PZA: Beach Boys 5-8

Eric's punishment began the next morning after breakfast. He was made to recite a list of his 'sins', which Mr. Day insisted go back all the way back to running away from home and risking his own life. Mr. Day read it, then took the boys and the paper outside where he had Eric set fire to it. He also had the boy burn the newspaper with his cover story on it.

The first job was clipping the hedges adjacent to Mr. Albert's place, which was down the hill and across a good two acres of lawn. Eric cringed at the thought of having to mow it, as the old man came out and showed him how to trim hedges. All the while, though, they had a good chat – so it wasn't all bad. Eric had no idea where Brighton had gone off to with his… their father.

After lunch, which Eric had problems eating with his wobbly arms and numb fingers, he was assigned the task he'd dreaded: mowing the grass. He was presented with a 22" [56 cm] push mower and a pair of thick socks to wear in a pair of heavy steel-toed boots! The only good thing was when Mr. Day rubbed him down with tanning oil.

After an hour of suffering in the near 100F heat [38°C], Eric was startled by Trey, who brought him a large iced tea with lemon and no sugar. He drank it, froze his brain, and watched in dismay as the mower rolled on down over the hill, running, right into Mr. Albert's hedge and sending one very traumatized cat yowling across the lawn!

He was mercifully given a break around three o'clock, when he was called back to the patio to be hosed off by Trey – with cold water. Boots and all. Sopping all the way, Eric went back to his punishment. One time, he glanced back at the house, and saw Mr. Day standing in the window watching him.

The job didn't seem to take so long after that, and the boy even guided the grass clippings into neat windrows thereafter.

By the end of the day, Eric was so exhausted that he could hardly stand up. He was nodding over dinner (a light meal of cold cuts, cheese and stuffed olives) when Mr. Day spoke up.

"Come wit' me," Mr. Day ordered him, taking his hand. He led him past the kitchen and into a storeroom that Eric had never seen. There was a door there, and it was hidden to resemble a pantry shelf. Mr. Day pulled it open. "This be the storm cellar," he said. "Among other things." He flicked a light switch, leading the trembling boy down the carpeted stairs.

Eric couldn't believe what he saw. There were tables, benches, beds, and all sorts of nice furniture. There were chains and harnesses and cages hanging from the ceiling, and a whole wall of shelves containing what he thought must be 'sex toys'. He'd seen them online, too, so he knew what things like dildoes were. There were also machines, or furniture 'things', Eric thought, that he didn't know what they were – and he wasn't sure that he wanted to know.

"This be the playroom," Mr. Day informed him. "We do NOT tell no one it's here, boy. Got that?"

"An' we come here if it storm bad," He went on. "This be where you get punished. This alzo be where you play, when you be a good boy, too!" He smiled. He put his hands on the boy's face. "You know I proud o'you for askin' to be punished?"

"All right, then. Hands in front, boy." Eric did that. Mr. Day then attached a climbing hook to the hanging D rings of his dinner cuffs, and Eric finally knew what they were for – to secure his hands. He then led the boy to the center of the room, where he attached the climbing hook holding his cuffed hands to a chain hanging from the ceiling.

It got dark as a black hood was pulled over his head. Eric started to cry, then heard clicking as his bare feet left the floor. He felt them being spread, and heard two clicks, finding that he could not close his legs. His plug pressed in on him more, then he felt something happening between his legs.

His CB had been removed, along with his plug, and he was being diapered again. He heard snipping – Mr. Day was cutting the seat out of it.

Eric didn't know what Mr. Day hit his bare butt with, but the first swat made him seize up in surprise and catch his breath. He felt his little penis go stiff, throbbing with his heart – but there was no way he could touch it!

He'd never been hit so hard, and each time was a new adventure in pain. His little cock was so stiff that it hurt, and his body was wracked in uncontrollable tremors. He screamed each time, sobbing into the black hood, the pauses between strikes being almost as bad as the strikes themselves.

Something inside felt like the doctor was touching up there again – but there was nothing inside of him. There was only the paddle, or whatever it was.

He didn't know how long it went on. His butt was on fire, and he felt his bladder let go in the diaper as he convulsed in confused feelings. He cried more in shame than pain just then, glad that his Daddy couldn't see his face.

Eric felt the bottom of the hood come up, but not over his eyes. Then he was kissed. He jerked hard, hurting his wrists, as he felt his aching penis being stroked.

"Now, I come get you here when it's bedtime. You just hang there an' think about what you done, boy. When you done, we don' talk 'bout this no more – EVER!" He paused. "Daddy love you, son."

His penis was still hard and throbbing, but it was slowing, deflating slowly. He desperately wanted to touch it, but his arms were aching and going numb. He couldn't feel his fingers. He wished he couldn't feel his butt, which was on fire. He wanted down so badly, but he couldn't make his feet touch the floor. He couldn't even move his legs together or flex them, but for up and back, which only made his butt hurt worse.

How long he hung there, he didn't know. His arms were cold and numb, and his shoulders ached terribly. He peed in his diaper again, although he tried not to. He could smell it, and didn't like it.

When the world came back into light, Eric found himself being carried to the bathroom by his father, who did not speak. Brighton was not there, though. He was glad of that, as he didn't think he could face him. He'd gotten Brighton into trouble, too, and he wondered if his new brother's spanking had been so bad.

"AIGH!" Eric screamed as ointment was spread over his red, welted butt. Then he felt the enema tip going in. It was all he could do to hold it, he knew, but a different small plug was put in so that he could not release it. He waited, cramping with his bloated belly churning, until the plug was pulled. The process repeated, then he was simply sponged off instead of having a bath, his CB and plug replaced, and then carried to bed.

"My daddy use to say to me, 'Mikey'," Mr. Day finally spoke, "'Bad boys go downstairs and comes up good. Good boys goes downstairs, and comes up better.'"

"Nothin' to be sorry for, now, boy," Mr. Day reminded him. "You done pay the bill; it be over an' gone. A man who don' hurt when he strike his boy ain't no man, either. You remember that, Eric."

Eric didn't want to let go as he was hugged and kissed goodnight, but soon enough, he was laid back and the light went out.

Neither Brighton nor Mr. Day mentioned the spanking that next morning. Brighton didn't ask him about it, and Trey didn't mention it. The only signs that it had even taken place were Eric's red butt and the red marks about his wrists. That, and his request to stand while he ate his breakfast. With a bit more ointment, even these began to fade by lunch as the boys settled into a summertime routine.

Up at seven, they had breakfast and then a workout session until nine. They were then free until lunch at twelve-thirty, as Trey saw fit to move it. They spent this free time, usually, at the beach. They would swim, Eric would continue to learn to surf, play in the sand, play ball, or simply go exploring with any of the number of other boys they met there.

Eric hadn't really expected to meet that many other children, but there were quite a few, much to his surprise. They tended to avoid any of the girls, though, because both Brighton and Eric were just a little embarrassed by (and somewhat afraid of) them. One particularly nasty little girl named Margaret, whose father was a welder, was constantly making fun of their CB's, and thought that every should have her daddy weld them all shut for good. Needless to say, Margaret wasn't well liked by the boys.

After lunch, there was another workout session. The rest of their afternoon, until dinner, was also free. During their trips in and out of the house to the beach, or around the community and back, Eric soon discovered that Mr. Day was a busy man. He didn't just lie around the house all day. He worked in his shop, he met with other men for long periods, and sometimes he would leave and be gone all afternoon before returning for dinner.

But he was always there, Eric knew. There wasn't a night that he didn't miss dinner with his boys, cuddling them in the living room thereafter to listen to them talk about their day and to watch a movie. Those couple of hours always passed quickly, it seemed, and then it was enema and bath time, and off to bed.

By late June, activity at the beach picked up. More and more people began to show up, and the busy boardwalk area was filled with little shops in pop-up shacks. It wasn't unusual for one of the boys' friends to follow them home for lunch, and Trey seemed to already know anyone that came home with them.

Boys tend to talk, however, and the beach boys were no different. Eric got quite an education in the discussion of things that he'd never even thought about, and some things that he'd only been brave enough to hint around with Brighton about! It was more than just giggling, dirty-minded boy-talk, though, and it was obvious that the boys at the beach took their sexual education (and exploits) pretty seriously. Eric was quite impressed by some of their stories, which he had no reason to disbelieve, all things considered.

This was not to say that there weren't problems, however. Talking about it all was fine, knowing that some of the boys did it was cool, but Eric wanted to actually do it and was getting tired of being called 'the new kid'. He was aware of his plug every minute that he was awake, and he thought often about his spanking. More and more, he felt that confusing pressure in his CB, especially when he moved the right way and his plug rubbed at his prostate. But other than having it taken out for his nightly enema, Mr. Day never did anything to him like the doctor had done. Eric remembered that feeling, and he wanted to feel it again. His plug just couldn't get him there; all it seemed to do was tease him.

He just had no idea how to do it, without someone else doing it to him. The closest he could get was riding his bike, particularly on bumpy areas, but that just made his butt sore inside before it made him feel good.

He also wondered about the sex more and more, the way the boys all talked about it. While he knew that Mr. Day, and probably a lot of the other men in the community, liked to have sex with boys (and vice versa), no one ever seemed to talk about it at home. Eric thought it might be rude to bring it up, though, so he didn't. He was simply beginning to feel left out, though, as he was sure that Mr. Day was doing Brighton. Left out, and just a tiny bit jealous.

All the while, his own confused welter of feelings mixed with the fun that he had every day and sort of left behind a mess of random thoughts in his head. He thought he might do anything to just have those feelings again, but only his daddy could take his plug out, which effectively prevented anyone from having sex with him even if he'd dared ask. "Can't nobody butt-rape a locked-up boy," Mr. Day had told them.

But Mr. Day never did anything to him, other than give him his enemas and love him just like Eric thought a father should.

For Eric, however, starved of that kind of affection for so long, that was enough. He settled happily into the routine, and didn't complain.

It was around the first of July that he finally asked about it, when he was being given his bedtime enema. Eric always felt funny, sort of empty, when his plug was out for his nightly cleaning. "Daddy, if you said my plug was supposed to keep me opened up and ready, I was wondering, sir – ready for what?" Mr. Day blinked at him. Brighton snickered. "I mean, I wear it all the time, and it feels OK, an' I know it makes it so no one can do nothin' to me, but… I jus' don't get it, sir?"

"I do see you not walkin' so funny no more, boy," Mr. Day nodded. "Maybe it be time for you to get a bigger one?"

"When you get used to it, bro," Brighton smiled at him, "Then you get a bigger one. Then maybe you're ready."

Mr. Day smiled at him. "I know you anxious, boy. I know you like what Doc Kennedy done to you, yeah?"

"Yes, sir," Eric nodded. "And I like how the plug feels, but I just never get to feel like that by myself! If you… you and Mr. Pearce do it… like with Brighton or Todd, and like… some of the other boys on the beach said they do it, Daddy… then how come… how come no one ever does it with me?" Eric almost cried. "Robbie says he gets it almost every night!"

"We talk, Daddy," Brighton nodded, as if he thought his father should know these things. "C'mon, man, you wud'n't always old! Where'd y'all talk dirty back in the day, Daddy?"

"On the school bus," Mr. Day smiled, winking at Brighton. "Tha's where I learned everything, you know!"

"My friends knew where all the unsecured wireless hotspots were to download stuff," Eric nodded.

"Sandie says the board shop's network is unsecure," Brighton added helpfully. "We can take my iPad there!"

Mr. Day looked up. "SANDIE?!" He shook his head. "Dat boy be a PERVERT!" He exclaimed, which got both the boys' attention at once. They exchanged confused looks.

"Never mind, never mind," Day sighed, shaking his head. "I guess 'to each his own', they says. Don' you go gettin' no ideas from Sandie, hear me?!"

"Come here, son, an' shut it up 'bout Sandie!" Mr. Day told him, ignoring that comment. He bent the trusting boy over his knee, and carefully probed at his anus. Eric moaned a little as his finger penetrated him, but just a bit. It slid in all right, but Mr. Day did have much larger fingers than the doctor did. "That hurt?" He asked.

"Eric, I had to wear one for three years before I could… well, you know," Brighton offered.

"Bright," Mr. Day then said, "I think you go bring yo' brother the blue toy you had when you was, what, seven? Let him play with it tonight?"

Brighton nodded and got out of the tub, wrapping up in a towel so he wouldn't drip too badly on the floor and made Trey crazier than he already was! He ran back to his room and came back with a small blue dildo. It had a bulbous head, and indentations all along the shaft.

Mr. Day then put him back in is CB, plugged him, and sent the black boy to bed. "Eric, I think it's time you come sleep in Daddy's bed tonight. First time for everything, ain't they?"

Brighton smiled and kissed his 'brother'. "You'll love it, bro," he assured him. "Goodnight." He yawned. "'sides, I'm way too tired, Daddy."

"I come tuck you in, in a bit. Check da sugar, then download the probe datas," Mr. Day told him. He then turned to Eric. "You want to do it, boy?" He asked, holding up the sex toy.

"Bit more to do, than jus' make you feel good, boy," Mr. Day warned him. "What about poor ol'Daddy?"

He picked the boy up and sat him on the vanity, deftly replacing the boy's CB, but not his plug. Eric smiled. Then he picked up the dildo. "Now, you know we gon'put this in you?"

"See how little it be, compared to me?" He pointed to his waiting erection. "Bright had this toy when he were itty bitty, like you, Eric. An' this be a bit bigger than Doc Kennedy's skinny ol' fingers. We see how you like this, then you think about havin' the real sex with a man like you thinkin' about?" Mr. Day said. "Las' thing we needs is to have Doc sewing up yo' butt, be all ripped open, bleedin' all over the sheets!"

Eric gulped. "Yes, sir," he agreed, smiling. "You are pretty big, Daddy," He added.

"I knows," Mr. Day smiled sheepishly. "Le's go tuck your brother in, first, tho."

"Don' be listenin' to Sandie no more!" He groaned, palming his face. "Dat one boy what need to have a fence put up 'round him!"

Mr. Day smiled at him. "Some of us gots it, some of us don't," he shook his head, scooping the boy up in his arms and tickling him. Eric squealed and struggled, but he was helpless.

When he was done, they went to tuck Brighton in. This involved a lot of those kisses, but Eric was decidedly nervous when they were done. "You jus' say no, little bro, if it gets too much," Brighton whispered in his ear. Then he sucked on the lobe. Eric shivered. The pressure in his CB was already going strong, and he thought he was about to burst. "But try it first," Brighton grinned at him.

Eric had never been in his new daddy's bedroom, but it was unremarkable. It was large, with a huge bed, and a small desk near a lamp with a computer. There was a bookcase, a smaller television on the wide chest of drawers, and a walk-in closet. Eric wasn't sure what he'd expected, but he was a bit surprised by the 'normality' of it.

Mr. Day placed him on the bed, adjusted the thermostat, then began lubricating the dildo. He then placed it on the headboard, which confused Eric.

"This ain't no wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am thing, boy," he explained. "We be takin' a while, I think?"

Day produced a bottle of scented oil, which to Eric smelled like some kind of flower. Slowly, deliberately, Day rubbed him all over with it. His hands were firm, but gentle, and when he rubbed hard around Eric's neck and shoulders, the boy felt himself going limp and shivery. He then returned the favor, although with his smaller hands, it took Eric longer to apply enough oil to his daddy.

"You gots the touch, boy," Day complimented him, taking the slippery boy on his lap and placing his back to his chest. Eric laughed, as once again, it looked like the small boy had a huge black erection. He didn't know why he did it, but he touched it. "Go on, if you wants to," Day encouraged him.

Eric knew what jerking off was supposed to entail, so he did that. He couldn't wrap his hand all the way around his daddy's penis, though – it was that large. When he tried to imagine it going in him, he shuddered. Surely it would rip his guts out! Could Daddy really fit that thing inside of Brighton?!

"Slow down," Day advised him, as Eric moved both hands up and down the shaft. The veins felt bumpy on his smooth palms, and swollen head was like a great mushroom with very springy edges. He rubbed it a few times when he saw a small drop of something on the end.

"Precum, mean you doing a good job, boy," Day told him, nuzzling his neck and sucking on his ear. Eric leaned his head over and laughed, slowing his stroking. He remembered some of the things the other boys had said, and he leaned down as Day ran his hands up and down the boys thin torso, fondling his tiny nipples, and giving one of them a light pinch. Eric squeaked, but found that he liked it.

He then bent over and licked the enlarging bit of fluid off. It left a 'spit trail' from Day's penis to his lip, and he snickered. It tasted almost sweet, and not at all unpleasant. He moved his finger along the underside, and another larger drop emerged. He licked it, too.

"Robbie said to do that, Daddy," Eric replied, as he continued his ministrations to his daddy's cock.

"Robbie's a good boy," Day agreed, working his kisses down the boy's neck to his chest.

Eric raised his head, kissing him in return. He continued his stroking, and felt his daddy's tongue slide into his mouth, tickling the roof, and sucking his own outwards.

Eric didn't ask when that kiss ended. He leaned down and took the head into his mouth, which nearly filled it like a gag. He almost gagged as the tip hit the back of his throat, but he soon learned just where to not put it and got a rhythm going. He placed one had under the man's large balls, marveling at the weight as he began rubbing his scrotum all around.

The whole time, Day was massaging him. He eased his finger into the boy again, rubbing him, and Eric felt that hot pressure that kinda said, "I gotta pee!"

"Pretty close now, boy, you wanna pull off, so's you don' choke! Day warned him, moving his hips gently to thrust his cock in and out of Eric's mouth.

But Eric didn't pull off. He gave another mighty suck, as if for a thick milkshake, and felt something hot explode inside his mouth! He could feel it squirting in his mouth, like the water spitting toothbrush thing, and soon he found his mouth full, even when he pulled off some.

Squirt after squirt filled him, as his daddy groaned and hugged him tightly, nearly squeezing the air out of him. He pushed his finger in harder, then held it, pressing on just the right spot.

Eric saw white and gold spots at the corners of his vision, and the odd salty, syrupy taste – he soon found – wasn't all that bad.

Instinctively, he swallowed it and sucked some more, licking his daddy's cock clean like a Popsicle stick. He then felt the tag under the head, and placed the tip of his tongue on it. There were a few more weaker squirts, then the boy felt the head in his mouth begin to soften. Then he fell backwards with a great cry from Day.

"Whoa!" Eric gasped, as his daddy's cock slid out of his mouth and the man's grip released him. He was laying flat on top of Day, who was panting so hard that he was giving the boy a ride up and down, almost as if bouncing on the bed.

Day was staring at the ceiling, wide-eyed. The room already smelled of sweat and sex, but Day wasn't moving.

"DADDY!" Eric yelled, shaking him. He patted his cheek. "Shit! Daddy, wha's wrong?"

Day looked up at him, the kissed him again, licking at the insides of the boy's mouth, tasting a mix of toothpaste, mouthwash, and his own juices.

"Boy, you have to be givin' Bright some lessons!" Day then smiled at him. "Why the hell didn't you do this weeks ago?!"

"No one asked me to, Daddy," Eric pouted. "I thought… I thought… no one wanted to do anything with me."

"Nooooo, it weren't that, boy," Day assured him, cuddling him again, "We didn't wanna scare you is all! Imagine comin' home with a friend, an' then his daddy sayin' somethin' like 'come over here an' suck my dick, boy'! Hell, you run off! Scare the shit outta a boy dat way! We wuz afraid we'd hurt you, Eric." He paused to kiss the tears off the boy's cheeks. "Daddy's sorry, son. I should'a asked earlier."

He then eased the boy off of himself and onto the bed, laying him on his back and placing his feet up around his own waist, as they could not reach Day's shoulders. He then put a bit more lubricant on Eric's bottom, and picked up the dildo.

"This what Bright learned on," Day informed him. "It were his best friend when he got it for his sixth birthday. I had to invent the screw lock for his CB and plug, you know, 'cause da boy be tryin' to do it hisself all the time!"

"After a blowjob like dat, you think Daddy say no?" Day smiled, as he eased the tip of the toy into the boy.

Eric made a small sound, sucked in a breath, and tensed up. "Push out, tha's it, jus' like an enema. This why you gotta be clean, see?"

Eric nodded as the dildo slid in further. A little at a time, then back out, then back in, further… further…

"THERE!" The boy cried, and Day stopped. Then he began to move it again, gently, slowly, keeping the tip near the same spot as Eric began to tighten and loosen his hole in time with the movements.

That feeling began to build, and Eric thought he might pee. That was the sure sign that it was working, and his little cries of pleasure came in stuttering squeaks and gasps and moans. Then he arched his back and screamed, feeling like his insides were exploding as he saw stars. He was shaking all over, feeling like something inside just HAD to get out and get out NOW!

As it began to subside, he felt his daddy rubbing his tummy and telling him what a good boy he was.

"Doc always says a little boy can go again'n'again, 'til he lose his mind, or have a heart attack," Day warned him, "An' we don' want that!"

But he continued to work the toy inside of Eric, and once again, what seemed like forever later in agonizing buildup, Eric screamed again. He thrashed his head from side to side, eyes wide but unseeing, as his whole world became the feeling inside of him. As his trembling subsided, Day slapped his butt – hard.

Pain combined with the unbearable pleasure, and Eric passed out, his trapped little penis feeling like it had exploded, and his butt feeling like it had been turned inside out.

"Dat's Daddy's boy!" Day said to himself, as Eric couldn't hear him. He took the limp boy in his arms and cuddled up with him, so around that when he placed the sleeping Eric's hands on his shaft, he shot again, all over Eric's front and up to his neck. Softly, like lotion, he rubbed it in and kissed the boy goodnight.

Eric awoke the next morning to find himself still in his Daddy's bed. Mr. Day was at the computer, writing up what looked like a report of some kind, and muttering about things like 'microcircuit pathways and gold contact points'. But Eric didn't understand that stuff. All he knew was that he felt weak, like he had the flu. He could hardly move, and he felt so… empty. But confusingly enough, he also still felt full.

Day turned to smile at him, and Eric thought it was like the sun coming up. "You think you can eat lunch, sleepyhead? Or yo'belly still full?"

Eric rubbed his eyes and yawned, limp as a rag doll when Day picked him up to kiss him. "Someone need a bath," he observed, carrying him to his bathroom. Eric didn't pay much attention to it. In fact, he almost nodded off in the hot water as his Daddy washed him. He felt his long hair being combed and tied back in a ponytail, which he usually didn't like to wear it in, but he didn't argue. All he could think about were those arms holding him.

Then he was being laid out on the bed again, still on his damp towel, as he felt more lubricant on his butt. He felt the plug going back in, but this time, it hurt just a tiny bit. Eric's eyes shot open, and he saw that the plug being secured in his rectum was quite a bit bigger as it slid into him.

"What you say, boy?" Day grinned, pulling him up in a sitting position, which didn't help much!

"It ain't nowhere near so big as Daddy's cock," Day reminded him. "An' you want dat, don' you?"

"Yeah, but… oh man!" Eric squealed, getting to his feet on shaky legs and stumbling around like he had – well – something stuck up his butt!

Then Day took his hand. "C'mon, boy. You done sleep the day away already! Bright wantin' to know if you wanna go ridin'?"

"You gotta be kidding!… sir?" Eric gasped, as the stairs were a new adventure in sensations as the lager plug made itself at home inside of him.

Brighton was sniggering into his napkin at the lunch table, and Eric was embarrassed to see their friend Robbie there.

The white boy had brush-cut spikey brown hair shaved up shorter in the back, and brown eyes. He was, of course, naked. He wore only a silver necklace and a silver-toned watch, with one silver hoop earring in his right ear. He was just a touch taller than Brighton, and he was clearly fighting back a laugh.

"Afternoon, sir!" He greeted Mr. Day with a peck on the cheek. Mr. Day gave his right butt cheek a squeeze in return.

"Somebody done slept in late!" Brighton laughed, moving over for Eric to sit. He gave the boy a kiss too, and Eric blushed as well.

"He does have that 'I just got fucked' look to him, doesn't he?" Trey observed clinically, as he put a plate in front of Eric. It was a loaded sandwich on low-carb no-gluten bread and a large pickle. Eric found that he was starving as he attacked it. He could have sworn he heard Trey stifle a laugh.

"Dude, slow down! We can always hit the dumpster later!" Robbie joked. Eric grinned at him, as the beach boys had all been fascinated by Eric's tales of survival on the road and insisted upon hearing them time and again – when they weren't talking about sex, that was!

"ROBBIE!" Mr. Day cut him off, giving him a stern, but not unkind look. "You know what you needs, boy? A month in denial! Do yo'slutty little self some good!"

"Sorry, sir," Robbie grinned at him. "But you know, if you ever wanna…" he stopped as Mr. Day looked over the tops of his reading glasses at him and gave the newspaper a snap.

"You get yo' chance at the July-four party," Mr. Day assured him, and Robbie gulped. "Tha's if you a good boy, an' yo' Daddy say you can come."

"Eric's better," Day retorted, and the two other boys gaped at him. "Cuddlin', lovin', make a man really feel loved," he added. "Some boys be like doin' it with a robot. Or they be all like, 'oh Daddy! Make me cum, Daddy! Harder, Daddy, harder!' No, Eric here, he know what it's all about!" He finished with a curt nod.

The boys just stared at him as he went on. Eric snorted his tea, still trying to get used to the strong, unsweetened brew that Trey served.

"Fifteen carbs," Trey retorted, as he turned to go, then spun around and jabbed Brighton with a pen.

Day glanced at him. "I don' know if you be ready for the party, son," he warned him. "Some folks come, hang out in the cellar, have a good time, eat, drink, talk…"

"I kin fix dat," Day smiled back, and Robbie shivered, sucking in a fast breath of surprise. "I be expectin' you fo' da party, then."

"Does everyone have sex, Daddy?" Eric asked, and it sounded so innocent that it was funny.

"The boy learns fast," Trey commented, as he began clearing dishes. "You still hungry, Eric?"

"Too bad. Dinner's at six," Trey replied. "You'll get fat! Why don't you lot run along and play?"

Naturally, they headed for the beach. Before they left, Mr. Day removed their collars and sent them naked but for their CB's, and Brighton with his watch and monitor.

They were still explaining the 'Day Parties' to Eric when they arrived at the beach and met up with some of their other friends. The gaggle of boys, a rather oddly assorted bunch, were all about talking about the party and hoping that they'd be invited.

One blond boy of about thirteen, taller than the rest, asked Eric why he was walking so funny. "As if we don't know!" He smiled.

"That's just because you're all a bunch of little gay boys that like it up the ass," Margaret teased them, coming up and giving Robbie's CB a flick.

Margaret was about twelve, with budding breasts and auburn hair gone to seed in the salt spray and heat. She was taller than the boys by about a half a head, and it was clear that she trained as well. "At least us girls don't have to wear those stupid things!" She laughed, pointing at Robbie again.

"Why don't you fuck off, cunt?" Another boy told her, an Hispanic boy by the name of Luis who walked with one Canadian crutch.

"Watch it, wetback! Oh, and I suppose you'll be introducing your new boy here at the party?" Margaret went on. "I bet he likes that big black meat, doesn't he?"

Eric shrugged. He'd seen her type before and was nonplussed. "Yeah, actually I do, Maggie," he came back at her. "So does your daddy do you in the butt, or does he take you to get abortions every other day?"

Margaret's face went beet red. "Why you shrimpy little cocksucker!" She spat at him. "How DARE YOU?!"

Eric dodged it. "Can't help it, hon, I was underfed, so I'm a shrimp, and yeah… Daddy says I suck cock better than Brighton, here. And I only did it once so far!" He looked at his new brother. "She ain't invited to our party, is she?"

"Wha's an abortion?" Luis asked, scratching at his wannabe afro that just wasn't really happening. It was obvious that someone had tried to perm his jet black hair, and that the ocean had had other ideas about it.

Eric bent down a bit and looked at Margaret, trying to recall some of the things he'd heard his real father say before. "It's where they stick a Hoover upright hose up in there and suck out the last guy what fell in! Jesus, man! You could park a Mack truck in there! So, Marge, just how many babies you tossed in the trash can this year?"

A whistle blew, and a naked man with a bright green hat that read 'SECURITY' came running up. Other than his belt to hang things on, he was, of course, as nude as the patrons.

"Hey, Daddy!" Luis greeted him. Margaret's face paled. Eric cocked an eyebrow. The rest of the boys laughed.

"What's going on here, missy?" He demanded, and Margaret tried to lie her way out of it.

"Do you think I'm stupid, honey?" The guard drawled. "I was standing right there and saw the whole thing! You slapped the Day boy!"

"Big mistake, hon," the guard leered at her, as he grabbed his radio. "Yeah, Chief? It's Margaret again. She slapped Eric Day and called Bright a nigger. Yeah, saw it all, sir."

There was a burst of static, then Chief Harve Pearce's voice, "This is the last time, Tony. Bring her on down to the gate, I'll handle it. My apologies to the Day boys. Tell Bright I hope I'm still invited?"

"You are, sir!" Brighton told the radio. Then Tony led a very loudly protesting Margaret away, as several patrons watched her go. Then they went back to their business.

"Hey, least you're not a half crippled illegal alien!" Luis comforted him, as the smaller boy put his arm around Brighton's waist. The boys sort of laughed at that.

"Maybe this time they'll get rid of her for good," Brighton sighed. "I dunno why they let girls in here anyways."

"Because some of us like little girls, believe it or not," Mr. Albert said, walking up. "Boys," He greeted them.

"Cole, my cat would like words with you," Mr. Albert smiled at him, getting his new name wrong. The boys all looked at each other.

"Oh, nothing a can of tuna can't fix," Mr. Albert assured him, laughing. "I heard you talking about a party? Oh, to be twenty years younger again!"

"Why don't you fly off to Thailand and get a sex change, then call me, kiddo?" Mr. Albert retorted.

"You win, Bright," Mr. Albert gave up with a laugh. "You naughty little boys!" He shook his head. "But Eric, I think you should come over and apologize to Miss Kitty, don't you?"

He then pulled some cash from his ridiculous fanny pack and passed it out. "Go and get yourselves a cold one, boys!"

When Mr. Albert turned to go, Robbie put a finger to his head and spun it around. The boys laughed, then went on about their business. Brighton, though, was more subdued. Eric pulled him out of his funk by asking more about the party, neatly changing the subject.

"Pretty much, everyone comes over and just has fun," Brighton explained. "But still – if you say 'no', it's still 'no'. No one will do anything you don't want to."

Luis sighed and sat down in the sand. Eric thought he might be eight or nine, but since they were about the same size and he was a small eleven, he couldn't be sure. "It's OK, man. My uncle come home roarin' drunk one night, beat the hell outta me and my mom, so she decided we'd come north. Some assholes got us, threw us in a truck for days and days, then wrecked it. Momma d-didn't make it," Luis sniffled, "And my leg got busted up bad. The hospital didn't fix it right, since I was an illegal, and they were gonna deport me, so I ran. Turns out, they shipped us all the way up here to pick apples, and I just… sneaked in. Figured I'd hide in one of the boardwalk booths when it all closed up. Tony found me stealin' hot dogs and took me home. Been here ever since. Of all places to end up," he concluded. "A nudist resort full of … you know!" He then laughed, oddly enough.

"How'd you get all the way here on a bum leg?" Eric gasped, near to tears at the story.

"A little brown Mexican ass take you places with truck drivers," Luis shrugged. "Trade a fuck for a ride and a meal, you don't get beat up that way over money. Most times." He added. "Hell, you toss in a blow job, then let them fuck you a couple times, then try an' suck YOU off, and you can get a steak dinner outta the deal!"

Eric just shook his head. He couldn't imagine what Luis must have gone through. It was clear that the Mexican boy had loved his mother, and now she was gone. Eric bit back a tear, not wanting to cry in front of them.

When Eric and Luis were all right again, thanks to their friends, the boys decided to get boards and continue Eric's lessons. Luis' leg might have been a bum on land, but the small boy was like a fish in the water!

Around half-six, Tony came to collect him. He hoisted the naked, wet boy up on his back and kissed him over his shoulder. Then he carried him off.

"Tony been here for years, man," Brighton explained. "I guess it's jus' right that he be the one to find Luis," he nodded. He winked at Eric. Eric nodded and smiled.

They took their leave of Robbie and Tommy and headed home, and after cleaning up and having dinner, Eric explained about Mr. Albert. He was dismissed to go and make amends, and returned about an hour later.

"Fine, now, Daddy," Eric replied. "But I think Mr. Albert might be a little…?"

"Nuts?" Day supplied. "Yeah, poor ol' guy goin' 'round the bend. Hell, he be old when I was a baby!"

They laughed at that, but it wasn't really that funny. "Eric," Day told him, "One thing you do, no matter Daddy done said – if you think Mr. Albert need help, you go with him, then you call me or Tony, right? Sometime he take to spells, forget where he is, an' all that, see?"

That night, Eric slept in his own bed. It still wasn't much of a boy's room, but they were working on it. He lay in bed for a long while, considering the day's events, and wondering about the party and what it would be like, and trying to not think about his new plug.

"Probably tell me I'm too little," he sighed, as the exhausted boy rolled over and fell asleep with a not too unpleasant pressure in his CB.

In the few days leading up to the party, the boys were drafted into helping Trey prepare the cellar. They cleaned and arranged, polished leather things, and even made a few trips into town to procure supplies. This meant that Eric got to wear his sneakers [trainers] for the first time in a several weeks, as well as his favorite red shirt. He was a bit embarrassed, however, when he found out that his 'trousers' were going to be nothing more than a tight black Speedo swimsuit that left nearly nothing to the imagination!

"People are staring," Eric hissed at Brighton, as they browsed the fresh seafood counter.

"Lets 'em look!" Brighton smiled, bending over to comment on some live shrimp in a tank, and waggling his bubble butt, which was hardly covered by a Speedo printed like a globe of the Earth.

They filled three shopping carts, and Eric almost had a heart attack at the bill, which Trey paid with Mr. Day's credit card. Then he almost had another carrying it all in, once they'd stopped at another store and filled three more carts!

"I believe this covers today's workout," Trey observed, as he prepared the boys a lunch of steamed bits of this and that, which he had deemed unfit to be party fare. "There are twenty-three grams of carbohydrate in that avocado," he warned Brighton.

Eric caught the pen out of his hand this time. "I want to learn how to do this, Trey," he declared. "In case there's an emergency!"

And so Brighton showed him how to do it. Eric was nervous, but the pen was pretty much automatic. "You do it a hell of a lot better than him!" Brighton jerked a thumb at Trey.

"We need to be testin' out some of the stuff down there," Mr. Day pointed at the floor, as he came in wearing his apron again. "That idea of Albert's to reset all the data translation for yo' blood sugar chip worked!" He crowed. "Pretty soon, we have us a patent, boys!"

Mr. Day patted his back and kissed him, and in that moment, Eric saw just how frightened for his son the huge man really was. The look didn't last, but it had been there. He also knew that his Daddy was in a somewhat grumpy mood over the Margaret fiasco, but the boys had seen a realtor's sign in her front yard that morning on the way to town, so they weren't lingering on it. Eric didn't ask, and didn't really care, what had become of Margaret's family. He couldn't help but wonder, though, what happened to families who left the community.

"You get to try out all the toys and stuff, make sure that stuff like the stretcher works, and the cages lock, and that it's all ready to go," Brighton explained.

"Not a 'who', a 'what'," Brighton smiled at him, "It's a machine with an electric motor that drives a'arm with a switchable dildo on it. You strap someone down, pick a toy to moutn on it, put it in him, and turn it on. The Little Fucker never get tired!" Brighton grinned maliciously.

"Not me!" Eric shook his head, cringing in his seat. "What if you forget to turn it off?"

Mr. Day went rigid, then he shuddered. "Boy, I oughtta jus'…" He was lost for words.

"Who IS this Sandie and what did he DO?!" Eric wondered. "Sir!" He added quickly. He'd yet to meet the notorious Sandie, this boy who seemed to scare even Mr. Day.

"He's a sweet kid, Daddy," Brighton disagreed. "He's just a couple nuts shy of a fruitcake."

"He be dat, all right," Day shook his head. Then he looked at Eric. "Sandie's daddy really be his biological uncle. Took the boy in when he were four, after his mom's boyfriend damn nigh beat him to death, after rapin' him first. Bastard," Day snarled. "Poor baby be in the hospital fer months, then had a couple o'operations later. Think he musta rattled the boy's brains, too?"

"Tha's why he's got a medical toy/doctor fetish," Brighton added. "Doc Kennedy just loves him!"

"I believe he was the boy who attempted to castrate himself, wasn't he?" Trey commented, as he brought Mr. Day some steamed shrimp and another avocado. "They are mostly bruised, sir. Shall I take them back?"

"Make dip outs'em," Day advised, tasting his. "Not bad at all!" He looked at the boys. "Now you two tell me what kinda boy up and chop his own nuts off?"

"Well, he did ask Doc to do it first, sir," Brighton answered. "He said they hurt all da'time, after they fixed 'em when he were little. If Doc had listened to Sandie, he could have done it hisself. He jus' said he didn't want 'em there anymore, is all."

"An' if you didn't want yo nose, you think I cut if off, boy?" Day argued, shivering again.

"No one ever smashed my nose, Daddy," Brighton countered. "We don' know how miserable he was."

Eric choked on his tea at the thought of being castrated. "Can we at least get some Splenda?" He coughed. "But Sandie… he? Cut 'em off? No shit?!"

Trey whacked him on the back of the head with a rolled up dishtowel. "Language!"

"Some o'the stuff dat boy thinks be fun, tho, is just… ewwwww!" Day snorted. "I won' have it in this house!"

"Don't worry, sir!" Eric nodded, wide-eyed and clutching at his CB. "I LIKE my balls!"

"He can say 'no', and he's just as big as Eric, sir," Brighton reasoned. "Besides, I think he just wants to come for the food."

"Pleeeeease, Daddy?" Eric whined. "The guys'll never let me hear the end of it!"

"Wha's he 'spose to do, go babysit Mr. Albert's cat while we party, sir?" Brighton asked.

Day thought about it. Eric looked pleading, giving him his best 'sad puppy' face. It worked. "One condition – nobody fuck you, all right?"

They had a good laugh at that, and then it was down to the cellar, where Eric was introduced to some of the 'furniture.'

The Stretcher turned out to be something akin to the medieval torture device known as The Rack. A boy could be put in it, spread eagle, bound hand and foot, then literally stretched by turning the wheel. Eric thought it felt good at the fourth click, but he yelled "NO!" at the fifth.

The Little Fucker was another thing. It was a padded table, more like a small day bed, and once strapped in, a long arm with a rather small dildo on the end was inserted – into Eric, of course. The arm attached to a small motor, and when flipped on, the machine began fucking him. The speed could be dialed in, fast or slow, vibration or not, and they let the machine run while they inspected the wet bar.

Then Brighton checked the locks on a hanging cage. Day suspended him by his ankles once, looking ready to catch him. He checked the restraints on an x-type cross.

"Hello, over here, guys?!" Eric called, as it started to feel very good. They ignored him. Eric made the most of it, but when he started to whimper in pleasure, Day turned it off and let him loose.

"Dat be why, lil' Mistah Pottymouth! Now polish it up," he ordered him, popping his plug back in.

They still had a bit of afternoon left when they were done testing, as Trey came down to check on their cleaning. He found fault with it all, of course, and shooed them out to finish it.

"Nope," Day replied, as he suggested they go for a bike ride to work the kinks out.

Biking with a plug wasn't an easy thing to do, Eric had found out. Most of the time, he stood on his pedals and kept the bike in high gear so that it was like walking over the bike instead of riding it. Besides, he'd had enough of his bike to last him a lifetime already.

"Guess they're gone, huh?" Eric asked, as they passed Margaret's house and saw the 'For Sale' sign.

"She won't be back," Brighton grinned maliciously. "I think bullying poor little Luis was the last straw."

Eric didn't ask, but he hoped that Luis would be allowed to come. The small Mexican boy was cute, after all.

The afternoon just before the party was spent in preparation. Eric didn't know how to cook, but he and Brighton were drafted. They made all sorts of tempting things, getting their fingers smacked several times for nibbling. Finally, Mr. Day put red ball gags in their mouths and locked them. For some reason, Eric found this made him extremely horny. Or, at least, he thought it did. He wasn't really sure if that was the right word, but it made his trapped little penis try to get hard and he felt like he had to pee all the time as his new plug rubbed at him.

The boys were ungagged and took a bath with their father when everything downstairs was ready. They would dine at sixty-thirty, Trey said, and Brighton was checked and given a very small snack. Mr. Day removed their CB's, washed them down thoroughly, then replaced them after an enema that was hotter and somewhat fizzy. He also gave them both a bit more, and Eric had problems holding it in. Day did not, however, replace their plugs. He checked Eric again, but although the boy didn't make a sound when Day slid two of his thick fingers into him, it was obvious that it hurt the boy.

Day then applied something to the small of his back. It stuck, then there was a peeling sensation.

"What was that, Daddy?" He asked, trying to turn around to see, and looking like a puppy chasing his own tail.

Day handed him a mirror – Eric now sported a temporary tattoo of a red STOP sign just over his tight little butt.

Day then began undoing Brighton's hair, and indeed, the black boy looked like a gigantic black dandelion puff when he was done.

"We've got just enough time," Trey said, as he arrived. "Master Eric, sit," he told the boy, pointing to a stool in front of the large mirror. He then went to work on his hair, his practiced hands moving faster than Eric would have thought possible. Day went to work on Brighton.

When they were finished about forty-five minutes later, Brighton's hair had been restored to a braided state – as had Eric's. The little white boy looked stunned.

"I think it's COOL!" Brighton smiled, although Eric's braids were much shorter than his.

"Yes, sir?" Eric agreed, wondering what it was, and feeling a bit left out. He didn't argue, however. He went back to his room, feeling extremely empty without his plug and wondering just what was going to go on at this party. "A lotta sex I can't do, I bet," Eric complained to his mirror, taking in the scrawny little white boy staring back at him. He wasn't sure about the hair at all.

At six-twenty-five, Brighton came to fetch him. Other than his clear CB and cuff for his blood monitor, he was naked. "No cuffs, no collars," he told Eric. "Daddy wants us showed off much as we can be." He took his 'brother's' hand.

Eric nearly passed out when they arrived in the cellar. There must have been fifty people there – men, women, mostly boys, a few girls, and few people that Eric wasn't sure about. They were, of course, nude, and when the boys entered, all conversation stopped and turned to them. Brighton nudged him.

"Uhm, hi?" Eric offered a little wave, suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was naked in front of ALL these new people, some of whom he'd never even seen on the beach before.

"Friends," Mr. Day's smooth voice filled the room, booming without even benefit of a microphone, "This be my new boy, Eric. Some o'you prob'ly recognize him from his wanted posters as Cole Edwards? Stupid people don' know what they had, didn't want him no more, but he be stayin' with us NOW! Friends, meet my new son, Eric Michael Day."

There was more applause, and when it quieted, an even further embarrassed Eric got another surprise. "We havin' dis party to welcome Eric to da family," Day announced.

"And as we can only imagine how dismal his last birthday must have been," Chief Pearce added, when Day nodded to him, "You're our honored guest tonight, Eric. It's not often that we get a new boy here, son. And just so you all know, no one really died in the Candace Building fire! That was just a cover story, so that we could keep Cole… Eric!" He then handed Eric a small wrapped gift. There was more applause. He couldn't believe the chief had divulged the secret, though.

Then again, it seemed that the whole community had a rather large secret, on top of that! Eric figured they must be really good at keeping them.

There was more applause, and as the guests filed by to meet Eric on their way to the buffet (which Trey was fussing over constantly), each one gave him a 'mom/dad kiss' and a gift. Some of them patted his back, or touched his hair, and a few asked if it were OK to touch him. Eric wasn't sure, so he just nodded and found that no one was going to do anything to hurt him. In fact, it felt good to be the center of attention – for once. He found that he liked the feel of hands on his body, and he squirmed a lot with those odd feelings.

As his pile of gifts grew, Eric began to feel more uncertain of himself. Everyone was eating, chatting, and seemed to be having a good time at the small tables they'd set up, as well as at the bar. Then Todd handed him a present, bringing up the rear of the line.

He kissed him on the cheek as he handed him the package. "Bet you never dreamed you'd end up somewhere like here, did you, kid?"

Todd blinked. "'s'matter, Eric?" He asked, kneeling down and putting a hand on his shoulder. "You look like somebody just ran over your dog?" Eric turned around to show him his stop sign tattoo.

"I see," Todd smiled, pulling him closer. "You know, I been comin' to these parties since I was eight," Todd went on, giving his CB a flick, which made a funny CLACK! sound. "I used to be too little, too. All the boys did." He kissed Eric's cheek again. "Take my advice, Eric – stay little for a while longer. Hell I'm goin' off to college this fall. I'm gonna miss this place." He looked wistful then. "You know, I remember the first time I got fucked. I was nine." He pointed to the left of the bar, where there was stood one of the many beds. "You know, it kinda hurts the first time, no matter how long you been trained with a plug. I cried at first, but you know what?"

"You never forget that first time. It should be something special, Eric. Don't force it or rush it. Your Daddy knows best, and it'd suck to spend your first birthday party here in the hospital with Doc stitching up your rectum! 'Sides, you'd miss the fireworks at eleven!"

"Now, just remember, Eric – you can always say 'no'. No one will hurt you here. But don't do anything stupid, either. If you're uncomfortable, or something hurts, then you stop, OK?"

Eric nodded. He hugged Todd, and when he was over his little cry, he took his hand and let him lead him to the buffet. "I'll miss you," Eric whispered, as Todd filled a plate for him of things that Eric pointed at.

Todd laughed. "Hey, it's not like I won't be back! I'll be home for Christmas, and for spring break, and all next summer." He flicked his CB again. "And I only got four more years, before I can fuck somebody! You should be nice and ready by then, Eric!"

"Remember what I said," Todd reminded him. "Gosh, I'd give anything to be eleven again and have those repeatable, dry orgasms! You know, you kinda lose that ability when you hit puberty."

"Like two in a row?" Eric asked, as they joined some of the other boys at the table where they'd all seemed to have congregated. Robbie and Tommy were there, and Eric was happy to Luis. The small Mexican boy looked ecstatic, although there wasn't a single scrap of Mexican food on his heaping plate. Brighton was about halfway through a huge steak, and Eric tried to remember a few other names.

"Exactly," Todd confirmed. "I remember I used to pass out at these parties!" He laughed. "I'd wake up in bed the next day, wonder if it really happened or if I dreamed it."

Robbie was looking nervous as he nibbled at some cold shrimp in cocktail sauce. "You think I'm gonna get spanked?" He asked them.

"Whatever turns you on," another boy put in, and Eric tried to remember his name. He'd met so many new people, and this boy was only occasionally out on the beach. His Daddy, he remembered, like to keep him on a short leash.

Philip had violently red hair and freckles, and he wasn't totally naked. He was wearing a very thick and heavy looking leather collar with blunt chrome studs, and matching black cuffs about his biceps, wrists, thighs, and ankles. He wore a harness across his chest, which attached to a wide black leather jockstrap. He didn't wear a CB, but instead wore a chrome pouch over his boyhood that stuck through a hole in the leather. His bicep cuffs attached to his chest harness, limiting the use of his arms, and a short length of chrome chain connected his wrists. There was also one at his ankles, and a short chrome bar made it impossible for him to close his legs all the way. Eric thought he was eleven or twelve, a touch taller than Brighton.

"I still don' know how you can get around with all that heavy gear on," Tommy commented.

"That's the whole point," Philip smiled, toying with the black leather leash attached to his collar that had been left hanging in his lap. "Least Daddy didn't shoot my prostate full of lidocaine this time!" He laughed.

"What's that?" Eric wondered, always a bit leery of Philip, since he considered himself a 'slave'.

"Makes you numb, you can't feel anything," Philip explained. "Drives you crazy, trying and trying and trying and knowing you'll never cum!"

"Cum's when you can squirt, dingbat," Todd reminded him. "You boys are all still dry. Just wait until you hit puberty, and you have to get milked once a week! Wait 'til you're all milked out, horny as hell, and you find out you can't get off no matter what you do!"

"Would you like to demonstrate what a good prostate milking looks like, Todd?" His father asked him.

Chief Pearce grinned at the boys. "Sam's been looking forward to tonight, you know. He's been in denial for two months! I bet he was thinking he'd get to have fun tonight. Wonderful idea, Todd!" He slapped his son's back. "You boys hurry up and eat so the fun can get started!"

As if on queue, Philip jerked in his seat and snorted soda out his nose. He scooted his butt around on the chair, then carefully got to his feet. "I'm being paged, I think!" He smiled, as he looked around and then hobbled off into the crowd.

"Remote control electro-shock butt plug," Robbie explained, and Eric's jaw dropped. "I SO want to try one of them!"

"You gots other things to do, first, Robbie-boy," Mr. Day sneaked up on him, grabbing him up out of his chair. Robbie gulped and just nodded.

Day and another man, Robbie's dad, Eric thought, then fitted him with wrist cuffs and clipped them together. They suspended him, his toes just inches from the floor, and then blindfolded him. Eric shivered, but he could feel his stifled erection pounding at his CB. His heart sped up in anticipation of seeing Robbie get spanked as he had been. He wondered at it, as he turned to see a couple – a man and a pretty lady, taking Philip to one of the beds. Philip then buried his face in the lady's vagina, as the man knelt behind him and began fucking the boy.

Robbie's first cry of pain got everyone's attention, at least for a moment. After all, there were so many things to do and see! There was applause and words of encouragement, as Robbie got his spanking for 'being a smart ass'!

"Be a warm-ass now, Mister Smart Ass!" His father declared, as he hit the boy's bare butt with a Rubbermaid spatula that Eric recognized as the one that flipped his eggs at breakfast!

He looked around again. As Robbie was being spanked, and Philip fucked, he saw Tommy being placed on the Stretcher. The blond was secured hand and foot, and then given some clicks. Someone had put a blindfold on him as well, and Eric realized that Tommy had no way to know when someone was going to come by and stretch him some more!

On one of the small couches, Doc Kennedy was adjusting Luis on his lap. He was cuddling the boy and sucking on his ears, and Eric had a feeling that the doctor's cock was hidden in the small boy's butt. Still, as his hands moved over the boy, Eric thought it looked like he was examining him.

Everyone, it seemed, was getting into the swing of things. He saw his Daddy taking Brighton to a large leather easy chair, and watched in amazement as his Daddy's enormous member slowly disappeared into his brother as the black boy eased down slowly upon it.

He'd never SEEN it before, and this was it. He was seeing his adoptive 'father' doing his own son! Eric thought he was going to burst, he was breathing so hard and fast. He couldn't tell if Brighton was in ecstasy or agony, by the confused look on his face.

At the side of the room, on a small raised platform, the boy he thought must be Sam had been put in a set of stocks with his butt pointed vulnerably at another man. A lady was teasing him with her ample breasts, and the man had his hand inside of Sam and was apparently 'milking' him. Sam looked to be in agony, and was begging, "Please, please, let me cum, sir!"

But Eric heard no one saying "no" as the couple explained to onlookers just what they were doing and why. Eric listened in and found it fascinating, although he knew he had no juice to milk out yet.

He watched as all the kids he'd met on the beach went off with someone, and then found himself alone at his table. Every time someone would pass by, they'd kiss him or wish him well or pat his head, but that was it.

Eric sniffed as the old man sat down. It was a while before either said anything, the old man just looking wistfully at the boy.

"You know, back in my day, things like this were a huge secret," Mr. Albert then said. "You didn't dare tell anyone, other than your most trusted friend, if EVEN that ONE!"

Eric nodded. "Hugs and kisses are nice, sir, but why didn't anyone pick ME?!" Eric asked, as someone went by and gave Tommy another click. He saw that Robbie was being lowered now, his butt a very cheery shade of red, and being placed on The Little Fucker with a dildo that Eric knew would not fit in himself. He was jealous as Robbie was fitted in and the machine turned on.

Robbie groaned in pleasure and pain, as his sore butt was moving on the leather bench, as he got machine-fucked – very slowly.

Someone kissed his ear, and it was Luis. The little boy sat down, leaning his crutch on the table. He had another plate of fodd! "Don' feel bad, Eric. You'll get a turn! Maybe Doc can check you out?" He grinned.

"Oh, my, well, that explains it!" Mr. Albert said. "You're marked as 'off limits', child!"

"I… I am?" Eric wondered. "Why would Daddy do that? You mean no one will touch me?"

Mr. Albert offered his lap, and Eric scooted over. He put his arms around the boy. Then he laughed. "At my age son, I could take Viagra, but if I did, I'd probably have a heart attack! Besides, I like girls, but you boys are all right, too!" He sniffed. "Wasn't sad to see Margaret go, no sir-ee! Little bitch only cared about her own self! Suck her little clittie for a bit, get her squealing, then she'd always say 'no' when it came YOUR turn!"

"I know, sir," Luis said. "She got me to do that, used to take my crutch and wouldn't give it back, when no one was looking. Said she'd call INS if I told on her, send me back to Mexico and my uncle. Then she'd say 'well what I am SUPPOSED to do for you, Wetback? All locked up like that?'"

All around them, the sounds and smells of sex filled the large cellar. Some people had even taken advantage of the spa. Tommy had been released from the Stretcher, now occupied by Philip, and it looked as if his limbs were about to be torn off! Robbie was still on The Little Fucker, and someone had turned it up a bit. He was staring at the ceiling, his eyes wild, and Eric wondered if he'd gotten off two or three times already? Doc was checking his blood pressure, which looked funny, and listening to his heartbeat with a stethoscope. Then he turned the speed up a notch and left the boy.

Eric was pouting, but it seemed that Mr. Albert was having none of it. He cuddled the boy some more, rubbing his nipples, which Eric was surprised to got sort of hard and stood out a few millimeters. It felt good, too.

On the small stage, Sam's cum was being slowly drained into a shot glass. Eric wondered that the older boy didn't ask them to stop, as thick white fluid ran from the tip of his CB like he was peeing. He saw that Sam was sucking the lady's breast now, and he wondered, oddly enough, if he'd been breastfed as a baby?

Over at the spa, he saw the Chief and his son. Todd appeared to be getting fucked as well, the look on his face one of ecstasy.

"Someone had to help with the fireworks," Luis nodded. "But at least Doc took it easy on me. He's the only one I'll let do me, besides Daddy."

"I don't really like it," Luis admitted. "Daddy doesn't ask very often. I think it's cause he's getting older, I dunno. He just likes to cuddle a lot, sometimes have me suck his dick. I… I like girls," Luis admitted, as if this were some horrible confession of a dark sin. "But it's nice when we watch porn, and he rubs me 'til I get off." He looked around, and whispered conspiratorially, "He takes my CB off, too, when he does it! I wish Robbie's mom would ask me," he said wistfully. "She's got great tits!"

"Doc fixed you up after you … came to us, didn't he, Lewie?" Mr. Albert said, giving Eric's ear a kiss and holding the boy close as he rubbed his thighs. "You know, sometimes a good cuddle can make everything all right, no matter how bad the day's been." He reached for Luis' hand. "You know, Lewie, I was raped, too. For us boys who like girls, all of this can be pretty traumatic."

"It's not like that, though, sir," Luis explained. "My daddy loves me, and Doc is careful. And he's not so big," Luis laughed. "But sometimes… sometimes it's like those truck drivers got me again, you know?" He sniffled. "Least here, no one's gonna rape me."

Eric couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Luis, and he remembered Todd's advice – "stay little, Eric." But Luis hadn't gotten to, not really. His time for 'being little' had been stolen from him.

"I'm stupid," Eric sighed. "I'm sorry, sir, Luis," he apologized. He craned his neck to kiss Mr. Albert, and despite the teasing the boys often traded with him, Eric found that Mr. Albert's lap was comforting, and his touch reassuring. His face was sincere, and Eric wondered if this were what it was like to have a grandfather. He'd never known his own.

Mr. Albert looked puzzled, then a tear ran down his cheek. He nodded, then kissed Eric's hair. "I'd like that, Coley," he whispered, getting his name wrong. "You know, I was married once. I… I don't hear from my children too often. They don't know, you see, and I never…"

"You could, sir," Luis offered, as Trey came over with drinks. He brought Eric a real Coke, a strawberry milkshake for Luis, and a gin and tonic for Mr. Albert.

"I see you made some friends, sir?" He asked stiffly. "Are you being a good boy, Eric, sir?" He asked.

"Yeah, unfortunately," Eric grinned at him. "But me and Grandpa are having a good talk. It's all good."

Just then, a lady that Eric didn't know walked up. She had 'the screwdriver,' too. She bent down and whispered in Luis' ear.

"Daddy said I could?!" The little boy piped up excitedly. The lady nodded and held up her mobile phone to show him the message. "'scuse me!" Luis said, and the lady took him on her hip like a toddler and carried him off, gently urging her breast to his mouth.

"Yeah, he is," Eric decided, touching the forgotten crutch. Then he felt something. "Grandpa, you're getting hard!" He said in a whisper.

Without being told, and without asking, Eric slid down to take Mr. Albert in his mouth. The old man didn't stop him. He just put his hands on Eric's new hairstyle and then rubbed his ears and neck as the boy worked.

Eric decided to work fast, as he didn't know if the old man would stay hard or not. It was different, Eric realized, as he worked on the uncircumcised cock. Mr. Albert was clean, though, and it was not unpleasant. Eric wondered why it felt so different, though. With his Daddy, whom he hadn't seen since the party had started, Eric realized suddenly that it had been his own desire to experience it. It was something that he'd wanted to do, but it wasn't like that time now. He'd wanted to make his Daddy proud, but he'd also just wanted to see what it was like for himself. It was something that he'd felt driven to do.

As Mr. Albert came, Eric found there wasn't much. In fact, he had no problem taking the old man's entire length into his mouth. Mr. Albert groaned as he finished.

Eric climbed back into his lap, the erection fading as fast as it had come, and hugged him.

"Thank you, Coley," the old man whispered in his ear, kissing him on the mouth. "That's a funny taste, isn't it?" He laughed.

"I love you, Grandpa," Eric told him, and he knew then why it had felt different.

Eric felt large hands at his ribs from behind, and the saw his Daddy lifting him up.

"Boy, that be the most beautiful thing I think I ever did see," Day told him, his face a mystery, but soft, somehow. He handed Eric his Coke, and the boy drank, finding that he was thirsty.

"How 'bout you an' Daddy go get in the spa, son?" Day then offered, and Eric liked those words. "Bright's over there with Tommy puttin' on a show," he shook his head, "Dunno what folks see in watchin' two locked boys cuddling – ain't nothin' they can do!" He laughed, as he pointed to the small group watching the boys trying to pleasure one another. Then two of the ladies moved in with modest dildos to assist them. The boys continued to kiss and stroke one another as the ladies worked them with the sex toys, which they strapped on to belts they had donned.

"This is a lot to see, Daddy," Eric said seriously, as they entered the now-empty spa. Eric felt something moving at his butt, and he realized that he was being pulled down on his father's thumb. "You don't have to, Daddy, I'm OK," Eric assured him.

"They afraid of you," Day informed him seriously. "You the host's new boy, and word is, you a virgin. Lot of 'em scared of ME, but most is scared of hurtin' YOU. Ain't no one wanna make da first move on you, then you up and make a move on Mr. Albert!" He laughed then, and it was a rich, throaty laugh that made Eric feel warm. "You a forbidden fruit, son," Day went on, "Like the apple dat da Serpent give to Eve. Everyone want you, boy. You can see dat, right? You make a man crazy just lookin' at you, but no one dare touch you."

"The stop sign doesn't help, Daddy," Eric grinned at him, as Day began to work the boy's prostate. Eric sighed in contentment. "But I know it's to protect me, sir," he added quickly. "I know… I know…" he thought about Luis again, "I know you don't want me to get hurt, Daddy."

Day thought about it. "You know, I got this toy – a plug, pretty small, but you pumps air into it. It small when it go in, but it blow up and stretch you out. We can try that, see if you like it?"

"OK, thanks!" Eric smiled, as he arched his back. The pleasure was coming in small waves, but it was slow and Eric knew he wouldn't get off soon. His Daddy was drawing it out.

Eric laughed, and found himself hoisted out of the water with his Daddy's thumb still in him. The man could carry him effortlessly with one arm, after all.

They found Robbie still strapped down, gasping. His eyes were glazed, there was a puddle of lube at his well-worn hole, and The Little Fucker had been turned down to 'very slow'. Robbie was panting, and didn't seem to know where he was.

"Boy done outta his head," Day snorted, as he reached down to feel the pulse at Robbie's neck. He turned the machine off and got Trey to get him out of it. "Give him a black decaff, and a tiny little tranq," Day ordered him. "Boy gon' have a heart attack!"

"What da hell?" Day then asked, as they saw Philip. The leather-clad boy was strapped to the x-frame, blindfolded, and sucking Doc's cock. Someone had put silver clips on both of the boy's nipples, and Philip was struggling in his bonds as Doc finished.

"Takes all kinds," Day mused, and Eric thought of Sandie. He wondered what the boy was doing, since he hadn't been invited. Eric felt bad about that.

They found Brighton and Tommy taking a break at 'their' table, having diet sodas and just resting. Both of the boys were sweaty, and Brighton looked tired. Eric saw the red light blinking on his cuff. He hopped off of Day and ran to get Trey and an orange juice.

Trey ran to get his manual test kit. "You're at 50 mg/dl [2.8 mmo/l]!" Trey yelled at him, making him drink the juice. "I told you to eat an avocado, or at least twenty-five other carbs, you stupid boy!"

Eric flinched, his own dismay at being left alone long forgotten as he watched his brother. Tommy had to help him with the glass, his hands were shaking so badly. But Eric had never heard Trey yell before, not like that.

"I'll be OK, Daddy, Trey," Brighton insisted. "Jus' gimme five." He looked at Eric. "Thanks, Bro. Didn't even realize it were comin' on."

"You sure?" Day insisted. Brighton nodded. Eric felt his hand squeeze his shoulder.

All around them, the party continued. Robbie came back over, sipping his coffee and making faces. His butt was still red, and he was hobbling along as if his legs were bound like Philip's – which they weren't. He sat down hard, yelped, then settled himself.

Sam hung limply in his stocks, and Todd was currently being fucked by someone Eric didn't know while he sucked off a blond man that Eric thought must be Tommy's dad. He wondered about how everyone seemed to have no problems with sharing their children, as he saw Philip, now being put on The Little Fucker. The boy had a ball gag in, and was still blindfolded. But he was nodding his head and holding out a thumbs-up sign.

"Excuse me, sir," he pointed, awaiting a nod from Day to go and check on the old man.

Mr. Albert was gone. Eric looked all around, but then saw him emerging from the bathroom. He sighed in relief. "Must have been that last drink," the old man smiled, as he took Eric's hand. "Cole, I'm terribly tired. Would you mind making sure I get home? Miss Kitty must be wondering after me?"

"It's yo party, boy," Day nodded. Then he kissed his adopted son on the mouth, his tongue probing the boy's mouth, but only for a few seconds. "You come right back, hear?"

Eric nodded curtly, then went to Mr. Albert, taking his hand and leading him out the side door that was a ramp that exited above near the pool.

The night was warm and lit by a waning moon that had been full the nigh before, and Eric wondered what time it was as they slowly walked down the way and out around the hedge. "I think I'll miss the fireworks," Mr. Albert declared. "But I think I've had enough of them for one night," he added with a smile, leaning on Eric.

"Ah, they're testing the mortar tubes," Mr. Albert declared, as Eric jumped, tightening his grip on the old man's hand. "Half an hour to go!"

"MEOWRRRRR!" An unhappy cat greeted them, and Eric saw that Mr. Albert had brought along a small bag of party food for Miss Kitty. They went on in, sitting there sipping sodas as Miss Kitty dined on shrimp and a salmon cake.

"You need to run along, Coley," he told the boy. Then he pulled him into a hug. "Thanks for helping out an old man."

"It's OK, Grandpa. I love you," Eric assured him, not having the heart to correct him. Somehow, he got the feeling that the old man had known about him all along.

Mr. Albert then went to a half empty bookcase and whatnot shelf, and picked up a magnificent conch shell. He put it to his lips, and blew it like a trumpet. Eric gasped in wonder. "Just like from The Lord of the Flies," Mr. Albert told him, picking up a well-worn book from the coffee table. He then handed them to Eric. "Happy birthday, Grandson," he smiled. "Crazy old me, went off and forgot to wrap them," he shook his head. "Cole, do me favor?"

"Don't ever get old, boy," he hugged him again, sitting down in an easy chair. Eric bent to kiss him, and he gently licked the old man's lip. It was a passionate kiss, but somehow, it was different than kissing his new father or brother.

"Run along, now, or you'll miss the show," Mr. Albert told him, as Miss Kitty jumped jealously into his lap, growling at Eric. "Cole?"

"What the hell did you do to your hair?" He then reminded him of his gifts. "Oh, could you fetch me a blanket, child?"

Eric did that, having to run upstairs to a hall closet to find one, and had to have one more hug and kiss.

Eric laughed. "Thank you, Grandpa!" The boy cried in delight, as he ran back to the house with what he was sure would be his most beloved presents.

"Where wuz you, boy?" Day asked, as he met up with Eric halfway up the lawn. Day was carrying his son piggyback, and Brighton looked half-asleep. Everyone was coming down to head to the beach for the fireworks show.

"This be a kingly gift," Day observed of the shell. "I remember none o'us ever got to touch it when I was a boy! You bring dat, and run put da book on da patio."

Eric ran to do that. By the time they'd reached the beach, he realized that he was getting tired and yawned. He looked around to see Luis, being carried by Robbie's dad. The lady with them was very pretty, and Eric realized that Luis must have gotten his wish. A few of the other boys were sort of stumbling along in the sand, but it seemed like no one had passed out!

Eric blew his new conch shell, and even got to light the fuse on the beginning ground display. When the aerial show began, he just sat staring in wonder. No one had ever taken him to a big fireworks show, and the ones back … where he'd come from … certainly paled in comparison. He wondered where the money had come from to pay for it all.

When it was all over, it took all the energy Eric had left to walk home. Brighton and several of the other boys had to be carried, as did Luis, who had forgotten his crutch at the party. Eric promised to bring it by in the morning as Tony collected the small boy.

Robbie groaned in his father's arms, and Eric saw that Philip was asleep in the sand as everyone finished with their goodnights and compliments.

"You on for cleanup tomorrow morning, shrapnel and all that?" Todd asked Eric. "Won't be much trash, but it's Tony's day off." He looked sly. "We can get the Polaris four-wheeler out and rake the beach!"

Brighton didn't get out of bed the next morning. As he was going to work with Todd and some others at the beach, Eric was told to strip his bed – as he'd fallen into it dirty and smelly. Once his laundry was washing, he found that it was near time for lunch. He'd been allowed to sleep in, but also told that Brighton had been cleaned up and consigned to the couch to recover.

"I'm having some trouble bringing him back up," Trey told Eric. "You run along, sir. You smell. Just go and … be a good little trash picker." He waved him off.

"He gone?" Day asked, entering from a side room. Trey nodded. "Good. I gots to get some DVD's going. That little scene o'Bright and Tommy got a lot of buyers already," he nodded happily.

Trey checked his blood sugar manually, and gave him a slice of leftover party cake. Brighton blinked at him. "Cake? Am I that low?"

Trey rolled his eyes and went to his laptop, studying the logs gathered from Brighton's monitor. "This insulin must be improperly labeled," Trey said after a while, as he called up Doc. He decided not to disturb Mr. Day over it, but it was the first time he'd ever encountered this problem. They had experienced a few instances of bad insulin that did nothing over the years, which had landed Brighton a stay at Doc's for a few days to sort him out of being so dangerously high. But to find a batch in the manual injection kit that was too strong was very strange, indeed. Trey cut the dose in half, then took Brighton a lunch of a sweet potato in butter, some shrimp in sugary cocktail, and some vegetable chips with leftover avocado dip. "That'll get him going," He nodded curtly at the plate.

Brighton didn't complain. The excess insulin made him hungry, and he ate it all.

But as Trey mounted the stairs, he had to wonder. He'd call the manufacturer as soon as his young master was stable again.

As Eric passed by Mr. Albert's house, he didn't see any signs of life. There was mail in the box, and Miss Kitty was sitting in the sun on the front porch, washing herself. He went on down to the beach, figuring that the old man must have slept in, and met up with Todd.

They spent the late morning and on into the afternoon gathering up fireworks remnants and the odd bits of trash here and there. It was great fun riding the four-wheeler to rake the beach, which frightened the few patrons already there half out of their wits! All the bouncing around of their riding, though, was moving Eric's plug around and getting him extremely worked up. Unlike all the other boys, he'd not gotten off the night before and was beginning to feel some frustration.

"Not much we can do about it, kiddo," Todd told him. "That's why you got the CB and plug. Keep you all frustrated."

"Who said you ever do?" Todd laughed, as they hauled a few bags of trash to a dumpster and tossed them in.

"Watch it now!" A boy's voice yelped, as they noticed a pair of legs sticking up over the backside. A boy with sandy brown hair and a few freckles popped up from his dumpster diving, holding up a pair of rather expensive headphones.

"These are Beats by Dre phones!" Sandie smiled. "Lookit! The pad is ripped here, and sometimes the wiring here goes bad, but I can fix that! These are like $200 [~€ 150] headphones!" He cocked his head at Eric. "Nice braids," he smirked, "For a white boy!"

"Uhm, hi?" Eric offered, wondering at finally getting to meet the mysterious 'Sandie' that so much bothered his new father. He looked like a normal kid, other being half into a dumpster, to Eric.

"Just like I fixed the power switch in our TV, only now you have to unplug it to turn it off," Sandie shrugged. "You that runaway kid they're keeping?" He asked bluntly. "You kinda look like the posters."

Eric nodded and looked him over. Sandie was pretty unremarkable. He was just as toned up as the other boys, he had no extraneous gear or piercings or anything, and Eric wouldn't have looked at him twice in passing. What got his attention, though, was just like Brighton had said – Sandie's very small clear penis tube was held on by a ring at the end of it, and the area under it was empty and smooth.

"Yeah, tha's me, the nutless wonder," Sandie rolled his eyes, noticing Eric's stare. "So how was the party?"

Eric didn't know what to say. He looked up deliberately at the boy's smiling face, remembering what Trey had said – "Isn't he the boy who tried to castrate himself?" He felt bad for their not having invited him.

"Sorry I didn't get to come, Cole, but Uncle took me to see The Avengers! in 3D! Nice to meet you!" He offered his hand. "I ain't been around much, we been really busy," Sandie began to ramble. "Then we went to the Roadhouse to eat, the mall, and caught the fireworks show over at Riverton Pa-…"

"Oh, that explains the hair," Sandie nodded, not missing a beat. "Bright's pretty cool, hey! I hear Margaret got into it with him and they got kicked out! So did little Luis really get to come? Did you meet Philip yet?"

"You wanna hang out?" Sandie offered, "Uncle had to work, so he just cut me loose," Sandie snickered at his own pun. "I mean, if you got nothin' to do? Say, where's Bright? I guess everybody else is passed out? Luis said it was a wild party when I saw him and Tony this morning."

"Where were they going?" Eric wondered, thinking that Luis would have probably slept in.

"Orthopedic surgeon exam," Sandie explained happily, apparently being the source of most gossip at the beach, "They're gonna try and see if they can fix his leg a little better. Me, I'd just have 'em cut it off if it hurts all the time and get one of those cool Flex-foot thingies!"

"What?! If it hurts ALL the time and don't work, why keep it?" Sandie asked. He looked at Eric. "Yeah, it's true. I made a real mess of myself with a razor blade, but hey, Doc didn't believe me, and the pain pills and antibiotics and shit were killin' me. Your nuts hurt like that, see what you do when you feel like you been kicked 24/7!"

Eric was getting tired just listening to him, fascinating as it was. Had Sandie really cut his own balls off? He was reminded of the annoying little kid from the second Harry Potter film, Colin Creevey!

"Eh, he's got a spare," Sandie went on. "But we can take it back and put it on the porch. No one steals anything here, or Tony'd shoot their ass!" He laughed. "Him or the Chief!"

"He's got a point," Todd nodded. "Why don't you run along, Eric? I'll finish raking."

"OK," Eric nodded, as Todd gave them both a hug and kiss goodbye. "Next time I get to drive!"

"I like Todd," Sandie chattered away, as they walked back up the road, keeping to the grass to avoid the hot pavement. "He's never mean to me, well, most of the guys are OK, it's their folks what get all freaked out, maybe they think I'm gonna castrate their boys or somethin'?" Sandie rattled on.

Sandie shrugged, and Eric noticed the unkempt cut of his longish hair. "No, but I'm not a boy, either. I'm just ME!"

Eric was beginning to understand why Sandie might unnerve Mr. Day. He thought a nice red ball gag might be in order!

As they passed by Mr. Albert's house, Eric saw the mail still in the box and Miss Kitty yowling at the door. There was a box from FedEx blocking her kitty door, and Eric winced.

"Huh?" Sandie noticed. "Hey, Mr. Al's not out yet? Why's the cat out, too? He never lets her out 'less he's there? I like him, he's all like…"

Eric looked at the mailbox. He got a chill. Eric walked up to the door and shoved the box out of the way. Miss Kitty ran in as Eric threw the door open.

Eric remembered something from a movie he'd seen, and grabbed a small vanity mirror from the whatnot shelf. He held it in front of the still old man's face.

"He's breathing! RUN, Sandie!" Eric screamed. Sandie fled. "MR. ALBERT!" Eric shouted at him, patting his face. "GRANDPA! Wake up!" He began shaking him.

Eric started to cry, telling himself not to panic. He felt the old man's pulse, and it wasn't great. He ran to the bathroom, ransacked the medicine cabinet, and found some aspirin. He grabbed a handful and took them to the kitchen, beating them into dust with a large pot. He then mixed them in water, the dialogue from heart attack and stroke commercials running through his head.

"Drink this, Grandpa," he urged the old man, holding his head up and trying his best to rouse him. He poured some in.

Mr. Albert flinched and shuddered once, but he swallowed some of it as reflex took over. Eric poured more, making a mess of the blanket. Miss Kitty tried to help. Eric shoved her off. He poured more, and the old man gasped and choked.

"Cole?" He wheezed, feebly clutching the boy's wrist. "Is the party over?" His voice was hardly audible. "Coley, there's a book for you…"

"HELP!" Eric screamed, looking around for the phone and wondering if he should call 911 emergency? Would they send cops? What if they found the old man with him, naked? What if that would blow the community's cover?

"C'mon, Daddy," he fretted, grabbing up the large old phone with oversize buttons and obvious labels. He saw the word DAY and jabbed it.

"Mr. Day has called the doctor and the Chief," Trey assured him. "Stay with him, boy! Keep talking to him! Eric, did you call 911?"

"Good, don't!" Trey snapped. "Doc will do that, he's just down the way at his office. Eric began to hear a faint siren.

Minutes later, and Chief Pearce arrived. Eric ducked behind a sofa, as he didn't know the other officer. Doc came in right behind them.

"It's all right, Eric, Ron here knows," Chief Pearce told him. "You find him like this?"

"Y-yes sir!" Eric whimpered, as Doc went to work. Ron looked around the place, seeming unimpressed by the fact that a rather dirty, naked boy with confined genitals was there. "I saw the mail, and then Sandie…"

"Sit down, kid," Ron urged him, "And let's get a statement." He sat on the opposite loveseat and patted the cushion next to him. Eric looked at the Chief, who nodded. The boy sat, and began giving him the story as Doc tended to Mr. Albert.

"You boys very likely just saved Al's life," Doc pronounced, as they began to hear another siren. "Go out the back, Eric, through the hedge, and hide. The ambulance drivers don't need to see you!"

"No shit!" Ron agreed, giving Eric a look. "Damn, he's cute, Chief! SAY, ain't he the runaway?"

"Nice to meet you, sir, gotta go!" Eric gasped. "Will he be OK?" He called back, pausing at the door. Miss Kitty yowled again.

"I think so, it's a mild heart attack," Doc diagnosed. "I've got him stable now," he said, spotting the glass. "What's this?"

"About ten aspirins in water?" Eric exclaimed. "Is it enough? I didn't know what else to do!"

"My recommendation, sir," Trey snorted, upon seeing a distraught Eric arriving home with a distraught cat, "Would be for you to move into Mr. Albert's house to minimize the trauma to the cat, until such time that he returns home."

"Whut happened?" Brighton asked. Eric explained it all, sitting on the couch beside him, biting his fingernails, which nearly made Trey go into hysterics – as if Miss Kitty hadn't pushed him to the edge already. She was rubbing about the butler's legs and meowing at him, nearly causing Trey to fall and spill Eric's drink all over him.

"Someone needs a bath," Trey added, hoping that a good cup of chamomile tea and a lavender scented bath would calm the boy down.

Eric finished his tea and headed for the bathroom that he and Brighton shared. He got himself a bath, making sure to thoroughly wash, as he expected Trey to come and check – and then scrub him again. There was a bit of sand in his CB, which took some doing to remove with a squirt bottle. He wasn't sure about what to do with his hair, so he just lathered it as best he could and dunked his head a few times. He yawned, then went looking for Mr. Day.

"Daddy?" He called, unsure of where he was going. There was still part of the house that he hadn't explored yet, realizing that he'd never been shown that on Brighton's tours. He went up the stairs, listening. "Dad?" He called again. There was no reply.

He heard a sound that he recognized: a computer was notifying a 'critical stop' alert and needed attention. Eric knocked on a door that he thought was the room from where it had come. No answer. He stuck his head in. "Daddy?"

The room contained a couple of computers, and a tall tower with ten optical drives. There was a messy desk, and a long table. Eric walked in, thinking nothing of it. It was just a computer room, right? One screen read BATCH CONVERSION COMPLETE. Another read PROJECT COMPLETE, HIT OK TO CONTINUE. Eric thought he would be helpful and hit OK. The tower unit prompted him to insert nine new DVD's. Eric did that and hit OK. The DVD's began to burn. As the tower went to work, he wondered what it was.

"Oh my God, does Daddy sell bootleg DVD's?" He muttered, wandering over to the table. There were several padded envelopes there,, addressed to people in various states – some pretty far off. There was a box of new CB devices too, and screwdrivers with bits. Eric picked one up from the big box marked 'model 2' and examined it.

It was different than his own CB. This one had what looked like a short, bent rod that the boy assumed must go in the end of your penis, to emerge from a piercing. He'd seen those 'Prince's Al' rings at the party, and sometimes men on the beach had them. He thought that Sandie might have one, and shivered at the thought of having your dick pierced! This model also had a more prominent ring at the top, with eyelets. Eric had no idea what a box marked 'pop rivets' had to do with it, but some of the CB's were packed in boxes of packing peanuts and ready to go.

He saw that one of the envelopes was not sealed, and curiosity got the better of him.

It was full of photos, printed on good paper. There were close-up shots of CB's, and CB's mounted on boys. He assumed from the skin tone that some were of Brighton, but some were of white boys. There were also portrait shots of boys he knew, and some he didn't. He flipped through the photos, put them back, and saw more in a box.

There were full-length nude shots of the boys, and then group shots, posed, with props like balls, bats, beach stuff… standard studio fare. Eric thought it not unusual for a nudist community, but then why were copies being mailed to all over the place?

Then he saw the group shots of the boys cuddling, making out (not that they could really do anything), and doing things like playing with toys. There were prints of the boys using things like The Little Fucker.

There was an enlargement of himself hanging from the ceiling with a red butt and wearing the black hood.

Eric replaced the photos, looking at the end of the table to see a stack of empty DVD cases.

He shuddered, wondering at the evidence that his new father was perhaps selling this stuff?

It made sense. Mr. Day worked at home, they'd said. Eric thought about the house, the Cadillac, all the food they'd bought for the party, and the fact that they didn't seem to want for anything. They even had a butler. Someone had to pay for it all somehow, he knew. He remembered his own real father griping constantly about money and expenses, and how you just couldn't make a living anymore.

Eric gulped, which sounded loud in the quiet room. Of course it made sense to sell things like the CB's, but was there really a market for boy-sized chastity devices? He'd seen websites before that sold such things, but they were for grown men. That didn't bother him.

What bothered him was the picture of himself, about to be mailed to someone in Oregon.

He walked over to the opposite desk, and Eric nearly fainted when he saw a metal box full of cash! He didn't touch it, but he saw that it was all large bills. There was a small book there marked 'Receipts'. It was open to the pages marked 'BRIGHTON' and 'ROBBIE'. There were dates and dollar amounts marked there, some of them as high as $10,000 [€ 7,500]. And there were quite a few entries. He turned the page back. This page read 'Party Receipts' and Eric saw entries and abbreviated names with amounts like $500 [€ 375] and such.

"They paid to come to the party?" Eric whispered. "I thought it was just a party… a party to welcome me?"

He flicked back one more page, and saw his own name: ERIC. There were no entries. There was a date of July 1, and it read 'untrained'.

"Project complete" the computer said, startling Eric so badly that he nearly peed. He took one of the DVD's, put the new ones in the stack, and went back to his room.

Reenergized by the rush of adrenaline, he ran back to his own room and put the DVD in his player. The menu had choices of IMAGES, ABOUT, SCENES, and PLAY MOVIE. Eric hit PLAY MOVIE.

It was footage from the party, and Eric remembered some of it. Of course, there were views that he'd not seen from his table, but he recognized the events from what he'd seen looking around. Robbie was on The Little Fucker. Eric scanned through that, and came to footage of Philip being used as he was strapped to the X-frame. There was footage of that one boy in the stocks being milked, they'd called it, and even a long scene of Robbie's mom with Luis. The little Mexican boy was at her breast while she stroked his freed boyhood, and it looked like Luis was having a good time. Eric felt pressure building in his CB, and he found it uncomfortable this time. As he continued to watch the footage, the worse it got.

Everyone was there, just like he remembered from the party. Philip was pleasuring a lady while some man fucked him. Brighton and Tommy were making out while being fucked by women in strap-ons. It was all there on the DVD.

And DVD's were being burnt and mailed out to strangers? CB's were being made, even a new model, and being shipped? Pictures were being mailed? A book full of receipt logs, and a box full of money?

When he clicked it, he saw his own smiling face come up in a set of twelve photos. There was a portrait, a shot of him and Brighton smiling, and shots from the party. He had his gifts, he was sitting at the table, he was chatting with Luis. Of course, there were none of him doing anything, since he hadn't done anything. The closest one was of him in Day's arms in the spa, but Day's head was cut off in the shot. He clicked ABOUT, and saw a full description of himself.

"… the hell?!" He gasped, hitting MENU to go to PICTURES. There he saw shots of all his friends, and sets of them on the beach with men and women that Eric didn't know. Other members? Paying members who didn't live here? They were doing it with the boys, and someone had taken pictures of them on the beach! The last shot was of Luis, leaning on his crutch, waving goodbye at the end of the long show.

Eric shut off the DVD player and fell back on his bed. His head was spinning, and he was so very tired from his busy day and night before. He didn't know what to make of it all.

Was he going to do that to him, Eric wondered? He didn't know the man who was fucking Robbie in the beach shots. Would his daddy make him do that – do it with strangers? Would they come and pay money to do it with him?

And what about Mr. Albert? Had he paid to come to the party? Eric looked at his unopened pile of nearly fifty gifts. Why had everyone gotten him a present? Was Grandpa all right? Could he go and see him? Had Sandie gone on home after the EMT's had left with Grandpa?

Grandpa… the image stuck in Eric's head. "No, he'd never do that!" Eric told himself. "It was different with him!"

He then thought about Margaret, and what Grandpa had said about her. Where was she now, now that they were kicked out and the house for sale?

"Master Eric?" Trey was asking, and Eric felt someone shaking him awake. "Wake up, child, it's time for dinner. You have a guest."

Eric sat up and rubbed his eyes. Miss Kitty jumped onto the bed, and Eric remembered the day's events. He slumped and sighed.

"You'll be pleased to know that Mr. Albert has had only a very minor heart attack, probably brought on by too much excitement," Trey informed him. "He'll be fine, they say, and should be home by the end of the week."

"Eh-excitement?" Eric gasped, remembering Mr. Albert's own prediction of a Viagra-induced heart attack. "Oh my gosh, I nearly killed him!"

"Can I go and see him?" Eric had to ask, but he already knew the answer to that. They didn't let kids in to see patients, and he wasn't real family.

"No," Trey confirmed it, "But for now, dinner is almost ready. I see you're already washed up, and your guest is waiting."

Eric got up and went to put on his collar and cuffs. This time, though, they felt odd. Images of the party flashed through his mind, Philip in particular, and Eric shivered with a sudden realization: all of this was highly illegal, and the boy was suddenly aware that he would never leave this community. He couldn't – if they were doing this stuff to kids, there was no way they could have one running loose in the outside world, was there?

Eric came down to find a surprise – Sandie was sitting next to his own empty spot at the table, and Mr. Day was actually smiling! Brighton was up again as well and looking fine.

"ERIC!" Sandie greeted him. "Hey, you just wake up? You don't look so good, man? Did you hear about Mr. Albert?"

Eric didn't know what to say. His head was filled with a confused welter of emotions. He was happy to see Brighton feeling better, glad to see Sandie there, happy to hear about Grandpa Albert, but also confused about him. And didn't Mr. Day not like Sandie? Why was he there?

As his Daddy smiled at him, Eric didn't feel warm. He felt cold, in fact. His empty stomach rolled as he sat down.

Mr. Day raised his wine glass. "Boys, you done good today. If you hadn't found Al, he wouldn't be here now." He toasted them, and Eric saw that Sandie looked nervous, too.

"I ask you here, boy, to say thank you. An' to apologize. Took a lot of nerve to come here, knowin' how I felt 'bout you," Day went on. "You didn't have to do whut you done, but you did. I'm sorry we treated you so bad."

Eric wondered at the story behind that, but Sandie seemed awed, even into silence, which was unusual.

"But you still be givin' me the heebie-jeebies, boy!" Day smiled at him. "Most folk like to know if you a boy or girl, but I guess that don't matter, if you a good kid."

"Master Eric has had too big of a day," Trey informed them, "I would suggest a light tranquilizer, and then promptly to bed."

"Al be home in no time, you see," Day informed him. "An' tomorrow morning, it be back to normal. Not like we have a party every week."

"Have you even opened your present yet?" Brighton asked, and Eric shook his head. He just didn't feel like talking, and he wasn't even sure he wanted those presents.

Fortunately, Sandie picked up the slack in this area. The androgynous child was so excited to be invited to dinner, it seemed, that Eric wondered how he could talk, eat, and breathe at the same time.

When dinner was finally done, Trey was not impressed with how much Eric had eaten. He gave the boy a small pill, which only added to Eric's anxieties. What if they did something to him while he was passed out? But wasn't Brighton always telling him no one would hurt him, that he could just say 'no'?

Other than vaguely remembering his nightly enema and bath and being put to bed, it was business as usual for Eric and Brighton that next morning. They got up, ate, worked out, went to the beach, had lunch, went back to the beach, played with their friends, came home, had dinner, had a bath, and went to bed.

That next day, at Mr. Day's insistence, Eric opened his pile of presents. He was shocked at some of them – video games, DVD's, even a diver's watch and some jewelry. There was even a book called All About Consensual Slavery.

Mr. Albert had come home a week later, much to Trey's delight. He even delivered Miss Kitty in person, and Eric was so relieved to see his 'Grandpa' that he cried and apologized for trying to kill him! Mr. Albert found this quite comical, though, and despite his words to the contrary, Eric still blamed himself a little. "I probably forgot my pills that day, is all," the old man assured him.

One addition to their summertime routine was checking in on Mr. Albert regularly, but he was often at the beach on his new scooter, complete with a ridiculous umbrella for hot days – which were most of them.

For the boys, it seemed that the summer was endless. There was nothing to do but have a good time on the beach, and Eric quickly forgot all the things that had been bothering him. After all, for an eleven year old, there was so much of nothing to do that he hardly had time to do it all! Eric toned and tanned, and imperceptibly grew a bit, although he had still some doubts.

As the days went by, the beach grew more and more crowded with summer in full swing. Eric noticed a few cars in the lot with out-of-state-plates [tags], and some strangers. However, the old rule about strangers didn't seem to apply – no one laid a hand on him or hurt him. In fact, many of the people (mostly men and some older boys) were very kind to him and often asked if they could buy the boys treats from the vendors or hug them.

For Eric, it seemed harmless enough. Still, he wondered. He got a slightly larger plug and was spending evenings with the inflatable as 'training'. He still had a few 'make out' sessions a week with his Daddy, which were great, he had to admit, but he never mentioned the things he'd seen in the computer room. He kept telling himself not to think about it, and that anything was better than living under a shed, or living with the Martins.

And if he were to tell, Eric wondered, would Daddy go to jail, and Brighton get put in a weird foster home – maybe even with the Martins?

Eric was curious, however, when one nondescript man at the beach carrying a camera asked Robbie to come with him, and showed him something on his phone. Robbie made a call on it, and seemed quite pleased about something. Robbie then left with him, walking along the beach holding his hand.

"What'r they doin'?" Eric asked Sandie, who had been keeping a low profile and tended to avoid strangers.

"He's probably gonna take Robbie over to the cliffs down the way to Lucky Cove and fuck him," Sandie replied flippantly. "Wonder how much it cost him?"

Sandie shrugged. "I figured you knew, Eric. What do you think all these people are coming here for on their vacations? They don't live here at Seaview, do they?"

"But how do they know… about it? You can't just tell people who don't know?!" Eric almost yelled. "They'd call the cops!"

"The cops are who set it up, ding-dong!" Sandie laughed. "Hell, I've been with half the force here, and some State Police. I even fucked an FBI guy once," He paused. "Well, before I… you know, hurt myself," he added, touching his groin. "I guess I freak a lot of people out, and your Daddy and the Chief… never mind," he stopped.

Eric looked all around, suddenly very conscious that some people were watching them. Most nude beaches, he knew from seeing it online, didn't allow recording devices or cameras. He'd seen quite a few pointed at them, though, as he began paying attention.

"They pay a fee to take pics of us, don't they?" Eric asked, as he and Sandie went for a cold drink.

Eric thought about the computer room at home that he'd been trying to keep out of his mind. He suddenly felt sick. People bought the DVD's and CB's and pictures…

Sandie sighed. "Wanna go spy on Robbie?" He then asked. "You know, I used to get picked up a lot, back before I… took matters into my own hands. I guess I freak a lot of guys out now." He touched his groin. "But God, do I feel better!"

Eric was jolted out of his reverie as he looked at his friend. At first glance, it was hard to tell if Sandie were a boy or girl. The build, the hair – the only telltale sign was the tiny little penis tube. In fact, he'd hardly paid attention anymore, although he had been curious.

"You'd think I'd be a bigger turn-on, being 'the boy with no balls'," he sighed again. "I miss the money, though."

"Well, we get a percentage," Sandie informed him. "You think we do it for free? How would the community keep the beach open if it was all free?"

"I, uh, dunno," Eric admitted, as it all started to make sense and he realized that he'd not wanted to think about it. After all, he admitted to himself, he had a new home. He was loved, or so he'd thought. He had a new family, and he had Mr. Albert.

"They're just nice to us because they wanna DO us," Eric groaned, sitting down in the sand as it all came out, hitting him like the proverbial ton of bricks. "Daddy sells CB's, and DVD's of us. He sends pictures and videos of us out all over the place, and the cops even know who to invite here? I saw his office once; he even made video to sell of the big party. It's like a big boy-whorehouse-beach resort, isn't it? Come and pay to see and fuck the naked boys?"

"Well, yeah, kinda. Nice work when you can get it," Sandie nodded. "s'matter? You'll get your chance pretty soon, Eric. You just need to grow a little more."

"I… I thought they loved me," he whispered, shaking his head. Trey had since combed his hair back out, and it fell to hide his face.

"They do?" Sandie assured him. "Long as you don't get weird, like me. Why you think I fish crap outta the dumpster that people toss? Uncle works his ass off, and we can barely afford to stay here, now that no one wants me. Hell, it's not my fault Doc didn't listen to me, or that I got beat up. I tried to tell him I hurt all the time, after they did surgery to put my nuts back together when I got beat up. It hurt so much, I wanted to kill myself, Eric!

"Why you think I said that about Luis? Shit, man, they can't fix his leg. He's gonna have to use a crutch forever! And I wasn't gonna sit around stoned on pain pills forever, either! Now nobody likes me," he sniffed, sitting down beside his friend. "They're afraid if clients know about me, they'll be afraid to come here, or go and tell, 'causee they'll think they're castrating boys here on purpose. Boy, I really fucked up. It's no wonder no one likes me."

"Clients?" Eric sighed again. Sandie started to cry, and Eric put his arm around him. "I like you."

Sandie nodded. "I just… j-just wanted him to like me," Sandie cried. "I th-thought he w-wanted to… do… me! How was I 'sposed to know he'd beat me up and think I was a faggot, or that my mom would throw me out?" He wiped his face on his arm. "Guess I know why my uncle always liked me, though?" he sort of laughed. "Then one day, they don't like you anymore, you don't have the cash, and suddenly you're scavenging trash."

"Dad likes you now, you know," Eric tried to console him, wondering if Sandie felt near as bad, or worse, than he did?

"Yeah, now," Sandie snorted. "Shit, man, I had to help save someone's life to get him to like me. Who'da thought?" He waved a hand about, indicating the beach. "It was his idea for me to lay low, no pun intended."

"Daddy's idea? Tell me," Eric nodded. "I just wanted a safe place to stay when I ran away."

"It is safe here," Sandie countered. "Big fence, GPS collar, can't get out, someone always watching you. Perfectly safe."

The two boys just sat there watching the waves and the surfers as time passed. Eric wondered where Brighton was. Then he decided he didn't want to know.

"Excuse me, missy?" Someone asked, and Eric turned to see a young man with a camera. "Oh, I'm sorry!" he added, when he got a frontal look at Eric. "You're so… late eighties, with that hair!" He laughed. Then he saw Sandie. "Are you OK, erm, kid?"

Eric wasn't sure he wanted one, though. Not after the conversation that they'd just had.

Is that why they took me in, to make money off me?" He wondered. Am I just a piece of meat to rent out, then?

"Sorry, I have to go see my dad," Eric lied, checking his diver's watch – a present from the Chief. "I'm late!"

As Eric got up to go, he heard the young man ask, "So, not to be rude, kid, but are you a boy or a girl?"

Eric took the long way home, wandering about the neighborhood and realizing just how big it was. His outlook on things at Seaview had changed, though. Seeing everything at the party had been one thing, and he could sort of understand that. If the boys wanted to do it, such as Luis with Robbie's mom, then where was the harm in that? But seeing Robbie go off with a stranger to DO IT for money, that had been quite another. Eric wondered how that guy was going to get Robbie's plug out, though, but figured that that he must have had the tool in his little camera bag – if he'd prepaid.

What are you doing here? He asked himself, realizing that he'd seen things here that he'd never even imagined. There he was, naked, walking around with his genitals locked up and a plug in his butt to make him ready for anal sex. Hell, you were living under a shed and using the bathroom at a gas station, running outta money, eating out of restaurant trashcans, He reminded himself, pondering just what he'd gotten himself into.

"But I wanted to do it," he mumbled, as he trudged up the walk towards home, thinking about the limited sexual things he'd already done. It was an odd word, 'home'. Before, home had been where his mom and dad and nanny were. Then there'd been the Martins, which was weird. "And this isn't?" He was now talking to himself. "Maybe I am a pervert," he admitted, feeling at his CB and again aware of the feelings that his plug almost constantly caused him.

Eric shook his head. He decided to say it: "Robbie went with a visitor to get laid, sir."

"Rent me out like a Hertz car to some man I don't know so he can DO me?" Eric snapped.

"And if I don't want to?" Eric was feeling angry now. "Then what? Do I go back to the shed, live on the beach, or just go away? Should I get a part time job, then? Or do I end up buried in a shallow grave somewhere?"

Day looked stunned. Eric had never seen that look on his face, and the huge man honestly looked as if he didn't know what to say.

"What's got into you, boy?" He finally managed. "You been watchin' that CSI show?"

"THIS!" Eric waved his hands around, feeling brave in his sudden anger. "This house, your car, this place with the big fence to keep us in!" He tugged at his GPS collar. "Then you sell DVD's and pictures of us DOING IT," he was almost yelling, "To strangers! You have people come here an' pay to take pictures of us, and then DO IT with us!"

Day nodded. "I see you finds my work room? I thought Trey went and finished them DVD's, an' one were bad."

"I watched it," Eric countered. "It was the party, MY party, you said! And you sold copies of it! Then those people come here and pay you to … to… f-fuck Brighton? Your own kid?! I saw the receipt book, too!" Eric was again near to tears. "How can you do that – sir?" He spat the last word. "It's just… WRONG!"

Day pondered it for a moment. "Sometimes it come out like dis," he mused. "I weren't ready for you to find out, Eric. Not yet."

Day nodded. "I did want to do that. I thought you wanted to do that? You wanted to do what you done for Grandpa Al, right?"

Eric winced at the words. He genuinely cared about the old man, he did. It was a low blow.

"You come to me all worried that you wuz a pervert," Day went on. "'Cause o'how them folk you lived with treated you. Now, to me, tha's perverse, bringin' up a boy like that. Tellin' him how bad he be, and not lovin' him."

"You call this love?" Eric asked, waving his hands around. "Making boys do it for money?"

"Anyone 'round here made you do anything at all yet, other than clean yo' room?"

"You agreed to it," Day reminded him. "Since you wanna stay here. You wanna go, then go. I take it off right now!"

"You not that kinda, boy, I think," Day mused, seemingly unimpressed. "'sides, da Chief be fixin' all dat, even if you do. Then he catch you, an' it be right back to dem folks who loves you SO very much, I think?" He paused. "Then again, you be legally dead, too. Ain't no goin' back there."

But Day wasn't finished with him. "They call you a pervert, and think you dirty, since you get all hard and excited when you get spanked, right? Seem to me that you liked it when I done it, boy. You even asks to be spanked. And you wanted to come to the party so bad? Then you comes on to ol' Al and gives him head. And me, too, when I tell you you don' gots to. YOU ain't done shit that you didn't WANNA do, chile!"

"Tha's just it!" Eric shot back, "I thought it was a party for fun! You said it was for me! They all brought me presents, even! And then you go and video it to sell it! They paid to come! Tha's wrong!"

"Boy, how you think I make da money to live here?" Day replied, waving his hand about, "Computer repair? Photo work? Sellin' my writin'? I make more sellin' CB's in all size than I do in all dat other shit put TO-gether!" Day declared. "Then you goes and invades my privacy! And what if we not be here, boy? Think about Lewie [Luis]," he pronounced it wrong, "Think about how many'a'boy like him get raped, if not for us? And you gets paid, too, and no one get hurt. You say 'no', and it mean 'no'! Otherwise, Tony come bust some ass!"

"An' if they sittin' at home watchin' a move o'you, or lookin' at pictures, you know what? That mean they NOT out there lookin' for a boy that not wanna do it! You wants to do it, they wants to see it, and it's good for everybody!" Day explained again. "Dat way, no innocent boy get hurt!"

"Well what about Sandie?" Eric pulled his last card, "They might have to leave here, 'cause you all hate him! Where were all you big, high-and-mighty guys when he was sick and in pain?"

"We made a mistake," Day admitted. "But it's just not right to cut a boy's balls off, no matter who do it!"

"He had a medical thing!" Eric was almost crying, "And you threw him away! Well you know what? I think it's cool that he did it! It's neat that he's not a boy or a girl now! And I don't think it's right to pimp me, or him – OR YOUR OWN SON – out like whores, SIR!" He spat. "You could have told me up front!"

"I always did like a boy what speak his mind, not like dat Philip, brainless little drone."

"Philip likes being a slave," Eric replied. "Just like Sandie likes not having balls. But Philip's OK, right? You made a lot of money on him, right?"

"And Robbie an' Tommy an' even Bright like gettin' laid, and they likes gettin' paid even more!" Day countered again. "Boy, I got taxes, insurance, lights, property tax, food, college in six years…"

"Ouch," Day mumbled. "Touché, I 'spose. Point is, boy, they LIKES it! An' I think you be thinkin' dat YOU likes it, soon as you can try it! All dis mopin' around 'cause you too little an' tight an' off limits, an' wantin' to get ready too fast."

"Don' give me dat. I see you cuddlin' Bright an' all them, kissin' on boys, an' givin' head jobs like you do? We MAKE you do dat, kid – me or Al?" He repeated.

"Tha way you come back at Margaret when she call him 'nigger', them boys thought you tear her head clean off," Day smiled again, "Take a real man, I thought, to stand up to someone bigger, and even a girl." He paused again, letting the silence do his work. "But I guess Bright don' mean that much to you after all. Break his heart when you leave. You da one what saw he be low, from bad insulin at the party. You done saved two lives since you been here, boy. Diabetic boy go low like dat, he die if no one see. An' Trey say the bad insulin so strong, he would'a' died by morning."

"I DON'T KNOW!" Eric cried. "I just do! M-maybe it was b-because he cared about me! He w-wanted me to come here, 'cause he was scared I'd… I'd be…"

"Raped and murdered, out der, all alone?" Day said it for him, and Eric slowly nodded.

"Funny how somethin' like love make you risk yo' whole life for someone, ain't it? If you run off when you first meet Bright, we all be in jail now, you think? If you went to the wrong State Police that Harve don' know, all dis be gone now." He waved around. "Bunch o'boys what don' know nothin' else be put in homes like the one you run from. Maybe some of dem runnin' off and gettin' killed an' raped."

"Then you says 'no', an' you not," Day reassured him. Then he got up. Eric shrank back in his chair as the large man drew himself up and stretched. Then he looked down at the boy with a broken expression.

"You say nothin', and then hurt a man so big, jus' by givin' him dat look," Day shook his head sadly. "I have Trey bring yo' things down. You keep what gifts you got. You go, an' I tell Harve not to follow you." He turned his back on Eric. "But you think about these boys, when you think about tellin', hear? You THINK about where Bright end up, or where Sandie end up." He shook his head. "I were wrong, an' I make it right wit' him. If you be wrong, Cole, then don't make it wrong for everyone else here. Two wrongs don' make right, boy. They makes a disaster."

"You go tell Al goodbye, 'for you go," Day told him sharply. "Poor ol' man deserve dat. But you leave his conch shell. His daddy find it when he first come here, an' bore it out like a trumpet. You got no right takin' it."

Eric watched him go inside, seeing the bowed head, the slumped shoulders, and the shuffling gait. Day's hand was over his face.

The doorbell sounded extremely loud as the boy pressed the button. He waited. The large shell in his hands was getting heavy, and sweat was beginning to soak the back of his black T-shirt. He shook his leg, feeling the cuff of his shorts tickling the back of his knees. His feet were hot in his Nikes as he stood on the cement step in the sun, thinking of how good the cool ocean water would feel.

Next door, on the other side of a neatly trimmed hedge, a few discarded items sat on a patio table in the shade: a small clear plastic tube and what looked like a little plastic cup, a heavy metal ring, a pile of tiny screws, and what looked like a large rubber bullet with a curved metal rod extending from its base. Next to this odd assortment sat a large round chrome ring and a power screwdriver.

The boy's stomach grumbled. He rang the bell again, glancing over his shoulder at the red mountain bike parked in the drive. A black backpack with a green emblem sat next to it, and another bag hung from the top crossbar.

"C'mon," the boy groaned, checking his watch. He knew he didn't have much time before Brighton came home for dinner, and he really didn't think he could face that.

The boy didn't bother to correct him on his name. He wasn't even certain himself, which name to use.

The old man's jaw dropped. "You're dressed!" He observed, looking as if he didn't know what to do as the boy held out the shell to him. He took it with trembling hands. "But I gave this to you, for your birthday?" He asked.

The boy didn't correct him. He figured that in Mr. Albert's mind, it was close enough.

"I know it's very special to you, sir, and that's why I can't keep it. It wouldn't be right. You see, I… I'm leaving."

"Wondered if someone had changed the rules without telling me," Mr. Albert snorted, looking this way and that and finally placing the conch on a coffee table. "Well, it's hot out," he said, going to the refrigerator and bringing back two cans of soda. "Doc says to drink diet decaff, but when you're ninety years old, what the hell does he know?" The old man snorted.

"Sit," Albert told him, pointing at a barstool. The boy did that, hooking his feet around the crossbars of its legs and sipping his drink. As he studied the old man, he saw something there on his face that he hadn't really noticed before – clarity. The whimsical, almost silly expression that his adult friend almost always wore wasn't there.

"Well, I liked the sound of 'Cole', although 'Eric' was a lot more fun, I think?" The old man sighed. The boy had no idea what he was talking about. "I knew something was up when I saw you standing there wearing clothes."

"What happened to 'Grandpa'?" Albert asked. "I always hated being called 'sir'. Made me feel old."

"He … Da-… Mr. Day, I mean, said I could. But the shell, well, he said… he's right," the boy shook his head.

"Michael always was a smart boy," Albert nodded. Then he burped. "Pardon! Where was I? Oh, yes. Well, enough beating the shit out of the proverbial bush, boy!" He glared at the child, "What the hell happened? Someone hurt you?"

Eric (he realized that that was the name he'd begun to call himself in his head) blinked. "No, sir? He… asked me the same thing?"

Eric blinked again, not sure what to make of that. "Uhm, no?" He decided to drop the 'sir', as the old man had suggested.

"Well, then what, boy?" Albert persisted, leaning down on the bar on his elbows to face him. "If there's something so badly wrong with my little resort here, so that a boy wants to leave, then I damn well want to know what that is! You tell me if he hurt you!"

"Well who did you think owned this overgrown Popsicle stand? Your daddy? Day, I mean?" Albert laughed. Eric nodded. "Not hardly," the old man went on. "Wanna hear about it?"

Albert glanced at the clock on the wall. "I see. Yes, Brighton will be home soon to clean up and eat. Always eats at half-seven or so. You probably wanna be out of here before that so you don't have to say goodbye to him, don't you?"

"Not a very nice thing to do," Albert informed him. "You know, I figured you were a smart boy when I first saw you living under that shed."

"I thought to myself, now Al, there's a sharp kid, if he can come this far on a bike, not get himself killed, and still seem so healthy and happy living on his own."

"You knew?" Eric wondered, and Mr. Albert pulled a missing child poster from a drawer and showed it to him.

"You left a bicycle track in the sand the first day," the old man informed him. "I came by to check the power station, and I saw it – and the campfire remains. No one ever goes down there, not so great of a view, and all the DANGER signs, so I knew something was up." He gave the boy a long look. "So why don't you want to say goodbye to your brother, or the others?"

Eric drank his soda. Mr. Albert got him another one. "I just… can't do it," Eric admitted. "And he's not really my brother."

"Because you think it'll hurt them?" He asked in a softer voice. "And your leaving won't? I think that's even worse, child," he mused, "To say nothing of all the other hearts you'll break. How are the other boys gonna feel?"

"Luis, Sandie, Brighton – certainly, everyone whose lives you've touched here, kid. And me," He added, almost as an afterthought. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you, you know." He put a hand on Eric's arm. His touch was firm, but gentle. "Is this really what you want to do, boy?"

"No," Eric admitted glumly, thinking that he was about to get another argument like he'd had with Mr. Day. An argument that he was beginning to think he'd lost.

"S-someone to love me, I mean, really love me, and not just want to fuck me," Eric replied in a small voice.

"And here I'd thought you were a smart kid," Albert rolled his eyes. "Boy, in ninety years, I been around the block a few times. I've seen 'em come, but well… no… never seen 'em go! I guess there's a first time for everything."

"It's like the song Hotel California, my boy. 'You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave'. Folks come, folks go. Like Margaret's family, sometimes they're evicted. However, once you're a member of this unique little community, you're still a member – no matter where you go. Know what I mean?"

"Well, let's just say that no one went to sleep with the fishes in concrete goulashes," Albert said, and Eric looked even more confused. "No one got killed and dumped at sea," Albert clarified it.

"You think this is the only place in the world like this, boy?" He laughed. "I wasn't the first one to have this idea, you know, and over time, like-minded folks like us sort of find each other and get together."

Albert nodded. "Every last blade of grass – even your house! Michael's just the finance manager for the community."

"I see," Albert realized what he was on about, "You've got a problem with the paying clients?"

"No, whores get paid, sluts just do it for fun," Albert informed him, and Eric's jaw dropped. "And you did have fun these past few weeks, didn't you?"

"Not what I meant, bad joke," Albert clarified. "If you think you're the first boy in the world to like a few, shall we say, bizarre things to do for fun, you're wrong. There's nothing wrong with that, which I hope you've learned by now?"

"How do I put this?" Albert looked at the ceiling. "I think you're misdirecting your anger, boy. If you want to hate someone because you think the boys here are being mistreated, then you need to hate me, not Michael Day. He just does the books and fills out the register. I write the paychecks. Get it?"

"B-but I… I love you!" Eric sniffed. "When you… when you had a heart attack…"

"Then don't you have just what you said you wanted, then?" Albert cut him off, "Someone to love you? You think I don't love you? Kid, no boy here since 1962, when I was 40, that is, and old enough to be one, has EVER called me 'grandpa'! You know what that meant to me?"

"I think I see," Albert nodded. "You loved a bunch of people, and they left you. So you're going to do the same thing? You want me to feel like you felt? You want that for Brighton? You want to punish us for what was done to you?"

"But the boys get paid to DO IT with men who don't even live here, or don't even love them!" Eric protested. "How could you have had that kind of idea?! It's not right!" Eric cried, shocked to finally put it all together – the loving old man he called 'Grandpa' was really the mastermind behind the community and how it made money to sustain itself.

He just sat there, stunned, feeling empty as his stomach growled. In fact, without his plug, he felt empty all over. Even his chest felt hollow.

"Back in my day, we called it 'rowing out to the islands,'" Mr. Albert went on. "Sounds a lot better than 'getting fucked'. In the year 1933, when I was 11 years old, just like you, I made my first trip out to the islands with a rather high roller by the name of Smith, or so he said," Albert sighed. "You see, my father worked for him, and he was busting his ass to pay for a house here. Well, his boss took a shine to me, you see, and those were hard times, my boy. The Great Depression and all, and while we didn't see it here yet, World War II coming on. My father was in hock to the bank, he'd lost a lot of hours and thus income at his job due to low demand. We were about to lose the house, and then Mr. Smith offered him a great deal of money to… spend time with me!"

"No, I knew what I was in for, boy," Mr. Albert corrected him. "It was my duty, you see. And my father, well, let's just say he liked me, all right? He also liked good women, but he also liked little boys. Sound familiar?"

Eric nodded glumly. "But you still had to have sex with a man who didn't love you. Your daddy sold your butt to him for money. He didn't love you."

"Don't you ever say a thing like that, Cole Eric!" Mr. Albert said firmly, a tone that he'd never taken with a boy, or so that Eric had ever heard. "My father worked himself to death to provide for us, and in the end, it was Mr. Smith and his friends who saved us all! You cannot know how it was then, boy! You've never gone a week without food, and even when you were on the run, you had your own outs! I did what I had to do, and yes, I didn't like it at first! I liked girls, and I still do! But I soon found that a lot of men – powerful men – liked BOYS! And I learned that I could use that." He paused to get another drink. "But there were some, you could tell, that were different. It was in the way they held you, the way they took you, and the way they acted when they were done with you. Yes, I played my part and used some of them, laying it on thick to get more money or presents from them. And you know what? I felt bad about it sometimes! I did! But I comforted myself in the fact that if those men came here, to visit with boys who wanted to do it, never mind if they needed to do it for the money, then they wouldn't be out there hurting other boys who didn't. You also have to remember, boy, that the views held by society were not nearly so liberal and open as they are today. Back then, a boy they even suspected of liking other boys might have been forcibly castrated, put in a mental hospital, or worse! We gave them a safe place to come, too." Mr. Albert looked so very melancholy. "And in the end, I'd give anything to go back, I think. Isn't that silly, child?"

Eric then made a mental leap: "So Mr. Smith started it all with you, and his friends, and then other boys you knew, and when he died, he left it all to you, didn't he? All of Seaview?"

Mr. Albert nodded. "Why do you think we're so careful about who we let in, Eric?" He then asked, switching names again. "It wasn't long that Smith found out that some men weren't to be trusted. Some boys disappeared, and some got hurt pretty bad. From there on out, we were very careful. Then things just sort of grew over time, then really exploded with the birth of the Internet." He sighed. "I'm old now, child," he moved to touch Eric's hair, and the boy didn't flinch this time. "I've been married, had children, lost one, had grandchildren that I never see, and now here I am. Alone." He hugged the boy tightly. "Until you came along."

"I've waited a long time for a boy like you to come into my life, Eric – Cole. Whichever you prefer. Maybe I'm senile, but I always thought that I'd have a sign. Let me show you something. Come up here and have a look. Second door on the left," he pointed to the stairs, and took the electric lift chair up.

"Open the photo book on the little round table to the front page!" Albert called after him.

As he opened the door, Eric was transported back in time. The room smelled fine, but it looked like 1940 or something in there. There was a canopied bed, and a steamer trunk at the foot of it. An old pair of polished, small, button-up high top shoes sat by the bed on a woven rug. The floor was shining hardwood, and the walls were covered in oddly patterned wallpaper. There was a chandelier in brass with odd bulbs, and no electrical outlets that Eric could see. There were portraits of people on the walls, black and white, behind thick oval glass in ornate frames staring back at him. Light spilled into the room through the west windows, diffused by lacey, tall curtains of a kind that Eric had never seen. The curtains waved in a slight, hot breeze. The room was warm, and Eric realized that it was not connected to the central air system.

A young boy with long, curly black hair in a sepia toned image smiled placidly at him, and Eric gasped. He wore a frilly lace white shirt, and his hair was tied back in a white ribbon. This boy from the past reclined on the very bed he was looking at, naked from the waist down, and he was holding what looked like the conch shell that Eric had just returned. His small genitals were free, but in repose, and he looked almost like a Renaissance painting of an angel.

As he flipped through the album, Eric saw images of other boys. All of them had long hair, and some were naked. Some were dressed in ornate little suits, some in dark or white sailor suits, and some in silly looking swimwear. There were images of a beach, and Eric recognized the landscape's sharper points.

In the distance of one photo, he saw the small islands. There was a picture of the first boy that looked like him in a rowboat, beckoning someone to come and sail away with him. SS Puerulus was the name painted on its side.

Eric sat there for a long time. His watch beeped a warning – half an hour to get home for dinner.

"Who was he?" Eric asked Mr. Albert softly, feeling like speaking would violate something sacred.

"My baby," Mr. Albert sniffed. "My firstborn – Jacob. Carried off by one of the many plagues of the day when he was just nine."

Mr. Albert sighed. "After he died, I gave myself over to vice," the old man confessed. "Wine, women, and song, trying to kill my pain. And the occasional boy or girl. It's a miracle I've lived so long! For all I know, Eric, you ARE my Grandson, or great-grandson. I'm sure I have a lot of illegitimate, unknown family out there from my wild oats sown in my youth. When I first saw you…" his voice trailed off, hardly audible, "I thought… I thought that Jacob had finally come home to me." He made an indelicate sound then. "Bah! Silly old man, I am! Who believes in things like that? What a Deus ex Machina that would be!"

"A wild, almost impossible coincidence, often used in bad writing to tie up a plot," Mr. Albert replied.

Eric thought about it. He'd never known his grandparents. His real mom and dad had said that they'd died when he was very small, and he didn't remember them. He didn't even know their names, or recollect seeing any photos of them. So, he reasoned, if Mr. Albert had really been 'sowing that many wild oats' back in his day, then yes, it was very much possible.

"You know what I did when I saw you, boy? Sleeping under that shed, in all the natural perfection that is 'boy incarnate'?"

"I sat there for a while, just watching you sleep. Then I came home, sat in Jacob's room, and cried for hours." He reached for a tissue to wipe his face and blow his nose. "Then I said to myself, 'Everett, THIS boy is the one'! I was never one to believe in coincidence, you see."

"I'm not telling you. Why does it matter now, Eric? You're leaving anyway, aren't you?"

"We can't always get what we want, child," Albert sighed. "But I want something before you go."

Mr. Albert pulled him into a hug. His hands touched the boy all over, but never under his clothing. He kissed Eric, but not passionately. And even though Eric no longer wore a CB device, Mr. Albert did not touch his genitals. Then he held the boy's face in his old, wrinkled hands and just stared at him for a long while. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

"I want you to think about how you felt just then, child. Then I want you to think about how you felt when some stranger touched you. Yes, Chief Pearce told me you almost got grabbed once! Then think about Michael Day. When you notice the difference, boy, think about THAT. Only then should you make up your mind to go."

Mr. Albert kissed his cheek one more time. "Always know that you are loved, child," he whispered, "And take that thought from a lonely old man who isn't just after a good time, will you?"

Eric stared back at him for a moment, realizing that neither he nor Mr. Albert were hard. There he was, totally unencumbered, and Eric realized that he wasn't feeling 'sexy' (perverted, the Martins would have called it) at all.

He mounted his bike and rode all the way around the long cul de sac of Seaview. But there was no one on the road. As he reached the curve, near the shore, he saw no one on the beach. The breeze coming in off the ocean was cool, but to Eric, it didn't feel right.

Eric turned his bike and rode off the side of the boardwalk, breaking the rule about no bikes on the beach. He rode on down a ways, not caring if a wave got his shoes wet, until he reached the shed.

The only tracks in the sand were from the cart that Mr. Albert drove. The remnants of his campfire were still there, in the small ring of rocks he'd made some months before. He stopped to pick up a shell. It was cream colored and speckled, and Eric recognized it as a Junonia from the book that Luis had given him for a party gift. It was a rare find, but instead of pocketing it, Eric threw it back into the sea.

Eric got in and just sat there for a long time, feeling more alone than he could ever remember. Even when he'd been on the road, he was sure he'd never felt so alone.

When he beached the boat, Eric sighed. It was the last thing he'd wanted to do at Seaview – visit the island. Well, almost the last thing… and he had to confess himself somewhat disappointed.

The grassy little island had a few scrubby trees and wildflowers, many broken tree stumps and rotting logs, and Eric could see to the other side of it as he climbed up the thin beach and over some gravel.

At the center of the island, nestled between a few short evergreens, was a solitary gravestone:

Jacob Everett Albert
1940-1949
—

'And the Angels wept'

Back in the community of Seaview, many dinners were quiet affairs that night, as word traveled fast in such a place. It seemed that Tony had spotted Eric on his bike, dressed and packed, and Luis had made some calls.

Brighton Day had come home to bad news, and he'd spent the evening sitting in his 'little bro's' room, just staring at the shelf of left behind seashells. There were too many to carry in a backpack, he knew, and his head throbbed in a dizzying pain. Brighton hadn't eaten dinner. He just sat there clutching a lightning whelk shell, staring at it.

On the far side of the cul de sac, Tommy Eddington gelled his blond hair and stared at the red-eyed reflection in the mirror. The boy looked awful, and he was sure that his dad's boss wasn't going to be very happy with him that night. He really wanted to be left alone.

Robbie Morris, just a few doors down, and despite having spent most of his afternoon with a young man at Lucky Cove, was feeling gutted. And it wasn't because of the sex, either. The fellow had hardly had enough to pleasure Robbie, much less leave him feeling 'fucked'. But even the offer from his dad to fuck him held no appeal to the normally insatiable boy.

Luis Alvarez simply limped back to his room on the first floor of the small cottage near the guard shack and cried himself to sleep.

On the other side of the neighborhood, Philip Desoto asked to be put to bed early. As he was strapped down to his bed and his 'quiet hood' put on his head, he didn't even bother with the pretend-protests that he knew would get him a playful bedtime spanking from his Master. He just didn't feel like it that night.

On the cliff at Lucky Cove, overlooking the waves crashing onto the large, smooth boulders below, Sandie Farris sat all alone, pondering what a long way down it was.

"I can't come in tonight," Todd Pearce called in to work, "My stomach's a mess. You want details?" He asked. Then he hung up the phone. He sipped at his soda, remembering the first time that Eric, nicknamed 'Harry', had come in and tried to break a $100 bill for a drink, and a few candy bars. "Silly disguise," he mumbled.

And back at his shed, a boy who wasn't even sure of his own name anymore stripped off his clothes after he beached the little rowboat. He crawled in under the porch and snuggled himself down into the warm sand.

But he didn't sleep that night. Thoughts of Mr. Albert and how it felt to be held like that would not allow it.

In the morning, Brighton woke up in Eric's room. He was rudely roused by Trey, and given a shot and food he didn't want. Trey had nearly stuffed the latter down his throat. Brighton had only accepted it after Trey threatened to put him on an IV drip if he didn't eat something.

"Don't make me go and get one of Sandie's medical toys," he threatened him. "NG tubes are not pleasant!"

Trey shouted after him, "Don't go too far. I don't like the looks of that last reading!"

Brighton didn't care. He couldn't let Eric go without at least trying to say goodbye. Maybe he could find him, talk some sense into him…

Brighton ran the whole way, ignoring the woozy feeling boiling at the back of his head. As he got closer, he noticed the bicycle tracks, and he felt his heart leap. He just knew that Eric was close by.

When he got to the shed though, Eric was nowhere to be seen. It was clear he had stayed the night. There were the telltale signs of where his brother had tossed and turned in the sand beneath the shed, and tracks leading away.

Down the way, up the hill, Brighton saw the bad spot in the fence that Eric had never gotten around to showing him.

Brighton cursed himself for not thinking of the shed sooner. Of course it would be the first place Eric would go. If Brighton hadn't been moping about Eric's old room all night, he might have had a chance at catching him. Now it was too late.

Brighton didn't know what to do. On his bike, Eric could be anywhere. He'd pedaled over a thousand miles [1,500 km] on that bike; Brighton knew he would never catch him.

Of all the days for Michael Day's phone to 'be blowin' up', as the boys called it, his clients couldn't have picked a worse one. He knew he was behind on DVD orders, he had a photo session scheduled for Sandie – oddly enough – as the college boy who'd met him a day or so earlier had been so taken with the androgynous child that he'd blown half his student loan to be with him. And to top it all off, some idiot from a number that Day didn't recognize kept texting him about ordering a CB-Junior for his young son.

Eric was gone, and Brighton was making himself sick over it. It wouldn't be long, Day suspected, that if the boy kept up with his refusal to eat, that he'd be in the hospital with Doc griping at them nonstop again. He recalled seeing his baby laying there, all of eight years old, tubes and wires snaking all over and into him, and being told that the boy might have had a mild stroke; his blood sugar had been so high that it couldn't be measured.

Day pocketed his phone, his thumb automatically going for IGNORE each time the infernal little device buzzed. He found the beach to be quite busy when he arrived there, but he noticed something out of place at once – there weren't any boys. "Fuckin' not even Robbie?!" He looked all around the beach.

"Dis be serious," Day mumbled, wondering if the usual 'gang of criminals', as he sometimes called them, were in as bad a shape as his own son. He began to worry that the boy would go looking for Eric, and go low somewhere, passing out all alone with no one knowing where he was. He checked an app on his phone to locate Brighton's GPS collar.

Day snapped his fingers. He went to one of the vendor shacks along the boardwalk and bought a snack cake, 70 grams of wheat and sugar carbs with a generous load of fat crème filling, just in case.

"Yes, you were," Mr. Albert spoke up from behind him, which made Day jump. "He came to see me before he left," the old man added quickly. "I wouldn't be so worried, Mike. Maybe he's tried to call you? Perhaps he'll have a change of heart?"

"Everyone tryin' to call me today, I be a bit behind in orders for…" He paused, sniffing.

"DVD's of the party? Yes, the boy mentioned that. He was quite upset about it," Albert explained.

"Did you ever get around to taking pictures of him, you know, family portraits?" Albert asked. "I have some nice props you could use, or a room, if you bring the lights over."

Day shook his head, realizing that he had not even one formal portrait of the boys together.

"Tell him everything, the little snoop, right after I beats his ass!" Day declared.

"IF he come back," Day sighed. "Wish I knew where Bright were. Dis thing just say 'beach'."

He found a somewhat wobbly Brighton coming back up the beach about halfway to the shed. His monitor was blinking, and Day shoved the snack cake at him, scooping the boy up in his arms to run back to Tony's guard shack where they kept an emergency insulin kit, so that his body could make use of the sugar input. Then he carried him home.

"I looked, Daddy," Brighton groaned, not even complaining as Trey came after him. "But he's gone. Gone on da bike. He could be anywhere by now," the boy began to cry. "Daddy, why didn't he even say goodbye?" Brighton sobbed.

"It's my fault, baby," Day tried to comfort him. "I done blowed it wit' him. I shoulda been up front."

"I didn't tell him 'bout all of it," Day confessed. "He don' like tha idea of strangers… wantin' him. He only wanted…" he couldn't say it, though.

"He's going to spike," Trey fretted, wondering just how much insulin to use to cover so many high-glycemic carbohydrates without crashing the boy again. He decided on a small dose of fast-acting insulin to supplement what he'd already had.

"It'll wash out, now," Day stroked his son's head. "You stay down, restin', hear? Don' make me put the manacles on you, boy!" he warned him. "I should go to work. You come gets me if you need me?"

Day didn't get much work done; Brighton, in fact, was very needy up until around noon.

That night, a strange noise was reported to Chief Pearce. Some thought that it was a trumpet of the Apocalypse, or a cliff sliding apart somewhere. Many described it as the earth groaning, especially the 2012-end-of-the-world believers.

In the old boy's bedroom of the most ornate house in the community, Everett Albert heard it and knew what it was. He smiled. It had been his idea, after all.

He found Sandie with Mr. Albert's treasured conch shell, sitting on the highest point of the cliffs, blowing it. "Eric came out at night, hid in the daytime," the eunuch-boy informed him. "If he's out there, he'll hear it, sir! Maybe he'll come back!"

"The whole damn town heard it," Pearce complained. "I think that's enough for tonight."

But at regular intervals, all night long, there came another blast of the conch. At three in the morning, Pearce found little Luis on 'shell duty'. He let it slide, wondering just how the crippled boy had gotten himself up to the top anyway…

That night, as Day put his phone on to charge, he saw the hundreds of ignored calls and texts. Some of them he recognized, and went to his PC to send emails to the usual clients, to apologize for the delay in shipping. One number, however, he did not know – and there were well over a hundred texts and calls from it. He texted back: Busy, get to you tomorrow.

In the morning, after a nearly sleepless night, Day awoke to find that number again had contacted him: You there? I want to talk business.

Texter: Codeword brighton11type1, and Day recognized the password that only a valid customer would have.

Day was typing out a reply when the texter replied, Meet me at the café across from the Old Candance building. Day felt his stomach roll. "Why don't he just call me?" He complained.

Gimme a half hour, Day replied with pang of realization: Eric's CB parts were still sitting on the patio table, and should be a perfect fit. He went to gather them up, sterilize them, get dressed, and then deliver them.

As the lunch rush was over, the café was fairly deserted. Day was sure he'd recognize the type when he saw him. After all, he'd done this before. Many times. He grew somewhat aroused at the fact that some little boy somewhere was about to have his junk locked up!

As he entered the café, he saw only a red ball cap hardly sticking up over the top of a booth. As there was no one else there, he called up the last text and hit CALL SENDER.

Day walked up to the booth and sat down. The fellow was so small that he looked like a child, his hat pulled down over his face and hiding behind a menu. He wore a black hoodie and shorts, with cheap white (and new) Q-Mart sneakers. There was a used plate beside him with remnants of ketchup and a few overcooked French fries [chips].

"You got the CB?" The 'midget' asked in a rough, stuffy voice that was hardly audible.

A midget? Day reconsidered it. I'm dealin' with a midget? Then he began to suspect something. He smiled. "Right here. You got cash?" he replied.

"Some, we may have to haggle," The stranger replied. "There's more I'd like to buy, too. Or buy into. I hear you do a good business in… boys?"

Day blinked. It was the sign that the buyer was indeed valid. "What all you wants?"

"He gettin' an excape-proof chastity device, with small plug. What else he need?" Day wondered.

The stranger looked over the menu through mirrored sunglasses. "A family. One with a daddy with a firm hand. Maybe a big brother? Someone to keep him in line, spank him when he needs it? Someone who'll love him and take care of him?" The stranger explained, and Day began to grow suspicious. "And protect him from strangers. Maybe a big black man?"

"How much percent you want, to find this stray a good home?" Day blinked. A big black man? The hell?! "An' if you buyin', how much?"

"$318.42 [€ 240.01]," the stranger answered, pushing the cash at him from behind the menu. "All he got left, after lunch."

"You wants to buy dis boy a whole family?" Day gasped, as it all suddenly came to him. His heart began to pound. He reached over and grabbed the red hat, knocking the menu away, and a mound of curly black hair spilled out from under it. The 'midget' took off his sunglasses.

"So, can we make a deal, Mister Day?" Eric asked him, unshed tears standing in his eyes. "The boy has some assets. He can work off the balance. Maybe some investments, like making movies?" He looked at the parts for the CB. "He might need help with the installation?"

Day wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't exactly grab the boy in public, but his instincts were screaming at him to do just that. Still, he smiled.

But Eric wasn't done. He glanced around to make sure they were alone. He sipped his drink.

"He's kinda gay, you know. He likes to make out with boys, and play with himself, so he needs a CB, bad. He's kinda a shrimp, though. His foster family said he was a pervert, so he might wanna DO things," Eric nodded. "And his b-brother," he sniffled, wiping his nose on a napkin, "said he wanted to go too far, too fast. He's a real problem child."

Day bit his lower lip, slowly nodding. He took the pile of cash and pocketed it. "Probably high maintenance, get dirty, need a bath all tha time? Always be in trouble an' needin' spanked? He give good head?" He smiled.

Eric nodded. "He's got two character references. But… he's never been… done yet… you know?"

"He pretty tight, you think? Virgin?" Day asked, keeping in tune with Eric's so-called sales pitch. It was all he could do to not grab him, kiss him, and tell the boy how sorry he was for not being honest with him at first. He found himself on the verge of begging Eric to come back, pride be damned. If nothing else, just for Brighton.

Day shook his head, and Eric froze. "Seven years hard labor," Day sighed. "Workin' tha beach, you know, goin' to parties, takin' care o'the littler boys. All dat schoolin', too, then college. He might have a sore butt sometime! I knows a family what might be wantin' him, but they gots a crazy ol'white Grand-daddy, too. He kinda senile, you know," Day whispered, playing along. "I hear the Daddy gots a big dick, though? Think he be interested?"

"I'm so sorry, Daddy!" He wailed, flinging himself across the table into Day's arms.

Day grabbed him up, and kissed him, bystanders be damned! "No, baby, I'm the one who be sorry," Day began to cry as well. "I didn't tell you the whole truth, an' I scared you, bad! Ain't no wonder you run away, thinkin' I might sell you to someone!"

When the worst of Eric's sobbing was over, and Day assured the confused waitress that it was all right, he took the boy's face in his hands and stared at him for a moment.

Michael Day unloaded the worn bicycle from the trunk of the Cadillac when he returned home. Then he unstrapped the naked boy in the back seat, carrying him over to the patio so he wouldn't burn his bare feet on the hot driveway. He handed the boy a pair of flip-flops and fetched a shovel.

"You buried it, you goes an' digs it up," He ordered him, as Eric had stashed his loot from the party under the shed.

Eric stood with his legs spread and hands on his head while Day put his CB back on. The boy gasped and squirmed as his plug went back in, but he smiled the whole time, even when his little erection had to be forced down! In all the time he'd been gone, unencumbered, he'd never once touched himself.

"So why you pick that café to meet up?" Day had to ask. "When you could'a jus' come back?"

"I… I wanted to see the Candace Building, Daddy," Eric admitted. "I wanted to… to see the place where Cole 'died'."

Day smiled at him, then secured the GPS collar around his neck, snugging it up, and promising that it would always remain there.

"You comes right back, an' it be a surprise!" Day added. "Think you can sneak there and back without bein' seen?"

"Napping," Trey informed him. "He's still in a state, sir, but his reading is around 120, which is acceptable. We got lucky this time."

"He lucky he have you," Day corrected him. "I gots a surprise for him. Go and run a bath an' set up an enema, would you, Trey?"

"You found him? He's back?!" He gasped. Then his face went flat again. "Charming. Back to twice the cooking, cleaning, complaining…" and as his voice trailed off as he headed for the bathroom, Day thought that he'd never seen the stuffy young man so happy.

Once he was back home and had a much-needed bath with his Daddy, Eric went to put his stuff back in his room. He opened the door with a huge sense of relief, and saw someone sleeping in his bed.

His pillow was wet from where he'd been crying, and from the looks of the bed, it looked as if the half-covered dark form had been there for a while.

"Brighton?" Eric whispered, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He bent to kiss his ear.

"Go'way, Trey," Brighton complained. Eric gave his earlobe a brief suck. Then Brighton's eyes shot open.

"ERIC!!" He screamed, taking his little brother in a tight hug as he began to cry again. "You came back! I tried to find you, but…"

But those were all the words they got out as they then kissed, falling into one another on the bed, their hands moving here and there, delighted in that missed closeness.

"Let 'em be," Day whispered at the door to Trey. "Not like they can do anything!"

Trey was in the height of his glory that night, as for the first time since he'd gotten it, Eric's phone had been filled with calls and texts from the other boys, once Brighton had texted them all with the good news. One by one, they began showing up at the Days' door. There were at least twenty boys who lived at Seaview, and even though Eric had only become close to a select few of them, it seemed that everyone was happy to have him back.

"I would appreciate a bit more notice, next time we have a party like this, sir," Trey complained to anyone who would listen to him, as he served drinks and snacks.

The doorbell rang as he was just pulling trays of hot wings from the oven, having scavenged up what he could for the impromptu dinner. "Get that, would you?" He shouted to the dining room.

Day blinked. The boys laughed. "I guess I will?" Day smiled, as he went to the door.

Sandie Farris was standing there, and other than when Mr. Albert had had his heart attack, it was the first time that the boy had come there since his self-surgery incident. He offered Mr. Day a small package with a tag on it that read: To Eric.

"Since I didn't get to come… to his party, sir," Sandie mumbled, as he turned to leave.

"Sandie, I'm sorry," Day grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. "We should'a' listened to you," he added, suddenly finding this androgynous little person very erotic as he took in the tiny little CB tube that he wore, and the slightly enlarged breasts. "I hears we need to do some photos o'you?"

"Been a long time, child," Day took his hand and ushered him in. He was just closing the door when the bell rang again.

"I heard there's a party here?" Mr. Albert smiled, his hands full of thick binders of papers and a large conch shell.

Albert handed him the conch. "I believe this is yours," he kissed the top of his head, as Eric took the shell.

When the party was finally over, and two tired boys were bathed and cleansed, they were surprised to be called back to the living room instead of being put to bed at such a late hour.

Mr. Albert was sitting there sipping an iced drink, and looking sly as he beckoned Eric to him. The boy cuddled up with him on the loveseat, holding the conch shell on his lap, and Mr. Albert handed an old photo album to Brighton.

"That's not Eric," Albert assured them, as he opened the important looking binders. "That's my son, Jacob." He handed Eric a pen, a very old one that had to be filled from a small bottle. It had a long metal tip like a razor, and it was heavy for a pen, Eric thought.

"My revised will," Albert informed them, as Brighton continued his fascinated look through the photo album.

"I know this boat!" The black boy piped up, "The SS Puerulus! I saw it when I was looking for Eric!"

"Yeah, I rowed it out to the island, the night I… I left," Eric agreed. He looked lovingly at the old man. "'And the angels wept.'"

Mr. Albert went pale, and he dropped a binder. He grabbed his drink and drained it of the strong smelling tan liquid. Trey brought him another. "You couldn't have!" He gasped. "That boat was lost in a hurricane back in the fifties!"

"My God, Al," Day gasped, examining the documents that Eric was now scribbling his name on. "This is the deed to Seaview!"

"Which will all go to Eric upon my death," Albert nodded, taking the photo album back from Brighton and turning it to the first page, where the boy who looked so very much like Eric smiled back him. "And a wealthy little boy is going to need a firm administrator to oversee his assets, until he comes of age!"

"An' oversee his ASS," Day nodded, as he signed off on the appropriate forms. "You been busy, Al?"

Once the papers were all signed, Mr. Albert took his leave of them. Eric insisted on walking him home, and when they got there, the old man took him to the garage. It was packed with 'things', and Eric had never been in there before.

There was a long, red car parked in there. It had a spare tire mounted on the front fender, wide whitewall tires, and running boards with a lot of chrome. Eric had never seen anything like it, marveling at the ornate grille and bullet-like headlights.

"That, my boy, is a 1932 Stutz Bearcat," Albert informed him, pulling the key from the ignition and clipping it to Eric's collar like a charm. He then led to boy to the golf cart. "Can you drive this thing?"

"Good, let's go for a ride," Albert told him, as they headed down the road and then onto the beach.

When they arrived at the shed, Mr. Albert moved to the shore more quickly than Eric would have thought possible.

The SS Puerulus was still docked there, as if waiting for someone. Mr. Albert dropped to his knees in the sand and wept, touching the faded black letters and the hand-worn oars. Eric went to him, and the old man held him as he stared out across the waves in the moonlight.

"I think I'll row out to the island, Jacob," Mr. Albert declared. He then kissed the boy, passionately. Once. He then held him at arm's length, as if appraising him. "Take the cart back, won't you, child?"

"I think I'll row out to the island, too, later on," Eric nodded. "If you know what I mean, Grandpa?"

"You do that, son," Albert agreed, as he climbed into the small boat and Eric shoved it off.

As he watched the small craft disappear into the dimly moonlit waves, Eric picked up the conch shell and blew it. Then he sat down in the sand, the gentle waves just barely lapping at his bare feet, until the crescent moon disappeared behind a cloud.

It was quite late when he returned home, but his Daddy was still waiting up for him. Brighton was dozing in his lap.

"I see," Day smiled, taking Brighton on his hip like a toddler as he rose to take Eric's hand.

Day agreed, and the boys both slept with him in his bed that night. There was no sex that night, as they were all exhausted from the busy day. But the boys slept well, safe in their father's arms, dreaming of those things known only to little boys.

The next morning, Michael Day awoke to a strange sensation. He opened his eyes to see Eric straddling his waist, his eyes shut and his jaw clenched. Day felt his morning erection surrounded by tight warmth, and he knew at once what the boy was doing.

Before he could stop him, recognizing the look of pain on Eric's face, the boy lowered himself with a moan as his eyes popped open in shock.

Eric cried out, and Day felt that he was already inside of the boy as Eric fell forward onto his chest.

Day began to move his hips gently, kissing the boy, and telling him how foolish he was, how he was going to hurt himself, and that he'd probably have to call Doc.

"I don't care, I have to… have to row out to the islands, Daddy," said cryptically. "Just like Grandpa did!"

"You do that, then, son," Day comforted him, as Brighton awoke with a gasp at what he was seeing. Day's hands moved down Eric's back as Brighton's mouth covered Eric's. The boy then felt something hot being released inside of him as he began to tremble all over, as they both lost themselves in pleasure, if not a bit of pain.

When it was finished, Eric lay panting atop his daddy with Brighton rubbing his back. Day did not pull out of him, almost afraid to do so.

"Grandpa gave it to me, when he showed me the car," Eric mumbled, snuggling himself tighter against the man.

"To the Stutz?!" Brighton gasped. "Wh-why? Damn, bro! Nobody TOUCH da Bearcat!"

"Eric, why did he give you this key?" Day asked, his smooth accent gone and his face hardening in worry.

"He rowed out to the islands last night," Eric said, thinking that this should explain it all.

"I see," Day nodded, gently easing himself out of the boy. Eric squeaked in pain, and there was a bit of blood.

Despite the pain he was feeling, Eric insisted that they go the beach before being taken to Doc Kennedy. He was sure of what they'd find, grabbing a pair of binoculars, but he had to see it for himself.

As they arrived at the shed, there was no trace of the rowboat, or that it had ever been docked there. There were no footprints from its launch the night before. The waves had erased all that.

And Eric was sure that it had never been there before, all that time he'd lived in the shed.

Day scanned the distant island with the binoculars. "I think you be right, son," he told Eric, who just stood there, holding his brother's hand with tears on his face. "I think Grandpa done rowed away. I don' see no boat o'er there."

"It gonna hurt for a while," Day told him, taking him in his arms again. Eric reached down to take Brighton's hand.

"He had to find Jacob," Brighton said softly, his voice almost carried off by the sounds of surf and wind.

"I thinks he did," Day agreed, as they left the shed to head back. "I think all them what's lost, now be found. Let's go home, boys."

And although he hurt so badly, more so in his heart than anywhere else, Eric Michael Day knew that he had finally come home.

Paolo

Beach Boys

Chapters 5-8

Chapter V
Preparations

Chapter VI
The Party

Chapter VII
Endless Summer

Chapter VIII
Mr. Albert

The End

Paolo

Beach Boys

Chapters 5-8

Chapter VPreparations

Chapter VIThe Party

Chapter VIIEndless Summer

Chapter VIIIMr. Albert

The End

Chapter V
Preparations

Chapter VI
The Party

Chapter VII
Endless Summer

Chapter VIII
Mr. Albert