Terrible Tad 11 to 12

By PatrickNaked

Copyright 2023 by PatrickNaked all rights reserved

Chapter 11


I had a strange dream about Tad. Or rather, a stranger one than usual. It turned out to be prophetic in a way, portending an awful occurrence of the very next day. If it was a warning, it was one that may have inspired the event it was warning against.

It also foretold something even more terrible, but I wouldn’t make that connection until far too late.

On the evening of the day I met Sarah and Brandi, I was lying sleepless in bed long into the early morning hours. I had kicked the sheets down to the foot of the bed, but still sweltered under a blanket of oppressive Texas heat.

As sleep was impossible, I was using the time to mentally compose how I would relate the girls’ tale of their friend Danny to the Society during the next story time. I had made a promise to them, swearing I would never share their confidence. But lies were coming ever more easily to me. Even as we traded addresses before parting, agreeing that likeminded girls should stay in touch, I was planning on betraying their trust.

When exhaustion finally claimed me, I drifted off into the dream. It was an unusual one for me… fantasy themed. Probably inspired by a book I was reading at that time called The Hobbit.

In the dream, I was apprenticed to a renowned and very powerful sorceress, Mistress Martha. We lived in a hut hidden away deep in the trees of Darkenly Woods, outside the village where I had been born.

Mistress had claimed me when I was seven years old. She arrived in the village one morning and announced she was in need of a young girl to assist her in the occult arts. The parents who donated their daughter would be well rewarded. If none were so inclined, Mistress would take a girl of her own choosing, and the girl’s parents would receive nothing in return… except an everlasting inability to produce any more progeny to replace what had been lost. In addition, the entire village would suffer for generations under inclement weather and blighted crops. Farm animals would either die of unknown disease or become possessed, turning on their owners in violent, bloody attacks. Other plagues would follow at her amusement. The villagers had until nightfall to decide.

There was much arguing and brawling throughout the day, but mere minutes before nightfall, my parents brought me, their daughter and only child, forward. They refused the reward, saying they had given me up for the greater good and wanted no further recompense than the continued prosperity of the village. Mistress Martha was offended at their temerity, and cursed my father so the parts that made him a man shriveled into necrosis. She said my mother could still produce a child as replacement for me, but would have to spread her legs in another man’s bed to achieve it.

Some weeks later, the villagers had grown weary of the guilt they felt each time they saw my parents. Their presence was a constant reminder of the generosity of their sacrifice, and an implied indictment of everyone else for their own failure in stepping forward. They ran my mother and father from the village with stones… and promises of a slow death that awaited them should they be so foolish as to return.

For years, I mostly cleaned the hut, cooked the meals, kept stock of all the arcane ingredients used in the making of potions and spells… various roots and herbs, owl eyes, jellied fish lips, etc. Some elements, used in the darker rituals, I wasn’t allowed to see or even know of. These were kept in a back room, the door warded by a deadly charm.

People came from all over the known land to buy or barter for the mystical services and concoctions Mistress Martha had to offer. She always somehow knew when someone was coming long before they arrived. If she was in one of her more temperamental moods and wished no contact, the prospective customer would never find her hut. Sometimes, he would never find his way back. Only the most determined or desperate sought her out.

One morning Mistress informed me that we were short on some essential supplies… the obscure kind stored in that warded back room. Due to the volume required and the distances that needed to be covered, we would need extra help gathering and bringing back these provisions.

A two hour walk brought us to the village. As news of Mistress Martha’s arrival spread, the villagers gathered in the square. Even as they feared being in her presence, they feared even more offending her by spurning her company.

When all were assembled, she announced that she needed a boy. This wouldn’t be a permanent position. She only needed his services for a few weeks… possibly a month, depending on how elusive the ingredients she required proved to be. The boy’s parents would be roundly reimbursed for his absence.

As the villagers muttered among themselves, I noticed a blond haired boy on the edges of the crowd. His name was Thadius. We had been friends before Mistress took me, and I still saw him infrequently when she sent me into town for more supplies of the mundane sort. I enjoyed his company, and the thought of being near him for up to a month made me bold. I pointed him out to Mistress, telling her I knew him to be a good worker.

She took a long look at him, then claimed him on the spot. She denied his parents their pay as they hadn’t volunteered him themselves.

On the trip back into the Woods, Thadius and I walked a few feet behind Mistress. He whispered at me fiercely, “What have you gotten me into, Teresa?”

“Relax,” I told him. “It’ll be fun. Weeks of scavenging for… whatever, I have no idea… way out in parts of the world we’d never see otherwise. Stop being such a timid little mouse.”

I made sure to emphasize the word ‘little’ in my admonishment. Thadius was sensitive about his height, being somewhat shorter than the other boys his age.

But, short as he was, I couldn’t help but notice he had managed to grow a bit since I last saw him. His leggings were now too tight and were quite form-fitting, snuggly displaying the shape of his bottom… and, better still, those parts in front. The view was supplemented by his tunic… or rather, by its shortcomings. Like the leggings, it was now too small for him. Belted at the waist, it once hung below the boy’s crotch. Now it ended well above that area. Thadius, a bashful boy in the best of conditions, was very aware of how revealing of his shape this exposed area of the leggings was. He was habitually tugging it down, front and back, for the sake of his modesty. Luckily for me, his efforts were all to no avail.

Three years or so ago, I had happened upon him, quite accidentally, bathing in a stream. He was standing knee deep in the water, and was very, very naked. He was the first boy I had seen unclothed. I had a few long moments to take in the sight as we both stared at each other, frozen in shock. The spell was broken by a shrill, wordless shriek when he finally found his voice.

What I saw between his legs was not that impressive compared to other boys I later came upon at the same stream… these encounters being not so accidental as the first. The intervening years, though, had done Thadius a kindness. No longer a nubbin, his boy thing had at least tripled in size. His balls, barely visible before, hung heavily in their sack.

Those leggings teased me with these tantalizing shapes. But I fully intended to go further and see beneath the weave. There surely would be occasions during our month out in the wilderness to once again ‘accidentally’ come upon him naked. Surely there would be a refreshing stream or lake along the way for a boy to bathe in. I could help fortune along with a suggestion to Mistress that village boys were notoriously lax in their hygiene, and Thadius could well do with a bath should the opportunity arise. She might even allow me to supervise.

I had never been able to catch Thadius at the stream again, which was a source of mounting frustration. The other boys of the village weren’t so lucky. Once my taste for naked boys had been whetted by the sight of Thadius, under-endowed as he was at the time, I devoted most of the time Mistress allowed me to myself to the sport of boy catching.

I would find them at the stream singularly and in groups. Their embarrassment never diminished no matter how many times they had to withstand my scrutiny. The more often I made a successful catch, the bolder I became. I would make the boys I found alone perform acts upon themselves they normally consigned to their most private moments. The ones I found in pairs or groups had to suckle each other like calves to their mama cow, and mount each other like animals in rut. I facilitated a closeness among them they might never have developed otherwise.

Mistress had learned of my interests and heartily approved. She provided these and many other creative suggestions… acts I never would’ve thought of on my own. I later discovered that when she so desired, Mistress could see through my eyes… could enjoy the sensations from all of my senses as though she lived inside my skin along with me. She was able to watch those naked boys debase themselves as if she were right there on the gravel shore of that stream in her physical self. I wondered sometimes, when I made a boy do something exceptionally egregious, if Mistress had a way of directing me without my knowledge from within. Or maybe I was just trying to deny responsibility for my own worst impulses.

The boys always argued and cried, but in the end did as I directed. Even the bravest dared not defy Mistress Martha’s apprentice for fear of offending the Mistress herself.

Some began to forego their bath, surely making themselves malodorous to be around. But the next time I was in the village, I dropped a small hint that my disappointment might soon come to Mistress Martha’s attention due to the flagging quality of my work. Did they really want to make Mistress unhappy?

When I later would come upon a member of that implicit rebellion, I would more than make up for the lost opportunities their boycott of bathing had caused.

One suggestion from Mistress I declined, even as I feared a penalty for doing so. As I only caught boys roughly a quarter of the times I went in search of them, she recommended I make it a regular mandatory appointment. I told her this would deny me the thrill of the hunt. All the unproductive days made the times I successfully captured my prey so much more gratifying. Mistress, upon considering this, agreed. Which was probably why I came away from the encounter unscathed.

Sometimes, I would come upon a boy or boys in the woods. I had decided early on to let these go on their way unmolested. By constraining my hunting ground to the length of that stream, the endeavor was much more challenging… therefore much more rewarding.

Thadius never bathed with the other boys. He was included in few of their activities. Being slight in build made him the subject of teasing and bullying by the bigger boys. Knowing of this abuse enhanced my satisfaction when I made these bullies do some of Mistress Martha’s more esoteric suggestions. A couple of these left the village immediately afterwards, unable to face their friends after what they had just done. Mistress could be quite brutal, even in just her recommendations.

A few of the boys were kinder to Thadius, so they suffered less. They weren’t completely exempt, of course. My gratitude extended only so far.

A number of times I had seen grown men bathing in the stream, always alone. I watched them from the seclusion of the trees. Only once did I feel bold enough to subject one to what I did with the boys. At first, he was merely embarrassed at being caught naked. But when I told him what was expected of him, he became so enraged at being ordered about by a young girl, and by what she was telling him to do, that for a while I feared he would not only flatly refuse, but do violence upon me instead. He eventually submitted, his fear of Mistress overwhelming his sense of shame.

I was thorough in my inspection of him, as this specimen was the first adult I had caught. He had much more hair than the boys, some of whom hadn’t any but what was on their heads. And he had more hair around his bottomhole than most of the older boys had between their legs and under their arms combined. He actually began blubbering like a baby while I examined that area.

His man thing was large and thick. Even in its softened state, it was heavy in my hand. His ballsack was equally large and as hairy as the rest of his body. I played with those parts for so long I was almost late returning to the hut.

The man had so frightened me initially, I made him do much more than I originally intended. I was quite cruel. The faces he made while consuming what he had so recently discharged made me laugh hysterically.

When I left him, taking his clothes with me, he was still squatting down, expelling the many river stones I had made him insert.

I hadn’t known at the time, but Mistress had been with me on that day. She had witnessed the man’s aggression, and any act against her apprentice was tantamount to an assault upon the sorceress herself. The next morning, the villagers found him in the square. He had been reconfigured into a variety of shapes never before seen. Many of his internals were now on the outside, still connected through veins and viscera… splayed about the cobblestones in intricate patterns, like letters of an arcane language spelling out an inscrutable message. He was alive and aware. He was unable to speak… he had no mouth that anyone could find. His eyes were quite articulate, though. They spoke of the unbearable horror of his condition, and begged his neighbors to end his existence.

Mistress had made sure his new version would endure. It took the work of many men several hours to end the unspeakable thing. And even then, no one could be entirely sure the job was done.

I knew I had been cruel in my treatment of the wretch, but Mistress was capable of a cruelty so far beyond my own that another word was needed. And it was a word I never wished to hear.

I chose only boys from that point on.

I thought about this as Mistress, Thadius, and I made the long, hot trek back to her hut. I wondered if bringing my friend into her wicked world had been a wise move. I had been selfishly thinking only of myself and my desire for companionship with someone other than the aloof and unfathomable sorceress I found myself in service of. I hoped my need of a friend hadn’t consigned the only one I had to some horrible fate.

But surely nothing of the sort could happen. This was just a supply run. What could go wrong?

As conversation between Thadius and I had ceased for the moment, I fell behind a few steps so I could watch his cute little bottom cheeks move beneath the fabric of his leggings as he walked. With my eyes so occupied, I stumbled on rocks and rougher terrain sometimes, but it was oh so worth it.

As we crossed the perimeter into the area known as Darkenly Woods, a hush fell over the world. A gloom descended, even though the trees were no more dense than before. Thadius shivered and moved closer to me. Few ever ventured into these murky woods, and fewer still returned.

When we came within sight of the hut, I was surprised to see a figure sitting in Mistress Martha’s creaky wooden chair beside the front door. I felt a chill and shuddered much as Thadius had done earlier. I thought of the man from the stream, and others who had been so foolish as to enrage, or merely annoy, the sorceress. One was now pressed flat and smooth, draped across our kitchen table, its eyes watching us hungrily from the center as we ate our meals. Another had been rendered into confetti, each scrap as conscious as the next, and scattered across the forest floor to be food for spiders and insects.

I fully expected this presumptuous fool to meet a similar fate. Therefore, I was shocked when Mistress raised a hand in greeting. And to confuse me even more, she wore the first smile I had seen upon her face that didn’t give me nightmares. The figure, revealed as a woman when we drew closer, stood and raised her hand in reply.

Mistress warmly embraced the woman, who she introduced as Mistress Lillian, a sister sorceress. Like my Mistress, she was a large woman. She was built like a barrel and had deep red hair, cut extremely short. Mistress announced that Lillian would accompany us on our quest, as she too was short on supplies.

Thadius had been hiding behind me. Lillian called him out. When he didn’t immediately move, Mistress told him, and me, that Lillian’s orders were to be received as though they were her own. The obviously terrified boy shuffled a few feet to the side where she could see him. He stood before her, head down, hands clasped in front of him. The long, appraising look Lillian gave him sent another chill through me. Mistress took in the tableau with an amused smile.

Lillian commanded Thadius to drop his hands. As he reluctantly did so, she stepped in for a closer inspection. “My, my,” she said, blatantly staring directly at his crotch. “We must thank your seamstress for so artfully framing your qualifications.”

Mistress interjected, “Ah ah ahhh. The boy is just here to assist us.” She paused, giving Lillian a warning look. “Remember…?”

Throughout the exchange, I had been studying this other sorceress. I had first taken her for a complete stranger. But a memory from early in my time with Mistress was slowly surfacing. I had seen this woman before. The memory was vague, just a blurry image of that bristle of red hair and the sound of her voice. The haziness couldn’t be fully explained by the years between. I surely would’ve had a more distinct recollection of one of Mistress’ rare visitors. I believed the instance to have been intentionally occluded, as Mistress often did after using me in some unremembered way in one of her rituals.

Lillian was walking around Thadius, inspecting him like a slab of meat hanging at the butcher’s. Her gaze didn’t venture above his belt. After the third circuit, she stopped and finally looked at his face. She seemed to like what she saw.

“Are you sure the boy’s a virgin?” she asked Mistress. “He wouldn’t have been back when I was a girl… whether he wanted to retain that title or not.”

“Yes, yes,” Mistress assured her impatiently, giving her that look again. “You can taste it in the air around him.”

Lillian leaned in and inhaled deeply. “Ah, yes,” she crooned. “That is, indeed, the smell of an unused youth.”

Thadius was looking at me as though I could somehow save him. Even if I’d had the power, I wouldn’t have known what to save him from. This was starting out as something quite different from the pleasant jaunt I had envisioned it to be. I could feel some threat looming like a thunderhead, and feared I would never know its nature till the rain was upon us.

The first week of our trek was uneventful. We walked all day, and were comatose with exhaustion all night. At least Thadius and I were. The distance we covered didn’t seem to bother the two sorceresses. They probably had magical means of enhancing their stamina.

The second week proved easier. We were growing accustomed to the endless walking. We also came upon the lake I had been wishing for. We camped on the other side of a copse of trees from it to allow for privacy while bathing. The older women went first, then me, then Thadius. As I was preparing to sneak after him, Mistress gave me a stern look. I was acquainted with most of her looks, and this one meant ‘NO’.

Confusion and anger almost overruled my sense of self-preservation. I glared at her, mouth open in outrage. Why was she thwarting the bout of boy watching I had been waiting for three years to enjoy? I took another step towards the copse, giving her a sidelong challenging look as I did so. Her expression shifted subtly to become ‘Do you REALLY want to try my patience?’ She glanced over to the pack that contained the cookware. I huffed dramatically and stomped over to it to begin preparing our meal.

Thadius couldn’t understand why I was so furious with him when he returned.

A few days later Mistress announced that we had arrived. Lillian remarked, “Ah, yes. This is going to be fun.” There had been a number of such cryptic remarks between her and Mistress throughout the trip that I couldn’t begin to make sense of.

I had no idea what we were searching for. Mistress liked to keep me in the dark… something I deemed contradictory to the training of an apprentice. I couldn’t see anything around us that looked like it could be an ingredient for dark magic rituals or potions. Everything looked mundane. The grass and bushes and trees were all much the same as everything we had passed along the way.

As I was looking about curiously, Mistress told us that fifty yards ahead, there was a deep ravine. It was spanned by a precarious bridge suspended by rope. This stretch was dangerous for all travelers, but especially so for those who were male.

A creature lived in the ravine… a sibling to the sirens of the sea who lured sailors to their demise. Any male who attempted to traverse that bridge would fall victim to its irresistible call. Its song wasn’t heard through the ears. Its vibrations penetrated their physical being, digging a hook into the very essence of their maleness, inexorably drawing them over the edge.

Any male, even a youth who had barely felt the first stirrings of desire, was defenseless to the lure of its call. Even men who only craved others of their own sex weren’t immune. This siren wasn’t locked into one particular form. Its song would adapt to each individual to be whatever was needed to attract the male of the moment.

But travelers had found a defense against the undefendable… something else that preyed upon men, but could be used to men’s advantage. It was flora to the siren’s fauna… the Suckling Rose.

The rose found its only sustenance in the male seed. It would envelope a man’s appendage in the caress of its petals. It would contract and relax in undulating rhythms, bringing profound pleasure and release. But the rose was more insatiable than it was sentient. If not removed manually, it would continue its ministrations long after all fluids had been extracted.

There were cautionary tales of men who had sought out the rose for the intense satisfaction it supplied… who had partaken of its petals with no one else near to intervene should the interlude go awry… who had passed out from the pleasure… who had been drained not just of their sexual juices, but all the fluids in their bodies. The desiccated husks that remained were a warning to others to never engage in this particular enjoyment alone.

Embarrassing as it could be, men learned to only engage with the rose with others in attendance. In groups of two, three or more, all would partake, but only one at a time. The others would sit around, drink, watch, and take bets on how long their companions could last before rewarding the rose with their ejaculation.

It wasn’t long after the discovery of this flower that a more practical use was found for it beyond that of sexual gratification. The Suckling Rose was a way of circumventing the fatal allure of the siren.

The ravine our group found ourselves near wasn’t the only such with a resident creature. There were many others scattered across the land. Roses were planted at either end of a bridge. When a group of travelers came along, the males would offer themselves to the plant… for hours at a time. The rose would do its work. Over and over and over, till the cries of ‘More, more, more’ became screams of ‘Dear Gods, make it stop’. The man’s companions would hold him down for hours as he thrashed about and begged them for mercy. The rose would drain him of all desire… even the desire to experience desire ever again.

Once released from those pitiless petals, these men were, for a time, impervious to the call. Thoughts of anything sexual were so nauseating, the only thing to go over the edge of the bridge was the contents of their stomachs.

Mistress walked us over to a small clearing. In the center was the fabled Suckling Rose. I didn’t need to be wise in the ways of plants to see it was a very sickly, emaciated specimen. There must have been a long stretch of time between travelers. Or at least, travelers with a male in the group.

The male in OUR group was Thadius, and he had already deduced what was going to happen next. His face was so white, I feared the contents of his stomach would reverse their direction before the rose even had a chance to do its duty.

He stammered out a question to Mistress, “You’re… you’re not really going to make me… make it do to me… not THAT?” He swallowed noisily. “And you’d be… holding me down? You’d see it… you’d see ME with it doing it… with it doing THAT to me?”

He looked ready to bolt. Mistress and Lillian stepped in front of him. Mistress commanded, “Yes we are. Unless you’d like to literally fall into the creature’s clutches.”

Thadius, nearly to the point of tears, replied, “No. But I could just do it myself. I could go off into the trees and do it… a few times. I know how to do it. I’ve done it before. That would work.” He looked at her hopefully. His white complexion had turned red with the embarrassment of voluntarily telling three females he masterbated.

“Not good enough, boy,” Mistress told him sternly. “It has to be done till you never want to do it again. And with boys your age, that number of times would be very high, indeed. Those skinny arms of yours couldn’t sustain the exertion.” She leaned down to stare directly into his face. “So, strip, boy. You’ll do it naked. Strip now. Or I might become impatient. Ask your little friend Teresa if you want THAT to happen.”

Thadius looked over to me. I vigorously shook my head.

Looking back to Mistress, he asked in a small voice, “Does everyone have to be here to see me take my clothes off?”

Mistress told him, “We’re all going to be taking turns holding you down for hours on end. We’re all going to see you, so we might as well start now.”

Lillian was actually licking her lips in anticipation of watching the boy undress. I wanted to watch, too, but there was something unseemly in it with a woman of her age. She looked capable of doing whatever that siren would do, and maybe worse.

Thadius slowly began removing his clothes. He kept glancing at the surrounding females, probably hoping we would give in and allow him his modesty. The two older women obviously had no such inclination, and I was of the same mind. I felt I’d been robbed of his nakedness when Mistress forbade me to follow him to his bath. But this was even better. I had intended to stay in hiding at the lake. Thadius would never have known I saw him. But in the clearing of the rose, he was very aware that all eyes, including mine, were on him as he disrobed. His distress at baring himself before us… me especially… was intoxicating.

His belt, and the little bags and packs that hung from it, was the first to go. Then his thigh-high leather boots and ratty socks. His tunic followed, exposing his torso and little pink nipples. Before he went further, he looked at Mistress, pleading with his eyes.

“If I become impatient,” she warned him, “You may find nothing there to expose when the leggings come off.”

Thadius hurriedly pulled his remaining garment down and steeped out of it. He was finally fully naked before me for the first time in three years. He had filled out nicely in every way from his nine year old self. I only got a glimpse of his boy thing before he covered it up. Luckily, Lillian came to my rescue… though I’m sure it was for her own benefit rather than mine.

“Drop your hands, boy. Let’s have a look at what the rose is going to suckle.”

Thadius complied. The look on his face was one of pure misery. He was shaking, though the day was warm under the noontime sun.

Yes, the boy had indeed grown since I last saw him naked. I wanted desperately to approach him and take it in hand as I did the boys at the stream. But I knew Mistress wouldn’t allow it. She let me to have my way with the others, and even came along inside me at times to enjoy their shame herself, but this was a different situation.

Lillian, having moved forward for a closer look, spoke again. “Lift it up and let’s see the rest.” Thadius finally let out a sob. He had held off the tears for longer than I had given him credit for. He took his boy thing between a thumb and forefinger, and lifted it up.

Mistress spoke, “That rose is in bad shape. It’s famished. Do you think those balls hold enough to save it? If it dies before its work is done, you’ll be food for the siren.”

Thadius thought the question rhetorical until Mistress snapped at him, “Do you, boy? Don’t make me ask again.”

Thadius jumped. He was still holding his thing, but his ballsack bounced about enticingly. “I… I don’t know, ma’am. I don’t know how much a rose needs.”

“Hmmm,” Mistress mused. “When was the last time you pleasured yourself?”

The boy looked mortified at having to mention masterbating a second time, but he was so frightened, he immediately blurted out, “Two nights ago, while everyone else was sleeping. I… I had to. Sometimes I just have to do it.”

Mistress made a surprising concession. “Well, I guess that one was MY fault. I should’ve warned you about the rose and its needs before we left.” She walked up to the boy and startled him by taking his arm. She led him over to the rose. “Lie down next to it. Now, boy.”

As Thadius lay down, I turned my attention to the Suckling Rose. Pale yellow petals crowned a long, thick green stalk. The petals looked dry and fragile, and the stalk drooped almost to the ground. Mistress took it gingerly and held it over the boy’s crotch.

For a long moment, nothing happened. I began to fear the rose was too far gone. My first thought was that I wouldn’t get to see it perform it pleasuring upon Thadius… something I had been almost unbearably excited about since learning of the rose’s nature. Then I realized that if it didn’t survive, Thadius couldn’t cross the bridge. What would happen then? I knew Mistress and her moods. She might make him attempt the crossing anyway, knowing he couldn’t resist the creature’s allure.

But the petals started to twitch, perhaps revived by the scent of boy. They started moving more purposely, waggling like fingers. The stalk began to slide through Mistress Martha’s hands, reaching out for what gave it life. Thadius looked terrified. I couldn’t blame him. This was a plant that moved on its own, somehow evolved to feed on the fluids of a human. It was nightmarish. And so, so erotic.

I suddenly had an image in my mind of how such a plant, with its long thick stalk, might bring ME to an orgasmic ecstasy. That scenario was decidedly unappealing. It felt like bestiality, but with a plant. I further saw Mistress and Lillian holding me down while that repulsive, writhing tube entered without my bidding. I felt sick. Mistress looked over at me and smiled. Had she seen that image? Had she put it there?

The petals reached Thadius’ thing and encircled it. They began stroking it lovingly. Despite his fear, the boy’s thing began to immediately harden. I wondered if there was more at play here than just that simple touch. Did the rose release enticements into its target with that caress… some invisible nectar insinuating itself into his skin. The surprise on Thadius’ face as he looked at himself suggested this was so.

When his thing was fully hard, the petals completely enveloped it and began to work in earnest. Thadius lay his head back onto the grass as the stalk began to move up and down and the petals performed concurrent movements of their own.

The boy was already lost in the sensations. “It’s never felt like… never like THIS before,” he spoke to no one in particular. “Oh, this is good. This is so good.”

He was squirming about, his hips lifted off the grass. Mistress spoke to me, “Soon, we’ll have to hold him down. I wasn’t quite entirely honest with the boy.” She smiled at her duplicity. “It will take all three of us together to restrain him. The feelings the rose inspires are more powerful than what any human could produce in another. I could put an immobility spell on him, but it might spoil the batch.”

I didn’t know what that last sentence meant, but didn’t ponder it for long. I was too mesmerized by the sight of the naked boy writhing on the ground, being suckled by a thirsty flower. It was all so bizarre.

As Mistress had said, Thadius was soon thrashing about so much, we had to restrain him. Mistress directed me to straddle his legs while she and Lillian each took an arm. I had the perfect view of the rose that had swallowed his thing and his ballsack hanging beneath it.

For a while, his sounds of pleasure became quite loud. Soon, though, they turned to screams that were more akin to agony.

The petals began to turn from their pale yellow to a much more lush and vibrant color. Their parchment texture was now succulent and moist. New stalks began to grow from the ground around the plant’s base. One slid across the grass between the boy’s legs, then wriggled its way beneath his ballsack. Just as I was wondering where it was going, Thadius arched his back with another convulsion, raising his hips high above the ground. I saw the stalk sliding up inside his bottom.

I looked at Mistress in shock. “What… what is it doing?”

She informed me in a matter-of-fact way, “There’s more than one way to stimulate a man. Or, in this case, a boy.” Still holding one of his arms, she leaned over to watch as more of the stalk, growing ever thicker, made its way inside. Mistress smiled in satisfaction. I remembered that vision of my own violation. This was different, I told myself. We were helping Thadius survive. And if I experienced a little pleasure in watching his naked body being so used… where was the harm?

A question occurred to me. “If it continues to stimulate him, how will he grow repulsed at the idea of anything sexual? Won’t the stimulation cause him to still want it?”

Mistress replied, “I wasn’t entirely honest about our objectives either. If we were actually preparing the boy for the trip across the bridge, we would’ve prevented that second stalk from reaching him. And the other.” She looked over at the base of the rose. Another stalk had emerged and was snaking its way toward Thadius.

I watched with growing unease as it slid across his torso, to his face, and down into his open mouth. Thadius began gagging at the intrusion.

Mistress stated, “It’s now feeding him supplements to keep the production of his juices going. He’ll release what would be a year’s worth of seed in just the next few hours.”

“I… I don’t understand,” I told her. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

Mistress informed me, “Many of our rituals… some of which you’ve been involved in, but still aren’t privy to… require a certain elixir. The nectar of the rose infused with the juices of a human male. An adolescent boy is best. His essence is young and potent. The rose naturally blends these two elements in the perfect ratio within its bladder beneath the surface of the ground.”

Thadius was still gagging. Drool began to run out from around the thick stalk that filled his mouth. Likewise, his boy stuff began dripping out from beneath the petals as he started producing more than the rose could capture. His balls would swell alarmingly, then contract as another burst of seed filled the throat of the rose. Again and again and again.

I heard Thadius’ voice, but not the low, miserable moaning his screams had devolved into. This was in my head… a memory of our first day of this horrific quest… ‘What have you gotten me into, Teresa?’.

This had gone on for far too long. I reached out to snatch the rose from its unnatural embrace. Mistress barked a command, “STOP! If you touch it, I’ll turn your fingers to worms. Or better yet, to venomous snakes that will turn to sink their fangs into your arm. And believe me, girl, I’ll laugh as you hack them off to save your skin, only to watch them regrow.”

I shrank back. Mistress never made empty threats.

The next few hours crawled by, each second seeming an eternity. I hoped Thadius was unaware, lost in unconsciousness. Mistress and Lillian kept a constant watch on him. Lillian would occasionally wipe some of the sweat from the boy’s skin, or the drool from his cheek, then lick it from her fingers. My stomach did a flip-flop every time.

Finally, Mistress announced enough time had passed for them to have reached their quota. She produced a knife and cleaved the three stalks. She and Lillian approached the base of the rose and began digging into the dirt around it with their hands. As she worked, Mistress told me I could now remove the stalks from Thadius if I wanted. “Not that it will matter,” she finished.

I first tentatively pulled the petals from his thing, which was now red and withered. Next was the one that had invaded his bottom. I felt queasy pulling it out of him. Finally I extracted the stalk from his mouth. It was much longer than I expected, and branched out into many smaller stalks. The disgusting thing had made its way deep inside him, and into many different areas.

Once all was removed, Thadius just lay there, insensible. I said his name a few times, without much hope. Mistress confirmed my fears. “He’s not there, girl. All that he was is now in here.” As she said this, she and Lillian lifted a large, quivering bag from the ground. I could hear something sloshing around inside it.

The stalk at its apex had connected it to the crown of petals before being severed. A smaller bag remained in the hole the women had dug. Two stalks projected from it… the bottomhole stalk and the one that had propelled the supplements down Thadius’ throat. The women ignored all of this. That part of the plant had already served its purpose.

Mistress took the larger bag… the bladder, she had called it… and tilted it to dribble a little of the fluid onto the ground. “To grow the next rose,” she told me. She then tied off the stalk with twine to seal the contents.

Mistress told me to stay and guard the bladder while she and Lillian carried Thadius to the ravine. “We have an agreement with the creature,” she said. “We supply it with fresh meat occasionally… always male, of course… and it leaves its excrement in a special place for us. That has its uses, too.”

Once they were gone, I looked down at that loathsome bladder. I looked at the knife I found in my hand. Did I dare? Could I outrun the women if I did? Could I outrun the spells they would cast my way?

I became aware of a voice in my head. It was MY voice. Saying the same thing over and over. “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”

And I did.

I was chilled to the bone, even in the night’s awful heat. That had been no ordinary dream. I felt like I had lived for years in the dream world. There had been a clarity not present in my other dreams. No strange shifting of scenes. None of the usual borderline incoherence.

I rolled over to look at the clock on my bedside table. It was still early hours of the morning. There were many more hours to go before dawn. And I didn’t dare go back to sleep for fear of what might await me.







Chapter 12


On a blistering Sunday, the day after I had met Sarah and Brandi in the park… the day after that strange and disturbing dream… we four Willow Lane kids were laying under a lone tree in a field behind my house. The leafy overhang gave us acceptable shade from the broiling rays of the sun, but the ambient heat was still an inescapable oven. Without even a hint of a mitigating breeze, we felt like we were smothering in the stifling air.

“I’m HOT!” Tad wailed to no one in particular for the umpteenth time.

“Take your clothes off,” Ellie suggested. “That shouldn’t bother Hammond’s very own Rebel Without a Wardrobe.”

“Shut up!” Tad retorted. “We agreed to never talk about that ever again.” We hadn’t, but to Tad, facts were never an insurmountable obstacle.

He was more sensitive than usual on that subject. He had learned on Friday that two sisters from our school, aged eleven and fourteen, had seen him from the road at Aunt Martha’s on the Saturday of his backyard bath. They knew details only actual witnesses would be privy to, so they weren’t of the many who falsely claimed to have seen. And worse, it wasn’t Tad’s long hour of punishment, hands on head, they had caught sight of. They saw him during the actual bath, apparently the only ones to do so.

The girls’ mother had been driving them to a horse ranch near my aunt’s. As they passed the house, the mother had suddenly yelled at the girls to not look. “Avert your eyes! It’s sinful!” So of course, they had looked. Sin is so enticing.

To their squealing delight, there was a cute boy from school, completely naked, slick with soapy suds. An old woman was scrubbing him with a washcloth as though he was a child of much younger years. The boy seemed conflicted. His face projected a misery of humiliation at being bathed, but another part of him seemed quite appreciative of the attention.

The girls had only recently worked up the nerve to approach Tad in the schoolyard to tell him how cute they had always thought he was. And now, having seen him in his entirety, he had truly captivated their hearts. They confessed to having argued over who loved him the most. But they finally decided that, small as he was, there was enough to satisfy them both. They would share, as good sisters should.

The girls assured Tad they had told no one else of what they saw. Since their knowledge ran contrary to the widely accepted narrative, where Tad was a counter-culture hero and his nudity a statement of defiance, they didn’t want to embarrass him by divulging the rather more awkward truth. They knew even a mere passing mention could sow a seed of doubt that would proliferate like tenacious weeds consuming a well trimmed lawn. And as none could be more vicious than those who turned on a former idol, the girls had no wish to see Tad felled by such a mob.

They had presented him with a schedule of the days and times their home would be parent-free. They understood if he couldn’t attend every engagement. Ninety percent would do. Anything less and they might have to fill the vacant hours conversing with their many friends from school. And one never knew what directions conversation could take.

They had a variety of pastimes planned, but the majority would involve soap and shampoo. And as their mother might notice the extra used washcloths in the laundry, they’d have to make do with soaping and bathing him entirely by hand. They asked that he arrive as dirty and sweaty as possible so they could pride themselves in the transformation their endeavors induced. They suggested he run through the woods until he was soaked with sweat, then wallow naked in the dirt before each visit. They expected him to be dirty EVERYWHERE, and would be quite cross if they found some out-of-the-way area that was still unsullied. They warned him they’d be extremely thorough in their pre-bath inspections. Repercussions would be unpleasant if he was anything less than the epitome of a dirty, sweaty, smelly boy.

The girls also assured him his soiled clothing would be washed and dried while they did the same with his body. If he was sufficiently clean before the dryer cycle ended, they had a number of frilly pastel panties he could wear. He would try them all on, numerous times, so they could see which color and style suited him the most.

Tad had scurried off to find me. “What do I do? What do I do?” he cried, actually clinging to my arm in panic. I assured him I would sort it all out.

I couldn’t help but picture him in frilly panties. Baby blue was his color, of course. Having him try out any others was simply gratuitous.

When Beth had blackmailed young Asher in a comparable circumstance, I hadn’t intervened. Asher was a spy in servitude to the Society, but beyond that, I had no special claim to him. She was free to compel his nakedness with my blessing. I admired her initiative.

But Tad was a different matter. I had a much more personal connection to him. I was already trying to keep his tender flesh from becoming an entree on the Society’s menu, and now there were two poachers with similar tastes to contend with.

On top of the latest Tad related problem, there was my Aunt Martha and Dwayne. Even though I had banished them to the back of my brain, far from conscious thought, they continued to scrabble at the locks. The noise they made in my mind was a constant source of undefined unease, making me irritable and on edge.

On top of THAT was the dream that wouldn’t go away, despite my waking state. It had stalked me across the day, escalating my already agitated state. I had a sense that it was a warning of some sort, but relentless as it was, I couldn’t decipher the message it was trying to communicate.

I think these mounting frustrations on multiple fronts incited that Sunday’s events. I was driven by unconscious urges I was too weakened to resist, so my actions were beyond my control. I had no culpability. Or so I liked to think.

While I had been pondering the problem of Tad’s overzealous fan club, he had continued to argue with Ellie. She was still goading him into undressing, knowing what a raw nerve that subject was for him.

Tad loudly reacted to her latest jab, “I’m NOT taking my clothes off. Pervert.” He rolled over on his stomach and started picking at blades of grass. “I bet y’all already saw me naked anyway. You watched at Aunt Martha’s, didn’t you?”

Oh no, not this again. It was too hot to be pestered by Tad on that subject. Once started, his queries would be endless. Without even thinking, I reached over and smacked him on his bottom.

Tad had made a little yelp. He raised up on his elbows and looked at me in wide-eyed shock. Tracie and Ellie were shocked too. Tad said, in more astonishment than anger, “You SPANKED me. You can’t do that. You can’t spank me.”

I told him, “That wasn’t a spank. That was a swat. The next time you ask us if we saw you, I’ll demonstrate the difference.”

Tad whined, “But I need to know.” When I raised my hand up over his bottom, he hurriedly said, “Ok, ok.” He plopped back down and stared at me with the look of a kicked puppy.

Tracie said, “If you’re through spanking Tad, let’s all get changed and go to the pool.” Ellie seconded it.

“No,” Tad said emphatically. “You know I don’t like the public pool. No way.”

Tad bashfulness could be amusing at times, but all capacity for humor had been baked out of me by the sun.

We all tried arguing him into it, but he was adamant. And as we were a unit, the Willow Lane kids, we didn’t even consider going without him. Violence upon his person was still on the table, though.

My next action was as innocent in nature as it was ill-advised. Had it gone no further than my intentions, Tad would’ve been at most mildly outraged at my presumption. As it was, it served as a springboard into darker depths.

Perhaps emboldened by his acceptance of that smack on his bottom, I jumped up and, before Tad even knew what was happening, rolled him over onto his back. I sat down on him, my legs straddling his waist. It didn’t even occur to me that I was mirroring what the Teresa in my dream had done. Only later did I make that insanely obvious connection, wondering if this was what the dream was warning me of… wondering if I had perversely turned that warning inside-out to make it the impetus of my ill-advised actions.

His eyes wide in shock, Tad asked in a tremulous voice, “Teresa, what are you doing?” I detected a tiny note of fear. A girl had just easily overpowered him. He knew he was at her mercy, and he didn’t know how merciful she would be. “Get off me.” This was a plaintive plea, not one of his usual imperious commands.

I leaned down till we were face to face. My nose was touching his. He was panting, and I felt each breath against my lips. His eyes were darting back and forth, searching my face for some clue as to what was going on. I told him very calmly, in counterpoint to the near panic he was displaying, “I’m going to tickle you till you agree to go to the pool.”

“Oh, no,” he yowled, “No tickling. I can’t stand to be tickled. The last time my dad tickled me too much, I peed in my pants!” That Tad would openly admit to this showed how alarmed he was.

I reached both hands up under his sodden t-shirt and began tickling his sweaty armpits. I knew that area was one of his vulnerabilities. I don’t know what possessed me to do it this way… to reach under his shirt instead of tickling him through it. Perhaps my intentions weren’t so ingenuous after all.

Tad started writhing and twisting under me, laughing like a deranged hyena and begging me to stop. I clamped my legs around him harder to keep from being thrown off. Tracie and Ellie just looked on in confusion. The day had taken an unexpected turn, and they hadn’t as yet caught up.

I tickled him for quite a while. Despite the state it put him in, he still wouldn’t agree to go to the pool. I wondered if his stubbornness would surrender before his bladder did.

His t-shirt had been riding up as he squirmed between my legs, exposing more and more of his belly. I stopped momentarily to pull it up over his head and arms, then flung it aside. I looked down at his now fully exposed torso.

The tone of the encounter had just changed from overly frolicsome mischief to something less playful. Tad only had time to gasp, “Wha… What’d you that fo…” before I renewed my attack.

Tad’s defense strategy, grabbing my arms to hold me off, wasn’t working very well for him. I was too strong. He suddenly changed tactics. He clinched his arms to his sides, then reached across his torso to interlock his hands and wrists. This might’ve been more effective if his skin hadn’t been so slick. As it was, I could slide my hands between his sides and arms to attain the target. Even so, I was somewhat stymied by the tight fit. I couldn’t move my fingers much for effective tickle action.

Then I had an inspiration. Tad had TWO sensitive areas, in close proximity. With my fingers still clamped in his armpits, I reached over with my thumbs to rub his nipples. The tips immediately hardened beneath my touch. I enjoyed feeling his body respond to me.

I wasn’t even aware of how far over the line I had just leapt into wildly inappropriate behavior. What I was doing was fine with a victim of the Society. But Tad was the boy I had been working so hard to spare from just this sort of treatment.

Thinking back on it later, I realized I was doing something different than what was indicated in the Society playbook. The moves were the same, but the goal didn’t align with the Society’s objectives.

Something that had lived and stirred within me for years had been fully aroused. This wasn’t the monster that fed on the boys of Hammond. This beast had a more specific palette. It slavered for one boy in particular. It’s desires drove my dreams of Tad. Those dreams had been its sole expression, confined as it was to my sleeping self. But now it was loose upon the day, and I had no more control of it than I did the disturbing nighttime fantasies that plagued my sleep.

“Teresa, please. No. Stop,” Tad pleaded, grabbing at my arms again to force them away, kicking his feet behind me, bumping my back with his knees, wriggling and writhing under me more fiercely than before. His eyes held a desperate shame. Then that look quickly changed to one of abject alarm. For a moment, I thought he had peed in his pants. Since I was sitting on his crotch, I cringed at the expectation of a flood of warm wetness. What I actually felt was quite different… something hard pressing against me.

My thumbs continued to slowly circle his nipples and play with the rigid tips. My fingers started rubbing up and down inside the slick hollows of his underarms. Not tickling. Doing that thing I knew he liked. A tiny, far-away voice in my head was screaming at me, but I ignored it.

Tad suddenly stopped fighting. He closed his eyes and threw his arms back above his head on the grass, like he was opening himself up to me. I think he had no more control than I did, a conditioned response having cut the strings of his autonomy. Thinking on this later, I felt a brief chill as my aunt’s shadow passed over me. At the time, though, I had no thought of my aunt, or of anything at all. I continued rubbing. Tad started pushing himself against my bottom. He was moaning.

I don’t know how long this went on. Tracie and Ellie moved in close on either side of us, watching silently. Tad continued to moan, the timbre changing along with the pressure of my manipulations and the pattern of my movements.

The other two girls reached out tentatively to touch his chest and belly. But they didn’t have the confidence to go further. This wasn’t just another boy on the Society’s list. This was Tad, a friend they had known and lived near all of their lives. They couldn’t follow me across the line I had just so recklessly blown through. They both shrank back to just continue watching.

Then THAT time came. Realization broke through Tad’s reverie. His eyes flew open. He cried out, “Oh, no. Oh, NOOO.” He looked up at me in fear. He jerked his head to either side at Tracie and Ellie. “Please, no.” He started pushing at my thighs, trying to slide out from under me. But even if he’d had the strength to do that, it was too late.

He bucked beneath me, again and again, but not as he had when I was tickling him. These were forceful, singular thrusts. We all knew what was happening. We had seen it many times before.

At least he hadn’t PEED in his pants.

He lay there stunned. I was stunned, too, at what I had done. I looked down at the boy. All I could see of him was bare, sweaty skin from the waist up. He could’ve been naked all over if I hadn’t known differently. Naked would’ve been fitting, for it almost seemed like we had copulated, even with layers of clothing between us.

Tad’s face abruptly twisted into a complex mix of emotions. He began yelling at me, “Get off me, Teresa. Get OFF.” He struggled to get up, but as I had demonstrated earlier, I was bigger and stronger than him. Even then, in that awful moment, I felt the need to prove it. And to prove I wasn’t his to command. I remained where I was long enough to insure that understanding… hating myself every moment of it.

When I finally stood on uncertain legs, Tad scrambled backwards away from me before staggering to his feet himself. He didn’t stand fully upright, only attaining the level of a crouch. I had seen that stance before… in Aunt Martha’s backyard right after she had brought him to the same compelled pleasure I had just induced.

Tracie and Ellie stood also, but backed away as though giving Tad and me room to brawl. Looking at him, as tense as a coiled spring, I could well imagine him unleashing upon me. And I wasn’t sure I would raise a hand to defend myself, for what I had done was truly indefensible.

But after a few long moments, Tad’s taut muscles went slack, and he almost collapsed back to the ground. He looked at me with confused misery. “What was THAT?” he demanded. “Why did you DO that?”

“I don’t know,” I told him quietly. “I don’t know why I do a lot of the things I do.”

Even more quietly, maybe hoping he wouldn’t hear the question because I feared the answer, I asked, “Are we still friends?”

Tad threw his hands up. He began stalking in circles, gesturing frantically as though he was ranting at someone, but no sound left his lips. The person he was arguing with was inside his head. Tracie, Ellie and I exchanged nervous glances. Had I driven Tad crazy?

He stopped and bent down to place his hands on his knees, panting like he had just run a race. He looked up at me and gave me his answer. Or answers. “I guess. I don’t know. I guess so. I don’t know. Yes.”

The final word was a relief, but I still wanted to grab him and shake the complacency out of him. I wanted to scream in his face that he shouldn’t let people like my aunt… like me… do these things to him. He should tell me to go to hell, and never speak to me again.

Even as I wished he’d stand up for himself and do those things, I was glad he didn’t. I had earlier obsessed over the growing schism in the Society. Now I was beginning to appreciate there was one within myself that was much more critical. There was a disconnect between the person who did such terrible things, and the one who reflected on those actions with deep misgivings during long, sleepless nights. How long could this rift continue unaddressed before it split me down the middle?

I decided that crisis could wait a while longer. There was a more immediate problem. I pointed at Tad’s pants and told him, “You have a little… um… splotch on your crotch.”

He looked down at himself. “Great,” he muttered.

Tracie and Ellie walked around either side of him to look. “That’s definitely a crotch splotch,” Tracie affirmed.

“It’s not pee,” Tad informed her. “I didn’t pee.” Was the idea of accidentally peeing more disgraceful than letting loose with that other fluid wieners released? Maybe everyone thinking he peed his pants made him feel like a young child, whereas only older boys were capable of what he had just produced.

Ellie rolled her eyes and told him, “We KNOW what it is, Tad.”

Tad looked at her dubiously. “How would you know about stuff like that?”

Tracie leaned in towards him. “We know about a LOT of stuff. Boy stuff.”

Tad still wasn’t sure everyone knew what had happened. “When you say boy stuff… do you mean stuff about boys… or actual… boy… you know, stuff? A boy’s stuff.”

Tracie turned to Ellie. “Did that question make sense? I kind of think it didn’t.”

Ellie addressed Tad, “We’re girls. We’re smart. We know about those things. Boy things.”

Tad asked, “When you say boy things… do you mean things about boys… or…”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I exploded. “Are we going to stand around and play word games after what just happened? Does anyone want to talk about the elephant in the room?”

Now the others were all staring at me, confused. Tracie looked around nervously and asked, “What elephant are you talking about?”

Ellie asked, “What room? We’re in a field.”

“Never mind.” I told them. “It’s too hot for this. Let’s go home.” Without looking back, I started marching off towards the house.

I was amazed at how everyone was skirting the subject. How even Tad, after his initial outburst, wasn’t directly referencing what had just transpired. For the Society, what I had done would’ve been only a tiny appetizer before the feast. But, even though three quarters of this group were Society members, this WASN’T the Society. We were the Willow Lane Quartet. We were around long before that larger company. In many ways, our smaller group served as an escape from the pressure, plotting and planning of the Society. Even the Tales of Tad, popular as they were, couldn’t meld the two worlds together.

But that separation, a good schism, was in jeopardy. Many of the girls still wanted to experience Tad first hand. And I had just further weakened the divide by practically molesting him before an audience. That had been a huge, unbelievably stupid mistake. I had brought the Society into our Willow Lane world.

The Society was fun, I couldn’t deny. But it was single-minded. It’s ‘fun’ comprised a very narrow band on the spectrum. Sometimes other types of recreation were needed. For me, and I suspected for Tracie and Ellie too, Willow Lane provided that. The four of us could just be kids, and do normal kid activities. We played board games, we romped in the woods, we crowded in front of the television to watch Leave it to Beaver. I could be innocent, or at least so convincingly play the part I fooled myself into believing it, if only temporarily. That divide between the worlds was necessary.

Walking back to our respective homes, no one said anything for a while. But after the fifth or sixth time Tad bumped into one of us while looking down at his crotch and pulling at the fabric of his pants, Tracie exploded, “Tad, quit looking at it! And quit… doing whatever it is you’re doing. Leave your pants alone. Jeez.”

Tad said miserably, “But it’s all squishy. It’s gross.” This made me think of what he had said about the mud in his underpants walking back to my aunt’s house on that Saturday. That day seemed both impossibly far away in the past and more near than it had ever been.

There was no public pool for us that day. Or any day in the foreseeable future. I suspected Tad would be even more squeamish about public exposure after I had so thoroughly played on his vulnerabilities.

Later that night, I thought of another option. We could have our pool and still not subject Tad to all those invasive eyes. But there were preparations to be made.

The next day was Monday. I called a meeting before school. Tracie, Ellie, Tad and I met in front of the school. We stood off to the side away from the river of students flowing into the building.

Tad was subdued. He wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. It wasn’t only because of what I had done to him the day before. There had been another, more indirect consequence when he got home. His mother had seen him sneaking into the house, and had waylaid him in the kitchen. She had immediately recognized what his splotch consisted of. Luckily, she hadn’t known he had been in the company of his three female friends, or we all would’ve been roped into the ramifications.

I had been entering my own back door when I heard her start screaming at the poor boy. “It isn’t enough that you play with yourself EVERY… SINGLE… NIGHT. Now you’re doing it outdoors like some kind of sex crazed chipmunk or something. What were you thinking? Do you do it outside all the time? What if someone had seen you?”

I backed up and eased the screen door shut, then slipped over to hunker down next to the bushes that lined Tad’s house. Tad countered his mother’s accusation with, “I wasn’t playing with myself. If I’d been doing that, it wouldn’t be all inside my pants. I would’ve taken it out to…” Tad stopped, obviously realizing he was divulging too much information. “It… it just… happened. I don’t know why.”

Tad didn’t want his mother to know what actually happened any more than I did. But his cover story was weak. He had previously created a successful alternate explanation for his backyard bath to preclude the ridicule that would surely follow the real reason, but that was with a day to compose the narrative. He wasn’t so good at thinking on his feet, even with twelve years of bad behavior and the resulting punishments as incentive to improve his skills at lying.

His mother clearly wasn’t convinced. “You were just walking along, minding your own business, and suddenly ejaculated in your pants… that’s what you want me to believe?”

“Well…” Tad replied. He obviously realized how ridiculous his impromptu excuse sounded, but he was locked into the lie. If he completely changed his story, his mother would only become even more angry. So he tried amending it a bit. “I may have been… rubbing… or scratching at myself there. That might have caused it.”

“Scratching?” His mother sounded alarmed. “”Why were you scratching? Do you have a rash? Or… or lice?” She shrieked the next words, “Do you have LICE???”

“NO! Gross!” Tad cried, almost as loud as his mother. “I don’t have lice.”

“Get your clothes off. Right NOW,” his mother commanded. “We’ll soon see.”

“In the kitchen? You want me to take my clothes off in the kitchen?” Tad sounded more horrified at the location than of the impending inspection.

“You’re right,” his mother conceded. “You’ll get lice everywhere. Outside! Get out in the backyard.”

I heard Tad yelp, then their screen door slamming open. Peeking through the bushes, I saw Tad’s mother dragging him by the arm out into the big, bright outdoors. Oh, wow, I thought. I had seen Tad naked numerous times, even outside at my aunt’s. But this was a different locale and a different circumstance, and so a whole new experience.

Reaching the center of the backyard, Tad’s mom began pulling his t-shirt over his head, much as I had done earlier in the day. After tossing his shirt far from her as though it was crawling with critters, she told him to take his shoes and socks off. Tad looked wildly around for possible witnesses. Luckily for him, Willow Lane was far removed from the rest of Hammond. His backyard was visible only from the field behind our houses, and of course, from the neighboring homes on either side.

His mother was losing what little patience she had. She was never known to keep great stores of it in reserve. “Shoes. Socks. NOW.”

Tad miserably divested himself of his footwear. His mother immediately pounced, and soon his pants and underpants joined the rest of his former attire in the grass. As he tried to shield himself with his hands, his mother grabbed his wrists and held his arms up over his head. She looked him up and down. The embarrassed boy squirmed in her grasp. “Mommmm, this is humiliating. Stop. I don’t have lice.”

His mother mused, more to herself than Tad, “I don’t see any, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’ve only ever HEARD of lice. I don’t know how big they are or anything. I really don’t know what I’m looking for.”

Coming to a decision, she finally looked Tad in the eye, instead of everywhere else. “I’m going across the street to get Mrs. Banks. You wait right here. Don’t you move.” Mrs. Banks was an old retired nurse. She had lived on our street since long before I was born. Probably before my parents were born. There was no Mr. Banks. He had died many years ago, probably in the 1800s.

Tad’s mother dashed off to get reinforcements, luckily going around the other side of the house from where I was crouched. Tad clasped his hands back in front of himself as he waited, looking around again fearfully. I wondered… if he knew how many girls had already seen him unclothed, in person and in photos, would he be more or less bashful about his exposure? Would he become accustomed to being seen naked, or would each instance build upon the humiliation of the last?

Looking at the situation from the other side, I never became bored with seeing him. Each time was at least as exciting as the ones before. I suspected Tad was likewise inclined, but in the reverse (if that makes sense)… a boy so modest would never become desensitized to having his body displayed, no matter how often he had to endure it.

At least, so I hoped. His embarrassment was such a joy to observe.

Eventually, his mother returned with Mrs. Banks. The short trip across the street and back had taken about fifteen minutes due to Mrs. Banks having to hobble slowly along with the aid of a cane. For Tad, that quarter of an hour probably felt like ages.

As they rounded the corner of the house, Tad looked up and made a little noise of distress. I think he’d been hoping that Mrs. Banks wouldn’t or couldn’t come, and the prospect of another pair of female eyes seeing him in the nude only just then became real.

Mrs. Banks spoke to Tad’s mother, “There appears to be a very naked young man in your backyard, dear.” Her voice and enunciation sounded strange. I realized she wasn’t wearing her dentures.

“Remember?” his mother said, “It’s Tad. You’re here to check him for lice.”

As Mrs. Banks tottered up to the boy, his mother instructed him to drop his hands to his sides. “But, Mommmm…” he whined.

The fierce look she gave him compelled instant obedience. Mrs. Banks bent forward to subject his boy parts to a lengthy stare. She spoke to seemingly no one in particular, “Well, well. It’s been many a year since I saw one of THOSE. Not since my husband passed away. And his wasn’t the best specimen. Kinda scrawny. Stringy too. And floppy when it shouldn’t be. Once his two minutes were done, he’d roll off me and go to sleep… then I had to finish what HE started.”

“Oh…” Tad’s mother said. “My goodness… poor you. About Tad…”

Mrs. Banks continued, “I used to see lots of those things, way back in the day. Mostly young ones, like this one here. Comes from working for a pediatrician.” The old woman’s face split into a ghastly toothless smile. “I used to make those boys strip down to the skin, didn’t matter what they were in for.”

Tad’s mother, looking uncomfortable, interjected, “Yes, well… about Tad…”

“I’d tell ‘em, ‘Sinus infection? No problem. First, get those clothes off. No, honey, can’t stop there. Those undies gotta go, too’. The moms never minded. None of them ever saw a problem with their boys being bare. When a boy squawked about it, he more likely than not got a whack on the bottom. Ol’ doc didn’t mind either. He let me have my way during office hours as long as I let him have his way after work.” She turned to Tad’s mother with a wink. “Know what I mean, dearie?”

Tad’s mother was looking distinctly squeamish. Mrs. Banks had become rather verbose and imprudent in her decrepitude. “Um… about Tad…”

But the old woman was lost in the pleasures of the past. “I always made sure to put the boys in the exam area with just the curtain partitions. Saved the private rooms for the girls. Those curtains never closed right. They always left these big gaps anyone could see right in. The slightest breeze from someone walking by would blow ‘em open even more. And since it was all right across from the door to the waiting area, and that door always stayed open… well, I wasn’t the only one got an eyeful.” She sighed. “I loved watching their faces when they knew a girlie from their school was out there.”

Wow, I thought. That old woman could be ME in a few hundred years.

Mrs. Banks continued, “I’d check their mouths and their ears. Then it was weighing time. I really wanted to parade ‘em naked down the hall to the scales. Did it once early on with a little thirteen year old. I knew the waiting room was full. More than one little girlie in the bunch, too. But ol’ doc told me that was a step to far. Never again.” Her wrinkled face twisted alarmingly into a grotesque grimace. “Damn his soul.”

Tad’s mother attempted a feeble, “…about Tad?”

“So I’d make them slip back into their undies and take ‘em down the hall like that. As red as their faces got, they might as well have been naked. They’d have to take them off again after I weighed ‘em. I discovered I kinda liked making a boy slide in and out of his undies two and three times a visit. Let ‘em know who was in control… and it wasn’t their mamas.”

Tad looked pleadingly at his own mama. “Mom? I’m very, very uncomfortable with this.”

“Then came thermometer time. I scold them, ‘No honey, you can close your mouth. This is a rectal thermometer’. Made ‘em lie back on the table and pull their knees up to their chins, showing everything they had to God, me, their moms, and anyone else blessed enough to be in that waiting room. Sometimes I’d let one or two of the younger nurses in to assist. If they slipped me a little spending money on the side, of course. When it was time for school sports physicals, I made a pretty penny, I’ll tell you what. We’d have a lineup of hot young high school bucks. Some of those other nurses were barely out of high school themselves. A lot of them knew the boy who was having to strip down in front of her.” She let out a long wavering sigh. “Those were good times.”

She paused and looked at Tad. “Don’t you go feeling left out, honey. Junior high boys are fine, too.” She subjected him to another long appraisal.

Tad was giving his mother a wide-eyed look of pure panic. His mother told Mrs. Banks, “I think maybe I’ll just look up ‘lice’ at the local library. I’m sorry to have taken up your time.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Banks replied. “As long as I’m here, let me check your boy out.” She laughed. “Like I haven’t been doing plenty of that already. You want me to take his tempy first? The only thing better than the look on a boy’s face when you slide a thermometer up his butt is when you grease him up first with your finger.” She smiled, reminiscing. “I’d give the really cute ones a three knuckle job.”

Tad blurted, “Mom. Tell her my tempy’s fine. It’s really, really, really fine.” His mother passed the message along. She was looking trapped, obviously knowing she’d made a dreadful mistake, but not sure how to rectify it.

“Down to business, I guess.” Mrs. Banks sighed. She leaned in to Tad’s crotch, her nose almost touching him. She glanced up at his mother to explain, “These old eyes ain’t what they used to be.”

Turning back to Tad, she stated, “At least he ain’t got no hair for the critters to nest in.” She reached out and pulled on the head of his thing. Tad and his mother both gasped. She lifted it up and looked at his ballsack. Tad’s hands were clenched into fists.

Leaning even closer, with Tad’s thing still in hand, Mrs. Banks commented, “Looks like your boy had a little… accident… here. He’s got some dried jizz on him.”

“Yes,” Tad’s mother replied, embarrassed. “That’s why I thought maybe he had lice. He’d been rubbing on himself there, like it itched. And then he…”

Mrs. Banks looked up pityingly. “Honey, that ain’t the kind of itch he’s got. He’s got the itch to do this…” She demonstrated by giving Tad’s thing a few strokes.

Tad gulped loudly… then became instantly hard. The feeling of another’s hand manipulating him, even if only momentarily, overwhelmed the fear and embarrassment this strange old woman had provoked in him.

His mother exclaimed, “Oh dear God, Tad. Is there no time that’s inappropriate for you? This is what landed you here in the first place.”

Tad started jabbering, “It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. It was HER. She made me.”

Mrs. Banks proudly stated, “That happened a lot in the exam room, too. I just have the hands for it, I guess.” She addressed Tad’s mother, “Their mothers would often tan their little backsides right then and there when it happened. I’ll step aside if you want to attend to your boy.”

“Oh, he’s going to get it,” Tad’s mother said. “But not right now. I just want to know… do you see any lice?”

Mrs. Banks leaned in even further, finally overbalancing. She fell forward to plant her face right in Tad’s crotch. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see what happened next, but I could infer it from Tad’s expression… a mix of shock and revelation. As his mother helped Mrs. Banks back upright, the old woman told Tad, “First time I’ve done THAT in many a year. And this time on accident. You’re lucky I don’t have my teeth in, young fella.”

“Well, I think that’s about all for today,” Tad’s mother said with false cheerfulness.

“Nonsense,” the older woman replied. “We got two more areas to check out. Run your fingers through his hair to look at his scalp. If he’s got critters, you’ll see ‘em. Be thorough. Meanwhile, I’ll keep an eye on things down here.” She resumed looking at Tad’s boy parts.

His mother reluctantly started examining Tad’s hair, casting an occasional glance down at the neighbor she surely would never invite back. Mrs. Banks used her fingers to move Tad’s ballsack to one side, then the other, saying, “Anyone hiding in there?”

When no critters were found in either location, Mrs. Banks announced the last possible area that could harbor them. “We need to check his little butt crack.”

Tad cried out, “Mom, please. Don’t let her touch me anymore.”

His mother looked like she was inclined to comply, but her fear of the word that provoked such horror and revulsion in parents… lice… proved insurmountable. “Bend over, Tad. It’s almost over.” Much caterwauling ensued until his mother threatened to perform the previously promised spanking right there in front of Mrs. Banks, whose eyes lit up at the prospect.

The bushes I was hiding behind couldn’t have been more perfectly placed. After Tad turned around and reluctantly bent over, both women squatted down to inspect him, one on either side. I had line of sight right down the middle between them. When his mother spread his bottom cheeks with her hands, Tad’s humiliation was so palpable I could feel it in the air. I answered my earlier question with a certainty… this boy will NEVER be untroubled by his nakedness before others.

Afterwards, Mrs. Banks lamented, “I wish I could’ve been the one to spread the boy wide, but I have to keep one hand on this blasted cane.”

She told Tad, “Thank you, honey. This really took me back. Ol’ doc was the only pediatrician in Hammond back in the day. For fifty years I knew what every boy in town looked like in the raw. What they felt like on the inside, too.” She waggled her forefinger at him with a disturbing smile. Tad blanched. “But that’s all gone… in the past. At least I know what one little Hammond boy looks like today.” She gave him a last long look. “You ain’t never gonna be a high school football hunk, but you’re still a cutie.”

Tad looked confused, as if unsure whether to take the compliment, considering the source.

His mother finally asserted herself. “Mrs. Banks, thank you for your assistance. But I REALLY must see you home so I can finish up with my son.” She looked at Tad. “And YOU go wait for me in the bathroom.” She continued with a lecture that apparently couldn’t wait until later to be unleashed. Now that she knew his bout of rubbing wasn’t the result of a rash or infestation, the only remaining cause had to be his overactive urges. Therefore, the residue on his skin and in his clothes wasn’t the result of forces beyond his control. He was just a nasty little boy who submitted to his sexual desires wherever he happened to be… even when outside in the middle of the day where the whole town could see him. She was going to scrub it from his skin and launder it from his clothes. Then she and his father were going to have a long, long talk with him. This obsessive solitary stimulation was going to stop. She’d padlock his penis till she was ready for grandchildren if that’s what it took.

Once the backyard had been cleared, I retreated to my house. About ten minutes later I heard Tad’s yowling from the bathroom next door. The only intelligible words I could make out were, “I can bathe myself. I’m twelve years OLDDDDDD.” I lamented my inability to see through that bathroom window.

Poor Tad… still being bathed like a child… by my aunt, then by his mother… and possibly by the two recent interlopers if I couldn’t find a way to extricate him from their amorous extortion.

That night, at his mother’s bidding, Tad’s father delivered the spanking. She knew his hand would leave more of an impression, and not just in the physical sense. I had already intuited Tad wished his father, more than anyone, would see him as the young man he boasted himself to be. But having to lay across his father’s lap for a spanking, and the crying and wailing that always commenced, destroyed any possibility of such a perception.

So, Tad’s abashed behavior was quite understandable when we met before school on Monday. At the time, Tracie and Ellie assumed it was solely because of the tickling under the tree episode. I hadn’t had the opportunity to tell them what occurred a little later in the day.

The story would also make a wonderful Tale of Tad, but would it appease the other girls in the Society or further incite their desires?

No, I decided… this would be no Tale of Tad. I already felt as though I had betrayed him in some way out there in the field. I wouldn’t further that act by exposing his multiple humiliations of that day to their derisive laughter.

Tad intruded on my thoughts. “You called a meeting…?”

“Yes,” I responded. “We don’t have much time before the bell. But I think we should get everything out in the open about what happened in the field yesterday.”

Tad started to object, “I think we should just forget about it. Never mention it ag…” but I cut him off.

“First, I want to apologize for my part in it. I shouldn’t have tickled you like that.” My apology didn’t include stripping off his t-shirt or the post-tickle caressing the initial act ushered in.

“The three of us,” I indicated Tracie and Ellie as well as myself, “know that boys can be excitable. It’s just their nature. And some boys,” I gestured towards Tad, “are more excitable than others.” He made his pouty face at me. “And when they get excited in a certain way… well… things can get messy.”

“Whoa,” Tad interjected, holding his hands up in the timeout signal. “This needs to be filed away in the same place as… you know… that OTHER day we’re never going to mention ever again forever and ever. So you can stop talking about it NOW.” He folded his arms over his chest, looking very haughty.

“It’s OK, Tad,” I held my hands out in a placating gesture. “We know you didn’t mean to offend us by so openly ejaculating right in front of our eyes.” Tad’s mouth dropped open. Not only was I was daring to ignore his decree, I was becoming more explicit with the embarrassing details.

“Boys your age are seething with hormones… practically percolating in their juices. And some boys,” I indicated Tad again, “Have no control over themselves. So even the most innocent bout of tickling can be misconstrued… subconsciously, of course… as sexually suggestive.”

Tad was squirming with self-consciousness. He kept trying to interrupt me, but could only make little squeaking sounds.

“And when a boy with no self-discipline finds himself in a situation he believes to be sexual in some way, even if in error, those hot, percolating juices start to boil over. And they have nowhere to go but… well… his underpants.”

Tracie and Ellie were trying to hide their snickering behind their hands. Luckily, Tad was too indignant and embarrassed to notice.

“I should’ve taken your extreme immaturity, and the lack of restraint in how you’ve always conducted yourself in all areas of your life, into consideration before tickling you. Even though you practically used my bottom as a masturbation device, I do bear some of the blame for my lack of foresight.”

Tad’s imperious posture had been slowly deflating as I talked. He was actually beginning to look ashamed of his actions. This was so incongruous
with his usual egocentric attitude it took me a moment to recognize what that strange, alien expression on his face was.

“So, in conclusion… we know you weren’t intentionally flaunting your overwhelming, uncontrollable sexual desires. You’re just very young and inexperienced at keeping your internal urges from becoming external stains. So I forgive you for your unseemly secretion, even though it WAS an assault on our sensitive sensibilities. I think I speak for Tracie and Ellie too…?”

They both nodded their heads, hands still over their mouths.

Tad’s head was hanging very low. What I could see of his face was a burning, brilliant red. His hands were clasped before his crotch, as though trying to conceal yesterday’s shame.

“I… I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice, unusually contrite. “That must’ve been very uncomfortable for y’all.”

There. I had owed Tad an apology, and I had delivered it… while still managing to keep the upper hand in our relationship. I congratulated myself on how well it went.

The first bell rang. Tracie, Ellie and I turned and began walking towards the front entrance. It wasn’t until I was halfway there that I noticed Tad wasn’t with us. I looked back through an oncoming herd of latecomers. Tad was still standing where we left him, seemingly lost in remorseful thoughts. I yelled at him to move or he’d be late. He looked up and silently raised a hand in acknowledgement.

At the door, I turned again, expecting him to still be there. But he was gone, probably swallowed by the crowd. Seeing the space where he wasn’t, I felt a strange wave of sorrow… a tide coming in bringing with it an awful but elusive awareness. As I grasped at the meaning, the tide slipped back and took understanding with it.

All that remained was an inexplicable sense of loss.