Chapter 1

There is always at least one in every bunch. The rich, suburban, white kids and their Karate clubs, watching slack-jawed as the big, black buck bashed pre-weakened cinderblocks or split a carefully prepared stack of straight-grained sections of pine with a single blow. Pure performance, pure fantasy. Their karate fantasies usually revolve around heroically defending themselves against someone like me. But, every once-in-a-while I would catch one of the spoiled little buggers staring just a bit too long, or absent-mindedly touching themselves while watching the performances.

None of these rich white brats ever shower at their dojos, or even change out of their pristine whites. They're too good — too precious — for that. Their plump white asses have to be carted back to their suburban bastions, and only there can those pale asses be exposed; behind the closed doors of the private baths, in their fake colonial houses, surrounded by their manicured green lawns and white picket fences.

This Friday evening the resident little swish I noticed during the demonstration was also the last one hanging around the entrance afterwards, apparently waiting for a ride home. When he arranged for me to substitute for him, his sensi let me know in passing that one of his pupils had a divorced mother was more often than not drunk or stoned, and could appear hours late to pick him up, so much so that the little bugger knows to go wait in the public library a few blocks away when she didn't show up on time. The storefront dojo didn't have student changing rooms, but the owner told me I could use an abandoned shower in the basement.

The first step is easy: I walk out and ask the kid if he needs to use the phone or something — a sweet blond, maybe twelve — at least that's my guess as his voice is just beginning to break. He is trim and athletic-looking for a boy that age, one of those early Justin Bieber mop tops and a pudgy little nose. I wonder if he has any hair as I "accidentally" spill my left-over coffee down his front, initiating the first stage of my impromptu plan.

I apologize immediately, and tell him to come back in with me, and we'd find him a dry pair of pants. I had no idea where we'd find that, but down the stairs we go. The shower is dark and mildewed, set up in an open corner of the damp basement with a dingy, unenclosed toilet nearby. At least the door at the top of the stairs can be locked. I invite the kid to sit there as I reach in and open up the squeaky shower valves. The water came out brown at first, bubbles of air explode out, causing the kid to flinch.

I pull off my black belt and quickly slip out of my karate whites — for him. Like all these precious little rich kids, he'd never seen a naked man, much less a muscled black man like me, other than what he might have found sneaking around on the internet. I could see he was shocked, and awed, and nervous, and feeling self-conscious with my casual nudity in front of him. I pretend I don't notice — it is quite natural for men to be naked together, and again he's absent-mindedly wedging his hand in down between his thighs when he thinks I'm not paying attention, just as he did during the session. Or, maybe he knows exactly what he is signaling. He is breathing through his mouth, his lips only slightly apart, and occasionally he bites his lower lip while I lather up and rinse off.

I step out of the water and ask him if he is ready for a shower as well. He doesn't answer. So I dry myself off, and — still naked except for a towel — poke around in the old cardboard boxes and rusty lockers in hopes of finding something that might fit him, just to keep the premise of fresh trousers going a bit longer. I again suggest that he too could take a quick shower as I search. While probing around the dingy basement I hear the water begin again and look to see his pale, naked ass glisten as he shivers under the spray, his hands covering his face, his elbows tight against his ribcage. I can see he is shyly turned away, but he's occasionally glancing over his shoulder to see if I am paying him any attention. Our eyes connect and I smile reassuringly at the seductive little brat. He's gone as far as he dares and now he's waiting for me to make a move.

I finally pull out my own extra large karate pants from my duffel and walk back to him. His chubby, wet ass bounces and jiggles enticingly as he soaps and strokes his creamy, thin hands over those creamier, thin limbs. I remove my already wet towel as he slowly twists the water valves down. He turns around to face me with a cupped hand over his privates, but when I toss my wet towel over to him, he reaches out to catch it. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing: his little pink prick springs free and flings itself up in the air as if wanting to look me in the eyes. Just a few wet, straight hairs cling to it, and while it appears adequate as far as diameter goes — for a white boy of his age — it's short.

Not just a bit below average short, but ridiculously short. So short it hardly has any shaft to speak of: just a pale, fat, circumcised head curving up and out from a section of even paler skin, all emerging from a darker scar that is practically flush with his body. I notice he's watching me looking at him, and delays making any move to cover or dry himself.

I wonder what his people were thinking when they decided to have that circumcised. If they cut any farther back, they would have had to take scrotum. But there's still a taught, corrugated ball-sac snug against the smooth crotch at least. If he were a black kid, I'd say some damned white supremacist doctor did that out of jealousy and spite, but seeing that completely inadequate thing on a suburban white boy in this fancy suburban neighborhood seems laughably ironic.

He's been keeping his gaze down now, staring at his bare feet, but decides to look up again and our eyes meet. I can see the anticipation and excitement as well as nervousness as he rolls his lips into his mouth. He shivers a little and his expression — along with the bouncing little erection — are convincing evidence that he's enjoying all this, and quite likely ready for some more.

I am sorely tempted to get my phone out of my bag and take a few photos to pass on to the gang back at the 'hood: it was a sight I feel guilty not sharing. We often joked about the dick-size of some of these white boys, but this one… he belongs in The Guinness Book of World Records or something.

But I can see he's caught up in mid swoon too: admiring my penis, studying my face timidly for approval. I'm concerned about moving too fast on a photo session, and I have something else on my mind first. I realize my own much more substantial dick is now filling out and slowly lifting it itself up, and I do nothing to hide it. He begins nervously drying himself, but his eyes are repeatedly returning to mine, and to my growing erection. And I in turn can't help but stare at that twitching, thimble of a penis straining out from the base of his smooth torso — doing all it can to display masculinity — but failing so miserably.

I can't imagine what would happen the first time he shows that pathetic little thing to a girl, but I'm more and more convinced it wouldn't occur to him: his interests lean towards the receptive. And he's so arousing moving about on his long, thin legs like a young gazelle, the pale little thing wagging about.

When he turns around again, his plump ass continues to flex and bounce as enticingly as any pair of tits I'd ever seen. He bends over to dry his shins and ankles, I see the silky little pouch snug against his inner crotch, and a glimpse at a darker, pouting little portal, peeking out from between a pair of round, white globes of soft flesh.

He isn't at all resistant when I stroll up behind him and offer to show him a secret martial training technique, and he doesn't startle or retreat when I let my substantial organ "accidentally" slap against and poke at the top of his soft, pale ass. I put one hand on his shoulder, then another around his narrow waist. He agrees, so I let go to grab a small container of petroleum jelly from my bag, and scoop out an ample dollop. While doing so I tell him that relaxing the body is an important technique to avoid injuries, and I will teach him how to discipline himself to do so.

I reach down, press one greased finger against a tense, rigid sphincter, and begin nudging it in, at the same time urging him to just relax. He hardly flinches as I begin to wiggle it in farther. He understands what I want so if I just take my time so not to spook him, I will have my way entirely in this exquisite tush. He's shivering, but not resisting at all, and we both know the pretext of a relaxation lesson is just a way to help him defray facing the reality that he's about to play the submissive role.

I don't know if it's even necessary: he's so curious, so eager to please. I explain to him that relaxation and looseness are almost always the key to avoiding serious injury in the martial arts, and that he needs to master it under tense conditions, which I want him to practice now. He lets out an audible sigh as he loosens up enough to let my second knuckle slip past his tight, wary guard. He releases a louder, surprised gasp when I find his firm prostrate and began tickling it gently. The little brat didn't expect that fringe benefit. But I stop; I want him wanting more. The back of his head immediately slumps against my chest, and he again gasps audibly.

I love how his voice is still high, but squeaks and wobbles like he's no longer quite in control of it. I can't see much of his face, but I can see his curved, thimble-like dick hard and twitching. I reach down there with my other hand and give the stiff little protrusion a nudge and watch it spring back into position. I can't help but chuckle, and hope he doesn't think I'm mocking him. It's such a stubby, cute erection, so small even for a white boy. It isn't much longer than my thumb to the first knuckle.

"It's not very big, is it," he lets me know shyly, realizing what I must be doing. Both his damp, white hands are griping my ample forearms cautiously — but beyond that wariness he isn't resisting.

I work a second slick finger into his tight hole, and then a third without any serious protests, so I withdraw my hands to his torso and lift him up onto his tip-toes: just enough to let my ample manhood find the mark. He doesn't say a thing. Obviously I'm holding his ribcage with both hands; so something else is poking around looking at his ass, looking for anal access. He accepts that, and I relax, knowing the rest will be easy: he's masturbated to similar fantasies countless times in his young life. He won't be complaining to his mother afterwards. If she's even on time, she's probably on her way to the library now, and when she doesn't find him there she'll come back to the dojo again. We have lots of time.

I nudge my dick head between the soft, white hemispheres as his whole body suddenly renews its rigidity, but he makes no verbal complaint. I whisper to him to relax again; relaxation is the key to avoiding unnecessary pain and injury. His hands tighten uselessly on my wrists again, but I'm no longer encroaching on his most private places with my hands. If he wants to resist my efforts he would be batting away my probing erection; pushing away at my eager hips.

I slide a hand down his smooth tummy until I find the thin little collection of pubic hairs and hold him there, so I have something to press against. I discover that little dick again, and what it lacks in size, it makes up for in sheer enthusiasm: rock-hard to the touch, the tip damp with pre-cum, almost as hot as the clingy colon I'm now just beginning to penetrate. I can feel his pulse in the little dick.

I whisper reassurances to him and the only response is to renew his efforts at complete limpness — even to push against it like a turd as I enter him — and then I give him what must be his first taste of what a real, masculine dick is capable of. He moans alarmingly loud as I force my dick well past the gripping sphincter and into his hot, soft innards, while at the same time I hold down and even play idly with the pale, little toys in hand: the angry if inadequate penis, and the two evasive little ovals slung just below it.

I bat his tiny dick about briefly with my finger, commenting that I do find it very cute and amusing, and I know other guys that would be amused by it as well, even if mine is better suited for a job like this one. But judging by the his moans and gasps, and the tightness of his grip on my wrists, he isn't paying much attention to what I am whispering into his ear. However, I'm communicating pretty much the same message by a more direct means, and there is little doubt he is learning from the example. I feel lucky I've caught him at this stage. I am able to reinforce his pleasure in passive sex, just when he's begun experiencing all those new, confusing urges and drives.

I ask if I'm the first to do this to him, and when after a moment he anxiously nods a few times, I explain that I shouldn't be the last by any means, that he is doing a great job so far. I think he understands I'm not talking about any karate skills at this point. I tell him that after we finish I want to get my cell phone out and take a few pictures of him before he gets dressed, to commemorate the event as well as to share his pretty body with some of my friends back in the 'hood. I express the hope he won't mind, but I don't ask permission. The stubby dick, twitching in my hand, answers for him: a tiny string of translucent fluid arches out and up to the level of his chest before plopping onto the wet floor and slowly oozing towards the shower drain. The boy gasps and his whole body shivers, his climax incites me and… just a moment…

… I'm releasing the last pulses of my cum deep inside him now. Still driving my dick home, but no longer out of instinct, but deliberately just to celebrate the consummation as the last echoes of animal pleasure fade and are replaced by the feeling of triumph and satisfaction that I always feel after subjugating one of these spoiled, sissified white boys.

It's all over faster than I expected. I relax for a moment, catch my breath, then I wrap a couple slimy fingers around that stiff little knob of his and give it several little conciliatory strokes while my own dick slowly deflates inside him.

"That felt great," I tell him.

"I better go, my mom is probably waiting outside," he confides.

Finally I wipe my sticky hand on his smooth hip and give him several final, deep thrusts for good measure before watching as my ebony shaft slowly emerges in triumph from between those twin pale mounds of soft flesh. I again tell him how good he did, and how I look forward to doing it again soon.

Then — as promised — I get the cell from my duffel bag to take pictures: a couple close-ups of that intense, tiny erection of his — wet with his transparent, watery cum; still pointing out from his body, only now with a bit less vigor. Then I get a couple full-body shots that I make sure include his blushing, nervous face and averted gaze. He's wary and nervous, glancing up the stairs, but he doesn't protest. I ask him to look into the lens. He hesitates for a moment, and then stares shyly at the camera, rolling his trembling lips into his mouth. His dick is fully aroused again, and I suspect his embarrassment isn't stemming from being photographed nude, but from the satisfaction he feels in going along with it.

Finally, I allow him to get dressed, and explain that I would come around again next week after his practice to pick him up, and take him to my place to meet some friends. He should tell his mother whatever sleep-over story he thinks will work best to put her at ease with his absence for the upcoming long weekend. He looks down again for a long moment, and then nods a couple times as he slowly tugs on his shirt.

Chapter 2

It's a week later and I make the trip back to the suburban dojo holding my breath. I'm thankful for what I got the week before, and hoping he's there, and expecting won't be. But there he is, waiting outside, in the same spot as the week before, a little nap-sack over one shoulder. I stop at the curb, reach over, and push open the passenger door, and he walks over and sits down next to me without a word. I ask him if everything is set, and he nods, and I ask him when he has to be back, and he just shrugs. I explain that I've invited some guys over to watch the White Sox game on TV, and his job will be to keep everyone stocked with beers, cokes, and snacks.

The game starts at eight, and before that he can take a swim in our pool. I explain it's not much of a pool, just something we set up above ground for the kids: I have a nephew about his age, and he has a friend whose father I invited over for the game. He tells me he didn't bring a swim suit, and I tell him I can probably find something around the house. If he's a good kid and does what he's told, I'll teach him how to karate chop boards.

Jamal (my nephew) and Curtis (his buddy, and my buddy Greg's son) are already in the pool when we get there. I find the kid a little white speedo with some hippy tie-dye like pattern across one side, probably a size too small to fully contain his ample backside, but not a problem in the front. He looks up shyly at me before dropping out of his karate whites and underwear and tugging the trunks up his slim legs and over his wagging little hard-on. He pads through the back door and I watch him climb up onto the deck, pause a long moment, and then gingerly descend the ladder into the water. The boys talk and splash as I go about tidying up the house a bit and watching the news.

Greg — Curtis' dad — arrives with a couple pizzas and I realize the pre-game is already starting. It's getting darker and I tell the boys to get out of the pool and dry off before they come back in the house. My white kid comes in first, his hair damp and disheveled, his cold little package barely discernible in the front of his wet speedos. But I grin when I see both a bit of a crack exposed above the back of his suit, as well as a good bit of a pasty-white butt-cheek exposed on one side. Jamal and Curtis pad into the kitchen next. The three boys seem about the same height and age. While my white catamite is a bit slimmer, and the long, wet shorts clinging to the two black boys both display the outlines of good-sized sausages, while they also display a bit of pit hair my white boy lacks.

Jamal and Curtis go into the guest room to change while I bestow on the neck of my special helper a bottle opener on a string. The doorbell rings and Greg let's our buddy Jimmy in for me. I show the kid the fridge, the pizzas, the chips and the paper plates, and explain to him to fetch those things into the TV room as needed for my guests and me. He asks if he should change out of the speedos, and I tell him not to bother.

The first four innings go along as I expected, but then there's a rain delay. The kid keeps us supplied with beer and chips, but I stop Jamal and Curtis at one beer each. Greg, Jimmy and I share the couch, Curtis and Jamal share — or try to share — an over-stuffed loveseat/recliner thing.

The commercials and talking heads seem endless and we all become bored. I wrangle my little servant with a finger into his butt crack and tug him onto the armrest next to me. He sits on the edge looking past me and at Jimmy while I discretely work my finger deeper and deeper down his tight, little suit. He's been spying Jimmy all evening.

Jimmy works at a tattoo and piercing place, and he's got a couple visible ear piercings, and a tight tee that displays the outline of a nipple-ring as well. He's got tattoos on his arm, and a small one on his neck. Greg notices my finger and prudishly tells me he doubts the kid wants that. I lean forward and check between the little bugger's legs and confirm that under the stretchy fabric the once cold, little bump has transformed itself into a stub of rigid flesh pushing straight up towards the kid's navel. I let Greg know that — on the contrary — I believe my servant is quite aroused by the attention. Greg too leans forward to look but insists he sees no evidence to that effect, so I slip my hand under the boy's soft behind, push him up off the armrest and onto his feet facing us, then I surprise everyone by grabbing the speedo on both sides and giving it a good jerk until it's just below the crotch. His dick arches out and up stiffly from the suit, with its distinctive vertical curl giving us all a good view of the underside.

The boy lets out a strange giggle intended to mask his uneasiness as he reaches down and attempts to retake control of the suit. Jamal and Curtis snicker. I grin and win the little tussle by tugging the thing right down to his ankles and put my foot in the center of it. He gives up on the suit, and I watch his eyes scan each face in the room as he covers up his crotch with his hands. His cheeks turn rosy, but his expression is just the same as when he first exposed himself to me after the shower in the dojo.

"See, he doesn't mind," I reiterate to Greg, "He's just got a small one, even for a white boy."

Jimmy is laughing out loud, and announces, "All the really small dicks I've seen were on white guys."

Curtis and Jamal are giggling, but also a bit nervous and glancing at each other unsure of how to react to what is going on. With my foot still on the speedo, I use my hands to tap on his shin and the inside of his knee, and — still blushing red as a beet — he gets the message and steps out of the suit. I kick the suit under the couch, while he just stands there, wearing nothing but my bottle opener around his neck. The boys continue to snicker and glance at each other. I tell the kid to fetch me another beer and reinforce the order with a playful yet forceful slap to his bare behind. He glances at me and at the two boys, then at Jimmy.

The kid is nervous, yet captivated. We can see him hesitate a moment to decide if his embarrassment will overcome his recklessness before he trots off into the kitchen, but he pads back in soon enough, beer in one hand, still covering himself with the other, looking a bit pleased with himself. I tell him to open it, and for a brief moment he hesitates, looking around at the fellows and me, his forced casualness disappears before he haltingly lifts his hand away from his crotch. He takes a shaky hold of the opener, hurriedly pops the top off and passes the bottle to me. All the while his stiff, little dick bounces around enticingly at his every move or gesture. The boys snicker again.

"Stop fucking with him," Greg grumbles.

Taking the bottle I ask the kid, "You don't mind, do you?"

The kid shrugs in response, but instead of covering himself up again, he begins clutching the opener hanging between his flat nipples with both hands. I wonder if he's being deliberately seductive now, or just trying to put up some kind of false 'I don't care' bravado. Both ideas turn me on.

I turn to Greg and we shrug at each other. Both Greg and Jimmy are checking the kid out. But it's young Curtis who takes the initiative to normalize the new situation. He picks up a couple empties and tells the kid to bring them to kitchen. Still blushing, the boy pads over to Curtis and Jamal; all the while his taught, little dick flailing about like a conductor's baton during the finale.

As he takes the bottles and scampers back to the kitchen, the boys look at each other and giggle uncontrollably. I shout to the kid that it's alright to let Jamal have a second beer now. I look to Greg and he shrugs back, and I shout to add Curtis' too, and one more. I hear bottles rattle and he comes back with three. He hands one each to Jamal and Curtis, and offers the third to my pals, not knowing who ordered it.

"That one's for you," I assure the kid. He studies the bottle for a moment, then takes a tentative swig, makes a sour face, and wipes his nose. Curtis encourages him to drink again, and the kid does better this time, but still gives the bottle a look of disapproval.

He asks Jimmy specifically, "Do you want another beer or something?"

"Do you like my piercings?" Jimmy asks.

The kid takes a longer swig on his bottle and nods solemnly.

"You wanna ear stud?" Jimmy offers, "I brought my kit."

Greg points to the outline of a ring on Jimmy's pectoral and asks "How 'bout a nipple ring?"

Jimmy pulls the shirt off over his head and the boy is fascinated. He glances at the kid's flat chest and tells Greg "He might need a couple years for that."

"How about a prince albert?" I suggest jokingly.

Jimmy and Greg snort.

"What's a prince albert?" Jamal asks me. Jimmy pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, swipes and pokes at it for a while, and finally comes up with something to show the boys. Their eyes widen for a moment before they grin and agree. All the boys take another gulp of beer.

Greg asks the kid, "You know what a prince albert is?"

The kid shakes his head, and only then does Jimmy turn the cell towards him. The boy's dick twitches as he blinks a couple times — staring at the phone, maybe at first unsure what he's looking at. Jimmy meanwhile takes a hard, professional look at the pale, short dick standing at attention in front of him. All us adults have had a few beers already, and the boys, well, probably one was enough to get them near plastered and they are well into their second. So everyone in the room agrees it's a great idea and urges the kid on. Jimmy beckons the boy closer and inspects the curvy little knob of stiff flesh. He takes hold of the thing with a couple ebony fingers and strokes ever so gently against the underside just behind the little helmet. The kid closes his eyes and licks his lips.

Then Jim tells the kid, "I'll push a needle in right exactly here." The boy shivers and stumbles backwards, and everyone laughs out loud.

Jim then pulls a tiny plastic bag containing a curved gold form from his hip pocket. It looks a bit like a bent barbell.

He displays it to the kid. "Twenty-two carrot gold electroplate." Jim holds it against the pasty, little tip. As the kid looks down at the little gold trinket, Jimmy whispers something into his ear. The kid looks into Jimmy's eyes, then takes another swig from his bottle, then he nods. Jimmy stares at the kid for a long moment, smiles, then stands up, shoves the bag with the gold trinket back into his pocket, grabs his bottle, puts a hand on the kid's lean shoulder, and leads him into the spare bedroom. After a moment the kid runs out and into the kitchen. I hear several cupboard doors slam then I see the kid walk back into the bedroom, trying to hide something in his hand — he's found a jar of Crisco. The door closes.

"What's going on?" Jamal asks me.

Greg and I look at each other and ponder how to respond. Curtis finally turns to Jamal and announces, "I think Jimmy's going to fuck that white boy's ass!"

Jamal ponders this stoically for a moment and nods in agreement.

Greg proposes: "Well, with that little pecker, it likely isn't the other way around!" and we all laugh. A moment later we hear a high-pitched squeal from the bedroom being quickly muffled.

Chapter 3

The rain delay ended and it's the seventh-inning stretch when the door to the spare room opens. Jimmy and the kid — still naked except for the bottle opener — shyly come back to the game. Wordlessly the kid walks a little wobbly as he quietly picks up the empty bottles and pizza crusts on the plates. He finds a little beer in the bottom of one and immediately inverts the bottle into his mouth before padding into the kitchen. Watching his chubby white ass bounce and wiggle as he walks away from me is just as arousing as watching his now sated, flaccid penis wiggle about as he walks toward me. I hear the bottles clank together in the recycle bin, pizza boxes being crushed, water running in the sink. He comes back in with a roll of paper towels in hand, and squeezes his butt onto the couch between Jimmy and Greg.

Jimmy's ebony hand falls into the kid's alabaster crotch and the black fingers begin idly flicking at the pale little penis and petting the half dozen dark, straight pubic hairs around it as the game winds down. The Sox are six points behind, and our interest in the contest is waning, even the two boys are distracted by Jimmy's absent-minded fondling. I look over to Greg, down into the kid's crotch, and back up at Greg, and then over at the boys, who are both fixated on the kid's crotch as well. Greg assesses the situation briefly and shrugs at me.

The Sox can't put it together in the ninth, and the game is over. Jim suddenly asks the kid if he's ready, and the kid nods. Jim then urges the kid up and positions him right in front of him. He asks Jamal to fetch his backpack from the entryway.

"Um, right here?" the kid asks, looking at all of us.

Jim takes his backpack from Jamal, and digs around in the pack until he pulls out a black leather box, and a small plastic bottle of rubbing alcohol.

"Yeah, why not?" he responds to the kid.

"In front of everyone?" he pleads as much as asks.

"If they wanna watch," Jimmy responds curtly. He lays a bunch of paper towels out on the end table, then pulls a long, curved needle out of the box. He douses the needle and the little dick with alcohol over the paper towels, and asks Jamal to find him a couple old towels or sheets. Jamal comes back with a couple of our regular bath towels, but I don't care. Jim has the kid stand on a towel, and lays the other one over his own lap. He's got the kid standing between his knees. The kid is just standing in front of him, still wearing nothing but that stupid bottle opener, his little dick twitching erect again.

Jim complains, "It's hard to get a good grip on this thing, and I'll be needing a good grip. He teases the bottom of the circumcised head and looks at the boy's face for a reaction.

"You like me touching you, yeah?"

The kid nods. Jim is just barely moving his finger under the kid's dickhead, "Is this the most sensitive spot?" he looks up and asks the kid.

The kid responds with a sigh and an eager nod. His eyes are closed, his fists clinched, and he's gently biting into his lower lip. Jimmy smiles and tickles the kid's sweet spot just a little longer.

We all watch Jim position the point of the needle carefully with his free hand. He rests his ebony thumb right on the top of the pale pink head, and then forces his needle in right where he just tickled the kid. The kid squeals and his eyes pop open as Curtis and Jamal flinch. Actually, we all flinch. The kid stomps his feet and wails as he brings both fists up to his chin, but he restrains himself from steeping back or grabbing at Jimmy's hands. His little dick struggles and twitches in Jimmy's firm grip, and his wrinkled, little scrotum retreats into his body.

Jimmy's face is up close, concentrating on the little tip when the needle point emerges out from the kid's pee-hole, preceded by a disturbing dribble of bright red blood. The kid's chest is heaving now, and he's making a noise somewhere between panting and bawling. Jim releases the impaled little pecker to get the gold trinket out of his pocket, and we can all see the still very stiff and distressed stub of agitated, Caucasian manhood. Jimmy dribbles a bit of the rubbing alcohol on the gold ornament while blood drips slowly down the back end of the needle and onto my good towel. The kid is still stomping his now blood spattered feet, and breathing in short little bursts. Jamal and Curtis are both holding their crotches protectively, but can't take their eyes away from the spectacle.

"Ready for the stud, kid?" Jimmy asks, but the kid doesn't seem to hear the question. Jimmy shrugs and begins anyway. The kid moans and fat tears start running down his face as Jim wiggles and prods the threaded end of the semicircular gold shaft into the kid's urethra, chasing the retreating needle. Curtis breaks the silence, muttering "Jesus" for some reason. Jim's got the needle out and is mercilessly twisting the blood-streaked little dick around in his ebony fingers, working the gold rod deeper and deeper towards what we know must have been the kid's sweet spot on the underside. The kid's tight, shaking fists are loom beside his crotch now, and he seems to be just barely resisting every urge to rip his tortured boyhood away from Jim. It suddenly occurs to me that we might all have had a little too much to drink.

"Jamal, let's not tell your mother about all this, starting with the beer," I suggest to Jamal.

Jimmy has the kid's small dick twisted 90 degrees with one set of nimble black fingers — and with the bloody shaft through, he cleans it with an alcohol wipe — and after a few false starts slowly twists the tiny gold knob onto the gold shaft with the other. Finally he lets go of the kid's mangled little penis with a smile and wipes his hands clean with the same alcohol wipe, the gold knobs of the prince albert barely discernible in all the blood.

Jamal nods to me and pushes a half-full bottle of beer into the kid's shaking hand, and the kid desperately gulps down the contents before Jamal takes it away from him.

Jim starts wiping his hands on a paper towel now, "It's going to look really good."

Still tearing up, the kid gasps out, "God, it hurts!"

"Jim, did you put it right into the sweet spot?"

"Sure,"

"Is that gonna do damage to his pleasure?"

Jim shrugs, "He didn't say not to."

I had planned to fuck that kid tonight. First, he was going to suck my dick — I haven't had a white boy suck my dick since junior high — and then I was going to fuck him, and fuck him again in the morning while I mercilessly teased that harmless, entertaining little pecker of his. And have him suck me off in the car just before I delivered him back home, and give him a whole twenty bucks for his efforts. And I was going to take pictures. Now it's probably all ruined. I shouldn't have drank so much.

Jimmy rinses the kid's dick off with alcohol before wrapping the little dick with folded up paper towels and gauze before telling him, "Sit on the towel for a while, and we'll see if we can find you some Tylenol."

"Jimmy, what did you whisper to the kid before you two went into the bedroom?"

Jim tells me, "I let the kid know the piercing and gold stud costs $200, but I would do it for free after the game if I could have sex with him during the rain delay. I was joking, but when he agreed, I think 'Why the hell not?'" The kid is still sitting naked in front of him, and Jim musses the kid's hair. "He's a really, really good fuck! And he really got into it, I mean: like a bitch would!"

Curtis and Jamal look at each other and laugh out loud.

Jimmy turns to the boys, "His little pecker was rock-hard the whole time he was getting reamed. And his ass… like a pair of silk pillows." With each new revelation the boys laugh even harder.

"Stop it!" the kid whines to Jimmy, striking half-heartedly at Jimmy's knee with his fist.

Jimmy gets his phone out again, sets up a video and hands it to me. There's the kid on his knees looking up at the camera, between Jim's hairy black thighs, in front of a mass of black pubic hair and ample serving of dark, wagging erection. Jimmy's voice invites the kid to kiss it — to put it into his mouth. When the kid asks why, Jimmy says because it will feel good. Apparently that's all the reason the kid needs. A boyish white hand reaches in and holds the hefty, black erection steady as the kid hesitantly sniffs it, then slides his open mouth over it. The voice urges him to get more in, to suck it down into his throat, but the boy gags and leans away. Jimmy's voice encourages the kid to try again, and the white boy — looking quite serious — gulps and again pushes his smooth little face over the waiting black organ.

The video continues, the kid's pert little nose and pink lips embedded in a mass of black pubic hair, his mouth fully engulfing the thick-veined ebony shaft. He's looking up at the camera bright-eyed, apparently waiting for approval.

I look up from Jimmy's phone to see the kid is sniffling and wiping his nose while gingerly holding the base of his dick with a thumb and one finger, and looking down at it pathetically. I get up and put a couple old sheets on top of the spare bed. I'll let him sleep it off there.

Next I go to the bathroom and find a couple of Tylenol for the little bugger. I come back into the TV room and see that the little bugger is now sitting on one of the towels on Jimmy's lap, restlessly. Jimmy has the gauze off and is pressing an ice cube against the boy's dick. The dick is so small now that the ice cube appears flush against the kid's crotch. The kid is pretty sauced and appears half asleep. He shivers and pulls his bare heels up onto the edge of my couch and snuggles against Jim. The cold of the ice cube has driven the kid's nuts completely into his torso as well. Melt water dribbles down the kid's vacated little scrotum, then along his smooth taint and into the still yawning asshole where it joins a slimy santorum of Crisco, poop, and Jimmy's semen all slowly oozing down onto my towel. I spot a long, kinky, black pubic hair plastered with dry cum to the kid's pasty inner thigh.

Curtis asks me — not the kid, but me — "Can fuck him too, Uncle Bob?" We all laugh. The little bugger wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, and announces to Jim that the ice is making his "weenie" feel a little better.

Jimmy asks Curtis, "You ever fucked a white boy?"

Curtis looks down and shakes his head shyly, as if confessing some great shortcoming. I see his dick twitch in his shorts. Greg announces it's time to go home, and Jimmy begs a ride from him. I tell them all they are too drunk to drive and will have to sleep here tonight.

Chapter 4

I wake up next to the kid. He's still sleeping: he's on his back, his legs spread, a hand protects his little crotch from the sheet he's under. My head aches. I remember I decided to sleep in the guest room with the kid — I couldn't trust anyone else in the house to leave him alone for the night. And I wanted the kid to sleep off the beer, and get used to his new prince albert. Jamal and Curtis slept in my room, Greg on the sofa, and Jimmy on the inflatable.

I gently remove the sheet and check on the kid: I lift his wrist and set his hand aside, and can see the gold stud: one knob coming out from the tip, the other knob almost against his body, poking out from a small, dark scab. He shifts uneasy, so I put his hand back over his genitals, and drop the sheet over him again.

The boys are still in my bed, complaining they don't feel good. I tell them they have hang-overs and to get their asses up. Jimmy is making coffee in the kitchen, Greg is frying eggs.

Jimmy tells me, "I need to get to work, but I can come check on the kid at lunch."

"I have Karate class in the afternoon, and I can take the kid along." I pick the kid's karate outfit and underpants off the floor, still there from the day before. I hear the toilet flush before I see the boys wander into the kitchen in their underpants, still complaining about head-aches. Greg is ready with aspirin and milk. I start dropping bread into the toaster.

Jimmy asks, "How is he, then?"

I snap back at him, "How do you think?! What the fuck got into you?" I'm not so upset at him fucking the kid the day before — at least I tell myself that. Hell, I can't blame him for doing what I was planning to do, "Giving a drunken white kid a drunken cock piercing is going to have repercussions! If we don't handle this carefully there'll be hell to pay. What are you going to do about it."

"Yeah, man. Chill. I've been thinkin' 'bout that." Jimmy goes to my computer printer and comes back with a couple sheets of paper to hand to me. He's been busy before I even woke up: taking an old flyer for a six-week summer karate camp and modifying it to start this coming Monday instead.

"Man, just tell the kid's mama there's a last minute cancellation, so her son can attend for free. It's enough time to let the piercing to heal up entirely," Jimmy contends. "Listen," he leans in closer to my ear and whispers, "that little dick is outta action for a while, and like what's he gonna do with those hormones man, 'cept go on letting us get him off through the back door?! You know he' already wants it!"

I nod, knowing how boys that age can be.

"After six weeks of nothing but prostrate orgasms, he'll never wanna go back."

"Okay, okay. This might work, provided we can get the kid to go along with it," I whisper back quietly.

The boys giggle and I turn around to see the kid standing completely naked at the entryway to the kitchen, gingerly fingering his new piercing. I pick up the kid's forgotten karate outfit and toss it over to him. He slowly pulls on the uwagi, and sits down with the boys, leaving his orange belt, underwear, and pants on the floor next to him. Greg slides a plate of fried eggs on the table as I deposit a platter of dry toast. The boys start in.

Jimmy asks the kid, "How ya doin'?"

The kid looks down and doesn't say anything at first. Finally he mutters, "It burns, and itches, but feels funny too." The boys snicker.

The kid blushes, and I go over and squeeze his shoulders, and tell him, "We all had too much to drink last night."

Jimmy asks, "Do you like it otherwise?" And after a pause, "Of course it will hurt for a little while."

The kid nods quietly. Everyone quietly eats and drinks for a long moment; the adults standing, the boys sitting at the table.

Suddenly the kid announces, "It burns when I touch it, but at the same time it feels tingly too."

"I got some spray back at work that will make it feel better. I'll bring ya some… at lunch time." Jimmy promises. The boys giggle again.

I look at Jimmy before asking the kid: "Would you like to hang around here for a few weeks? At least until you heal up a bit?"

He just shrugs.

"You think you can get your mother to let you go to karate camp?"

"When?" he asks, confused.

"It's kind of a camp, but… well… more just hanging around with me and the guys for a while, at least until that dick feels better."

The boys giggle again. The kid blushes.

I tell the boys angrily, "We all had too much to drink last night, and it won't be funny if white folks find out what happened yesterday."

Curtis asks the kid, "You remember the ball game?"

The kid shrugs and admits, "Most of it." I give the kid a couple Tylenol and he pops them in his mouth and chases them with gulp of milk.

I put more bread into the toaster. I can see in the kitchen window a vague reflection of the boys at the table. Curtis is silently gesturing, and I glimpse over my shoulder to see him encouraging the kid to look under the table. I glance below the table from my vantage point and can see that both boys have slipped their erections out from their underpants. They both are sporting mature-sized dicks surrounded by a small patch of black pubic hair.

The kid sees the signal, then glances to see if Greg and I noticed. I look down at the countertop just in time to avoid his glance. I wait a moment and glance over again to see the kid peeking under the table, and when his head bobs up again, he gives his little shrug of ascension to the boys. Curtis stuffs a last bit of toast into his mouth and then announces a bit too loudly that he's going to take a shower. Jamal grins but looks down at his plate, stifling a snicker. Then I see Curtis reach down and tug the band of his underpants up again, before standing up and walking out of the kitchen.

Once Curtis leaves the kid stuffs his own piece of toast into his mouth and stands. Without his belt on, his uwagi hangs open, and we can all see that his little penis now stiff and wagging about again, the head puffy and pink, the gold ornament prominently displayed. Jimmy looks over at the little dick and gives the kid an encouraging thumbs-up, making him smile a little and blush too. The kid then follows Curtis out of the kitchen.

Greg seems to catch-on, and looks at me concerned, he makes a step to follow the kid out, but I hold up a hand "boys will be boys," I remind him. Jamal begins to giggle uncontrollably. I check to see he too has tucked his erection back into his underpants at some point. Greg shakes his head in surrender and sits down at the table to finish eating Curtis' breakfast.

I tell Jamal, "I'm guessing you'll want a "shower" soon too."

Without answering he avoids my gaze and concentrates on finishing his breakfast.

"Sure," he eventually responds.

The kitchen pipes in my house rattle when someone uses hot water in the bathroom, so we all know no one is using the shower, which Jamal decides to point out. "No one's using the hot water," he announces, before getting up and trotting out of the kitchen. He comes back to announce, "They are in the guest room, and the door isn't even all-the-way closed!"

I teasingly shush him, telling him "You're upsetting Curtis' dad."

Greg waves a dismissive hand at me, "As long as Curtis is on top… it's probably better than getting so 13-year-old pregnant."

Jamal assures us "He's on top alright!" and giggles.

If it were with another black boy, I guess Greg would put a stop to it long before now, but he sees little threat to his son's masculinity by experimenting on such a passive little white boy. Greg and I got our first blow-jobs together from a sissy Hispanic boy in junior high school, when we weren't much younger than Curtis. Jimmy waves goodbye and goes out the kitchen door, promising to be back at lunchtime.

Jamal asks Greg "Don't you like him?"

Greg asks, "The white kid? Sure… just not as much as your uncle or Jimmy does." Jamal seems to understand the difference, "And not like Curtis either: they are on the bed already."

I consider the possibility of peeking in, and look at Greg. He apparently has the same thought, so we shush Jamal and all quietly tip-toe out of the kitchen, into the TV room and approach the door to the guest room. I peek through the crack in the door first. I expect to see the kid giving Curtis a blow-job, but I can see two thin, Caucasian legs high in the air above the bed, flailing around and wide apart. And two pale thin hands desperately clinging to Curtis' smooth back, as Curtis' black ass thrusts enthusiastically.

My container of Crisco is abandoned on its side, on the floor by Curtis' underwear. The smooth, round, black butt continues to vigorously hump against the spot where the two white legs would converge. Greg has taken position the other side of the door — where it hinges — peeking through that crack and smiling at his son's busy ass. Jamal pushes his head in below mine, and knowing him, I gently put my hand over his mouth before he can betray our position.

"You like this?" we hear Curtis ask.

And the kid responds with a high-pitched and enthused, "un huh," between the bed springs squeaking. I decide Jamal gets my message so I let my hand slip away from his mouth. He looks up at me grinning and then returns his gaze to the bed.

Curtis whispers loudly, "I love this white ass!" and I quickly cover Jamal's mouth again.

Then Curtis asks, "You like getting fucked by my nigger dick?!" Jamal puts his hand on my wrist, to help hold my hand in place. The kid responds with another high-pitched affirmative grunt. Then Curtis breaks his rhythm, rears back and drives in a couple of especially vigorously thrusts.

"You like that?" he asks. But before we get an answer Curtis rears back and stops, then sheepishly announces, "Wait, it came out."

The kid tells him, "Put it back in!"

At that Greg snorts out-loud and steps away from the door, Jamal giggles through my hand, and I quickly grab the knob and pull he door closed. We all look at each other and stifle our laughter before going back to the kitchen to wait innocently.

After a while we hear the door open again, then the bathroom door shut, and the rattle of the pipes as the shower is turned on. Eventually the shower goes off. We all continue to wait for a bit, then Jamal finally gets up and knocks on the bathroom door.

Curtis announces, "Just a minute!"

Jamal asks, "What are you guys are doing?"

Greg and I can't hear the rest. Jamal plods back into the kitchen, and confides sullenly, "He's getting a blow-job now." Jamal is still in his underpants, and he's making no effort to hide his erection. Finally we hear the bathroom door open. Boys bop around from room to room.

Jamal asks if he can have a beer.

"Have you learned nothing from last night?!"

He shrugs.

"Would you like to wake up with your prince albert?"

"Curtis is hogging the kid," he complains.

The kid appears in the kitchen again as if nothing had happened, still wearing nothing but that open uwagi, his erection still waving about in front of him. I wonder how he can keep it up so much, and guess it's because it requires so little blood.

I get the kid's cell phone out of his overnight bag and ask if he would like to ask his mother about attending "karate camp." Instead of his usual carefree shrug he gives me a decisive "okay." Jamal steps up behind the kid and sweetly puts his hands on the kid's shoulders.

I give the kid the cell phone and tell him, "If she asks, I can explain more to her," but he says it'll be okay. Still standing in front of us with his little hard-on poking out, he connects, "It's me… Can I go to this karate camp?…. " He starts gently nudging the gold stud. "It's free… another kid got sick or something… no It's already paid for." He starts playing with his piercing a little more vigorously, biting his lower lip as he listens. We are all watching, but he doesn't notice or if he does, doesn't mind. Jamal has his chin on the kid's shoulder and is looking down, watching too.

"It's for six weeks… write it on the calendar so you don't forget…" He sighs openly then notices us watching him trying to masturbate, blushes and let's go of his dick. "It starts Monday, but I can stay with my friends this weekend and we can go together… He can give me some, if I need them…. yes, even underwear… Bye." He puts the phone back into his bag.

"It's okay," he informs me.

"Didn't she want to talk to me? Or see the flyer?" and he just shrugs again.

Jamal — still standing just behind the kid — announces, for the kid's sake: "I'm going to take a shower now."

"Stay out of my room," I tell him, and he nods to me. The kid follows Jamal out of the kitchen.

Greg watches them leave and then reveals to me, "Your nephew had the kid's uwagi up in the back, and was poking at his ass through his underwear during that whole phone call!" Greg informs me.

"They're all horny as hell at that age, same as us." I reply. I hear Jamal order the kid to close the door tight this time, loud enough for us to hear. Greg and I grin at each other. We start washing the morning dishes. I hear the kid squeal through the door. Greg and I smile at each other again. Next, we hear a loud moan from the kid, and another. I go and knock on the guest room door.

"We're busy!" Jamal responds.

"Leave the kid's little dick alone. It needs to heal."

There's a long silence before I hear Jamal tell me, "But he likes it."

"He likes a lot of things, but you need to think of something else to do, or at least shut the fuck up."

"I'll try." They grow quiet again and I go back to the dishes. Greg calls for Curtis and announces it's time to go home. We hear the kid really squeal. Greg gives me a look that let's me know it's my problem now.

Chapter 5

We say our good-byes and I don't hear anything else as I dry the dishes, put them away, and head to the sitting room. I hear the bedroom door open and close and Jamal plops down beside me in his long shorts and a hoodie.

I ask him where the kid is, and he says he doesn't know.

I shout for the kid to get out here, that it's exercise time.

The kid trots out again, scratching his bare behind, still wearing only his open uwagi. I open the valve of the air mattress and tell the kid to push all the air out and roll it up. He begins bouncing, rolling, and crawling over the deflating mattress, pouncing on the ever-moving inflated sections as if he's playing whack-a-mole. Jamal decides to join him. Watching my clothed black nephew rolling around on that mattress with the practically naked white boy is really hot, especially knowing the white kid was just fucked by him. Finally I tell them to roll it up shove it into the closet, then Jamal and I push the couch to the TV, as the kid drags the recliner out of the way.

We begin with stretching exercises, then push ups, and then we practice a series of basic defensive moves. I'm in front and the two students follow my lead. Jamal and I are both distracted by the kid's naked moves, but neither of us complain. Occasionally Jamal giggles and he kid blushes and glances at him and me.

"Pants will bother my piercing," the kid explains.

I praise the kid's dedication to the exercises. Finally I get out the helmets and crotch guards, and set up the kids for a bout. The kid reluctantly goes to the kitchen and tugs on his white pants, and wiggles into the bright orange crotch guard. I ask if he's okay, and he nods. I tell Jamal to leave the kid's crotch alone. They bow to each other and commence to flail and kick like boys do. The kid knows his forms and moves, but he doesn't have the aggressive, risk-taking instincts of Jamal. He tends to think through his moves instead of just acting out of rote, which allows Jamal to maintain the initiative. I finally stop the bout and praise both of them. They tug off the helmets and crotch shields, and we put on our running shoes and jog to the local park. Jamal knows the routine, and the kid obediently follows our lead without complaint.

The kid is the only white person around, but he's with us so no one bothers him. I realize no one would bother a lone white kid that age even if he were alone in our neighborhood. It's when an entire white family or group comes out here slumming that causes trouble. We jog by the boxing gym where I hold my Saturday, Sunday and Wednesday classes, and I point it out to the kid before we race back to the house. The kid often brings a hand to his crotch to pull his pants away from his body. The moment we get back into the house, he pushes off the pants and inspects his little dick. Jamal goes into the shower and I get a bottle of root beer from the fridge, and suggest to the kid that he can hold the cold bottle against his dick.

"I have a class in the gym in a few hours," I inform him as we move the couch and coffee table back into the center of the room and I turn on the TV for him.

Jamal emerges from his shower in one of my bathrobes, takes his own root beer from the fridge, and the two watch TV. I take my shower, brush my teeth, and generally get ready for the rest of the day.

I finally fling the door open to see Jamal watching TV, his knees and the bathrobe open wide, and a blonde head bobbing around deep in his crotch. A commercial comes on, and Jamal looks down and then decides to stroke the kid's blond hair. I wonder if Jamal has ever really stroked or touched the fine, soft hair of a white person before. He takes a long swig from his root beer and returns his attention back to the TV.

I'm getting a hard-on watching Jamal and his casual blow-job, and realize that everyone but me has had a turn on the kid this weekend. Well, except Greg, who I suspect isn't interested. I had originally planned not to share him at all. But sharing him around has been fun in it's own way. I wanted to just show him off as my little catamite during the ball game, and then everyone would go home and I'd… well I explained that earlier. Instead we all had too much to drink, and now I'm watching the pantless kid give my young nephew a blow-job.

My nephew will go back to my sister after the afternoon karate session and then it would just be me and the kid, so I decided I could wait until then.

Jamal sets his bottle on the coffee table and puts both his hands gently on the kid's head. His eyes closed and his head slumped back and he just sat like that for a little while, occasionally softly petting the kid's hair. He stretches out his legs and I can now see the kid's eyes are closed too. He opens slightly and extends his pink mouth to grasp at the black penis deeply, pulls back slightly with his lips tight, and repeats the process. I see one white hand resting gently on Jamal's inner thigh, I find the other holding the cold root beer bottle between his own open thighs.

Jamal's breathing gets heavier, and he commands the kid not to stop. He holds the kid's head tighter against his crotch, his toes curl up, but otherwise Jamal just lies there quietly. After a moment he exhales deeply, but keeps a hand on the kid's head. I see the kid's eyes open up and look up at Jamal's face, then Jamal looks down at the kid and starts giggling. The kid too begins to grin, his mouth still around Jamal's dick. Jamal lets his hand flop aside and the kid pulls his mouth away.

He studies the black dick for a long moment and then gives it a kiss, a gesture that surprises me. Jamal asks if he swallowed, and the kid nods, then shows Jamal his open mouth. Jamal says, "Jesus!" while his dick kind of sags and rolls down between his legs. The kid gives the neck of Jamal's cock another kiss.

Finally Jamal grabs the edges of the bathrobe and covers himself up again. The kid pops up off the floor and plops himself down next to Jamal, and they watch TV together. Jamal nudges the kid's rootbeer bottle aside and inspect his crotch. The kid gives him a moment, then presses the root beer bottle back against it, and they go back to watching television.

Jamal makes our lunch: toasted cheese sandwiches and apples, and as I insisted: no beer. Half way through the boys are startled by a knock at the door. The kid is still pantless, and looks up at me for directions. "It's Jimmy" we hear from the outside, and I shout for him to come in. I offer him half my sandwich.

"How's my patient?" he asks, looking at the kid.

"We've been using cold root-beer bottles for the pain," I inform him.

"Icing it is good, but here's a cream to apply," Jimmy pulls a tube of something from his pocket.

"Let me show you how to put it on. Folks are eating here, let's go to the other room."

The kid slides his naked ass out of the seat and Jimmy directs him out of the room. Jamal and I eat together for a while before Jamal comments, "They're taking long enough. What are they doing?" I roll my eyes, and Jamal giggles.

Maybe twenty or twenty-five minutes go by, and it's clear to me Jimmy will be late getting back to the tattoo salon, when I hear the bedroom door open. Jimmy shouts "Later man!" and the front door opens and closes. I let Jamal rinse off the plates and go check on the kid, who's completely naked, quietly tugging the sheets off the spare bed. The room smells of semen and sweat. His flaccid little dick lolls about between his legs. His pale belly is smeared with a thin coat of watery, half-dried cum. He glances up at me.

"Mr. Jimmy said I should put your sheets in the washing machine."

"Oh? Probably a good idea. Are they dirty?"

"A little," he murmurs looking back down at the bedclothes.

"You're alright, otherwise? You seem a bit quiet."

"Yeah."

"Do you like Jimmy?"

"Yeah, he says he wants to see me again soon, is that okay?

"No problem."

"I'm gonna take a shower now, alright?"

"Sure."

He bundles up the sheets and pillow cases in front of himself and heads to the machine in the kitchen. I can see a glob of thick semen drooling along one leg.

The kid gets himself washed and situated again. Jamal seems to have satisfied his urges for the time being. He's content with TV until I have them get dressed for the Saturday afternoon Karate lesson. I promise them we'll go to McDonald's afterward, and then Jamal will take the bus home, so they need to take their street clothes. I tell the kid that since my home dojo meets in a real gym, locker rooms and showers are available.

We walk past the park and to the gym again, and much of my class is waiting for me when I arrive: about nine black boys and three girls, and a couple of Hispanic kids too. We get just one corner of the gym. It mainly houses a boxing ring and a variety of punching bags.

The kid is immediately distracted by the sparring in the nearby ring, and especially a tough-looking Brazilian covered with tattoos. The kid stands out as the only white, blond kid in the gym.

My lessons are pretty routine: warm-ups and stretches, practicing standard moves, politely watching a series of practice bouts. Since Jamal and the kid already had a morning bout, I let them sit out this time to give the other students more time. The kid is often looking over watching the boxers spar and work out, and more than once I have to clap my hands to keep his attention. When it's close to five we do our final bows and I dismiss the class. The boxers are winding down too. We grab our duffel and I follow Jamal and the kid into the locker room.

The kid just freezes for a moment when he turns the corner: there's a sea of mostly black boys in various states of undress, shouting across the room to each other, slamming metal doors, laughing, snapping towels and arguing. A boy maybe a year older than him is just standing there, completely naked, talking to a friend. The place smells of mold and stale sweat. I push the kid to an empty locker near mine. He can't help but monitor the whole room. On the far side, in the Latino corner, standing a head taller than most of the black boys, we can see some young boxers.

I tell the kid to get with it and strip, and set a hotel-sized soap on the bench near him. He nervously strips down, keeping an eye out to see who's watching, and of course all the nearby boys are doing so. He's probably the first suburban white boy they've going to see naked. And I'm guessing it's the first time the kid is naked among so many strangers, as he's obviously anxious and aroused. He wiggles out of his underpants, quickly kicks them into his locker, and immediately cements a hand to his crotch.

I lean down and whisper into his ear, "The boys will probably tease you, but if you cover up like that, they'll realize you're embarrassed about it and they'll tease you ten times more."

He nods seriously to me and lets his hand drop. I can't suppress a smile when I see his, stubby, circumcised, dick stiff and wagging, high up in the air. He's not half-hard, not three-quarters hard, he's 110% hard, the shiny gold knobs on the swollen, red tip drawing even more attention to him. I pick up the soap and gesture down to the other end, where the showers are, "Towels are stacked up just outside the showers, and don't just run in, get wet, and run out again. Use the soap."

The boys near us grow kind of quiet, and are stealing glances at the kid. They are obviously curious, but unsure of how much interest they can legitimately show in another male's body. A few of the most confident ones openly stare and nudge their friends. Jamal is already naked and working his way down the row of lockers, past the boxers, and towards the steam roiling out from the shower room. The kid follows him closely, sliding his own pale naked body in and around the many naked and near naked black boys.

The boys near him steal glances as he passes, some look at each other and snicker, a couple of them incredulously estimating the size of the kid's dick to a neighbor with finger and thumb. The kid soon disappears into the sea of black bodies and I start stripping down myself.

I make my own way to the showers, wade into the dank, dampness and the shouting, horse-playing, naked boys, looking around for the kid. I see him showering right next to the heavily tattooed Brazilian boxer, the other kids leaving them a bit of space. I find a nozzle nearby and I see the Brazilian has his own prince albert: a fat, full circle ring.

The Brazilian is telling the kid, "Lookin' good bro!" and offers the kid a fist-bump. "You just gotta eshow it off, whatever you got!"

The kid is smiling and even strutting a bit, smitten and almost giddy with the attention the Brazilian is giving to him. The boxer stops washing and calmly assesses the kid's naked body in for a moment, and the kid just stands there grinning, obviously delighted by the attention.

"I know exactly the mod you need next," he informs the kid, then leans in and whispers into his ear for a long moment. The kid blushes deeply and his dick twitches, and he plays with it a little.

Juan Carlos then goes on lathering, watching the kid from the corner of his eye as the kid ponders the suggestion for a moment, then gets on his tip-toes, and whispers something back to the boxer, who nods and tells the kid "It's nothing, bro." They both start soaping up again. The boxer's dick starts to stir and grow, and he soaps it up good, the kid watches him do it. The boxer is still observing the kid, and gives him a wide grin and then makes a grab at the kid's little dick. The kid buckles and laughs.

Several of the boys in the shower are watching them, but keeping their distance — trying to figure out the line between male horseplay and open homosexuality. The kid slowly looks around and takes in all the naked boys around him, his little dick still stiff and wagging fervently. Finally his eyes meets mine and he smiles at me shyly, then starts washing his feet, as if to demonstrate to me he's following my directions.

The Brazilian tells him "later, amigo" and slaps the kid's behind playfully before striding out, grabbing a towel, and disappearing back into the locker room. The kid watches him leave as well, soaping his little dick, or just using the soap as an excuse to soothe it. I too start soaping my dick and then — feeling it begin to surge — stop and force myself to think of something else.

The kid is still unabashedly taking in the crowd of black boys and men in the hot shower, a couple of them have half or even three-quarter erections as well. I tell the kid that's enough showering. We both leave our little soaps in the trays for someone else and move out of the water and into the towel room. He follows my lead and we briefly dry off there, instead of in the crowded locker room.

The kid doesn't hesitate to check out any teen or boy as they walk in or out. He vigorously rubs himself down while his little erection bobs about; like a puppy's docked tail wagging. I wrap my towel around my waist and he does exactly the same thing, but holds his out in front, I guessing the piercing still irritates. We walk through the gauntlet of boys and young men bumping and jostling with each other as they get back in their street clothes. The kid waves at the Brazilian, who winks back at him.

We get back to our lockers and the kid tosses his towel onto the bench. Jamal is already half dressed, and nearby boys all seemed to have delayed finishing their dress routine in hopes of getting another look at the kid. I watch a nearby boy bite his lip when the kid bends down to pick his underpants off the floor of the locker. The neighboring boy sits on the bench, then coyly pushes an arm into the sleeve of his shirt, and "accidentally" presses his hand into the kid's plump, damp, behind. The kid peeks over to the boy, then looks up at me curiously. I shrug my shoulders and he grins, his appetite for attention insatiable.

The kid tugs his underpants up, carefully lifting it up over his red dickhead and gently letting the elastic come to rest against his belly. Jamal is buttoning his shirt, and I'm getting into my clothes as well.

Boys fully dressed brush against us as they exit, many of them fixing their eyes on the kid a bit longer than necessary. The kid puts on an old pair of Jamal's shorts and tee shirt that we brought for him, along with his own New Balance track shoes.

We all finally get out of the gym and walk to the McDonald's, have our supper, and I ask Jamal to walk back to the house with me before he gets a bus home. It wasn't my original plan, but I don't like the idea of the attention I might get from any passing cops by walking home with just the white boy in tow. Once at home, I give Jamal a manly hug and confirm that he has his bus pass. He and the kid give each other unconcerned waves and tell each other "later." I'll see Jamal tomorrow afternoon when he helps out with my tikes karate class at the gym.

Chapter 6

I sit on the couch and turn on the TV. The kid flops onto the couch right against me. I ask him if he had fun at the lesson, and he nods.

"I want to go again tomorrow. Will Juan Carlos be there?"

"I see him and his gang there most weekends and sometimes leaving when my class begins on Wednesday. If he has a job, it must be second or third shift. So you've made a new friend?"

He contemplates for a moment before answering, "Um, yeah, I guess. He's really… I mean… I think he likes me too. What's a gelding?"

The question throws me, "Um, a gelding? It's a horse that's fixed, I mean they take their nuts away."

"Why do they do that?"

"Um… a lot of reasons. Afterwards they can't have babies, but they don't want to, so it's okay. And also…well… they don't get so ornery and stubborn, they don't get in fights with other males about females, and they're gentler and more docile. Stallions can be aggressive and disobedient, they can even bite or trample people if they get angry, but geldings much less so."

"Horses don't need their balls to live, then?"

"No."

"Do they ever do it to boys?"

"Huh?! No, not really. They used to do it all the time to choir boys so their voices wouldn't change, and to slave boys to stop them being rebellious."

"Why would that make a difference?"

"It's hard to explain. Without the hormones that our balls make, we wouldn't want to be rebellious. It just makes guys calmer and happier and be more obedient and not want to be the boss. They'd stay happy just listening to their masters. When a boy gets older he wants to rebel and show off and fight and fuck girls, stuff like that, but not if they are geldings."

"Why don't they geld boys now?"

"A castrated boy would never grow a beard or body hair, and wouldn't be able to get really buffed and muscled. Most boys wouldn't want that. But sometimes, when a boy would rather be a girl, they do it."

"Juan Carlos told me I'd be a beautiful gelding. He even says he knows how to do it."

"Shit! He's teasing you! And what would your mother say if you went home without your nuts?!"

"She won't care. And she never even sees me naked. No one does back home. I could hide it from her just like I'll hide my prince-albert."

"Well, we shouldn't have done that piercing, and we wouldn't have if we hadn't all drank too much."

"I like it. Jimmy says it will feel better later on, and Juan Carlos thinks it's really cool. Jimmy does too."

"But I know it hurts."

"Yeah, but it make me feel funny and it itches all the time, and I can't stop thinking 'bout it. And Jimmy says 'No pain. No gain.'!" then he whispers to me, "I'm always feeling it, and when I feel it, I think about being sexy with naked guys. I just want to get naked and touch them, and let them touch me."

"Jimmy still shouldn't have done that."

The boy just shrugs.

He pushes off his shorts and underpants in one long, graceful stroke, kicks them aside, and then pulls the t-shirt off over his head. He starts tickling his little dick ever-so-gently with one hand, and lays his other hand onto my crotch over my sweats.

"I feel that way right now, you know," he volunteers.

"Why don't you do what I saw you do with Jamal this morning?"

He scoffs. "That's just boy stuff. I wanna do the relaxing exercise again, like we did in the basement last week."

"Didn't you do something like that with the boys and Jimmy already?"

He's quiet for a moment. "I was practicing it then, I can do it better now. How many boys have you taught that to?"

"Not many."

"Not Jamal and Curtis?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Well, you're a very special kid, and I knew that you are special last week even before we went into the basement. That you were ready for that, when most other boys wouldn't be."

"Is that why Juan Carlos thinks I'd be a good gelding?"

"Yeah, kinda, but if someone did that to you they'd go to jail."

"They'd already go to jail, just for sex with me. They taught me that at school."

He grabs the top of my sweat pants and tugs down on them. I lift my ass up enough for him to get them down to my knees, and my supporter as well. My fat dick flops out, fully erect and I'm nervous! Nervous its size might intimidate him."

"You want to know a secret?" he asks.

"Sure."

"Your dick is bigger than Jimmy's." He studies my dick for a moment, and then gets off the couch, pulls off my shoes, and drags my sweats and shorts down to my ankles and off.

"Did you tell Jimmy the same thing?" I tease.

"No!" he looks up at me seriously. He considers my dick again, and prods my knees farther apart. He pushes his head deep between my thighs, and to my surprise gives each of my balls a kiss.

"So balls make guys like Juan Carlos good fighters?"

"Yeah, I guess. He probably wouldn't even want to be a boxer if he didn't have'um."

"And they give you big muscles and hair and a big dick?"

"Yeah, the hair and dick. The muscles also take lots of training. You know that."

He eagerly runs his tongue all around my testicles. Then he gives the base of my dick a kiss, and licks it all the way up to the tip, as if he's licking a drip off the side of an ice-cream cone. He stops to rub a lose pubic hair off of the corner of his mouth, then lifts his head up and pounces on my penis like a cat on a mouse, engulfing it in his mouth briefly, before rising up again and flicking his pink tongue all around the dark head teasing and probing at my tight foreskin, then sliding the tip of his tongue along the ridge of my head again, before pushing the tip of his tongue hard against my pee-slit. I purr for him and he proceeds to gently kiss down one side and up the other, and finally brings the top half into his mouth again, and stroke his tongue vigorously along its underside.

I take hold of his head and neck, then lift his chin so his mouth is in line with his neck, and instruct him to take a deep breath. He takes a long gasp as I put a hand on the back of his head and urge it down. He gags audibly and tries to back off, but I hold his head down and urge him to resist the urge and forge ahead. His eyes open and he looks up at me distressed. I pet his hair reassuringly and remind him: "Relaxation. Looseness."

He nods to me gently, my dick deep in his mouth, but still not deep enough. I urge him to concentrate. My dick slips in farther and my own sweet spot becomes engulfed in the kid's hot, quivering gullet. Both his slim hands press warily against my hips; almost as hard as I'm pressing his head and neck down onto my impaling black shaft. I exhale as his nervous, grasping throat tickles and gently tugs my dick deeper, even as the kid's face turns red and his blonde head pushes back against my hands even more desperately. I reluctantly release my grip on his head and he pulls off my dick entirely with a deep gasp.

I pet his flush cheeks, "That's a good start. Take a deep breath and hold it. Take control of your gag reflex — that sensation of choking — and force his throat onto my waiting dick. "blow out now, just like in karate class." He looks up at me with glistening, round eyes. He's eager to please and afraid at the same time. "This time I won't hold your head down; I won't touch it at all. Inhale, then push it down your throat, and blow out at the same time, like during a strike. Controlling the gag reflex is a good beginning towards taking control of one's body generally."

He listens and nods slowly, stares at my wet erection for a moment, it's still hard but is beginning do drift to one side. He inhales deeply, then pounces on it again. I feel the tip bounce around a bit at the back of his mouth before funneling into tight, hot target once more. Small, anxious muscles begin again to massage and tug against it, but as soon as it starts he pulls his head back a bit, and I feel his hot breath rush around. Then, instead of removing his mouth entirely, he rededicates himself and immediately presses his throat onto it again. His hands move from the front of my hips, ready to press himself away, to the sides of my hips, to hold onto me. He's battling with his own internal urges rather than against me.

The moist muscles trembling against the tip of my dick become less important than just experiencing his devoted efforts. And I feel my erection surging up again. The kid seems to feel it too, and renews his efforts: holding his throat in place for my dick to invade millimeter by millimeter. I praise his success and gently stroke his head with the tips of my fingers, barely resisting my own urge to forcefully hold him tight against me. He somehow opens his throat just enough to drive a small burst of air past my dick, only to sink his head a little bit deeper into my crotch. I feel not only his throat, but his tongue and lips trembling against me now. His cheeks are turning red again, the tension begins to rise in my body.

"Yes, I'm close now!"

He lifts his head just enough to suck in some air and then he immediately presses his throat down on my dick again as I hold his head in place. It's my turn to gasp as the sensations engulfing my dick rise and explode into a flood of pleasure. I groan and fire my load into him as his throat relentlessly quivers around my ultrasensitive cockhead. I'm breaking my promise and hugging his head against my body as my dick pulses again and again; nestled in his lush, hot gullet. I begin to feel his hands pressing against the front of my hips again. I release my hold on his head and he immediately pulls off me. He looks up at me with a satisfied expression of exhaustion and accomplishment.

"Fuck, you're good at this," I assure him and stroke his hair and ear for a moment, "Sorry, I grabbed your head again, I just couldn't resist, it felt so good I didn't want it to stop ever."

He nods forgivingly and lets his pink cheek rest on one of my bare thighs, so close that the curly, black hairs from my roiling ballsack caress his smooth, white chin and lips.

My dick is still hard — and after a moment I want more. I push my hands into his armpits and get him up far enough to man-handle him onto the couch. He's looking up at me a bit surprised as I push his back down against the black leather. I inspect his little erection in a new way and smile. It strikes me that he'll never be able to experience the deep-throating I just had. The almost pillowly, snug little testicles in their beige sack make his dick appear even smaller, whiter, even as it stands stiffly out from his almost bare, pale tummy. Its top half is a bit puffy and red, still protesting the invasion of Jimmy's gold stud into its most sensitive spot.

For a moment I hesitate, something inside me questioning the wisdom of sucking a white boy's dick, but I overcome my misgivings and swoop down between his legs and wrap my mouth around the hot, ridged nipple. I immediately feel the hard metal knob against the front of my tongue. The boy wiggles and moans. I feel the other metal knob scratching against the roof of my mouth. My lips are already pressed against the few, straight pubic hairs as the base of his dick, his soft balls pressed against my stubbly chin. His hips wiggle and the dick twitches against the roof of my mouth. I feel his hands grip my shoulders.

I begin to fence with the stiff protrusion, knocking it left and right with my tongue as it bounces back into position. I find the bottom piercing and probe it mercilessly with my tongue, feeling his nails dig into my shoulders and hearing his high, clear voice whimper meekly. I keep at it and feel his slim thighs flex and squeeze my shoulders. I reach under him and push a finger into his hole, now looser and broken in, but still able to cling and meagerly resist. I wiggle my finger all around his loose, weak anus as I push the gold knob all around with my tongue, bumping the other end of the stud against the top of my mouth.

The kid wiggles and bucks under me, "No, don't do that! Jimmy says I can't use my wiener for now."

I lift my head off, slip my arms under his knees and fold his legs onto his torso as I push my body up and above him. I lift my hips up and we both watch as my hefty black rod sways slowly over his taught, pale stub, the little white thing pointing at our heads, while it's wide, black counterpart is pointing down just behind his ungulating little scrotum.

I lower my hips slowly, letting his white thighs funnel my dick into his waiting hole. I find the spot where his body gives way, and test my find with increasing pressure until I'm rewarded with a warm entry and another of his high-pitched whimpers. It's securely in so I look up at his face. He's breathing through his mouth and his eyes are shut tight. We both know I going to possess him entirely soon. On impulse I do something I never do before, dipping down and pressing my open mouth against his, sliding my tongue in to fence and play with his, just as I had been playing with his little dick a moment ago. One of his hands cups the back of my neck, while the other grips the back of my t-shirt.

I push my cock deeper into his body as he moans softly into my mouth, and just leave it there as we entangle our tongues. I nudge and bump his little white nose with my own. His eyes open and I renew my kissing. He shifts his ass, pulling me closer with his hands. I pull my dick out a bit and push it in deeper as he coos. I push his knees a bit more forward and down against his chest, relax my hips, and feel my dick sink even deeper into him as he audibly gasps. He's completely mine now. I try to push in even deeper, but my balls are snug against his warm spread crotch. I lift my lips off his and peek down to see his little balls and dick nestled in my thick, black field of pubic hair.

I don't feel like fucking him to orgasm quite yet, and just leave my dick deep inside his tense body. I study his animated face: he's excited and trembling, breathing erratically; but also tender and inviting, his eyes locked on mine, his mouth slightly open and waiting. I cover his mouth with mine and again our tongues dance together. I stroke some hair back from his eyes, and then kiss his soft cheek and smooth neck and tickle his ear with my tongue. He finds the bottom of my t-shirt, and slips his hands under it. I let go of him long enough to pull the shirt over my head and toss it aside. His colon begins to ungulate softly, reminding me of how his throat pulsed around it only a few moments ago. Again his tight colon strokes the entire length of my dick. I ask him if he wants it out, and he responds by tersely shaking his head back and forth. "Jimmy wants me to do this as much as I can," he confides in me.

"He's right," I decide to tell him, remembering my conversation with Jimmy earlier.

His eyes focus somewhere on the ceiling as little waves of pressure push gently against my dick. I lift my dick half way out, and settle it in again slowly, enjoying the massaging ripples. He coos approvingly, and I do it again for him. He closes his eyes and I begin lazily fucking him: thrusting whenever I've a mind to. His hands slide down to my lower back, urging me to quicken my pace. I'm feeling fully aroused: the kid is letting me know I'm his alpha male, and I feel obliged to confirm it, and begin fucking him more vigorously.

He opens his eyes again and stares up into space. I keep on fucking, and now he's breathing more heavily, cooing louder and louder until it turns into something like a grunt. His fingernails are digging into my back when I feel a string of hot fluid slung onto my belly. His little dick has let loose with a portion of thin sticky fluid all at once, but I have some more work to do and keep humping, and after just a few more thrusts another high-pitched little wail, and another little load squirts onto our bare bellies.

His eyes are clamped shut now, and after a short period of silence he's almost squealing with each of my thrust his dick. I'm about to burst as well, sweat runs off my nose and drops onto his forehead. We both begin to grunt in unison. I peek down to see his dick spasming, forcing out mere tiny beads of clear liquid as my own body explodes with pleasure.

The moment the wave of pleasure subsides I plop down onto his sticky body as his hands collapse to his side, and we both take deep, slow breaths. I'm feeling too lazy to even drag my dick out. After a while we both look at each other and smile, and I give him a final affectionate kiss before lifting myself off him, tugging my dick out from inside him, and letting him unfold his legs onto my lap. I hear his wet body tear itself off of the leather cushions and he rotates around and rests his silky blond head onto my naked, sticky chest. He seems to be studying my deflated dick. He slips a hand into my pubes and strokes them, tugging little clumps out and letting them spring back into place.

"Jimmy says I need to do that a lot while my piercing gets better," he confides.

"With Jimmy?"

"Yeah, but with anyone who wants to."

"Does it make you feel better?"

"Yeah," he confesses, still looking down at my crotch, "I hope Juan Carlos wants to."

"Juan Carlos? The boxer at the gym?"

"Yeah. How old are Curtis and Jamal?"

"They are both thirteen."

"I am too! My birthday was a month ago."

"Some boys develop faster than others."

He ponders the next question for a long moment. "The boys in the locker room all had bigger wieners than me, even if they were younger. I was checking."

"I could see you were checking."

"Have you ever seen any boys with smaller ones?"

"No. But don't worry 'bout it. It's almost as big around as boys his age. It's just shorter. Did you have fun in the locker room?"

"Yes, I never saw so many naked boys before."

"And they probably never saw a white boy like you naked before."

"That was okay too," he admits pensively.

"Does it feel good showing your dick to the other boys?"

He shrugs, "Kinda…it was fun showing it to Juan Carlos especially. Boys never do that where I live."

"You were stiff the whole time. Everyone could see that."

"I saw some other boys get stiff too."

"But not like yours. Yours was really excited!" I tease.

"Did you notice Juan Carlos has a prince albert too?" he asks.

"Yeah," I tell him.

"Juan Carlos has lots of tattoos, but he can't have very many piercings because of the boxing," he explains.

"That makes sense. Is that what Juan Carlos whispered to you?

"Juan Carlos told me my dick is really cool, and I would be a beautiful gelding. I asked him what a gelding is, and he told me it's something he could do that I would like."

"Now that you know what a gelding is, what do you think of his idea?

He just shrugs.

I wonder if he trusts Juan Carlos more than me.

Chapter 7

The next morning we begin with my morning exercise routine, I get him into his uwagi and belt, but he still doesn't wear any bottoms. He tells me the pants still irritate his prince albert. I figure he needs a karate-related story to tell his mother when he goes home, so I delay my Sunday morning run to ask him if he wants to know the secret to breaking sections of wood.

I take him out back to my pile of wood scraps, and show him exactly the type of wood necessary: thin sections of pine with no knots or very straight grain. I set up a section between supports and let him smack it in two with a hammer. Then I find a scrap of much tinner plywood and let him try on that. He bashes at the plywood without success, and I explain to him that many woods will break quite easily along the grain, and the blow must always work with the grain, and not across it.

I set up a section of pine and chop it in half with my hand. I advise him to aim not at the board itself, but imagine a target about a foot below it. I find a couple thin trimmings of end grain, so weak they are easily snapped in two with his fingers, and let him practice his form on them. I help him get his body lined up properly and finally remind him not to think about the wood, but the spot a foot below it, and to keep his hand loose and relaxed. I tell him he must always set up the demonstration himself, and inspect the wood carefully. I show him how he can recognize plywood from examining the edges, and warn him that he'll just break his hand if he were to strike at a sheet of plywood or a piece of wood across the grain instead of with it.

I give him a section of planking and watch as he sets it up himself, and then I give him the go-ahead to strike it. He's wonderstruck as the the pine easily splits beneath his blow. I remind him that it is the speed that delivers the energy, and his muscles must be relaxed and loose when his hand hits the wood, and quietly tell him it is just like his muscles need to be relaxed and loose when his ass hits my wood, and I give him a little goose to drive home the joke.

I let him break one more piece with his hand, and then I find him a pair of safety glasses and have him hold a piece in his hands for me to break with a kick. I have him brace up his arms and hold it steady as I line up my strike, and then smash through the pine in his hands. I grab a dry twig from the ground, get onto my knees, hold it out from my body with both hands, and tell him to kick through it.

He takes up his serious combat stance, and flings his bare foot at the twig. His uwagi flies up and he exposes his little, white genitals to the back yard as he awkwardly strikes one of my hands. I have to laugh, but tell him it's because he's showing off his genitals, and not because he missed his mark. I check the windows of the neighboring houses to see if anyone is watching us. I let him snap a few twigs to develop the form, but realize he doesn't have the power or control yet to do the kick safely.

We go back in the house and I get some pants on him, and we jog to Goodwill where I buy him a couple pairs of shorts, then to Walmart and pick up a boy's athletic supporter, his first one apparently, and he's very excited about wearing it. I take him back home and we have lunch with him at the table wearing just his new supporter. He tells me Juan Carlos wears supporters too. I advise him to be careful around Juan Carlos, but he shrugs off my advice.

It's time to go back to the gym and conduct my Sunday lesson for ten and under. He wants to go along to watch the boxing. He's got on one of my old t-shirts, a pair of shorts, and of course his new athletic supporter.

As we walk to the gym, he keeps picking at his crotch. He tells me it's the fault of his new supporter, which he says kind of helps with his prince albert, when it keeps everything in place, but kind of doesn't help. I tell him he can take it off in the locker room when we get there. I ponder his long, pale legs in the shorts I bought him as he prances along, his gait a bit awkward, but nonetheless animated.

Deep down I want strangers to know I'm fucking this — this incredible, impulsive suburban creature is giving this nigger blowjobs. But at the same time I'm worried about what people — especially cops — will think about me walking around alone in my neighborhood with a white kid. I send him ahead of me to the gym.

Chapter 8

There I meet up with Jamal. I greet all my little students and their escorts. A few are mothers. Others are older siblings and cousins, mostly female. Jamal gets the tots started on their warm-ups. The escorts then mostly drift over to watch the boxers working out. I don't see the kid or his Juan Carlos. Jamal is doing fine so I go take a peek into the locker room. The kid has taken the locker right next to the Brazilian and a couple of his cronies, Brazilian, Mexican, and Black. The kid had tugged off his shorts and supporter and he's just standing there with his little erection peeking out from the hem of his t-shirt. Juan Carlos is sitting on the bench in his shorts, tying up his boots. The kid is making no effort to dress again. Both are smiling.

The Brazilian stands up, flicks at the kid's dick playfully. The kid giggles and buckles a bit and the Brazilian musses the kid's hair, then slams his locker shut and locks it locks up. I leave and step back into the gym. I see Emilio, one of Juan Carlos' black Brazilian cronies who I suspect is selling dope. They leave the kid and walk into the gym laughing and sparing with each other, then go off and begin jumping rope.

I back out before the kid notices me. The kid pops out of the locker room a moment later — his shorts back on thankfully — and watches them do their workouts. The tots are already getting distracted, so I go back to Jamal and give them some encouragement. The lesson drags on for most of an hour, and afterwards most of the kids drift out with their escorts. Now it's just the boxers, their older trainers and other boxing has-beens, and the kid. I tell him it's time to go, and he tells me proudly that Juan Carlos wants him to come to a party that evening. I know the boxers will be working out for a few hours yet, so I ask one of them, Emilio where the party will be, then I take Jamal to McDonald's again. Afterwards I take Jamal to his home and share pleasantries with my sister before heading out to the party.

It's a run-down building even for the South Side of Chicago. The apartment is dark, noisy, and crowded. Mostly black but some Hispanic — much like the neighborhood, and mostly young. Everyone's drinking keg beer out of plastic cups, and I can smell marijuana smoke. I see Juan Carlos and his multi-racial gang in sweats, and several girls — none more than teen-agers — bouncing around, several of them in short shorts and their shirt tails tied around their bare breasts like hillbillys. None of them in bras.

I see a boy around thirteen or fourteen, but it's not the kid, but some thin effeminate Brazilian boy with eye-shadow and dressed much like the girls: shorts that are too short, and a tight, pink, tank-top hiding a couple little acorn-like bumps on his chest. He's a mixed-race, light chocolate color, with a sprawling curly black afro. I go to get my first cup of beer and I finally see the kid sitting on an old couch between an ugly Hispanic girl, and a dark-skinned guy of about sixteen.

The guy is paying as much attention to the kid as to the girl. They all have drinks in hand. I can't hear them talk over the noise and the music, but the guy takes the cup from the kid, and the kid pulls his tee-shirt over his head and sets it aside, and then the girl next to him pulls her shirt over her head as well, exposing her pert, bouncing breasts. No one seems to notice much except the kid, who's staring at them.

I discover the effeminate boy is staring at me, just like the kid stared at me when I first found him at the suburban dojo a few weeks ago. I wink at him, and realize I'm the only black guy above his early twenties in the room. I look back at the kid to see him tentatively reaching up to fondle a girl's brown breast. He's obviously stoned or something.

The Brazilian sissy is looking at me still, openly advertising a more-than-feminine bulge in his hot pants. Then I look again at the kid fondling the girl's breast, and I recognize the adams apple and the large hands and I realize that the "girl" is a tranny. I start checking out the other girls, but the rest seem normal as far as I can tell.

One black girl has noticed the exposed tranny and angrily exposes her own more substantial breasts for comparison. The kid stares at the new pair dumbfounded, but seems to know better than to reach up and touch them.

I notice that the guy sitting next to him has his arm around the kid's shoulder and is running a finger over his ear. The sissy boy is standing next to me now. He's speaking to me in Portuguese, but he slips one hand into mine, while the other indiscreetly adjusts his crotch. I'm enchanted by his exotic parentage, behavior and language. I've never seen such a self-confident, little queen before. I ask him if he knows English, and he nods enthusiastically. His name is Angelo, or Angel.

I hear a squeal and a burst of laughter and look to see that the kid has indeed found the courage to stand up and put his hand on the black girl's naked tit. Juan Carlos wanders over there with a couple of his friends and starts talking to the kid. They smile at each other and exchange some words, making the kid blush. The kid is swaying slightly and I can see he's probably had a beer or two. The boxer slides his hand down into the back of the kid's shorts.

The kid looks around briefly and giggles a bit red-faced. His favorite boxer starts directing the kid by his ass, nudging him into one of the bedrooms. Juan Carlos gestures to Emilio — the gym dope dealer — before he and the kid enter the room and close the door. Emilio — about sixteen — gets up and talks to the kid who was sitting next to the kid tickling his ear, and I see them go into the bedroom as well. I get just a glimpse of the kid from behind wearing nothing but his athletic supporter looking up into the boxer's eyes, who has a large hand planted on one of the kid's ass cheeks.

However, my little sissy friend is tugging on my hand, pulling me out of the apartment. He drags me down the hall past a dirty niche little that was once for a pay phone or something. I grab the boy, push him into the niche, and down onto his knees. He smiles and tugs down my sweats and my supporter, freeing my erection. He leans his head out of the nook and glances up and down the hall, then up at me grinning for a moment before wrapping his moist, warm mouth around it. But it's just a sample. The boy gets up again, grabs my hand, and tugs me further down the hall as I slip my stiff dick back into my sweats.

He pulls out a key and unlocks the door to a neighboring apartment. He gestures with a finger to his lips for me to be quiet: and whispers in a sweet accent that his older brother and sister are at the party, but his mother is sleeping in another room. He switches on the light and drags me past a small kitchen and living room, and into a little room with a couple sagging twin mattresses on the floor. I can still hear the music from the party through the walls. About half the room — his half — is decorated in pinks, with pictures of unicorns and posters of white boy bands. The other side of the little room is ornamented with posters of soccer stars and girls in bikinis. He waves off the masculine half of the room, announcing that it's his older brother's. The boy tugs his tank-top over his head, kicks off his shoes, and wiggles out of his shorts and girlie underpants in one motion.

He's got a dark, uncircumcised erection, thin, ram-rod straight, about the length of his middle finger, and completely void of pubic hair. But, what catches my attention is a dark, sagging, vacant scrotum almost flush with his body underneath. Once he kicks his pants aside, he gives me a nervous, uncertain look. I ask him what happened, but the question is redundant: my gaze alone asked the question. He looks down and shrugs while scratching at the empty sack, before holding a finger up to his lips and turning off the light.

I can't stop thinking about the odd scrotum. He again collapses to his knees and tugs at the waist of my sweats and supporter. I feel his big afro tickle my erection as he sweeps them down to my ankles. His hands caress my ass as I feel his warm lips and tongue gently touch my scrotum, nudging my testicles gently around, letting my dick slide softly around his smooth forehead and soft hair. One hand withdraws from my ass cheek to take hold of the base of my dick, and I feel his mouth withdraw from my scrotum.

I'm aroused, certainly, but it's still his exotic crotch that fascinates me. I want access to it, so I drop down to my knees too, give his lips a passing kiss, and drag him down with me to the little mattress. I push him in one direction while I stretch out in the other, setting us up for some 69. He again grabs the base of my dick and I feel his warm tongue sliding along it. I find his little hard-on and engulf it entirely in my mouth, and bring a couple fingers to the flat, corrugated skin just below it. It's soft and loose, and all I can find within is the stiff root of his little erection.

He reaches down with one hand and gently bats away my roaming fingers. I don't resist him; I'm temporarily satisfied with my exploration of his anatomy, and my curiosity shifts to his biology. Obviously, he can still get erect, and I wonder if the little sissy can even be brought to orgasm, so I begin seriously taunting the little dick with my tongue, and — knowing the kind of boy he is — I reach around and poke a finger into his receptive anus as well. It's the finger that makes him coo and wiggle next to me, and I insert another to make him coo and wiggle again. I pull my fingers from his ass and my mouth from his dick and he knows the next step. He pulls his mouth away as well, and then twists his body around so we are head to head again. I nudge him onto his belly and I tumble onto him and easily slip my dick into his waiting hole.

He audibly gasps, and I wonder if it's a rote response, but I don't mind. I maneuver a hand under his chest and find one of his soft, budding nipples, and he coos again. I assume they are naturally occurring little tits: if he were taking female hormones I'd guess he'd have more pubic hair. The boy moans and twitches as I let my dick sink into him, but I meet no more resistance until my pubic hair is pressed against his soft ass. Without coaching, he knows how to caress me with his colon muscles, and even clinch his anus at the beginning of my downward strokes.

My other hand finds his penis again, and I fondle him from the tip right down to his taint, again taking a moment to handle and explore as much of the little folds and ripples of scrotal skin as he lets me get away with. I feel his hand cover mine. My chin is nestled in his deep afro.

I stop fucking and ask what happened to him there. He asks me where so I squeeze the silky, corrugated bundle of skin beneath his dick. He lies and tells me nothing happened there, and then informs me there are other boys just like him. I tell him I know boys like him, but none just like him; that's he's a very, very special boy. I squeeze his empty scrotum again and tell him this is what makes him especially hot as far as I'm concerned. I'd heard of undescended testicles, and assume that's his situation. But, my conversation with the kid about what Juan Carlos said to him makes me worried it is something else.

He drags his shorts to him and digs out his cell phone, and taps open a video. We watch the little screen together in the dark room. On it, Juan Carlos opens a door and directs the sissy boy towards the camera. The boy in the video is the boy under me, just as naked and erect but a bit younger and with much shorter hair. He's a bit unsure of his balance, but smiles up affectionately to the Brazilian boxer. I wonder if he isn't drunk.

The date and time at the bottom of the video indicate it was recorded a year and a couple months ago. The boy glances right into the lens, but then back at the bed quickly as if he's been told not to look at the camera. He sits on the bed facing Juan Carlos, then lays back. Juan Carlos is in jeans and a tee-shirt. He slips his dick out, it's pre-piercing. The boy smiles at the appearance of the dick.

The door opens again and two more clothed guys walk into the room. Juan Carlos is unperturbed, but the boy seems surprised and concerned with the intruders. The sound is low, but I can hear Juan Carlos reassure him in Portuguese, stroking the boy's bare thigh. The boy's legs are open, and I suddenly realize below his erection are a sagging little pair of ovals.

The guys give Juan Carlos a fist-bump and then look over the naked boy on the bed. Juan Carlos grabs the boy's thighs, spreads them, and inserts his dick into the waiting boy, who seems more concerned with the other guys in the room.

One of those guys — a young black buck who I recognize as Juan Carlos' current sparing partner — puts a knee on the bed, then throws the other over to straddle the boy's chest, facing Juan Carlos. The camera shifts awkwardly between the boy's face and his crotch, which is bumping in unison with the boxer's thrusts.

Another guy in the room discretely hands out two unusual chrome tools to Juan Carlos and the black guy, who is stroking the boy's little penis aggressively. The guy who handed out the tools just leans back against the wall and watches.

The camera moves around a bit, experimenting for a moment until it gets both the boy's face and genitals into the frame. We can hear the photographer giving them the go ahead.

The black hand slides off the boy's dick and begins fondling the boy's little balls. Juan Carlos' dick is still sliding in and out of the boy, but he takes a moment to nudge the boy's slim chocolate thighs flatter and farther apart. The black guy is fingering the boy's sack just above the balls, and seemingly satisfied, slides his chrome tool over the bit of skin between his ebony fingers. The boy's face in the video seems distracted and unconcerned. He's struggling to keep his eyes open, obviously high on something.

I ask Angel if he remembers this, and he responds all of it.

Back on the screen I can see Juan Carlos is only intermittently thrusting, concentrating on positioning his tool onto the other side of the scrotum. Juan Carlos and the black guy nod to each other. Then both of them squeeze down hard on the handles.

The boy's eyes pop open, and he effeminately swats and pushes at the back of the black guy with his arms. At the same time his legs kick out straight, then weakly kick and twist. The black guy – laughing — grabs one ankle with his free hand, while Juan Carlos eventually gets the other ankle under his free arm.

The spectator is off of the wall now, glancing between the boy's perplexed, distressed face and the boy's heaving, twisting lower body. Juan Carlos is counting to ten in Spanish or Portuguese or something. I realize I'm watching the boy being castrated, and the thought of it makes me dizzy. I'm more than a bit stunned by the idea of deliberately hobbling a boy's development just to make him into more alluring sex object. I know I'm supposed to be abhorred by the thought, but I'm not. Not at all.

Video Angel is still meekly struggling as they release their tools in unison, slide them down just a bit on the boy's sheathing scrotum, and clamp down again. He moans softly, but seems too out of it to articulate anything more. He begins gasping heavily, but trails off his physical resistance.

Without looking away from the phone I tell they boy, "That must have hurt!"

He responds, "They gave me a drug, it all felt far away."

Juan Carlos begins nudging his dick into the boy again, and then lets go of the tool and begins seriously fucking. The black guy removes his tool entirely, and then removes the other as well. Juan Carlos grips the boy's inner thigh with both hands and makes a final series of deep thrusts. Then he sighs, pulls his dick out, tucks it into his jeans before taking the two tools from the black guy.

Juan Carlos steps out of the way as the black guy dismounts the boy's heaving chest and gets into position between the boy's thighs. He pulls out his own good-sized penis and shoves it in. The boy just lays there, moaning a bit, his little penis is completely deflated now, and he's gingerly cupping his testicles with both hands.

He's got an expression on his face — he seems to realize what just happened. He's deeply embarrassed and looks away when he spots the camera. The camera zooms in on the black dick pumping in and out of the chocolate thighs. Angel's hands warily surround the scrotum but don't actually touch it. We can see between the fingers that it is tight now, and there are a couple parallel red welts on each side, but otherwise they seem unchanged.

Angel stops the video and discards his cell phone on the mattress. He tells me with a shrug that the other guys in the room fuck him after that. I ask him again if it hurt, and he tells me not too much, until the next morning. He volunteers that it hurt for a week or two, and Juan Carlos gave him tablets for it, but after that it was alright, his balls just turned soft and mushy over time and slowly shrunk away after a month or two.

I ask the boy if his mother knows it happened, and he shakes his head. He tells me Juan Carlos would get into trouble if she found out. I then ask if it's hard to have Juan Carlos as his neighbor after that, and he shakes his head. He tells me it's alright, really. He adds that he and Juan Carlos even get together sometimes.

It hits me that my session with Angel was arranged by Juan Carlos as a diversion, to get me out of the party while Juan Carlos gets the kid into that very same situation as Angel in the video. I'm blown away imagining the kid being emasculated just for the amusement of others in the next apartment. I wonder if Angel is showing me the video as his way of letting me know what's happening at the party, and assuaging his own responsibility for it. I can't remember ever being more hard and horny. I consider going back — if only to watch it happening — but already lounging next to me is a castrated boy ready and eager to please.

Checking on the kid will have to wait and I start on Angel again. He tells me not to tell anyone that he has the video. He found it on his brother's phone — his half-brother actually — and copied the video to his own.

It doesn't take long for the friction of his hot colon against my dick to work me up into an intense orgasm and I release a very satisfying load into the boy. I rest on top of him for a moment and then roll off and start putting my clothes in the dark.

I want to get back to the party. I have no heroic fantasies of rescuing the kid — it's likely too late anyway. But I want to see if the suburban, white kid has anything like that perplexed, humiliated expression video Angel had on his face when he realizes what that gang had done to him.

I can hear snoring in the next room, and I realize it's a man — probably his mother's current boyfriend. There's just enough street lighting from the window for me to know Angel's lying there naked watching me, playing with himself. I quietly tell him I'm surprised his dick still gets hard, and he seems surprised. He proudly informs me he's hard a lot. I ask him if he shows that video to other guys. He tells me only sometimes: if they are interested in what happened to his balls, he shows them the video. But a lot of guys don't really pay that much attention, or don't care. The boys at his school just like blow jobs, and he doesn't even bother to get undressed for that.

I ask if he's coming back to the party, at least to introduce me to his brother and sister, and he shrugs, gets up, and we move into the living room. Still naked, he points out a family portrait and in the dim light I can make out his half-brother; it was the Hispanic guy sitting next to my white kid earlier in the party. I ask if it was his half-brother holding the camera during his video, and after a moment, he nods.

I pat the boy's bare behind a couple times, flick around his wagging little erection, then slip out of the apartment and back to the party.

I look around for the boy's half-brother but don't see him. I get another beer from the keg and wander into the kitchen, which apparently has been designated as the smoking room for the evening. A young couple are fucking against the fridge. I don't like the pot smoke so I retreat back into the main room and wait. The tranny is still topless giving a very drunk Emilio a blow job. The bedroom door opens and two black teens walk out smiling and shaking their heads. They give each other a high-five and walk over to the keg and get new beers.

I move into a better position to watch the door. It opens again, and Juan Carlos steps out, adjusting his sweat pants. Behind him I see the hairy ass of the Angel's Hispanic half-brother, and two familiar, pale legs slung out wide and docile on either side. I wait a few minutes and the half-brother opens the door and slips out of the room. I wait another ten before picking up the kid's discarded t-shirt and walking over to the bedroom door myself.

I open it to see the kid's new supporter is still lying discarded on the floor. He's sitting up on the bed, one hand over his crotch, the other clutching his shorts. Staring vacantly at the floor. I ask him if he can get his shorts on, and he shakes his head and bites his lower lip. I sit him down on the bed and shove his bare feet into the leg holes. He leans back a bit, but needs both hands behind him to steady himself. I spot the red-purple, parallel welts on either side of his snug little scrotum. I wonder how much he understands of what just happened to him, and decide it doesn't matter.

I stand him up and tug the shorts over ass. I ask him if he enjoyed Juan Carlos' party, and he just shrugs.

He mutters, "we did some… stuff…"

"You certainly did!" I respond, "But now we should go home."

He's pretty doped up so I practically have to guide his every step to my car. On the way out, I tell Juan Carlos he can really throw a party. I will never forget it, and I bet the kid won't either. He grins and tells the kid "You da best, karate boy!" The kid looks down with exactly the confused, humiliated expression I expect. Juan Carlos tells us "Neither of us gonna forget dis night, huh kid?"

Chapter 9

The next morning the kid wanders into my kitchen, wearing nothing but underpants.

"My nuts really hurt," he whines.

"How much of the party do you remember?"

He blushes, looks down, and shrugs.

"Did you have fun with Juan Carlos and his buddies?"

"I guess it was okay, but… we did some weird stuff."

I try to look surprised, "What weird stuff? Was it fun?"

"It was fun when we started," he confesses as he gets some ice from my freezer and presses it gently against his crotch.

"Let me take a look," I ask, and he reluctantly tugs down his underpants and I can see his dick is just a little pink button resting on top of a heavily bruised and swollen scrotum. "You really let them have their way with you, didn't ya?"

Suddenly he chokes back a sob, and his eyes tear up. "I just wanted Juan Carlos to have his way. I didn't mind if his friends watched, but he let them do it!"

"Do what, exactly?" I asked, already knowing.

He doesn't tell me. "It seemed so exciting at the time, Juan Carlos was going to do it and okay: his friends were going to watch. But there were so many watching… girls even!"

I ask again "What exactly?"

Finally he whispers, "That gelding thing."

"So, you let them do that?! Even after I explained it to you?!"

He shrugs, wiping away tears with the back of his hand.

"But I told you what it does, and to be careful around Juan Carlos."

The kid looked up at me with his big, wet eyes. "I couldn't help it! I just got all shivery and dizzy when I thought about Juan Carlos doing that to me, with his gang all watching — even girls. But then Juan Carlos didn't even do it in the end; he let two of his black friends do it!"

"You didn't want the black guys to do it?"

"I wanted Juan Carlos to," then after a moment he shrugs and admits, "It felt weird."

"Does it feel weird if me and my friends have sex with you?"

"No… a little, but I…" and he begins talking high and fast. "When we first did it in the dojo basement, when it was happening, I just wanted to do it so badly, and then, when we were done, I wondered why I did that… It's like that," he stops and takes a deep breath, then, more pensively, "When those two black boys did that gelding thing… before it happened it was so exciting. And then… when it's over… I don't know why I let them do that."

"Yeah, that's often how sex can be," I assure him. "Did you take any dope from them before you agreed ?"

He shook his head, "a couple beers is all. They gave me pills, but only after they started."

"Well, we should have a doctor look at that."

"Uh uh," he responds, shaking his head.

I send him to the shower and call Jimmy, who always seems to have answers to these kinds of problems. An hour later we are knocking at a guy's door on a shady block off Devon in little India. I tell him I'm a friend of Jimmy's and he lets me in, telling me with a thick Indian accent that he's a doctor — except his license has been suspended for some misunderstanding about prescriptions. I convince the kid to let him take a look. He gives the kid a shot and he's out like a light.

"Given what you say happened, I won't be able to save his testicles," the doctor advises me as he inspects the kid's genitals.

"Oh, don't bother trying, just make sure he'll heal up quickly," I advise him.

"Oh, alright then, no problem." He assures me while he prepares his instruments. "I've castrated 'soft' boys like him… back in India. They beg for it sometimes."

The doc makes quick work of it, slitting open the sack and squeezing out the bloody contents like a giant zit, slashing away with a scalpel to expedite anything the least bit stubborn.

"I can trim away most of the scrotum too, tighten it up. It will make him look almost feminine."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you think best."

He cuts away about three-quarters of the scrotum and slowly stitches together what's left, leaving just a taught, flush button of wrinkly scrotum held together with a dozen broad, black stitches. Then he reinforced the seam with some kind of clear glue.

"It's a simple procedure you know, he should have no complications. This penis can be removed if you like, it's a little more complicated a procedure, but it's how it's done in India. Makes them feel very feminine — that's what they want."

I think about it for a moment, "He'll still get erections?"

"Sometimes, you might not see a change in the first month or so, but less with time," he thinks it over a moment, before adding "even infants get erections, he'll never lose it entirely, but they'll be much less intense, frequent, and of shorter duration."

"Ah no thanks, then."

I'd rather see it pop up and betray his arousal now and then, that'd be more entertaining.

"Many of these boys want to appear as close to female as they can."

"Won't he lose his interest in sex without testicles?"

"It depends. It will diminish over the next month or so, certainly, as the effects of testosterone in his system wear off. He'll become calmer. And during the transition there may be some emotional outbursts. He should become more passive and receptive."

"Well, he's quite passive and receptive already." I explain.

"Yes, sex will become more of a pleasant pass-time than the imperative that it typically is for young men."

The doc opens a cupboard and gives me bottles of pain-killers, anti-inflammatories, and anti-biotics all marked 'veterinary use only, not for human consumption' and prescribes bed rest for a week.

The kid wakes up about half-an-hour later and I, $250 poorer, take him home and put him to bed.

Chapter 10

It's the next Wednesday — ten days after that big encounter with Juan Carlos, and another hot one, when I finally get him to agree to go out of the house and to karate class at the gym. He seems to have healed up pretty well: both the piercing and the scrotum. Jamal is supposed to show up and we'd walk there together after work. It gives Jamal's mother — my sister — a bit of time to herself. Jamal has his own key to my place.

When I get home from work both Jamal and Curtis are already there.

"We got here early, but the kid won't come out of the guest room," they complain to me.

"Yeah, listen: he went to a party with the boxers a couple Sundays ago, and they talked him into some really crazy sex stuff. He's still kinda hurting, and he's really embarrassed by it. So don't pester him, okay?"

"Like what?" Jamal asks.

"He can tell you if he wants to."

"C'mon, what happened?!" Jamal insists.

I glance over to the guest room door and lower my voice. "You guys know how the pound fixes dogs before people can adopt them, so they can't make more puppies and won't bite and bark so much?"

"I guess."

"Well, the Brazilian boxers talked the kid into letting them do that."

"They fixed a dog at the party?"

"No," I respond, realizing just how unbelievable the story has become, "the boxers fixed him at the party, while a bunch of the party-goers watched."

The boys' jaws drop and they look at each other, before saying "Wow!" almost in unison.

"I know it's kind of funny, but it's really a serious thing and he's embarrassed, so don't tease him."

The boys giggle.

"Listen, when you do that to a boy, it does kind of the same thing, without balls you kind of stay like a little boy and never develop to a man."

"I guess they really made him their bitch!" Curtis announces.

I go over to the bedroom door and tell the kid through it that we are all going to karate class, and that Juan Carlos and his bunch will probably be there as well. The door soon opens up and the kid comes out in his karategi, and we all head off into the afternoon heat on foot to the gym. I have to keep the kid from walking into traffic or in the wrong direction, apparently he's just taken his afternoon pain tablet.

We get to the gym to see that indeed Juan Carlos and some of his entourage are sparing and using the punching bags when we arrive. The boxer waves at the kid, who gives a shy, half-hearted wave back. Juan Carlos then gets something out of his bag and comes over to us; it's the kid's athletic supporter. He hands it to the kid, who mutters thanks after barely glancing up to the boxer. I notice some of his gang are watching, and restraining their grins. Karategi don't have pockets, and the kid is just standing there with the supporter in his hand, so Juan Carlos suggests he go put it on before my class begins. Then Juan Carlos tells the kid he's having another party this evening after his training, and the kid's invited, because he and his bros had a really great time with him last time.

He invites me too, as well as Jamal and Curtis, but warns me it's an "adult" party. He whispers something in the kid's ear, musses the kid's hair, and goes back to his training. The kid looks up at me and points to the locker room. A while later he's back and joins in the warm-up routines with the rest of the class. He even does a couple half-hearted kicks. I don't call on the kid to spar, out of fear a hit to his groin would result in an ugly scene.

There are plenty of fans spinning in the old gym, but still everyone is hot and sweaty, and the showers are again crowded with ghetto boys more worried about cooling off than hygiene. The kid seems a bit nervous, but he undresses near me and I get a good look at his little stiffy, and the remains of his sack flat and tight underneath, and a stack of black stitches trailing down. The bottom third is still black and blue, where I assume the blood has settled. Jamal and Curtis are dumbfounded and appear surprised and concerned when they see it. Some of the other boys notice him too — as the white boy with the particularly short penis is still the novelty — and it's not only me and Juan Carlos' little gang that understand the implications of the flat, stitched-up scrotum. I follow the kid into the showers.

He's goes off by himself and faces the wall as he lathers down. Juan Carlos and a couple of his friends stride in after me. A black teen-ager is there, pretty much erect, and looking the kid over openly. I see the kid look up at him, then down at the black erection wagging about. He says something quietly to the kid, who blushes in return. Then the kid stands directly under the water for a final rinse and speed walks out to grab a towel. I'm back to the lockers soon afterwards, but the kid already has his supporter back on, and tugging on his white karate pants again.

I ask him, "What did that guy have to say?"

"Who?"

"The black guy who talked to you in the shower?"

He looks down at his feet, and tells me quietly, "He's one of them."

"Oh?" I respond quietly, "One of the two who fixed you? What did he say to you?"

"That he'll be at the party."

"He wants you to come, then. What's his name?"

"I dunno."

"Do you really want to go?"

"I guess."

"I'm getting a little worried about what you are going to say to your mother after 'karate camp'."

He just shrugs and says "Nothing."

"Are you happy you came, so far?"

"I didn't think it was going to be like this, but it's okay." He tells me softly.

"Really?!"

"I guess. It feels like… I didn't know people did things like this to each other."

"Yeah, I was kinda surprised too. You'll have lots of stories to tell your friends when you get back," I suggest.

The kid looks up at me in horror, "No! I can't tell anyone back home… I mean… they won't get it… Especially…"

"Especially what?"

"It's just… so many black guys… back home we don't see hardly any, except on TV. And no one likes them. If the guys at school knew who… I mean… especially… it made me feel really strange when Juan Carlos invited those two black guys to watch, but when he invited them to do it for him… I was ready for Juan Carlos to do it, not those guys, but Juan Carlos seemed so excited about it…"

"Really?" I ask.

"But then, when the time came, he didn't even want to do it himself. He wanted those black guys to do it. It made me feel weird. Even now if they just look at me. It makes me feel weird… I shiver when I think about it. I feel like they took something from me, but my wiener gets stiff thinking about it too," he whispers to me before looking down.

"But they did take something," I assure him. I gesture down to his crotch. "So it's bound to feel a little funny for a while anyway. Going to this party will only remind you."

"I guess," he shrugs in response.

"Looking forward to it?"

He shrugs back again, "I want to see Juan Carlos again."

"Oh!?"

"Yeah, kinda. It feels kinda weird, but I want him to know I still like him."

"What about everyone else, all his friends were watching, right?"

The kid blushes and looks down. "Stop it!"

"Let's go then, or we'll be late."

"Maybe I shouldn't."

"No, just take a deep breath and face it now. I already told them we are coming," I pat the kid's head gently. "Just try to make them think what they did wasn't a big deal to you, and you don't really mind they did it — it was even fun. If they think you're really embarrassed about it, they'll tease you even more."

"I know," the kid concedes.

"It's not the end of the world: boys can live just fine without balls."

We can't all get into Emilio's car, so the boys go with him, and Juan Carlos and I go in his little two seater Miata. I assume Juan Carlos has some real money coming from somewhere, and I suspect it's drug related. I tell him I spent 250 dollars having the kid fixed up, and he waves a dismissive hand at me and tells me he'll cover it. I ask if he ever gets into trouble for doing it. He laughs and says confidently "Boys like that know who they can tell their secret to, and who they can't tell. For them the embarrassment is part of the sex. Have you taken pictures of the kid — naked ones?"

I shrug.

"It's the same thing. Posing for pictures excites them because they love feeling dominated by an alpha. They even imagine who's going to see the pictures next. Just leave a camera in the room with 'that one' and he'll take the pictures himself! But," he assures me, "they know there'll be no more fun if they tell the wrong people, so they don't. I think you understand all this already."

I nod, "Yes, I guess I just never took it that far."

Juan Carlos assures me, "If the wrong people ever find out, the kids will tell some ridiculous story: 'I was kidnapped by a homeless guy,' something like that." He waved a dismissive hand out the car window.

"How many boys have you done this to?"

"Maybe six now? The first time I was fifteen. My older cousin walked me through it. Just some Rio slum kid. My gang finds them useful." He pauses a minute to make a left turn and concludes "You know, in Thailand the sissy boys plead for it? Afraid to lose their feminine appearance. Ha, ha. I used to box there, and a year ago my gang got me a visa to train in America. It's just the same here," he concludes with a shrug.

There are already half-a-dozen teen-aged girls at the party, along with several older teen boys. The girls have a hard, overly made-up appearance: drug-dealer's bitches. That Juan-Carlos' boxing career is just a cover for drug dealing I suspected for a while, but it really wasn't any of my business, as long as he left my kin and young students out of it, which that gang had always did, it was the kid that brought Juan Carlos and I together. We had ignored each other in the gym for most of a year before this.

The keg is set up, and R Kelly's music is already thumping. Angel is there as well, and grins at both Juan Carlos and me. Angel's wearing his tanktop and short cutoffs. His pants are as much feminine as anachronistic: the short shorts popular with boys in the 1970s. He's even cut a slit in them half-way up the side seams. I see that the kid is finishing his first plastic cup of beer; at least I assume it's his first.

Curtis and Jamal are off in one corner, each with their own beers, staring at the girls. The kid sees me and brings me a beer as well. Angel sees that, and decides to bring a beer to Juan Carlos. The boxer waves it away, and tells me he seldom drinks and never does drugs. I tell him I don't do drugs either, but probably drink a bit too much. He encourages Angel to drink the beer.

Juan Carlos disappears and comes back into the room with a digital camera. He wants pictures of the kid and Angel. Angel assumes a feminine pose, with his head cocked to one side one hand on his hip and his weight on one leg. The kid watches. Juan Carlos points the camera at the kid now, and he doesn't seem to know what to do; how to pose. So Juan Carlos lowers the camera to his chin, and tells the kid to show some style.

Angel intervenes: he removes the kid's orange belt and pushes the kid's uwagi open. As Juan Carlos brings the camera to his eye, Angel swoops in and gives the kid a little kiss on the cheek. The camera flashes before the kid can express his surprise. He blushes and looks at Angel.

Some of the girls are watching now and encourage the kid to kiss him back. The kid seems uncertain, and looks to Juan Carlos and me for approval. We urge him on and the kid puts a hand on Angel's shoulder and does his own peck on the cheek as Angel brushes the uwagi back and puts his hand on the kid's pale bare chest. The camera flashes once more. Angel decides to pull his tanktop off and pose again, tying the kid's orange belt around his waist first. I can see a little diagonal lump in the crotch of his pants now, staring at the camera in just the orange belt, his sneakers and little shorts. I remembered the conversation in the car about photographing, and realize Juan Carlos is doing this to prove his point to me.

I ask Juan Carlos if he thinks the kid can do better than that. Juan Carlos looks at the kid and shrugs. The kid slips off his uwagi, but Juan Carlos isn't too impressed. And urges the kid to do better. The kid looks around the room, and sees he's the center of attention now. He reluctantly unties the draw string to his pants, looks around again, and pushes them down to his ankles and steps out of them. He's now in just is supporter, his white socks and New Balance sneakers.

Some of the girls hoot. Juan Carlos grins approvingly and waves Angel into the picture. Angel snuggles up to the kid and puts his arm around the kid's bare waist before the flash goes again. The kid jumps as one of the girls sneaks up behind him and pinches his bare behind.

Angel now wiggles out of his hot pants. He got on pastel pink panties printed with little white flowers. His skinny erection straining against the soft cloth. He leans his head onto the kid's shoulder, his afro brushing against the kid's face as Juan Carlos takes another shot.

The girls in the room are cooing now, exclaiming how cute they are.

The kid discovers Angel's bulge. He asks Angel if he's a boy, and Angel shrugs noncommittally, then asks the question right back. The kid blushes again, and asks me to tell Angel for him that he is indeed a boy. I laughingly respond that he needs to tell Angel himself. Angel reaches in and tugs down at the supporter, giving the room a brief view of the kid's pale, little erection as Juan Carlos takes another shot. The kid hikes his supporter back into place with one hand, and grabs at Angel's pink panties with the other in retaliation. Angel pays no mind to protecting his own modesty, and goes after the kid's crotch with both hands now.

They are both laughing, as are Juan Carlos and I, and the girls in the room start encouraging them both to stop being so shy and show everyone what they got.

Angel is first to step out of his panties. He stands there in just the orange belt, dirty canvas sneakers and socks. Juan Carlos takes a picture of Angel standing there happily, yet serious. His finger-sized milk chocolate dick sticking straight out from his crotch, and below it is his shrunken scrotum, with two noticeably flat folds of skin up against his crotch where his balls should be sagging down. The girls quickly quiet down and whisper a bit amongst themselves. The quiet ripples out into the room, and even Jamal and Curtis move for a better look. The kid too quiets down, working to put all the pieces together in his mind. Juan Carlos takes another photo, and then orders the kid to let us see him as well. The kid looks up at Juan Carlos almost desperately. He swallows hard, looks around nervously, and pauses for a long moment. Juan Carlos grins and orders him "C'mon."

I can see the kid's hands shaking as they slip into the elastic waistband at his sides. He quickly slides the supporter down to his sneakers, repeatedly glancing up at Juan Carlos and me. He steps out of it awkwardly and tosses it aside with his other clothes, and then nervously straightens up again, blushing deeply, his face serious yet faltering, searching around for any hint to how is expected to appear. He glances over to me and I nod encouragement to him.

With the possible exception of little Angel, every guy in the room has seen the kid's tiny white dick before, but the tight, sutured little patch of scrotum just beneath silences the onlookers. Without the thick, black stitches standing out against his pale skin, one might think the kid was just cold or something. But there they are, confirming any gossip as to what happened as a result of Juan Carlos' previous debauch.

The kid still blushes deeply, he makes a move to cover himself with a nervous hand, but at the last moment decides not to. Several of the guys in the room helped to castrate him, and I notice a couple of them grinning and glancing at each other. The kid's face is beet red, and his hands shuffle about nervously. I still can't help but think neither of the two squirts really understand what's been done to them, and probably will never be able to fully comprehend what they have lost. However, I don't feel sorry for either of them as I watch them explore their sexuality, any more than I would feel sorry for a girl who was just beginning to experience hers.

Juan Carlos smiles approvingly, and reaches out to pet the kid's cheek for a moment with something in his hand. The kid takes hold of Juan Carlos' wrist and the Brazilian opens his hand flat to display a gold trinket, a full Prince Albert ring with a single bead disgusting the joint, not the kids' current little curved barbell. It's also almost double in dimension.

"This one," he informs the kid seriously, "is pure gold, not electroplate junk." The kid's dick stiffens and twitches. The party is a much different setting than the locker room. There is no denying the kid is standing there naked for no other reason than to provide titillation. He's been repeatedly looking up to Juan Carlos for approval, and now Juan Carlos is providing generously.

Juan Carlos lets the kid hold the gift while he retrieves a small needle-nose pliers from his pocket, takes the kid's tiny dick in hand, and with a firm twist loosens the small ball and spins it off. Pressing his swarthy thumb into the top of the kid's pasty glans and tugs the old piercing out as the kid flinches and shivers, but makes no protest. He looks left and right to see most of the room are watching now, then down as Juan Carlos takes the new ring from the kid's hand and begins forcing it into the tip of the kid's dick, which at this moment seems more the possession of Juan Carlos, a trinket to toy with as he pleases. They both stare down at the action, the kid nervously biting his lower lip and twitching while Juan Carlos puts some effort into forcing the much fatter ring in.

"Do this hurt?" Juan Carlos asks with a glance up at the kid's face.

"A little," the kid squeaks out nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot as Juan Carlos twists and pushes.

"But you don't mind when Juan Carlos makes a little pain for you?"

The kid shrugs.

He finally lets go to allow everyone to admire his efforts. Several people clap as the kid blushes and looks down, but the applause seems directed at Juan Carlos. The new ring appears more than a little ridiculous: the diameter of the ring slightly exceeds the diameter of the kid's penis: now short but firm enough to seemingly ignore the new weight, and stiff enough to fully expose the flat, wrinkled oval of sutured scrotum below it. Apparently there's some residual testosterone still flowing.

"That's what I want ta see!" Juan-Carlos announces merrily, and takes several photos as the boy awkwardly stands there, reluctant to look into the lens. Angel giggles femininely and looks on approvingly.

I'm blown away just looking at the two of them standing there naked, their small erections couldn't be more different: one dark and lanky, with its head slipping out from behind an ample foreskin; the other pale, plump, and stubby — a dark circumcision scar ringing a pale head, now holding out an outsized, gold ring. But both bouncing about impish and jaunty, advertising their arousal. The ring is so out of proportion to the kid's little dick that it gives the strong impression of being a chastity device — an effective hindrance to any attempt at active coitus, as if the kid had the least interest in using the little thing for active coitus.

Finally, Juan Carlos carefully closes the gap between the ends and the terminal ball, using his pliers for a final tightening, and then taking a couple more photos.

The girls are giggling subtly at the two emasculated boys, one so comfortable to be so like them, the other awkwardly trying to digest this latest indignity to a masculinity he values so slightly. The girls exchange admiring glances with Juan Carlos and some of the other emasculators present. I can see how Juan Carlos has bewitched the kid as well as his entire entourage. After a couple more photos the gaggle of girls grab the young eunuchs' hands and lead them over to the old couch, and the two scamps are squeezed together in the middle with a buxom teenage girl on either side to chat with, and a couple more gathered around.

They are treating Angel and the kid like two profane, little dolls just out of the package: squeezing them, arranging their hair and looking them over. The two sit there side-by-side, smiling nervously. Their butts are sunk deep into the old couch, their hands between their knees, little erections pointing up at the ceiling. The girls are touching, nudging, and petting them. I can't quite hear the conversation, but finally the kid gives Angel another peck on the cheek, and the girls object loudly. Then both Angel and the kid lean in and kiss lips to lips, while the girls urge them on, and then the two exchange a full, open mouth tongue-twisters, and the girls are finally satisfied. I pick up the kid's clothes.

Curtis and Jamal are no longer paying too much attention to the kid, but trying to talk to two dark, Hispanic-looking girls closer to their own age. Those girls too are watching Angel and the kid's antics, and suggest to Jamal and Curtis that they too give each other a kiss, but both boys turn them down in disgust.

They come over to me and tell me they think the party sucks and want to go home. I let them know that those girls might be getting all worked-up by teasing Angel and the kid, but those two just do not have what it takes to satisfy a girl in the end, if they know what I mean. The boys ponder this and decide to get another beer.

Juan Carlos goes off and comes back to hand me five fifty-dollar bills, and we talk about the expenses of membership in the gym for a while.

"I have him for only a few more weeks, and then he goes back to his white, middle-class suburb. I don't think he can keep what you did secret indefinitely even if he wanted to." We glance over towards the couch to see Angel's round behind and the bottom of his feet. He's planted his knees on the couch on either side of the kid, who has slouched down on the couch to the point where his ass is hanging off the edge. The kid's hands are on Angel's waist, while Angel's hands rest on the kid's shoulders. The girls are watching the space between them, and one has her dark hand resting on the kid's pale crotch: she's batting the pallid little erection around in different directions fascinated as it immediately springs back to its original position each time. One of the kid's hands is resting gently just below, ready to jump in and protect his still sensitive injuries from abuse.

Juan Carlos notices as well. "That's the first time I've seen Angel take a macho role in sex: that white kid is a real Maricá if he can make that happen."

"Well," I respond, "He's not going to find that dick very useful in expressing a macho role with that fat, gold ornament hanging off the end."

"That little dick is no good for anything but ornament, wouldn't you say? Its purpose is to entertain men like us, yes? Anyway, don't worry about him going back to his suburb. We have plans for him."

The two boys giggled as they fucked, as if they were play-acting adult behaviors for the entertainment of the girls around them without understanding their significance. "How do you think the party is going?"

"Maybe soon the girls will tire of playing with their toys and become interested in some real men, but there isn't enough girls at the party for everyone. Maybe your two boys will have to be content with Angel and the kid?"

"They've both had the kid a few times and while he's built up their self-confidence, I think they would rather go for girls whenever they get a chance."

"Their tastes are still… what to say?… basic? Yes?"

"Maybe so."

Angel dismounts cheerfully and the kid awkwardly shoves himself fully back up onto the couch, glances around the room, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He studies the coffee table for a moment, looking like he might cry, but decides to pick up one of the beer cups, shyly glances around the room again, apparently to see who's looking, before emptying the cup with several gulps. Juan Carlos takes another picture of him from across the room. The kid looks around the floor now, and finding his handful of clothes with me, he gets up and shyly walks over.

"Having fun?" I ask, "Did you like playing with Angel?"

"It's was alright I guess, but not as much fun as with bigger guys."

"But that's not really playing is it," Juan Carlos suggests.

"No," the kid admits after a moment.

"It's the same for the girls. They had fun playing around with a kid like you, but after a while they kind of lose interest." Then I ask him, "What he thought of Angel's balls?"

The kid whispers, looking at both Juan Carlos and me, "He doesn't have any balls either! I felt for them."

"You did!?" I feign surprise.

"How old is Angel?"

"I don't know, he might be older than Curtis and Jamal. Boys don't all age the same, especially without nuts."

"They don't?!" the kid asks, surprise unfeigned. He looks down again, thinking.

"They age more pretty without those things," Juan Carlos assures him.

"And Angel looks happy and doesn't seem to miss them at all," I assure the kid.

But the kid seems unconvinced. He looks up at Juan Carlos intently and asks "Did you do what you did to me to Angel too?"

Juan Carlos shrugs and says "Yes! I love doing that to the young boys, before they get their hair. I make them my little pets!" He musses the kid's hair and tells him, "You are my little pet now!"

"You did it to other boys?" I realize the kid sounds almost jealous.

Juan Carlos shrugs almost apologetically.

I glance over to Jamal and Curtis, who are leaning against a wall, both having talked those girls into giving them blowjobs.

Juan Carlos asks, "Remember what happened at the last party, then?"

The kid quietly admits "Sure."

He points at me and asks the kid, "Did you tell your friend about it?"

The kid nods his head meekly. "He took me to the doctor afterwards, because it hurt too much when I got home."

The kid is just standing there, thinking; wearing nothing but his socks and his New Balance, his stitched-up scrotum bruised and flat, his dick soft and tepid as well; now just a little knob at the bottom of his smooth belly, its only apparent function to display the large gold ring.

I assure the kid, "You'll be fine. Angel doesn't mind; he's gotten used to it, and every time Angel sees Juan Carlos, knowing how he made him – different — I bet he gets a special shiver, just like you get."

The kid looked over to Juan Carlos and then down at his feet, before saying, "I guess so".

"He says he gets a little shiver whenever he sees the guys who did it." I explain to Juan Carlos.

The kid's dick is awaking and growing rigid again. He looks up at Juan Carlos sheepishly as the boxer puts his hand onto the kid's shoulder, then juts his stubbly chin towards the exact same bedroom where the kid was gelded.

"Did you want to thank me for the gift?" Juan Carlos suggests. The kid glances at me silently before biting his lower lip and turn in that direction as the boxer's large tan hand slides down along the pale back and comes to rest on the small of his back just above the jiggling white globes and gives him a gentle push. The kid begins shuffling towards the room with him.

Juan Carlos directs the kid into the room with a hand on his bare shoulder. He doesn't bother closing the door after they go through, nor bothers removing any of his clothes, as nudges the kid down onto his knees. The kid's soft pale ass deforms over the heels of his gym shoes. The kid zips open Juan Carlos' crotch and snuggles his face up against it.

I check on Jamal and Curtis again, and watch Angel, still naked except for the kid's orange belt, taunting a young black guy.

I look back towards the bedroom and watch with several other guests as Juan Carlos urges the kid up and to fall back onto the bed, take his pale legs at the knees and spread them. The kid breaks from looking up at Juan Carlos, and turns his head sideways, and our eyes meet for a long moment before the kid scans around to see who else is watching, then back up at Juan Carlos. I'm reminded of the nonchalance of dogs mating under the gaze of people as I get a glimpse of Juan-Carlos' dark, substantial dick swaying about before the boxer leans into the doubled-up kid, his fancy shoes up in the air.

With several others from the main room I watch as the kid first catches his breath, then nervously bites his lower lip again and squints briefly. He looks through the door and back at us again, as Juan Carlos begins casually penetrating him, renewing his possessing of him, publicly reconfirming the kid's status, and his own.

The kid's body now surging slightly forward with each of Juan Carlos' thrusts, a hand grasping at Juan Carlos' thick bicep. I look over to see that Angel is now bickering with an older drag queen or tranny, who is snapping at him to put some clothes on again. After a little while I see the kid glance up again to see who is still watching, and again we exchange brief glances. Angel has disengaged from the drag queen and is next to me watching now, his half-erection giggling in the air. "He's not sure if he likes it yet," he whispers up at me.

"Getting fucked by Juan Carlos?" I ask back, a bit incredulous.

"No," he corrects me, "that peoples is watching it."

"Oh," I nod.

The apartment door opens and two young black guys join the party, maybe seventeen and fifteen. I recognize the older one as the guy who invited the kid to this party. I don't know their names, but I vaguely remember seeing them occasionally, hanging around the sparing ring at the gym. At first they notice Jamal and Curtis lounging against the side wall, being sucked-off by two young Hispanic girls wearing too little clothing and too much make-up. Before they are done exchanging comments on that display, one of them notices Angel, naked except for the kid's thin orange belt around his waist, his penis flaying about as he walks up to them and gives them each a plastic cup of beer. They ask Angel where Juan Carlos is, and he points towards the open bedroom door.

The boxer then notices his new guests and waves them in to join him. The kid looks up to see the two black guys coming his way. He blushes, licks his lips nervously, and tries to look back at Juan Carlos, who gives him a sturdy slap on his bare rump without missing a beat. Breathing through his mouth, and trying not to notice anything, the kid's face betrays a strange mixture of anticipation and intimidation. I'm surprised how young they are. Both the young black guys stride into the bedroom, and exchange fist bumps with Juan Carlos as they stare down at the kid, who is avoiding their gaze. I can't hear them talking over the rap music, but I can see Juan Carlos gesturing to the kid as they talk.

Finally Juan Carlos laughs and gestures to the door, and one of the guys steps back and quietly closes it. I exhale deeply. I don't like that the kid has been castrated — it's going to come out eventually and even if I had nothing to do with it I feared being caught up in it when the shit hits the fan — but if he's going to be castrated I'm pleased it was two young black guys who did it to him.

I wave Angel over and ask him if he knows the two newcomers. He asks who I mean. Angel's had too much to drink. I gesture to the closed bedroom door and remind him he just gave the two beers. He looks at the door and giggles, then asks me what I think is going on in there. By his devious grin and slipping his hand into mine, I guess he's more interested in trying to arouse me than answering my question.

I ask him teasingly if the kid's earlier blow-job didn't satisfy him, and looks at me as if it is a ridiculous question. Angel leans his naked body against mine. I suggest he go peek into the bedroom and report to me what's going on in there, but before he can answer, the door swings open and Juan Carlos steps out. I can barely see the kid's pale extremities being jostled back and forth, as the two black teens have him between them, the older apparently ramming his black dick in and out of the kid's ass; the kid's face level with the crotch of the younger guy. I realize it's the first time the kid has had to service two guys at once; another first I miss out on. Juan Carlos leaves the door wide open.

Angel lets me know he thinks the two are brothers, and work for Emilio. The younger guy's name is Simon. Angel watches through the door with me and happily informs me that "he's really getting it now." Then he whispers to me that the kid must be feeling "funny". I ask why, and he tells me he heard that those two were the ones who did it to him. Angel emphasizes his revelation with emulating closing Juan-Carlos' castrating tools with his fists. He informs me quietly that they wanted to do a white boy and gave Juan Carlos money. I ask 'money to fuck him?' And he shakes his head and whispers to me "money to castrar him. One mil dollars!"

"A million dollars?" I ask him incredulously.

"Yes! Un mil." he repeats.

Juan Carlos overhears us, as he's walking over to hand me his camera. He tells me "mil" in Portuguese means thousand, and the guys with the kid would like to get some pictures, and he asked would I mind taking them.

Juan Carlos tells me "I don't think the kid was sure about getting handed off to those two, but I did it anyway. Maybe someone should keep an eye on them. I left the door open to deter them from getting too wild."

"Who are they?"

"Those two? They distribute here for Emilio."

I knew he meant drugs, and many things started making more sense.

I go into the bedroom and the two guys first ask me to keep their faces out of the photos, but be sure to get some with the kid's face. They finish their beers and drop the cups onto the swaying bed. The kid doesn't say anything, as his pink cheeks are still stretched over the base of the fifteen-year-old's black penis. I take a couple pictures of that first: the kid's smooth white chin so near the hairy, black balls, his nose amidst the tangled mass of black pubic hair.

The other guy wants me to get one or two photos with his penis about to enter "this bitch's ass" and then a couple more with his dick "balls deep into the little cracker." He lets me know that he wants a few pictures that include the kid's "stiff little pecker". I let them know that the camera already has several pictures of the kid that include his little erection.

The guy corrects himself: "No, I mean stiff while I'm plowing his ass!"

The older guy ask me if I've ever had, "any sweet, suburban ass like this one," and I tell them, "a few times." He gleefully tells me they actually castrated this little white boy less than two weeks ago, "busted his nuts like a stray at the shelter." He slaps the white ass again and tells me "Emasculated: this little bitch's not even a real dude anymore!"

"I know," I assure him, "He can't stop talking about it."

"Bet he liked it as much as we did. Didn't ya?!" he emphasizes the question with a slap on the side of the kid's smooth, pink ass. "You have no idea of what you'll be missing in life now, because of what we did to you, do you?" he informed the kid.

I shrug, "He understands a little. He seemed embarrassed about a few things, like some girls were watching."

"Yeah, some of Juan Carlos' bitches watched us neuter him!" the younger brother volunteers with a giggle. "So you didn't like that?" he asks down to the kid, who doesn't answer, but twists his neck to look over to me pleadingly. I shrug back at him.

"And… someone was recording it on a cell?"

"Yeah," the older one admitted.

"He gets off on stuff like that. He also told me black guys doing it made him feel weird. But he can't stop thinking about that, either: being emasculated by a couple black guys he didn't even know."

"He knows us now!" The guy responds, then addresses the kid: "You won't be forgetting us soon, will ya!"

I take a few pictures of the kid's nervous face as the black shaft moves in and out of his throat. I ask if the two are brothers, and indeed they are. The one behind asks if I can get a few between his legs from below. I agree to try and he briefly lets go of each of the kid's hips to shove the kid's knees and thighs apart even farther, then spreads his own thick, hairy thighs and asks me: "he's got a hard-on, right?"

"Looks like it, but then again it's so short to start with." I watch as black fingers reach in to roughly roll and bat around the small, pale appendage and confirms to me with a laugh "the little thing's stiff." Simon snickers at this news as well. I switch the camera to video mode and shoot a several seconds of the black fingers knocking the little white dick around then pan out a bit to show just behind it the shaft of his wide black dick sliding in and out of the pink, taught rump, the chubby, black scrotum swinging around behind it. I keep the ragged, black sutures in the center of the frame.

The kid's taught, short penis flails about in unison to the thrusts. I keep recording as the fingers withdraw to take hold of the kid's hip again, Except for the squeaking of the bed and the background noise of the party, things go quiet for a bit while the slick, black shaft just moves in and out of the plump, waiting ass. Then the guy's thrusts slow down, and pause a brief moment each time he reaches the apex. He sighs deeply and informs us that should hold the little slut for a while. Then he predicts the kid will soon be wanting more. I take a final segment of video as the fat, black dick slides out from between the chubby white globes, leaving a gapping, sloppy hole. The guy's dick has a slight bend to one side not far from the end.

The kid's body and the bed still oscillate softly however, as Simon's continued thrusts into the kid's mouth. The older guy tucks his dick back into his pants and flops down on the bed parallel to the kid. He peers at the boy's underside, grins and shakes his head. I see the kid looking at me and then up at Simon, his pink lips tight around the black dick. The kid coughs and chokes a bit at one point, and the guy let's go of his hair.

"The kid willingly gives hot, shameless blow-jobs to black guys — if he's just given the chance," I inform the young brother. Simon lets both hands fall to his side and the kid slides his mouth off the dick and takes a few deep breaths. He glances at me and the older kid, and I tell the kid to go ahead. The kid takes a final breath and takes hold of the base of the dick with one hand and then begins to lick around the head with his tongue.

The other guy asks who put the prince albert into the little dick, and I tell him my buddy Jim did it while I and a few other guys watched.

"So, you had him before Juan Carlos even?"

"Yeah, sure."

He asked if he was numbed and I tell him nope: that several of us watched as Jim pushed the needle right into the kid's sweet spot. I report that the kid squealed and fidgeted quite a bit but we got it done in the end. The older guy laughs and tells me it was just the same with fixing him: he really didn't object at all, except after it was too late.

I start the camera in video mode again as the kid begins kissing and licking the guy's own sweet spot as we talk. He had pushed the long, black dick up against Simon's dark stomach with his face, while his thin white fingers cup and pet the guy's plump, hairy, black balls. Beginning at the scrotum, the kid licks up the entire length of the penis like licking some melting ice-cream off the side of a cone, a move I remember him doing to me.

He takes the head into his mouth and moves it around before letting it flop down along his smooth cheek as he presses his pink lips into the jungle of black kinky hair and kisses the base. Next he slides his tongue and lips up the dick's top half, paying special attention to the ridge of the coffee-colored helmet. He glances at me and the camera, pauses briefly and looks away shyly.

I encourage him to just ignore the camera and that he's doing a good job. The guy getting the blowjob agrees. I tell them they don't need to force the kid; he's not at all unwilling, and has serviced plenty of black guys. The guy lounging on the bed nods understandingly. The kid blushes a moment and then glances at the guy before continuing on.

The older guy then calls out for Juan Carlos, who appears at the door a moment later. He asks to confirm for my sake if the kid put up any fight when he was castrated, and Juan Carlos laughs and shrugs, "Nah, he muito easy."

"The kid really didn't seem to complain afterwards. I don't think he really gets what he's lost." I shrug a shoulder and continue, "I guess you can't really regret losing something you can't imagine having before getting it. He did have his heart set on having you do it," I tell Juan Carlos. "He said he felt weird when you let someone else finish it." The brothers seem gratified hearing that.

Juan Carlos shrugs, "I thought it would be fun to watch black guys castrate a white boy, and the kid didn't really say much at the moment. No! Really! You can see for yourself: we recorded the whole thing." Both the guys and the kid seem a bit stunned at this offer. "Man, you can't go recording shit like that!" Juan Carlos goes on to reassure the brothers that after he uploaded the entire video onto his laptop Jose — Angel's brother — went through it and blurred out their faces. He proceeds to produce a laptop from a dresser drawer, opens its up, sets it on the bed, and after some clicking around opens the file.

The laptop screen is filled with an image of the same room. The kid is standing their naked, swaying slightly, looking a little concerned and hardly able to keep his cup of beer steady, but his little erection — freshly pierced — is standing up stiffly. His testicles appear plump and clearly defined in their sack, and I realize how much things have changed just over the last ten days or so. I can see his shorts and supporter already cast aside on the floor in the background. Juan Carlos asks him: "You know what we're going to do now?" The kid kinda shrugs and admits "I guess."

"He's going to look sooo good after this," someone can be heard commenting, and the kid looks shyly in the direction of a slender black guy facing away from the camera.

"So I won't be a real guy without balls?"

"What?! No, criança! You will be better! More handsome! More attractive! You will make all the guys ereto! It will keep you smooth and agil! Trust your amigo Juan Carlos!" Juan Carlos can be heard reassuring him, "My amigos are going to watch while we do it, alright?"

The kid shrugs and asks, "Girls even?"

Juan Carlos looks over with the camera to see a couple girls whispering to each other, giggling, and glancing over at the kid, "The meninas!? They don't think you will go though with it. I want to show them you will do it for me."

"I'll do it, Juan Carlos, but do they have to watch?" the kid concedes in a slightly slurred voice. We hear Juan Carlos answer back, "Sim, Eu quero. It will be more…significativo."

I ask how stoned he is at that point, and Juan Carlos tells me he's had a few beers, but he just got half a tab of fentanyl before they begin the video.

On the video I can see four or five other people in the room, but all the faces except for the kid's have indeed been pixilated after the fact. At one point the camera seems to be carelessly pointed away and for a short moment I notice even more spectators, including two animated teen-aged girls watching from a far wall, holding their hands over their grinning mouths as they exchange little comments with each other and giggle.

The kid's attention is focused on Juan Carlos however, who is slowly pulling his dick out of his pants in front of him. Juan Carlos tells the kid "We're in for a special treat, and this party you won't ever forget." He looks down at the kid's crotch. The kid giggles as beer sloshes out of his plastic cup. Juan Carlos takes the cup and hands it to someone with their back to the screen. The kid looks around and asks why there are so many in the room, and Juan Carlos tells him matter-of-factly that they are there to watch, and asks if the kid is ready. The kid giggles again and asks why they need to watch, and Juan Carlos tells him, "It will be like a very special fun that gets better and better the more people watch!"

Juan Carlos sits on the edge of the bed, his swarthy penis wagging stiffly out from his crotch, the gold ring tight in the tip. The kid drops to his knees and runs a pale finger over the ring, then kisses it and the tip of Juan Carlos' erection as the camera moves to get the best angle. The kid begins sliding his mouth over the dark dick in earnest as Juan Carlos directs Emilio to his dresser.

The camera pans out and we see the kid's head bobbing slowly in and out of Juan Carlos' crotch, as Emilio opens a dresser drawer and comes back into the foreground displaying two Burdizzo tools, handing one to Juan Carlos who discards it next to himself on the bed. He puts his hands into the kid's armpits and gets him back onto his wobbly feet and turns him around. The kid notices the camera, giggles nervously, and covers his crotch shyly. He looks around and confesses to Juan Carlos that the room won't stay still. Juan Carlos tells the kid he's probably had enough beer now. The kid asks what's happening next, and Juan Carlos tells him first, he can't wait to shove his dick up the kid's ass. The kid giggles as Juan Carlos pulls the naked kid into his lap with one hand, while reaching between them and positioning his penis with the other.

The boy settles slowly against Juan Carlos, giving a little gasp, and commenting with a goofy, embarrassed laugh that he can feel the ring. Emilio wonders out loud if the kid can feel anything. Juan Carlos leans back against the bed's head board and the kid kind of hick-ups and squirms as Juan Carlos draws the kid onto him, and the kid's ass sinks down onto the dick with the kid's own weight. Juan Carlos get's the kid's pale, bare feet up onto the bed then on top of Juan Carlos' knees, then slides his hands under the kid's butt and encourages the kid to lift his ass off Juan Carlos' lap and then down again. The kid gets the idea and bounces up and down on Juan Carlos' dick several times before his feet slide off Juan Carlos' knees and dangle over the edge of the bed. Juan Carlos gets the kid's feet back onto his knees and they go through another round. The kid's feet slip off again, and he laughs and flops himself back against Juan Carlos' chest.

Juan Carlos then reaches out and finds his burdizzo without looking. The kid giggles and tries to turn his head and see Juan Carlos' face as Juan Carlos' other hand begins to gently work its way under the little erection and onto the top of the kid's scrotum. Emilio sits down on the bed beside them and the video zooms in to focus on his black fingers sneaking into the other side of the kid's pale crotch to pinch and roll the skin at the top of his side of the scrotum.

The camera is now close enough to display the few dozen straight, dark blonde pubic hairs around the base of the kid's little dick. The kid's small hand makes a clumsy, half-hearted effort to bat the invading fingers away, but another set of black hands reaches into the frame and pull his hands back. The frame zooms out to see that another black guy — maybe fifteen — has moved in from the other side of the bed and is holding the kid's hands up near his navel. Even with the face blurred I can tell it's Simon, the kid he was just giving a blowjob to a moment ago.

Back in the video both Juan Carlos and Emilio are quietly explaining and demonstrating how to isolate the cords and work them to one side of the scrotum, and that for the tool to work the cords need to be kept in place within the jaws of the tool, and to do so while keeping the amount of skin crushed to a minimum.

Emilio hands his tool off to another black hand. The kid is giggling as he meagerly tries to tug and twist his hands free, and ignoring what's being said. Juan Carlos asks the kid if he sure he doesn't mind if the guys watch while they do this. The kid coos and tells Juan Carlos he's told him he wants to do it, and wants Juan Carlos to be the one that does it. Juan Carlos tells him that he wants his black friends to do it instead.

The kid asks nervously "the black guys?"

Juan Carlos says "Sim, they want to do it to a white boy and I decide that be good for you."

The kid seems unsure of that idea and squirms a bit on Juan Carlos' cock, then he shrugs and asks "why don't you do it?"

Juan Carlos doesn't answer, but takes hold of the kid's wrists, and the black kid hustles around the bed and grabs the second budizzo. I notice the black guy in the video who took the tool from Emilio is wearing a cheap, gold tiger-eye ring.

I hear the older black guy excitedly tell the room "here it comes!"

I glance up from the video to see the guy who just finished fucking the kid is wearing the same ring on the same finger, then I notice those watching the laptop now include Jamal and Curtis.

Simon is here too right next to the kid — who's the only one naked in the room — and biting his lower lip nervously. The kid's staring at the laptop, one hand is against a nearby dresser, the other is gripping Simon's shoulder. His little penis is pointing upward and twitching, Simon is working one hand against the kid's bare backside, and I can guess from the kid's distressed expression and fidgeting that he's being finger-fucked.

I tell the kid he did indeed have some wild sex during that party, he hears me, realizes I watching him, licks his lips and looks down at his own crotch.

Back in the video both the tools' handles are being gripped firmly by black hands, the chrome jaws snug and waiting on the edge of each side of the kid's pink scrotum. Emilio's black fingers confirm the correct placement of the cords in the jaws before announcing "Okay. Go."

Both pairs of black hands then vigorously force the handles together. I look up from the laptop to see the kid's reaction. Both Simon and the Kid are staring at the laptop, and grinning Simon has intensified his manipulation and the kid suddenly catches his breath. His eyes flutter briefly and his little dick spasms and flicks out a couple droplets of watery fluid. Other's in the room have looked over to see the kid's reaction to watching his own castration, and they snicker with Simon at the kid's meager but timely climax.

I quickly turn my attention back to the video, where the kid's eyes are wide open as he lets out half a high-pitched squeal before Juan Carlos can cover his mouth with his hand. The gang all glance to the door, and reassured that no alarm has been raised, let out relieved giggles. The small white hands grasp and reach in random directions trying to free themselves from Emilio's and Juan Carlos' firm hold. The thin, pale legs kick uselessly in the air or slid without any traction along the old bedspread.

I hear Curtis mutter "Jesus!" behind me.

Back in the video Juan Carlos — his dick still impaling the kid — starts counting to ten in English, but after "two" he closes his eyes and encourages the kid to "Sim, keep estruggling, amour," still gripping the kid tightly. Juan Carlos catches his breath for a moment and then sighs deeply, finally muttering "Fuck yeah!"

Emilio resumes the count at eight and by that time only one pale, naked leg is meekly pushing against the bedspread, and while the kid's hands continue to occasionally grasp at the air, the arms had surrendered, the kid's nostrils flare but his eyes kind of rolled back into his head. After Emilio counts ten Juan Carlos tentatively takes his hand away from the kid's mouth, and at first the kid just whimpers and sucks in a great breath, and begins hyperventilating until Juan Carlos covers the kid's mouth again.

He orders the tools be reset in slightly lower positions and to do it again. Juan Carlos quietly whispers something inaudible in the kid's ear as the black brothers both clamp down hard again. The kid moans and his whole body tenses and shivers, but the legs hardly kick and the hands just make a pair of tight, little fists, apparently accepting his fate this time.

Juan Carlos counts to ten once more, this time uninterrupted. Finally — with the kid's masculinity double-sure dispensed with — the tools are released.

Emilio collects them while Juan Carlos tells the kid quietly that it's alright: the worst is over now, and that he just gave Juan Carlos one of the best fucks he's ever had. He assures him these guys all got to watch as the kid gave Juan-Carlos his "machismo" forever — and now it's time to let the other guys "eseal the deal" and take their turns fucking him.

The kid is just lying limply on top of him, wet with sweat, gasping for breath. Juan Carlos starts to play and fondle the now soft little dick, tugging and twisting at Jimmy's little piercing. I'm surprised to watch the little thing roll around and even struggle for a moment to provide the boxer with a meager erection, before collapsing limp.

I look up from the laptop screen to the kid, now completely distracted by the video, his little dick hard and twitching. He sees me looking at him and fains disinterest.

As the video continues, Juan Carlos takes a deep breath, holds the kid by the chest, and they both roll on the bed until the kid is on his stomach and Juan Carlos is on top of him. We hear the kid's high pitched moan as he grips the bedspread with both fists and Juan Carlos thrusts into him several times doggy style.

The thrusts don't seem to have any but symbolic purpose, as Juan Carlos leans back and out of the frame as Emilio's black erection wags in. Emilio drops to his knees behind the prone kid and shoves his dick into the open anus. The kid grunts but hardly moves as Emilio starts eagerly humping him. As he works, the camera is clumsily handed over to someone else, and once Emilio finishes and the next dick to appear is black and slightly crooked to one side. This dick is pushed into the waiting kid who just lies there breathing heavily. Next to enter him is a smaller, lighter dick, which I assume to be Angel's half-brother's.

The video runs on another quarter hour, with a couple more pixilated guys taking their turn on the kid. I suggest to Juan Carlos that the kid might want a copy of the video, and immediately Curtis asks for a copy as well. Juan Carlos agrees and drops a copy onto a thumb-drive for us.

I ask the boys if they are ready to go home, and they nod. I tell the kid to find his clothes, and discover that Angel has been watching the video as well, and invites himself over to my place. I assent and he squeals happily, grabs the kid by the hand, and they go off to get dressed and ready.

Curtis and Jamal kiss and fondle their young sluts good-bye, and by the time we get into the hallway, we are met by Angel and the kid, both now adequately dressed, and Angel with one of those two-wheeled overhead airline bags that seems to me to be far too much for an overnight stay. I tell him I have a small swimming pool and before I can ask if he has a swim suit in there, he squeals with delight, runs off, and quickly returns gripping the skimpiest, fluorescent red two-piece thong bikini. Finally we all get into Emlio's car for the trip back. The kid sits next to Emilio in the front, me next to the kid, and Angel in the back between Jamal and Curtis.

The kid leans against me quietly. I glance back and don't notice Angel, and ask where he went.

Jamal assures me "he's here" and I look over my shoulder to see Jamal staring down at his crotch, and figure out the rest.

Once we get going I quietly ask the kid, "What did Juan Carlos whispered into you ear in between the times when the black brothers squeezed the clamps?"

He shrugs and tells me, "nothing."

Emilio tells me, "I remembers. Juan Carlos had told him 'it's the Negroes make this perfect'."

I teasingly ask the kid, "Did you come while watching the video?"

"No."

"I saw you cum," I retort.

"That wasn't because of the video, but Simon wouldn't stop nudging me inside with his fingers. I was hardly watching that stupid video."

"Simon found your sweet spot, then?"

"You know about that?" the kid asks, surprised, but then nods curtly, looking away.

"Still, that was quite the video. I can tell you I almost came when I saw what those two boys did to you! Is Simon your buddy now?"

He shrugs.

"Would you like to see Simon and his brother again before karate camp is over?"

There's a pause, then he says "I don't know. They make me feel funny."

"Well," I respond, "they did something to change your life. Or is it because they are black?"

"A little, but not bad funny. I felt funny right after you did it the first time, at the dojo, and when you took pictures after. But I liked it too. I wasn't sure I'd meet you again that next Friday until the very last minute. But when I saw you in the car, and remembered how I felt last time, I just had to get in — I even don't know why. That keeps happening. I feel funny, but I still want to try the next thing."

After a moment, I ask, "Are you having second thoughts about letting Juan Carlos and his pals make you less manly?"

He shrugs again "It feels really good when guys do guy sex to me," he reports, "but when those two did that to me in front of everybody…It was too much, feeling like that."

"You'll get used to it. Maybe Angel can teach you some more feel really good games tomorrow."

Angel overhears and giggles.

I get them all out of the car and into the house, and between the evening's early adventures and the beer they agree to go to bed. Angel insists on sleeping with the kid, so I set them up on the inflatable, Jamal and Curtis in the guest room. The kid tells Angel he wants him to be "the boy" tonight.

I have to get up in the night to piss, and I check in to see that Angel and the kid are both naked, their blanket kicked to the side, their legs cutely tangled up together on the inflatable mattress. Angel is drooling on the kid's chest, the kid's hand resting on one of Angel's brown butt-cheeks.

The next time I awake, there's sunshine in the window. I piss again, and find my razor left abandoned on the side of the bathtub, but my nail-clippers, a tweezers, a small pile of black sutures, and Jimmy's piercing.

I slip on my robe and head to the kitchen.

The air-mattress is left abandoned on the floor, and I discover my kitchen door closed. I hadn't closed that door for years, and when I try to open it, I find someone has blocked it on the other side, and a voice announcing I cannot come in yet. The door opens a crack, and I can see Angel on the other side, wearing nothing but the kid's athletic supporter. He tells me they are making breakfast and I have to wait.

I peek past Angel and see the back of the kid at my stove, apparently naked except for a bright red triangle above his ass-crack. I realize that the kid is wearing Angel's little red swim suit.

Apparently the noise we made awakens the boys as well, and Curtis and Jamal quietly shuffle back and forth to use the bathroom.

I start my morning stretches and exercises, remembering the kid's ass jiggling around in Angel's ridiculously slutty, Brazilian swim suit. I imagine Juan Carlos and his entourage actually believe they are doing those kinds of boys a service with those budizzo tools, giving them a head start on a path they were taking in any case.

My kitchen door noisily opens and Angel announces that breakfast is ready. Angel is still in nothing but the white supporter. The kid has the red two-piece on. Before I can even ask, Angel announces that he's being a boy today, and the kid is being a girl. Two red triangles cover the kid's flat, little nipples. And a triangle not much bigger is rather tight across the front of his crotch, his little erection pushing the red cloth up and out at the top, a rather undefined wrinkle below it where his nuts should be.

The red triangle covers so little I can see that the kid's little wisps of pubic hair are gone and I know immediately who to blame, and accuse Angel of taking my razor without permission. I notice the kid is also made up: his lips glossy and slightly discolored, blue eye shadow and rouge on his cheeks. A little rhinestone glitters on both his earlobes, which Angel tells me are pasties. The kid's blonde Justin Bieber mop is pulled back and held in place by a plastic orange hair band. I notice Angel has left a little make-up kit open on my kitchen countertop. The kid sets a platter of brown, crispy-fried eggs onto the center of the table, and goes back to butter some more toast.

Curtis and Jamal wander through the door, still in their underpants as usual. Curtis notices the kid and is obviously confounded for a moment. Angel again announces that he's going to be a boy today — as he was challenged to do so by the kid — and therefore in exchange the kid obligated to be his girl.

Jamal speculates that the kid probably challenged Angel to be a boy the moment they hit the air mattress the night before. The boys and I snicker at the joke, and Curtis tells Jamal it must have been difficult, because Angel wasn't being much of a boy in the car on the way home, which provokes a girlish slap on the shoulder from Angel, and half-serious blow in return from Jamal.

We all sit down at the kitchen table and the kid serves us eggs and toast. I announce it's a Monday holiday and I have the day off, and ask what they want to do.

Curtis suggests we go to the sixty-ninth street beach. Jamal agrees loudly.

I tell them we'll never get parking nearby on a holiday, I suggest they just swim in my little above-ground pool in the back yard. The idea is rejected immediately by Curtis, and soon thereafter by Jamal. Both insist there will not be any girls to look at. Even Angel lowers his voice and complains unconvincingly that he wants to see lots of "bitches" today. I counter that the kid is being a girl today, and they likely won't be seeing any white girls at that particular beach anyway. Angel tells me we can take the kid along, and thus would be able to see "her" and lots of other "bitches" too. They all insist that his logic is unassailable. I concede and tell them that I don't like women being called "bitches". The kid comes up to the table and gives me a concerned look. I ask the kid if he doesn't want to go to the beach, and Angel interjects, insisting he's made a deal and the kid will have to play his girl whatever we decide to do today. I pat the kid's ass and assure him he'll have fun showing off for all the boys at the beach.

Angel announces that when we are done with breakfast, we can have dessert. I tell Angel that breakfast usually doesn't come with dessert, and he asserts that this one does. I stuff the last of my egg and toast into my mouth and Angel tells the kid it's time for my dessert.

The kid gets down on his hands and knees and crawls under the table, and I feel him tugging down on my sweats. I lift my ass a bit to allow him to get them down enough to free my cock. Then I lean back and let his warm, wet tongue slide up and down it, before I feel the hot mouth engulf it entirely. I glance down to see his smooth blond head sliding on and off my black erection. I sigh and just watch the top of the kid's head as he diligently and competently fellates me.

Angel asks me if I like my dessert, and I tell him it's delicious.

Jamal asks Angel if Angel can serve him his dessert, and Angel explains that he's being a boy today, so he can't.

Jamal contends sometimes boys give blowjobs. But both Angel and Curtis correct him. It occurs to me that Jamal has a bit of a crush on Angel. Jamal then appeals to me, asking if I've ever given a blowjob, and I admit that I have — never to a hairy, mature cock, but I've occasionally done so only for boys like Angel or the kid while or just after they've done something nice for me.

He asks me how nice it has to be, and I tell him each guy has to decide for himself.

"Some guys — like Angel — will give a guy a blow-job just for being good looking, other boys never, but most boys fall somewhere in between."

I tease Jamal that I've had Angel's dick in my mouth once and if he feels like giving Angel a blowjob this is a great time to do it, because today he's trying to be a boy.

Jamal announces he tries to be a boy every day, and Curtis responds with "Yes, you try!"

Suddenly they are fighting at the table, and I tell them if they want to go to the beach they'd better get their beach stuff organized for the day, including some drinks. I tell Jamal to look through the swimming drawer for that little speedo I let the kid use the other day, and to give it to Angel, and get the sunscreen from my toolbox.

I get the gang organized, including some snacks and sodas in a cooler, and herd them all out to the public bus stop. Me, Jamal, and Curtis are all in loose, knee-length shorts and tees. Angel has on the tight little speedo and a tee shirt that has been cut off mid torso. The kid still has on Angel's obscene little thong bikini, but he readily agreed to cover up with one of my old tees for the bus trip.

The bus headed to the beach is already crowded, and we are at first obliged to stand in the aisle. Angel has succeeded in making the kid into a very convincing girl, and I'm sure any glances from the otherwise exclusively black passengers are because of his long, white legs, rather than any questions about gender.

An older man behind us rings the bell and gets up to work his way through us to the door. The kid starts and I look to see the departing passenger has pushed up the kid's t-shirt and planted his hand firmly on the kid's plump ass as he slips past him. The kid looks back at the man accusingly, and then at me, and I just grin at him. Angel grabs the empty seat and I tell him to let his "sister" have it. The kid blushes as Angel gets up and lets the kid sit there instead, and I give the kid the cooler to hold on his lap. The bus continues to slowly chug along, with people either coming or going at every stop.

The kid's neighbor gets up, and the kid doesn't realize he needs to slide over to the window seat, so another guy in the aisle wiggles through plops down next to him. I can't see directly into the space between them because of the cooler, but I can see a reflection in the window.

The man's black hand almost immediately come to rest on the seat against the kid's pale, naked thigh. The kid gives the man a quick glance and then begins looking forward again. I can see in the window one of the man's fingers begin to discretely stroke the kid's bare leg, but the kid and the man both continue to stare forward as if nothing is happening.

I anticipate what's going to happen next.

Sure enough the man's hand gently works its way up and into the kid's lap beneath the cooler. The kid shifts in the seat slightly, and adjusts the cooler on his lap, allowing the man's hand into his crotch. Angel is right in front of me, and he's followed my eyes to the reflection in the window and is watching with me. We both stifle a laugh when the man's eyes suddenly widen and he sneaks a quick glance at the kid. The kid blushes a bit but otherwise he remains completely frozen.

The man doesn't withdraw his hand, however. After a moment the kid again shifts in his seat and sucks his lower lip into his mouth — a gesture I'm familiar with. Jamal has found a seat, and I tell the kid it's going to be a while yet and would he like Jamal to take care of the cooler. The kid's grip on the cooler immediately tightens and he squeaks out a rather emphatic no. I wait a moment before glancing at the reflection again to see the man's hand is still deeply embedded under the cooler.

It's another stop before kid let's out a sustained sigh and his body slumps slightly.

A moment later the man next to him pulls the cord and the "stop requested" sign lights up in the front of the bus. As the bus rolls into the stop the man stands up and without warning I pull the cooler off the kid's lap. For a moment we can see the pale, little erection standing up pert, it's head wet with a dab of clear slime, sticking out just above the little, red bikini bottom before my old t-shirt tumbles back down onto his lap, giving the stranger a confirming glimpse at what his hand had discovered.

He's looking vaguely down, but gives no indication he's seen anything as he quietly works his way to the exit, while the kid tries to discretely restore the bikini bottom to its original position. I nudge the kid over and sit down next to him as he and the man exchange parting looks through the bus window, and the kid let's out another long sigh. Angel immediately flops himself down on my knee, and I give the cooler back to the kid.

"Did you make a new friend?" I ask him.

He glances up at me and blushes.

We finally reach our destination and the entire bus slowly empties out onto the edge of the park. We all enjoy the cool lakeshore breeze after enduring the hot stale human stink of the bus ride. The streets are crowded with parked cars and ice-cream trucks double-parked.

My little gang joins the mob of people all waiting for the light to cross South Shore Drive.

Already Curtis and Jamal are distracted by jiggling breasts barely restrained within skimpy bikini tops. We get across the drive and I direct the gang farther south, hoping to find a spot a bit less crowded.

Finally I find a bit of open sand with a small tree giving a half-assed bit of shade and we lay out our towels, all the t-shirts are pulled off and the gang races to the water. I call the kid back and toss him the sun screen. He's obviously nervous and fidgety in Angel's two-piece bikini, but he did pull off the t-shirt. His anxiousness gets me to glance around too, but it looks like everyone is trying to be polite and not stare at the only white person in the general area.

The oblong little lump under the kid's bikini bottom seem obvious to me. The kid is getting erect and we both notice it. I hope the cool water will act to further obscure it, so I gesture for him to get into the water. The kid's flat chest serves to dampen scrutiny from most of the men and boys; guys who are taking notice are drawn to the pale, round globes that Angel's inadequate thong bikini has left more than half exposed.

Once he's got the sun screen applied and is safely waist high in the water I'm able to relax a bit. The gang are all tossing around a Frisbee, and Curtis is brazenly inviting some of the nearby girls to join them. Angel — cold and flaccid — is showing next to nothing in his tight little speedo as he squeals and gestures effeminately trying to catch and throw the Frisbee. I notice how the kid is periodically reaching around to tug the bikini bottom out his crack to restore the maximum coverage. I can't help but smile at his somewhat clumsy exploration of the joys of exhibitionism.

A couple tattooed body-builder types walk by and the kid is immediately distracted from the Frisbee tossing. He's too shy to call attention to himself, and the guys know better than give any to an infatuated little white girl on the otherwise black-populated beach. The kid is the first to leave the water, complaining to me that he's feeling sore and just wants to lie down a while.

He's lost his make-up and sticky "earrings" but still appears rather feminine in the little Brazilian bikini. Stretched out next to me on his belly, he looks completely convincing as a very attractive little white girl, the skimpy suit giving him a slutty would-be Lolita quality that rebellious girls that age sometimes achieve while experimenting with their newly developed urges. Angel's little red bikini bottom has again worked itself part way into his ass crack, leaving three quarters of his plump white ass exposed — especially along the bottom. Lying on his stomach, with the narrow red string across his back to indicate he's got a bra on, I'm struck by how similar boys' and girls' bodies are at the cusp of puberty.

I let the kid lie there and take a Coke out of the cooler when I notice a boy — maybe ten or eleven — staring at the kid's ass from not far away, while openly and clumsily manipulating the front of his little swimsuit, bouncing a bit on his heels, and stretching his back. The little man is oblivious to everyone around him and I realize that the kid's barely covered ass has driven the little man to masturbate — or something approximating it — as he experiments to find the most satisfying way to press and stroke his crotch.

A moment later an older guy walks ups, notices the little man, the kid, and me, and pulls the little guy's hand away from his crotch. The guy shrugs and rolls his eyes at me, and I glance at the kid's ass and give the guy a grin and a shrug back. The little guy then notices me and gives me an ashamed, confused look, so I step over share five with the little man, and tell him that everything is cool. The guy apologizes for his nephew behaving like that towards my daughter, and I explain that it's not my daughter, not even close.

I ask the little man if he wants to touch it. Without looking up at me he nods slowly.

The guy and I laugh.

Angel has come out of the water and is swishing his way towards us. The guy sees Angel coming our way and the guy asks me if that's my daughter. I realize in that little speedo — with Angel's gestures — he could easily be confused for a girl who's still flat-chested and doesn't bother with a top. I inform the guy Angel is with me as well, but also not my daughter, they are both just some kids I picked up here and there.

The guy gives me a knowing look. He has a satchel over his shoulder, and with a tug on the straps he asks me if I need any weed. His little nephew has taken up trying to stroke himself again. I gesture to the kid's ass and tell the little man "nice, huh?"

He just nods, unable to take his eye's off it.

"You can touch it," I offer.

The little man immediately takes a step towards the kid, but I take hold of his shoulder and tell him not right here. I really feel for the little man: so aroused and confused, I want him to start out with a good sexual experience, not frustration.

I pull the uncle aside and tell him so, and does he know a place where they can go?

He tells me his car isn't far off, but he knows he can't afford it. He assumes I'm pimping the two, and I reassure him that I don't want money, but wouldn't refuse a few blunts.

Finally I whisper into his ear that they are both little "she-males."

The uncle responds "no shitting?!"

I nod to him, then go over and nudge the kid, and ask him to sit up. I find out the little guy's name is Berry, introduce the two, and tell the kid Berry saw him lying there and thinks he's very, very pretty. Berry nods eagerly as I watch his uncle study the kid's crotch.

"Tell him 'thanks'" I whisper into the kid's ear.

He looks at me, then Berry, then Berry's uncle, blushes a bit, and says, "Uh, thanks."

I tell him quietly "Berry wants to touch your bottom."

The kid giggles a little, then becomes a bit more serious. "Here?" he asks looking around.

"No, they got a car parked not to far from here."

"Just touch it?"

"Well, if we are going to go through all this trouble of going to car, you should probably let him touch it 'good'."

"What you talking 'bout?" Angel asks us.

"Just making new friends," I reassure Angel. I can see that the Kid's eager, little hard-on is already kicking in, so I grab a nearby t-shirt and tell him to put it on.

"This is Jamal's," he informs me.

I glance down at his crotch and tell him to put it on anyway. I instruct Angel to keep an eye on our stuff, and the kid and I follow Berry and his uncle to a small parking lot parallel to the access road to the park. Berry is beaming, and decides to hold the kid's hand as we walk. The car isn't far and the boys slip into the back seat as the uncle and I keep an eye out.

The kid crawls into the baking hot back seat and begins cranking open the back windows of the old car. Berry is right behind him. On his hands and knees, the kid's t-shirt rides up his body and the untended thong has worked it's way deep into his crack. Berry wastes no time and his childish dark hand first strokes and then squeezes one of the kid's pale ass cheeks. He makes no effort to disguise a straining 10-year-old erection tenting out his own little suit. The kid giggles a bit as Berry looks out to his uncle and me beaming happily.

I smile back at the little man. "You want to rub you dick against it? She'll like that."

"Yes?"

"Sure!"

Berry gets up on his knees, scoots himself closer to the kid, and then tugs his little suit down off his hairless erection, and tentatively grinds and nudges himself against the kid's waiting backside. Berry's got both his little hands tight on the kid's hips now, and is looking back at us happily.

"Is this right?"

"Do it anyway you want it," I assure him.

"I want to take her bottom off."

"Go ahead," I encourage him, and he starts tugging the kid's bikini bottom to the knees. The kid glances back at me briefly.

"Find the hole and shove it right in. She won't mind."

"Shove it in the butt hole?!"

"Sure," his uncle assured him. And after a period of poking and fussing, we hear the kid give a quiet little yelp. Berry giggles.

"Now what?"

"If it's in, that means She's your bitch now. Do whatever you want. Do you want to fuck her?"

"Yeah!" The little man responds in a tone that implies he wished he thought of that himself.

The kid lets out a quiet little giggle. Which makes the dealer frown.

"Fuck'er good then!" his uncle advises him. "Don't let your bitch giggle at you." And the little guy begins pounding away at the kid's ass gleefully, but as soon as he settles into some semblance of a routine, he becomes quiet and intense, his eyes clamp shut and start audibly to breathe from his mouth.

"That felt funny," Berry shyly announces as he stops.

"But good?" his uncle asks.

"Um, it felt really good," Berry admits to his uncle, as if he were embarrassed to admit it.

He plops back, and tugs his suit back over his little erection. The kid's hole is a bit puckered and open about the diameter of a pencil. The remains of his little scrotum are scrunched up and tight. He reaches back to his knees and starts tugging and wiggling the bikini bottom up his thighs.

The weed dealer is watching too and asks quietly, "He looks like he doesn't have balls."

"I didn't do it, but yeah, just a couple weeks ago."

Barry looks at the kid again the moment his uncle says 'him'.

"She's a girl" he reminds us tentatively.

The dealer looks at me, "Really?!"

I shrug back at him.

"Yeah… um… she was a boy… but she likes to pretend to be a girl…alot… so we let her." his uncle clarifies, and Berry seems only partly satisfied with that. "She counts as a girl for fucking." the weed dealer assures him.

But the kid decides to complicate the issue: "I'm just being a girl for today," he announces sullenly, struggling to adjust his bikini bottom around his waist in the confines of the back seat.

The weed dealer leans down to his now confused nephew's ear and elaborates: "Once you put your dick in them, they're your bitch, no matter." I realize Barry's uncle has probably done some time.

"Jump in the front," the uncle tells his nephew, and Berry slinks and wiggles around the kid, through the gap between the front bucket seats, and plops down on the passenger side, as the dealer looks up and down the parking lot removes his nap-sack and hands it to Berry, and then ducks into the back with the kid.

"Wait…" the kid mutters as he tries to turn around to fend off the dealer.

"Give the man one of our baggies." the dealer tells his nephew, and Berry zips open the nap-sack and tugs out a plastic zip-lock containing a few fat joints, and passes it to me. The kid has one pale hand against the dealer's chest, while the other holds his bikini bottom up against the front of his crotch.

"Are you gonna make'er your bitch too?" Berry queries.

"Yeah," his uncle responds. The kid looks up at me with a bit of panic on his face.

"I didn't mean to giggle, before," the kid tells the dealer pleadingly. I look both ways and behind me and then back at the kid. He's got one bare foot between the front seats, and he's given up holding his thong and his hand is searching for something he can grab along the back of the front seats. With his right hand the dealer has got one thin pink foot and calf into the ledge under the back window. The other has tugged the small, red triangle down on one thigh.

Suddenly everything stops for a moment as the kid's pert, undersized dick pops out proudly. The kid swallows hard as the dealer — and Berry — study it for a moment. The dealer then tugs apart the little knot holding the thong together, and pulls the central triangle down father, exposing the wrinkled, vacant little bundle of scrotum. The kid stops resisting, glancing at the dealer and then at Berry.

"He's got a little dick," Berry announces using the male pronoun for the first time, "I think mine's longer."

"Sure is," the dealer assures his nephew, "this bitch has no business giggling at you."

"If you are going to do this, don't take all day," I remind them after glancing around the car again.

"Yeah," the dealer answers, but he's taking his time to untie the other side of the thong bikini. The kid is on his back, his head scrunched up against the door armrest, with one pink foot in the back window, the other in the gap between the front seats, one hand is desperately gripping the top of the back seat above his head, to keep from sliding down on the floor. The other hand is pressing against the back of Berry's seat.

Berry is backwards on the seat with his chin next to the passenger headrest, just watching as the dealer gets the thong lose and discards it on the car floor, he then unzips his pants and tugs out an above average length of black, circumcised manhood. He spits into a hand and coats his dick with the slime, then grabs the kid's bare hips and jerks him a bit closer, lifts the pale, shivering hips up with both hands. I hear the kid yelp as his body slides back towards the passenger side again as the man surges into him. A strong black hand pushes between the front seats and presses the inside of the kid's knee against the side of the passenger seat. I hear the kid yelp again as his other foot kicks about on its own accord until it presses tight against the rear window. I can see one thin, white hand clutching the man's ample bicep, but otherwise the kid has disappeared entirely beneath the surging frame. The kid continues quietly yelping and grunting in time to the dealer's thrusts.

I nervously check around to make sure no one is noticing, even though this is a neighborhood where people don't poke into one another's business.

Berry just stares down spell-bound for a while, then turns to me and tells me: "He making him his bitch now."

"Yeah, I can see."

Berry goes back to watching his uncle grinding in the back seat. "Are you hurting him?"

I reassure the kid: "No. He likes it."

Berry giggles. I watch the pale leg sticking out from between the front seats, the pink toes occasionally tensing and grasping the calf muscles twitching out little kicks. The other foot is slowly sliding along the back window, leaving a sweaty smear on the glass. After a while the kid's yelps and grunts transform into coos and sighs, as his fingers dig into the guy's arm. Little pink toes begin to stretch and quiver.

"Is he his bitch yet?" Berry asks.

"Yeah, I think so," I assure him.

"Are they done then?"

"No. I don't think your uncle has to get his good feeling yet."

"But the white kid is done?"

"I don't know. When he really likes it, he can get his good feelings again and again."

"You think he really likes it!?"

"Yeah, I think he wasn't sure at first, but now it sounds like he's liking it a lot."

"But in a girl way."

"Yeah, in a girl way."

"So he likes being a girl?"

"Well, he likes it when a guy makes him feel like a girl."

"Why does he like that?" Berry asked, a bit perplexed.

"He just does. Same as you like rubbing up against his bottom. I think he's got a dick, but inside he's really a girl. Something like that?"

The dealer's thrusts suddenly grow more vigorous, and then just as suddenly very slow and deliberate. Then he exhales deeply, lifting himself up off the kid, and flopping down on the other half of the back seat. The kid's thin sweaty torso heaves gently as he breathes a bit erratically. His head and upper body got shifted to the point where they are sunk down into the space between the front and back seats, and his legs remained splayed out. A bit of clear, sterile fluid drools lazily off the end of his little erection and down to his smooth belly; the snug, collapsed scrotum obvious between his spread, white inner thighs. Just below that, a quarter-dollar-sized cavity leaks a bit of white, foamy semen.

The dealer doesn't bother to put his engorged dick back into his pants. He glances down between the kid's legs, then lazily reaches in and flicks at the damp little dickhead, then snickers.

"Get up here," he orders the kid, who reluctantly claws and pushes himself up out of the well between the seats, glances around out the windows, finally gets himself roughly vertical again, and stares down at floor. I could see the shiny, little drops of clear, sterile jizz splattered about his navel before the loose t-shirt collapses down to his bare legs.

"Everything's cool out there?" the dealer asked me.

"Sure. So far," I responded.

"Take that shirt off." the dealer orders the kid, who bites his lower lip but obediently tugs the shirt over his head and drops it at his side. "And that top." The kid proceeds to wiggle his shoulders and arms out of the disheveled bikini top as well.

"He's bare naked!" Berry announces with a giggle, then cautiously checking around outside the car. I can't help but share the little man's eager excitement of seeing the kid without a stitch in this almost public setting.

"Show my nephew what a blow-job is," the dealer now decrees. The kid looks red faced at young Berry, then through the open window to me, and then at the dealer. Nevertheless slender white hand takes gentle hold of the half-erect black penis, and stroke it a couple times as the kid's pink face moves in closer. He gives the dick a bit of a sniff before kissing it on the tip, then under the tip and then down to the hairy, loose skin of the chubby scrotum. Berry giggles. A guiding black hand sets itself in the middle of the pale back as the kid tongues the awakening penis. Berry watches fascinated as the kid slides his mouth over the tip, opens, then engulfs most of the black penis into his mouth.

"Will he do that for me?" Berry asks excitedly.

"Of course," his uncle responds, "He's our bitch now."

Berry tugs his swimsuit down again and clambers to the gap between the front seats, and presents his smooth, springy erection to the back seat, and the kid dutifully disengages from the dealer and slips his mouth over the little black erection, sucking on it like a nipple as Berry giggles in delight.

The dealer asks me through the open window if the kid is really castrated, and I assure him that while I wasn't there when it happened, I saw a video of it, where they used some kind of clamp that farmers use on animals. And I took him to the doctor afterwards where the dead nuts were removed entirely. He asks if the kid knew what was happening, and I ask back if any boy that age really knows, but he seemed willing enough at the time, and I assure him the kid obviously was into it: he was erect up until the clamp was slammed shut. I add he really fell for the guy who talked him into it: some young Brazilian boxer. There was a whole gang watching, even some of their girls.

"Okay, I want to go swimming now," Berry announces. The kid pulls his mouth off the little black dick, and looks around for instructions. The dealer sighs and we both begin to laugh out loud. The dealer tucks his dick away as the kid scampers to find his thong bottom and attach it to his hips again.

"What's going on here?" I hear a voice bark behind me, and turn to see a large, white policeman in shorts astride a bicycle, as his black partner coasts to a stop just behind him. They both rest a hand on their sidearms.

"Nothing officer," I respond calmly.

"Hands on the top of the seats where I can see them," the officer orders. "Alright, everybody out." The doors swing open and little Barry tumbles out of the front, and his uncle sheepishly emerges from the back. The cop ducks down a little bit to catch the kid's eye. "You too. Out of the car."

The kid — still completely naked — slides over towards the rest of us, puts his hands on the doorframe, then swings his legs out to the pavement. His little erection flails about for a moment before he can stand up straight, and cup a hand over his bare crotch. He keeps his eyes on his feet the whole while.

"What's going on here?!" The second officer demands, their hands still resting on their firearms. I had to think fast.

"The boys were supposed to be changing into the swim suits, but they were dawdling. So we came back to check and found them… well… playing doctor."

The kid chokes back a sob, still looking down at the pavement.

The cops dismount their bikes, and one takes a step towards Barry. "What were you doing in there?"

The little man looks up wide-eyed at the white officer, and pleads: "He sucked on my wiener, but he wanted to!" The cops glance at each other and their hands slide off their holsters. The kid is still standing their naked, his chin quivering. He glances up just long enough to see that half a dozen people have wandered up to see what's going on.

The cop then asks the kid, "What are you doing here?"

The kid squeaks out, his voice trembling, "Just… swimming," then chokes back another sob as urine dribbles down from his hand, running along his leg and puddling up on the pavement at his feet.

"Okay, put something on, kid," the officers tells him soothingly, but the kid just stands there staring down at his feet, until I reach into the car, grab the t-shirt, and push it onto his head and down over his arms until he's decently covered-up.

"Put your arms in the sleeves now," I urge him, and after a big sniff he bends first one and then the other arm around under the shirt until they poke out from the shirt in the proper places.

"They're your kids?" the cop asks me.

"Yeah, nephews. This one's mine and the other his," I respond, gesturing to the dealer. The cops look over the kid, with a hint of pity and disgust.

"We'll let you handle this, then," the cop concludes. He nods to his partner, and as quickly and silently as they appeared, they are gone.

"You okay, buddy?" I ask the kid, who sniffles and wipes his nose on a sleeve. I tell the dealer, "This is new. I think maybe it has something to do with hormone withdrawal."

"I'm just glad they didn't find the weed," he tells me.

"Yeah," I respond, while stroking the kid's shoulder, "Go in the car and put your suit back on, and then you can go to the lake and rinse off."

The kid nods sullenly, and still not able to look up at any of us, crawls back into the back seat and slowly wiggles back into Angel's thong bikini, top and all. "It's okay kid. The cops gave us all a scare."

"I didn't pee myself, though," Barry reminds us, "What's 'hormone withdrawal'?"

"Just get back in the car, Barry. I think we'd better take off," the dealer announces, looking in to watch the kid slipping back into his bikini top, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand as he goes.

"I still wanna go swimming!" Barry protests.

"We'll go to another beach," the dealer assures him, looking up the path in the direction the cops went.

"Is he crying because we made him our bitch?" Barry asks.

"No buddy. He just didn't want those white cops to know you did it so easily. You are quite the little dude!" I tell Barry, with an encouraging wink.

I'm rewarded with a second baggie of joints, which I quickly stuff into my pants pocket, the dealer hurries the kid out of the car, and he's desperately tugging the t-shirt over his head as Berry rolls up the windows and the car is locked up again.

When we get back to the beach the kid goes directly into the water, still wearing Jamal's t-shirt, and discretely cleans himself. Angel complains we took to long and runs ahead of the kid into the water. After an hour or so everyone is pooped, and we gather up our gear and head back to the bus stop. I ask the kid if he had a good time, and he half-shrugs in response.

Everyone's pretty tired and no there are no shenanagans as we ride the bus back to our stop. The Kid lets me know that Angel told him Juan Carlos is leaving on Wednesday; going down to the Gulf of Mexico to take a sail boat down to Columbia, and Angel is going with him to be the cabin boy.

Wednesday morning I got up and found a note on the kitchen table to tell me the kid had gone with them.

Postscript

It's the start of spring training for the White Sox and I invite Jimmy over to watch the first game. He arrives early, eager to show me some video he found on his 4Chan body-mods channel. Do I remember the kid from last summer? He eagerly slides his thumb drive into my computer and gets the video up for me.

It opens in some large, shadeless compound. It's obviously a shaky, amateur cellphone video. A couple dozen men mill about, conversing, wearing a mix of military gear, turbans and kafkans, some carrying AK-47s. Several boys in kafkans dart about here and there as well, shouting and excited.

It sunny, and dusty.

High cinderblock walls are graffitied with spray paint in Arabic.

It looks like someplace like Afghanistan.

The camera frame is jostled about suddenly, and focuses on a long, flatbed trailer parked in front of a pastel painted building. The building's front door opens and a young guy with a thick mustache steps out from the darkness and looks around before going back into the doorway and signals for someone to follow him out. A thin, shirtless, curly black-haired Asian-looking boy bounces out. The trailer blocks the view of the boy from the chest to knees, but by the way his eyes dart around the compound and then quickly look down at his naked feet, how he holds his arms close in front of himself makes me guess he's naked.

He again peers about nervously, and — obediently responding to a gesture from the man — sets both hands on the edge of the trailer and heaves himself up. He gets one bare knee onto the trailer and I can see an ample half-erect penis and plump testicles wagging between his pale legs as he climbs up onto the trailer and gets back onto his feet before covering his crotch again with his hands.

A moment later, an unusually thin and very black kid with close cropped hair follows him out. As the black kid struggles up onto the trailer, we get a brief glimpse at an entirely empty crotch before it is again hurriedly covered. I assume it's a girl.

Next comes a familiar-looking, better-fed, mixed-race boy. His hair is cut short, but I recognize the build and those feminine gestures immediately. He's blinking his eyes in the sun and using one hand to shade them. He shyly looks around much as the first boy did.

The crowd is drifting over to the trailer and I can hear many overlapping voices on the video, but someone is addressing the man with the mustache.

The subtitle reports conveniently in English:

Buyer: "How many are there?" followed by

Dealer 1: "Four, and three are special."

Buyer: "Special?"

Dealer 1: "You can see for yourself."

He shoos Angel towards the trailer and he too awkwardly pulls himself onto the trailer and quickly joins the other two nervous naked kids there. They are all glancing at each other and over the crowd. It's definitely Angel. I wonder if Jimmy ever met Angel, and realize he couldn't have.

A couple local boys in kafkans dart over to the edge of trailer and watch a fourth boy shyly shuffle out the door and into the bright sun. This one is paler than all the others, with crudely cropped blond hair. I know who it must be immediately. He too appears naked, holding his crotch just as the others did when they emerged. He too squints around shyly; confused and embarrassed. The kid looks at the trailer, up at the other boys, back at the man with the mustache, and finally grabs the edge of the trailer with both hands and tries and fails to throw a leg up. He tries again and finally rolls his torso onto the trailer bed. I can barely discern the stubby little penis quivering obscurely. Once on the trailer he hurriedly gets up on his feet and covers himself up again. He licks his lips nervously and then dares to look up and quickly scan the small collection of men and boys gathered around the trailer, even looking directly into the lens for a moment, then looks back down at his feet again.

In the mean time an older, bearded man in a white kafkan and turban has emerged from the building, with some kind of riding crop hanging down from his wrist. This man follows the kid up onto the trailer bed, then — starting with the kid — he lines them up one by one facing the crowd.

As he does so, the camera is adjusted to a wide angle, and we see all four fidgeting side by side, with the bearded man behind them. The subtitle

Buyer: "Where are they from?" appears. Then:

Dealer 2: "Peshawar."

Buyer: "Before that?"

Dealer 2: "That first one is Afghan"

We can see the man on the trailer point his riding crop over to the first boy to emerge.

Dealer 2: "The second from Sudan"

Dealer 2: "These last two are all the way from our business associates in Brazil" the subtitles announce.

Each boy on the trailer is nervously alternating between looking down, taking fleeting glimpses at the crowd, and glancing over their shoulders to the man in charge.

The dealer then shouts out an order and slaps his hands. The subtitles resume:

Dealer 2: "Hands to your sides!"

The furthest two boys obediently release their crotches and let their arms hang at their sides.

Angel and the kid glance at the dealer first, and then immediately to the those other boys, and reluctantly let their hands fall to their sides as well. Both have achieved modest little erections. The Kid's circumcised little penis wagging amusingly above the a pouting little wad of wrinkled flesh. Angel's little erection substantial by comparison. But still obviously immature compared to the boy at the far end of the trailer.

Dealer 2: "Turn around and face me, boys." the subtitle informs the viewer.

The first two boys immediately turn around, Angel and the kid again take their cue from the other boys and face away from the camera. The man with the riding crop then puts his hand on the kid's bare shoulder before letting it slide down along the kid's side and brush again his ass in a gentle, intimate way that somehow makes me think both he and the kid understand he's entitled to do so.

Each naked boy now have their behinds on display for the audience. The Afghan's firm and muscular; the Sudanese is thin and slightly sagging; Angel's tush seems a bit emaciated compared to what I remember, but still round and chubby; and the kid's white ass is pretty much as I remember it. Both boys seem a bit taller and lankier than I remember them. The audience of men — including the camera operator — drift closer to the trailer and quiet down somewhat, effectively zooming in on Angel and the kid. Now and then, a couple other cell phones can be seen pointing at the boys as well.

The man on the trailer claps his hands and rattles off another longer command, as the faces of all the boys on the trailer obediently snap to him. The subtitles translate:

Dealer 2: "Get down on you hands and knees. Faces to the wall."

The first two boys obey, cautiously dropping down to all fours, facing away from the crowd of men. Angel and the kid watch the first two, and give only the briefest of glances to each other before crouching on their hands and knees themselves.

Dealer 2: "Now crawl backwards to the edge." the subtitle informs us of the man's next command.

He steps nearer to the kid first, gesturing for him to move backwards to the edge of the trailer by using gentle flicks of his palm. The kid nervously looks back under his armpit as he cautiously shuffles backwards until his dusty, bare feet and ankles are hanging over the edge. Satisfied, the man steps over to Angel and with a single flick of his hand gets him to back up as well. The camera is jostled and we can see the two other two boys have gone to their hands and knees as well.

"Where is this?" I ask Jimmy.

"Pakistan or Afghanistan I figure," Jimmy answers, "I think Juan Carlos' gang traded them or something."

I remember Juan Carlos telling me once that his gang knew what to do with boys like the kid.

Finally the first dealer walks into the frame in front of the trailer. He steps up to the kid first, and takes hold of his thighs just above the knees as the kid looks back at him nervously. The dealer nudges the kid's knees apart with his dark hands, and the light just catches the quick reverberations of the kid's half-hard dick as he obediently rocks his weight from one knee to the other while spreading his legs. Once the dealer is satisfied, he steps over to Angel who follows the kid's example, as his longer penis undulating with its own frequency. The other two boys are now off screen, but then the camera is momentarily jostled, showing they too have followed the same command, and all four naked asses of various hues are perched low in a line on the edge of the trailer, knees wide apart, backs arched and shoulders hunched.

We hear the high voices of boys giggling nervously nearer the recording device. The dealer with the riding crop gives a little speech to the crowd which soon includes pointing at each boy in turn.

Dealer 2: "Today I have four amazing servant boys for sale." appears at the bottom of the screen. The subtitle disappears to make room for another: "These two unusual boys both came here together all the way from Brazil!" As he continues another subtitle appears: "Sent as gifts to a sheikh up in the poppy-growing regions." Then after a moment, "They know perfect English but only a few words of Urdu and Arabic." And finally, "They are both quite docile, and will make the most obedient of house boys, obviously."

He then steps between them to the edge of the trailer and uses the stiff riding crop to further press the kid's inner thigh back to further expose the flat, scarred scrotum. A moment later he turns to Angel and uses it to nudge and flick at Angel's empty flap of skin as well. Another pause as the dealer strides over Angel's naked body towards the black boy:

Dealer 2: "This boy is from Sudan, he was fully gelded there to prepare him to guard the sacred sites in Mecca, but has been rejected. He knows Arabic but no Urdu."

Dealer 2: "The boy on the end is a trained bachi dancer, from Afghanistan. He has not been altered."

Dealer 1: "You are welcome to see for yourselves now."

And we see the first dealer welcome the audience to approach the four boys. The subtitle finally translates.

Dealer 2: "The auction will begin after evening prayers. But here they all are now in the full sun for complete inspection. If you are representing out-of-town buyers, feel free to take whatever images they might want."

The camera abandons a wide view and takes a hectic, bumpy ride, which comes to a halt right at the kid's round, white ass. It moves in close, and as the automatic light sensor adjusts, the dark shadows brighten and we see the kid's open, slightly distended asshole nestled deep between the two round, smooth hemispheres of his behind. A black fly touches down on the pale skin not far from it, then sprints towards the dusky hole in short, frantic bursts before buzzing off again, only to land at another spot and approach it once more.

The condition of his hole makes me think he was fucked only a short time before.

The camera moves down and the light sensor adjusts again, lingering on the kid's little nut-sack — now fully healed — snug against the root of his lonely-looking penis, the same mercilessly circumcised stub bopping around jovially whenever the kid fidgets — there's no sign of his treasured prince albert, however. A weathered hand reaches in to pat the pale ass a couple times before rough, dusky fingers move down to pinch and kneed the corrugated little patch of scrotum for a long moment.

The back of a local boy's head slides into one corner of the screen, intent on observing the fondling fingers. The young grinning face then looks up and across the screen to the owner of the exploring hand. Words are spoken and the camera zooms in even more as the fingers pinch out and display the crinkled, pale scar running down the center.

Buyer: "Well done. By modern methods?" the subtitle stipulates. The local boy asks something

Boy: "Are you hurting him?"

The index finger then reaches further in and bats around the kid's small penis a few times.

Buyer: "No. He doesn't mind." the subtitle reports.

The local boy looks back above the camera briefly, his expression engaged and curious, before looking right into the lens, and then back up into the kid's crotch again. The investigating hand abandons toying with the pale little dick and gives the kid's bare, white ass a final couple compensatory pats before the company moves over towards Angel.

The camera shifts to Angel's familiar crotch, his longer, more ample dick puffy around a newly scabbed-over circumcision scar, the dickhead standing out bright, smooth and pink from the otherwise dusky shaft.

Buyer: "This one has just been circumcised, Allah be praised!" according to the subtitle.

The hand again pats the smooth, round ass before exploring into the inner crotch. Angel's loose, flabby scrotum, emptied but intact — in the center of the frame. The same fingers caress and tug at the folds repeatedly, twisting the skin this way and that.

The same local boy's head bounces into one corner of the screen again, dividing his attention between Angel's crotch and the face of whoever's hand is examining it. The examining hand, and the camera operator seem to make up a team of two.

Buyer: "This one will never be a man, either, but I see no exit scar," the subtitle informs us.

"He could be a born this way," the subtitle adds.

I assume the examiner is himself a doctor. The camera is jostled again, and focuses on the deep ebony inner thighs of the third boy, where ripples of stiff, discolored scar tissue are all that's left of his genitals.

Buyer: "This is the one destined for Mecca" is displayed at the bottom of the frame.

The young head slides into view again, as fingers make a perfunctory examination which elicits no further subtitle.

Finally, the last displayed ass tumbles into the frame with skin almost as white as the kid's. The swinging elongated penis has been crudely circumcised — but long in the past. He alone is otherwise intact, the plump testicles and chubby penis shockingly large in comparison to the others. The hand appears again to pat the bare behind before scooping up the plump hanging testicles and rolling them around in the palm.

A clear, high pitched voice speaks, and the subtitle explains

Local Boy: "Why isn't he castrated?"

Then the lower, adult voice explains along with a new subtitle,

Buyer: "We Moslems don't do this, only the Kafir do."

The slightly hairy scrotum sags down pendulously in the apparent heat, the swaying penis just beyond is lazily half erect, and draws the attention of a couple flies too. For some reason I get the idea that must have been the dick that had been deep into the kid's placid ass not so long before.

The camera zooms out, then bounces around erratically for a while, the light sensor unable to keep up, before settling down on a view from the other side of the trailer.

We hear a disembodied voice, and the subtitle appears

Buyer: "Let's see their faces now."

The camera focuses first on the kid, his crudely cut hair somewhat disheveled, his nostrils a bit dirty as if they have been running and attracting the dust. The kid looks up attentively at the boss man's riding crop, which gestures for him to look back towards the camera again.

Buyer: "This one is the prettiest." The subtitle translates.

The kid glances into the lens before biting his lower lip and looking over at the boss man's sandled feet. His thin arms are planted squarely below his shoulders, and in the shadow below his chin it is possible to still make out his little erection wiggling and twitching weakly between his thighs. Apparently the man with the riding crop has turned around to pay attention to whoever is holding the camera. We can see behind him a man holding the end of a stethoscope while tugging on a rubber glove, and then the kid kind of hick-ups and his eyes widen as the gloved hand is thrust into the general direction of his exposed behind.

The kid looks back briefly, then glances at the camera again, then away glancing at random spots around his hands, then suddenly gasping a little and blushing. The telephoto adjustment is clumsily engaged and the kid's face zooms in, fills the screen for a moment, and then retreats to occupy only about a third of the screen. We can see a gloved hand and stethoscope pressed to his back, and a voice commanding "deep breath" in good English. The kid glances up at the dealer again, then looks into the lens briefly, then sucks in a deep breath and exhales.

"How old?" we hear the same disembodied adult voice, but in a slightly halting English now, and without the benefit of subtitles.

The kid looks back towards the camera a bit surprised, before answering cautiously in his familiar, squeaky soprano as the arm behind him continues its probing.

"I'm thirteen."

"You remember was castrated?"

"Castrated? Um…I guess." the kid answers shyly, looking back towards the man with the rubber glove briefly before looking up at the dealer again.

The local boy who had earlier been warned away can be seen behind the kid glancing up towards the man with the riding crop, and after confirming that his back is turned, quickly pushes his bare hand and up between the kid's thighs. The kid flinches slightly and blinks as the local boy divides his attention between monitoring the dealer and flicking at the kid's little patch of scrotum, amusing both his curious buddy and a nearby adult.

"How old was you castrated?"

"How old? Um, last summer," the kid responds in his obviously Midwestern American accent, "In… um…" he looks over to Angel briefly, "Brazil. I was barely thirteen then…" the kid seems to realize the cameraman isn't understanding, so turns his head back to the doctor and reports

"Thirteen."

The buyer speaks into the camera-phone, and the subtitle translates:

"He says he is thirteen and was gelded last summer."

And that's all from the kid as the frame moves over to Angel's obviously unhappy face, his wild afro sheared and his nose also running slightly.

"How old?" the question is repeated.

And in Angel's unmistakably swishy, accented voice we hear, "fourteen."

"Castrated?" the voice asks again in heavily accented English.

"Castrado?" Angel shrugs, then looks down at the trailer bed and answers, "Yes."

"How old?"

"Doze?" then louder, looking up briefly: "Twel-ved"

"How?"

"How?" Angel repeats the question.

"Yes, How?" He sits up to free his hands, makes to fists and brings them together as if he's closing the tool. Then he shrugs.

Buyer: "This is the one circumcised, and is also pretty. He has soft behind, but a bit sickly. He says he was castrated when he was twelve." the subtitle translates the words of the cameraman.

I conclude the video isn't anything intentionally pornographic, but rather a mundane, amateurish report being made for a buyer unable to attend the showing.

Without delay we move over to the black boy, who licks his lips nervously as he looks at the camera and lifts a hand off the trailer bed to briefly brush a fly away from his face. He seems to have to make an effort not to breathe through his mouth. No questions are asked this time.

Buyer: "This one I think dull." the subtitle reports.

Finally we go to the round, Asiatic features of the Afghan boy, who seems the most comfortable and relaxed of the lot.

Buyer: "This one very bright and healthy, but not a eunuch."

Another voice is heard, ending with a snicker. The boy smiles politely, blushes, and shrugs. The subtitle reports:

Dealer 1: "I have had to watch this one; he takes advantage of the others."

So my suspicions are confirmed.

The video suddenly ends without ceremony. I see from the sliding bar at the bottom of the screen it's lasted barely three and a half minutes. I'm disappointed there isn't more, especially of the kid.

Jimmy asks me, "Whacha think of that, man?"

"That's it?" I ask, trying to sound calm but anxious to know anything more about the kid's fate.

"For now," Jimmy concedes, "But I responded by posting a couple still captures of the video they made when they gelded the little bugger, and asked anyone with more vids of the kid if they'd like to trade."

I felt a little bad for the kid — having that video out there — but I did want to know more so I didn't fault Jimmy. I never heard anything more about the kid after that, but every once in a while I think about him, and imagine he's probably doing alright.

For the life of me, I wish I could remember his name.

The End