Terrible Tad 5 to 6

By PatrickNaked

Copyright 2022 by PatrickNaked all rights reserved

Terrible Tad 5: An Old Woman’s Story

I left Hammond, Texas behind in 1970. There was nothing left to hold me. There were two loving parents… but I had no love for myself, and theirs couldn’t compensate.

I stayed in touch. I returned every few years to visit and to sadly bear witness to their advancing years. I returned to bury one, then only months later, the other. I never returned again. That second grave I stood over could’ve been for the town itself.

I made a family… a husband, two daughters and a son. The children eventually left to make their own families. A few years after the last had flown the nest, my husband left by way of the exit my parents had taken.

In 2020, I was recently retired and lived alone in the house he and I had purchased early in our marriage. The combined income of our careers allowed for a large, beautiful Victorian house of the Queen Anne style… the type that neighborhood children would just know to be haunted. And I, with my still long but now iron-gray hair and a penchant for wearing the old-fashioned shawls I liked to knit, must have assuredly been a witch.

It was I, the witch, who was haunted, not the house. Ghosts aren’t always of the dead. Memories that won’t die can stalk the living and be just as harrowing.

Although I lived alone, I wasn’t truly alone. The children lived relatively close, so every weekend or two, there would be a screaming incursion of grandchildren to occupy my time and my mind.

In the lull between attacks, I had plenty to do… a quilting club, helping out at the community center, working in my beautiful, meticulously landscaped backyard. I stayed active.

I appreciated inactivity, too. Sitting in that backyard reading. Sometimes just taking pleasure in its quiet beauty.

The yard was quite insulated from the neighborhood around me. It was my own personal cloister. In my youth, I had been a scourge on the very concept of privacy, so I knew the true value of it. I guarded my own jealously.

After my husband died, I had replaced the old fence with a superior substitute… a seven foot tall batten privacy fence. The alternating wood slats were attached to each other, overlapping to allow no gaps between them. No prying eyes could see through.

It wasn’t that I wanted to do something like frolic naked about the yard. It was so when I desired, I could completely sequester myself from the rest of the world to read, to think, to be alone with my ghosts.

But even as there was no naked cavorting in my yard, the boy next door couldn’t say the same of his.

Years before, a couple and their three year old son had moved next door. The Carsons. I became friends with the mother, Adele. She could be a silly and self-absorbed woman, outspoken with many opinions on subjects she had minimal if any understanding of. But none of us are without flaws. I’m the perfect example of an imperfect person, so I try not to judge others too harshly. I enjoyed her company. It was nice to have another female for coffee and conversation right next door. And I admit I was flattered when she looked to me for my sage advice.

I couldn’t claim friendship with her husband, Bradford. He was remote, abrupt, and impatient. He was often away on business, a good place for him to be, as far as I was concerned. Adele adored him. And he seemed to have something akin to love for her.

Their relationship with their child Theo was odd. The love they had for each other didn’t naturally extend to him. They weren’t abusive or negligent. They kept him fed and clothed. I had the sense that they did care for him in their way. But they seemed to regard him as a confusing artifact of their marriage, and weren’t quite sure what to do with him beyond the basics.

With Bradford so often in absence and useless when he wasn’t, I began assisting Adele occasionally with the care of her young son. Over time, she started to rely on me more often. After all, I had knowledge gained from raising three children of my own, and they had all turned out quite well. I soon fell into the more involved role of ‘aunt’, helping often with Theo’s feeding, bathing, entertaining, babysitting, scraped knee mending.

As these things go, Adele began to call on my support even more heavily still. With me there to keep Theo, she began to go out more and reclaim the life she had before his birth… the gym, an endless series of continuing education courses, drinks with her younger set of friends.

Her return to the gym after such a long hiatus, and the resulting return to the toned and fit form she had before we met, reinvigorated the Carsons’ romantic life. They began going out often on the evenings Bradford was home. Adele confided in me, “He hasn’t taken me out in years!” I kept Theo on those evenings, sometimes till the next day if they came home late. Or came home ‘in the mood’.

I knew I was being used, whether or not Adele was conscious of this herself. I think my utility was just an easy trap for her to fall into. And I didn’t mind. Not only was I was helping a friend, but young Theo had charmed me from the first moment I saw him.

He was cute as he could be, with auburn hair and dimples when he smiled. He was guilelessly dramatic, his feelings barely beneath the skin. When he spoke, he was EXPRESSIVE in his enunciation and expansive in his gestures. He could be quiet and withdrawn, too. I learned his silence could be as expressive as the more exuberant displays.

His parents weren’t readers, so I introduced him to books, beginning with Where the Wild Things Are and Dr. Seuss. As he grew older, we moved on to The Wind in the Willows, The Secret Garden, A Wrinkle in Time, Treasure Island, Narnia, The Hobbit, His Dark Materials. All books I had loved. He loved them too. Although he was always happy to take my suggestions, there came a time when he began to forge his own path through the local and online bookstores. His first solo excursion was into the world of Harry Potter. He reversed our roles by pulling me into that world with him.

From then on, we would find books that interested us both and read them concurrently so we could get together for discussions and dissections. We had our own personal book club.

He took a lot of teasing from his peers for his love of books, but I had also taught him to stand up for himself and be no one’s victim.

We had long ongoing chess games. We had television binge-watching nights from my shelves of DVDs. I introduced him to Buffy and Angel, Misses Marple and Fisher, Monsieur Poirot. He countered with Stranger Things, The Magicians, Game of Thrones (God help me).

We began a mystery movie night, with the ‘mystery’ meaning ‘of an unknown quantity’. We would intentionally choose movies we were both completely ignorant of. These cinema safaris could be perilous, with neither of us knowing the terrain we were venturing into. But we were intrepid explorers and faced the unknown together. As it turned out, the more disastrous the movie, the more fun it was to watch it.

All of this meant I wasn’t just his Aunt Teresa. I was his friend.

So, when my monster awoke and turned its eyes… my eyes… upon the boy I had raised and grown so fond of, I was very troubled, indeed. But, to my shame, I wasn’t so troubled that I turned my eyes away. At least not immediately.

After my husband Cal died, my son worried that I, a defenseless elderly woman, was left all alone and unprotected. Even as I wasn’t the fragile porcelain figurine he envisioned, I was touched by his concern and welcomed the additional home security he installed.

I especially appreciated the state-of-the-art, high definition surveillance system. Beyond the usual front door camera, there were cameras discreetly placed indoors that could be activated by motion detection in the event of burglars. Additional cameras were hidden in the trees around the yard… two in the front yard, two in the back. They could be remotely controlled to swivel about and zoom in for crisp, clear closeups. I could control, observe and record by way of my smart phone when I was away from the house, and from a console next to my recliner when I was home. I could watch live or recorded video on my big-screen television.

I quickly learned through experimentation that my outdoor cams had the ability to surveil not just my yard, but the entire neighborhood around me. Through their telephoto lenses, I could see into windows many blocks away… windows that really should’ve been shielded by blinds or drapes.

This discovery so shocked and delighted me, the monster roused from its decades of slumber.

I tuned in day and night to watch the family dramas and animated arguments, the lovemaking in bedrooms. The lovemaking in other rooms. A girl sneaking into her boyfriend's window after his parents had retired for the night. A boy sneaking into his own at dawn moments before his mother came to wake him up. The old man stroking himself to reruns of the Teletubbies. The woman with a wall display of so many adult toys she agonized over each evening’s choice for over an hour.

I saw over fences into backyards supposedly as private as my own where my neighbors swam nude in their pools. Some alone, some as a couple, some in a group. Those larger pool parties usually involved more than just the backstroke. I didn’t envy their pool cleaner.

My viewing habits weren’t entirely salacious. I enjoyed watching the backyard barbecues with visiting relatives. Children playing games in their front yards. Young mothers pushing their baby strollers down the sidewalk. The life that went on around me.

But I’d always return to the hunt for indecent activities… scanning the neighborhood, watching the windows. Ever vigilant. And I usually didn’t have to wait long.

I could put the the television in split screen mode to control and watch all four video feeds at once. When something interesting caught my eye, I’d go full screen with it.

I learned a lot about the private lives of the people around me… people I knew and saw regularly at the grocery store, library, restaurants, town hall meetings. Whenever I would see them again after their starring roles on my television, I’d feel that thrill of knowing what they looked like out of their clothes… knowing the things they did in private… knowing who they did them with.

Some of those people I knew quite well. I often couldn’t contain a grin as I conversed with them. I found it hard, sometimes impossible, not to laugh out loud. I wouldn’t be surprised if this started rumors of my onset of senility.

Watching real people doing real things on my television was all so much more involving than any serialized tv show. I had my own reality tv channel, but with actual reality.

And I always had the system set to record on a loop. I saved the bits and pieces I especially liked for future viewing.

I felt more than a little like Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window. I just hoped there was no Raymond Burr to spoil the party.

I once saw a couple of girls spying into a boy’s bedroom window as he undressed for bed. They held up their cell phones to capture it on video. They continued to watch and record as he lay on top of his sheets and brought himself to an obviously long overdue orgasm. I watched the girls shake with suppressed laughter afterwards as the boy attempted to clean up the mess he had made.

I thought of how those girls were much like me at that age. I then realized they were like me at my current age. In my dotage, I had regressed to the thirteen year old me. But not completely. I had no desire to humiliate the unsuspecting boy the girls and I were watching. And I hoped the video they captured remained strictly for their private viewing pleasure only.

One hot summer day, not long after Theo’s fourteenth birthday, I sat before the television surveilling the neighborhood… a watcher from on high. After checking the time, I turned one of the cameras onto the backyard next door. There was Theo, just standing right in the middle of it, looking strangely pensive. He wore a t-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes. The t-shirt looked damp with sweat.

Why was he standing there baking in the sun?

I knew his father was away on another business trip. And Adele was at her three-day-a-week Pilates class. Theo was alone… except for the eye in the sky.

I zoomed in on his face till it filled the screen, larger and more clear than if he had been in the room with me. His expression was definitely apprehensive.

Two days before, and two days before that, I had observed him standing in the same spot, at the same time of day. On both previous occasions he had similarly appeared nervous and indecisive, as if contemplating a course of action but worrying at the wisdom of it. Something was going on with young Theo.

I zoomed back out to capture him from head to toe. He fidgeted as he stood, at war with himself over some critical decision. I had an idea what that decision was, which was why I was back on that day at that time. With my age and experience, I had developed a sixth sense when it came to these matters.

Clue 1: The Carson’s backyard was as private as my own. When I had the new fence installed, Adele had so loved it she hired the same contractor to enclose the rest of her own yard. Therefore, as Theo stood there sweating and fretting, he was reasonably assured that no one from beyond the fence could see him. I had told no one of my camera array.

Clue 2: He had done this on Monday and Wednesday, now again on Friday. These were the days his mother was away for hours at her Pilates. So he felt safely alone during that time period.

Clue 3: Theo just had the look of a boy about to take a big leap, and he didn’t want anyone, especially his parents, to see where he leapt.

When he nodded to himself, his lips compressed in a tight line, I knew the decision had been made. He quickly pulled his damp shirt up over his head, revealing his thin but toned torso. With his arms raised, I saw that he had acquired little tufts of hair in his armpits since I had last seen him there.

Theo tossed the t-shirt aside, then unbuckled his belt and undid his jeans. He looked around warily, as though eyes might have suddenly sprouted around him in the thick bushes along the fence line. Satisfied, he let the jeans drop to his feet.

He stood there a few moments longer, looking rather silly with his pants down. He still wore white briefs, something I’d heard most boys his age in the current year considered silly, and eschewed in favor of boxers. In my day, it was reversed. Boxers were ‘stupid’. Boys almost universally wore white briefs. I could attest to this personally, having seen many boys in their underwear.

Theo bent down to step out of his jeans. It was then he realized he hadn’t thought through the order of divestment. He still had his shoes on, complicating the removal of the jeans.

I’m sure Theo, now fourteen years of age, had plentiful experience in undressing. But he was distracted, wracked with ambivalence over his recent daring decision to strip in his backyard, for whatever reason he was doing it.

He wobbled about for a while, struggling with the jeans, but his shoes were too large. He finally gave up and sat down in the grass. He pulled the shoes off without untying them. The jeans quickly followed. He kicked them off, showing irritation at the trouble they had caused him. He shouted at them, “Stupid PANTS!”

My surveillance system had excellent audio, too.

Standing, he looked around suspiciously again. Still no eyes in the bushes. I sent a thought at him, “They’re in the TREES, Theo.”

He was quite a sight, this cute boy in just his underwear and socks. I had always especially enjoyed the underwear stage when our Society had forced a boy to strip. Or had stripped him ourselves. There’s a certain sexiness to a boy in his briefs, almost as exciting as seeing him finally and fully naked. I was lucky as a girl that boxers weren’t in fashion for the youngsters.

Not that boxers didn’t have their appeal for me later in life. I had enjoyed watching my husband Cal put his pants on. And take them off. When he’d raise each knee to slip his foot in or out of his slacks, a little of him would hang out of the leg opening of his boxers on the opposite side. A lot of him, actually. The boxers he wore were a bit too short for him. I didn’t complain. I liked those tantalizing glimpses.

But Theo wasn’t ready for boxers yet. He looked just right in his briefs. I thought again of the boys of my youth. Until a few weeks before, I tried not to think of those boys… of what my friends and I did to them. But since recently discovering I could look into the windows and lives of my neighbors… seeing them in their most intimate moments, seeing through the facade they wore in the outside world… an old passion had been reignited, a flame I thought guttered and gone ages ago.

I was beginning to see those days of the Society through the lens of nostalgia. I was starting to tell myself that maybe it wasn’t all that bad. We had a little fun, saw a little flesh. We probably gave those boys a secret thrill they’d never admit to. They got to show the girls what they had hanging between their legs. What boy doesn’t want THAT? Where was the harm?

In fact, we did a lot of good. We introduced some of the younger ones to the pleasures of their own penises years before they would’ve discovered it by themselves. And the boys at school whose tearful nakedness we engineered in front of their classmates? Some of the girls in the audience may have liked what they saw and became interested in a boy they wouldn’t have otherwise. We may have been unknowing matchmakers.

The boys we forcibly stripped and degraded? We were toughening them up, preparing them for the cold, uncaring and abusive world that awaited them outside the gates of childhood.

These thoughts, these rationalizations, should’ve set off klaxons and flashing red lights. Maybe they did, and I was just too absorbed in playing with my new toy, and inviting myself unseen into the homes of my neighbors, to notice. Or to care.

The neighbor currently under scrutiny was Theo. After assuring himself, if erroneously so, that he was unobserved, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs, about to pull them down. I felt a little charge of electricity course through me.

It wasn’t that I had never seen Theo naked before. I had, and quite a lot. I had helped potty train him. I had bathed him regularly until he was seven years old whenever he was under my care. Even after he turned eight and began bathing alone, I’d sometimes have to accompany him back to the bathroom to take care of the parts he had missed. He still tended to play in the tub more than wash.

If I heard more splashing than normal bathing could account for, I’d just march in and take over, ignoring the “Aunt Teresaaaaaaaaaa!”

Even at seven, he had started to become uncomfortable with me seeing him. At eight, his emerging sense of modesty was quite evident when I had to bathe him or check him after a solo bath. I assured him I would honor the sanctity of his body when I was certain he was sufficiently using bath time for its proper purpose.

It only took three or four more inspections for him to prove he could be a well-washed boy with no outside assistance. I added the threat of random future spot-checks to make sure the trend continued. I followed through on this a couple of times over the next few months so he’d know the possibility was real.

After that, I hadn’t seen Theo naked since an episode when he was twelve. I was keeping him while his parents were away on one of their romantic, extended child-free vacations. He became ill the first day, and I had to take him to his physician.

Initially, I only saw him in his underpants as he sat squirming on the examination table. His face managed to be both pale from his illness and blushing from embarrassment at my presence. He had tried and failed to get me to stay in the waiting room. I felt irrationally guilty at his becoming ill on my watch, so I was going to see every stage of his treatment and recuperation through personally. As a mother of three, I was well acquainted with pediatricians’ exam rooms. And with children Theo’s age who thought themselves too old for a mother’s, or temporary guardian’s, attendance.

Theo tremulously asked the doctor, “I’m not going to have to take my underwear off, am I?” He glanced over at me nervously.

The doctor, a middle aged man, looked amused and replied, “We’ll see if we can get through without that. Open your mouth and say ahhhhhh.”

The examination only required the exposure of a little more skin when Theo had to lie back on the table while the doctor palpated his abdomen. I stood on the other side of the table watching. The doctor pulled the front of the boy’s briefs down a few inches to the base of his penis to probe further, prompting Theo to look at me and cry out, “Don’t look. Don’t look.” I had only seen a small expanse of extra skin, and nothing I hadn’t seen before. The mortified look in the boy’s eyes presaged his later, more extreme reaction that evening.

After the examination, while Theo hurriedly dressed, the doctor took me aside and explained that the boy had a stomach bug that was going around. Nothing serious. Since it caused vomiting and the possible loss of any medication taken orally, he was prescribing a regimen of suppositories.

Theo hadn’t heard what was said, so he didn’t know the horror that awaited him.

Later, after we arrived back at my house and he had changed into his pajamas, I told him it was time for his medicine. He picked up the bottle and held it to his eye. “These are funny looking pills.”

I sat on the couch and gestured for him to come over to me. When he looked at me quizzically, I explained I wouldn’t be giving him the medicine by mouth, but from the other end. His already pale, sickly face blanched further. “You’re going to put them in my BUTTHOLE?” he practically shrieked. Further realization set in. “You’re going to SEE my butthole?!”

I reminded him that I had seen it before, most recently only a few years back for his final after-bath inspection. This only distressed him more. “I was just a KID back then! A CHILD!” he cried. The distance between eight years and twelve was just a blink for me, but a third of his life for Theo. His eight year old self was AGES in the past.

Already feeling poorly, he cried like a baby while telling me he was old enough to do it himself. It was a battle of wills to get him over my knees, pajama bottoms and underpants down in readiness for what he deemed a punitive indignity. Even after I had him in position, he’d wriggle and squirm and reach behind him to grab at my hands as I attempted to spread his cheeks for the rude intrusion. I finally had to threaten to smack his exposed bottom before he would behave. I was so irritated by that point I was tempted to smack the little pink scrotum that was squeezed between his bottom and my thigh instead.

In truth, I wouldn’t have smacked either. Sometimes the impulses of my previous self would briefly rekindle, but would quickly subside. These moments weren’t limited to fleeting flares of anger, either. Even after all these decades, I still wasn’t completely immune to a momentary sense of giddy power over the boy I had bared and forced across my lap. And a large part of that sensation was the prurient appreciation of his exposure and his desperately uncomfortable response to it.

These feelings were brief and passed almost before I could acknowledge them. I liked to think they weren’t even my own… just the fading echos of a weak, distant voice calling from the pit I had consigned my darker self to. But buried or not, that uglier side was part of me. And the appearance of this revenant, however fleeting, made me almost as nauseous as my ailing and unhappy patient.

Even though he knew my threat to be an empty one, Theo surrendered. After a shocked, bitter glance over his shoulder when I spread his bottom, and a small whimper as my finger slid inside him, he bore the rest of the procedure in a sullen silence… even while I made him lay over my lap for another five minutes to give the suppository time to dissolve. I assured him I couldn’t see his anus anymore, but received no response. He just lay prone across my legs, his whole body taut and his hands clenched into fists.

He had certainly changed from that ages-ago eight year old who was merely embarrassed by my inspection of him to this twelve year old who was obviously enduring a traumatic ordeal from the same level of exposure.

His silence lasted through all subsequent insertions. Whenever it was suppository time, he would grimly pull down his bottoms, lay across my lap and await his fate without a word. He didn’t even try to cover himself in front as he had for the initial application. He was letting me know I had irreparably damaged his dignity, but he would suffer it as a true stoic.

The silence continued long after he was well. It was broken only by the most terse, monosyllabic responses to questions, and then only when the question had been repeated at length. He never looked at me when he answered, preferring instead the view of the middle distance between us.

I was distressed at his anger, but was also angry, myself. It wasn’t as though I was treating him like the boys from my youth. I wasn’t violating his privacy and his sphincter for my own lewd and licentious pleasure. I was legitimately taking care of him in his illness. He was old enough and smart enough to understand that.

But he was at that stage when a child became acutely aware of his changing body, prompting a burgeoning modesty. Theo’s sense of bodily privacy, like so much else about him, was overly dramatic. It seemed to have overridden his reason.

When his parents returned, Theo left with them without a goodbye. I didn’t see him for two more weeks.

He eventually came over one afternoon to soberly inform me that after due deliberation, measuring the length of our friendship against my brief (but terrible) transgression, the friendship had won by its volume of years. Thus, he had forgiven me. But I was never to do such a thing again. I took both his forgiveness and his edict with a small, easily concealed smile. He looked so solemn for a twelve year old.

I was amused, but relieved as well. Those two weeks had been a knot of anxiety in me. Theo was worlds younger than my old, decrepit self, but he was a friend. And one whose loss would be hard to bear.

Two years later, as that same boy stood in his backyard about to bare it all to me again, this time being unaware of my presence, the context had changed significantly. Theo, at that moment, wasn’t just the boy I had helped raise. He wasn’t just the friend who played chess, read books and watched television with me. Who held long conversations with me on esoteric subjects that would glaze the eyes of anyone else I knew. And he wasn’t the boy I had last seen naked while nursing him back to health.

He had become a subject under scrutiny by the Neighborhood Watch, as I liked to refer to myself. The camera was my microscope and he was under its lens. I was going to thoroughly examine this specimen as I would any of my naughty neighbors.

He finally pulled his briefs down to his feet, stepped out and tossed them on top of the other clothes laying in the grass. He now was wearing only his white socks. I hoped he would keep them on. I liked seeing him that way. Boys in only their socks was another predilection of my youth that had found new life in my older self. The former Teresa had often stripped boys of everything but their socks. That scant bit of covering made the rest of them seem even more naked.

But the socks came off, too. He stood there for a couple of minutes, eyes closed, head leaning back, arms raised out at his sides. I knew he was appreciating the warmth of the sun on his skin, all of his skin. He was feeling its warmth on places it had never before touched.

I was also seeing those places in a whole new way. All the times I had seen Theo naked before… bathing him, dressing him, doctoring him… I had for the most part only observed his nakedness tangentially. Except for those brief, almost imperceptible echos of the former Teresa, the boy’s nudity was just a necessary element of administering his care.

But even as my camera and its zoom function brought him closer, it also put a distance between us. Theo was now just an image on my television screen. I was free to look at him all I wanted. And in any way I wanted.

I zoomed in on his midsection. His penis and testicles had grown quite a bit from what they were when he was twelve. He was nicely endowed, and surely had even more growing to do. Above his penis was a new addition, an auburn bush of curly hair. The patch was small, showing he had more growing to do there, also.

I zoomed in further till his boy parts filled the screen. They assumed a size that males could only dream of having. I hadn’t been able to get this close with my other neighbors. I could clearly see every detail, from the curls of his pubic bush to the delicate blue veins beneath the skin of the shaft to the exposed, circumcised head. I examined what I could see of his scrotum. It hung lower than when he was twelve.

My inspection was suddenly interrupted by a blur of motion. Theo’s hand had filled the screen. I zoomed out a bit to see him holding his penis, pulling on it gently. After a couple of squeezes and caresses, he released it. His penis had stiffened slightly under his touch, and stood out from his scrotum.

I zoomed out more as Theo began to walk around the backyard, occasionally tugging on his penis. He wasn’t really masterbating. Just playing with himself absently. The yard had numerous well-manicured bushes and several tall, lush trees. Theo wandered in and around all of this. When he was facing away, I’d zoom in on his bottom and watch it jiggle while he walked. I wished I could see his scrotum hanging down from the back… a favorite view of mine. But the camera was situated far too high for that particular angle.

A few minutes passed while he wandered the yard. During that time, he had coaxed his penis into a full erection. It stood at a pronounced angle, almost touching his belly. His scrotum, now fully exposed, swayed as he walked.

Theo stopped and looked down at himself, then nervously around the yard again. As all appeared to be safe and secure, he spit into his hand and began applying more purposeful strokes.

When I was younger, our Society had managed to secretly watch a number of boys masterbate. Watching them while the were unaware gave me a better idea of how boys naturally do it than when we forced them to perform for us. Most we observed at night through their bedroom windows. A few, though, we spied in the school showers when they thought themselves alone.

We had found a storeroom adjacent the boys locker room that had cracks in the brickwork… cracks we strategically enhanced… which provided an excellent view of both the locker area and the showers. The cracks were near the ceiling. Standing on chairs that were conveniently kept in the storeroom gave us a nicely elevated view of the boys undressing, showering, and engaging in rambunctious horseplay that involved lots of flopping penises.

The door to the storeroom was right next to the janitor’s office, so we didn’t use it often for fear of being caught. But we used it enough to know what at least a quarter of the boys in our school looked like naked.

I preferred to catch them at the end of gym period, rather than the beginning. We could see them naked as they undressed either way, but I liked after class because the nudity was extended. When they returned all hot and sweaty to strip off their gym clothes, each stage of that after-workout undressing had its own particular appeal. The ‘sweaty boys in their jock straps’ stage was a favorite of mine.

Then, of course, came the showers, which were in a wide open area without the privacy of individual stalls. Two dozen wet, naked boys soaping themselves up en masse is something wonderful to behold. Sometimes a coach would enter to watch, making sure the proceedings didn’t devolve into boyish chaos. One of the coaches was always so attentive, I suspected he might be enjoying the show as much as we did.

As previously mentioned, sometimes a straggler, left alone in the shower room, took advantage of the warm, steamy atmosphere and the plentiful bars of soap to release some tension and bodily fluids into the shower drains. This usually happened after the last class of the school day, when the boy was sure no one would enter to find him soaping his appendage beyond the point mere cleanliness required.

In watching these boys masterbate, I had observed a number of different techniques, but two extremes were predominate. There were the boys who would grab their penis in the center and jerk it up and down in place, their hand never really traversing the length of the shaft. These boys were always more frantic in their approach, as though they wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. They succeeded, usually ejaculating soon after they started.

But other boys knew early on the journey was as important as the destination. They were the long distance runners as opposed to the previously mentioned sprinters. Not only did they extend their own pleasure by not rushing to the finish line, they prolonged our’s with the extra viewing time.

Theo was such a boy. He would start at the base of his penis and slide his hand up to the head. He’d toy with the ridge around the head before sliding back down to the base. He’d vary how far up or back down he’d go… how long he’d work on just the head. He began slowly, but gradually increased the pace. He applied extra saliva often to keep himself well lubricated. His other hand cupped his scrotum and massaged the testicles within. His eyes were closed. His face held a beautiful, dimpled smile the whole time.

When he ejaculated, he gasped and made little noises of pleasure that my audio picked up very well. He released a couple of long streams of semen that arced into the grass. But overall, not a large volume. I suspected Theo masterbated often and didn’t have an abundance of reserves.

He sat down in the grass to recover. I watched his penis slowly soften to its previous state. After a few minutes, he stood and walked over to retrieve his jeans from the pile of discarded clothing. He dug his cell phone out of one of the pockets to check the time, then started scrambling back into his clothes. I looked at the clock, too. Adele would be returning from her Pilates soon. Theo had wasted a lot of time agonizing over his decision to actually take the plunge.

I suspected he’d be back next Monday, and he would start much sooner. Adele was always gone for at least three hours. Plenty of time for a boy to enjoy the beauty of nature and seed the lawn in the process.

For the next two months, I had a set routine. I would be up early in the morning with a cup of tea, parked in front of my television in time for the world around me to begin its day. I had already mentally flagged which houses gave me the best access through their windows, so I never had to waste time in scanning the neighborhood for likely candidates. I watched the singles, the couples, the parents and kids getting out of bed in their pajamas, underwear or nothing at all. I watched them divest what little nighttime attire they had to bathe in their tub or stand under the shower spray, brush their teeth, dress for the day. I watched the gatherings around the breakfast table, the arguments, the kisses goodbye.

It being summer, a lot of the older kids lounged around in bed till later in the morning, despite repeated cajoling and increasingly irritated threats from mom and/or dad. Some didn’t get up until long after the rest of the household had left. These indolent adolescents usually provided me with a more leisurely display of their morning routine than the frantic pace presented by their parents. I was guaranteed at least one or two bouts of morning masterbation.

One cute but irksome boy did it every morning, but he insisted on wriggling out of his underwear and performing the act entirely under the covers. Once he had finished, I’d only get a brief glimpse of him naked when he got out of bed to go clean up in the bathroom. And I only ever saw him naked from the rear. He had a cute little bottom, and every morning I hungered in vain to see if everything in front followed suit. To further annoy me, his bathroom window was frosted and therefore impervious to my intrusive eye.

I fantasized about turning him over my lap and spanking that bottom until it was a rosy shade of red for teasing but not delivering the rest of him. I once saw him in the grocery store with his mother. I followed him up and down the aisles through half the store. He glanced back nervously a couple of times, some sixth sense telling him he was being stalked. I just smiled pleasantly at him. Don’t mind me. I’m just a sweet old lady doing her shopping. I know nothing of what you do in your bed every morning. I’m not remembering what that little bottom of yours looked like naked when I saw it just hours ago.

After observing everyone’s morning rituals, I had a portion of the day for my other activities. After which, in the early afternoons of Monday/Wednesday/Friday, I was sure to be back before the television for Theo’s naked lark in his backyard. His routine remained mostly the same… disrobing, wandering leisurely about the yard playing with his penis, finally masterbating. If he had sufficient time afterwards, he would lay in the shade in a lawnchair and read a book. Despite little variance in his habits, it never became monotonous for me.

I had to satisfy myself with Theo’s outdoor activities because his house, like many in my neighborhood, was selfishly unconducive to spying. The only windows I could see into were the kitchen and dining room. Adele, not being a cook, only used the kitchen to unpack the take-out. And the Carsons, like so many families anymore, never ate at the dining room table or even at the same time.

In the late afternoons, I’d return to my television to watch people coming home from work, families converging, dinnertime rituals.

I would return in the late evening for the bedtime preparations and the undressing that involved. Then came the bedtime activities… R rated or X rated, depending on how much the bedclothes covered. Even the R rated ones could be entertaining depending on the passion displayed. One married couple seemed to only ever engage in mutual oral sex. I wondered how they managed to produce the three screaming, rowdy children in the family. Maybe they had changed their habits after the third and weren’t taking any chances on a fourth.

Everything went well for those two months. I didn’t become obsessive over my surveillance. I found a nice balance of neighbor watching and everything else in my life. And unlike my former self, I found my pleasure purely in the act of watching, and not in hurting or humiliating those I watched. Of the scenes I deemed worthy of saving and adding to my growing digital collection, I could honestly add the disclaimer, ‘No neighbors were harmed in the making of this video’.

But in settling into this pleasant complacency, I forgot a very important lesson, one that life had demonstrated many times over… nothing good can last for long. Disaster was inevitable, and I was foolishly unprepared when it struck.

On that day, Theo, after completing his walkabout and its finishing touch, was stretched out in repose on his cushioned, comfortable lawnchair. It was TOO comfortable, as it turned out. He had been reading a book, one that he and I were currently co-reading, but had slowly slipped into a drowsy state. As he slid even further into actual slumber, his arm fell to the side and his book landed lightly in the grass.

At first I wasn’t alarmed. The implications didn’t immediately occur to me. I just sat back in my chair with a cup of afternoon tea and enjoyed the sight of Theo sleeping. As young as he was, he looked so much younger in that state. Zooming in on his peaceful face, I could imagine him as eight or nine years old.

Watching him this way almost lulled me into sleep myself. I settled back further into my rocker/recliner. The only thing that kept me from fully succumbing was a faint, growing unease scratching at the door in the back of my mind. I barely even recognized it was there until, just as my eyes were closing, it burst through the door with a slam and a shriek of “Adele will be home soon!”

I bolted upright in my chair, tea cup and contents flying. I looked at the clock. It was even worse than the initial shock of realization warned. Adele might be home already.

I hurriedly, with fumbling fingers, set the television to split screen and swiveled one of my front yard cameras to cover the Carson’s driveway. In sneering synchronicity, fate showed me Adele’s car just pulling into place. While flinging myself from the chair with an agility that belied my age, I tried to calculate just how much time Theo had till Adele found him lounging naked in the backyard.

There were too many variables. Would she look for him in the house immediately? Would she call out to him? Would she look for him at all? Would she just assume he was in his room, possibly napping?

Theo might have plenty of time to get dressed, but he had to be awake and aware of the problem to do so. A quick look at the other half of the television screen confirmed that he was still blissfully asleep with an innocent half-smile on his face.

While I zoomed back out to cover a larger area of the yard, my mind was racing, trying to think of a way to warn the boy. But it seemed to be racing in circles. I was too panicked to think straight. I completely forgot that Theo never went anywhere without his phone. Like so many people anymore, young and old alike, his cell phone was as important to his existence as any vital internal organ. It would be in the pocket of his pants, which were with the clothes right next to the fallen book.

Had I quickly called him, I might have adverted the pending disaster. But I also would’ve missed out on its interesting aftermath.

I didn’t want Theo to get in trouble. But I also selfishly didn’t want his contribution to my viewing pleasures to cease. Adele would surely put an end to her son’s afternoon activities. The cancellation of Theo in the Backyard would put a hole in the television lineup I had grown quite fond of.

I swiveled the camera to the kitchen window. Adele was there, looking around. She called out something I couldn’t hear. But I didn’t need to adept at lipreading to see it was ‘Theo’. Damn. Couldn’t she just be her usual self-centered self? Ignore the existence of your child, woman. You’ve done it often enough before.

She turned and walked out of frame towards the back door. Theo might only have mere seconds. If I could somehow alert him, he could grab his clothes and hide in the bushes.

I ran to my own back door, threw it open and rushed into the backyard. I ran to the fence and began banging on it with my fists, yelling, “Theo, wake up! Your mother’s home!”

I was rewarded with his startled voice, “What? Aunt Teresa?”

But another voice made itself known… this one louder, more shrill. Outraged and confused. “Theo! What the HELL are you doing? You’re NAKED! Outside!” There was a pause, as if she was still trying to assimilate the situation. “You get your clothes and get in the house right now! No, not here. Get dressed inside.”

Then she demanded, “What… got… into… you?” Each staccato word was punctuated with a slap. I experienced a brief surge of anger. Had she slapped him in the face? But I as quickly recognized the sound of a hand smacking a boy’s bare bottom. That hand had been my own many times in a past age.

“Mommmmmm!” Theo wailed. I heard his pattering footsteps across the lawn towards the house. I heard his mother shouting as she chased after him, “What in the world were you thinking?” I heard more smacks until lastly, the sound of a slamming door shut me outside of the unfolding drama.

I stood there, leaning with both hands against the fence, breathing heavily from my unaccustomed run. My heart pounded furiously in my chest… an unwelcome feeling in someone of my years.

Poor Theo. He surely hadn’t been this embarrassed since the time I slid suppositories into the bare bottom Adele had just spanked. I hoped she would at least let him put his clothes on before the yelling began in earnest. Even so, I shamefully wished for a camera view into whichever rooms of the house Theo stumbled naked through, trying to wrestle himself into his clothes while his mother followed, watched, and ranted. Playing this scenario in my mind, the distance between the previous Teresa and the current one lessened by leaps and bounds.

Returning to my house, I collapsed into my recliner. I let my breathing and heart rate return to normal before reviewing the video of the last few minutes.

It was all exactly as I had envisioned while privy only to the audio portion of the drama. I saw Theo as he was startled awake by my voice and the pounding on the fence. I watched him as he called out my name. I saw Adele storm across the lawn, a hurricane about to make landfall on the bewildered boy.

Theo leapt up from the lawnchair just in time to receive what I later learned was the first spanking of his life. He grabbed his underwear and began to awkwardly pull them on till his mother made him retrieve the whole pile of clothing before chasing him into the house, smacking his bottom the whole way.

I replayed the scene a few times, zooming in on the parts when his penis and scrotum flopped about to his frantic movements. But the video resolution wasn’t nearly as high as when zooming in optically while watching live. Oh well.

I turned off the television and settled back into the recliner for a much needed nap. But as before, the spell of imminent sleep was broken by a voice from the back of my mind calling out a concern. As I opened my eyes, I recognized a serious mistake I had made in my haste. Anticipating the consequence of that mistake drove sleep far beyond my reach.

It was three days before I saw Theo again. He showed up at my front door looking uncomfortable, hands in his pockets, staring down at his feet. He didn’t speak for a short while. I let the silence stretch till he finally broke it.
“How did you know to warn me?” he asked, finally looking up at me.

“I’ve been expecting you,” I told him. “Come in and let’s talk.”

I sat in my recliner. He sat on the couch. I told him all about the cameras. How I had been watching the neighborhood. How I had been watching him. How I had been collecting video clips of my favorite scenes. I told him everything. All very matter-of-factly. All without emotion. I had decided there would be emotion enough on display by Theo after my revelations.

But so far, he had shown no more expression in receiving this news than I had displayed in my delivery. As I suspected, he had already deduced much of it. Theo wasn’t stupid. And I wasn’t psychic. How else could I have known that he was naked on the other side of that impenetrable fence except through the means of modern surveillance technology.

Theo demanded to see the videos he had a starring role in. I had expected this, too, and had the one I had taken on that first day at ready. After I asked if he was SURE he wanted to do this, he gave me a fierce look and told me that after what he had been through for days with his parents, he was ready for anything.

He wasn’t. His composure, a thin fragile veneer over his inner anxiety, quickly crumbled… and in a big way. As he watched and writhed on the couch, I was assailed with a litany of ‘Oh no’s’ and ‘Oh my God’s’, along with wordless moans, whimpers and wails.

I was reminded of Burt Young’s display of distress in the opening scene of Chinatown as he looked at images of his wife’s infidelity. But Theo was looking at images of himself.

When we reached the part where I had zoomed in on his penis, Theo threw his hands over his eyes, only to peek through his fingers. As horrifying as it was for him, he had a compulsion to watch. He was like a rubbernecker at his own car wreck.

When the onscreen Theo began playing with himself, I had to pause the video while the one on the couch threw himself over to bury his face in the cushions and weep.

Once the video reached its conclusion, Theo sat for a while in silence. His tears had stopped. “Show me the others.” he said. “The other videos you took of me.”

“They’re all pretty much the same,” I assured him. “You’re really in kind of a rut.”

He glared at me. “You’re in no position to make jokes. I could call the police on you if I wanted.”

“I know,” I acknowledged quietly. “And I’m entirely at your mercy.” I paused, then continued, “Of course, they’ll confiscate all my videos. Who knows who else will see them. Hopefully, your audience will be limited to the police, the members of the district attorney’s office, a few lawyers, the judge and jurors at my trial. I have no idea who’ll have access to such a scandalous trove. And that’ll just be for my criminal trial. Think of all the lawsuits from the other neighbors. How many more lawyers and jurors and whoever else will see it all? And as you yourself can attest… they’ll see it ALL.”

I let that sink in for a while. “And, of course, it’ll be big news for such a small town. Look at who my victims are. This is a rather affluent neighborhood we live in. There’s more than one local politician in the bunch. A number of influential businessmen. And women. The news will undoubtably spread beyond the town borders. It’ll be all over the internet. People love to be shocked and outraged by this kind of seamy story. And it won’t be hard to discover the identity of my closest victim… the little masterbating boy next door.”

Theo had been looking down at his hands as they fidgeted in his lap. At this, he jerked his head up to glare at me again. “Bitch.”

Many years ago, that word would’ve sent me into a rage. Now, I merely acknowledged the truth of it.

“Yes,” I agreed mildly. “I’m that and much, much more.” I stared at him until he looked back down at his hands. I continued, “I’m not telling you all of this as some kind of blackmail attempt. I won’t do anything against you. If you want to report me, I won’t try to stop you. I deserve whatever I have coming. I’m just letting you know what will happen if you DO call the police. It’ll be completely out of my hands.”

His attitude and silence weren’t telling me his intentions. So I added, “And let’s hope there won’t be a leak. With so many people involved, and over the length of time it will take for the initial trial and a string of lawsuits, those videos may end up out there on the internet.”

Theo, whose posture had been rigid while I talked, sighed and slumped back into the couch. “I’m not calling the cops,” he admitted. “I never intended to. I’m mad as hell, but not nearly as mad as I should be. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m still numb. After three days trapped in that house with Mom and Dad freaking out in my face, it was either go numb or go as crazy as they are. And Dad WOULD choose THAT day to get home from out of town. If he’d stayed gone, this might have blown over in a day. Mom would scream for a while, then go work the rest of it off in the gym. As it is, they’ve both been on me for DAYS.”

“That seems to be a bit of an overreaction on their part. I mean, your mom just caught you naked in an enclosed backyard. Naughty perhaps, but not depraved. You weren’t wiggling your weenie at little girls in the playground.”

“Welllll…,” Theo replied. “There was a little more to it. Once Dad got home and they both started in on me non-stop, I ended up confessing to the rest. What else I did in the backyard. How long I’d been doing it. And… then some other stuff.”

That last bit piqued my interest. I asked him about it.

Theo said defensively, “When they both get after me, I just cave. I always have. They demanded I tell them about any other stuff I do. And after being grilled for hours, I told them.”

He seemed to think this answered my question. All it had done was intrigue me more. What had my young Theo been up to?

I was afraid to push him on it. I waited to see if he’d continue. He finally did.

“It’s embarrassing talking about this stuff. I guess it shouldn’t be after what you saw. But it is.” He paused. “But it’s like I NEED to talk about it. But not to Mom and Dad. They MADE me talk. They made me say things I didn’t want to. Now, for some reason, I feel like I need to say the same things I told them, but to somebody else. Someone not them. It doesn’t make sense, I know.”

He slumped even further into the cushions. I was afraid if he did that any more, the couch would swallow him whole.

“First… it’s so weird… Mom freaked out when she saw I had… you know… hair. Between my legs. She didn’t know I had any yet. I certainly hadn’t announced it at the breakfast table. I think she thought I was still, like, ten years old or something.” He took on a mocking sing-song voice. “I wasn’t her little baby anymore.”

Resuming his normal voice, Theo continued, “That was before Dad got home. While I was still trying to get dressed. I’m there in the middle of the living room completely naked, trying to get my clothes on, and she keeps stopping me to babble about the hair between my legs. And she’s staring at me there the whole time. I was afraid she was going to try to pull it off like it was a toupee or something.”

I suspected Adele’s reaction may have been the first pangs of comprehension of all the years that had slipped by due to her and Bradford’s rather inattentive parenting style.

“I really think she kinda lost her mind. Every time I tried to get my underwear on, she’d yell ‘Look at me when I’m talking to you’. So I had to stand there completely bare-assed while she blathered about ‘How could this happen’ and ‘Yesterday, you were just a little boy’. I wanted to die right there.”

Yes, I thought to myself. I was right.

“When her battery finally ran down, she told me to go to my room. Then she actually said ‘You wait till your father gets home’. I would’ve laughed if I hadn’t been so humiliated by the whole thing. I wouldn’t have thought, at fourteen, my MOTHER would ever see me naked again. Anyway, I grabbed my clothes and ran upstairs, still bare-assed.”

He stopped and stared at me with a wounded look. “Speaking of asses, did I tell you she… she SPANKED me? She actually spanked me. She’d never done that before. Even Dad hasn’t. And I’m fourteen.” Theo seemed to put a lot of significance on that age. “She did it in the backyard and kept it up when we got inside. I hadn’t even really realized it in the yard. I was just trying to get into the house and up to my room. But when we got inside, she grabbed my arm and dragged me over to the back of the couch… that one that sits in the middle of the living room… and made me bend over it. She started smacking my butt again. And again. I was so shocked, I just took it. I couldn’t believe it was happening. She was yelling something the whole time, but I have no idea what it was. It went on FOREVER. I’m fourteen years old and I’m naked and my mother is spanking me like I’m a little kid. I started crying. I couldn’t help it. Not from the pain. It was just so humiliating. I ought to call the police on HER instead of you.”

Theo swiveled around to lay full length on the couch, his head on the cushioned armrest, his fingers interlaced over his stomach. He had unconsciously assumed the classic pose of a psychiatrist’s patient in a therapy session. If that made ME the psychiatrist, there was no hope for poor Theo.

“Anyway, after about a million whacks on my poor ass, that’s when she told me to go up to my room.

“When Dad got home, I heard Mom telling him the whole story. Then Dad yelled up at me to put some clothes on and get downstairs. Like he thought I was still naked after all that time.

“They blasted me with all these questions. Really, really personal stuff. They wouldn’t stop. It was mostly Mom doing the interrogation. Dad just kept saying ‘Answer your mother, Theo’.

“It didn’t stop with just the backyard. They wanted to know EVERYTHING. Mom hadn’t seen me… doing it. But they just decided that’s what I had been doing out there. I guess they were right. I WAS doing it. But they shouldn’t just ASSUME something like that.

“So I actually had to tell my parents that I jerk off. I thought the spanking was embarrassing. Then they made me tell them when I started jerking it. And how often I did it. Where I learned to do it. Where else I did it besides the backyard. Did I do it with other boys. Yes. Did we do it to each other? Yes. And… more. I had to tell my parents all that. My MOTHER. Now she knows EVERYTHING. And my DAD does, too.”

I watched a tear slide down his cheek. He angrily wiped it away.

He got up and paced the room. “She asked about girls just once. That’s all it took, because I haven’t done ANYTHING with a girl, yet. Not even a KISS. That’s what I told her. I’m not just a VIRGIN. I’m a KISS virgin, too.” He made an exasperated noise.

As serious as all of this was, I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. The boy was just so DRAMATIC. He put such EMPHASIS on his words.

“All the girls my age who like me see me as a little brother. I could always tell by the way they fuss over me. Then one girl actually TOLD me that. I had gotten up the nerve to ask her out. She said I was really cute, but I was like a little brother to her. She said dating me would feel like INCEST. Gross.”

He was growing more animated. Waving his hands about as he paced and ranted. He really did need to unload on someone. “Anyway, Mom seemed obsessed about me jerking off. And when I called it that, she told me not to be crude. It was MASTERBATION. Just saying that word is embarrassing. But I ended up saying MASTERBATE about a hundred times while I answered all her weird questions.

“And I had to tell the truth. I never could lie to them. They always know when I lie. It’s some kind of genetic thing or something. My friends lie their asses off to their parents and never get caught. Life isn’t fair.”

I could’ve told Theo why they knew whenever he lied. He was guileless. He wore everything right there on his face. He really needed to learn to internalize more.

Theo flounced back onto the couch. “My dad didn’t even help. He should’ve been on MY side, being a guy and all. He just sat there looking uncomfortable and saying ‘Answer your mother, Theo’, while Mom invaded my privacy for hours. DAYS.

“Every time I thought the interrogation was over, they’d start it up again. And every time it did, I started… crying. I couldn’t stop. That should’ve told them what they were doing to me. It was like they were flaying me alive and didn’t even notice.”

He sighed dramatically. “Now they know EVERYTHING about me.” He lowered his voice. “She even made me tell her who the other boy was… that I … did stuff with. He’s my best friend. She’ll probably never let him in the house again. He probably won’t be my friend anymore anyway if she calls his parents. And she probably will.”

He turned his head so he could look at me. “I’m not gay, if you were thinking that. I don’t even think I’m bi. I don’t think it’s bad or anything. I’m just not that way myself. But sometimes guys kinda help each other out. When they’re horny all the time and don’t have girlfriends. Did you know that?”

I told him I did. “I have a son and he was once your age. When he’d have a friend over to spend the night, they weren’t always as quiet, or as careful in the cleanup, as they thought they were. He never knew that I knew. I didn’t want to embarrass him by bringing it up.” I didn’t tell Theo I knew about these things long before I had a son. I had conducted my own interrogations when I was younger, forcing boys to divulge all their secret acts. Some of which included other boys. Some, to my horror and hilarity, included cattle.

Theo asked, “Why can’t my mother be more like you?” He paused. “Not the surveillance stuff. If she thinks of THAT, she’ll install cameras in my bedroom. I’ll never have any privacy again. Why can’t she understand that I’m only doing what every guy does? And that I NEED some privacy. I can’t even look at either of them now, knowing they know EVERYTHING about me.”

We sat for a while in silence. And not an awkward one. Theo and I could always lapse into these silences without feeling the need to interject meaningless words to fill the space.

“I wasn’t going to mention it,” he finally said, “but… since you already know about that stuff… me and my friend…we didn’t just jerk off together. Like I said, we jerked each other off, too. It always feels better when it’s someone else’s hand. And we did other stuff. You know. We did… oral stuff.” He sheepishly looked at me for signs of shock or scandalization. He didn’t find any.

Thinking I maybe just didn’t understand, he elucidated, “We sucked each other.”

“Yes,” I told him. “I got it the first time.”

“Mom and Dad know I did that now, too. They’re not like you. They’re not cool with it. Every time I see them, I cringe. Every time my dad sees ME, he does the same thing. I’m sure he’s seeing me with a dick in my mouth. Mom keeps telling me that no matter what, I’m her son and she loves me. Then she goes off to cry. I liked it better when she practically ignored me. She’s done that all my life. Why does she pick NOW, and about THIS, to suddenly get involved?”

Theo leaned his head all the way back into the couch and let out a big huff of air. He lapsed into silence again.

I was amazed at what he was telling me. Not at the information itself. Nothing he had said so far about adolescent sexuality was new to me. It was practically mundane. I had been the leader of the Hammond Humiliation Society, after all. What amazed me was that a fourteen year old boy, this one in particular, was being so free with his sexual history, such as it was, with the old lady next door.

We had been close for years. But the boy I had known for all those years never would’ve told me about sucking off his best friend. He was far too reserved. I think recent events had upended Theo’s world even more than his mother’s.

I was glad I was there to absorb his tirade. He needed to let it out. I just hoped that later he didn’t become so embarrassed at what he had revealed that avoided me from then on.

Almost as though Theo had read my mind, he said, “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this stuff. I couldn’t even tell Brandon… he’s my best friend… some of this. Even after us doing all that sex stuff with each other, I’d be embarrassed to tell him I get naked in my backyard and jerk off. Maybe I won’t be so embarrassed now after telling YOU everything. I still won’t tell him my Aunt Teresa watched me do it about a thousand times.”

I got up and started the kettle for tea. As the water rattled away, I decided to ask him something. I had debated with myself about bringing this up, but as he had been so frank with me, I decided it’d be ok. If tomorrow he came to regret telling me all this, one more revelation wouldn’t make a difference.

“Why outside?” He looked at me, his eyes questioning. “Why do you do it outside? In the backyard? Why not in your bed or the shower like other boys?”

He gave me a puzzled look. “How would YOU know where boys do it?” he asked.

I smiled at his naïveté. “Remember, I have a son? And anyway, you pick up a few things when you’ve been around for nearly seventy years. Besides…” I lost my smile. “When I was around your age, I was a good listener. Boys would tell me things. Lots of things.”

“Kinda like I’M doing, I guess,” he said. “Well, I didn’t go outside that first time to do it. I really wasn’t thinking about that at all. I’ve just always thought about being naked outdoors. I figured I’d like it. And I do. It feels good. And I don’t mean in a sexy way. Although it’s sexy, too.”

The kettle started whistling for attention. Theo got up and came into the kitchen for tea. I had long ago introduced him to that wide-ranging, wondrous world. As I had told him when I handed him his first cup years ago, ‘Coffee is fine, but tea is divine’.

He continued, “It feels good with the sun on me. I make sure not to get too much. I stay in the shade a lot, too. Under the trees. I REALLY don’t want to get sunburned you-know-where.” He grimaced, imaging the implications.

“And I like the breeze on my skin. Feeling it on places the breeze doesn’t normally touch. And I just like walking around naked outside. It feels kinda daring. Even though we have a huge fence and no one can see me…” He stopped. “Except you, I guess.”

He blushed again and looked down. I handed him a mug of tea.

“I THOUGHT no one could see me. It still felt daring, anyway. Like, I knew no one COULD, but it felt like there was the danger someone MIGHT.”

He thought for a moment. “I like to play flight sims on the computer. But I don’t like flying in real life. I’ve only been in a plane twice, and I was scared to death the whole time. The games give you the sensation of flying without the danger of it.”

Theo sat back down on the couch, placing his mug on the coffee table. I leaned back in my recliner.

“Being out in the backyard naked, with the fence all around, gave me the fear that I might get caught without the danger of being caught. Or so I thought.” He cast an accusing glance my way.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I’m not an exhibitionist. I didn’t want anyone to actually see me. It was just exciting thinking there was the chance of it. But it turned out kinda like I was playing that flight sim and suddenly had a very real crash.”

A silence. We sipped our tea.

Theo finally got to the final reason…. probably the main reason. “And it was doing something I wasn’t supposed to. Not that anyone ever specifically told me not to run around outside naked. But they didn’t need to. Mom and Dad, teachers… society… they all let you know what’s expected of you. The things you have to do and the things you should never do. Be a good boy. Do what you’re told. Think what we tell you to think. Color inside the lines.”

His voice had turned bitter. “I did all that, and what did it get me? As long as I was a ‘good boy’, Mom and Dad were happy. But they were happy because I was invisible. I wasn’t a problem. I didn’t CAUSE any problems.

“So I decided to hell with it. I was tired of playing by someone else’s rules. I’d start doing the things I wanted to do. The stuff they’d NEVER approve of. Like taking Brandon up on his suggestion we… you know, help each other out. And other stuff. Raiding the booze cabinet. Cheating on my homework. And… getting naked out in the backyard. I wanted to be…” He sighed. “I don’t know what the word is.”

“Naughty?” I ventured. I could’ve said ‘typical rebellious teenager’, but I wanted Theo to keep thinking he was doing something unprecedented by asserting his independence and autonomy. Everyone wants to think they’re unique.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I guess so. And I guess that’s where the ‘masterbation’ came in. That first time I was walking around, feeling that breeze. And my… penis was kinda swaying around the way it normally can’t outdoors. When you have pants on. And it all started to feel kinda sexy. Naughty. So I started to touch it. Then I was just kinda playing with it. Sometimes I do that, like at home. Just reach in there and play around with it. Not to masterbate. Just kinda handling it. Most times it doesn’t even get all the way hard when I do that. Just a semi.”

Wow. Theo was really starting to relax and unwind. Did he even realize the things he was telling me?

He continued, “I still wasn’t intending to actually do it. But once it got all the way hard, I thought ‘Why not?’. It’s just me. No one else around. And it would certainly be a new experience. And it would be MY experience. Not one out of the rule book.

“So I did it. Something you’re not supposed to do at all, and especially not outdoors. He reached for his mug. His face was red again. “But you’ve seen that part.”

Then Theo gave me the look of an inquisitor. “So that’s me and why I do the terrible, scandalous things I do. What about YOU?”

“Me?” I inquired innocently. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Why do you spy on your neighbors?”

I knew this was coming. I had decided to just tell the truth. Theo deserved it. “Two reasons. One: because I’ve always liked to possess secret knowledge. I like to know about the people around me. Know more than they could ever suspect. I like to look them in the face later and see all the way inside them.”

As long as I was being honest, I decided to take it further. “There was a time, when I was younger, that I would use that knowledge. And not in a good way.”

Theo asked, “What would you do?”

“That’s a conversation for another day,” I hedged. “For now, let’s just say I did things I knew were bad, but I’d try to justify it all to myself. Like these were somehow righteous acts. Like the people I squeezed under my thumb deserved it. I was the punishment for their sins. When actually, I was the biggest sinner of all. The righteous usually are.” I decided that was far enough down the road to honesty. I didn’t think Theo was ready for full disclosure.

“But I’ve mellowed in my old age. The secret knowledge stays secret. I just watch. And know. I’m satisfied with that.”

After I stopped speaking, Theo waited a few more moments, then asked, “What’s reason number two?”

I laughed. “That should be obvious. I’m a dirty old woman.”

I drained my tea and asked without looking at him, “So. Are we still friends?”

He nodded, actually giving me a small smile. “Yeah. We’re friends. My mom and dad don’t drink tea. Where else am I going to get it?”

He drained the last of his mug. “Now. Let’s watch the rest of them.”

I was surprised. He had wailed like a banshee watching the first one. “You really want to see the rest of your videos?”

Theo gave me a withering look. “No. DUH. Not MY videos. The rest of the NEIGHBORS.”

Television time was more interesting from that moment on. We still watched our tv shows and movies, but always saved time for the latest results from the Neighborhood Watch.

Theo would become noticeably aroused during the racier segments. He thought he was hiding his condition from me, but even if I weren’t predisposed to notice a bulge in a boy’s pants, his awkward fidgeting and fussing as he tried to conceal and accommodate it would’ve alerted me.

Then he’d need to take a bathroom break which always took longer than the average piddle or poop.

It was all quite silly considering what had brought us to that juncture. After a couple of weeks of this, I told him to just pull it out right there on the couch and do what he needed to do. It wasn’t as if I had never seen him play with his peter before. I even placed a bottle of lotion and a towel on the coffee table for him. He didn’t avail himself of them immediately.

It took another few days before he could bring himself to unzip and unleash. Knowing I had seen him on the television dozens of times, and even having watched those videos with me, was different than doing it in person.

But one evening, while we watched a video of a girl he knew from school and her boyfriend mutually masterbating each other in her bedroom, Theo pulled his out and made it a threesome. I turned my attention from the pre-recorded to the live action.

Being a boy, when the time arrived, he waited too long to grab the towel and ended up anointing my coffee table with the first burst of boystuff. He managed to capture the subsequent squirts.

Once he was through, I held my hand up to forestall any anguished apologies, telling him I had long since become inured to the sticky messes libidinous boys were capable of.

Theo began wearing just a t-shirt and sweatpants, no underwear, for television night. The soft, loose fabric of the sweats was less binding when his penis stood up to watch the tv, too. Having no fly to pull it out of, he’d lower the sweats and be naked from the waist down.

One evening, after he slid the sweats down, he took hold of his t-shirt collar and looked at me questioning. I nodded. He slipped the shirt off over his head and tossed it to the other end of the couch. The sweatpants followed.

The next evening, he just divested himself of everything right after he walked in the door. From then on, whatever he came over to do… television, chess, book debates, general socializing… he remained nude throughout. He told me he wasn’t becoming a nudist. He wouldn’t want anyone but me to see him. And he LIKED me seeing him. I told him it worked out well, because I liked seeing him, too. He was a beautiful boy. I was amused that those words could make him blush, when his nakedness before me didn’t.

Theo’s overly modest twelve year old self would be horrified at his actions.

MY former self would be equally horrified with ME. Not only was this boy naked in my presence because he wanted to be… with no shame or humiliation… but I was also allowing him to invade the privacy of women and girls from the neighborhood, some of whom he knew from school.

And it wasn’t just the girls he knew. Two female teachers had starring roles in many of our productions.

Sometimes, late at night, I’d question what kind of person would do the things I did. I spied on and recorded my neighbors in their private moments. I was definitely ‘contributing to the delinquency of a minor’, if anyone still used that term. I had racked up a debt in my early years that I hadn’t the centuries it would take to pay. But even with all that, I consoled myself to a degree with the knowledge that even in in my worst moment, I was NOT my aunt.









Terrible Tad 6: War is Hell

The adventures of the old woman I would become were, of course, ages away from 1962. So was Theo. He wouldn’t even exist for nearly 50 years. And Aunt Teresa was much older, but only a little wiser, than the girl who had tortured and tamed the young Boy Scout, Kayden.

I thought about Kayden often. I thought about them all, but aside from Tad, it was Kayden who occupied my mind the most. I had really liked him, as loathe as I was to admit it. But due to some perversity in my nature, the boys I liked tended to suffer the most.

After I had broken him on that first day, he lay unmoving in the middle of the clearing, naked and subdued. I smiled to myself in a self-congratulatory way. I always credited the other girls with our victories. But I also secretly knew it was mostly my own accomplishments. I held the group together. I gave it direction and steered its course. Even though the other girls had a vote, I could manipulate them as easily as I did the boys. They chose who I wanted them to choose. Then they did what I wanted them to do.

The girls, as with the boys, always succumbed to my wishes, whether they knew it or not. One just had to know where to squeeze, and how hard.

I told Kayden to get up and get dressed. His thing looked red and raw. We had masterbated him five or six times. I had already learned that boys could experience orgasms even when there was nothing left to squirt, when their things were to exhausted to stand up. I wondered how long it would be before Kayden could even think of pleasuring himself.

I let him use the ragged wreck of his underwear to try and clean up the mess he had made all over himself. The best he could do with it wasn’t very good. Most of his stuff had already dried onto him in a scaly crust. He was one nasty boy.

I hoped his mother would discover his condition when he got home just as Asher’s mom had with her little boy. How would Kayden try to explain it away? A sudden, spontaneous penile eruption? Whatever the reason he came up with, it wouldn’t be the truth. First… we had the photos. And he knew exactly what they showed. Second… he knew he wouldn’t be believed anyway. Girls just didn’t do those types of things.

He kept his head down the whole time he was dressing, not looking any of us in the eye. After he finished, he stood submissively, still looking down, awaiting orders. I sent him home with the usual warnings.

A couple of months later, I received notice that Kayden had some intel for me. We had a system. If either of the Scouts or the jocks had something to pass along, they would slip a note into my locker. We would meet immediately after school that day. I had a different meeting spot for each of our spies. Even the Scouts. I wanted to keep them separate and unaware of each other’s identity.

Kayden’s location was behind the gym. That building sat at the edge of the school property. There was nothing but open field behind it, and the woods beyond that. We could talk in relative privacy.

I was glad it was Kayden who had requested the meeting, and not Asher. The Cub was cute, and always made me smile, but his stories weren’t as compelling as Kayden’s. Boy Scouts tended to be wilder and randier than their younger counterparts.

Kayden was already there when I arrived. Once before he had been late. I made him pull his thing out and let it hang there for the entire meeting. I told him the next time it happened, he’d have to relate his report in the nude.

I hoped he’d have something juicy to pass on, and he didn’t disappoint.

It was through the stories brought to me by my Scouts that I learned that boys of a certain age, even the ones not attracted to their own sex, could get quite familiar with each other. Often as just a way of mutual release. But sometimes as a form of domination, with older or bigger boys taking advantage of the younger and smaller. Or a group of boys coercing a singular one.

The Scouts were a breeding ground for all of these variations. Especially the campouts, way out in the woods away from civilization and its standards. High levels of hormones and endless conversation and speculation on the mysteries of sex insured their young bodies were always primed for action with whoever or whatever was convenient at the slightest provocation.

The sharing of tents, the skinny dipping in lakes, the group showers… all provided an abundance of skin to entice and encourage these adolescent urges. The seclusion of the woods and the proximity of sleeping bags in tents at night allowed ample opportunity and ease of access to other bodies. And many boys of that age weren’t overly concerned with whose body they used when the urgency was upon them.

So, Kayden had provided me with a number of stories, but none so epic as the tale he had for me that day.

It involved a capture-the-flag game held on Saturday of the previous weekend’s scout campout.

The Scout campground was quite large, with multiple camping areas nestled in 3500 acres of woodland. The gathering that weekend was larger than usual for this area also, comprised of twelve different troops… around 120 boys.

Under the standard rules of the game, the winning troop would be the one to capture all the other troops’ flags. But due to an unusual absence of adult leadership at this particular campout, the boys were left on their own. One of their responses to this fortuitous freedom was to change the rules of the game a bit. The troop leaders met early in the morning for a couple of hours of intense debate to iron out and reshape the structure of the game into a new, improved capture-the-flag. The new game took not only the competitive nature of boys into account, but also some of their other drives and desires. It allowed for individual conquests throughout the course of the day while in pursuit of the ultimate triumph, capturing the flags.

One of the new rules was that the Scouts could only travel in pairs. So there were never skirmishes with an opposing troop involving more than four boys. Once a skirmish was in progress, no other scouts could become involved in it.

If someone was caught by two of an opposing troop’s members, he was considered a prisoner of war and was taken blindfolded by his captors to a secret location… the penal camp. Each troop had their own camp, situated well away from their home base. A boy was considered ‘caught’ if he was grabbed by the arms on both sides by a pair of opponents. When one’s comrade was so captured, that skirmish was over, and the survivor had to run back to his base to regroup or perhaps find another sole survivor from his troop on the way to team up with. There was always the danger of encountering another pair of enemy combatants before finding one of your own troopmates.

Successful captors in the process of escorting a prisoner to or from their camp were considered out of bounds. They were non-combatants for the duration of their guard duty.

Once they arrived at the penal camp, the prisoner’s blindfold was removed. Then the fun began. He had to strip naked, emphasizing his status as a captive, then get down on his knees and barter for his freedom by giving… shall we say… his best oral argument. To both of his captors. Afterwards, the captive was allowed to dress, was re-blindfolded and escorted to a random location far from the penal camp before being released back into the fray.

His captors returned to active duty also, but had to give their former prisoner a five minute head start to dissuade the practice of immediately recapturing a boy again and again till the war was over. The makers of the rules recognized that the perks of guard duty would make this practice a popular one.

I had to stop Kayden at this point in his tale to ask, “Are you KIDDING me? Is this for real? If you were trying to pull one over on me, tell me now and I’ll let you off with a warning.”

Kayden looked stunned, and a little hurt, that I would doubt his word. He assured me it was all true. Strange, but true. I let him continue.

Each boy who endured this experience was more determined than ever to be the captor in the next skirmish. To be on the other side of that oral encounter.

The hard-core capture-the-flag enthusiasts remained true to the spirit of the game. And the promise/danger of the penal camps (which everyone started calling ‘penile’ camps) just added an extra intensity to the challenge.

But the majority of the boys soon forgot about those silly flags. The game became solely about capturing opposing troop members. Flags couldn’t perform gratifying acts upon your person. And the gratification derived from that act was as much in dominating whichever unfortunate boy you had within your power as it was in that final surge of release into his mouth.

Kayden knew of similar games at Scout campouts, but had never been involved in one himself. The games were usually much smaller in scope. Such as a group of four or five playing strip poker in a tent late at night. Sometimes, nudity was its own punishment. Especially extended nudity when the other boys refused to return the loser’s clothes. But often, the first one naked had to reward the better players. Usually by hand, but sometimes by mouth. There was a sense of good natured fun and camaraderie to these competitions that Kayden could understand, even if he would never have participated himself.

But this sprawling monster of a war was far larger than anything most of the boys had experience with. Its size rendered it unsustainable. Rules started to bend beneath it weight. Much of the sense of fun was lost, too. It gradually became almost entirely about domination and gratification.

Some boys made it through the war unscathed. There were two types… the ones who only collected captives and never found themselves at the nonexistent mercy of a pair of randy guards… and the ones who never found themselves in either position. This second group never reveled in the thrills of victory, but counted themselves lucky nonetheless.

Other boys experienced a mix of captor and captive, usually with no excessive number of encounters of either type.

A few were only ever captives. They had nothing to brag about around the campfire, but neither were they held in low regard for their lack of conquests.

One boy from a different troop, though, was cursed to be captured repeatedly during the course of the very long day. Within minutes of being released from captivity, he would be grabbed by another pair of opponents. He spent more time in the penile camps than out. He only made it back to his home base once. By then, his plight had already become such a joke that his own troopmates stripped him naked and sent him back out into the woods that way. They claimed they were doing him a favor, saving him from the exhaustion of undressing and redressing all day long. His troopmates were forbidden from partnering up with him. The boy’s luck was so bad, no one wanted to, anyway. They were afraid he was contagious. He remained naked for the remainder of the war, most of that time spent on his knees.

At the campfire that night and all through Sunday, everywhere the luckless lad looked he saw the smirking faces of dozens and dozens of boys he had become intimately, orally acquainted with.

On Sunday, the few boys he hadn’t snacked on during the war felt slighted by their exclusion. They banded together and carried him off to an isolated tent. Despite his protests that the war was over, he had to get naked yet again, then demonstrate on each boy the technique he had perfected through numerous repetitions the day before.

When his troopmates learned of this unsanctioned act of aggression, they didn’t rally in support of their comrade. Instead, they decided the disgrace their troop had suffered due to his poor showing in the war entitled each of them to the same service he had provided to every boy in all the other troops.

All this running amok was made possible by the extreme inattentiveness of the Scoutmasters. They remained in a single tent all weekend, engaged in a non-stop, drunken poker game. They left the tent only to get more booze from one of their heavily stocked pickup trucks, or to urinate and regurgitate gallons of excess alcohol. As they never staggered far to relieve themselves, the area around their tent soon turned into a noxious swamp that even the flies avoided.

After putting that indelible image in my mind, Kayden finished his account. At least he thought, or hoped, he had. While providing me with lots of background and juicy details, he had mentioned nothing of his personal involvement. This told me there was more juiciness left unsaid.

Through a bit of coaxing, and a few threats, I persuaded him to continue.

Not long after the onset of the war, Kayden and a sixteen year old troopmate, Elijah, made their first capture. While they were marching their blindfolded prisoner to the penal camp, Kayden felt almost sick with nervousness, as though he were the one who would soon have to buy his release.

They arrived at their designated area. Elijah removed their prisoner’s blindfold. Their captive looked scared. He knew what was coming. Everyone had heard the rules.

Elijah took his thing out in anticipation. It stuck out from his shorts, already hard. His was quite a large one even in its flaccid state. Kayden had seen it that way a number of times before in the camp’s cinderblock shower room.

There were four or five of these shower room/latrines scattered around the large, sprawling campground. And they were all designed the same… seemingly for maximum exposure. There was no outer door, just a very large opening in the cinderblock wall giving full view of the boys showering a few feet away. Having no roof, it was even exposed to the sky and the elements. The toilet area was equally revealing.

Such a setup would be untenable in a public campground, but this one was exclusive to the Scouts. As only males would be in attendance, the designers saw no need for even a modicum of privacy. REAL men weren’t modest.

Most boys didn’t mind bathing and pooping in front of their comrades, or at least they didn’t voice any objections. Complaining would make them look like ‘sissies’.

Some boys, such as Elijah, actively enjoyed it… his reason being the unnaturally super-sized sausage hanging between his legs. He would strut around naked after his shower, taking his time toweling himself dry, flaunting it before all of the lesser endowed boys. He was as proud of it as the others were envious.

Kayden wondered if it got dunked in the toilet water when he sat down to poop.

He had seen only one other boy with a thing that large… a boy at school named Lucas. But he was Elijah’s opposite. He was quiet and unassuming. And he didn’t proudly swing his thing around the school showers as Elijah did. He actually seemed a little embarrassed by his size and tried to keep it hidden as much as possible in an open locker room setting.

As Elijah advanced on their prisoner, he put a little extra movement in his hips so his thing swung before him menacingly like a cudgel. He bellowed at their quailing captive, “Get your clothes off. Everything. NOW!” He was obviously enjoying the role of captor much more than Kayden.

The boy clumsily undressed with Elijah standing right over him, barely giving him room to maneuver. The overly enthusiastic captor bellowed the whole time like a movie drill sergeant, only a bit more bawdy. “What’s taking you so long? It’s feeding time and I KNOW you’re hungry. If I had MY way, this would be going in your OTHER hole, too. Bet you’d like THAT. I’d even do your ass FIRST!”

The boy eventually stood naked and shaking, awaiting and dreading the next order.

When Kayden looked at their captive, he saw himself on the day we caught him in the woods. He had helped capture this boy in much the same way. And now his victim was about the submit to an unwanted sex act. The parallels were too damning. Kayden felt even more sick. He wished he had stayed home that weekend. He hadn’t known all of this was going to happen.

The boy they held prisoner could’ve refused to play the game. He could’ve walked away. He wasn’t bound with ropes and chains. The guards couldn’t tackle him to the ground and physically force him to submit. The rules had explicitly forbade actual physical violence. No one wanted the Scoutmasters to be alerted to their activities by black eyes and split lips. Captures were made through mild scuffling, only enough for two boys to grab another by the arms. Once this happened, all involved mutually agreed that particular skirmish was over. It was a voluntary system.

But peer pressure could be as binding as physical restraints. Especially for adolescent boys. So this boy stood and waited… clearly on the verge of tears… but resigned to honor his side of the contract.

Elijah saw the boy’s barely contained emotional state. He became even more excited. He got right in the boy’s face. Their noses and foreheads were touching. “This your first time, BITCH?” he bellowed. Spittle flew from his mouth all over the boy’s face. The boy flinched, then nodded.

Elijah looked over at me, his eyes shining with a crazed inner light. “Ooooweeeee, Kayden. We got ourselves a VIRGIN here. First time is MINE.”

Kayden tried not to look as the boy knelt in front of Elijah and took it in his mouth. But a perverse fascination held him transfixed, his eyes locked on the strange scene playing out before him. He watched till the end, when Elijah grabbed his prisoner’s head with both hands to hold it in place while he furiously pumped himself into the boy’s gagging mouth.

Afterwards, the boy bent over and continued to gag and retch, drooling fluids that weren’t entirely his own. Elijah performed a victory dance around him. His thing was still half hard and hanging out of his zipper. It flopped around obscenely, throwing drops of his stuff everywhere. He was dancing like a stereotypical cartoon Indian, as Native Americans were referred to at that time. He was voicing a long low sound that ululated as he patted his mouth rhythmically. Kayden wondered if Indians had ever really done that kind of dance. If they had, he was sure they hadn’t done it the way Elijah did. His actions were an obviously offensive mockery.

Suddenly it was HIS turn. The boy, having recovered, was kneeling down in front of him. Kayden wanted to run, but he knew that Elijah would see him as a sissy. He knew this assessment wouldn’t stay with Elijah either. They weren’t friends… even less the kind of friend who keeps your secrets. Kayden had to follow through. Be one of the boys.

He was ashamed that he was completely hard before he could even pull his thing out of his shorts. It was smaller than Elijah’s, but clearly still intimidating to the boy who was about to take it.

He had never before received such attentions from another boy. Or anyone at all. Me and my girls were the only ones to ever touch him there, and none of us had used our mouths.

Looking down at the naked boy on his knees in front of him… and feeling that warm, moist mouth at work… made him deeply uncomfortable, even as it felt undeniably good. Making it worse, Elijah stood only a foot away, bending down to watch the action and grinning so hard it had to hurt. He had never put his wiener away, and it was standing tall again already.

When the moment arrived, Kayden instinctively acted in a similar way to Elijah, grabbing the boy’s head so he couldn’t jerk away when his thing started spurting its stuff. He didn’t thrust it repeatedly into the boy’s mouth though. He just held on and rode the wave of rapture.

Elijah wanted a second turn, but Kayden reminded him of the rules, and how their troop could be disqualified for breaking them. Then there’d be no more crudely cartoonish victory dances.

“Fine,” Elijah stated, seemingly not fine with it at all. “But we find us the right one later, I got THIS…” He pulled something out of his pocket and waggled it at Kayden. “I came prepared.”

Kayden recognized a jar of petroleum jelly, but not the significance of it.

Kayden and Elijah’s second captive of the day was the unlucky boy who ended up partaking of every Scout at camp. By the time he fell into Kayden’s reluctant clutches, word of his supernaturally bad luck was already making the rounds. Kayden felt sorry for him. The boy was the youngest and smallest at camp, with a baby face that made him look years younger still. He was probably bullied at the best of times. Even so, as Kayden once again pulled his thing out of his shorts, it became erect and enthused almost immediately. Kayden was beginning to learn that we’re all a mix of good and bad.

Once again, Elijah was so intent on the action as the boy worked on Kayden that his face was practically in Kayden’s crotch, too. And once again, when his turn came, he was as abusive as the rules would allow.

Many of the boys didn’t seem to mind the enforced intimacy of one boy’s thing in another boy’s mouth, even when they were the ones with their mouths full. It was all part of the game. Maybe they had played such games many times before and it had all become commonplace.

His third captive was one of these boys. Kayden made the capture with a different troopmate, having last seen Elijah being led away blindfolded and weeping to a fate he loved inflicting on others. The boy undressed and immediately got down on his knees, saying with a self-deprecating smile, “Oh well, here I go again.”

Kayden told himself he could never be so nonchalant.

He paused again in telling the tale. I had a suspicion as to why. As his silence lengthened, I finally had to prompt him, “So… were you ever captured?” He sighed.

Kayden had been captured four times. Maybe five, maybe six. I asked him how he could be so unsure. He told me he didn’t know, but he’d get to the explanation, such as it was, shortly.

The first time happened immediately after he had made the decision to go awol… sneak away from the war and its wiener-in-mouth madness. He’d hide further out in the woods beyond the borders of the camp. He’d make his way back at nightfall, and maybe, in all the chaos, no one would ever know he’d been gone.

Before he could disappear, though, he had to somehow get rid of his post-Elijah partner, a boy named Ted. As luck would have it, at the very moment Kayden resolved his plan, he spied movement through the bushes behind the other boy. A pair of enemies was trying to sneak up on them. Normally, Kayden would’ve alerted his partner to the danger. But this was the break he had just been hoping for. Since the opposition was behind Ted, when they attacked he would be the one they captured.

Kayden was aware of what a conniving, deceitful traitor he was. He knew he was consigning one of his comrades to the fate of fellating two enemy combatants. He hated himself for doing it. Ted was a likable guy, quite unlike the loathsome Elijah. He and Kayden had often gone off exploring at previous campouts. They had played cards late into the night, talking and laughing as silently as the could to avoid alerting the Scoutmaster. They stood up for each other when quarrels arose. A real bond of friendship was forming.

But Ted had mentioned being captured earlier in the day. He had been candid with Kayden about what happened next. All the boys knew how a prisoner secured his release, but none who had been down on their knees wanted to discuss the details. Some refused to even admit to it. They had NEVER been captured. The more emphatic they were in their claims, the more obvious the lie became.

Ted was different. He was quite open with Kayden, perhaps because the were friends. He had volunteered that he’d been captured very early on. He may even have held the dubious honor of being the first prisoner of the war. It was a first for him in another way, too. He had never before had to take another boy into his mouth.

He laughed and said it was embarrassing, but in the end it didn’t matter. The troop his two captors belonged to was from a town miles away. It wasn’t like he’d see them at school on Monday.

His laughter had sounded forced… a show of bravado. He wasn’t as indifferent as he pretended to be.

Even so, Ted had already endured his baptism of fire. Kayden had not, and had no intention of getting burned. He would serve up Ted as a sacrifice and deal with his conscience later.

Kayden’s stroke of good luck was immediately followed by a counterbalance of bad. The universe had heard his traitorous thoughts and delivered instant retribution. Just as the two boys behind Ted were preparing to pounce, a second pair exploded from the bushes behind Kayden, grabbing his arms before he even knew what was happening. As he was being neatly apprehended, Ted and the other two boys panicked and ran in three different directions.

Blindfolded, Kayden stumbled along unseen woodland trails, secured on either side by two larger, older boys. They conversed over his head about mundane matters, seemingly oblivious of his existence.

A few minutes later, they stopped. One boy now addressed him directly, “We’re here. You know what happens next. We’re going to let go of your arms now, and take off the blindfold. You going to be good?”

Kayden nodded, unable to speak. He tried to make his mind blank… like a chalkboard with all the words wiped away. Maybe he could make it through this on some kind of autopilot, unaware of what his physical self was doing. But a shrill, hysterical voice in his head hadn’t gotten the message. It wouldn’t let him sink further down into himself while his body functioned without him. It kept nattering at him incessantly, telling him things he already knew but didn’t want to hear. “They’re going to make you strip. They’re going to put their things in your mouth. They’re going to squirt their stuff in your mouth. Down your throat.”

This might even end up being more humiliating than the last time he’d been captured in the woods… by me and my girl gang. At least then he’d taken no active part in his own degradation. He’d been overpowered. Things had been done to him. This time, though, he’d be the one doing the things. He’d be an active participant… just like the three naked boys who had knelt before him earlier in the day, taking him in their mouths, giving him such intense, guilty pleasure. What they did, and what he was about to do, was technically voluntary, but didn’t seem that way at all.

The blindfold fell away. Kayden blinked, blinded by the sudden light. The boy was speaking again. “You DO know what to do, right? Have you done this before?”

Kayden’s captors came into focus. They were both at least three years older than him, and much bigger.

“Hey, kid.” The boy snapped his fingers in front of Kayden’s face. “I’m talking to you. You ever done this before?”

Kayden shook his head, still mute.

“Shit.” He turned to his partner. “We’ve got another newbie.”

“Great,” the other boy replied. “More bad blow jobs and tears.” Unlike Elijah, these boys didn’t want a virgin.

Turning back to Kayden, the first one said, “Don’t worry. I’ll walk you through it. Now take off your clothes.”

Suddenly, involuntarily, Kayden tried to run. He hadn’t even known he was going to do it. His legs and feet moved of their own volition. He didn’t get far, of course. His captors were standing right in front of him, and that was the direction he stupidly tried to flee. He slammed into a wall of bigger boys and fell backwards on his butt. As escape attempts go, it was pathetic.

The first boy bent down, grabbed Kayden under his arms and lifted him back to his feet. “You ok, little guy?”

Little guy? That might be more humiliating than the act he was there to perform. Those two words made him feel impossibly young compared to the two older, more experienced boys. He began to cry.

The second boy threw up his hands. “And there are the tears. Why do I always have to be so right?”

“Leave him alone,” the first boy told him. “He’s like… ten years old.”

Ten? This boy was destroying Kayden’s ego without even trying. He finally found his voice. “I’m thirteen,” he declared defiantly.

The older boy looked at him more closely. “Oh,” he said in wonder. “Wow.”

That was enough. Kayden felt a surge of hot anger burn through him. He had been dreading the possibility of a capture all day. His stomach had been tied in knots, and they weren’t the kind of knots that earned one a merit badge. Even his stint at guard duty and the pleasurable perks it entailed had twisted him up with anxiety and shame.

Now, with the moment he had feared upon him, he still had to suffer being belittled and ridiculed.

“Let’s just do this and get it over with,” he yelled at the first boy, his voice cracking. He began savagely pulling his clothes off, yanking his shirt out of his shorts and wrenching it wide open. Buttons went flying. He had pulled the shirt open so wide that it now fell off his shoulders and slid down his arms to pool on the ground around his feet.

“Easy there,” the boy told him, putting a firm hand on Kayden’s bare shoulder. “You want to have something to put back on when we’re done.”

Kayden immediately calmed under the older boy’s touch, the pique leaving him as quickly as it started. Trembling from the rush of adrenaline, he looked down at his shirt in regret. He knew he had acted foolishly. He had been made to feel like a child, and had acted childishly in response.

The boy told him to stand there and cool off, then bent down to look for wayward buttons. He managed to locate all of them, scattered though they were. Handing them to Kayden, he said, “I hope you can sew. If not, you’re going to have to come up with some excuse for your Scoutmaster. Tell him you fell out of a tree. Or a raccoon attacked you.”

He leaned down to look Kayden in the eye. “You ok to finish stripping?” Kayden nodded, then continued undressing, but this time with more composure.

Once he was naked, he stood self-consciously and waited. He wanted to cover himself in front with his hands, but was afraid the other boys would deride him. Boys weren’t supposed to be modest around other boys. Ordinarily, in a locker room or the showers, he wouldn’t be. In fact, there was a sense of camaraderie and fellowship in a roomful of naked boys… an openness when there were no clothes to hide behind.

But being the only one naked in a group could be much different. Everyone else had that shield of clothing, making the one boy’s nakedness feel disconcertingly obvious and inappropriate.

And for Kayden, the reason he was naked compounded his feeling of unseemly exposure. He had been forced into a role of sexual subservience, even if only through voluntary adherence to some strange social contract. He could refuse to hold up his end of that contract, but to do so would make him a pariah in the sub-society of the Scouts… ironically, a culture he currently wanted no part of. Kayden was conflicted and confused.

Even more ironic, if he refused to take these boys’ things into his mouth, he’d be considered weak, someone without the courage to follow through with his commitments. Someone who was SCARED… a word all boys dreaded being branded with. And worse, that perceived fear would make him a sissy… the word they’d also use for a boy who actually enjoyed performing the very same act he had refused. Kayden wasn’t alone in being confused. The whole world seemed to be.

His captors were bickering over who would be first. The delay prolonged Kayden’s exposure and intensified his awareness of it. He realized to his surprise that another contributing factor to his feeling of extreme indecency was the lack of hair between his legs, something that had never bothered him before. At least, not where other boys were concerned. (My girls and I had made him very aware of his hairless state with constant ridicule.)

The locker room always held a mix of boys with and without hair. It had never occurred to him to feel inadequate as one without. But now he was overly conscious that he was bare as a baby.

His captors were sixteen or seventeen years old. They were both at least a head taller than him and filled out to almost adult proportions. The disparity in ages and physical maturity was already obvious. The legs below their shorts were hairy. He didn’t need to see the rest of them to know they’d have more hair between their legs, under their arms, maybe even on the chests. Kayden hadn’t even sprouted any peach fuzz yet.

These older boys had already demonstrated they saw him as little more than a child. It was galling to be so dismissed. After all, when he was wearing his Scout uniform, it was the same one they wore. But by their attitude and his hairlessness, he had come to see himself through their eyes… and what he saw was a child compared to their status as young adults. And he hated it.

His captors were flipping a coin. It landed on the ground, and they both bent down to look at it. The second boy straightened up and stamped his foot. “Damn! I NEVER get to be first.”

The first boy was walking towards Kayden. He called back over his shoulder, “Look at it this way… maybe I’ll be able to teach him a few things. You might not get such a bad blow job after all.”

His partner said, “Teach him what to do with his tongue.”

Time seemed to jump. Kayden was one his knees with the first boy’s crotch directly in front of his face. The boy was unzipping his shorts. He reached in and pulled out his thing. It was still soft. He told Kayden, “Take hold of it.”

Another jump. Kayden was holding the boy’s thing, but couldn’t remember reaching out to grab it. It was growing in his hand, starting to get hard.

Elijah was the first boy, besides himself, he had ever seen attaining an erection. Then there was Ted, his second partner, who was more self-conscious about his obvious excitement. Kayden’s first prisoner had hardened while he worked on Elijah, and had stayed that way through his time with Kayden. He had apologized, saying that happened often of late… at the worst possible times. Elijah had, of course, crowed about it. “I TOLD you he liked it. Goddamned sissy-boy!”

Kayden hadn’t been so sure. He had heard stories of boys who liked other boys. But even if their captive had been so inclined, he was NOT enjoying the events of the day. It was apparent he didn’t like being pressured into so intimate an act any more than Kayden currently did. It was as likely that a part of his brain knew that some kind of sex was going on, and had responded accordingly. Teresa… that’s me… had told Kayden how boy’s wieners reacted to sex whether they wanted that sex or not. And she seemed to know a lot about boys. She had known what to do with HIM. He had gotten hard under her touch, though he was desperate in his resolve not to.

Now he was watching a fourth wiener harden, and this one was only inches from his face. He was as fascinated watching it as he was when his own performed that feat. Such an odd mechanism.

When it was fully hard, the boy instructed, “Just open your mouth and let me help you.” Kayden complied.

The boy placed a hand behind Kayden’s head and gently pulled him forward. It slid right in. Hard and thick and fleshy. After he had been helped over that initial hurdle, he started doing what the other boys had done to him. He kept telling himself ‘It’s not a boy’s wiener in my mouth. It’s an actual wiener. It’s a hot dog.’ But lying to himself didn’t work. He knew all too well what it was. Even with mustard this wouldn’t pass for a hot dog.

The boy spoke to him the whole time, telling him what else to do, when to do it. How to use his tongue. How NOT to use his teeth.

Time jump. The boy was speaking more urgently, “Get ready. Here it comes. And don’t worry. There won’t be a lot. I’ve done this six times already.”

Jump. He was doing the second boy. That one gave him no warning before he started squirting. And also unlike the first boy, he had a LOT. As Kayden’s grandpa the oil man would say, ‘It was a gusher’.

Jump. He was wandering through the woods. At first he thought they were the woods surrounding Hammond. He was home. Then he remembered where he was and what he’d been doing. He had an unusual taste in his mouth. Feeling a breeze on his chest, he had a momentary attack of panic, thinking he was still naked. He looked down to see his shirt untucked and hanging open. Its buttons were in his pocket. He didn’t remember getting dressed.

He wondered what time it was. The trees blocked out the sky, so he had no sun to measure by. The war would end at nightfall if no team had captured all the flags first. Were there still boys trying to win that objective?

There was a sound behind him…

Jump. He had no idea where he was. He was completely lost.

What was going on with him leap-frogging through time. Had his mind actually achieved what he’d earlier wished for… some kind of autopilot system to save him the humiliation of being forced to suck multiple boys? If so, it was broken. It only worked erratically, in fits and starts.

Or was the world fracturing around him… splitting into unconnected segments? What would happen if he were standing right in the path of a split? Would he shatter? Had he already shattered, and was now living random pieces of his life? He felt odd and disconnected.

And where was he? Was he even in the Scout campground anymore? He felt a panicky agitation forming inside. Had some fracture sent him miles from where he started? Was this even his world?

He rubbed absently at the scratches on his chest and stomach. He had no idea where or when he got them.

Movement ahead. Two shapes rushing towards him through the trees. When he was secured between them, one exclaimed, “Finally! Finally I get to be the one to shoot my load. My balls are so full, I can’t stand it.”

Jump. In the woods again. Wandering. Wondering where he was and what he was doing. He didn’t wonder long before… “Gotcha. Put the blindfold on him.”

He didn’t know how many times he was caught. Or if he was even living them in the order they happened. He just knew he saw a lot of close-up crotches.

Jump. “Oh boy. We’ve got company.” Kayden heard someone say as his captors brought him to a stop. His blindfold came off. There was already a trio at the camp… two guards and a naked prisoner on his knees. The captive had one guard’s thing held between both hands and was busily at work on it. When he heard the other guard speak, he stopped and turned to look.

It was Ted, the friend he had betrayed. Or at least planned to betray. That seemed ages ago, worlds away, Seeing him, Kayden felt as guilty as if his plan had succeeded.

And despite Kayden’s failure, Ted ended up being captured anyway.

Ted looked embarrassed at his friend seeing him… seeing what he was doing. It wasn’t unheard of for there to be more than one group in the penile camp at the same time. No one knew how many of their troopmates had seen each other working to secure their release. Most boys didn’t volunteer it around the campfire.

The boy Ted had been sucking barked at him, “Hey! Back to work. Or I’ll make you do it twice.” This would’ve been against the rules. But Kayden had vague, splintered memories of events he had witnessed as he wandered and stumbled through the trees… of the rules breaking down as the war dragged on.

… A boy being grabbed by two larger, laughing opponents while crying, “You can’t do this. You have to give me a head start. I just did you.”

… A boy being released naked back into the woods, desperately pleading, “Give me back my clothes. You have to let me get dressed.”

… Four boys banding together to chase down another naked boy… the unlucky one who had been stripped by his own troop.

… A boy draped over an old log. Three larger boys, his captors. One of them bent over him, pants down, bare butt thrusting. A boy who looked like Elijah yelling, “Hooooweeeee! Ride ‘em, cowboy!”

Ted, red faced, turned back to resume his work.

One of Kayden’s captors told him, “Get your clothes off.” He looked at Kayden’s mangled shirt. “What’s left of them, anyway.”

His other captor declared, “We got ourselves a foursome here. These boys are going to be wore out by the time they’re through.” Also against the rules. But the world run by rules was fracturing just like Kayden’s reality.

Jump. The last of the four boys, his crotch still just inches away from Kayden’s face, was securing his thing in his shorts. Immediately to Kayden’s right was Ted, also kneeling. He had been watching Kayden at work. The two captives had been instructed to alternate working on their captors so each could watch the other suck. Just an extra bit of humiliation thrown in for free.

Ted looked at the boys standing around them. “We’ve done all of you. Now let us go.” He was angry. Kayden felt dazed and numb. He couldn’t work up anything as ardent as anger.

“Not so fast.” One of the captors laughed. He was a very heavyset boy, with a huge stomach. Kayden had a fragment of memory… that stomach laying heavily on top of his head while he sucked. “There’s still two boys here who haven’t had a blow job, yet.” More laughter from around the group.

Ted looked momentarily confused. Then shocked. “No fucking way! That’s WAY against the rules. I’m going to report y’all.”

The fat boy leaned down menacingly, his laughter gone. “I’d watch that if I were you. There’s other things we can do. Things you wouldn’t want anyone else to know about. Things you’d NEVER report.”

Ted looked at Kayden, and mouthed the words, “What do we do?”

Jump. Ted and Kayden were laying in the grass on their sides, their faces in each other’s crotch. Ted told him later one of the boys, apparently proficient in arcane terminology, called it a 69. They were sucking on each other things, while the four other boys stood over them, laughing and jeering.

Once they had brought each other to a climax, they started to get up.

"Not so fast," the fat boy said. You boys are friends, right? I think you should get REALLY friendly." He paused, thinking. "Lick each other's balls." This brought howls and hollers from the others.

Kayden didn't know why he and Ted complied with these extrajudicial orders. Maybe they feared physical repercussions for disobedience. They WERE outnumbered after all. Maybe they were locked in obedience mode from being prisoners too long. Whatever the reason, he found himself licking and being licked.

“Put some passion in it.” one boy ordered. “You know you want to do it. Get those balls nice and slobbery.” Kayden wondered if the speaker was the one who really wanted to do it, but had to settle for directing the action.

More commands rained down on them. All four captors had ideas they wanted to see implemented.

Get his whole ballsack in your mouth.
Get in there further. Stick your tongue in his crack.
More. Get your face in there.
Give it a big kiss.
Lick it. Give that hole a big kissy.

Kayden had lost any semblance of autonomy. He did as he was told.

The boys’ forced oral explorations of each other continued for a while, each one mirroring the actions of the other. Their captors sat down in the grass around the pair and watched. Someone produced cigarettes. They watched long after their well of ideas ran dry, long after the sight of two boys with their faces and tongues buried in each other’s most personal areas had become mundane and repetitious. The novelty had worn off, but the puppeteers had acquired power and were loathe to let it go.

Kayden had no idea how long it went on. He only knew that he and Ted were becoming much better acquainted than they had been that morning. He was also grateful to discover Ted practiced good hygienic habits. This could’ve been much more unpleasant otherwise.

At one point he had become vaguely aware of other boys arriving, probably two more guards and a prisoner. He heard their incredulous exclamations. Then their suggestions. He really, really hoped the prisoner wasn’t from his troop.

Jump. He and Ted were sitting crosslegged in the grass, side by side. Their knees were touching. They were looking up into the trees where their clothes were hanging from the branches, swaying in the breeze… a last act of malicious humor before the other boys left them. They'd gone off looking for 'fresh meat', Ted told him.

Retrieving their clothes took teamwork. Kayden bent down and clasped his hands together, fingers intertwined, palms up. Ted put a bare foot into his hands, and Kayden boosted him up. Ted hooked an arm over a branch to help support his weight and began picking their garments out of the tree. Looking up, Kayden’s view of the other boy at that unusual angle was quite revealing. It didn’t matter. He had seen all that before, and much, much closer.

They repeated this maneuver till all their clothes were recovered.

As they dressed, Ted turned to him. Kayden was startled by a fierce look on his face.

"We're still friends," Ted told him. "We're still friends, and if you try to act otherwise, I'll kick your ass. We’re not going to let those assholes…” he stopped and let out a short laugh, “or our OWN assholes… ruin our friendship.”

His glare became even more fervent. "I mean it."

"Ok, ok," Kayden said, holding his hands up in self-defense. "We're friends."

Ted relaxed. He gave another short laugh and said, "After what we just did with each other, we might as well be."

Jump. Kayden and Ted were returning to the camping area. Going awol, as Kayden had planned before. Consequences be damned. They'd had enough of war. Kayden heard a rustling sound in the trees on the other side of Ted. He turned and saw movement. Yelling, "Look OUT!" he shoved Ted out of the way and took the brunt of the attack.

Kayden grappled with one of the assailants. He grabbed him by the arm to swing him around into the other boy who was coming up fast. Before he could complete the move, Ted appeared on the other side of the first boy, and grabbed his other arm. They had a prisoner.

The boy wailed, “Oh nooooooo!”

The boy’s partner shouted, “Shit. Why’d you have to get caught? Now I have to try to get back without getting caught myself. With no backup. Thanks a LOT! ASSHOLE!” He stomped off through the trees, still cussing.

At the beginning of the war, every boy had been given a blindfold to carry… a double folded strip of white cloth probably cut from an old tablecloth. Kayden and Ted discovered they both had lost theirs at some point during their recent captivity. The blindfolds were probably hanging in a tree.

Their captive, a small boy of about eleven years, tried to lawyer his way out of his impending penalty by claiming all rules had to be followed for the capture to be legal. The rules stated that the prisoner must be blindfolded while being transported to the penal camp. No blindfold… no sanctioned capture. They had to let him go.

Ted pulled his wrinkled kerchief out of his pocket. The boy looked at it contemptuously. “The OFFICIAL blindfolds are white. That kerchief is RED. It’ll never do. Again… you have to let me go.” He gave them a very smug, self-satisfied smirk.

He lost the smirk when Kayden and Ted, after a wordless look between them, began stripping him naked on the spot. Despite his shock, he barely struggled, and only at the beginning. After that brief resistance, he submitted, just standing there miserably while the other boys removed his clothing. As Kayden and Ted had done earlier, he had fallen into obedience mode when he became a prisoner, even when compliance was contrary to his self-interest. Kayden reflected that rules, when followed blindly, could be a dangerous thing.

After they removed his last item of clothing, his white briefs, Ted pulled them over the boy’s head, effectively blindfolding him. Kayden leaned down to whisper in his ear, “There, a white blindfold. Happy?”

As they marched him to their troop’s penile camp, Kayden told Ted, “You know… I was about to recommend we let the kid go. We had quit the war. We both know what it’s like to be in his shoes. I was going to say just let him go his way while we go back to the tent. Then… he opened his mouth.”

Ted looked surprised. “I was going to say the same thing.” He looked down at the boy they held between them. “You really screwed up, kid.”

“Crap,” a little voice said from beneath the briefs.

They passed two other pairs of Scouts on the way. Both times the sight of the naked boy wearing his underwear on his head produced knee-slapping guffaws. One boy called out, “Franklin? You stuck-up little twerp. I’d recognize that itty bitty dingus anywhere. You just WAIT! EVERYONE’S going to know about this.”

At the camp, Kayden watched the boy at work on Ted. It was obvious that this was his first time. The stuck-up little twerp was being humbled. When Kayden’s turn came, he held the boy’s head still and thrust himself back and forth into the boy’s mouth. He’d seen Elijah do that. More than one of his captors had done that to him. He wanted to see what it felt like to be the doer. It felt good. The boy’s gagging and the feel of his hands scrabbling at Kayden’s legs and shorts made it even better.

As he was getting close, he heard a voice calling way off in the distance. Then another voice, like an echo. Then more voices chiming in. And more still. All around them. It was eerie and surreal. Were these lost fragments drifting through the trees? Crying out for their brethren?

The words were becoming more clear. Boys were yelling, “The war is over.” It spread throughout the woods, with each boy it reached taking up the call.

It seemed at least some of the Scouts had remained true to the mission, the capturing of the flags.

The kid in front of Kayden pulled back. A line of saliva still connected them, from the tip of Kayden’s thing to the boy’s bottom lip. “The war’s over,” Franklin declared defiantly. “You have to let me go.” His imperious attitude was undermined by that tether of drool.

As the boy opened his mouth to speak again, Kayden pulled the him back in, reinserting himself. His captive kept making little gulping, garbling sounds, apparently still arguing his case. It didn’t matter. Kayden was ready and released himself into that smug little mouth.

He didn’t immediately withdraw. He pulled the boy’s face tight into his crotch, his softening thing still within Franklin’s mouth. He held him there for a while, listening to the muffled protests.

The act of so completely controlling poor Franklin made him hard again. He heard a wordless sound of distress, but soon after felt the boy once again go to work.

After his second erection and release, Kayden still held the boy’s face to him, wondering if he was capable of a third. But he decided he was satisfied… for the moment.

Franklin was silent, except for the little sounds he made as he cried. Kayden held him for longer still, making it very clear who was the boss. When he finally withdrew, Franklin’s tear-streaked face wasn’t so smug anymore.

Power felt good. He wanted more.

Around the campfire that night, and all the next day, boys traded war stories. Told of their conquests. Listened to others tease them about their captures. There was celebration and sadness, pride and regret.

… Word of Kayden and Ted’s Number 69 (and 70 through 83) had filtered back to their troop. There was ribbing and ridicule, lots of tongues making licking motions, lots of kissy faces… but it wasn’t nearly as bad as they’d feared. Their legend would live on, but that story wasn’t the most degrading to come out of the war, hard as that was to believe.

… Of the other troops, Kayden kept seeing faces he remembered. His fragments were reconnecting. With each face came a memory he wished would fade back into oblivion.

… The boy who had rescued his wayward buttons gave him a big ‘hello’, with a firm but friendly slap on the back, as though they had been comrades and not enemies.

… Kayden never knew why his world had fractured. But by the end of the weekend, it had rebuilt…at least most of it. There were still holes in his memory. The latter half of that Saturday was a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. He decided he had gone a little crazy from the anxiety that had accumulated over the course of the day, resulting in stress fractures to his psyche.

He didn’t regret those missing pieces. They may have been moments worse than those he remembered.

Some of the memories that returned were tangled up and mismatched, creating works of pure fiction. He saw himself as the boy draped over the old log. He saw his hands before him, digging into the dirt. He heard his own voice rhythmically gasping, “oh… oh… oh… oh” in time with his captor’s thrusts. He felt despair knowing this boy was only the first.

But Elijah had been there, obviously one of the captors. And he couldn’t capture his own troopmate. It was against the rules, so Kayden assured himself it couldn’t have happened.

… Kayden and Ted were still friends. They were friends outside of the Scouts now, too… something they hadn’t been before. I asked him if they were, perhaps, MORE than friends now. He told me no, they weren’t. The mild way he said it, with no extravagant show of outrage at the suggestion, told me he was telling the truth.

… Kayden saw Franklin on Saturday night, sitting away from the fire, alone. He felt a deep stab of regret… a knife that never withdrew.

He couldn’t reconcile the person he was, or at least wanted to be, with the one who had done those hateful things. And beyond his actions were the things he had thought while doing them. The things he had wanted to do. How far he could’ve gone.

He hadn’t known it at the time, but Ted’s mere presence had a mollifying effect and kept him from going further. Ted had unknowingly saved Franklin from further abuse even before he laid a hand lightly on Kayden’s arm and stated, “That’s enough.”

Kayden had seen an uglier side of himself… one he never wanted to see or even acknowledge ever again. Terrible things had been done to him, and not just during that ridiculous war. And like many before him and after, he took up the banner and did terrible things, in turn.

Everyone has a monster.

After he finished his story, I was silent for a while, thinking of Kayden and Franklin. By his actions, Kayden hadn’t just inflicted scars. He had sustained them, too. I felt my own stab of regret.

Wondering at my silence, he looked at me nervously. “Is it ok? The story?”

I recovered from my reverie. “Yes,” I told him. “You did really well this time.”

He visibly relaxed, slumping from a rigid posture he had held through the entire tale… a stance I hadn’t noticed until he released it.

He took that opportunity to ask a boon. In a small voice, he implored “Please… please don’t go after Ted. He’s a good guy. I may deserve what y’all do, but Ted doesn’t.” Besides his treatment of Franklin, I suspected Kayden was also thinking of his attempted betrayal of Ted. I wondered if he’d ever forgive himself for something that never even happened.

Of course, telling me this story was a betrayal, too. He could’ve left any mention of Ted out and I never would’ve known. But he was terrified to hold anything back. I had previously hinted that we had other spies in his organization. If I discovered through someone else what Kayden had failed to divulge, the consequences for him would be dire. We had those photos.

This war was prime story time material, even though it included no girls at all. It was all boys. Boys at their worst.

Free of adult supervision and the rules imposed by others, these boys had created their own society for a day… one whose mores allowed for coercive sexual subjugation. One where dormant desires could be awakened and released in acceptable, non-judgmental ways. Don’t worry… it doesn’t mean anything. It’s all just a game.

And even with the freedom this new law of the land allowed, they still couldn’t stay within its very broad boundaries. Oral enslavement wasn’t enough. Greater gratification was just over the border.

It was Lord of the Flies slathered beneath a thick, sticky layer of seminal fluids. And I loved it.

Kayden had done so well, I decided to throw the little dog a bone. I told him we wouldn’t be contacting his friend, Ted, for future fun and games. Elijah, however, was in the crosshairs. He sounded like a boy in need of a comeuppance. His capture during the war wasn’t sufficient, if only because I wasn’t personally involved in it. And I wanted to see that sausage.

As usual, Kayden would have to repeat the story later to Annette, our chronicler. I and a couple of other girls would be in attendance to go over the details again and again. I wanted the full account for story time. And I decided I’d make him masterbate while he related the more sexualized chapters. As there were many, poor Kayden was going to be a very sore young man by the time the tale was told.

One other issue had to be addressed before I sent the boy on his way. Kayden had tasted power that weekend. That he was eventually found that taste unpalatable didn’t matter. It still might give him foolish ideas that he could be in charge, if only of himself. That couldn’t be allowed. Not in MY world. I couldn’t let him get too big for his britches, as my mother would say.

“Before you go,” I told him, “Pull it out. I haven’t seen it in a while.”

His look of hurt and shock was delicious. He had really thought my appreciation of his story would make him immune.

As he started unzipping his pants, I said, “Oops. You took too long. Now you’ll have to drop ‘em. Pants and panties.”

I enjoyed his look of outrage. “I don’t wear PANTIES. I’m a BOY.”

Unfazed, I informed him, “You’ve got about three seconds. Then EVERYTHING comes off.”

He hurriedly glanced around the empty school grounds. Everyone had usually gone home for the day by this time, but there was always the chance of some straggler… a teacher or student who had stayed late.

Seeing no one, he unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped. He pulled down his pants, then his not-panties. Straightening back up, his hands twitched, then hung at his sides. I knew he’d been about the cover himself instinctively. He knew it would only be worse for him if he did.

I looked at his wiener. I imagined it in the mouth of another boy. I imagined the roles reversed, with Kayden down on his knees. I had to stop imagining. Kayden could NOT see any hint that I was aroused.

I had intended to just make him feel embarrassed and foolish by standing there with his pants down, but that arousal made me angry. He had to be punished for it.

“Now turn around,” I commanded. “Turn around and bend over. Palms flat on the ground.”

He looked stricken, but complied. I made him adjust his stance, spreading his legs as wide as he could with his pants around his ankles. His upside-down face was looking at me from between his legs as I bent down for a better look. “That’s a cute little hole you have there, Kayden,” I told him. “Once you start growing some hair around it, I think we’ll have to keep it shaved.”

He made a barely perceptible little sound of shame. Good. I was afraid his treatment at the war might have inured him to humiliation. But he obviously still had the capacity for it.

I let him stand and pull his pants up. He glared at me when he finished, showing that little spark of defiance I hadn’t been able to entirely extinguish. I had decided I didn’t want to. I liked him the way he was. Not that I would ever tell HIM that.

Six years later, Kayden would leave for another war… one from which he wouldn’t return. His spark would be snuffed out in a jungle somewhere on the other side of the world, far from home.

When I learned of this, I didn’t cry. It wasn’t that the news hadn’t blown a hole through my heart. I just wouldn’t allow myself the luxury… or the release… of tears. I’d leave the wound open and raw. I’d never let it heal. It was the very least I could do.