Stevens School Runaways - Part 3 (hist, tort, CBT, psych)
By Platypus (formerly Dark Man) 
plupy@surfbest.net

copyright 2005 by Platypus, all rights reserved 
(First published on Eunuch Archive)

* * * * *
This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY.  It contains
explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If
you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such
material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not
read further, and do not save this story.
* * * * *

Two young runaways are eventually punished in a harsh but
politically correct American reform school.


Stevens School Runaways - Part 3

Tom and Rich seemed to be adapting to life at Stevens.
Except for the surveillance tapes that revealed what the
boys might be up to -- those incriminating audio passages.
Now, everything they said and did – especially in the so-
called "privacy" of 14c – was of interest to Mueller and
anybody else he'd care to inform. For instance, when Tom and
Rich began a practice of massaging each other's feet –
interest peaked.

The "rubs" might have been induced by extraordinary
stresses. One day, Anton Reilly got the bright idea that Tom
and Rich might be saved from the temptation of flight and
its attendant consequences if only exhaustion and what he
termed "minor" discomfort were to become the pair's daily
companions. He didn't discuss his dubious course of action
with anyone on faculty or staff, but when no one objected,
he decided to impose his own brand of extracurricular
regime. Of course, the "subjects" of his "little experiment"
voiced an outcry, but their protests were ignored.

Unmindful of any malicious intent, the gym coach singled out
the thirteen-year-olds for strenuous outdoor workouts. That
would have been bad enough – besides remaining responsible
for their homework and chores the boys now had to fit in up
to two hours a day performing coordination and ball
balancing drills, wind sprints and laps like trained seals –
but Reilly insisted the drills be performed in bare feet.
"I'm just trying to toughen you guys up," he told them. The
field where these activities took place was a grassy apron
in summer -- spread before the edifice's faηade like a soft
green carpet. Throughout the year, it remained the only
outdoor place open to Stevens boys on a regular basis. Young
inmates treasured the field as a sanctuary from more odious
routines. During the warm season – mid-May through September
and stretching into paganip – alias Indian summer, the kids
congregated on the field in chatty groups or played baseball
or touch football. But this was February drifting to March -
- a time of crusty snow and ice slowly melting into the
slime of cold mud. It was an obstacle course for sneakers –
let alone a boy's exposed soles. About a week into this
grind, the inevitable occurred.

"Today was brutal," Rich said one night after lights out. He
was lying in bed looking up at the ceiling thinking not of
sugarplums -- but of pneumonia and chilblains. It was dark
in their room – what light that filtered in from the hall
resembled a crude seascape on a murky night.

"I can't get to sleep," Tom muttered. Both boys were dressed
in their underwear – white cotton shirts and briefs, nothing
else. "Not only that, but my feet are killing me. Sore as
hell."

"Whaddya want me to do? Rub them?"

"Would you? That'd be kewl." There was a long pause.

"Oh, all right! All right!" Rich hissed. Getting out of bed
quietly, he pulled back the sheet and light blanket covering
his friend, and felt for Tom's feet. "Which one first?"

"Doesn't matter. How bout my left one?"

"Okay, but you gotta do me after. Mine are sore too." Tom
put his left foot onto his friend's lap. His bare heel
landed a little too violently.

"Hey! You just crushed my freaking balls!"

"Sorry. Didn't mean to. Honest."

Rich began playing the tips of his fingers over Tom's foot,
starting with the toes and working the sole all the way to
Tom's heel. It was a light touch that changed to a tickle
when Rich used his nails to scratch the skin just a little,
not really digging in.

"Hey, you're great at this. That feels wonderful. I'm in
heaven."

Rich discovered Tom's skin to be soft, almost silky smooth,
especially on his sole. He was getting into what he was
doing, despite himself, because part of his brain thought
what he was doing was queer, a homo thing to do, but part of
him didn't mind at all. That was the weird part. Tom had
these cool little ridges along the bottoms of his toes like
some boys have, and also on the ball of his foot, just where
the instep begins. It was interesting, like a map, with the
ridges like tiny mountains. Tom winced when Rich began
pulling his toes straight out and deftly snapping the joints
– like you'd absentmindedly do with your fingers sometimes.
The joints made "kewl" little popping sounds.

"Hey! What the heck you doing?" Tom's urgent whisper was a
little too loud.

"Shhh! Just lay back and enjoy."

Actually, it didn't really hurt, just felt slightly
unpleasant at first, before you got used to it. Tom had
never had his feet massaged by anybody – not even his Dad or
Mom when he'd been little. This was a treat. Soon Rich was
pressing, compressing the foot harder, then alternating his
fingernails with a nice pleasant scratching – his fingers
sinking into the tender skin of Tom's sole a little further,
but not enough to break the skin.

"That feels fantastic," Tom purred.

After a few moments, it had to end. "Okay, give me your
right one," Rich commanded. He didn't have to ask twice.

Tom became equally skilled at giving his friend foot
massages. In a few days, it became a regular thing –
something both boys looked forward to at the conclusion of
every Stevens day. Tom noticed that Rich had slightly longer
toes, and that he kept his nails trimmed. "How do you do
it?" Tom asked one night in early March. "We're not allowed
to have clippers." The answer was expected under the
circumstances, but still a bit startling. "I get them
started with my teeth."

"Ewwh, that's gross!"

Rich continued as if Tom hadn't reacted at all. "Then I very
carefully peel them with my fingers – straight across – so I
don't get any ingrown toenails – you know – on my big toes."

"I can't even reach my toes – you know – with my mouth."

"That's why your nails are getting long and jagged – like a
wild boy's. It's too bad. You really have nice toenails
otherwise."

"Oh, I'll bet you say that to all the boys."

"No, I'm serious. Dickwad. You really are stupid, you know
that?"

"I'm sorry." There was another pause. "Can I ask you a great
big favor?"

"What?"

"Can you do my nails too – bite them to get them started and
then teach me how to peel them?"

"I don't think so."

"Please? Pretty please with dicksnot on top?" Tom paused and
took a long breath. "I swear I'll clean my feet really good
first."

"They don't stink much. It's not that – it'd just be weird –
doing yours. No offense."

"Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"Okay! Just shut up about it. I wouldn't want anybody to
know."

"Who am I going to tell in this place?"

End of Part 3