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Subject: ST: Sleepers Too (t/t/t/t/t male), Celebrity, nc)
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			 Sleepers Too

    The boy rolled his bloodshot hazel eyes in exasperation as the cop
kicked his legs farther apart.  "Look, dude," he began again in his
thick, southern drawl.

    "I told you, boy, just keep your hands on the roof of the car and
your mouth shut," a second voice with a similar Tennessee drawl
replied.  It was a deeper voice, the voice of a man, and a voice
accustomed to authority.

    "Shit, if you'd just listen a moment "

    "You have a big mouth, boy," the burly policeman warned, his voice
straining as he tried to hold back his anger.  "Don't open it again."
Of the two occupants of the car, this boy had been the most vocal and
the most hyper.  Spotting a bulge in the boy's trouser pocket, the
police officer reached inside.

    "Hey, what the fuck you doing, coping a feel?" the boy asked.
"You some sort of fag?"

    Taking a cigarette box out of the boy's pocket, the officer opened
it up.  Inside were two small plastic packages of a white powder.
"Now, what have we here?"

    The boy's heart sank.  Of all the fucking bad luck.  Why did this
fucker have to happen to be on Andrew Johnson Highway at this hour,
two o'clock in the fucking morning?  And why did he have to stop this
particular car, and why did he have to decide to do a search?  The
Deputy Sheriff began to pat him down.

    "Keep your fucking fag hands off me," the boy said angrily,
attempting to stop the officer as he tried to get his muddled mind to
focus clearly.

    "Remove your boots."

    The boy hesitated, and then slowly removed one and then the other
leather boot.  The deputy squatted down and looked closely.  Rolling
down the boy's right sock he removed a baggie containing a green leafy

    "Maybe I had better explain who I am," the boy said, his pitch
higher now in his excitement, and his slurred words betraying the fact
he was not totally in control of his tongue.

    "Don't matter who you are boy.  All I know is you are in one pile
of trouble."

    "Hey, what the shit you doing man?" the boy exclaimed as he felt
the cuffs slip around his wrists.  "Asshole, listen to me."

    The policeman spun the fifteen-year-old boy around and grabbed him
by the front of his expensive black Italian leather jacket.  Although
he was five foot ten, he was only a hundred and thirty-five pounds, no
match for the solidly built policeman.  "No, you listen to me you
little snot.   You are under arrest for suspicion of possession, and
for being under the influence of an illicit drug.  Anything you say
may and can be used against you in a court of law.  You have the right
to an attorney. . . ."

    The boy did not hear the rest.  This could not be happening to
him, not him of all people.   He walked over to the police cruiser and
got into the back seat.  As the cruiser pulled away, he saw the Deputy
Sheriff was still talking to the driver of the car, his
nineteen-year-old cousin.

    Why had this happened to him?  The evening had begun innocently
enough.  He had gone out for smoke.  He had been smoking since he was
eleven or twelve.  His grandmother did not like him smoking.
Considering she was the only one in the family who would put up with
him after his parents split up and his mother decided she couldn't
handle him, he did owe her at least that much not to do it in front of
her.  He met up with a couple of the guys at the park and then a buddy
drove up and they decided to cruise for girls for a while.  Then they
met up with his cousin Mark and one thing lead to another and somehow
he ended up at the party.  It was wild, a lot of older dudes, and a
lot of chicks.  Of course a lot of them knew who he was and right away
began to swarm around him.

    He hated that.  Ninety-eight percent of them all wanted something,
an autograph, a picture, a part in a movie, a favour, a kiss, his
underwear. . . .  One point nine percent of them were just in a state
of shock oh wow, oh shit, guess who was at the party last night wide
eyed giggles type.  That left the point one percent who just wanted to
know him as him, but they could never get close to him.  That was his
life.  He had a lot of friends when he was growing up, but none that
really cared about him.  Now that he was a successful movie star,
things were no different.

    He did not want to be a teen idol, but he knew he had the looks
and body that made hearts throb.  That was not him, but when you are
fifteen and hot and horny, it is hard not to take advantage of that
image sometimes, and doubly hard when it's that image that one's
agents are always promoting.  Besides, he liked the image of being
daring, and he liked to flirt, so he didn't mind shedding his shirt
and looking provocatively into the camera.  A lot of his fans didn't
understand why he'd strike such sexy poses and thought it undermined
his real talent, but to him, it was all part of his image, sexy and
bold.  He was a just-lock-him-up-and-throw-away-the-key- type dude.
When you have a rep of being a bad boy, you might as well play it up
when it is to your advantage, even if you'd rather be at home playing
the blues on your guitar with a few good buddies.

    Anyway, sometime during the evening the tobacco was replaced by
grass, and that was cool. He liked to smoke a joint of marijuana once
in a while.  When he was a kid, his mother put him on Ritalin in an
attempt to control his hyperactivity.  If she had put him on
marijuana, it would have been a lot better, he thought with a smile.
He sort of lost track of things after that, but he remembered someone
offering him some coke, the white powder kind, not the rival to Pepsi
stuff.  Then his cousin and he decided to split.  His cousin said he
knew some girls.  The fifteen-year-old boy was high, and horny, and
figured maybe this was his night to get laid.   Despite his hot looks
and his wild side, he was still a virgin.

    They were just cruising along the highway when the red and blue
lights began flashing.   Next thing he knew the cop had the car pulled
over and the two of them assuming the position.   He had evidently
phoned for backup as another police car arrived minutes later.

    The boy tried to gather his thoughts as the cruiser sped down the
highway, but it was not easy.  He could not remember how much grass he
had smoked.  They pulled up to the East Tennessee Regional Juvenile
Service Centre there in Knoxville.  The officer behind the front desk
wearily pulled out a form and began to ask the questions he asked a
hundred times a day.  The boy figured at least now they would realize
just who he was and they could set things straight.   After all, he
was not just a hood from the streets.  He was one of K-town's most
famous citizens.   When he gave his name, the officer did not even

    "Don't that mean nothing to you?"


    "Don't you fuckin' know who I am for shitsake ya dickhead?"

    "Yeah, I know who you are.  You're a loud mouth, glassy-eyed,
smartass kid who got caught.  Now, parent's names."

    "I don't live with my parents.  My grandma is my legal guardian.
I live with her."


    The cop went through the routine and the boy answered the
questions.  Any objections the boy made just brought him a blank stare
and the question repeated.

    "All right, step over here and empty your pockets."

    "What the fuck for?"

    "Boy, your foul mouth is getting the best of me.  Now empty them,
or I'll empty them for you."

    "I want a lawyer."

    "We aren't arresting you."

    "They why the shit do I have to empty my fucking pockets?"

    "Until your grandmother can come get you, we have to put you
somewhere, and we can't be letting you in one of our luxury suites
unless you empty your pockets."

    "You're putting me in a cell?  No fucking way!  You fucking stupid
cocksucking assholes don't have a fucking clue who you're fucking
dealing with here!"

    He shrugged off the restraining hand, and then threw a punch.
Squirming out of his jacket he made a break for it.  Two cops had
bruised shins, one a bloodied nose, and the fourth was going to be
walking bowlegged after the kick he'd received to his nuts, but they
managed to stop him.  The cop was not too gentle with him when he
threw him into the holding cell.

    The boy managed to stay on his feet, and as the door slammed shut
he let out another string of abuse at the retreating cop.  He was mad
and he was insulted, and he was frustrated feeling the high coming
down and knowing he was not going to get laid after all.  He had a bad
temper at the best of times, and under those circumstances, he just
let loose, banging the cell door and using every obscenity he could
think of.

    "You know what fucking time it is?"

    The voice behind him silenced him.  It was not loud, and it was
not angry, but it had a tone that clearly said, I'm displeased, and
that is not good for you.  The boy knew it was 3:15.   He had noticed
the time when they had taken his watch and the rest of his personal
belongings.   He also knew that was not what the speaker was really
asking.  He slowly turned and looked at the boy who had spoken.  The
speaker was laying on the top of one of the three double bunks and
looking at the boy with cold eyes that sent a shiver through him.  His
hair was several shades darker brown than the boy's hair, which fans
had described as light brown to dirty blond, and it was long too, like
his, covering his ears and over his collar.  He was about five foot
ten and a hundred and sixty pounds.  He had to be at least 17.  The
most significant thing about him was the look of hardness, the look
that said don't mess with this dude.

    "Sorry, I was just angry," the younger teen apologized.

    "So that gives you the right to wake me up?"

    "No, course not.  I, I just didn't know anyone else was here."

    "Huh, thought you were getting a private room?"

    "Hey, look, I said I was sorry," the teen said, his anger building
up again.

    "He is one sorry dude," said a voice from the lower bunk.  The boy
swung his legs around and sat up.  He looked closer to the new
arrival's age.  His reddish hair was shaved and darkened along the
sides with the top left long and his natural colour.  He was wearing a
T-shirt and had a blue eagle tattooed on his right biceps.

    "I dunno, looks like a pussy boy to me," came another voice.
"Just look at those baby- smooth cheeks and nice pink lips."  The new
arrival turned to the second bunk and swallowed at the sight of the
muscular, hairy chested black boy.  He was six feet tall, at least a
hundred and eighty pounds, and looked like he'd make a great football

    "Somebody mention pussy?" came a younger voice.  A boy of about
fourteen poked his head out from the lower bunk.  "Oh yeah, sweet
looking pussy boy," he said with a twinkle in his greenish-blue eyes.
"I love those black leather pants."  He brushed his long blond hair
off his face as he swung his body out of the bed.

    "Look dudes, I'm sorry I woke you, all right?"

    "Hey," said the first boy.  "We aren't sorry you did."  His leer
and words made it clear he had some fun in mind.  The new arrival
liked to have fun too, but he had a sinking feeling that what these
boys considered fun was much different from what he did.

    "Ah, look, I'm not into that stuff, all right.  This has all been
a mistake.  My grandmother will be here soon and  "

    "Awww, his grammie will be here for him soon."

    "Then we better get our ass while we can," commented the black

    The boys were out of their bunks and surrounding him in seconds.

    "Hey, look, no."

    Someone was groping his ass.  Another was groping his crotch.
This could not be happening to him.  This was a bad grade B movie.
Someone began to unbutton his shirt.  The guy groping his crotch had
found his dink and was squeezing it through his soft leather trousers.

    "Fucking shit, keep your hands off me!" he snarled, pushing at
them, hoping by acting the bad boy he could bluff them.  After all, he
was a good actor.

    "Rather have our dicks?" the fourteen-year-old asked, unfazed by
his bluff.

    The boys continued to grope him.  They were hard and strong and
didn't budge even though the boy used all the force he could muster.
They were used to being pushed around, and not by cream puffs like
this one.

    "Hey!  Fuck!  Stop!"  The boys didn't stop, and nobody came from
behind the steel doors to rescue him.  "Look, you don't know who I

    "Don't give a fuck either.  Screwed lots of people whose name I
never knew, male and female."

    "Look, you do anything to me and you'll be in big trouble.  I'm
not just some nobody off the street.  I'm--"

    "Not like us, huh?"

    "I didn't mean that."

    "Fuck ya didn't."

    "Hey we just gonna talk or we gonna have this dude."

    The first boy grabbed the new arrival and planted a hot kiss on
his reluctant lips.

    "Way to go Darryl!"

    "Guards!  Someone!  Stop!  For fucksake I'm "

    The boy gave him another kiss as the others grappled with him,
managing to remove his shirt.  Their hands caressed his smooth, soft
chest, the chest he loved to flaunt before his fans.  He knew he had a
great chest. The photographers were always having him remove or open
up his shirt to expose it.  A hand was squeezing his right nipple,
pinching it.  Someone else's hand was caressing the other nipple,
making it hard.  This was not right.  They were all boys.

    "Stop!  Listen one moment!"

    A blow to the stomach bent him over.  While he gasped for breath
his trousers were yanked down, an easy feat since the cops had taken
his belt.  They had also taken his black leather boots.  While the
black boy held him up the others drew his pants off, along with one
sock.  He stood there in his white jockey briefs and left sock.

    "Hey, you know, I think I do know this dude."

    The boy sighed with relief.  At last.

    "You in an add for Calvin Klein jeans or something?"

    "No," he said with exasperation.

    "I seen you in a poster I know," said the youngest.  "Fuck, you're
Brad Renfro!"

    "Right!"  Now they would leave him alone.

    "Who is Brad Renfro?" asked the black teenager.

    "You know, the movie star.  You were in Tom and Huck."

    "Yeah, that was a few years ago."

    "And in Sleepers," said the seventeen-year-old.  "I recognize you
now.  My girlfriend has some of your pics in her bedroom.  Sexy poses,
like laying on your stomach with no shirt on and looking up with those
sexy eyes, and in that black net shirt, and in those sunglasses with
your shirt off and with your hands hooked in your jeans, pushing them
down.  Shit, wait til she finds out I fucked Brad Renfro!"

    "Ah, dude, that's not funny."

    "Wasn't meant to be, sexy boy.  You wanna pose like you're hot
stuff, then you better be hot stuff.  You wanna stand there with a
look that says come get my body, then you shouldn't be surprised if
someone comes and gets it."

    Brad sort of knew what he meant by that.  He himself had said how
Hollywood was fake and flashy.  What he had done was different though.
His act of being a bad ass was just that, an act.  You had to do those
things if you wanted to be noticed by the media, and you had to be
noticed by the media if you wanted to be noticed by movie directors.
The boy might only be fifteen, but he was not stupid.  In real life he
wasn't really that type of guy.  He was much more than just a hunk of
meat.  He was an actor.  He had a talent.

    "Hey dude, that movie Sleepers was about dudes getting raped in
juvie, wasn't it?"

    "Yeah, by the guards," Brad replied.  If he could keep them
talking, get them interested in his movies or something, then maybe
they would forget about this.  "There were "

    "Then you know what this is all about," said the fifteen-year-old,
running his hand along Brad's thigh.

    "That was a movie, dude.  Fiction," Brad replied, trying to pull
away but unable to move the way the four had boxed him in.  The hand
was caressing the inside of this thigh, doing crazy things to his
body.  It was making his dickhead itch, yet his mind was revolted by
the act.

    "Yeah, well this is real."

    "Guys, we better get this on before this dude makes bail."

    "I get his ass first," said the fourteen-year-old.

    "Forget it Blaze.  I saw him first.  I get his ass first," claimed

    "Then I get his face," said Blaze.

    "What makes you think you get second choice, dude?" asked the

    "Wanna fight me for him, Corky?"

    "Stop fucking wasting time," said the black boy, grabbing Brad
from the back and pinning his arms.  "Darryl gets first crack at his
butt, then me.  Blaze gets first blow, Corky the second."

    The boys did not argue.  Blaze reached up and yanked down Brad's
jockey shorts.  "Take a good look Darryl.  You can tell your
girlfriend what her hot teen heartthrob really has between his legs."

    "Hey he ain't too bad hung actually."

    "Heartthrob and hung.  Some fuckers get all the luck," commented
Darryl, his voice dripping with envy.

    "I can't help what I am," Brad tried to explain.  "I didn't ask to
be a heartthrob.  That's really not me.  Look dudes, I can get you
money, anything--"

    "Yeah, right.  As soon as you're out of here we're history.
Besides, you're making this throb," said the black boy, taking the
younger boy's hand and wrapping his fingers about the black boy's
swelling dick.  "Now you stroke me nice and easy and when it's my turn
to screw your sweet ass maybe I'll be gentle."

    Brad had never held another boy's dick in his hand before, and he
had no intention of doing so now.  As he tried to pull away, the black
boy's grip tightened.  He reached around and grabbed Brad by the nuts
and gave them a hard squeeze.  The boys laughed as Brad yelped in
pain.  "Don't mess with us dude or I'll yank off your precious nuts
with my bare hands."  He gave them another sharp squeeze for emphasis,
causing Brad to cry out again with the piercing pain.   "Now you
stroke my cock nice like I told you."

    Brad did as he had been told.  His white fingers contrasted
sharply with the black boy's cock as he slowly began to pump his fist
up and down the hard, hot flesh.  The others ran their hands over his
naked body and through his long, light brown hair.  Brad quivered as
he felt the massive, thick tube throbbing in his hand.  It had to be
at least eight inches, and at least six inches in circumference.  He
felt dirty holding another boy's cock in his hand.  He felt even
dirtier being fondled by the four boys.  There were four pairs of
hands all over him, caressing his chest, running along his back,
massaging his ass cheeks, fondling his balls and cock.

    Darryl kissed him hotly on the mouth, this time not to silence
him.  The black boy was kissing his neck.  Blaze had his lips applying
suction to his side.  The fourth boy was licking the inside of this
thigh.  Four pair of hands running over his body, touching him where
nobody had ever touched him before, four tongues licking, four mouths
sucking.  It was filthy and perverted and as he felt their hot saliva
on his skin he shuddered with revulsion. In a way this was what
Sleepers was supposed to portray, but nothing could really portray the
reality of being raped.  The four boys assaulting him were soon all
erect.   Brad was no where near it.

    Throwing a couple mattresses from the bunks onto the floor, the
boys dragged him down onto them.  Brad knew there was nothing he could
do about it.  His voice was raw from calling for help, and he finally
realized the guards were not going to come.  They either did not hear,
or more likely, they heard but did not care.  They especially would
not care after what he had done to them.  Who knows, some might even
be somewhere watching them.

    Throwing him down on his back, they raised his ass and Darryl got
on his knees before him.  Brad stared helplessly at his six-inch cock,
engorged and aching for satisfaction.  How was something that size
going to fit up his asshole?  God, suppose the kid had some diseases
he thought.  There was not a thing he could do about.  Darryl bent
down and spat on his asshole and roughly worked the spit up it with
his index finger.  Brad squirmed as he felt the finger tip slip up his
ass, and the others laughed and said he was such a slut he was getting
hot just with a finger.   They promised him a cock would be so much

    Darryl spat on his own cock, sliming up the dick head, and then he
eased forward until the tip of his knob was pressing against the
tender butthole.  He had done unwilling dudes before, and he knew just
how to do it.  The others helped spread apart Brad's asscheeks until
he felt like he was going to be split, and then he felt the hot, slimy
cockhead press forward.  He gasped and bit his lower lip as he felt
the cockhead stretch apart his virgin sphincter, as he felt the
teenager's hot pecker thrust forward eagerly and penetrate his hot
dank hole.  He groaned and cried out with the pain and the strange
feeling as he felt solid flesh ease into him for the first time in his
young life.

    "Oh yeah, virgin boy, let's hear you cry out for it," said Darryl.
"Tell me how much you like having me crack your cherry."                     

    Like?  How could anyone like such pain?  How could anyone like
being treated like a slab of meat?  

    "Fucker," Darryl spat, grabbing Brad's cock and giving it a brutal
twist that made the young movie star scream louder than any movie
scream.  "Now you tell me, or you won't be able to use this thing for
a month."  He kept his hands on Brad's sensitive knob.

    "Pussy boy probably hasn't used it yet anyway," said Blaze.

    "Yes," Brad said quickly as he felt the hand tighten about his
cockhead.  "Yes, I like you up my . . .  my body."

    "You're virgin ass feels good having my cock up it, doesn't it?"


    "Say so.  Say just what I said."

    "My . . . virgin ass feels good having your cock up it."

    The boys laughed as Darryl continued pushing forward until his
body was pressing against Brad's butt.  He then began to work his hips
to and fro, easing his cock in and out of his new plaything.  He
closed his eyes with the pleasure of a hot ass tightly gripping his
stiff cock, with the pleasure of knowing he was cracking a virgin
cherry, and with the pleasure of knowing he was fucking the dude that
his girl would do anything for just for a signed picture.  Maybe he
would take her his underwear he thought with a grin.

    The grin did not go unnoticed by Brad, although he thought it was
for a far different reason.  He could not believe what was happening.
In Sleepers four boys were brutalized and raped by guards.  Brad had
read up on juvenile centers for his small role,  and he certainly knew
such things happened, between the prisoners and the guards and between
the prisoners themselves, but who would have thought such a thing
would happen to him?  God, how filthy he felt being used like this,
being used just for another's pleasure.  No wonder rape was considered
such a heinous crime.  He had no idea just how violated one felt until
that moment.

    "Tell me you want fucked.  Tell me you've been aching for a man to
fuck your pussy ass, and make it real if you wanna keep your little

    "Please, I want you to fuck me.  I've been aching all my life for
a man to shove his cock up my pussy ass and fuck me."  Brad knew how
to act, and he knew how to play the game.  If he cooperated, if he did
what they said, it would go easier for him.  Although inwardly he was
sickened by what was happening, outwardly he played the promiscuous
fag role they wanted him to play.

    Blaze was suddenly there towering over him, the fourteen-year-old
sporting a five-inch boner and a grin.  He drew Brad's head back and
fed him his boy sausage, kneeling right over his head and aiming it
down between his legs and into the teenager's mouth.   Brad gagged,
more because of the idea than the taste.

    "Fight this and my cock will rip out your voice box," warned
Blaze.  "Then the only movies you'll be in will be silent ones."

    Brad fought back the instinct to gag.  He tried not to breathe.
Under Blaze's instructions, he closed his lips and began to suck on
the hot boycock as he bobbed his head up and down.  He was not used to
the position and his neck muscles ached, but the ache was nothing
compared to the ache in his heart.  Christ, he was sucking a boy's
dick, he had a filthy piss tube in his mouth and he was sucking on it
like a soda straw.  He had been raised to wash his hands every time he
touched his dick to take a piss, and now he had one in his mouth!
Tears welled up in those narrow, sexy eyes that made teenage girls
scream.  A single tear trickled down over his soft, downy cheek.  The
dam broken, more tears followed.  The four boys in the cell did not
notice, or did not care.

    Brad might have been nauseated and humiliated by what was
happening, but the two boys whose cocks were up his body were
thoroughly enjoying what they were doing, and both were growing hotter
and panting heavier by the second.  Any sex was good, and sex with a
hot, good- looking dude like this was even better.  It was especially
good since pussy boy was unwilling, and these boys depended on
dominating others to make them feel good.

    Soon Darryl thrust in deeply and let his hot cock throb his boy
juices up the virgin hole.   He gasped and groaned with the pleasure
of release, doubled by the fact he was the first to crack this cherry.
Blaze knew what was happening and let loose with a load of his own,
filling the gasping, sucking boy's mouth, and withdrawing his boner so
his white, slimy sperm oozed out of the corners of his lips and over
the boy's smooth chin.  Brad wanted to die as he felt the two loads of
boy cum squirting into him, one at each end.  He felt filthy and
perverted.  Nothing could be more disgusting than what these two
juvies had done to him.

    The two boys got up and were immediately replaced by the other
two.  The black boy's cock was even bigger and thicker than Darryl's,
and having watched the first two boys it was already slick with
pre-cum.  That combined with the spunk already up Brad's asshole was
enough lubricant for the black youth.  He rammed his cock in without
regard for Brad's comfort, and he paused to enjoy the feeling of this
hot white boy's hot tight ass gripping his huge prod, not because he
wanted Brad to get used to having his fat organ up his ass.

    "I want you to thank me dude.  I want to hear you thanking me for
plugging your pussy with my big cock."

    "Thank you," Brad whispered.

    "Louder.  Like when you first arrived.  And say it like you mean
it dude."

    "Thank you!" Brad screamed, willing to do anything to get this
over with.  Besides, maybe the guards would hear.  "Thank you for
plugging my pussy with your big cock," he repeated.   "Thank you for
fucking my ass."  He had not been praised as an up and coming actor
for no reason.

    The black boy began to fuck him, working his cock in and out nice
and slow.  He wanted this white boy to know he was being fucked by a
master.  By this time Corky had lain down beside him.  He told Brad to
turn his head and go down on his cock.  Brad slowly took it in his
mouth, knowing he had no choice and the sooner he did it the faster it
would be over.  The taste of sweat and smegma on the boy's unwashed
dick almost made him puke.  Trying desperately to ignore the assault
on his taste buds, Brad slowing began to suck and work his mouth up
and down the boy's filthy, hot cock.

    "Fucking way to go," said Blaze.  "Knew ya was one hot slut pussy
boy.  Give the dude the taste of cock once and he can't get enough of

    Brad did not care if that was what the boys thought of him.  He
knew it was not true.  All he wanted was to do this and get it over
with.  He felt a hand on his stomach, and then sliding along to his
nuts.  They were small hands, Blaze's hands.  They fondled his nut
sack for a while, and picking up his still limp dink, they slowly drew
back the foreskin.  He had never been touched there by anyone, other
than maybe his mother when he was a little kid taking a bath.  Brad
resented the boy's intrusion.  That was the most private part of his
body, not something that just anyone could touch, and being touched
this way was not the way he had fantasized being touched.   Certainly
he had daydreams about having sex with girls, and on more than one
occasion he had pretended it was a girl's hand wrapped about his cock
and not his own when he woke up with a morning erection.  That was
only natural.  He was a red-blooded American boy.  He knew there were
plenty of girls who fantasized about having sex with him, and he was
not so naive as to not know there were a few guys also.

    Feeling the act was disgusting, Brad had seldom jerked himself
off.  Besides, he had felt only losers did something like that.
Although he did not find having another boy jacking his dink
stimulating mentally, his cock responded to the physical stimulation.
Brad felt it growing hard in the boy's expert fist and there was
nothing he could do to stop it.  That was embarrassing, getting erect
because of another boy's hand, and it was disturbing too.  This was a
filthy act that fags engage in, so why was his body responding the way
it was?  Besides that, Brad knew the boy knew he was hot, and that
embarrassed him even more.  How many of his fans would kill to be able
to touch him there. How many photographers would pay thousands of
dollars for a picture of what this young juvie was fondling?

    The boy began to pump on his cock, drawing his skin back and forth
quickly with one intent in mind.  As the tight fist slid back and
forth over his sensitive knob, tingles of arousal made his dickhead
itch.  Having a cock shoved up his ass and being forced to suck
another was perverted, but having someone messing with his own pecker
was the filthiest act of all.  Even though that was how he felt, his
body was reacting to the fourteen-year-old's pumping fist.   Before
long he was squirming and aching for release just like the two boys he
was having sex with.

    The black boy was the first to cum, filling Brad's straining
asshole with another load of hot boy cum.  Corky was next, creaming in
his mouth with a hot bitter load.  He was last, his cock finally
throbbing in the stranger's hand and his hot, slimy sperm shooting out
and striking him on the chest and stomach.  Done, the boys all sat
back, breathing heavily, the room full of the odour of hot sweating
balls and fresh spunk.

    The big heavy metal door squeaked open.  "Brad Renfro," called the

    Brad scrambled to his feet, grabbing his clothing and quickly
slipping them on.  "Yeah," he called.

    The officer came to the cell and opened it.  "Com'on, your bail
has been posted."

    "Bye Brad," called Darryl.  "It was real nice having you here."

    "Yeah, real nice having you," called out the black boy.

    "Fucking right," called out Blaze.

    "You bet," replied Corky softly, almost lovingly.

    There was no way the officer could not know what the boys meant,
nor miss the odours of the cell.  He said nothing as Brad tucked in
his shirt.  Brad decided it was best he said nothing too.

    Mima didn't say a word on the way home.   The clock on the dash
said 4:00 a.m.  His grandmother was angry, disappointed, and uncertain
what to do about this.  It was just as well she was silent.  Brad did
not feel like talking either.  He had never felt so filthy in all his
life.  There were times in the past where he felt they should lock him
up and throw away the key.  Now he wished they would.  With the filthy
taste of cock and the bitter taste of cum in his mouth, the feeling of
thick, creamy cum leaking out of his raw, abused hole, and his shirt
and underwear sticking to his body with his own boy cum, he could only
think of one thing how badly he needed to have a shower.

    Being ten IQ points below Einstein and being a hot rising actor
with a body and face that made teenage girls scream didn't mean squat
when you're locked up in juvie with four bad dudes.   That had been
the longest forty minutes he had ever spent in his short life.  A tear
trickled down his cheek, and it was not an act.  He had said he wanted
to get into it when he was acting out his bit role in Sleepers.  Now
he had completed a staring role, and reality was nowhere near the
fantasy at all.

Disclaimer.  Brad Renfro's brief detention in the East Tennessee
juvenile detention center June 3, 1998 was reported in numerous
newspapers and magazines.  As of this time (July 3rd) there has been
no arrest or further information.  This is a total work of fiction and
in no way reflects what happened in the wee hours of June 3rd, nor is
it intended to make any inferences about Brad Renfro's drug habits or
sexual experiences.  Sleepers is the trademark of Warner Bros.

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