U. N. Known Writer

Charlie Visits PZA

The challenge was to write a short story with the following setting: This large town is located in the desert and looks run-down. It is best-known for a tumultuous history and its beautiful park. Also, rumor has it that the inhabitants are hiding something.

Charlie Hodson rode his bike slowly down the long winding path of what had once been an impressive building, but which had been deserted for some time.

Already tired from the long ride down the long disused track leading to the gated fence, that had just one hole large enough for the thirteen year old, to worm his way through. The sight of the large ornate gardens were a welcome relief from the nothingness that had been his journey for the past two hours from a station served by just one train a day.

Passing by each of the out buildings in turn, had been a nervous time for the oddly dressed boy, as any minute he'd expected someone to run out and tell him he should be there, to remind him of the many signs he'd ignored to get to where he now was.

For a long time, or at least what seemed like a long time to a timid thirteen year old, Charlie had dreamt about doing this, of being where he was, yet it had taken many months of planning before final parts of the puzzle had fallen into place and he was finally able to discover if the stories about PZA were true.

There it stood. Up on the hill dominating the surrounding maze of much smaller houses, all long since abandoned in the secluded in the almost forgotten valley in the most desolate part of the country. The Personal Zenith Academy was the formal title but it had become more commonly known just by the initials PZA. And no one seemed to know just what had happened to the boys who went there only that by the time they left, they weren't the same boys they'd been when they'd arrived.

Oh, there were stories about PZA. Many, many stories. All of them different, most contradictory, and all as far as young Charlie was concerned, so very horny.

Back when Charlie had been young, he'd heard whispers about a place where a boy could be sent if he was so naughty that his parents or teachers no longer wanted him around. These had scared the small blond boy, just as they'd been intended to do, but as he got older and started to want details, suddenly no one wanted to talk about the subject anymore. Which only made him more interested.

Now Charlie was inquisitive about most things, but especially those things adults didn't want to talk to him about, so he started what would be a three year obsession to find out everything he could about PZA, never once, in those early days thinking that he would every actually go there. Mainly as, back then, he wasn't even totally sure the place actually existed. Yet it did, although it took Charlie nearly two years just to discover that much.

A smile played over the boy's lips as he remembered the day his celebration dance nearly got banned from the county library when he'd come finally come across an address for his goal buried within the situations vacant pages of the local paper from nearly a hundred years earlier. PZA hadn't been named in the job advert, but the description matched as did the contact name of Céladon which also appeared many times in the various notebooks Charlie had filled during his search.

Maps were the next point of Charlie's obsession. Giant maps that took up two library tables, and which had to be painstaking searched with an equally giant magnifying glass, to find the named track that lead to the elusive buildings until at long last, Charlie had found the correct valley, and was now cycling down that very road heading towards the mysterious building.

So far the journey had been fairly easy, if long. Sure the old lady in the ticket office of his local station had made him repeat five times the name of his destination, until he'd had to spell it out, so she could enter it into her machine. Even then it had looked for a moment like even the ticket machine didn't know such a station existed, or that anyone could go there. Then the train had taken an age to go anywhere, forever stopping to allow faster trains – or in other words every other train – to pass it, while it paused, just sitting there, doing nothing, the majority of the time with just Charlie and the driver on board.

Arriving as Asstrorg Station Charlie could finally appreciate why no one in the modern railway industry would never have heard of it for there was nothing there. No staff, no waiting room, not even a platform as such, leaving Charlie drop his trusty bicycle and then jump after it.

Leaving the station there was only one road, and that wasn't much of a road, being little more than a track, giving Charlie much the same experience as those boys who'd been sent to PZA against their will, as they looked at the seemingly miles of nothingness that went off into the distance disappearing through a gap in tree covered hills.

There were no sounds, once the train had left, just a strange silence, that settled oddly on the countryside, but which was soon interrupted by the rhythmic squeak of a break black rubbing against Charlie's rear wheel that had becoming misaligned when dropped from the train. It was something that Charlie could have easily fixed, with the tool kit under his saddle, but he didn't, he just left it, knowing there was no one around to hear him, and quite liking being able to hear something.

The fence appeared suddenly, in front of him, as he turned yet another sharp corner, or rather the gates did. Lacking any signage to confirm or deny and ownership or identity, just warning about what would happen if someone dared enter. They were impregnable even to a boy on a bike, yet Charlie was more than prepared for this eventuality, thanks to the wire cutters that were taking up extra space in the tool kit he was sitting on.

After scouting the fence for several hundred yards in both directions, young keen eyes had found an animal access point that could be easily widened until it was big enough for a slightly undersized, skinny thirteen year old, and his folding bike.

On the inside of the fence, Charlie took the time to prepare himself for the final leg of his journey, wanting to get the full experience of arriving at PZA, in as near to the exact way as others had before him, and that meant changing his clothes into something more suited to the period when PZA was in full operation.

Releasing his rucksack from his back, Charlie dropped it to the ground, pulling out the small bundle of clothes he would soon be wearing, and replacing them with those he'd worn since he'd left his home very early that morning, apparently for a trip to one of his favourite research places, the Nifty Museum, just as he'd done many times before.

Dressed in a close proximity to what he understood to be the PZA uniform to be, Charlie was very conscious of the cool air now blowing around his totally exposed arms and legs. The thin white, sleeveless shirt and shorts so small they were little more than underwear, and which combined to make him appear even younger than his lack of height and still occasionally shrill voice indicated.

Bending over to snap the padlock that would ensure his rucksack remained unopened, and where he left it, Charlie felt the shirt ride up, and the shorts clinging to his buttocks in a way that made him feel both vulnerable and excited. So much so that by the time he was standing, there was a tell tail tent poking out the front of the sorts, which did little to easy the way they rode up.

The boy's erection was still there, peeking up from between his legs as they powering his feet on the pedals, as he made his final approach towards PZA itself.

Looking down Charlie could see the muscles in his thighs work under the smooth skin of his legs that looked so much longer in the tiny shorts than they ever had in the long trousers he wore for school, or the jeans peer preassure demanded he wore everywhere else. Not for the first time Charlie wondered what it would have been like to have been forced to wear shorts all the time, like those boys at PZA had been. This was one of the few things that all the stories he'd heard had actually agreed on. That the boys had worn clothes like no boy would have wanted to wear, and that, left nearly, or indeed, all of their bodies exposed.

Yes, nudity had been commonplace at PZA but Charlie just hadn't been brave enough to ride his bike totally naked, as much as he nearly given himself a sprained wrist from thinking about it. He was, however, fully prepared to do so once he got inside PZA, at least for part of the time, just as he was often naked at home, when his parents weren't around and he wasn't indulging in some other past time that required he keep at least part/s of himself covered. Activities that were all inspired by the stories he'd heard about PZA.

The stories fell into three distinct categories. Most of the people Charlie had spoken too, on his fact finding missions to various old people's homes under the guise of a history project, claimed PZA was a school. This made perfect sense given the Academy part of the name. It wasn't a regular school though. Certainly nothing Charlie would have been familiar with, even if their had been lessons. This wasn't just down to the shorts the boys wore, or even the open toed sandals on their feet, or the small caps on their heads at all time, or the compulsory identical short backs and sides hair cuts they all had. But had more to do with the way they were treated and especially how they were punished.

There were no detentions, no one was given a 'time out', the 'naughty step' didn't exist, in fact there was only one method of punishment used, and that was Corporal.

Charlie had been surprised as to what this had meant, having caused some confused looks when he'd made comments about the boys being treated as if they were in the army. That had led the boy onto another steep learning curve at the end of which, he'd learn not just that the term meant a boy being bent over someone's lap for a spanking, but about the use of canes, straps, paddles, tawes, rules and a whole of other things that could be used to turn a boy's bottom red. Not just his bottom either, but also the palms of his hands, his knuckles, the soles of his feet, and even the insides of his thighs. However, it was a well spanked bottom that was apparently the sign of a PZA boy. The stories being that most, if not all of the boys who attended had a red bottom from the moment they arrived until several days, if not weeks after they left.

Naturally, Charlie being Charlie he'd not just done academic research into the subject but had conducted a few practical experiments of his own, quickly discovering just how tricky it was to spank yourself. All the same he did manage to achieve some of the desired results he'd been interested in, leading to several days standing up whenever he could, hands that were too stiff to write with and thighs that looked like someone had played pat-a-cake with them.

One thing was certain. Time spent standing in the corner with a sore bottom was time best used for reflecting, leading Charlie to conclude that such methods probably did work, he just wasn't sure the idea of adults hitting kids was a good idea so it was some relief that he learnt that at PZA it was often the boys that punished each other. More often with the younger ones getting to spank the elder, and mostly in front of all their peers for that extra bit of humiliation.

Even so, the idea of watching another boy getting spanked, didn't really appeal to Charlie, nor for that matter did he see his own hand slapping into someone else's bottom. No, in Charlie's mind, it was the thought of himself getting a spanking that turned his drooping spigot into an urgent fire hydrant of sexuality. Yet if that had all there had been to PZA then Charlie wouldn't have been on the journey he now was, for there was nothing in those tales that would warrant such an outlandish trip as he could, and indeed, had, recreated everything about them in the privacy of his own home. There was, however, in the second category of stories the young teenager had uncovered. Those of boys being turned into babies.

As he cycled on Charlie observed the land starting to open up. The dense woodland that had concealed the fence was long gone now, faded out around the out buildings to be replaced by seemingly vast expanse of what had once been carefully kept lawns and flower beds. Lawns the boys themselves had mowed wearing whatever they were said to be wearing. Some would be in uniform, their bare legs spattered with grass cuttings. Others had no clothes at all, which made Charlie both excited and wince at the thought of his favourite toy hang around so close to such sharp blades. But that wasn't perhaps the worst of it, as at least two people Charlie had spoken too had mentioned boys his age cutting the grass whilst wearing what could only be described as baby clothes. One piece romper suits, that did nothing to hide the nappies beneath them, or the plastic pants that would occasionally poke out from the tightly cropped leg openings. Dummies were in the boy's mouths, strapped there so they couldn't remove them, even if they'd been able to do that with the mittens buckled onto their hands.

These weren't even the only sightings of the teenage boy babies that Charlie had heard about. Other's told of them wearing toddler harnesses, being taken for walks by boys smaller than they were, yet in total control of what they did and where they went. Others were strapped into over sized push chairs, and even prams, from which they had no escape, as they were pushed around the grounds or just left there for all to see the predicament they were in.

At first on hearing these tales Charlie had dismissed them, then as they got repeated from other sources, he'd become rightly angered that boys could be treated this way, but then, the more he thought about it, then the more he got excited by the prospect that there would be enough still be inside the PZA building that he could try out a few more practical experiments into the subject as getting nappies large enough for himself had proved much to embarrassing, even for a lad as sure of himself as Charlie.

Naturally if there were plastic pants available he'd try them too, wearing them for as long as it took to see if they were truly waterproof. Perhaps he'd be sitting in one of the push chairs, even if there was no one to actually push him around. A highchair would be nice, as he was sure there must have been some of those in use back in the day, as clearly a boy with mittens on his hands wouldn't be able to feed himself. Better yet would be if a working, lockable cot, was still up in the wing of the building that was said to be the nursery. That would be the best, as far as Charlie was concerned.

The path was starting to climb now, slowing Charlie's progress towards the front of the big home of PZA itself, although the road itself was heading in a other direction at the start of the driveway.

Looming up above him, the main facade, appeared to tower towards the sky, even though there were actually only four floors, yet the ornate battlements, that marked the edge of the roof and the sheer scale of the windows that looked down, were enough to intimidate anyone, let alone a boy arriving with no knowledge of what was going to happen. Not that this would have been the case for all those who arrived. Some would have known they were going to a new school, if not just what that meant, others, may have heard talk of nurses, and babies, without realising it was them who were going to take the place of the latter. However, those who were to take part in the third set of accounts Charlie had heard about must have some idea, for they would have made the journey to PZA in the strict restraints of what was in effect modern slavery, that would soon be all they knew.

It was these tales that had fed Charlie's already fevered imagination far more than any of the others. Boys locked into chains and shackles. Gags filling their mouths, preventing them from answering back as they were ordered to service all the other boys, and perhaps even the staff.

'Service' the other boys. It was a phrase that made Charlie more and more excited every time he heard it which is part of the reason he never actually asked if it meant what he both thought and hoped it meant. Mind you the old folk he was talking to probably wouldn't have been comfortable talking to him about sex, but Charlie knew enough about what went where, to know what would be asked of boys who were not only already naked, but who couldn't say no.

What was that like? Charlie wondered more than once. Being tied up was fun. He knew that much, as he'd done that to himself on numerous occasions. He'd even had a bit of playing around with various schoolmates, but that had just been for fun, with all hands on deck, rather than the serious stuff that would have gone on at PZA. Plus no one had been tied up, not had they been gagged, or plugged, or had their private parts locked into small cages so they couldn't have any fun themselves.

That's the sort of thing that happened to PZA boys. Not the old folk had told Charlie about these either, but some very old newspapers, stored on microfiche at the library, had hinted so heavily as to make it obvious what had gone on with their talk of enemas, peg stools, and even boys being given tails.

All of that was extremely fascination to one particular thirteen year old, sitting at the microfiche view with his legs crossed, and a vivid imagination, that was making his underwear rather more sticky than was comfortable although he wouldn't have the problem of riding his bike home with an erection. Not this time.

The path Charlie was following never came to an end curling as it did back the way it came, but all the same the boy pulled hard on the break levers causing the back wheel to skid slightly as he came to a halt, in front of a door that seemed as tall as his entire house.

Chips in the varnish, did nothing to diminish the impressiveness of the large hard wood doors that were bereft of the standard furniture. No handles. No knocker. No bell. Not even a key hole. All of which made entry from the outside impossible unless someone let you in from inside. That though wasn't going to happen for Charlie. But he'd planned ahead.

Looking around the keen eyed boy saw what he was looking for hidden away at the side of the building. A smaller, path, mostly over grown by the bushes that had gone wild in the preceding years, leading to a service entrance used by the PZA boys to do their chores.

Walking now, using his bike as a barrier to keep the branches from tearing at his legs, Charlie headed into the undergrowth, battling his way, until he was very near the back of the building, where some steps appeared, heading down towards a much smaller door, that unlike it's larger companion at the front, had a key hole upon which Charlie could practise his lock picking skills.

It never failed to amaze the boy what subjects he could find books on in the local library, and whilst breaking and entering wasn't ever going to be a career choice for such a good boy, it was ironically something that could have at one time caused him to be sent to PZA. Now though he was just going to use the skills he'd learnt to get into the building and discover just which of the stories he'd heard were accurate, and just how many of them he could recreate before it was time for him to head home again.

The End… or the Beginning?