cool!"

"Well...okay then", Maria said hesitantly with a little smile. "Jesus is loco!"

Jesus tossed my damp shirt over his muscular shoulder and we headed to the building that was situated directly ahead of us. Inside, behind bars, were two gorillas. One was sitting far in the back and the other, an absolutely enormous one with cinnamon-brown hair, paced the front, looking-on at all his on-lookers. We slowly walked by, stopping here and there, like any zoo crowd, waiting for something - anything (perhaps a King Kong-like psychotic episode) to occur in the Gorilla House. Yet it became quickly apparent that this huge gorilla must spend literally hours and days like that, never going off the deep end.

But then, just as we were about to move along, the cinnamon-haired gorilla awkwardly yet aggressively rose as tall as it could, causing some mild shrieks to sputter from the startled crowd. We, along with the rest of the people, stopped and stared in wonderment of what this magnificent beast might want...when it suddenly began to masturbate lewdly in front of everyone. He was very obviously the male of the pair.

Stunned and amused, a roar of nervous laughter erupted all around us. A few parents covered the eyes of their toddlers as they swept them out of the cool, dark facility. I even heard one lady with a stringy-haired bun atop her head exclaim, "Such a thing in front of the babies!" At first, her pot-bellied husband laughed along with the crowds but then when a strong-looking teenaged boy sarcastically-teased aloud, "Ain't never seen one that big before, lady?", the man, in a huff, swiftly joined his wife as she sped their baby in a stroller out a side door.

"Hey! It's only normal behavior, lady!", another, reedier teenaged boy announced. "Just the stuff they cut out of 'Animal Kingdom' on t.v.!" He was among a group of these dangerous-looking teenage boys who were standing in a huddle laughing and smoking, as they seemed to really get off on staring at the obscene gorilla's behavior. Finally, a gorilla was doing something they could relate to!

The gorilla played with his massive erection as he stared stony-eyed at the throngs of people. Then some other man said in a stage whisper to his wife, "Well, you can tell they're our cousins! That's for sure!" Several men around him chuckled but his wife groaned as she slapped him on the upper arm and then walked away.

Although most everyone watched the gorilla's furiously milking hand, I learned another interesting difference between the sexes that day. The way each handles their sexual embarrassment. I observed that the men and boys, although embarrassed, seemed to be quite bemused by the shockingly lurid animal while the women and girls, also embarrassed, acted or appeared to be rather disgusted by it. Even Maria grabbed Jesus by the arm as she shook her head, directing him to lead the way out. And so we exited out the opposite end of the building and back into the sunshine.

Up ahead, only a few yards away was the entrance to the Primate House. Without a word, we went through the double doors and could smell a whole lot of ape.

Not far behind us was the big group of tough-looking teen boys, who just coincidentally were following the same common route.

"Any monkeys jerking off in here?", one of the boys joked aloud as they entered.

"Oh, BE QUIET!", a female voice chided in angry disgust.

"Oh, okay...sorry", the same teen boy added in a hushed, soft tone, "Any monkeys jerking their dicks in here?", he whispered.

A few husbands laughed but the same woman's voice threatened, "I'll get a zoo official in here if you don't stop!" I then saw she and her family exit the building.

"BRING BACK A MASTURBATING ZOO OFFICIAL!", a muscular teen boy with blonde hair shouted at the lady.

Although they must have sensed there was some confrontation occurring, I don't think Jesus and Maria knew what the dialogue was all about. They didn't appear to be as shocked as some of the other families in the Primate House, so I suspect, because of language, they didn't comprehend the boys' topic.

We went from cage to cage looking at sad little monkeys from Indonesia and then some chimps that were picking things out of one another's ears.

The muscular blonde teenaged boy, along with his ten or so friends, was paced only one or two cages behind us the entire time as we made our way around the large space. They kept looking at me and then sticking out their tongues as to make me giggle. They seemed to have a softer side to them than their tough-looking exteriors might portray. Jesus noticed they were playing with me from a distance but said nothing. While toting Tomas around, Jesus simply kept his free hand on my naked shoulder the whole time guiding me alongside of him.

But when the boys seemed to start to get too close, Maria, most likely because of the baby, grew increasingly uncomfortable and so we again went outside. The boys didn't seem to be tailing us or anything like that since they were then nowhere behind us. I just thought they were goofing around, personally.

Then going just fifty paces and around a concrete flowered corner, we felt a million miles from apes and marauding teens boys. Maria, looking slightly pale, said something to Jesus as she rubbed her lower stomach. We immediately went over to a bench across from a souvenir kiosk where she sat and Jesus set down the bassinet beside her.

"Kay-veen", she said motioning me over. "I sit here for one minute". Then, again patting her stomach and making a queasy face added, "Little rest and then more."

I clearly understood she needed a break. I was a little annoyed since it was boring to keep stopping and waiting but I remembered what my mother had said about Maria having had a hard time delivering Tomas. So I tried my best to be polite and patient.

But they could see I was disappointed and so Maria pointed to the souvenir kiosk.

"You want to look?", Maria asked me.

I nodded and she told Jesus to take me over to it.

He took my hand and we slowly strolled over to the colorful display of items. I went directly for a funny hat with a small feather in it. It was the sort I had seen yodeling Austrians wear in a movie and thought it was the coolest thing ever...in the history of zoological souvenirs. I put the hat on and Jesus smiled. He then grabbed a hat with an enormous elephant's trunk attached to the visor of it and placed it on his head. That made me laugh hard - seeing this muscular, tough Mexican man with such a silly, and somehow obscene thing atop his head.

Nor did the old man running the kiosk miss the edgy obscenity of the hat (after all, who could) as he said to Jesus, "They oughta make these available in underwear, too, ya know?"

Jesus, oddly enough, seemed to understand the man's reference. I suppose visual dick-related jokes are universal. But he also gave the old man a stern macho grimace as if to say that although he liked the joke...it was a good thing no women had been around to hear it.

At that precise moment, the large gang of teenaged boys came waltzing by the kiosk. Looking right at us, and then at the hat atop Jesus' head, one of them shouted out in feigned shock, "Wow! They even got hats that need masturbating here at this zoo!"

The boys then all passed quickly and disappeared in the general direction of the polar bears. As Jesus took off the silly hat, he began looking at a colorful mobile of small stuffed animals, which hung from the kiosk's awning. He discretely looked at the price tag and moved onto something else.

After paying for my new alpine hat, I asked the man running the kiosk how much the mobile was, knowing that Jesus, who had very little money, would like it for his baby son.

"That there?", the old man said, "Is $3.75."

"I want to buy it, please," I said to the man. Jesus saw what I was doing and put up his hand to stop the transaction.

"No, no!", he said in a stern voice. "You no must do that!"

"Its for Tomas", I said.

"No, no!" Jesus again said firmly.

"But I want to and my mom said I could get something for him", I said in a slightly put on sad little voice. "Please?"

Jesus looked down at me, his lean, gruff face acquiescing to my generosity. "Hmmm, okay...but no more....nothing!"

I smiled and nodded. He smiled back.

I handed the old man my five dollars and got my change and the mobile in a bag in exchange.

Proudly wearing my new hat, we then went back over to the bench where Maria had started to nurse Tomas. The strategic way she had placed the blanket, the feeding, as well her breast, were barely evident. In fact, I hadn't even noticed as I handed the package to Maria who then had me place it on the shaded bench beside her. "What is this?", she asked.

"It's something for Tomas", I said proudly.

She motioned for Jesus to show her what it was. He opened the bag and pulled out a nicely packed mobile. He started telling her something in Spanish and she smiled at me. "Gracias", she said, "Thank you very much, Kay-veen." She leaned forward a bit to allow me to kiss the side of her cheek. Then she added, "I feed Tomas now...you and Jesus see more and come back."

Apparently it would take some time for Tomas to have his mammary gland lunch so Jesus would take me around some more alone and then we'd meet up with Maria and the baby again later.

For the briefest of moments, a pang of nervousness washed over me since, really, I barely knew Maria very well, let alone, her "husband" (as my parents had always referred to him as around me, since, after all, I was just in the first grade). But then that momentary apprehension passed as I realized this could be a promising opportunity.

We walked away from the bench and rounded a corner. I had my new yodeling hat atop my head and although I wore pull-up pants, I was still bare-chested. When I looked at Jesus, I saw that my little striped shirt was no longer on his shoulder. He'd apparently left it behind on the bench with the mobile, Maria and his son.

But that was okay since the day was warming up even more. And as I perused the passing crowds, I saw more than a few men and teenaged boys without their shirts on as well. I felt oddly masculine not wearing a shirt in such throngs of strangers. And I appreciated the fact that when men didn't wear one, a little boy like me so much more easily could enjoy their muscles and physiques and the hairy chests of some of them.

Jesus hurriedly walked me passed a vast aviary of exotic birds, barely paying it much heed. We then found ourselves near some rocky habitat for leopards. Yet Jesus hardly slowed down. Although he said nothing, he seemed to be looking for something specifically. We did stop at the leopards but for just a moment to let me see three of them lazing on a craggy, shady shelf several yards below us. All the while, Jesus continued to look around in every other direction.

"Come', he said to me as he apparently saw whatever it was he'd been looking for. I hopped down off the little ledge they'd built for kids to see into the leopard pit and joined Jesus as we made a beeline to somewhere.

I saw another drinking fountain and there, a few yards behind it, hidden partially in the shade, was a brick building housing a Men's Room.

Jesus had to go to the bathroom! Why didn't he just say so? I figured that maybe he was too macho a man to admit he ever had to go pee-pee. But I was thrilled because it might mean I could, at last, get a look at what he had inside his pants.

Although the zoo was crowded, this particular Men's Room was strangely desolate. As we entered, it was very dim and dank, smelling of standing water, urine, hay (?) and something else. We passed a row of sinks and Jesus directed me up the low-rise step to the row of urinals. I had to pull down my pull-up pants and underpants so I could pee, which exposed my little butt to the damp air. I saw Jesus look at me and then briefly scan down to my butt as he strode over to also take a piss.

Saying nothing, Jesus unzipped his jeans at the urinal directly next to mine. I stood there in the smelly public toilets with bated breath as I tried to look to my right without being too obvious. I sensed that Jesus was looking down at me with peripheral vision. My eyes were fixed to his crotch as he dug into the fly of his jeans. What would he produce from there? With what had he shot his daddymilk to make tiny Tomas?

Jesus stood there digging deeper and deeper ...and deeper into the fly of his inexpensive blue jeans. Then he tugged and tugged ...and tugged something out.

My young jaws nearly hit the floor. Which was a good thing because that's how wide my mouth would need to be if it were ever to fit into it what Jesus had just hauled out of his pants. He pulled out his dark and meaty penis, which looked something like a thick, long snake. The sort of snake one sees only in 'National Geographic' - the kind that terrorizes the entire Amazon or something! And it looked especially enormous on his lanky, wiry frame.

I watched as a forceful yellow stream of piss began to gush out of Jesus' cockhead, which was all wrinkly with lots of foreskin. In fact, I nearly missed my aim into my own urinal as I stared at the huge adult sex organ hanging beside me. It wasn't even hard yet but already Jesus' penis hung from the top of my head to well below my chin.

He finished peeing but didn't flush. Instead he very slowly began to slide his fingers along the length of his very thick penis. Then, to my surprise, he looked directly down at me, our eyes meeting. He said nothing and there was no smile on his face. He looked rather serious, in fact. I looked at his deep black eyes as they seemed to bore a hole through me. I looked down again at his crotch and saw he was slowly milking himself yet trying to hide it by leaning into his urinal.

I did what Jerry had told me to do and blurted out, "Can I drink your daddymilk, Jesus?"

He gave me a puzzled look, apparently not understanding the vernacular.

"Can I play with you?", I asked, trying to be clearer.

"Play?", he muttered in a very gravelly, low voice.

I then stuck out my hand and tried to reach for his exposed penis.

As if caught off-guard or by surprise, he flinched and pressed into his urinal as to make his penis inaccessible.

But he didn't zip up and didn't act mad. So I tried again and this time he let my little hand reach over to his urinal to feel his big penis. It was all hot and meaty yet spongy. Different than the other men's cocks and yet the same.

"Ahhh, goood, gooood boy!", he then said, a big grin crossing his goateed face. "Bad little boy...good!", he added with glee.

He then turned his head to the left, looking at the main door and then back at me. He kept doing that three of four times. Then he stepped a step back to expose his now fully erect penis to me. Without even touching himself this time, he showed how it could bob up and down on its own! That was the coolest thing ever!

I smiled at him, which I think for a flash caught him by surprise. But then his stern expression turned to an evil grin as he pivoted ninety-degrees to face me, his huge cock grazing my bare arm as it bobbed on its own volition again numerous times. It swiped along my arm and shoulder again, leaving a gooey, snaily trail of that clear stuff some men ooze when they want sex. "Bad little boy you!", he sneered as he slapped my bare shoulders hard with his erection. It smarted as he whacked it and then whacked it again on my smooth flesh. A flick of precum flung off his foreskin and splattered on my cheek as he got off using his cock on me that way.

Then with his left hand, Jesus aimed his cock at my face, while with his right hand, he gripped the top of my head. "SUCK", he almost commanded. He seemingly was getting comfortable with me.

I stretched open my childish jaws as wide as I could. I knew that adult men didn't want to feel any teeth when they put their penises into a boys mouth so I tried my best to make my oral cavity huge for Jesus' huge cock.

At first contact, his penis tasted wet and salty, yet a bit sweet as well. It was a combination of the man's sweaty scrotum and the precum that coated his uncut cockhead. I slurped and sucked, lapping up as much of the man's juices as I could - standing right there at the urinals not far from the leopard habitat! I hadn't sucked on a man in a couple of days and my hunger showed.

Jesus noticed and as he gently gripped my jaw, he whispered, "Little one need to suck papi...huh?"

I simply nodded and gagged out a, "Yeah", as the man worked his penis into my small throat.

Jesus aggressively ground his slim hips back and forth and then into me, forcing more of his cock into my mouth and throat. I gagged for a moment and he pulled back but only slightly. Seeing I had caught my breath, he resumed his aggressive fucking of my mouth. "Little boy SUCK!", he muttered. And again he looked toward the main doors of the rest room.

He then put his finger to his mouth signaling for me to be quiet. Without zipping up, his huge cock indecently jutting from the open fly of his jeans, Jesus cautiously went to the main doors and peeked out from around the doorframe.

Seeing that no one was immediately in the vicinity, he came back toward me. But instead of resuming his position at the urinals, he pointed to the row of stalls further back in the cool, dimly lit room. He went ahead and disappeared into one of the four open stalls. He obviously wanted me to follow him.

I pulled up my little pants and cautiously trailed his footsteps, which lead to an even darker corner of the men's room. At first, I didn't know which of the many stalls he had gone into, their doors all closed, until I saw him standing at, peeking out, of the third one from the farthest wall.

He stood in the stall's doorway, stroking the full length of his dark, forearm-thick erection. He had unsnapped the top button of his jeans and let them fall to mid-thigh. He looked over my head to the main door and then whispered something in Spanish, which told me to quickly get into the stall.

He closed the door and latched its lock. The stall was clean but smelled of zoo people. I turned around and was confronted with Jesus' bouncing throbbing erection. He again grabbed my head and pulled my face into his crotch. "Good bad boy!" he said with great enthusiasm. He slapped his heavy erection on my cheeks and then on the bridge of my nose. He then pushed it between my lips again and down my throat. I had learned to open my throat for men by going with the cock, not fighting it. I knew that if I swallowed it down, although it was super thick, like I was swallowing my food, I would be okay.

And Jesus apparently appreciated my ability. He stared at his cock, half lodged down into my seven-year-old throat and said, "You papi make you do this too I bet!" He then grinned real big again. "Yeah! Good little boy suck papi culo!"

I had no idea what all Jesus was going on about but I knew he was greatly enjoying the blowjob.

He screwed my mouth much rougher than had any of the previous men that week. But I rather liked it since I could feel the strain of his muscles in every thrust. He stood there and pulled me off his penis. He leaned down and placed his mouth over mine, tongue kissing me. Then he stood again and whacked his erection along my neck.

He gave me yet another evil grin as he took my small hands into his and placed them underneath his skintight t-shirt. "Feel real muscle", he said as he guided my grade-schooler's touch along his ripped abs. I could feel they were as hard as rock and lightly dusted in hair. He guided my hands up and up until they were caressing his well-chiseled pecs.

"You like?", he sneered. "I like little boys who like to feel these muscles."

Then, abruptly, he grabbed my head again and forcefully impaled my throat onto his erection. He thrusted and thrusted numerous times, and Jesus seemed to get lost in some fog of his own licentious making.

We were then interrupted by the sound of someone peering over the top of the stall's partition.

"He all yours? Or can anyone have a free sample?", a very dark black man asked. He gave a smile and a wink, showing off very white teeth.

Jesus was more startled by the stranger's appearance than was I. I had become accustomed to the fact that many men can fill a men's room when blowjobs are available. Jesus withdrew his cock and in a panic tried to pull up his jeans.

The black man could see he'd scared Jesus and immediately added, "Hey, hey, hey, my man...no need to fear...just wantin' to get a piece of jail-bait tail myself...mind?"

Jesus stopped what he was doing realizing the guy seemed okay. Leaving his jeans to fall back around his thighs and upon hearing the black man hop off the toilet bowl in the next stall, Jesus quickly unlatched the lock on our door to allow it to open slightly.

I looked around Jesus and could see right outside the door, the black man was standing there, cock in hand looking for a way into our stall. He was a big man and pushed his way in a bit. Jesus looked down to make sure the man's shorts were pulled down and cock out. He then moved to the side a little to allow the black man to slip in.

"Oh, what we got here, my man? This is nothing but a sweet little baby!", the black man said to Jesus. "He your kid or something?"

Jesus said no. "You want to screw him with that monster of yours...or can another man get a blowjob here first?", he then asked Jesus. Jesus didn't respond and then said something in Spanish.

"You can barely understand me, can you my brother?", he said to Jesus.

"He's Mexican", I said, trying to be helpful.

"And he's with you, sweetie pie cocksucker? Now how is that?", the black man asked as he grabbed my wrist and made me wrap my small hand around his very thick, very black shaft.

"You even know him, baby?", the black man added as he guided my hand to caress his huge scrotum as well.

I looked at Jesus who looked at me as if he understood that part. So I shook my head to say no. Even at that age, I figured it might sound better to say that Jesus didn't know me.

And after I did, Jesus relaxed a little, repositioning himself to allow me to also feel his erection again.

"So you're just a little guy all alone sucking men off here in a stinking bathroom at Lincoln Park Zoo?", the black man teased, knowing full well that I had to have had a mommy and daddy not too far away. "Come on and give'old McGee here some suckin' with that baby mouth, little one!"

I leaned forward and to my surprise could feel it was Jesus' hand at the back of my head directing my mouth onto the big black man. Jesus wanted to see me suck the man off.

The man had pulled up his polo-style shirt to below his chest and pulled down his terry cloth shorts to below his huge scrotum. I had never sucked - never even seen - a black man before. His scent and the texture of his penis also were different than all the men I had sucked on earlier in the week. That was another of the pleasures I found as a child - experiencing all the different cocks men had tucked away inside their pants!

McGee groaned big and began to chuckle lightly when he felt the insides of my wet, tight throat. "My, my, my!", he said as he looked into Jesus' eyes. "This baby can suck'em down, can't he?"

"He bad boy!", Jesus chimed in trying to wedge is own erection into my mouth along side of McGee's. But they were both just too wide to get into a first-grader's mouth at the same time.

"He shore is a bad boy!", McGee laughed. "Dang fine bad boy! Where you come from boy?", he asked.

"I couldn't answer since both he and Jesus continued to hold my head firmly in place as the hung black man rode my throat.

"We got time to screw this baby right?", he asked Jesus, almost knowing that the man wouldn't understand him. McGee suddenly lunged forward and stuffed his big black hand into the backside of my pull-on pants. In a swift move, he was rubbing his middle finger along my tiny rosebud back there.

And in another move, he yanked my pull-on pants down to my knees, exposing my smooth little butt

He let out a gasp of air and whispered, "Ohhhhh, myyyyy, fiiiiiiine little sweet puss there...now what sorta parents put a sweeeeeet little fuck butt into such easy-as-pie pants?", he laughed.

Jesus didn't say anything but he also slid a hand back there to feel my smooth buttocks.

Then McGee asked me, "You let men put their things up that sweeeeet, fine hole, baby?"

I simply nodded as I wiggled my butt and kept on sucking deeply on McGee's cock.

He gave Jesus a roll of the eyes and Jesus chuckled.

"Come on then baby...", McGee said, pulling me up to my feet. "We's gunna fuck you...you said you been fucked b'fore, right?"

"A lot of times", I said. It was the truth although they didn't know they had all been on one day.

"Dang! Whose you're daddy?", McGee laughed. "He know he got a toilet room puss right there at home?"

I shook my head as they turned me around. I then soon felt McGee and Jesus fingering my little butthole. They took turns jabbing their fingers deeper and deeper inside of me. I responded by merely sticking out my backside more and more, inviting their molesting digits with glee.

"Geeeeeeeeeez, this baby loves it!", McGee exclaimed as he saddled up behind me and aimed his cock directly at my tiny puckered sphincter. "I might be goings to hell after this one", he said. "So might as well enjoy every minute!"

He then lunged forward, barely caring if my small butthole could even handle his assault. At least I knew what would be coming and held my own mouth shut as the man's thick black cock ripped into me. The pain was excruciating. Perhaps it was because I hadn't been fucked in days or the fact this man was hung super thick, but I felt as though his cock had shoved my bladder up into my heart.

"Sheeeeeeeeetttttttt! My lord in heaven!", McGee exclaimed as he laughed. "Come're 'n' feel this!" he said, taking Jesus' hand and placing it at my stretched butthole along his fucking cock. "I'm fucking me a school kid's butt!"

Jesus took the opportunity to help the proceedings along. He came to where my head was hanging and stuck his cock back into my mouth where I nursed on it like a baby. He then held my little buttcheeks wide apart making it even easier for both McGee to screw away on it - and for Jesus to see the black cock piston in and out of my small body while doing it.

"This one is too tiiiiight to hold off! DANG DAMN it's a fine fuck!" McGee grunted as he thrust into me with purpose. He looked at Jesus and said, "You, amigo, are gunna be getting yourself sloppy seconds in like fifteen mo'seconds."

I was shoved and shoved into again by McGee's dick. Then I could sense this stranger tense up and knew I'd soon be filled with his daddymilk.

"Uhhhhhhh...oozing my juice into ya, baby!" the black man groaned in a hushed voice. "You gots in you McGee juice, sweetie...take all that fiiiiine juice into yo' little body!"

Although it was only as he was withdrawing, I could feel the last of his splurts of semen as the big man unloaded his nuts into me.

Then, quite abruptly he said in an off-handed manner to Jesus, "'All yours, my brother!" And McGee stepped back, saying not a word to me as he left the stall and went to another one to pull himself together.

Jesus had me stay in that position as he shut our door and latched it once again. He wasted no time in aiming his thick meaty erection directly into my sperm-oozing little hole. He seemed to enjoy having the other man's juices inside my small frame as a lubricant. And in no time, Jesus was losing his own load deep up inside of me. Another load of daddymilk shot into me! I was grinning although my face was almost hitting the toilet bowl and no one could see it.

Then as Jesus withdrew his spent cock he seemed to get his senses back. He leaned down to help me up. With his jeans still down, he asked, "Okay?", with a look of grave concern on his face. I didn't know if the concern was for me or for himself, but he looked concerned. I smiled at him and answered his question by trying to again reach for his cock, which was now soft and meaty hanging between his muscular thighs.

He laughed as he pulled my hand away. "No more!" He backed away to pull up his pants. He then saw me trying to deal with all the semen running out of my little butt. He took some toilet paper and wiped off some of the obvious semen, which had collected on my small buttocks and the back of my thighs.

But then he swiftly pulled up my pull on pants. "Bad little boys ...they keep the seeds in them", he said with a lustful and evil smile.

He then took some more toilet paper and wiped up some streaks of semen the two men had smeared along my back, arms and chest. Once he'd zipped up and made sure he looked presentable, he slowly unlatched the stall door and peeked out. Seeing the men's room was quiet, we quickly exited the stall and went to the sinks.

Suddenly Jesus was playing the quasi-dad again as he directed me to squirt soap onto my hands and to wash up really good. He stood at the sink beside mine and washed his hands and then rinsed his face well. He kept looking at himself in the mirror. I took the opportunity before we left to reach and grope his crotch. He chuckled but this time let me squeeze his penis throgh his jeans as he stood at the mirrors combing his hair.

"You like that.", he stated. "Jesus has big one for little boys...Maria and me not do...it...in long, long time."

He then barred my touch but affectionately squeezed my hand a bit. "There is more in my big penis for you to drink."

I smiled and we left.

"We go back to Maria", he said. We stopped at the drinking fountain and again he had to lift me up to reach the running water. This time though, as he lifted me, he sensed my butthole was in pain. "Better like this?", he asked repositioning his grasp. I could feel the pools of semen inside my butt squish around. Some felt like it was drooling out of my little butthole.

We walked back to where we'd left Maria. She sat in the same position; same baby in her arms, same shade tree over their heads, the same kiosk across from them...yet things were totally different since we'd parted. I now had her husband's, Tomas' daddy's daddymilk inside my body. As we approached them, I grinned at Maria although I doubt she knew the real reason why.

She did look a lot better though having had the rest. And Tomas looked most content sleeping in her arms. He must have had a good lunch.

But now I was hungry. Sex makes guys hungry - even first-grade guys! Maria seemed to notice and asked if we should find something to eat. I nodded and Jesus nodded so we were off to the concession court of the zoo. As she gathered the bassinet, she handed me back my shirt simply saying, "It is dry". I asked her if I could keep it off and she simply said, "It is up to you." She then took it, folded it neatly and placed it in the bassinet. "Tell me when you want...to put on again".

I smiled and said okay -- happy to remain shirtless for a whole day at the zoo!

We walked around trying to figure out what to order. They saw a stand selling hamburgers and hotdogs and Maria said she'd love a big cheeseburger. So as she found us a table, Jesus and I wandered off and got the food.

Once seated at the table, we noticed that the gang of high school guys had pulled two tables together not far from us and were wolfing down food. They seemed to have settled down a little - perhaps it was the food.

Maria asked Jesus what all we had seen while she'd nursed. He told her we saw some big cat and birds but not much else. She asked why - that we'd been gone so long. I chimed in by saying I got all into the black leopard and wouldn't go anywhere else.

Maria seemed to accept that while she only seemed to play with her juicy cheeseburger. As I sat across from her, I ate a foot long hotdog and all the time all that I could feel was the warm semen of her husband in my butt as I sat on the hard wooden bench.

I looked up and saw the teenaged boys again were trying to make me giggle. One balanced a french fry on his nose and then another opened his mouth super wide as one of his buddies tossed raisins into it.

After we ate, Maria said she'd like to see the giraffes and so off we went. Giraffes and then elephants and then three-toed sloths. After ninety-minutes of looking at animals, Maria said she was tired and wanted to rest. We again found a bench but as soon as she sat down, she got up again and said she needed to find a ladies room. So we all got up again and headed toward the final sector of the zoo - the area Bill Big had told me not to miss - the Reptile House.

Maria saw the signs and before we got any closer, said, "I no not like snakes and things..." She made a frightful expression, clearly stating she's not be going within the Reptile House.

Jesus explained, "Maria hates these things because a snake did bites her one time when she was girl."

"But you go...", she said. "You go with Jesus." Then she again began looking for the rest rooms, which we'd been told were located not far from the Reptile House.

Jesus was carrying Tomas' bassinet. As we wandered around looking for the restrooms, the baby awoke and began to cry. There were no empty benches nearby and so we all stopped in the middle of a wide promenade. Jesus held the bassinet as Maria tended to Tomas. She said something to Jesus along the lines that the baby seemed to be wet but that she wasn't feeling well and had to get to the ladies room.

So Jesus told her to go and we'd all meet back in front of the Reptile House. Maria stood there, clearly in discomfort and again not looking well. Jesus then said that we would take Tomas along with us, change him and then tour the Reptile House, which she didn't want to see anyway. Maria seemed relieved to hear that. They looked around and saw there was a large refreshment stand with many tables outside the large gift shop, which was located nearer to the zoo's exit.

"We will meet there", Maria said.

"After the Reptile House?". I asked, not wanting to miss Big Bill's suggestion.

"Si, I will wait...you have fun looking at bad ugly things.", Maria replied.

We then found the large brick restroom building. On the closer side was the entrance to the Ladies Room. And the on the far opposite side, in the rear, its entrance shaded and hidden from view, was yet another Men's Room.

I wondered if I might have another chance to suck on Jesus' thick cock once inside. But seeing we had Tomas along in his bassinet, I dashed all hopes of that!

To be continued... Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com