From: AUTHOR22@aol.com Subject: My Teenage Heart Date: 9 Mar 1996 My Teenage Heart is a full length novel, describing the develop- ment of a young boy into a bi-sexual man of 70. It traces his evolvement from a rejected child, thorough adolescence and as a 16 year old run-a-way, his maturing as a Marine during world war 2, continuing thorough his development as a musician, and eventu- ally closing as an itinerate country western performer at age 70. For readers who find graphic sexual descriptions not to their liking, they should read no further. The same restriction apply to those under the age of 18, or those who find sex between males, or sex between females, or sexual development between children as offensive. For the rest of the world I invite you to partake of this adven- ture as it leads from the 1930's into the 1990's, as it traces the development of a young boy's sexual development thorough adolescence, young adult, middle age, and old age. As he evolves from a rejected child to a teenage hustler, to a United States Marine, to a successful Country Western Musician, viewing him at the peak of his career, experiencing his slide from the crest; his evolution to age 70. My Teenage Heart Chapter Fourteen Sixty Isn't That Old The flight from Honolulu was an emotional nightmare. Jay was in a state of shock, realizing the depth of damage which his mother and her henchmen had brought down upon my head. It was about 9 am when the plane settled down on the runway at Los Angeles International Airport. The events of the past days had been so hectic that no plans could be made. Miss Doug had given me five thousand dollars to help with the days ahead. I rented a car until Doug could arrange for the shipment of my own. Jay and I checked into a small motel on Ventura Blvd. in the San Fernando Valley. Our emotions were frayed. Jay's frustrations exhibited themselves in a constant hard-on. At night he would cuddle up to me, his arms around me. I could feel the dampness of his tear streaked cheeks pressing against mine. The tears would eventually disappear being replaced with the inevitable hard-on. It seemed that his tears and his cock were on opposite ends of a teeter-totter. Christmas was approaching. It would be a frugal event. Jay's biological father lived in San Bernardino County. I suggested that if Jay wanted to spend Christmas with this father, that it would be OK. He hadn't seen his father since he was 10 years old. The next few days were spent locating the father. He had remarried, had a new family. The woman he had married had two daughters, both teenagers. Jay would be welcome. Jay would contact me through Jack Wormski's office after the holidays. Christmas was a lonely holiday. It was cold and overcast. New Year's came and went... no word from Jay. The motel was too expensive. I looked through the classified ads for an apartment and spied a small motor home for sale in Santa Ana. The asking price was a bit more than I had. However, the income from the investments made with the money Harry had left me had been accumulating in a Savings and Loan and that might enable me to swing the deal, if the motor home was what I wanted. I telephoned the number listed in the ad and arranged to drive down to Orange County the next day, Friday. The directions given me were quite detailed, so finding the seller was not difficult even though it wasn't really in Santa Ana. The motor home was located in a small trailer park in Tustin. Its owner was a young marine stationed at the nearby Naval Air Station. The reason for selling the unit was that the boy's wife had run off with one of his buddies who had been transferred to the East Coast. The appointment to see the motor home was set for five in the evening. I was early, and there was no one about. I had parked in front of the trailer park office and was inspecting the unit on foot. The outside looked pretty clean and well maintained. I was at the back inspecting the sewer and water connections when I heard a Motorcycle pull up and park in front. I came around the side as the rider was removing his helmet. His hair was very black and cut in a regulation style. He was not dressed in uniform, but rather in blue jeans and black leather jacket. He dismounted his bike. His frame was short and muscularly filled out. "Are you the guy that called me yesterday?" He approached me, extending his hand. "Sorry I haven't had time to straighten things up." We entered the unit. It was a mess. Not dirty, but things were flung everywhere. A shower and toilet occupied the back of the vehicle. It had a refrigerator, stove, and microwave. Then, next to that, was a pull-out couch that also served as an eating area. Above the drivers seat was a pull down bed. The boy was obviously still occupying the unit. I noticed a remote control for an AC power plant and asked about it. "The starter burned out, and I've got it down at the hobby shop. I'd planned on having it back in by the end of the week. Wanna beer?" I nodded. He took two Mickey Big Mouths from the fridge, handed me one and motioned me to sit down on the couch. He sat along side of me. His odor was strong and masculine, mixed with that smell of biker's leather. His name was Mike Vittelo. The Mickey's was cold and smooth. We discussed the vehicle, what problems it had, what had yet to be done to it. "Want another one?" he asked. "Why don't we go out for pizza instead?" I suggested. "Great idea; gotta take a shower first." He got up and handed me a second Mickey's as be proceeded to take off his jacket. He moved to the back of the vehicle throwing his tee shirt on the kitchen counter. As he opened the shower door, he dropped his jeans to the floor and moved out of sight and into the shower. The short glimpse I had of his bare body was tasty: firm, well rounded, and hairless. I could hear the water spraying on to his body. "Shit, I can't find the soap." he yelled. I walked over to the bathroom door. "Can I get it for you?" He pulled back the shower curtain slightly, "Yeah, there should be a bar in the medicine cabinet". I found an unopened bar, unwrapped it, and handed it to him. His extending arm moved the shower curtain further apart. I could see his limber penis nestled in his dark pubic hair, his testicles sagging from the hot water. His basic masculine smell entered my lungs. I had the distinct gut feeling that this man who had been accustomed to a wifely bedded bed had gone without for a very long time. My second Mickey was almost bottomed out when Mike came out of the shower, toweling himself dry. Still naked, he rummaged through a drawer, finally locating a pair of briefs. "The E-Club at the base has got a good pizza joint, and their beer prices are better. OK?" Mike put on another pair of jeans, clean tee shirt, and the leather Jacket. "We'll take the bike." He locked up the RV and straddled his bike. He handed me a helmet. "Crawl on the back. Your feet go onto to those pegs." he pointed to a couple of spikes just forward of the rear wheel. With a quick kick, the cycle sprang to life. As we pulled away, I instinctively put my hands on his waist. In less than five minutes we had driven the short distance, passed through the main gate, and were parked in the E-Club's parking lot. We were the only two people sitting at the bar. "A pitcher of Michelob," Mike commanded of the girl behind the counter. She put an empty pitcher under the draft dispenser and pulled the lever. White foam filled the pitcher. "We just replaced the keg". The second pitcher was also foam. By the time she had filled the seventh pitcher with foam she was feeling frustrated. "Tell you what, if you are going to throw that out I'll give you a buck for each of those pitchers. After that you'll probably have the keg fixed." She readily agreed to my proposal. We had seven pitchers of foam which were rapidly settling down to 3/4 full pitchers of clear beer. While we were drinking the last of the second pitcher, Mike ordered the pizza. During the third pitcher, we had passed beyond the point of discussing the RV. I had decided to buy it. Instead, he listened to my tales of the Marine Corps during World War II. The sixth pitcher dragged from him the woeful tale of his cheating wife. It was close to midnight when we had wrung the last drop of sparkling brew from the seventh and last pitcher. We climbed on his bike and headed to the RV. We had passed the main gate. My arms were around his waist holding on. I could feel the warmth of his body. Then I could feel a raging hard-on. His cock was vertical and under his belt. My hands were almost touching it. I started to say something, but the roar of the bike drowned me out. My arms squeezed tighter as we turned a sharp corner. His cock responded to the tighter hold in a hard pulsing. I would have bet that had I had my hand under his jacket his bare cock head would have been lubing my arm. I could almost smell his passion. As we got off of the bike, Mike asked, "Where are you staying?" When I told him, he said "That's too fucking far. Why don't you stay here tonight and we can work out the details on the RV tomorrow." As we entered the motor home, Mike pulled down the bunk from above the driver's seat. "I like this one; instead of making up the bed, all I have to do is push it up and closed". Internally I laughed and thought, "Like the rest of the RV is any different." "You know where the shower is if you want to use it." Remembering about how those things worked in the days of the Yacht, I kept the shower short. Wet down. Soap down. Rinse off. When I returned, Mike had pulled out the couch and added a light blanket. He was already laying flat on his stomach in his upper bunk. As I crawled under the blanket he turned off the light. The interior was pitch black. I had nuzzled face down on the bed. The light went on. "That beer is running right through me". Mike padded off to the toilet. I could hear a long continuous stream of piss splashing in the toilet bowl, followed by the inevitable mechanical noises of the RV sewer system. "You comfortable there?" "Yeah, but my back hurts, I think I twisted it when I got off your bike." The light went off. "Where does it hurt." "The small of my back." "Here, let me work on those back muscles. Patty used to like it." Referring to his ex-wife. I could hear Mike move closer to me. The bed depressed as he sat along side and moved the blanket clear of my body. His fingers touched my spine about two inches above my butt. They dug in gently, but firmly. The sensation was very relaxing. "Oh man that feels good." His fingers moved across to each side, then upward. "You really know what you are doing." His fingers moved upward, his body leaned so that he could reach my neck. Silently he moved so that he was now lightly sitting on my upper legs, straddling me, his bare butt gently resting on me. His fingers moved back down to the lower back and continued their massage of those tender muscles. I could feel the heat of his butt as he moved forward so that his fingers could work their way all the way up to my shoulder and my neck. The radiated heat from his stomach and groin signaled his movements across my back. At first I wasn't sure, but then again I felt a small wet, warm drop hit my tail bone. Mike moved back, fingers again exploring my lower back. It seemed that he was generating a lot of heat. Again the upward motion. Several more warm drops sprinkled the crack of my butt. The realization that Mike had a raging hard-on brought my own cramped dick to attention. I raised my butt to re-arrange my cock and, in doing so, felt the head of Mike's cock push between my cheeks. I moved back down, he followed, his cock gently massaging my cheeks. He leaned forward, almost laying flat on top of me. Reaching back, my fingers sought the small of his back, communicating that I was enjoying his presence. Then the resting ceased as his body began massaging mine, his dick rubbing full length the crack of my buttocks. The warmth of his instrument warmed me. His gentle, noninvasive stroking stimulated me. His breathing became deeper as the hot air expelled on to the back of my neck. I tightened my buttocks, grasping his penis. Mike exhaled deeply. I could feel his lips on my shoulders. The length of his strokes changed, then there seemed to be more purposeful movement. Then he stopped; just laid there, his long, hard, hot penis laying full length along side of, and enveloped by my cheeks. "Man can you give a good back rub." Mike's hips moved back slightly, and I positioned myself so that as he again moved toward me, his head was resting directly on my anus. It laid there with a gentle forward pressure. The pre-cum was flowing warmly and pleasantly. His already throbbing rod seemed to get even bigger as we just laid there. Then, under its own volition, my relaxed sphincter began drawing his head into my body. First, the head seemed to be sucked in. Still no body motion from either of us. Then as the head passed through the muscle ring, Mike's hips pressed him into me. My hips responded as the total length of his equipment passed my prostrate and his groin was held tightly against my buttocks. A moan of passion passed my lips. His teeth were gently biting my shoulders as his butt began moving in and out. Both of our passions were building. I was on the verge of ejaculation when Mike simply rested. He lay there, full length upon my body, his member throbbing and pushed deeply with in me. His lower body had ceased to move while his lips kissed my shoulders and my neck. His hot breath was slow and deep. Then his tongue began to massage my shoulders, wetting them almost as much as his cock had wetted the crack of my ass. Then the hip motion began again. Slowly out, gently but completely in. Again and again. And again I was on the verge. He paused; his member throbbing a message that it was still there. My cum subsided back into my groin. Then the fucking continued. Again he brought me to the verge. Then he pulled out. He got up from the couch and turned me over on my back. Then he moved down between my legs and put his mouth over my cock and sucked it deeply into his throat. I thought I was going to explode, but before I could he withdrew, lifted my legs into the "Lance Position" and let his member find its way back home. His movements were now with more purpose. His hard cock slipped back and forth past my prostrate, his groin striking the cheeks of my ass as his swinging balls bounced against my butt. His shaft was firmly pressed deeply into my gut as I felt the first splash of his semen strike my intestines and wash back over my prostate. That triggered my own emission shooting up over both of our chests. His member was still deeply within me as he shifted his position, lowering my legs. Then I felt his lips on mine. His tongue explored. His cock responded. Mike did not go back to his own bed, nor did his cock leave my body during the entire night. But oddly, during one of the early morning sessions, we talked business. Mike was being transferred to Japan at the end of next month. I needed to get out of the motel, and I needed a little more time to get all of the money together. Also, Mike needed to install the power plant. Saturday (and it was already Saturday), I would move into the RV. Mike and I would share it until his transfer came through. On Monday I'd give him $3000 of the asking price and he would sign the RV over to me. Then, sometime before he was transferred, I'd give him the balance. I've often thought that frustration expressed itself in accelerated sexual appetite. And if that is true, then Mike's ex-wife must have frustrated the hell out of him. During the next seven weeks we shared a lot of fun things; scuba diving in Mexico, horseback riding at the Marine Crops Stables, motor boating and even water skiing. But his sexual appetite never waned. If we were in the RV, he was always fucking, at least 3 times a night, on one weekend it was nine times. He never repeated sucking my dick. He maintained the masculine role in this relationship treating me with gentleness and affection, but always the "husband" never the "wife." The weeks rolled by. I had adjusted to an unaccustomed subservient roll. The physical and emotional security felt oddly complacent. We never spoke of love, nor even sex; he simply possessed me whenever he was in the mood; and it seemed he was always in the mood. The weekend before he left for Japan, he suggested we hop on his bike and head south. We had no destination in mind, but we took along a sleeping bag and tarp. We crossed the border into Tijuana sometime mid-morning. In Ensenada, we had lunch and a couple of cervesas. Then we drove further south into Saint Thomas. The sun was beginning its downward path. It would be dark in a couple of hours. Mike turned off of the main road, following a dirt path towards the sea. Road dust swirled upward behind us as we sped onward. A turn in the path placed us on a secluded beach, hidden by small hills and sand dunes. We set up camp on the seaward side of a dune, near its top. If the tide came in, we would not get wet. Shedding our clothes, we raced into the ocean water. It was crisp and cold by comparison with the warm Mexican air. "If I catch you, you are MINE". The straight line from an old dirty joke. We splashed and played tag like a couple of teenage boys. The tag turned into wrestling, which turned into passionate play as first I, then Mike, developed ridged cocks. Mike grabbed me from behind, putting his hands between my legs, pulling me backward. The supporting water lifted me and then set me back down with his cock holding me, and extending like a boom, toward my front and under my balls. His arms reached around me and held me close against his chest. His pubic hair and abdomen were pressed firmly against my behind. His hard cock head warmed my back in contrast to the cold sea water. Either the ocean was washing away his pre-cum as fast as it was being generated, or it didn't form in the ocean. Either way, entry was not possible. Laughingly, I spun loose of him and ran across the beach and up the dune to our camp. We had only laid out the tarp. I slid on to it as Mike followed me. His cock had gone down; mine had not. The sky was just now dimming as the sun disappeared below the horizon. We were laying on our backs. The air had dried our skin. Mike sat up, then moved over and sat on my stomach. I looked up into his eyes. They sparkled in the twilight. My gaze moved downward. His mouth was in the shape of a grin. He wiggled his bare ass playfully. "Boy, are you going to get it tonight". My eyes continued downward. His cock was fully inflated; hard and glistening. His lubricant was literally dripping into my belly button. His fingers began spreading the pool from my navel, in ever expanding circles extending from my pubic hair to my rib cage. Then Mike grasped his cock and continued to rub his still lubricating instrument across my body, even up to my chest, neck, and chin. The head lubricated my lips. My tongue extended. He rested the head on my tongue. The drooling continued. The taste was salty. My lips closed around it, capturing the fluid as it continued to produce. I sucked hard, pulling the instrument into my mouth. My hands were on the cheeks of his bare butt, holding him, enticing him, coaxing him to continue. I could feel his knob expand as his member got even stiffer. As usual, he wouldn't cum. Instead, he withdrew and slid his organ back down my body, leaving a track like a snails all the way to the small pool in my navel. The cock head added more lubricant. Mike lifted my legs over his shoulders, pushing forward. My hole was totally exposed. His dick was now dribbling onto my anus. I could feel drop after drop hit me, and then stream down my ass crack. He moved forward so the head was now touching my ass. Using his left hand, he moved the shaft around like a warm, hot, paint brush. Then, with his right hand, he began fingering me. His ample lubricant allowed his index finger to slide in. In and out, round and round. Then he added another finger. Again in and out, round and round. But now there was an additional motion as he began stretching his fingers apart. So now it was in and out, round and round, and stretching and contracting. Mike added a third finger. His cock just above was dribbling a stream of pre-cum onto his fingers and my butt hole. This new action was driving me crazy. I began to moan as he continued to toy with me. Then he shifted so that the head of his cock was laying in a trough created by his fingers. The head pushed against my wet hole, as his fingers expanded outward, creating a welcome tunnel for his invading train. My body wanted him in me, deeply in me. But Mike had different ideas. His fingers stretched and stretched. His cock head was sliding into my ass on a rail of his fingers. Then, quite suddenly, he withdrew the fingers while moving his shaft completely into me. The transition created an unexpected emotional response as I arched my body into his. My throat exhaled a groan, and then a shout of passion. My buttocks bucked into him; my hands were grasping his back as I pulled and pulled. Even my fingernails dug into him, trying to get more and more of him. Then, like a wolf, Mike began to howl as he unloaded his seed fully and deeply into my body. It started with a low growl, matching mine, but as he emptied himself it reached an ear splitting howl. In synchronism, I released. Our howls died to whimpering sounds of completed passions: released, exorcised. He pulled out, still erect. I rolled over on my stomach. Mike rolled over on top of me, putting his cock back "home where it belongs". Then he fell asleep laying on top of me his rod stiff and deep within me. We slept like that through the long warm night. If I moved, his hands would hold me still. At times I would awaken, and his rod was always in an erect state. Sometime during the night, he must have awakened, as his still erect rod began to explore its environment. It was a gentle prodding, as his cock hair rubbed my bare buttocks. Slowly in and out. His teeth were nibbling my neck, then very gently he pushed deep into me and came again. We drifted back to slumber land. At daybreak, his hard cock must have awakened both of us as it again started to explore its environment, but more rigorously. But this time, I rolled over, tossing him on to the cool tarp. I jumped up and straddled him, sinking his cock back into my body. Then I rode him like a bucking bronco. I looked into his laughing eyes as I said, "Hey, stud, let's see how you can do on the fifth rodeo." He grabbed me by the hips and pulled me hard onto his stomach. I twitched my butt cheeks trying to make things as tight as I could. Then, on his next upward thrust, I raised my legs and spun in a circle on his pole. The unexpected motion made him lose control, as I could feel another load being released from his rod. Then, I jumped up and ran for the surf, Mike running after me. We dove into the water, bringing our bodies to full awakedness. It was Sunday morning and we were famished. We had brought no food. Reluctantly, we left our secluded beach and drove into Ensenada for breakfast. Then northward to Tijuana, the border, and finally home. Then he left for Japan. Most of my time during the past seven weeks had been spent keeping house for Mike. Now that he was gone, there seemed to be no purpose. There was no reason to move from the trailer park. Wormski's office had heard nothing from Jay. I had cleaned the RV for the umpteenth time when finally I decided I needed to do something: get a job, put a show together, get off of my butt. Again, a call to Wormski's office; the response was not encouraging. The park manager suggested I go down to the California Department of Employment. As a veteran, I would enjoy some degree of priority. After tons of filled out forms, I sat next to an interviewer who looked over my career history. "We don't get much call for musicians." He left me at his desk and conferred with a large black woman. Then he returned. "Ever done any selling?" Visions of selling vacuum cleaners door to door immediately entered my mind. "No, never have." "Well, we have an odd work order. It's a Music Store and Video Rental Library in Newport, and they want someone with a musical background who is willing to sell instruments and records. Want to give it a try?" "The Video Music Experience" was located in Newport's new business plaza about 20 minutes drive from the trailer park. The owner was a man in his mid-forties, somewhat balding, a little on the plump side. He was looking for someone younger than me, but my experience weighed heavily in my favor. His sales force was all considerably younger, but had no musical experience. They were strictly "sales types". Bruce, the owner, explained that everyone did everything: rented videos, sold instruments, handled cash register, even vacuumed the carpet twice each day. The wages were strictly minimum, but commissions were earned on all merchandise. Video rentals earned no commissions but yearly video memberships did. The money was definitely not good, but then money was not the driving force behind my decision to seek employment. Bruce introduced me to David, his most effective sales person. David was in his mid-twenties, a little over six foot in height, and fat. Not grossly fat, but he'd never make the second quarter mile in a marathon. David was also aggressive in his sales efforts. He was to show me the ropes. Most of the following weeks were spent behind the video rental counter, while David sold instruments and a few records. The video work was exhausting, especially between 6 pm and 10 pm closing. Lines of people holding videos cued up waiting to be helped while David sat on his fat ass in the music section. I had a coffee break coming up. Bruce insisted that David work video rental during that break. Instead of coffee, I went into the music section. The store had just received one of those new electronic keyboards. I began to toy with it and was surprised at its capabilities. The rhythm section intrigued me. I pushed a couple of buttons, establishing a rock beat. Then another control synthesized guitar. Still another gave me organ. My fingers recalled one of Jackie's Gospel numbers, as I got carried away with this new play toy. Most of the customers left the video section crowding around the keyboard. Bruce came over and prompted me to continue. I glanced over at David; he was not happy. A young boy, of perhaps 12 years, stood next to me. "That looks easy." "It is. Here, run your fingers over these four keys on the beat." Shortly the boy was improvising. His dad bought a keyboard. $375.00. My first commission. Just before closing, Bruce suggested that I take one of the keyboards home with me and that "I'd rather you stay in the music department." My sex life had pendulumed back to celibacy. My days consisted of playing with the new toy in the mornings then work in the afternoons and evenings, then home and sleep. The work became quite interesting and enjoyable as I developed mini concerts. Instrument sales soared. Bruce was happy; David was not. Our schedules were changed so that David and I did not work together. I was scheduled for Friday and Saturdays, off on Sunday and Mondays. David's days off were Friday and Saturday. Early Friday afternoon, a young teenager breezed right past me and into Bruce's office. I looked surprised as I had never seen him before. Bruce brought him into the music section. "This is Joe Franklin. He works in the back unpacking and putting things together on weekends and on some afternoons." Joe flashed me a big smile and shook my hand vigorously. "If you need anything moved or packed just tell Joe." Unlike most teens, Joe's complexion was clear. His movements were not clumsy, but they were direct and fast. The kid was obviously hyper. His bright eyes bespoke a high degree of intelligence. I suspected he was something special. He disappeared into Bruce's office. Then he was behind the video counter going through computer listings of Annual Members. Then he was on the telephone. Within an hour, Joe had called members whose annual memberships were due to expire, signing them up over the phone. Bruce had over a thousand dollars in renewals. On Sunday, the shit hit the fan. David tried to sell renewals to customers who came into the store; Joe had beat him to the punch. David had attacked Joe, throwing him to the floor. Bruce tried to break it up and accidentally got punched in the nose by David. Bruce sent both home and called me, asking me to work that evening. Shortly after I arrived, a heavy set man, at least six foot two, roared into the store and directly into Bruce's office. Joe trailed behind him. I could hear shouts of, "He attacked my son. I'll sue the shit out of you and your goddamned store." I motioned Joe to come into the music section. I knew Bruce was a master at handling people. His presence would only fan the fires. Joe turned on one of the newer keyboards. It had drum sticks attached. He picked up the sticks, striking them against the end of the keyboard, generating an original beat. I moved over to the keyboard and improvised a melody to go with the beat. Soon we were jamming. Then Joe surprised me by fingering the bass keys. He laid the drum sticks aside as I set the auto rhythm to approximately the same tempo and moved over to a second keyboard. This I put into Hammond mode and improvised, following Joe's lead. Bruce and Joe's dad joined us. The large man putting his huge arms around Joe's waist hugging the boy to him. Bruce said "Joe, how'd you like to work with Don on Friday and Saturday?" And thus a new adventure was beginning. --------------------- Joe was 16 and hyper. His mind worked faster than almost anyone I had come in contact with. He had never studied music, yet he had a natural talent that enabled him to grasp the symbolism expressed in sheet music and translate it into melody, into beat, and into expression. And Joe was a very good looking boy. His hyperactivity coupled with his high intelligence and rapid ability to learn created many problems in school. He did not have the patience to sit in class re-hearing material that he already had mastered. He also had an ego problem. Yet his understanding of people and his aggressiveness could not but help him achieve any goal he set his mind to. His main problem was that the didn't really give a shit about how people felt. We became best friends; this man of sixty and this boy of 16. One evening, Joe asked me to drive him home. His sister usually picked him up after work, but this night she was in San Diego. We closed up the store at ten, and under his guidance I drove south along Pacific Coast Highway, turning into Laguna's millionaire row, Emerald Bay. The guard at the gate signaled me to stop, then saw Joe and waved us through. We wove our way upward. "OK. This is it. Think you can find your way out?" I nodded yes, as my best friend ran through the front door of a multimillion dollar home overlooking the Pacific ocean. My drive home through Laguna Canyon was very contemplative, as my mind tried to seek out the continuing wonderment of this very special lad. Really, who was Joe Franklin? The following Friday night, Joe said, "Can you come to dinner on Sunday? Mom wants to meet you." Parents always make me nervous, and I really didn't want to, but I should have realized I never could say no to Joe. Saturday afternoon, Joe was very hyper. He couldn't stay still for a moment. And he was constantly asking questions, yet before I could complete an answer he had already assimilated it, interrupting me, and asking another. Soon he had three keyboards set up in a semi-circle, each synthesizing a different set of instruments. He had jumpered the drum stick jacks so they were operating in parallel, and triggered off one set of sticks. Joe then put the sticks on the floor where he could tap them with his foot. His body was bouncing as his toes set the rhythm. His left hand bounced off a single set of cords on the far left keyboard. Between the three sets of keyboards, he had established a complete drum set, yet somehow their beat was different but synchronized. Next, his right hand was moving rapidly across the middle and right keyboards. He simply wasn't fast enough to do what he wanted to do. In frustration he motioned for me to take over the right hand board. The sounds were frantic but fantastic. It was too foreign for my ear, yet it was compelling. Soon I was trying to predict his next movement, his next sound. It definitely wasn't random noise. The pattern eventually emerged so that I could follow with some degree of certainty. Every person in the store came into the music section. Joe was driving hard, his shirt was soaking wet as he put his entire being into an emotional musical exhibit. And suddenly it was over. He had reached the end. There was not a sound from the customers. Then a girls voice said "Wow. Far out," and people began to applaud. But for Joe it was over. He had done what he wanted to and was now moving to another project. He dismantled the keyboards, putting everything back where it belonged. I just stood their staring at him. At the end of the evening, he asked me to drive him home again. The trip took less than a half hour. I expected his questions to be about music and about performing. I was wrong. He wanted to talk about sex. How did it feel to fuck a girl? How did you go about it? He had made passes at a few, but Joe could never be patient enough to go through the ritual of foreplay. I explained the need for patience and self control. I told Joe about EST and the process the young airman from Okinowa and I had put into place. This opened a whole new avenue of interest for the lad. He wanted to know exactly how it worked. Then he was insisting that I put him through the process. I promised, but not tonight. He was expected at home and taking him to the RV first would take too long. Sunday dinner at the Franklin's was set for six o'clock. At 5:45, I approached the entry gate to Emerald Bay. The guard took my name and checked it against a guest list, then motioned me through. Joe was waiting out front as I pulled up in front of his home; he directed me into the best place to park. The walkway was red brick; the high redwood fence was covered in ivy. We passed through what I thought was the front door, only to find myself in an open patio. His dad was cooking hamburgers on a charcoal grill. From inside the house came the sounds of women and girls talking. The two women were speaking Spanish. Joe took me inside and introduced me to everyone. His mother was a gorgeous, petite blonde. And very stylish: she could have been a model from the front cover of Vogue. Her accent was foreign, European. But, within moments, I realized where Joe got his hyperactivity from. The other woman was the maid. She spoke no English. Her dark coloring suggested that she was from Mexico. Joe had three sisters and no brothers. He was the second child. His older sister, while quite pretty, had a large nose, as did Joe's father. His next younger sister was just a year younger than Joe, while the youngest was about ten. The father was Lebanese. His mother was Austrian. Joe had been very silent about his family during the entire time that I had known him. The only two insights I had had was the one time when his dad had angrily visited the "Music Video Experience" and when I had given him a lift home and discovered that he lived in millionaire's row. Most of the Sunday evening was spent in conversations with his mother and father. They were naturally curious about this old man with whom their troublesome teenage son had become such good friends. My musical background seemed to intrigue them. I gave them a cleaned up version of my past: The marines, thunder, my Hollywood connections. The evening came to an end; it was time for me to leave. "Tomorrow is your day off isn't it?" I confirmed that it was. "Dad, can I stay over at Don's tonight. I want to go down to San Diego." This was all news to me. "What about school?" "They are having some kind of teachers conference, and we are off." His dad looked inquiringly at his wife who nodded affirmatively. Joe had never seen my Motor home, and it certainly couldn't compare in quality with where he lived. As we drove down Laguna Canyon, inland towards Tustin, Joe directed the conversation to the EST process. I explained exactly how it worked. "You just talk; right?" I said "yes". "You think I'll actually come off without being touched?" I said that was the idea but the results depended entirely on how well he took directions and could immerse himself in the fantasy. "Well, if it works, I want to go to Tijuana tomorrow and fuck a whore." At the Motorhome I pulled the couch out. I directed him to strip and lay on his back on the couch. "Where are you going to be?" "Up in this bunk." I pulled down the one above the driver's seat. "Do I have to get naked?" "That's up to you, but if you shoot your load, you're going to have sticky clothes." I stripped down to my briefs and crawled into the upper Bunk. Joe removed his shoes and shirt then laid on the couch watching my every move. I told him to unbutton the top of his pants. "Why?" "Because I want you to relax. Also when you reach certain points I will ask you to signal me by tapping the head of your dick three times." He loosened the top of his jeans. "From now on, you will not speak to me. You will communicate only by tapping the head of your dick as I shall ask you to do." We proceeded through the relaxation portion. Judging from the short time between my giving him an instruction and his tapping the head of his cock, he was either doing very well or was faking it. When we reached the part that required him to tighten the muscles that gave him an erection and then consciously relax them, I knew that he was not faking. At the beginning of the beach fantasy I had him completely unbutton his jeans and then remove them. His cock was hard and vertical under his cotton briefs. During the water portion, I had him completely relaxed again, so that when he tapped the head of his cock it did not result in another erection. When we entered the "Safe Space" and I began to describe the first girl on the platform, his cock got super hard. "Slide your shorts down so that she can see your pubic hair." Slowly, Joe put his fingers under the top of his shorts, then deliberately lowered them, pushing his cock to the side, but still captured in the cloth. "Your dick is getting in the way. Take your shorts off." Joe hesitated a few seconds, then slowly lowered them around his knees. "I want you to take her hand and lead her to the bed." His hand extended, then came to rest on his abdomen. "She is now going to grasp your dick, moving her hand from the base to the head. Her hand is yours." Joe grasped the base of his hard cock, making one stroke, ending at the head. His stomach tensed, and he shot a load that sailed over his head and splattered on a mirror some 8 feet away. I couldn't restrain my self as I began to laugh. Joe joined my laughter. "OK. That's NOT the way it's supposed to work. Keep your eyes closed." I led him through the end of the safe space process and ended the session. "Wow! That was fuckin' good! Is it always that good?" I told him I didn't know; it wasn't supposed to work that way. "Well, it's the best jerk off I've ever had." Joe took a shower, laid back down, and was soundly sleeping within minutes. My mind was reviewing the activities of the day and then began wondering about tomorrow. Would we go to Tijuana? At 16, could he even find a whore who would fuck him? Joe was out of bed before the sun had risen. "Let's go." He pulled the blanket off me. My pisser was sticking out of my briefs. "Hey man, we going to fuck a couple of chicks together?" "I don't know. I doubt it... this is your party." All the way to Tijuana Joe could not talk about anything other than getting fucked. "How much do you think its going to cost?" "Think we can get a better price for two chicks?" I glanced over at him; he was sporting a rod that was the father of all rods. It was BIG. Even though I had seen it in action the previous night, the light was dim, and it didn't seem to me to be as big as it appeared here and now. I explained how the sex scene worked in T.J. There were whorehouses, and there were bars whose real service was whores, not booze. There were also night clubs that had sex act shows. I told him about the Blue Fox and the Donkey Act. I told him about Club Rosa in Puerto Escondido and the shows they put on. But, before he could build up false hopes, I explained that it didn't work that way in the border towns. We stopped in Oceanside for breakfast at Dennys. Joe had finished his before I had eaten half of my omelette and was eager to continue our journey. "Come on. Hurry up. I'll buy you lunch in Mexico." I gave up, leaving most of my breakfast uneaten. We parked the car in a lot on the US side of the border and took a red and white bus across the border and into TJ. It was only 11 o'clock. Lunch would be at least an hour away. What to do till mid-afternoon when the clubs and bars became active? Maybe a cab driver and a whore house. I just wasn't sure. The main street in Tijuana is lined with bars, clubs, and sellers of every kind of merchandise one can imagine. Joe entered a shop. He was looking at a sombrero. The clerk asked him if he'd like to buy it. Joe said he wasn't sure, how much was it? The man named a price. They negotiated. Fifteen minutes later they were still haggling. Finally, the man agreed to Joe's original offer. "Naw, not right now, I'll stop back just before we leave." The boy loved to negotiate, to haggle. We spent the next three hours going from shop to shop, working each store owner down to the lowest possible price, and in the end not buying anything. There was always a new and surprising facet to this teenager. Joe had run ahead of me. As I approached the corner across from the jai alai arena, I spotted him talking to a cab driver. "Hey Don, the Blue Fox is open. This cab will take us there. Can we go?" Cab drivers can accomplish things that ordinary folk cannot. Even though the Blue Fox was less than a half block down the street, I knew that we would gain entry, when as walk-ins Joe would not be permitted. We walked past the bouncers at the entry without being challenged and were seated at a table immediately adjacent to the stage. A dancer was in the middle of the platform. She nonchalantly removed her bra. Moving towards Joe, she squatted, signaling him to help remove her G-string. He reached over and released the catch; they fell to the floor. Without invitation, he put his fingers in her pussy. She seemed surprised, rose, putting her fingers to her lips shaking her head. No, No. Look, but don't touch. A waiter brought two unordered Strawberry Margaritas. I tasted mine; it was loaded. I tasted Joe's, it was a Virgin Margarita. I smiled. The boy could look at the cunt, but wasn't being served alcohol. We stayed in the Blue Fox until almost 6. I was getting hungry. We left, with the intent of returning after dinner to experience the Donkey Show. Then, later, we would try and get Joe laid. Touts were trying to capture customers for restaurants. One, specializing in steak and lobster, appealed to Joe. "Remember, Don. This is on me." We went upstairs and were seated at an outside table overlooking the street. Joe had the steak and lobster, while I enjoyed shrimp, scampi style. The Margaritas were two for the price of one. They were large and delicious. They were also very alcoholic, both mine and Joe's. After dinner, we went back to the Blue Fox. They wouldn't let us in. "Joe was too young." We looked around for the cab driver who had gained admission for us the first time. He was nowhere to be found. Joe kept going back to the Blue Fox trying to get in. They kept refusing him. After the sixth attempt the bouncer said, "We don't serve babies here. Go away or I'll get the police." Joe tried another bar and was again refused. I suggested we try and find him a hooker. That diverted his attention and his objective. I peeked into a bar. There were no customers, only a flock of women at the far end. There was no bouncer. I went back outside and beckoned Joe. When we came in, four of the women came towards us. I whispered to Joe that he should make his choice right now. He selected a woman, of perhaps 20. She had good sized breasts, was slim waisted, and firm butted. She smiled at both of us, but put her arm around Joe, drawing him to her bust while groping his crotch. She was the prettiest of the group. Another girl attached herself to me. I shook my head no. The girl Joe had would do for both of us. The three of us climbed some stairs and sat at a table over looking the bar. We ordered drinks; the girl insisted on champagne. She had her hand on both of our cocks. The drinks came, along with a check for $20.00. I paid it. Joe was negotiating. She offered to get it on with both of us for $60.00 but we would have to pay for the hotel room. I explained that it would only be Joe; I was there to make certain he got what he paid for. She said OK, but if I was in the room it still would be $60.00. Joe got his dick back in his pants, and we left the bar. The hotel was just across the street. We entered. The girl asked for $20.00. I gave it to her, and she went to the desk clerk, gave him some money, and took a key. The room was a second floor walk-up. We entered. I sat in a chair while the girl started to disrobe. She stopped, came over to me, and asked for the $60.00. I looked in the bathroom to make certain there were no "extra guests" in our room, then handed her three twenties. Then she continued to strip. She looked at Joe, telling him to remove his clothing. He looked at me, and said "Don, go in the bathroom". As I moved towards the bathroom, Joe was taking off his shoes and shirt. I sat on the toilet listening to the sounds coming from the bedroom. My curiosity was getting the better of me, so I moved to the door, peeking through a crack at the activity. Joe was naked, laying on the bed. The girl had her mouth around his cock, deep throating him. His hands were on her head, guiding the speed and course of the action. This continued for three or four minutes. Then he pulled her head off of his dick and pointed that he wanted her on the bed so he could fuck her doggie style. He was still on his back, and she slipped a condom over his wet, ridged, pulsing, penis. He got up. She kneeled on the bed while he mounted her from behind. He set up a rigorous pace for about five minutes. Then paused, withdrew, shoved his finger up her ass, then with a mighty shove his cock pierced her sphincter. She let out a yelp that probably could have been heard in the lobby. He fucked her ass for about 10 minutes, pulled out, turned her over, stripped off the rubber, and pushed his dick down her throat. Within seconds his stomach muscles were tensing; she was going to get his load fully down the throat. He had finished. His dick had wilted. Silently, he dressed while the girl was still laying on the bed. We left, leaving the girl to use the toilet. For the first time since he had experienced the EST process, Joe was quiet, subdued, and not hyper. We boarded the bus, returned to the parking lot, and headed north toward Laguna Beach. We had been on the road for about 30 minutes, when I looked over at Joe and said, "So?" He smiled and said, "It wasn't that great, but I got my $60 worth." I smiled back and quoted an old limerick that I had heard. She lusted after the young ones, this dowager of 40; whose ample bosom and girth certainly made her portly. Her gardener had a tender son of just fourteen; an age which she thought made him ripe for courting. He would help his father pull the short weeds; showing his buns and enticing her needs. One day the father, who was old, became sick; she felt sure this day the boy's cock she would lick. Oh! Young man, come here and bring me some poseys; she had in mind playing with something, and it wasn't his toesies. So straight and so strong, so muscular and dark his cock in her she was sure he would park. A young virgin must he be, not for long she would see. She wanted the flowers put next to her bed; so it was there to which she him led. Oh, young man, under the bed my ring it did fall; so under her playpen did the boy crawl. She kneeled along side him, her hand on his butt; his dick grew so hard, it created a rut. Surrendering your virginity whether ninety or nine is any boys fantasy and hope for all time. While under the bed, on his back he did turn, and the size of his tool the lady did learn. She unbuckled his trousers, sliding them down his face still hidden, with the rest of him she did clown. Pushing his shaft into her furrow, deeper and deeper did he thus burrow. Within a short time his climax he did reach; oh what a day, and so much yet to teach. A tender young boy under the bed she did urge a wiser young man from under the bed did emerge. ------------- The guard at Emerald Bay woke Joe. As soon as he was recognized, we were waved through. I dropped him at the door way to his home. He smiled at me "Thanks, man. I'll call you tomorrow." It wasn't until Wednesday that I again heard from Joe. He called me at the store. "When can I see you again?" "Why, what's up? You are working on Friday, aren't you?" Joe said that he was. "But I got a great idea that I want to talk to you about. How about dropping by after work?" I told him I wasn't sure. If I did, it couldn't be till after 11, "and that's really too late." "Well, try." There weren't a lot of customers, so I also helped in the video section. About six o'clock Joe came in the store. "You had your dinner break yet?" I told him I hadn't. Things were not hectic, so I arranged to eat with Joe. He directed me to a new place called the "Soup Exchange". It was an all-you-can eat buffet featuring a wide selection of salads and soups. Joe's tray was overflowing as he selected a booth way in the back. As we sat down, he looked around to make certain we would not be overheard. "Don I've got this great idea. I want to build a fucking machine." "What kind of a machine?" I thought he'd left the noun out of the sentence. "A fucking machine." I still didn't get it. "A machine you stick your dick in and fuck." "Haven't you seen those inflatable dolls?" "Naw, I mean a really fantastic fucking machine. We could combine that process you got me off with, with a machine. What kind of a motion do you think it should have" He moved his hand up and down like he was jerking off. "That would probably do it," I responded. "Nope, I've done some experimenting. Rotary, like a pencil sharpener." I began to chuckle. "I'm really serious about this. Will you help me with it?" "Sure. Where do you want to do it?" "How about your place?" "I don't have a lot of room." "Won't take much." Joe pulled out a piece of paper upon which he had drawn his plans. The central piece seemed to be some kind of device, but I couldn't be sure what it was. I pointed to it. "I don't know, probably something that turns slowly, whose torque and speed are adjustable." "You mean like an electric ceiling fan?" Joe practically shouted in glee. "Hell, yes; that's it! A fuckin' ceiling fan." Now his hyperactivity was beginning to show. "Hurry up, man. I gotta get started on this." He had gulped down most of the food and was hurrying me to finish. Again, I left most of my food behind, as I returned to the Video Music Experience. Thursday afternoon, I again received a call from Joe. "Can I go home with you after work tomorrow? Then, Saturday morning, we can start looking for a ceiling fan." "If it's OK with your folks, it's OK with me." "Oh yeah. It's OK with mom, and Dad's in New York." Joe paused. "When he gets back next week, he wants to talk to you about coming to work for him." He hung up before I could ask any questions. My curiosity was up. I had no idea what kind of business, if any, the Franklins were in. I asked Bruce. He said some kind of electronics. He wasn't sure exactly what. I figured Joe was just being hyper. How could the Franklins use my talents? Friday, Joe was not of much help in the store. He obviously had something else on his mind. I asked him to set up a display of wind instruments. He grabbed a tuba and got music out of it on the first blow. He put it in its display case and disappeared before I could seek further help. That night, on the way to the RV, Joe brought up the subject of the EST process. I figured he wanted me to get him off again. I was wrong, he wanted to conduct the process; it was I who was to get off. I suggested that I get him off first, that way he would have each step fresh in his mind. No, he already knew the procedure, and, besides, he had some ideas of his own. At the RV, our positions were reversed: I was to be on the couch; he would be in the upper bunk. Without being told to, I started to undress. "Leave your shorts on." I did as I was told. I asked him to turn out the lights, "It will be easier in the dark." "No. I want to see everything." Joe took me through the relaxation steps as though he had done it a hundred times. When we got to the control of the hard-on muscles, he seemed fascinated by the procedure and put me through it three times. During the beach fantasy, he dwelt upon the feelings of the warm sand on my body, and, while fantasizing about those feelings, he directed me to concentrate on my ass cheeks, then my balls, and finally my cock, and again took control over my hard-on muscles. Again, he got me up and down three times. This added step was good; it added a lot to his control over my fantasy. In the safe space, he lingered over the cotton briefs. At first he had me trace a line across the waist, from hip bone to hip bone. Then he directed my fingers to create patterns in my pubic hair. My bone was to be placed so that the head was being held in place by the elastic waist line of the briefs. The first girl was brought into the fantasy. She too explored my pubic hair, adding a scratching motion which extended downward to include my testicles. Her fingers went lower, past my globes, to find a depression between my balls and my anus. Her fingers massaged that depression, pressing deeply into that spot. I don't know where Joe got that last action from, but it was very effective, my dick was drooling. Then he began to describe her pussy: the fantasy lessened, and my cock started to droop. In response, he went back to the pubic area and that new spot close to my anus. The fantasy again became more real. He brought in a girl of a second description, and began to dwell upon her genitals: the fantasy lessened; the drooling stopped; my rod deflated. I could hear Joe move down off of the upper bunk. He was close to me when I heard him say, "Imagine my hot breath on the head of your cock; fingers are scratching your pubes. The hot air is circling the head. My fingers are yours as they grasp the base of your cock." My fingers went to the base and moved up to the head. My eyes were closed, but I knew Joe was very close to me. Under his direction, it was he that I was fantasizing about, and the second movement to the head brought me to ejaculation. "I'll be damned. You're gay aren't you?" That shocked me out of the fantasy. I opened my eyes. "At my age you get whatever you can. I swing any way that gets me off." He looked at me quizzically. "Well, we'd better go to bed. We've got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow." I went to the bathroom to clean up. When I returned, he was sound asleep on the couch. I sought the security of my own bunk. I was trembling. I didn't want to lose the friendship of this very special young man. ------------------------------------------------------- My Teenage Heart CHAPTER FIFTEEN The Fantastic Fucking Machine. On Saturday morning we started looking for parts for his machine. The EST process, was at least for the moment, in the past as his mind wheeled through the mechanical design of this part of his project. We had to be at the Video Music Experience by two o'clock, and by noon we had already purchased a number of things; the fan motor, a piece of plywood, a light dimmer control, a couple of plastic glasses, and a tube of Prel Hair Shampoo. Back at the RV he unpacked the ceiling fan from its card board container. Then he cut the end off of the tube of Prel, and squeezed its contents into a water glass. He then pulled out his cock and gave it a few strokes until it was rigid. Then he slipped the tube over his cock, and moved it up and down, and then rotated it. Got any Vaseline? I handed him a jar of cold cream. He rubbed that all over his cock and then slipped it back into the tube. Again with the rotation and the in and out. Next he put the tube into a glass of water and stuck it into the Microwave. Again his dick in the tube. "Oh Yeah ... That's great." At 1:15 I had to force him out of the RV and into the car. Can we work on this after work? Joe wasn't much help at the Video Music Experience. Luckily for him there wasn't a lot to do, and Bruce didn't come in. We were home by 10:45 that night, and he immediately started assembling his invention. He mounted the motor, upside down, on the plywood. Then he assembled the fan, less the blades, and a metal cap. Without the blades and cap, the device could hold a plastic cup in the center of the rotor. He then wrapped his tube of Prel in a sheet of foam rubber, which was then placed inside of the cup. He plugged in the power cord, and adjusted the speed of the motor; it was moving pretty fast. Then he put three fingers in the tube, and it slowed down. He then put the device between the couch and a chair and proceeded to strip. His cock was already hard and red by the time everything was ready. Joe arched himself upward, and started to insert the head of his penis into the revolving Prel tube. Slowly he lowered himself with one hand on the speed control. "Gawd, does that feel good." He arched upward but not far enough for his cock to escape the Prel. Then down, all the way, his behind squeezed together as he attempted to bottom out the machine. He pulled out, and sat up. "Did you come off?" I asked. He shook his head no, walked over to the medicine cabinet, put a gob of cold cream inside the Prel tube, then put the whole thing in the microwave for about 15 seconds. He then repeated the test, placing the tube assembly back in the motors retaining ring, then he arched himself over the rotor, and gently slid his cock into the mouth of the tube. "Oh, that's it. That's fucking it." His little ass began moving up and down. I could hear sensuous sounds as he groaned in the pleasure of his fucking machine. "Fucking Fantastic." His butt muscles were beginning to tighten. His strokes, both in and out had gone from long and leisurely, to fast and demanding. I could tell that he was almost there. Then the last inward plunge, his buttocks squeezed tightly together; he was delivering his load into the depths of this robotic pussy. His hand turned off the motor. Joe continued to lay there, resting from his exercise, breathing deeply. Then he withdrew "Don, you gotta try this." Watching the boy had given me quite a hard-on. The Prel tube was still hot and wet with his load. "Damn right I'm going to try it." Joe watched me as I stripped and put myself in position. My back was arched as the head of my cock entered the device. I could feel Joes warm sperm coating my shaft as I moved further in to it. "OK, turn it on." I twisted the control; the rotor began to turn. The feeling was fantastic. Also, knowing that my dick was being lubricated by Joes ejaculation added greatly to the fantasy building within my mind. The boys thick fluid was covering my penis as I moved in and out, while the device spun round and round. I tried to slow the process, to enjoy both the physical massaging of my penis and the fantasy of fucking Joes cum. But the combined affect was too great for my will power as my load began to move from within me, seeking its way out. The added fantasy of my cum mixing with Joes took me over the edge as I spent into the tube, the twisting motion emulsified the two loads. I quickly turned off the motor as my dick had become far too tender. As I arched upward, the cum mixture momentarily streamed downward into the tube then dripped, and finally stopped. Joe had put a towel on the couch. I sat back looking at the slimy mixture sliding down the length of my still erect shaft, covering my balls, and wetting the towel. "Pretty good huh?" I had to admit that it was. "What were you thinking about when you were fucking it?" I dodged the question. "I'll bet you were fantasizing about the girl in Tijuana." Joe, smiled and nodded. When I got out of the shower, he again asked the indicting question. I didn't answer. He smiled, and said, "You enjoyed fucking my cum didn't you." I still didn't answer as we both crawled into our respective beds. Sunday morning I woke to the sounds of moans and groans coming from the TV. I looked down at the couch. Joe was naked, and fucking the machine while watching a porno. His strokes were firm, and complete, but he didn't seem to be into what he was doing. He hit the remote control; the TV went off. His head was laying on his arm, as his body continued its exercise. The pace of his strokes were now increasing. They were also longer, pushing further in, and staying in deep for a prolonged period. It was obvious that what ever was spinning through his mind was having a positive effect; the boy was definitely getting into it. Shortly his buttocks tightened, the last push lingered, and I knew he had gotten off. He rested for a moment, then turned his head toward me, smiled, and said, "That was good. Want to fuck my cum again?" I declined. "Hey buddy, you know I'm past 60 years old. I still like to get it off, but I cant keep up with you." "You sure. Its fresh and hot." He went to the shower, taking the cup and Prel tube with him in response to my repeated decline. When he came out he suggested that we have breakfast at Dennys. "I've got to go home after we eat." There was a Dennys en route to Laguna. Joe changed the subject from the Fantastic Fucking Machine, which he was now calling it, to the subject of EST Processes. "I want to combine the two." I asked him about the Porno he was watching in his earlier use of the FFM, and he said it took his mind away from the fantasy, substituting its own. It really didn't work as well as his own imagination. "I want to make an audio tape of that process you first put me through. You know, where you got me into that safe space with the girl on stage." I laughed affirmatively as I remembered his cum shot that splattered the mirror on the bathroom door. Sunday mornings at Dennys is always crowded. We had a 20 minute wait, and we were among many people. I could tell that he wanted to continue our discussions about the FFM, but couldn't. It was strangling him. Finally we were seated and ordered. He was ravenous, rapidly consuming everything that was put on his plate; cheddar and ham omelet, toast, hash browns, and orange juice. I quietly wondered if it was his use of the Fantastic Fucking Machine or his normal hyper activity that had made him so hungry. On the way to Emerald Bay he again continued talking about his idea of combining the EST process and the FFM. "But, I want to customize it. Have you describe real women that I would like to fuck." Sunday was my day off, and I presumed that Joe had other things to do besides work on his project. Back at the RV I began to do a bit of house cleaning and organizing. It had been almost a week since I'd done laundry, so that was also on my agenda. I had just finished putting clean sheets on my bed, and tucking the bed back up against the ceiling when I heard a car park in front. The door rattled as someone tried to open the locked entryway. "Hey Don. Let me in." When I opened the door Joe was in the company of a boy who appeared to be about 15. He had light brown hair. I would have guessed him to be about 135 pounds and probably about five foot eleven in height. His complexion was as clear as Joes, and it didn't appear that the boy had yet begun to grow facial hair. This is Mike Brown. The boy extended his hand. We shook. "He's going to help me with the FFM if its OK with you." This change in attitude rather surprised me, as Joe had been very private in his sexual activity. Even when Joe and I first began discussing matters of sex it was curiosity more than sexual appetite that was his driving force. But then, bringing Mike Brown into the picture might well be part of his experimental curiosity. Joe pulled the machine out from under the table and showed Mike the plastic glass containing the Prel tube. He put some cold cream in the tube, unzipped his trousers, pulled his already stiffening penis out of his pants and pushed the tube firmly onto his shaft, and then began rotating it. "Here you try it." He handed Mike the assembly. At first, Mike hesitated, then he too unzipped his pants and pulled his cock free. I couldn't believe what I now saw. Mike had the most beautiful cock I have ever seen. First, it was large; probably between 9 and 10 inches. I have seen large cocks before, and large isn't necessarily good looking. No, Mikes hard cock was exceptional in its aesthetic appearance. The curvature was upward, but the size and weight of it caused it to project straight outward. The diameter was significant, but not out of proportion to its length. The coloring was almost as though he had a tan, with a slightly reddish cast to it. The head was perfectly shaped. He was cut. The surgeon that had performed the circumcision was a skilled, artistic genius. However, it was the curvature that added that final touch of awesome architecture. My first impression was that Id love to have a sculpture of that magnificent instrument sitting on a table, or hung upon a wall. But, there was still something else which went beyond description. It definitely was sexual, yet I didn't get a hard-on from looking at it. Its appearance as it projected outward from the boys fly made me want to put my hands on it, feel it, even stroke it, but not sexually, just appreciatively. I really didn't want to make him cum, I would have loved to just put my hand around it, to experience the feel of it. As I said ... it was a magnificent piece of art. However, there was no way that that Prel tube would fit over his hard prick. Joe looked a little disappointed. "Well, we are going to have to find something else for that thing of yours." The boys put their dicks back in their pants and sat down on the couch. "Don, Mike wants to see how the EST process works." Then Joe added, "Mikes majoring in psychology at Orange Coast College." "What year are you in?" Mikes being old enough to be in College was quite a surprise. His being in his second year was even more unexpected. Joe turned to me. "We gotta find something big enough for Mikes dick. Want to go shopping with us?" I had to finish the laundry, and put things away so I declined. "Cant. Too many things to do." Then I added, "You better take some measurements so you know what you are looking for." I found a measuring tape in a drawer as Mike again pulled out his cock. It seemed to get hard on demand. I was going to get my wish. I was going to be able to get my hands on that splendid instrument. I was sitting on the couch. Mike was standing in front of me with the head less than four inches from my nose. It was then that I noticed his pleasant, very masculine, odor; and that odor was being generated by his penis. My hand was now supporting it as I wrapped the tape measure around the largest part: 6 1/2 inches in circumference. That made it over two inches in diameter. Almost lovingly, I took advantage of what I was doing, and stroked the length. It was warm, smooth, and pulsed upward. It was also 9 7/8 inches measured from the top base to the tip. Reluctantly I let Mike put his equipment away, while I wrote down the measurements and handed them to Joe. Three hours later they had returned carrying a flat cardboard box with the words BUDWEISER splashed across the side. It now contained their purchases: a quart of liquid latex rubber, several paint brushes, a Christmas Tree stand and a roll of paper towels. Mike set the box on the table. Joe was carrying a two foot length of 2 inch PVC Pipe with a flared end for coupling. Joe spread out several layers of paper towels then placed the stand in the center. They opened the latex and painted a thick layer extending from the flared end downward about 8 inches. Joe went back over it again, making certain the layer was consistent. "Better add another 3 inches to that." Mike had checked the length, making the correction. Joe asked me to repeat the painting of a layer of latex when ever the rubber turned from white to a translucent yellow. "Dads coming in at John Wayne at six, so we gotta go." Referring to the Orange County Airport. "Talk to you later." And again they were gone. I wasn't sure whether it was Joes hyper activity or the smell from the latex, but something was giving me a headache. I tried to watch a little TV, but ended by taking a couple of aspirin and going to bed at a very early hour. My telephone rang at 7 AM. It was Joe. "Can Mike and I come over after school? We want to work on the FFM." I asked him about what time, he said, About 4. Then he added, "Dad wants to talk to you this morning." I asked him if he knew what he wanted. "Yeah, I told you he wants to hire you. Call him about 9. OK?" He hung up without hearing my reply. I looked at the PVC Pipe. The latex was all yellow and translucent. I added another layer. It still looked pretty thin. Even though I was looking forward to again seeing that masterpiece, I doubted the tube would be ready by this evening. Never the less I intended to try and accelerate the process, moving the device into direct sunlight. Shortly after nine I called the number Joe had given me. A sprightly young female voice answered, "The California Sound. How can I help you?" "Is Ray Franklin in?" I was connected. Joes father was warm and friendly. "Can you make it around 11:30. We'll have lunch." His directions were not difficult to follow as The California Sound was located close to Alton Parkway and Interstate 5 just a few miles from where I lived. The conversation started with a discussion of Joe. The boy had severe problems at school. He had few friends; constantly was fighting with classmates who should have been his friends. Ray was happy that I'd taken an interest in his son, but that had nothing to do with this meeting. His company, The California Sound manufactured a unique electronic guitar. The instrument really was more of an expensive toy than it was an instrument. It looked like a conventional Washboard electric guitar. However, it had several distinctive features designed to make it attractive to the average Rock & Roll teenager. It had two unusual devices built into it; a audio cassette player, and an electronic drum synthesizer. The device was supplied with earphones for private practice. The user could select either the electronic drums or the cassette player, and that source would be blended with the sounds from the guitar. In addition the device had a unique invention that they called Predictive Suppression. If, while in the cassette mode, cords were played that were dissonant, the device would automatically suppress the cord, substituting instead its own. Even an idiot could play this guitar, and of course, the suppression could be bypassed. Not surprisingly, the entire idea had been Joes. The California Sound, Inc., had financed the devices development by a small electronics firm in Van Nuys. In setting up the company Ray had hired a promoter/sales person whose base was New York City. Its initial exhibition was a segment on the Regis and Kathy Lee show just before Christmas in early December. The entire Franklin family had gone to New York, to see and be part of the taping. As should have been expected, there were problems; and they were mostly created by Joe. Regis has an aggressive personality. The producer, in order to be effective is also aggressive; but then the most aggressive person in that studio was Joe. Joe simply would not take no for an answer. He had no qualms about talking to the talent, about making suggestions, about being persistent in his suggestions. The producer had neither the time, nor the inclination to put up with "This Pain in The Ass". Joe was thrown out of the studio. The California Sound segment had been featured in affiliate promotions, so it couldn't be scratched, but it was shortened. The California Sound people were all unhappy. Joe referred to the producer in terms intended to make one doubt the mans masculinity. Nevertheless, the short segment on the Regis and Kathy Lee show was quite effective. Calls from all over the U.S. flooded into the networks affiliates, and were forwarded to Ray. The marketing strategy that he had formed was that the instrument would not be sold in stores specializing in musical instruments, instead it would be sold in record stores. Ray had signed contracts with Sam Goodie, The Warehouse, and Block Buster Video. District managers were to be established whose main purpose was to present mini-concerts in the stores, and to act as liaison between The California Sound and those retail outlets. The east coast man had set up sales teams in Miami, New York, Chicago, and Minneapolis, however this was done before Ray had established contracts with those three nationwide record chains, and the district managers were mostly sales types, not musicians. The east coast districts were falling apart as the organization was not what was required. Apparently a disagreement had surfaced and the organizer had resigned, leaving the managers unsupported. Ray was bringing the sales personnel to Seattle. Ray wanted me to work with him in a team effort to establish the right kind of marketing organization. The idea would be that I would travel with him to each city, to find musical talent. These candidates would probably be in their early twenties, would be musicians who could conduct Mini-Concerts. Ray and I would jointly decide who to hire, but Id do the initial training while also conducting Grand Opening type concerts in the various retail stores. He asked if Id be interested, I said, Yes. He asked How much? I said A thousand a week. "OK its a deal, when can you start?" I told him that I needed to give Bruce notice of my intended departure. "Fuck him. He wouldn't give you any if he didn't want you around. AND we've got to be in Seattle in three weeks." Our lunch had taken all afternoon and it was closer to 5 in the afternoon when I drove into the trailer park. Joe and Mike were sitting in Mikes car. "So are you going to do it?" I said "Yes". The boy was obviously happy that I was going to work with his father. Mike closed his car door. Joe was taking the lead, putting his hand out for the key to the door of the RV. Inside, he inspected the PVC Pipe. "How come you haven't got another layer on it." He pointed to the translucent yellow Latex. "Cause I just got home Ass Hole." Already, he had the lid off of the latex and was painting another layer. Keep adding layers till Friday. "We'll try and use it on Saturday or Sunday." "We didn't think it would be ready yet. Mike and I want to put you through a process. I've got some ideas I want to try. "When you are ready, strip down to your undershorts. Its going to start pretty much as we did last time. The changes I want to make are in the Safe Space." I removed my clothing, except for the shorts, as instructed. Joe moved up to the upper bunk. Mike sat in a chair next to Joe. The process was exactly the same as last time, including the repeated exercise of my dick muscles. I was sure Joe was demonstrating to Mike just how effective the process was. The beach scene was repeated, and then we exited into the Safe Space. Joes description of the space was the same, except that he didn't mention the platform. "I want you to open your eyes for a couple of seconds." Mike was standing in my view. He had removed his shirt. "Close your eyes. Now I want you to recreate Mikes image within your mind. I want you to remember; to see his face, his chin, his chest, his arms, even the way his trousers hang on his hips. When you have totally visualized what you have just seen, then I want you to tap the head of your cock three times." I lingered over his image, attempting to make the fantasy as realistic as possible. I tapped my cock three times. "Again, I want you to open your eyes for a couple of seconds." Mike was still standing in my view, but he had removed his trousers, wearing only his briefs. "Close your eyes. Now, again, I want you to recreate Mikes image within your mind. I want you to remember his stomach, the elastic band of his underwear, the way they firmly grasp his legs, the sizable bulge, the strong muscular legs. Move your attention back to his belly button, let your minds eye drift downward, visualizing his abdomen muscles, even the tuft of pubic hair that can be seen just above the waist band. When you have totally visualized what you have just seen, then I want you to tap the head of your cock three times." I was trying, but failing in my attempt to keep my penis soft as I tapped the head of my inflating member. "Again, I want you to open your eyes for a couple of seconds." Mike was still standing in my view, but he had removed his briefs. His organ was hard and throbbing, projecting outward. Still as beautiful as I had remembered. "Close your eyes. I want you to recreate Mikes image in your mind, in its entirety. His face, his lips, his chin, his neck, his chest, his abdomen, his hips, his penis, his legs. When you have totally visualized what you have just seen, then I want you to tap the head of your cock three times. "Again, I want you to open your eyes for a couple of seconds." Mike had moved much closer to me. My eyes focused on his shaft. He was close enough that I could feel the heat being radiated, and even see the pores of the skin of his cock head. "Close your eyes. I want you to recreate the image of Mikes cock in your mind, in great detail." My imagination was having a field day as my memory reproduced and even magnified the head, the protruding, slightly upward curved shaft, and the patch of pubic hair in which the organ was seated. "Imagine that your dick is his. Wrap your fingers around the base of the shaft and slide it upwards." My mind visualized Mikes shaft as my fingers sought the base of my own member. "Move your hand up. Slide it up to the head, and feel its shape. Visualize Mikes cock." My hand slid towards the head, my mind envisioning Mikes instrument. The fantasy was real, the feeling incredible, and I climaxed. Joe took me through the rest of the process and back into the real world. When I opened my eyes Mike was fully clothed and sitting in the chair. I went into the shower to wash away the cum. I could hear the boys talking. Mike was impressed by the effectiveness of the process. While I was dressing Joe was telling Mike, "Now, what I want to do is have Don listen to this tape." I looked over at Joe as he removed an audio cassette from a portable recorder. "Then use the FFM about half way through the Safe Space part of the process." Mike and Joe then began discussing what they would like in a process tape for themselves. It was well past 10 PM when the boys took their leave. Tuesday was a workday for me at the Video Music Experience. I told Bruce about the offer from The California Sound, and he was very nice about it. Unfortunately David had also resigned, and Bruce was trying to find a suitable replacement. Now it was times two. Wednesday and Thursday were typical days; nothing unusual either at home or at work. Joe and Mike were both heavily occupied with school. And of course I kept painting layers of latex on the tube Mike was to use on Saturday or Sunday. Friday night Bruce asked Joe if he could work both Saturday and Sundays after David resigned; he agreed. After work Joe wanted to come home with me and continue working on his project. At the RV he wanted me to use the audio cassette he had made in conjunction with the FFM. The experiment was awesomely effective. He was pleased. Saturday night Bruce told me that he had found someone to replace me, and that the guy wanted to start work immediately, and that I could quit as soon as I wanted to. Mike came by the store at closing; Joe had invited him to spend the night at the RV. Both boys were eager to see how the new latex tube would work. When we arrived at the trailer park Mike unloaded a light weight, folding chaise lounge. The frame was aluminum, but the surface you laid on was made of flexible plastic straps. Joe was rolling the latex tube off of the PVC pipe, much like one would roll a condom off of a stiff dick, while Mike was setting up the lounge. A somewhat longer plastic glass had been substituted for the one that held the Prel tube. And Joe had replaced the sponge rubber with sheets of bubble pocket packing material. Under Joes direction Mike stripped and laid face down on the lounge. I marked the strap that should be removed so that Mikes cock could enter the FFM. I told Joe he'd better also strip and let me check and mark a strap. Fortunately the length of the lounge was such that removing that one strap would create a comfortable laying and fucking surface for each of us. Joe moved the FFM under the lounge and had Mike position himself, and then slowly lower his cock into the tube. The top of the plastic glass, and the top of Mikes Fuck Tube (which Joe was now referring to as an artificial vagina), was within 1/2 inch of the lounges plastic straps. Next, Joe had me check the position. An immediate problem surfaced. Joe had replaced the glass and tube designed for Mike with the smaller one that Joe and I used. It was almost four inches too short. We used books to pad the FFM upward so that the shorter tube was now within a 1/2 inch of the lounges surface. Joe made a note to pick up some short lengths of 4 x 4s, and then replaced the cup with the one for Mike. It was time for the next step in this development program. Joe asked me to put Mike through the EST process. The lounge was right next to the couch that Mike had stretched out on. He was wearing black and gold Boxer undershorts. I could see the full length of his soft organ laying along side of his left leg, pointed towards his feet. The first part of the relaxation process encountered no obstacles. His cock did not get hard as he signaled completion of each step. The work on the hard-on muscles also went according to plan, as his member raised and then protruded through the fly on the boxers. Then deflated on command, only to raise again, and finally relax before exiting into the beach fantasy. I had the boy remove the undershorts. Expanding just a bit on Joes use of the hot sand, I directed Mikes fantasy so that he was laying on the hot sand, the warmth was penetrating first into his buttocks, then he could feel it on his rectum, then his balls, and finally his prostrate. His mast was at full attention. That masculine odor was strong and compelling. Then as I diverted his attention to the billowy white clouds drifting across the clear blue sky, his mast relaxed, laying floppily against his inner left thigh. Eventually we crossed into the Safe Space. I used my imagination to create as real a scene as possible; a real day dream. The girl was on the stage, she turned on his command. Mikes imagination removed her clothing, after which he led her to the bed. His fingers (hers) massaged his long, hard penis. Then he rolled over, arching himself above her body, ready to lower himself into her vagina. Joe turned the motor on, as Mike rolled off of the couch and on to the lounge. His body was arched upward, his cock pointing directly into the rotating latex tube. The head disappeared into the rotating device, then more and more of the rigid rod disappeared. A groan of pleasure escaped from his lips. My description of the girl and what he was doing to her continued. I guided him through long, deep, slow strokes. His buttocks squeezed hard together as he tried to reach the bottom of her vagina. Then he slowly withdrew, till I could see the entire head of his dick above the lip of the rotating tube. Then slowly back in, further and further in, until again his buttocks attempted to project his tool beyond the limits. Mike was beginning to set his own pace, accelerating his movements, but I took control, restraining him, almost forcing him to maintain the long slow, penetrating thrust of his penis. He was on a downward thrust, his butt cheeks were squeezed together. My command was to withdraw. He didn't respond. His muscles were tense. I could tell that he was ejaculating. I momentarily stopped talking. Then I went over every muscle in his body, relaxing him. Joe had turned off the motor. Mike just laid there as his anatomy recovered from his wet day dream. Eventually he rolled over on his side. The white strings of his seed were dripping. I took a paper towel and wiped away his fluid. "That was the best ever." He sighed and them moved back on to the couch, face up, his member rapidly collapsing. "See I told you the fantasy would make the FFM much more effective." Mike and I both had to agree. "My turn." Joe removed a tape from his portable, and labeled it. "But this time I'm going to do it on my own. Just the tape. You guys go find something else to do for about an hour." Mike and I settled on McDonalds for a Big Mac and a shake as a way to pass the next hour. It really was the first time we had had the opportunity to talk. I learned that Joe and Mike had discussed me several times before they decided to work on the FFM project together. Joe apparently told Mike that he thought I was gay, but I was the coolest dude he'd ever met, and that we were best friends. Mike had confided in Joe that his mothers brother had sucked him off numerous times the previous summer when they had gone on a weeks hiking and camping trip back into the Angelus National Forest. I kind of laughed when Mike told me that, saying I'm surprised that his uncle could get his mouth over that huge thing. He chortled and added that it had grown quite a bit in the past year. When we returned Joe was sound asleep on the couch, the motor of the FFM was still on. Joe hadn't pulled the couch out, so there was no room for Mike to join him. "Well, I guess you are stuck with me." Mike undressed down to his black and gold boxers, then crawled into the upper bunk, and positioned himself with his back against the wall. I brushed my teeth, turned out the lights, climbed up and joined him. We laid there for a few minutes; me on my back, Mike on his side. I could feel the warmth radiating from his groin. I moved my hand closer to the source of the heat; probably less than a half inch away. Mike put his hand on mine, moving it to his erection. We did not speak, but I took great pleasure in massaging it, experience the touch and beauty of it. "I think I'm going to use the fucking machine." He crawled over me, his huge dong touching my rib cage. I fantasized about it touching my cheeks and my lips, knowing that I really couldn't get that two inch by 10 inch thing into either my mouth or my throat. Our eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering in through the galley window. It took him only a minute to replace the artificial vagina. He lowered himself into the machine and turned on the motor. His ass was moving up and down in long, deep strokes. Then, within minutes his buttocks tightened, he pushed all the way in. I was certain he had dropped his load. He withdrew and just laid there for a moment, then crawled back into my bed. Watching him had caused my own cock to get very, very hard. My breathing was deep and passionate. "Why don't you use the FFM?" I took Mike up on his suggestion. I would have liked to fuck his cum, but his tube was much too large. I removed the cup from the FFM, and started to replace it with the one Joe and I used. I started to put Cold Cream in it, but instead decided to pour the contents of Mikes tube into mine. The quantity surprised me as it flowed from his into mine. I put the books back under the machine, then lowered myself into the waiting, sperm lubricated tube and began to fuck Mikes cum. Between the fantasy of sharing his ejaculation and the incredible feeling of the robotic vagina, my fuck was very short. In less than two minutes I had spent into the tube, mixing my juice with his. After cleaning myself, I joined Mike in bed. Both of our dicks had withered to small appendages as we fell asleep, me on my back, Mike still on his side, with his back to the wall. "What the fuck is this!" Joes shout abruptly awakened us. I looked over the side of the bed. Joe had lowered himself into the FFM, not realizing that it contained a mixture of Mikes and my cum. He had a hard choice; either go clean the thing out, or fuck it. His hard rod was already covered with our cum, so he chose to continue to screw. It didn't take long till his buttocks were squeezing together in that last, long stroke as his cum mixed with Mikes and mine. Joe laid there for a few minutes. "You know, you are right, cum makes a great lubricant." Mike got out of bed. His cock was hard and ready. He took his tube, and transferred the contents of the smaller one into his, and then lowered himself into the FFM. His strokes were still long and slow, but as Joe and I watched him hump the machine, his pace increased, and shortly he had finished, mixing his cum with Joes, mine, and his earlier ejaculation. After cleaning the machine, we dressed and had breakfast at IHOP. On Monday I called The California Sound and told them I could start on the first of next month; just two days away. The trip to Seattle was just two weeks away. I spent that time familiarizing myself with the California Sound Guitar, assembling music, and creating a mini-concert. I suggested to Ray that we should create a series of Audio Cassettes specifically designed to work with our guitar, and that those tapes could be sold separately. Ray liked the idea of being in the "Recording" business. Joe and Mike dropped by after school. The idea of building a small sound recording studio captured Joes imagination, diverting his attention away from the FFM. After all we know it works. And of course knowing it worked ended Joes real interest in the robotic fucking machine. Joe and Mike spent the rest of that week, and the weekend building and equipping the new studio, while I continued arranging the material we would record. Joe convinced Bruce that he should sell one his best Electronic Keyboards to California Sound at cost. My primary objective was to create a tape that sounded spectacular, but yet was easy to use. Then, through a series of these tapes increase their complexity, so that the customer moved from using the California Sound guitar as a toy into really learning music. Joe suggested that if we followed that path, the next logical step would be to sell professional versions of the instrument. Ray was overjoyed by these new horizons in expanding his product line. I placed an ad in the Seattle Times hoping to find candidates for the District Manager position, emphasizing the need for musical talent. Interested persons were to call our 800 number to arrange for an interview in Seattle on the 15th. By the time we were ready to leave for Seattle we had seven applicants. Ray and I shared a skepticism that we could find someone who would be good at performing and be good at sales. I pointed out the fact, that he really wanted more of a musician than a salesman in as much as instrument purchases were initiated at the national level. But as a matter of habit he kept falling back into that Salesman Required trap that had almost destroyed his company. On Wednesday Mike drove us to the Airport. We would return from Seattle on the following Wednesday. Everything we had was Carry-On and consisted of one small suitcase each. Joe had shipped two California Sound guitars, a small audio amplifier with speakers, and the keyboard by Federal Express on Monday. We were checked into a suite at the Seattle Hilton shortly after noon. Our first interview wasn't until two. The Bell Boy that brought up our luggage was quite handsome and gave us that I know how to help you have fun in Seattle routine. However, the only thing we wanted from him was that the Federal Express packages should be delivered post haste. The demonstration tape that I had made was largely material that was public domain, or copyrighted music that Harry had created. I had inherited the copyright, so there would be no royalty infringements. The first interviewee was a young rock and roller. There was no question in my mind that he was cute, and I would have hired him in a minute if I were trying to find talent for Stanleys in Ft. Lauderdale. However, in this instance he was too young; played by ear (or rear). He didn't seem too disappointed when I told him we needed someone who was a bit older; I think he had heard that routine before. The second applicant was a woman in her mid forties. She had spent most of her adult life as a member of a country western group in Ft. Smith, Arkansas, and had recently relocated to Seattle. She had talent and experience, but I doubted that she would be accepted by the record store customers in their kind of music. Nevertheless, Ray had her fill out an application, and we said we would get back to her. As soon as I saw number three I suspected we had hit the jackpot. Kevin Ranger was in his late twenties, was a little over six feet tall, but yet had that boyish appearance that girls like to mother or fantasize about, and boys seek to make their best buddy. His hair was not really blonde but close to it yet on the brownish side. It was shoulder length, and gleamed from good care and brushing. He wore tight fitting Levis, a colorful Grateful Dead Tee shirt, and a western hat. While he was tall, he was not skinny thin, and his clothes were designed for younger men. He was a professional musician and played keyboard, guitar, and even drums. His love was contemporary music all though he had evolved from and through country western. He also had a voice that would have made Garth Brooks think twice before challenging him. I told him about The California Sound guitar, what it could do, and what we were planning in the future. The boy was intrigued, but before I would let him play with one I asked him to play something on the Keyboard. Kevin gave Ray and I both a evil twinkling smile, set the rhythm to a rap beat and sang "Blow Job Betty". Of course Ray and I broke up. But now that he had really gotten our attention he did a pretty wild piece from Arrow Smith, and then one of my favorites, an Otis Redding song "Sittin on the Dock of the Bay". I handed him one of our guitars, and demonstrated it for him in Cassette Mode. "I need to talk to Ray about something, so well leave you alone to familiarize yourself with it. Well be back in about 15 minutes." I motioned Ray to follow me into one of the bedrooms. I closed the door after him. "You know we really hit the Jack Pot on this guy. He's far too good to use as a district manager. I'd like to take him back to the plant for a couple of weeks where we can really get to know him and his capabilities; see if he just might fill that spot Jack vacated." Referring to the east coast man that had set up the eastern district. Ray more or less agreed, but then surprised me, "June wants you in Minneapolis for the Grand Opening of a Warehouse. She twisted my arm, so you wont be going back to California for at least two weeks. If we hire Kevin I'll send him with you." When we joined the boy he was wearing the earphones picking away at the guitar with a grin spread across his face that reminded me of a kid who had just discovered ice cream. Within the short time Ray and I had been in the other room Kevin had caught on to the instrument and was doing some pretty terrific things. Ray handed him the application for employment, which he dutifully filled out. The form said he was 29. He was married and had two sons, 6 and 7. His wife was Japanese. His father and mother had been Polish emigrants. His present wife was his second. He had been with a rock group during a nationwide tour and was accustomed to traveling. Ray and he negotiated the salary and expenses. They agreed that he should start work immediately. We continued with our interviews, and asked him to sit in. If everything went according to plan, then Kevin would most likely hire the Seattle district manager when he returned from Minneapolis. Ray extended an invitation to Kevin and his wife to join us for diner on Thursday night at the Space Needle; eight o'clock. They were already there when we arrived at eight. She was pretty, but she was older than I expected; somewhere in her early thirties. Ray and I had both taken a liking to Kevin, and it was something of a disappointment when we realized his wife was not happy with us. As we smiled, joked, laughed and enjoyed dinner, she scowled, frowned, and glared at anyone who had captured Kevins attention. After dinner Ray commented, "It looks like we might be buying into a problem with Kevin. I hope its worth the risk. You have a talk with him tomorrow." We had scheduled promotional concerts at two Warehouses and a Block Buster Video. The Block Buster was Saturday night. The Warehouses were Friday night and Sunday afternoon. The three stores and The California Sound had co-opted an ad in the Seattle Times, and the managers of each store were hoping for a good turn out. The evening concerts were to start at 7:30 and end at 10:00. The California Sound contingent arrived at 6:30 on Friday evening to setup the amplifier and speakers as well as to make certain we had space, power, and adequate lighting. The contingent consisted of the three district managers from: Miami, Minneapolis, Chicago; Ray, Kevin and myself. I opened the concert with the demo tape I had made in Southern California. It was a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll. Donnie and Marie (Osmond) would have felt I was plagiarizing their music, but I felt it was tailored to meet the interest of the 20 to 40 year olds; the people with the money. While the audience showed interest in the guitar, they were not getting into my music. There were few young adults. Our listeners were mostly teens; and this wasn't their kind of music. Kevin had been going through the stores cassettes. He came over to me and whispered in my ear. "As soon as you want to take a break I'll take over." I was falling on my face with this crowd so I immediately brought the piece I was working on to an end, and handed him the instrument. Kevin put the strap over his shoulder, slipped in a different cassette, rocked back on his heels, and opened to a thundering piece by Nirvana. "Lake of Fire." He became the lead guitar. He had the attention of his audience. His body motions were that of a modern day rock star. At the end his audience cheered. A boy from the audience asked, "How much practice do you need to do what you just did?" "It's really easy. Believe it or not I used only four chords. Come here, let me show you." Kevins demonstration of the four chords was a snap. Within 5 minutes the youngster was doing as well as had Kevin. The audience couldn't believe that this new kid was playing Lake of Fire. A line began to form; kids wanting to try their hand at The California Sound Guitar. By the close of business the Warehouse had orders for 125 instruments on Lay-a-way. Its a good thing the kids didn't have the money, as the store had only three in stock. Naturally Ray was pleased by this demonstration of how easy it was to sell the instrument. The district managers could see the writing on the wall. They were not musicians; they couldn't do what Kevin was doing. We were still putting away our equipment when I asked Kevin if he could join me for a drink at my hotel. We found a quiet booth in the far end of the lounge. "Kevin, I don't want to be nosy about your personal life, but Ray and I both sensed that your wife was not happy with you joining California Sound." "Fuck Her! She's jealous of anyone who pays any attention to me. You know before we got married she was the best fuck I'd ever had; and I had quite a few. After the first baby was born she wouldn't even suck my dick. How we got the second one I'll never figure out." "Don't you think this job is going to lead to trouble? We are sorry about your personal tribulations, but California Sound is a corporation, and we can't afford to loose you. Frankly, I think you are the hottest thing to come down the road." Kevin gave me an odd look. "Ray and I both agree that you will have one hell of a future with us. But the job I have in mind will keep you on the road most of the time; your family life will become secondary." "I just told ya, I ain't geten any pussy as it is. Hell, I'll do a hundred times better on the road. Did you see the way that little red head was eying me a while ago." "OK, I'll gamble on it. We are leaving for Minneapolis on Sunday night. But, be sure and let me know if you are going to face a crisis with your wife. I'm sticking my neck out for you. Don't make me regret it." Again that odd look. "You don't have a thing to worry about. I know what side of the bread my butter is on. He paused, smiled and added, "One of my favorite things is spreading my butter around." Kevin seemed to be talking in double entendres. I let it slide. Business before pleasure. After our third beer Kevin went home, and I went upstairs to my bed. The message light was flashing on my phone. The operator said I had an urgent call from Joe Franklin, and gave me the number to call. It wasn't the Franklins telephone number. I dialed the 800 number for the long distance service, then placed the call. The phone rang and rang. I was about to hang up when I recognized the voice of Mike Brown answering. "Hi Mike. This is Don, is Joe there." A pause. "Don what you been doing man. I really need you, when are you coming back?" "What's wrong Joe." "My mother threw me out of the house. Can I come and live with you?" I explained that I wouldn't be back for at least two weeks, but of course if it was OK with Ray and Maria (his parents), he could stay with me. "Thanks man. I knew I could count on ya." Silence. "I love ya", and the line went dead. I called Rays room and told him about the call. "Yes I know all about it. But I'll be back home on Monday and try and straighten this mess out." "Do you have any idea what happened", I asked. "Yeah! That idiot answered the door when Barbbies boyfriend arrived for a date and asked him point blank if he was fucking her yet", referring to Joes older sister. I almost laughed as I hung up the telephone. The little ass hole had no sense of propriety. We let Kevin take over the rest of the Mini-Concerts in Seattle. Sunday night Ray returned to Southern California, while Kevin and I flew to Minneapolis. We were booked into a nice, suburban hotel some 20 minutes from the city. California Sound had booked the Hotel and a small station wagon. Joe had modified a couple of trunks to carry our equipment, and were shipped as excess baggage. Kevin claimed our luggage while I picked up the car. It was almost one in the morning by the time we were checked into our room. "I'm going to grab a shower before I sack out." Kevin proceeded to throw his clothes on his bed, and headed for the bath wearing only his boxers. I could hear the shower mixed with a bit of singing as that 6 foot tall Boy/Man began his bath. He had left the door to the bath ajar, and steam was flooding into the room. I started to close it. "Hey Don, give me a face cloth will ya?" I entered the bath and found what he was looking for. "Here ya go." "While yer their, how about washing my back for me. It itches." I slid the shower door open. Water splashed out at me. "Shit, I'm getting wet." "If you are going to take a shower, then just come on it here, and Ill wash your back too." As I went back into the bedroom to remove my clothes I was wondering if this was really as innocent as it sounded. The shower was a bit small, but I still had enough room to soap and scrub his back. His body was quite smooth. His body hair was lighter in color than I had thought it would be. His buttocks were thin but solid. The gluteus distinct from the leg. I started on the back of his neck, and diligently soaped and rubbed his shoulders. They were broad, and tapered to a 32 inch waist line. The small of his back was warm and seemed to respond to my ministrations. I dropped to my knees and washed his calfs, and upper leg, then applied the soap to his cheeks. "OK, its your turn." He turned toward me. Just before I turned I got a glimpse of his pubic region. His member, while not inflated didn't seem to me to be totally relaxed. Even in this quasi state it appeared to be of good size, and of good appearance. Kevin started on my lower legs, and by the time he started washing my buttocks my cock was beyond control; I had a raging hard-on. As he worked his way up towards my shoulder I regained some degree of composure. When he finished, and we exited the shower my dick was a bit more relaxed, but was definitely not totally so. However, his was not. He was facing away from me, and had wrapped a bath towel around his waist, but his meat, which he had tucked upward under the towel was definitely tenting. By the time I was dried and out of the bath room Kevin was already in his bed. His shorts were on top of his jeans, so I suspected he was naked under those covers. I was not about to start something with someone I was going to work with. If he made the first move, then that would be something else again. While these thoughts were passing through my mind his breathing changed to shallow breaths, as mother nature took control; Kevin was asleep; soon I would be. The next day we had breakfast in the hotel before proceeding to the Warehouse. Even though we were not going to do a demo that day, we wanted to meet the staff, and let them know what we were going to need to do the concert. The store manager was a man in his early twenties, and he was gay. While he was quite pleasant to me, he was overly so to Kevin. I had talked to Ray about our buying a CamCorder so that we could record our concerts. Taping would give us a record of our progress and also allow us to examine our performance so that we might make improvements. We spent most of the rest of the day locating and buying the video equipment. By the time we ended the day we were both feeling tired, but at loose ends. At first we thought we'd go to a movie, but couldn't find one we agreed upon, so we decided we'd rent a Video Movie and Player. The first place we went to had little variety, and Kevin made the remark that they didn't have any X Rated films. We then drove to a Mr. Movie store on Penn Ave., where we again looked at films; again no X rated films. We decided to settle for "Suspect" and "Pink Floyd on the Wall". While we were checking the inventory of films I noticed a tall, thin, rather good looking kid working behind the counter. There were also two other guys and a girl. The girl was so-so, one of the other two guys was kind of cute, but didn't measure up to the first, and the last guy was kind of chubby. After working for the Video Music Experience I knew that they were probably tired on their feet, and when I went through the paper work for the rentals, I was being humorous and charming. The really good looking youngster was the one that served me. I gave him my Visa Card for deposit, and said that I thought that the $400 deposit might take me over my limit. And so it did. When the Credit Card was declined I offered to put up the deposit in cash, and counted out twenty $20 bills. "What's your name?" "Jason", was the reply. Jason kept calling me by my middle name. He returned $100 of the deposit, put the balance in an envelope and wrote out the receipt. On the way back to the Bradbury Suites I realized that I had failed to pickup the receipt for the $300, and also realized that it would give me a good opportunity to talk to Jason again. The next day I called Jason at Mr. Movie saying that I was the guy who had rented the player and left the cash, and didn't take the receipt. "Oh, yes David, we'll be open till 11 o'clock." Later that evening, with Kevin at the wheel, we drove over to Mr. Movie. I took the VCR and tapes into the store while Kevin waited in the Car. "Hi David. Just put the machine over there." He indicated a counter space a bit away from where everyone else was. "My first name is really Don." I placed the machine on the counter, and Jason gave me the envelope containing my $300.00. "Jason, I'm visiting Minneapolis demonstrating a Computerized Guitar that my company builds. We are going to Video Tape our Demos and I need to familiarize myself with the video gear, and I could use some help tomorrow; I'll give you $50.00 for an afternoons work." Jason had a try out for a local church play; expected to be back by 12:30 the next day, and said he'd be available. The next morning Kevin was planning on going on a picnic with the Warehouse Store Manager who lived in St. Paul. Kevin had received instructions on getting there and I was to drive him. The instructions failed to say how we would get on Highway 94, and thus we drove the long, long way, and ended up in Fall River, Wisconsin. By the time we had finally discovered our error and arrived at his hosts apartment it was 12:30. I stopped to use a pay phone but there was no answer at Jasons. At one in the afternoon I finally got back to our hotel, called Jason, and got directions on how to pick him up. When we got back to the hotel I explained that mostly I wanted him to model for me. I was attempting to get a sense of the VCR. On the way back to the hotel I asked him what his interests were. Acting, cross country racing, singing, and piano. Last year he had been on the local High School foot ball team, but had hurt his knees so he had given that up. He would be 19 in August, and was enrolling in community college. We set the camera on a tripod, facing a light colored blank wall with the tape mechanism on a table next to the bed. My model was dressed in jeans, a Tee shirt, and sneakers. As he stood in front of the wall I noticed the trousers were a bit lumpy on him, his being so thin. He stood quite erect, hands slightly apart from his body, and I made a 15 second shot. He sat on the edge of the bed watching me analyze his picture. His clothes were making him look thinner than he was; the results were not good because of his lumpy clothes, so I asked him to put on a pair of Spedo racing trunks I had. He looked at them and said his underwear would probably do better. He then stripped down to what looked like an athletic jock with a full bottom, and moved back to the wall. While thin, he was well muscled, especially in the chest, arms, and legs. His stomach was lean and muscular. A narrow strip of dark hair coursed its way down from just under his chest, thinned a bit at the navel, and disappeared below the edge of his shorts, where I imagined it simply was engulfed in his pubic hair. We duplicated the shot but manipulated the angle of the photo flood with far better results. Jason sat behind me, showing a great deal of interest in what I was doing. Next we went for a rear shot. But on this one I suggested he take off the shorts, and turn away from me. He removed the shorts with the same manly grace that any athlete in a locker room would do, and stood against the wall. His back muscles were beautifully toned, and his ass was firm and tight. I grabbed the shot, turned off the photo flood. Jason put his shorts back on, and again sat behind me while I inspected his picture. Next, I went for beautiful body shots: kneeling in readiness for a sprint, from the front, left, rear, and right sides; all in the nude. He had no swelling of the penis. His testicles hung in a somewhat swaying fashion. While examining those shots I told Jason about my EST experiences, and the use of low level hypnosis to achieve faster and better sleep in short periods of time, to sensitize ones self for more efficiency, and about applying those same techniques for longer and better sexual experiences. We had been shooting for about 45 minutes, and I suggested we take a break. We discussed his interests in art, music, acting, modeling. I asked if he would like to learn how to improve his sleep, and he said Yes. He was wearing only his jock like shorts. "Lay back on the bed, on your back. Legs slightly apart, eyes closed, and hands on your thighs, palms down, and positioned so you can touch the head of your dick with your thumb. "Stretch the toes of your left foot. Now let them relax. Notice the gentle warmth flow through those muscles as they relax. Next, I want you to imagine doing the same thing on your right foot. I don't want you to actually move the right foot, just create those same feelings within your mind. Once you have recreated that feeling, relaxed, and have noted the gentle warmth, I want you to tap the head of your dick." Shortly, he tapped. We proceeded through the legs, and up to the abdomen. "Run your fingers across your abdomen, feeling those muscles, and as you touch them, let them relax. Place the index finger of your other hand on your navel, feel the curvature of your naval, now move the finger down along that little ridge of hair into your pubic." He moved, gently feeling his mid muscles, came to the edge of his shorts, and stopped. You'll have to raise the top of your shorts, and move your fingers into the pubic region. He did, and as his fingers began to touch his pubic hairs, the crotch of his shorts began to swell. "Scratch the hair, and move your fingers from your left thigh, across the pubic region to the right thigh. Then remove your hand, relax, and once you have caught up with these instructions, and are ready to continue, tap the head of your dick four times." Jasons swelling crotch developed into a full erection. "You'd better take those shorts off, or you'll choke." He bent down, eyes still closed, slid his shorts off, kicked them from the bed, and laid back. His penis was quite large, and more or less laid against his abdomen, with the head resting neatly in his naval. "I'm going to place my finger on your forehead, and as I move my finger over your body you will relax those muscles. The nose, the eyes, the mouth, the chin, the chest, the stomach, the abdomen." My finger entered his pubic hair, but I drew a line across to his left inner thigh, knee, calf, ankle. I then worked my way backup the right side, ending at his naval. "If you want this process to include only the sleeping portion, tap the head of your penis once. If you want the process to include the sexual expansions, tap the head of your penis four times." Nothing. I repeated the instruction, and he tapped his now ridged member four times. I placed my hand between his legs and began to rub that muscle just below the testicles. A glance at his face told me he was enjoying this body touching. I rolled his testicles in my hand, moved my finger up the length of his dick, placed my hand around his organ and slid it up and down a few times. I removed my hand and sat in the chair. "I want you to imagine a beautiful beach, warm sand, sunny day. Blue skies, billowy clouds gently drifting across the sky." As we created this imaginary beach his cock began to wane. From the beach fantasy we moved to creating a safe space, a room high in the sky or perched on a mountain top. It was the space in which the real work of the process is accomplished. "I want you to visualize a young, blonde girl, standing on a small platform in front of you. She turns and your eyes drift down her body." His member began to stir. I moved from the chair, and again sat on the edge of the bed. "As she turns you put your finger on her chin." I placed my finger on his chin. "As your eyes drift down her body, your finger points the way", and I moved my finger over his throat, across his chest, making little circular motions over his nipples. Again my hand was entering his waves of pubic hair. "Take her hand and move across the room with her to the bed." He took my hand, raising it as though he was guiding the girl across the room, and then placed my hand back on his thigh. "The story will take a different course of action ... it is your choice. She can either stroke your cock." I stroked his. "Or she can suck your dick. If you want her to suck your dick, you must grasp your dick, holding it erect for her to slip her warm, hot mouth over. Or if you want her to stroke your dick, you must tap the head of your dick four times." There was no response. I repeated the instruction. Still no response. Then, he placed his fingers around the base of his hard, hard, dick and held it vertically. I slipped my mouth over the head, and he moved his hands up on his stomach. As I took his organ deep into my mouth, his rigidity became harder and harder. It seemed that that already large organ was getting even larger. His hips began to move, his hands tightened, his abdomen muscles were tight and beautiful, and suddenly he released his juices, his hands, his body. I lay with my head on his stomach for a moment or two. His large organ became a small organ, and I proceeded with the process. Next, I placed a dark haired girl on the platform, the process was repeated with some variations, and in about 15 minutes he came again. "Should we go onto girl number three, or should we exit the process. Strike the head of your dick four times if you do not wish to go to girl number three." He made circular motions around the head of his dick four times. "Your body should feel totally, and completely relaxed. Tonight when you go to sleep, as soon as you hit the bed, every muscle in your body will become totally and completely relaxed. In four to five hours, or when ever you need to get out of bed, you will awaken with vim and vigor. You will bounce out of bed eager to get on with the day." We finished the process, and I had him open his eyes. "How do you feel?" "Great. I feel like I was kind of asleep or spaced out." He had been so great about the nude shots I decided to press on. I showed him how superimposing worked. How you could take parts of one picture and move them into others. I had a photo of a girl from Vogue. She was sitting on a bench with a fir jacket, open in the front, and wearing blue jeans. I took a close up of Jasons dick from a previous shot, placed it over her crotch, and then dubbed it. The results were not great. Also, in a relaxed state, the angle wasn't what I needed. Do you think you could get it hard again? Jasons "Nope" reply created a challenge. I placed my hand inside of his shorts and within a moment or two it was fully ridged. He moved over to the wall, I turned on the lights, focused, and took the shot. I thought it needed a bit of strengthening, so I got down on my knees and sucked on his cock. It became even more rigid. His muscles tensed, and he came for the third time. As I moved away I noted this time the prick stayed fully ridged; was red and glistening. I shot the picture and we worked on it. This time, after placing his prick on her crotch I let him do the touch up work. He did not put his shorts back on. We worked on the clip for about 45 minutes, finished the picture, and began to talk about his interests and goals. "Would you like a back rub?" He said yes, and laid down on the bed, stomach down. I sat on the bed next to him, kneading his shoulder muscles, his back, the small of his back, his ass cheeks, his legs. I spread his cheeks and blew a shot of hot air on his rectum. I moved my hand along the crack of his ass, gently touching his hole, and rubbing that same muscle we had started off with so long, long ago. Roll over on your right side. His cock was hard again. I stroked it, You are a glutton for punishment. He gave me a big smile and said "I guess!". I laid down on the bed, on my side, placing the head of his dick against my lips; he moved gently forward, enjoying the easy going movement. I ran my tongue up and down the side of his dick and head. I sensed that he was looking at me. I shifted my eyes towards his, and was rewarded with a smile that was loaded with warmth and affection. I sucked on his balls, ran my tongue under them, enjoying the feel of him, all the time knowing that that communication from him to me, was still there. After about 15 minutes of this love play, I again drew his very rigid member fully into my mouth, and he began to stroke with more purpose. In about 5 minutes the big boom occurred; not quite as big, but obviously much enjoyed. We lay there for a few minutes. I hugged him to me; he seemed to hug back. It was almost 6 o'clock. We had been into this for 5 hours, yet both of us were reluctant to let it go at that. We exchanged phone numbers, and addresses with promises to write, to call, and to visit. We placed our arms around each other, squeezed, and I kissed his neck. Then one last blow job, and I took him home. At midnight Kevin telephoned. He was going to spend the night in St. Paul and would meet me at the Warehouse tomorrow. I went back to sleep wondering about Kevin. My suspicions had been aroused: first the comment about liking to spread his butter around, then the scene in the shower, now his staying the night with the gay manager from the Warehouse. Add to that his irritation with his wife because he was getting no sex at home, and it seemed to me that Kevin liked sex anyway he could get it, and as often as he could. Kevin was already at the Warehouse when I got there the next day. He was in good spirits. He had gone through the stores cassettes and had chosen several for his demo. The Warehouse Manager was very attentive; it was obvious that their relationship had gotten much closer. Kevin had become demanding instead of asking when he wanted something from the store. It was late afternoon when I received a telephone call from Ray in Southern California. He wanted to know how Kevin was working out. I felt that he was doing very well and conveyed that to Ray. "Well, then he's to go onto Detroit, and you've got to go to Miami. There is a grand opening at the Sam Goodie in Fort Lauderdale, then I want you to visit the stores in Miami, and Miami Beach." I asked about Joe. "That kid needs some special counseling. I'm thinking of sending him to a special school in Idaho that deals with problem kids. We'll talk about it when you get back in a couple of weeks." Kevins mini-concert was excellent. As in Seattle the store took back orders for almost one hundred instruments. At the end of the evening we were both high on the experience, bed was not for either of us. We had dinner at a TGIF close to our hotel. I made it a point not to bring up the subject of what he had done the night before. However after the third Long Island Ice Tea he brought it up. "That guy Clarence can suck a dick better than anyone I've ever had go down on me." I laughed, "Even better than your wife?" He paused for a moment before answering, "I don't know. She was really great when I first met her, and of course her being a woman makes it better. But that faggot can really suck a dick." The conversation was going in the wrong direction. I had seen at the store how Kevin reacted to gays. While he enjoyed the sex they gave him, he treated them like he was superior; that they should do his biding. I didn't want him to loose sight of the fact that I was senior to him at California Sound. Later that night I got a telephone call from Joe. "Dad wants to send me to some stupid school in Idaho. Can I come and live with you?" The noose seemed to be tightening. Joe needed help, but I couldn't fly in the face of his dads wishes; certainly Jays Mom had taught me that. "I'll talk to your Dad as soon as I can. Where are you staying?" "I'm still at Mikes." Later a conversation with Ray brought forth several things that made it quite difficult for both he and his son. Joes bedroom was his private inner sanctum. While he was away his youngest sister had taken some of his things, and Joe was livid. She was just 10, and she really was a spoiled brat. But Joe had retaliated by going into her room and moving all of her dolls into the hallway. The little girl threw a tantrum. Joe refused to put them back in her room, and instead left the house, going to Mikes. The next day, the little girl told her teacher that Joe had abused her. That magic word caused the teacher to tell the principle, who in turn called Child Welfare, who in turn took the little girl into protective custody. Then the stupid welfare worker had gone on vacation for a week, leaving the case wide open. Ray and his wife had gone to court to regain custody of their youngest daughter, and the judge would only allow the release of the little girl if Joe was out of the house, pending a full investigation of the case. Ray asked how Kevin was doing, and I said OK. Of course I did not mention his getting his cock sucked by Clarence. "Well, after Miami you come on home. And tell Kevin that I want him to come back to the plant before heading back up to Seattle." While I had been talking with Ray, Kevin had been taking a shower, and came out of the bath totally naked, and sporting what appeared to be the beginning of a rod. It was beautifully shaped, and I couldn't help notice it. He was still wet from the shower. Dry my back will ya? Kevin handed me the towel and turned around away from me and towards a mirror. As I rubbed his back I could see his reflection in the mirror, and his cock was all the way up as soon as I touched him. "Get my legs too." I gave him back the towel. "I've got to run downstairs and send a telegram." I made up my mind that I'd better leave for Miami the next day, rather than at the end of the week as planned. Kevin was working out very well in his work, but I knew damned well that there would be trouble ahead if I gave in to his overtures. He was asleep when I returned to the room. For the first time in a long time, I slept in my underwear. And the next morning I was on the plane to Miami. My Teenage Heart Chapter Sixteen-A of A B C Jessie James Ain't Dead The plane landed at Miami International Airport around noon on Thursday. Ray was curious about my sudden departure from Minneapolis, but I explained that I needed to get the lay of the land in Florida, and also I wanted to give Kevin an opportunity to work on his own. If he had a problem I could always catch a red eye flight back to Minneapolis or Detroit. My hotel was right on Collins Avenue in North Miami Beach. After checking in I drove down US Highway One and into downtown Miami. It had become very Cuban. A 'U' turn had me heading back north following the coast. The air smelled strongly of ocean mixed with spicy food. I passed an IHOP, then crossed a bridge, and found myself in a very plush condo area. Eventually I found myself in the neighborhood of my hotel, and decided to park and eat dinner in the hotel's restaurant. The hotel was a one story affair, with access to the rooms on the outside like a motel. I had to pass the front desk as I walked down the hall towards the ocean and towards the restaurant. The desk clerk said I'd had a call while I was out. The message slip was from Joe, and the telephone number was Mike Browns'. The restaurant would not be open for another 1/2 hour, so I walked on out to the ocean side bar. Even though it was a Thursday the bar was quite crowded, and they all seemed to be "into" a football game on the TV. Looking across the sandy beach to the surf, I got a glimpse of someone who was vaguely familiar playing volleyball. I racked my brain, and simply could not put that familiarity together with a place or name. A cute cocktail waitress came over to my table and I ordered a champaign and orange juice. I think she was taken back by my order as everyone else was drinking beer.