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Warning, this story may contain explicit descriptions of sexual acts between boys of various ages and/or men and boys. If this is not to your tastes, please leave now.
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Part IX (End)
By Chris Carr
Copyright ©
The days flying by, the closer we got to the school year,
I’d seen a lot and my attitude towards boys had totally changed. Whereas I
once considered them perplexing, if not a nuisance, they’d since become a
constant source of increasingly enjoyable exploration.
But like all good things, it was coming to an end. Other
than Brian, I hadn’t heard from anyone else about breaking the record. Left to
lonely handjobs, late at night, I masturbated to my many memories. Randy, and
that amazing dick of his. The way the skin just rolled back as his dick
hardened. And Alex, who must’ve been the horniest, closet case I’d ever
seen. As much as he enjoyed hand jobs, there’s no way he couldn’t have been
messing around some of the other boys. Hell, I wouldn’t have been surprised to
hear he was giving blow jobs!
I suppose you have your favorites and there’s really too
many boys to put in this one story. Boys who, long after that summer, used news
of my “club” to get their first handjob. Some who reciprocated, and some who
even did me. It was an exciting time and a totally different climate from
today’s.
We played out the rest of that summer, the chatter about the “record” diminishing so, even I rarely thought about it. Kids will be kids I guess, and, despite my sexual awakening, I was content to play and frolic like the rest. Sword fights, Cowboys and Indians, Cops and Robbers. Biking up Raymond Ave. then careening down Hayden… the entire three blocks.
And the pool, where it all started. Mom threw me a pool party when I turned fifteen. It was one of the best things about having a summer birthday. God, where would I have been without that pool? And, oh yeah! Without Melvin. Melvin Peterson and his competitive ass. His cockiness. Melvin and his stubbornness.
Melvin… tied like a hog… sweating and writhing…
Yeah, that fool came back. I mean, he had too, right? His
reputation was on the line and tongues were a wagging.
Had I been planning for Melvin all along?
When I look back at it, maybe I was. All I knew then (and to a great degree now)
is that Melvin embodied all that I came to detest in a male. Arrogant, boorish,
and, lest we forget, stubborn, there was no way Melvin was going to let that
summer end with him defeated. It’s why he’d waited so long, that way, no one
could’ve challenged it.
In that last week before school started, he came to me, that smug look on his face as if I owed him another chance. It was the farthest thing from my mind. School was just around the corner and the summer a fading memory, the last thing I was thinking about was Melvin’s “reputation”.
“Dang Sonny, just do it, ok?”
He was pushing all my buttons, driving me away, until I
considered the implications. It had to have meant a lot to him to approach me,
this late in the game. I had my hunches, observing the way he’d sulk or get
irritated whenever a new record was set but this was more than I’d calculated.
This was the Superbowl of handjobs.
“We do it, you gotta do everything I say,” I finally conceded. It was enough to make him stop bouncing that silly ball he’d brought and melt that cocky smirk on his face.
“Like, what?” He countered, skeptical.
“Just be here, Saturday around…” I tapped my chin
for extra effect, “Around 2:00.”
Melvin returned promptly at 2:00 pm, that Saturday, basketball in hand. As I watched him bouncing it, I wondered just how big your head had to be to make a request while still acting like you’re in charge? Melvin’s seemed pretty big that Saturday.
My mom and dad had gone shopping that afternoon, something I was aware they did most Saturdays. They’d probably stop for dinner too, permitting me all the time in the world.
"Let’s go inside," I told him, directing him to leave his basketball at the door. He followed me inside, a little disarmed as he peered around corners as if expecting to run into my mom or dad any second. I can’t remember Melvin ever being in my house before, and why should he, the weasel. He looked at everything, from the paintings on the walls to the shag carpet below as he maneuvered towards my room.
He stopped, just inside the door of my room, wrestling with second thoughts, I suppose. I looked at him and realized, maybe for the first time, that I was relishing the thought of putting him through the paces.
Melvin looked around my room then stepped to my desk when he spotted my models. Studying each rocket, when he turned around a rueful smirk was on his face. He shook his head derisively, as if mocking my silly obsession with the space program, then moved on, glancing at the TV atop my bureau.
Pausing, he looked expectantly at me, inquiring, "So what’s up?"
"That’s what I was thinkin’," I returned. "What’s up Melvin?"
"Whachu talkin’ ‘bout?"
"What’s up? What do you want?"
"Told you, I want to get the record back."
"Man, it ain’t like the last time," I warned. He hunched his shoulders, a minor flash of irritation passing across his face.
"You want to beat the record, you got to do all I tell you."
"Ok, Sonny… whatever."
"Ok, then… take off your shirt," I ordered.
A minute passed, Melvin eyeing me like a hawk. I was so through with him and his type, I really didn’t care if he complied or not. It was a win/win situation for me, either way, and I think he sensed that. He stood there for what seemed an eternity, then, his face stoic, he pulled his t-shirt over his head. Tossing it aside, he glared at me, that menacing smile creeping around the corners of his mouth.
"Now your shoes," I continued. Kneeling on one knee, he stared at me as he untied his tennis. Kicking it off, he switched to the other knee and removed that shoe.
"And the socks," I taunted, amazed that he’d complied so far. Was he really going to go through with this?
Barefoot, he stood, his smirk an empty attempt at asserting himself. Deep inside, I think Melvin knew I wasn’t going to make this easy and, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he started to look a little anxious.
"Get on the bed," I said. His smirk fading, he stared at the bed. Following a disconcerting glance at me, he edged toward the it, then sat gingerly on the edge.
"Lay down." Irked, he sat there a minute then, quietly reclined, staring at the ceiling. "Gimme your hand," I said, reaching for his left hand. He watched as I produced a section of rope, looping it around his slender wrist.
"Hey!" He protested, struggling as his arm was secured to the bed frame.
"Com’on Sonny," He yelped, "this what the other guys did?"
"Yeah," I said, circling the bed to secure his other wrist.
He watched with some trepidation, goose pimples raising on his arms.
"Why you gotta do this?" He insisted, his arms now fastened to the bed frame.
"You’ll see," I said, standing to appreciate my work.
A wary look on his face, Melvin watched my every move. I stepped over to my dresser and opened a drawer, methodically laying the items spirited away there on the bed beside him. His head raised, he looked at all of them, then gave me a suspicious look.
"What’s up Sonny? What’re you gon’ do with that stuff?"
"You’ll see," I repeated, stepping to the foot of my twin bed. His head raised, he watched as I tugged at his jeans, pulling them off his feet. Suddenly, I was looking at Melvin’s near naked form and all the old feelings rushed back in. Struggling to contain my enthusiasm, I glanced at the flat breastplate of his wispy chest, pausing for a second to note his dark nipples. Slightly swollen, they were in the last stages of pubescent metamorphosis and looked tasty, inviting.
He’d put on little in the weight department, his lithe physique still developing. His midsection slender, his stomach muscles lingered somewhere between boyish roundness and a budding six pack. His jeans now removed, I gazed at his spindly legs and bare feet, my eyes finally resting on the scant bulge in his Sears underwear.
Uneasy, he looked away when my eyes finally met his. Exposed and vulnerable, probably for the first time, he wasn’t so cocky anymore. I stepped to the side of the bed, my eyes still on his small package, the room very quiet. Reaching down, I slipped my hand between his legs, passing it over his boyish balls and across his sleeping appendage. Melvin watched, his head raised, his expression anxious.
Part of me liked fucking with him but I needed to get on with our business so I grabbed the elastic band of his Sears underwear and pulled them down. His toes wiggled as I swept them over his feet and finally, he lay naked before me.
Producing another piece of rope, I ceremoniously began to tie his right ankle to the bed frame. "Aww, com’on Sonny!" He griped, raising his head to watch as I bound his wiggling appendage to the bed frame. Plopping his head back, he huffed, clearly frustrated while I secured his left ankle. Kneeling beside the bed again I purposely waited, heightening the tension.
"What’s up Sonny?" He posited, obviously unnerved.
Picking up the jar of Vaseline, I extracted a dollop with my fingers, then looking tauntingly at him, slathered it about the head of his flaccid member. Melvin kept raising his head to see, so I gathered a couple of pillows and propped them under his head. He watched as I slowly stroked his sleeping member, my talented hand finding all the right spots. His eyes closing, his toes curled and, in a matter of minutes, his dick rose, standing once more to its total 5 ½ inches.
While the Vaseline was meant to aid the process by providing much needed lubrication, I quickly became aware that it also sped things up. In a matter of minutes, Melvin’s randy boy tool stood solidly erect, the bulbous head shining. Expertly palming his length I gloved the head with each stroke, rapidly bringing him to the brink of release, then, with a smug look on my face, I stopped.
Melvin grunted, his head pushing against the pillows, his eyes staring at the ceiling. Registering that he was in for a long haul, he braced himself for what lie ahead. In due time, I applied a fresh coat of Vaseline and started in again.
His toes wiggling, he let out a quiet sigh. There was nothing like a handjob from old Sonny and few boys could withstand it. In a matter of minutes, I’d found all his hotspots, dangling him mercilessly from the edge of nirvana, to the pit of expectation.
Quivering and squelching tiny gasps, he stared at his dick, snared in my grip. Up his boy arrow, I stroked, applying extra pressure when it neared his mushroom-like head, my fist swirling around it as I slid back down. With every corkscrew about his sensitive head, his stomach would quiver, his breath caught in his throat as he trembled.
He was swiftly approaching the point of no return once more, his cumscicle pushing rigidly upward. His hands balled into fist, he gritted his teeth, bulging his cheeks like before. Just when I sensed he was about to let loose, I stopped again.
He gasped, his body suffering a series of small tremors as his dick writhed, straining anxiously upward, then he collapsed on the bed, disgruntled. Commenting that it was getting hot, I removed my shirt. He gazed at my exposed chest for a minute, then lay back, closing his eyes.
Throbbing and bobbing in midair, his rigid tool never went down. Granting him a few seconds reprieve, I picked up the toothbrush. He watched with great interest as I poured baby oil on its bristles, then atop his throbbing member. His head raised, his eyes bulged as I moved it toward the sensitive underside of his exposed dick.
Wiggling and quivering like a man with his finger in a light socket, he wailed that it hurt.
"Tough guy like you," I taunted, "I know this little toothbrush ain’t hurtin’."
"Its too rough," He protested, pounding his head against the pillow. Observing his wickedly hard dick, I countered,
"Seem like your dick likes it, though."
"No it don’t! Com’on Sonny, STOP!!"
Scraping his raw tool a few seconds longer, I finally stopped. With a loud exhalation, he fell onto the bed, his body seemingly deflating against the covers. Panting loudly, he glared angrily at me.
"Choo do that for?"
"Just trying to help you beat the record," I quipped, laying the toothbrush aside.
"You ain’t even looking at the time," Melvin blasted. "How you know how long it’s been?"
"You’ll see," I said, removing my socks and shoes.
Flopping onto the pillows, he darted his eyes to watch, glancing away when I caught him looking. I wiggled my toes, brushing a few of flecks of lint off of them, all the while watching Melvin to see if he was looking. Every time he saw me looking, he’d look away. It was good fun, taunting him like that. His dick, which had gone down following the toothbrush session, inched slowly back up, the more he watched.
Kneeling beside the bed, I slipped my hand around his bobbling boy tool, gloving it once again. He hissed, his head raising some to watch, toes wiggling. Bringing him to the point of climax was becoming a real rush and before I knew it, he was quivering and panting again. Grunting guttural groans he trembled, his eyes squeezing shut.
Conflicted, I’m sure part of him was praying I wouldn’t stop this time but he was too stubborn to request that. His brick hard man-flute standing tall, it searched for the combination that would bring it relief. It seemed, every round, he got harder and more anxious. Almost as if he didn’t care about the record anymore, he groaned, pushing his pelvis upwards.
"Ahhhhh," He sighed, his eyes slammed tight on his rock hard ramrod. The head swelling, his piss slit opened and dribbled sticky droplets, rushing him closer to the edge. His shaft slick, it glistened, moist, squishy sounds echoing in the room as my hand spread it about.
"Sssss… ahhhh," He grunted, straining against the ropes. It was a dangerous game I was playing, getting him so close but, once again, just as he seemed about to let fly, I released him.
He shook, his pelvis still pushed up, his dick throbbing wickedly, threatening to explode. With a great cry of anguish, he fell back, his fists pounding the bed.
"Dang!" He ranted, glaring at me, his anguish giving way to utter frustration. He couldn’t quite figure it out but I think he was starting to wonder what my angle was.
Standing, I lowered my pants, my dick clearly hard beneath my clean, white briefs. He openly stared at it, paying particular attention to the dark circle of wetness, growing about the head of my dick. When he finally caught himself staring, he jerked his eyes up, throwing me a puzzled look.
In truth, playing with Melvin’s wickedly hard wand was getting to me. I’d become quite turned on by his slender stalk and swollen, anxious to burst knob. It intrigued me and I could’ve played with it all day.
His resolve weakening, however, I doubted he would’ve lasted another session so I took another approach. Applying a little oil to one of his ripe nipples, I gingerly encircled it while teasing the head of his dick with just two fingers. How I came up with those things, I have no idea. Blame it on my sick lust, I guess.
He flinched, his eyes alternating between his sensitive bud and his stiff staff. Most boys, myself included at the time, never consider their nipples as something sensuous. Sure, a girl’s tits, especially her nipples had to have been sensitive but that’s what they were made for, we reasoned. But a boy’s nipple wasn’t suppose to be sensitive, which is why it came as quite a surprise to Melvin when his nipple hardened, heightening his volatile condition.
He squirmed, turning a little on his side as if trying to pull his nipple away. His dick bobbled beneath my fingers, straining up, every few seconds. The head oozed more of his sweet essence and his balls pulled in tight. Wiggling his toes he emitted smothered gasps, his moment of release rounding the corner.
Soon he was quivering and shuddering like a leaf in the wind, his eyes closing then opening to stare. Every once in a while he’d look up at me, an empty expression on his face as if trying to size up the effects. In the quiet of my room, it felt intimate, those glances allowing a connection that neither of us quite comprehended.
I diddled his other nipple a while, producing the same tremors, shudders and sighs, then I looked at his dick, thrusting with desire towards the ceiling. He followed my gaze, hissing as his dick bobbled and jumped beneath my fingertips.
I played with his nipples a little more, my hand wandering about his taut torso, across his soft stomach, around the indentation of his navel, then down around his balls. They were pulled so tight, I could barely distinguish one from the other.
He squirmed, raising his hips in an effort to push his dick against my light touch. I eased up even more, barely stroking him, and he gasped loudly in protest. His near hairless boy orbs churning within their sacs, I caressed and fondled them, playing my hand ever so seductively between his legs, below his balls now and then, then stopped.
Exasperated he collapsed, moaning loudly. "Damn, Sonny, whachu do-in!" He protested, his hips still writhing.
"Just trying to help you beat the record," I repeated, retrieving a length of string I’d placed on the bed.
Coiling an end around his drum tight balls, I secured enough length to amply hold them, then moving towards his right foot, circled the other end around his big toe.
"What… what’re you doin’?" Melvin implored, his head raised.
I didn’t answer, instead tightening the string until there was little play left between his upright toe and taut balls. To test it, I dragged my fingernail up the sole of his foot, forcing him to bend his toes. He let out a gasp, his big toe yanking down on his tight balls, pulling them away from his groin.
"Take it loose!" He gaped, testing the string again with his toe. Like before, it tugged at his impatient goose eggs, nudging them away from his warm groin.
"Com’on Sonny, that hurts," He griped, head raised, an uncomfortable grimace on his face. I paid him no attention, instead applying a new coat of Vaseline to his waning willy. It jumped to life, standing up from his groin at attention, pulling his balls towards his groin.
Without thinking, Melvin flexed his toes, dragging the string along behind his big toe as he did. His balls stretched, pulling a visible distance from his pelvis. Groaning, Melvin stood his big toe upright in an effort to bring relief but when my hand massaged the sensitive head of his dick once more, that toe instinctively crooked down.
The apparatus was working almost exactly like I’d thought it would, the very sight of his big toe, tugging the string attached to his eager balls causing my dick to stand at full attention. Melvin groaned and griped the whole time, whining that the string was hurting but I concentrated on his randy dick, hitting all those hot spots once more.
Gloving up his exceedingly stiff shaft, I gloried in the sensation of it snapped in my hand. Warm and rigid, it was a writhing, throbbing, column of hot flesh. Tiny veins danced beneath the surface, and along the underside was a small series of fine bumps. The shaft giving way to a pinkish-brown head, it sat boldly out. A flared ridge encircling the swollen knob, it a produced a noticeable bump beneath my fingers, whenever my hand slipped around his head.
"Ahhh," he’d moan, bending his toes every time my hand stroked that bundle of nerves, just below the head. Confused and frustrated, he didn’t rush towards release this round. Like I’d hoped, every time he started getting close, his wiggling toes served to hold him at bay. Try as he may, he couldn’t coordinate all of the movements to get himself off.
Straining with everything in him, he fought to keep his toes erect. But every time he closed in on sweet relief, he’d forget and bend his toes, pulling on his insistent balls. After a prolonged period of annoying denial, he let out a loud, anguished groan, then trained his angry eyes on me.
"Ok, Sonny, you win," He submitted. I paid him no attention, my hand slipping up and around the head of his anxious dick once more.
"Com’on Sonny, stop it!" Up the shaft, around the head, then back down again. Solidly up his aching stalk, past his sensitive frenulum, then around the ridge of his flared head again.
"Sonny?" He grunted, shaking. "Sonny? Sonny!!"
Up the slick shaft, each finger rubbing the bump of nerves beneath his piss slit, then around the head. Juices leaked from that slit, joining the oil about his aching inches, bubbling and frothing beneath the head of his dick. Then, as he slowly approached what appeared to be release, I stopped gloving it, switching to a light two finger tease again.
Melvin gasped, pounding his head against the pillows, clearly angry now. "Dang Sonny, you never know when to quit," He blasted. "Why you messin’ with me?"
Gingerly passing just my fingertips about the gnarl of nerves beneath his oozing piss slit, I tortured him now. His toes flexing, it held his tentative release out of reach while my fingers kept stimulating him, pushing him towards another cycle. Pounding the bed with his fists, he quivered and squirmed, straining to find the right combination.
"Sonny…" He petitioned. "Man, forget about the record, ok? Deal?" He raised his hand, extending it in an attempt to shake. I stopped diddling his dick, staring at his outstretched hand, then reached towards it. That silly smirk twisting the corners of his mouth upwards once more, I reached instead for the baby oil, pouring more of it on his stiff stalk.
He shuddered, curling his toes so hard, he yelped in pain as he plopped resignedly on the pillow. "Agghh!" He groaned, sweat running down his face, my fingers returning to his the sensitive underside of his dick. In small circles I diddled him, tickling that bump beneath his piss slit. His dick jumped and bobbed wildly, straining upwards against my fingers but found no relief. I’d studied him well and knew just how much pressure to apply.
He kept offering bargains, then, his face almost sorrowful, he raised his head and beseeched, "Please." His voice a near whisper, I probably wouldn’t have heard him, had he not looked so pitiful.
"Please what, Melvin?" My talented fingers applying more pressure, I stared at him. He let out a distressed moan, his eyes closing, then raised up, casting me those puppy dog eyes once more.
"Stop," He finally whispered.
"You want me to stop?" I said, applying more pressure. His toes curled, despite his efforts and he let out another unrestrained whimper. I fondled his dick a little longer then ceremoniously raised my hand. He stared at me, his eyes darting from his dick to my heartless gaze, then, thinking better of it, he cried out,
"NO!!"
I looked at him for some time, allowing him to stew in his own juices then replied, "No what? You can’t have it both ways. You want me to stop or not?"
"Just… just make me… you know," He gasped, his eyes saucers.
"Make you shoot?" I was playing dumb.
"YEAH!" He exasperated, pounding his head once more on the pillows.
"Let me understand. You want me to make you shoot and not stop?"
"Yeah, yeah.. do it Sonny… and hurry!!"
"Hmm," I taunted. "And what about the record?"
"I don’t care! Just do it, ok?"
"You don’t care about the record?" I taunted.
"Com’on Sonny…" His eyes pleading he searched my face for signs of clemency.
"What if you loose?"
Emitting a desperate howl, he flopped on the pillows, eyes closed. Struggling with the implications, he soon raised his head to regard his bobbling dick once more.
"Com’on Sonny," He petitioned, this time more earnestly.
"Be your fault, you loose," I said, edging my hand towards his dick.
He didn’t even protest, his dick angling upwards, as if reaching towards my hand. All of his attention directed at his dick, he watched anxiously as I finally gloved it again.
"Yeah," He muttered, his stomach quivering. Eyes trained on his dick, they bulged when his big toe instinctively yanked on his balls again.
"Take that damn string off!" He screeched. But I kept stroking his dick. Two times he got right at heaven’s door but his confounded foot wouldn’t cooperate forcing him to start up his supplications again.
"Please Sonny, take it off," He pleaded.
"Make me shoot," I said. He looked at me, confused. "Say it. Say, ‘Make me shoot’."
I’d switched to the finger diddle again, keeping him in a state of frustrated frenzy. He stared, stubborn as usual and I kept diddling him. He groaned, then shook, finally looking up.
"Make…" Closing his eyes, I could see this was killing him. He’d probably never been in such a predicament. "Make me…" He faltered, glancing down at his dick. It bobbled upward, straining to be released.
"Damn Sonny," He pleaded, "Make me shoot, ok?"
He glanced at his dick, hopeful, I suppose, but I waited, gingerly taunting him. He looked at me then earnestly entreated, "Please… make me shoot, ok?" Then, without provocation, he pleaded, "I don’t care anymore, just make it shoot… pleeeeezzz? Please Sonny… pleeeeeeeez."
Producing a pair of scissors, I quickly cut the string. Laughing nervously at the sudden relief, he watched as, in another swift snip, I freed his balls then started in with a solid, ball-wrenching hand stroke.
"Yes!" He shrieked, "Don’t stop, ok? Please, don’t stop!"
He babbled on, punctuating his pleas with gasp, whines and groans, his toes happily wiggling once more. Gripping the mattress like a lifesaver, he raised his hips again, pushing his dick into my mightily pumping hand.
"Don’t stop…" he babbled. "Please… don’t stop."
In a matter of seconds, he was a writhing, babbling, mass of boy flesh, his hands gripping great handfuls of blanket and ripping them upwards. Tossing his head back and forth he muttered, "yes.. yes.. yes!" his dick reaching towards the sky. It swelled, filling my hand, the head bulging until it shone.
"Yessss! Ahhhh!! Please don’t stop Sonny, yes!" He roared, ripping the blanket off the bed now. His hips pushing as high as the restraints allowed, he bucked, yanking his dick through my fist then thrusting it back through. Cum shot from his dick like a skyrocket, sailing high into the air.
With another guttural scream, he bucked again, flinging another volley of airborne missiles across the room. Shaking violently, he gasped and shrieked, slinging his hips up, straining at his restraints, thrusting his dick through my hand over and over.
Angry florets of hot cum exploded into the air, ripping loud moans, whimpers and whines from the anguished boy, shaking the bed like a furious tornado. It truly was the Superbowl of handjobs and the Superbowl of climaxes. I’d never seen a kid cum like that before, especially one so young and pubescent.
Over and over he bucked and writhed, grunting and moaning piteously, straining powerfully at his restraints. Bucking and moaning until he scraped the very bottom of his store, he squirted, spurted and shot cum until it finally dwindled, dribbling down my hand.
"Yes! Thank you Sonny," He babbled, a crazed look on his face, "Thank you."
Epilogue
I saw Randy, a few days ago. He’s an adult now and he was riding on a bike. His face full and hardened, a scraggily, dirty beard covered the lower portion of his face. Nothing like he was in the days of the club, he was soft around the middle and I hardly knew who he was until he spoke.
Like that image of an aging friend, the pool is empty now. A stagnant puddle of brown water gracing the bottom, it hasn’t been operational since the Reagan years. Standing in the old pool house, echoes of past summers, rife with names I recall with endearment, rang in my ears.
My club went on for some time past that glorious summer. It always amazed me when a new kid would show up, bright eyed and bushy tailed, expectantly awaiting my approval. I became quite popular following Melvin’s escapade. Of course he bragged his ass off, making himself even more a nuisance, but never went into the details. At least, not publicly.
Whenever someone really wanted to up their "cred" with the group, they’d challenge his record but, truth be told, I wouldn’t let them. Melvin’s ordeal had made him rather special to me, I guess.
I’ll always have those memories, replaying them over and over to my delight. Twas a special summer and even I was surprised the lengths a boy could be pushed, when properly motivated. But…. That’s another story.
The End
Well's that's another one for the records. Nine chapters in all, this one took some time to write. Hope you guys liked it as much as I did. Some stories present less challenges, which was the case with this one, mainly because I was literally writing from experience. Yes, a great deal of this story really happened and the boys were from my childhood, many years ago. Of course the names were changed to protect the innocent but the accounts are based on real experiences.
Thanks for all your support,
Chris Carr
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