Date: Mon, 23 Feb 2004 17:45:20 -0600 From: gloryhole JUNKIE gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com Subject: "Whoring With Dad Part" Part 9e

Whoring With Dad Part 9e: "In (Kevy) Like a Choo Choo..." (or "Little Boys Love Trains")

By: Mr.gloryholeJUNKIE gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com

Disclaimer & Warning

So, some among you open this latest chapter and sigh (or is that "hrrrummph"?) as you look at all the words ("The words, doc! It's the words that scare me most!"). And its then that (while milking your demanding penis anyway -- cuz that's what wonderfully perverted guys do) you ask yourself, "Fuck, can one freakin' piece of queer erotica carry with it any MORE disclaimers and warnings than does this dang "Whoring With Dad"?!

Whoa! Settle down, my meaty buckaroos! For those not into the preambles, simply catch your breath (set your $29.99 Suck-O-Matic to its lowest setting, if need be) and merely scroll down.

Down... ...down... ...down...

...Until you bypass this "Disclaimer & Warning"...bypass the "Preface"...and jump right to the continuing story!

See? That wasn't so hard!

(Although you can't read this if you actually did scroll down) By scrolling down, that other text making your brain go, "Ouch, reading lots of words hurts real bad, man! I just wanna beat off to perving on tots, ghJ!", will all simply go away.

(POOF!)

Therefore, those of you who are impatient and overly over-enthusiastic to shoot your cum into a little kid -- even if only in the abstract (your keyboard hopefully substituting for any open little mouth), please feel free to scroll down and get on with "Whoring With Dad" if you must. But be warned

• you are a man who may have the tendency to disregard Life's simple warnings, which, therefore, may be a sign that you'd do something reckless when in the employ of a KinderKare.

And you give good indication that you'd "do" something irresponsibly impulsive while playing a monster at your town's annual Halloween House -- you know, while among the other menfolk in town who dress up like big, scary creatures that jump out at little kids as they make their way through a maze of rooms. You'd be the sort of guy, the author would imagine, who'd use the opportunity to feel up every little guy that shivers'n'quakes past your scare station.

"Mommy? Daddy?"

"Yes, dear?"

"That Haunty House was the funnest thing, mommy... but when I went into the last room...I think the Werewolf did something bad...he put his hairy hands down my pants and then felt up Jeremy, Michael, Billy and Todd, too!"

"No, kiddo, you MUST be mistaken...that's just what Werewolves do", dad pipes up with a lecherous glint in his eye. "Now, quit the stupid talk and let's go see how wide you can crack open your jaws while apple bobbing!"

Clearly, the molester playing the Werewolf is a guy like those of you who bypass "Disclaimers & Warnings" - a guy willing to "risk it" without giving the situation much thought. After all, the only way for that Haunted House to "work" would be if all the men running it (perhaps NAMBLA) were working in lecherous cooperation with one another. Then, you'd have every little kid in the metro area telling the same incredulous story -- that the Werewolf...and Dracula...and Frankenstein's monster...and the Mummy...and the rotting corpse...all felt them up or stuck a big, hairy dick in their mouths as they passed! Officials would simply chalk it up as the same childish group hysteria, which prompted the Salem witch trials. And parents, sensing their boys have all gone "loopy" would instead demand that the county test the elementary school's drinking water!

So scroll down if you must...but you've been warned (if not disclaimed even).

Routine disclaimers may be inserted here. Oh, things like:

Be of legal age and in a locale where one will not be scourged in the public square for reading such material (exhibitionistic S&M leather slaves in the Castro may disregard this warning).

If you are an adult, never involve yourself in any manner with a minor...well, you know...sexually. It's okay to take little boys to the movies, um, so long as you understand, of course, that in no way does that include sneaking them into the back row of the KittyKat XXX that's currently showing "Restroom Ron's Cumpig Gloryhole Record-Breaker: Ron Drains 500 Cocks in a Single Afternoon".

Take them instead to "Lord of the Rings" (and don't you dare cut out the bottom of the popcorn bucket on your lap in an attempt to get them to stroke your thick adult erection throughout the film, you sneaky perv)!

Also, seek and get the author's written consent before using this story for any purpose other than your own personal masturbation. That would mean that if you want to post this to another site, don't.

Preface

(I can hear you guys now: "Oh no! Another Preface, too! I shoulda scrolled when warned!")

Carnivale is upon us. Its a festive time promising colorful costumes, dazzling parades and six-foot-tall transies balancing banana headdresses upon their be-wigged heads.

But, most importantly, it's a time to eat meat.

Hey, wait! When isn't it a time to eat meat?! (Oh, never mind - that's just your insatiable, cocksucking author talking).

And with Carnivale comes not only gorging on food and drink, but also full license to immerse oneself in one's lusts and sexual deviancy.

If you're doing it right, that is.

Sure, many local churches will have a rather pathetic "Carnivale" or "Mardi Gras" fund-raising night in the parish hall. You know, where bottom-heavy Polish or Italian ladies will serve up monstrous aluminum foil baking dishes of mostaccioli or pigs-in-a-blanket and call it a "festival". An event where men will be steered away from the real intent of Carnivale and instead play Ring Toss all night to the sounds of the school band struggling through "One Note Samba" for the third time.

But as is often the case, as the men wander off to smoke a cigarette -- or merely escape all the "fun" -- by heading into the men's room, one immediately understands what they'd all much rather be doing.

There, the men, some wearing inexpensive, feathered masks, chat about nothing as they find themselves absent-mindedly stroking their daddy dicks while at the urinals -- their bodies just "coincidentally" standing in such a way that makes it easy for the curious little boys looking back at them through the mirrors at the sinks to see what they're dying to see. In order to show the little guys what grown men got in their pants, and sensing everyone is into it, the men begin to slowly wag their dicks at the sexually-adventuresome tykes and in that moment, one realizes the true spirit of Mardi Gras thrives in that church hall tearoom!

Yep, if they'd been given a better Mardi Gras "Parade Marshall" than sixty-something Sister Innocentia, these men would much rather be indulging in what their loins are not-so-quietly whispering for them to do.

Its in that simple act, while unzipped and feeling "randy" at the urinals -- feeling bold with kids -- that most dads in that parish hall wish they were spending the final days before Lent by squeezing big boobs in New Orleans or getting blowjobs from strangers in Venice or, yeah, by shoving their daddy boners into any little butthole in Rio.

But only cuz its "Carnivale" time, of course!

In Venice, Carnevale is an elaborate and somewhat intricate festival if done with any sense of lascivious tradition. And when done "right", under the veil and centuries-old oath of secrecy, it allows men to sexually do whatever -- and to whomever -- they like. And what most Carnevale men enjoy best is hardcore group sex among other men and boys.

Oh, sure, during daylight hours, they make a big show of macho love to their pretty blonde girlfriends or big-titted wives. But come sunset, something happens to most men in Italy. Women fade from their carnal desires (quickly) as their dicks thicken at the sight of masculine crotches as scores of men openly cruise one another upon cobbled streets. Married men, fathers and, yes, even shopkeepers (my goodness!) know they'll unzip and ram their dicks into that most fuckable backside of the very, very young lad they're all following down a dark, dead-ended canalway.

Call it the "Homo Hours" if you like.

And what better opportunity for the most decadent and depraved sexual encounters than Carnevale when men run the streets at night, unidentifiable and inter-changeable beneath dark robes and elaborate masks? It doesn't take a genius to know the ways in which a great many men have long exploited the tradition for their own most-perverted pleasures.

For Carnevale is the time when graying, middle-aged men whisper into the ear of every young teenaged boy they pass (as they hand the kid a mask of Scapino ...and directions) to meet them under the bridge where at midnight they'll blow the youth and any of his other horny buddies. And it's during that week when those same kids, many with just wisps of public hair and newly capable of producing the stuff that makes babies - excitedly get together (and thinking it "fun") will actually decided to take the men up on their offer. Sneaking out of their houses, they meet their buddies, put on their masks -- and with the courage mustered only as group (and masks) -- will standing under that bridge and feed the lecherously-delighted men numerous loads of adolescent sperm at midnight.

Its especially at Carnevale time, with its permissions to do whatever one likes, that men will feel free to do whatever they like to young boys. And conversely, under the cloak of costume, any young lad, even the littlest of boys, can get involved in the heavy man sex with occurs in most every dark nook and cranky of Venice after dark.

In fact, some dads or other lecherous men use the opportunity to get their little guy all dressed in disguise with the sole intent of sneaking him into that large huddle of dark-cloaked men wearing phallic-beaked volto masks at the bottom of a stairwell - their raging, drooling erections prepared for anonymous orgy. Sometimes, the men don't even notice who is sucking all of them -- only discovering it's a six-year-old lad when they go to gangbang his butt - and find it so tiny and so smooth.

What more clearly demonstrates a man's depraved carnal lusts than the potent image of him, hidden behind a grandly intimidating mask, his black robes parted as his hot and rutting loins are serviced by an anonymous tot?

Yet, perhaps because of liquor or their masks or the agreement of Carnevale to do whatever and to whomever you like and to, afterwards, never, ever mention what occurs, most men seize the opportunity to live the intention of the festival to its fullest. For worse than any sexual tryst which may occur in a gondola moored for repairs in a darkened alcove between two well-built men and a small boy -- whose parents thought they'd tucked the little guy into bed hours earlier - is the revelation of revelers' identities. The sexual acts of many men were (and are) so scandalous and lascivious that, centuries ago, a "law" was enacted making it punishable to rip away a man's mask during Carnevale - no matter how lewd and lurid his acts.

And in Brazil, it's even worse (or better, as a reader would have to determine for himself). For its with "Carnivale" that men even more freely exploit the thousands of child whores who, like little cockroaches, swarm the back alleys of Brazil's largest cities.

Even the elderly radio personality, Paul Harvey clearly seemed to pant a bit as he related the "news-worthy" story of older men by the thousands easily buying Brazilian children's cumholes for a mere 20-cents a "pop". (Hmm, no wonder some guys prefer radio - they can read copy with their pants down)!

And in Brazil, the most common prostitutes have long been the throngs of little boys, aged from infancy to eleven, left orphaned or abandoned to the streets due to gross poverty. Pockets of major cities swell with tykes, barely clothed, and most willing to have any man that comes along, ejaculate into him for, in many cases, literally, a piece of bread. There are so many thousands of these cumhole-urchins that no person or government can either aid or hinder their complete exploitation.

Some of you fine readers are now weeping as you reach for your checkbooks (just be prepared to write one out for, "Six billion and 00/100 dollars", thankyouverymuch)...while the rest of you gents (I call you that cuz of that handsome dick throbbing hard in your pants) are now popping over to expedia.com to check on fares to Aeroporto de Congonhas!

Boy street whores are more than a mere aberration in Brazilian cities. By most accounts, it's one of the largest industries (that means "money-makers") which that country "produces". For, added to the "regular and essential ingredients" that go into cranking out innumerable street-walking blowjob boys and back alley gangbang tots anywhere - things such as desolate poverty, ignorance and indifference -- is the age-old philosophy among most Brazilian men that sex with little kids, especially boys, is normal and really no big deal. It's this particular component among many Brazilian men that makes the industry of "kids swallowing cum for less than a quarter" huge there.

In fact, in most any large Brazilian city, there are few if any laws pertaining to a man buying a tiny-butthole-for-hire on his way to or from the office! If a man makes a decent wage there, he can literally buy some kid's mouth and squirt cum into on his way to work; shoot cum into another kid's butt while on his espresso break; blow seed all over four more boys he's given a sandwich to in exchange for servicing his daddycock during his lunch hour; and still hire yet another little mouth "to feed" after work. And, hell, he can do all that for just $1.40 a day!

So as Carnivale approaches, and men go even more wild in their lustful pursuit of all things licentious and depraved, you can imagine the "work" thrust into the faces of those tykes whose sole existence is to whore themselves out to men! Days and nights during Carnivale, scores of little boys service man after man in the labyrinth of dingy, filthy alleyways.

And in New Orleans, during Mardi Gras, when Northern men get drunk and look around to do anything that's 'right nasty and all carpetbagger-like... there have been cases where actual pimp dads, after dark, have had their little sons sit at first-floor open windows down gloomy wrought iron-clad walkways and perform lurid sexual services throughout the night upon any adult male who hops upon a box. Most men are so blind drunk as they make the decision to squirt sperm in the little toddler that most couldn't even point out the correct alleyway again once they'd made it back to the loud, swirling festivities on Bourbon Street.

But then Ash Wednesday comes along and men shake their heads reliving all the bad, bad things they'd done. But as is in keeping with the spirit of Carnivale, they never dwell too long on anything so silly as pangs of guilt. After all, no one knew what they'd done and all is forgiven since depravity is the essence of the celebrations. Wearing a mask of feather or booze, men are given license those few special days to do whatever they're planning to give up for Lent. Perhaps many figure, "Hell, I'll give up boy hookers for Lent...it's just for forty-days after all!"

Hey, men! I think its time we rejoin the conga-line that's forming behind Kevy's butt at the Lawson Y - where a towel is a man's only costume!

Whoring With Dad Part 9e: "In (Kevy) Like a Choo Choo..." (or "Little Boys Love Trains")

By: Mr.gloryholeJUNKIE gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com

For a brief moment I felt a little strange being totally naked as we made our way to the elevator. Other than in the pool downstairs, I had never before walked around a place totally naked (except for plastic flip-flops, that is). But just as I wondered if it was really okay to be in such a state, my concern quickly dissipated as we passed the communal bath and shower room on our floor.

At the very moment we were coming to the double doors, they opened and two men, stark naked, exited the bathroom. They, like the other men, gave us the double take but then just stood there talking to one another. I took the opportunity to stare at their penises, each soft but long and maned in thick public hair. How I loved men's penises.

Even at seven, I was entranced by and adored men's physiques and their sex organs - grown-ups' sex organs. I don't know where that fascination, (call it a child's lust), came from but from earliest recollection I was "in love" with men and their bodies.

I even recall a dream I had at age three and a half or four, from which I awoke in the middle of the night. It was a depraved sexual dream from which I suddenly found myself wide-awake. At that age, my parents kept my bedroom door ajar so a shaft of low light from a small lamp in the hallway could serve as a nightlight. I recall this urgent impulse to jump out of my bed because I knew, somehow knew, I couldn't "do" what I was compelled to "do" while in a bed.

I got out of bed and was flooded with this need to strip off my little pajama bottoms. Totally naked and erect I stood far back enough from my dresser mirror to see myself fully, although dimly, in it's reflected surface. I was barely three-feet tall at the time but had this overwhelming need to feel myself all over in a sexual way as I stood there looking at myself.

It was my earliest recollection of masturbating. But what was most interesting about the "event" was what was racing through my pre-schooler's mind at the time. As though "forced" awake and out of bed by this sexual "need", as I ran my hands all over my small, smooth body - pulling at my little penis and caressing my little buttocks - images of numerous adult men feeling me up played through my mind. There were "hands" and hairy penises all over me yet it was I who was, somehow, the "sultan" of this harem of naked and molesting men.

It was almost as if that were the night something came to me - or, perhaps, even sexually possessed me. As early as three or four, I clearly and utterly knew what I lusted for. And in that lust, I "knew" or profoundly sensed what my purpose would be in life.

I did not know at that time that it was more than a mere "dream" I was having, but was, indeed, a premonition of what was to come. Often, throughout my life, I have had these premonitions, more than a dream or even purposeful "creative visualization" -- but actual premonitions, or psychic foresight, into things, oftentimes sexual, which will only unfold later.

And so as I walked along with my handsome dad who was holding Tomas, rather than any fear or shyness, I felt quite comfortable in the company of naked adult men. That's not to say I had no social sense or hesitancy in performing sexual acts with men when I knew it would be an inappropriate moment. For I always respected the fact that most adult men preferred some curtain of secrecy when engaging in sex with me.

I knew, for example, never to be sexual around men whenever a woman may be present. I first came to sense that "rule" when we'd be at places where women - moms -- might be around. Men were so different with me in their presence - until we'd find ourselves in a men's room or alone. It was never anything that was quite articulated by any particular man. It was just through observation and my innate sensibilities that made me understand completely that most grown up men did things with me only when or once a woman "disappeared" from the scene. And these same men, once zipped up again, would almost as a rule then "pretend" nothing had occurred the moment a wife or mom returned.

And so, although I stared at the penises of these two men in the corridor, I still knew it would be too risky to do what I was so longing to do with them in from of my dad. Despite my feeling his erection that night as he slept, I still feared he'd get mad at me for the stuff I let men to me. But greater than a fear of his wrath, I feared his wrath would cut me off from the bodies of anonymous grown-up playmates!

Even as a little kid, I had a developed sensibility about the "beauties" of fully grown men. I adored their muscles and hairy chests. I lusted for their large, hairy scrotums and big cocks. I loved the way their whiskers felt when they'd suck my hairless penis or the way their pubic hairs scratched by smooth butt as they thrust their penises up my butthole. It may sound funny, but I was one of those little kids who loved a touch of gray at a man's temples. Heck, I even rather adored balding men when I was a tyke. Perhaps that was because, unlike other boys my age who never experienced balding men sexually, I came to realize the immense power of their testosterone-driven perversions!

And of course it was only big boys and men who could feed me the daddymilk to which I was now addicted.

If anything at that age, I never quite understood why big, strapping adult men wanted to have sex with me. After all, even I wasn't interested in the bodies of my school pals. I mean, I'd look at their penises at the school urinals and in gym class and think, "Hmm, they'll be cool when they get to be teenagers and have pubic hair around them."

In fact, when I was seven, I was not terribly interested in sexual things with anyone until they were at least teenagers. I'd love to look at the penises of big boys in high school who'd be pissing at the urinals at the mall. Or I'd follow around, like a puppy, the college aged boys strutting their wares at Oak Street beach, entranced by their big bulges, biceps and underarm hair! My young eyes would follow that line of public hair on the boys' lower abdomens...and want to get into their swimsuits!

Still though, when even younger than seven, when I'd go to the beach with my mom and dad, I was far more taken with my dad's handsome physique and those of the various men who'd be coming out of the water. I'd sit there purposefully close to the surf with my little pail and shovel in order to see adult men, their trunks all soaked and showing hefty, swing meat as they'd exit the water. I was pretending to play in the sand but actually I was learning all about men's bodies - the way they were built and their wide variations.

And now here I was in a big building, surrounded by full-grown men! We passed the two naked men in the hallway and soon my dad was pressing for the elevator.

"We'll drop Tomas off with Sid and then have some fun ourselves", dad said.

The elevator doors opened and we got inside with three other men, one of whom was naked like myself. His towel was over his shoulder and I made sure to stand right next to him so my face was nearly level with his belly button. I followed his hairy, flat abdomen down and looked directly at his penis which was long and had all that skin some men sported. I liked men's foreskin a lot because it was fun to chew and and taste precum on it when a man would put his penis at my lips.

As we rode down, I looked up and the man very sternly looked down at me. He was almost a little scary the way his steely eyes stared at me.

Another of the men tried to make light conversation in the elevator car. "Didn't realize they'd turned this into a Holiday Inn", he said in a chipper voice.

My dad just laughed as we all stared ahead at the doors and then replied, "Well, its just for the night."

The man quickly replied with a smile, "Hey, no complaints here. I have two boys of my own so I understand."

The third man, about my dad's age and wearing a dark blue Speedo, enigmatically said, "Well, a boy can do a lot here that he can't at a Holiday Inn."

The men - other than the stern naked man - all chuckled just as the doors parted and a waft of damp, chlorinated air permeated my nostrils.

"Second level...pool, steamroom, saunas, anatomy class...", the first man jested as he held the doors open.

As the three men went to the left, my dad turned right and led the way to the vast locker room. I padded along side of him as we passed two or three other men at their lockers in various states of undress. For only a moment, I caught a glimpse of a muscular tower of man with the most incredible body just as he pulled down his white undershorts and let his fat cock flop out. I wanted to stop at that aisle of lockers but my dad was intent on getting Tomas to the towel room.

There, within the locker room, was a dutch door, its upper part open like a window. A sign above it said, "TOWELS". I couldn't see over the door without stretching on my toes. Beyond was a big room of racks and racks of white towels. Dotting the aisles were large laundry carts on wheels, most of them at this early hour, empty. In the back, one could hear the whirling noises of what sounded like washing machines.

Dad tapped the bell that sat on the ledge of the lower dutch door.

From a small office off to one side inside the towel room, appeared a thin, non-descript looking man in his mid-forties wearing a white T-shirt, white slacks and a black leather belt.

He saw us and smiled big. "Heyyyy you brought 'im!", he said with some measure of glee. "Didn't know if you'd really do it or not."

Dad stood there and handed Tomas over to the man, who grabbed him like a man not wanting anyone to snatch his sack of potatoes away. "Yeahhhh, look at this little guy! Holy shit, you weren't kidding!"

Dad then handed the few items for Tomas through the open window. "And this seemed to work out", dad said handing Sid the homemade baby bottle. "Got him to drink a little milk out of it, at least."

Sid grinned big as he took the obscene bottle from my dad. "Thought it would work...", he then stopped as though he were about to say too much. "And this is your little champ, eh?", he continued as he looked down at where I stood. "I heard all about you."

"Really?", I asked softly.

"Yeah, from some of the guys the last time you were here.", he explained. "They had a real good time that day you were here."

I beamed inside happy to know I made so many men happy.

"You taking the kid into the pool again?", Sid then asked as he turned his attentions back to my dad.

"Yeah, I think we'll swim", dad said. "'Might be a couple of hours, if that's okay. We don't want to hold you up any."

"Shit, my man", Sid said as he looked at Tomas and lightly bounced him in his basket. "You can leave this with me all day...wooohooo!"

"Well, as long as you really don't mind", dad said.

"Tell you what", the towel attendant said. "I even promise not to toss him in with the wash when we play!", he laughed as he winked at me.

Sid walked away for a moment and placed Tomas' Moses basket down in the small office. He pulled the baby from it and let Tomas crawl around the linoleum-tiled floor in there as he closed the office door. Sid then returned to the dutch doors and said, "I promise he'll be in one piece when you get done...but that's all I promise", the man joked lewdly.

A buzzer on one of the washing machines then buzzed and Sid said he had to go. He stepped away and disappeared to somewhere in the far back of the large towel room.

Dad shrugged and smiled. "Well, thank God for Sid", he said as he took me by the hand. "Now we can make sure you have a fun morning!"

I smiled big as a sudden resurgence of excitement returned to me. I love swimming although I was just learning. And what I loved even more was the fact there were men there to help me learn.

Dad and I walked to the swimming pool, the humidity and bleachy aroma becoming stronger as we neared.

It was still early, just about eight in the morning, so there were many businessmen at the pool doing their laps before heading to their offices. I stood at the deep end with my dad as we assessed the situation. Suddenly, a man in his fifties, with a hairy chest and thick penis dripping with water, walked up to us and smiled. "Lap swimming only for the next half hour, I'm afraid", he said to my dad and me.

"We'll have to wait", dad said simply as he anticipated my disappointment.

"What is your name, my fine small friend?", the handsome, white haired man asked me.

"Kevin", I said. "And this is my daddy."

"Well, good to make your acquaintance, Kevin", the man said. "You're just what this place needed this chilly morning. My name is Douglas and I sell commodities. What do you do for a living?"

I giggled since it was such a silly thing to ask a seven-year-old. "I go to school...that's what kids my age do!", I said.

"Oh, my! A scholar!", Douglas said with great awe. The man lightly gripped my left bicep and added, "And an athlete, too, I see."

"No", I blushed. "My daddy's an athlete though, like...for real", I said. "He's like an Olympic swimmer."

Douglas looked at me and said, "Oh, I can see that, too. You're a chip off the old block I can see that!"

"Though Kevin's getting there though", dad replied. "He's taking to the water like a natural." Dad stared at the men doing vigorous laps; his gaze betraying the fact he wanted to dive in.

"Why don't you go in, dad?", I offered quietly. "You can go in because you can do laps like that and I can't. I can wait."

"No, no", dad said as he continued to look at the water being cut through by three men going back and forth. "This is your treat -- this overnighter."

"Oh, do go in", Douglas said as he looked at me. "I'll keep an watchfuleye out for Master Kevin if that's your concern."

"Well", dad hesitated. "If you really don't mind, I could stand to burn off some stress. There's been a lot of running around this morning."

"No trouble whatsoever!", Douglas said with a happy smile. "In fact, I was just about to head to the steamroom for a while. Perhaps Kevin can join me there while you get in your exercise?"

Dad thanked the man and said that anything Douglas wanted to do would be fine with him. "You go with Douglas", dad said to me. "You'll like the steamroom, I think."

I had never been in a steamroom so didn't know what to expect. It did sound rather oppressive though as I only had images of our maid standing over a steam iron as she pressed my mother's dresses racing through my head.

Dad then slowly pulled off the towel which was wrapped around his waist. And all at once one could literally sense a dozen pair of eyes dart to his large, handsome genitalia.

"Now I can see where our little scholar inherited what he's got", Douglas said as he looked at my dad's body. "A fine mind and fine body should be the pursuit of all young men."

Dad thanked the man and waved at me briefly as he dove into the pool to join in the lap swimming.

"And you're now coming with me, Kevin", Douglas instructed as he took my hand and led me away from the pool. As we left, I saw two other men, who noticed our departure, had gathered their towels and gave my father a cautious look before following us out.

"So you have never been in a steamroom before, Kevin?", Douglas asked me as he lead me down a tiled hallway. "That surprises me from some of the things I think I have heard about you."

"What do you mean?", I asked.

"Oh, I know things...there are little birdies all around here at the Lawson", the white-haired man said as he squeezed my small hand.

I didn't understand what Douglas meant but was so excited to be taken away somewhere by this naked stranger with a big penis.

We came to a corridor lined with two saunas and another, larger room with a glass window. We stopped and Douglas had me look in through the window. I couldn't see a thing. It was as if it were a pane of thick milk glass or had been painted white. I stared hard into the room but still could see nothing through what I surmised was steam.

"See? Here they make the steam so heavy and thick that nobody can see anything that goes on inside", Douglas said with some measure of glee. "You might bump into someone inside and never even be able to see him! So be ready!"

At once I thought that was both a scary and exhilarating thought. It would be like getting lost in one of the bunny-shaped clouds in the sky but with naked men within it.

Douglas never let go of my hand as we peered through the window. He was stalling as he apparently spotted the two others from the pool who quickly approached. Without even acknowledging us, the two men placed their towels on a row of hooks outside the steamroom door. As they did so, I counted another five towels hung there also.

The two men, both dark haired with hairy chests and maybe a bit younger than my daddy, opened the door, letting a billowing cloud of steam escape as they slipped into the steamroom.

"Wow!", I said all impressed with the visuals.

Douglas chuckled as he was apparently taken with my sweet naivete. "And lots more fun inside...", he said as he led me by the hand into the vast, steam-filled room.

Immediately upon entering, I felt like a limp noodle. In an instant, I was drenched and felt all warm and relaxed. I also felt something of a ghost since the steam was so chalky white and dense as to obscure my own arms from my sight. One barely had but a few inches of visibility in this wondrous room; it was as though I were suddenly disembodied.

Knowing I would be "lost" otherwise, Douglas maintained a firm grasp of my little hand as he led me deeper into the humid chamber. As we inched along, I felt a strange hand, from somewhere, graze gently across my tiny buttocks. Perhaps it was just a thing in the room I had brushed past. But as it felt me again, I knew for certain it was someone's hand - a large hand that ever so gently cupped my entire butt in its hand.

But soon the hand lost its hold when Douglas led me further along. As we cautiously figured out a path, I felt another, different set of hands very gingerly grab me at my waist. Since I knew it was only adult men in the steamroom, I didn't make a sound. I didn't want to scare off the molesting hands! This was too much fun.

The hands ran along my waist and down my front to where they began to gently play with my penis and hairless scrotum. It felt so wonderful that I thought I would collapse!

We stood still like that for a moment as I assumed that Douglas was trying to find a place to go. And as we stood in place, the set of large hands on me took their fullest liberties as they more aggressively milked and fondled my childish genitals. As I stayed still, my hand in Douglas', yet another hand found my left inner thigh and began its exploration in the fog. That third hand met the two other hands on my penis and together they masturbated me luridly although very tenderly.

This third hand then slipped around to my butt where I could feel its thick fingers prodding in their attempt to pry apart my small buttcheeks. I spread my legs only slightly, allowing the unseen man's fingers to do whatever they like to me.

And at that moment, Douglas let go of my hand. I was cut loose in the fog yet I could sense his tall frame had turned and squatted before me. And in the next second, I felt his hot, wet mouth engulf my erect penis and scrotum in one gulp. It felt as though I'd entered a sucking cavern as the white-haired man nursed on my youngster's boner in a lovingly, though quite voraciously way.

Although "disembodied", every physical sensation allowed a little boy was overwhelmingly heightened. No one uttered a word as I stood there with three "invisible" men doing what they wanted with my body, each performing obscene acts on me - their identities obscured within this steamy veil.

As I spontaneously reached out, mostly to retain my balance in the disorienting steam, immediately, two other men gripped me at my wrists as to guide my hands to their moist, steamy genitals. I don't know whose penises my little fists were milking, and barely cared. I was more taken with the rough, stubbly chin parting my buttcheeks as an anonymous tongue began to lick and lap at my pink, seven-year-old rosebud.

To be continued... gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com