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Message-ID: <57527asstr$1207984202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Dream Spinner <authorsix@hotmail.com>
Importance: Normal
Subject: {ASSM} ST: "The Brewsters Celebrate Phagwah" (M/t/b, t/t/b)
Lines: 1907
Date: Sat, 12 Apr 2008 03:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Caution/Welcome.  This is a story involving tickling and sex with four
brothers, two preteens and two fourteen-year-olds, and a
thirty-five-year-old man.  It is posted at free gay adult story sites for
adult entertainment only.  Permission is not given to copy electronically
nor in any other form for the purpose of redistribution or posting at sites
other than those just described.  This is the forty-seventh story in the
Brewster Adventures, a series focussing on special events and mythical
beings.  Chronologically it follows the eleventh story in the series,
"Saint Patricks With the Brewsters," but like the other stories in this
series it is a stand alone story that can be read totally on its own. 
Comments, all-expenses-paid invites to the next NYC Phagwah, or invites of
any kind from hot, handsome young Guyanese guys can be sent to the author
J.O.  Dickingson at authorsix@hotmail.com

   THE BREWSTERS CELEBRATE PHAGWAH

   "Dad's real worried," twelve-year-old Benny observed, immediately
catching the attention of his three brothers as he swung his legs out of
bed and perched on the top bunk.  One thing they all had in common, besides
dicks, balls and a healthy interest in sex, was love for their father.

   "Oh yeah?  How do you know?" asked his older brother Brent, propping
himself up on one elbow in the other top bunk and rubbing the sleep from
his eyes.

   "I heard him tell Mom last night," Benny replied, running his fingers
through his sleep-tousled, thick brown hair as he always did when he was
concerned about something.

   "I didn't hear him say anything."

   "That was after you'd gone to sleep."

   "What you talking about?  You were out long before I went to sleep."

   "This was later."

   "Later?"

   "Yeah.  I woke up and heard noises coming from Dad's bedroom, so I got
up and snuck down to take a look.  I thought maybe he was screwing Mom."

   "Was he?" his three brothers chorused, their ears perking up.

   "Naw.  They was just talking."

   "Aww," his three brothers consoled, just as disappointed as their
twelve-year-old brother had been.

   "That was when I heard him telling her he was real worried."

   "About what?"

   "Mister Farnsworth is sending him to New York City."

   "If he wants apples why doesn't he just have them send him some?" Bobby
asked.  His three brothers looked at him quizzically.  Sometimes their kid
brother came up with the weirdest comments.  Well, actually, most of the
time.

   "What do you mean?" Brett dared to ask.

   "I heard they got big apples there."

   "That's the nickname for the city, dumbo.  The Big Apple."

   "Yeah?  Well, that's a dumb nickname for a city."

   "Well, it's better than being called the Big Grapefruit."

   "Or the Big Broccoli."

   "Ewww," Brent's three brothers responded, wrinkling up their noses.

   "Or the Big Banana," suggested Benny.

   "I dunno.  Big Banana sounds sexy," observed Brent.

   "Everything sounds sexy to you," observed his twin brother.

   "No, you got me confused with Benny," Brent replied, resulting in a
playful punch in the arm from his younger brother.

   "Yeah, well, it's better than being called the Big Prune," observed
Brett, sending his three brothers into gales of laughter.

   "Guys, this is serious," Benny finally observed.

   "What is?"

   "About Dad."

   "Oh yeah."

   "So why is Mister Farnsworth sending him to New York City?" ten-year-old
Bobby asked.

   "You know since he became Third Vice President, Dad's been after them to
expand Wecare Pet Supplies Limited into Canada.  Well, their board finally
agreed but they need a bunch of money to do it, like millions, so Dad's
being sent to New York City to meet with some banker lawyer guy to get a
loan."

   "So why's Dad worried?" Brent asked with a typical fourteen-year-old's
shrug.  "He's good at stuff like that."

   "Well, he says it's his first big test as third VP."

   "You gotta take tests even when you're finished school?" Bobby asked,
his eyes growing wide as he paused with one leg in his pants and one out.

   "Not that sort of test," Brent said, rolling his eyes.  "It's, well,
more like, well, a challenge."

   "I'm sure Dad can do it," Bobby observed as he finished putting on his
pants, and his three brothers all nodded in agreement.  They had great
faith in their father.

   "Dad says this banker lawyer guy that he's meeting with is a real good
negotiator," Benny observed as he hunted around for his missing sock. 
"He's afraid he'll think it's too much money, or that expanding into Canada
is too big a risk, and turn him down.  You know how some Americans feel
about Canada."

   The boys all nodded.  Having moved to the USA from Canada themselves
only two years ago, the four brothers were well aware of that attitude.

   "Or if he gets the money, Dad's worried the interest will be too high."

   "Too high?  But isn't that good?" asked Bobby as he ran a comb through
his dark brown hair.  He had it cut in a Caesar cut, moderately long on the
sides and combed into a crest in the front, a style popular at the time
with teens and preteens.  "You'd hope that there'd be a lot of interest
wouldn't you?"

   "Not that type of interest," Brent explained as he stepped up behind him
and began combing out his long, blond hair.  "Interest is the amount of
money that the bank makes you pay if you get a loan from them."

   "If you got no money and go to the bank to get some they expect you to
pay them for the money they give you?" Bobby asked, wrinkling up his nose.

   "Yeah."

   "That's dumb."

   "That's the way it is."

   "If you got no money to begin with, how the fuck do they think-."

   "Guys?" Benny interrupted, pushing his way between Bobby and Brent to
gel and spike his dark brown hair.  "Dad's problem?"

   "Oh yeah."

   "He says this guy he's meeting has a reputation of being a real tough
nut."

   "Well, then I guess we just got to go to New York City and help him,"
Bobby concluded.

   "How?" asked Brett.

   "I dunno.  You're the smart one.  I'm the cute one, remember?"

   "Brett?  I thought Benny was the smart one," Brent teased his twin
brother.

   "Naw, he's the horny one."

   "Oh yeah."

   "So how we gonna help Dad?" Benny persisted, curling the left corner of
his mouth in exasperation with his three brothers.

   "I dunno.  We helped him get the Third V.P.  job, didn't we?" Bobby
asked.  "Getting a couple million dollars should be a piece of cake."

   "It could be fun," agreed Benny.  "I wonder if this banker guy has a
pool."

   The three boys thought back six months ago to Labour Day and the company
picnic at the Wecare president's house.  They'd gone to help their dad beat
out his competition for the Third V.P.  job and had inadvertently ended up
doing just that by unknowingly initiating some hot sex action with his
competition in the boss's pool and hooking up the man with the board
chairman's gay teenage son.  The memory of their hot romp in the pool and
then of the sexual antics as the man was blackmailed into playing the role
of their pet dog for them and the rest of the boys at the picnic, all of
whom were eager to give the dog a bone, resulted in the four boys popping
woodies, and that was one distraction that none of them could resist.

   "So, where we gonna stay when we go to New York City?" Benny asked as
the four boys joined their parents for breakfast after their impromptu
morning jerk circle.

   "We?" asked their father.

   "We'd rather leave Bobby behind too, but I guess we sortta gotta take
him with us," grinned Brent.

   "We could see if the kennel will take him," suggested Brett.

   "Funny," said Bobby, making a face at his fourteen-year-old brother. 
"Maybe we can drop you off at the zoo and you can visit with your relatives
in the monkey cage."

   "Boys."

   "Sorry," the four boys chorused automatically as they looked up at their
mother innocently and apologetically.

   "So, where are we gonna stay?" Benny asked again.

   "I've never said anything about you boys coming with me to New York
City," their father replied.  "Just how did you know I was going to New
York anyway?" he asked, looking at his four sons quizzically.

   "You told us," Benny replied.

   "I don't remember that."

   "All the more reason we should come with you.  A guy losing his memory
shouldn't go to the city alone," observed Bobby.

   "Very funny," their father said reaching over and tousling his hair.

   "Anyway, it's impossible.  My meeting will likely be a week day.  You'd
be missing school."

   "All the more reason we should come," piped up Bobby, a sparkle in his
hazel eyes.

   "I don't think so," his father said with a grin.  "Besides, I'd be
socializing with a bunch of businessmen and bankers in the evening and
spending all day with them in negotiations.  I wouldn't have time to spend
with you."

   "We could come socialize with you."

   "Yeah, we're good at socializing with businessmen."

   "Master socializers, that's us."

   "And masturbators," Bobby whispered behind the back of his hand, causing
his three brothers to giggle.

   "Bobby.  You know the rule about whispering at the table."

   "Sorry, Mom."

   "Now what did you say?"

   "Ah, um, that, ah, we're not as good socializers as you."

   "I don't think so."

   "No, really, you're much better at it than us."

   "Just eat your breakfast."

   "Mister Farnsworth liked it when we came to his picnic, remember?"

   "And Brett's real good with numbers.  He'd fit right in with bankers."

   "You said we'd helped you cinch your V.P.  job."

   The boys had made a good impression with his boss, and with the chairman
of the board, and he wasn't exactly sure how, but he had a suspicion that
they had something to do with his opposition being offered the special
promotions position instead of the Vice President position.

   "And if we come with you that would solve the problem what to do with us
so Mom can join you," Benny observed.

   "Now how did you know about that?" Barry asked, raising his right
eyebrow.  He and Brenda had only discussed the advantage of her joining him
last night, after the boys had gone to bed.  For some reason it seemed
banks were more willing to give a loan to a family man even if it was for a
business, and besides, a wife could influence other wives, in this case the
wife of the lawyer who would be negotiating on the bank's behalf, to the
benefit of her husband.

   "You mentioned about how it would be good if Mom could go with you,"
Benny bluffed, knowing that if his father thought about it, he'd know that
he had to have overheard their bed conversation, and that would raise other
questions he'd rather not be asked.

   "Now that I definitely don't remember."

   "You really got to do something about your memory, Dad," Brent
interjected, trying to help out his brother.

   "Yeah, it's probably from too much wa-, wa-, wa-. . .  ," began Bobby,
fortunately catching himself before he said the wanking word.

   "Worrying," interjected his brother.

   "Yeah, worrying," Bobby said relieved as he flashed his brother a look
of thanks.

   "You really shouldn't get so worked up about Dad's memory that it makes
you cry, Bobby," Brent said brotherly as he put an arm about his kid
brother.

   "Yeah, it's just that he's been so busy what with his new position and
all," agreed Brett.

   "Well, I suppose we could consider making this a family trip," Barry
conceded, not wanting any of his children to worry about him.  He still
couldn't remember mentioning any of this to his sons.

   "Fu-, fu-, fu-, funtastic!" responded Bobby, almost using a swear in his
excitement.

   Brenda looked at her youngest worriedly.  First almost in tears over his
father, and his constant stuttering, especially with "f" words, she was
really becoming concerned.

   "Maybe if there is an evening social the boys could stay with my brother
Jeffrey and his family in Darien for the evening.  Your uncle commutes to
NYC every day so you could go back to Darien with him and then come back
with him in the morning.  It would give you boys a chance to get to know
his three sons."

   The four boys grinned at each other.  Well, the first hurdle, going to
New York City, was overcome!  They were sure the rest would be just as
easy. That evening their father announced that not only were they all
going, but their way was being paid by the company.

   "Mister Farnsworth thought it was a great idea.  You know how big he is
on family togetherness and projecting a family image for the company, and
he really was impressed with you boys at the picnic on Labour Day.  He's
booked us in at the Waldorf-Astoria.  It's the oldest hotel in New York
City," he explained, looking at his boys.

   "The oldest?" responded Bobby.  "Fu-, fu-, fu-, for goodness sake,
couldn't they afford something more modern?  You are the Third Vice
President after all."

   "The Waldorf is the most expensive hotel in New York City," Barry
observed with a smile.  "Only the richest of the rich stay there."

   "Oh, well, that's okay then," Bobby conceded though how the oldest hotel
could be the most expensive didn't make sense to the ten-year-old.  Adults
had some screwy ideas.

   "Mister Farnsworth figured staying there would make a good impression on
the bank.  You know, show them that we're no penny ante operation.  We are
invited to a cocktail party at the bank president's home Friday evening. 
Mister Farnsworth suspects it's a ploy to check me out and to see if they
can get any hints as to the strategy I'll use at the meeting Monday.  Which
is fine," he said with a smile at his wife.  "It will give you and me a
chance to do the same."

   "What about us?" Bobby asked.

   "I'm afraid a cocktail party is strictly an adult affair," Barry
responded.  "I'll see if it'll be possible for you to go with Uncle Jeffrey
to his place for that night."

   All four boys opened their mouths to protest but that raised eyebrow
look from their father told them not to go there and they snapped them back
shut simultaneously.

   "Too bad we can't go to the cocktail party," Bobby observed as the boys
turned in that night.

   "Yeah, well, it'll be neat visiting with Uncle Jeffrey and Trevor, Brad
and Bobby."

   "Yeah, though it's gonna be scarey having two Bobby Brewsters in one
room," Brent observed with a twinkle in his deep blue eyes.

   "Hey, it'll be double your pleasure," Bobby said, making a grab for his
older brother's crotch.  "Though I was looking forward to the cocktail
party."

   "You were?" his three brothers asked in surprise.

   "Sure.  That's two of my favourite things.  Cocks and tail.  It's just
like adults to have the party only for them."

   "That's not what a cocktail party is, doofus," Brent advised.

   "Oh yeah?  Then what is it?"

   "A cocktail is a type of fancy drink, with alcohol and olives and junk.
Adults stand around drinking and snacking on caviar on crackers and shrimp
and stuff and gossiping and trying to outbest each other."

   "What's caviar?"

   "Fish eggs," Benny replied.

   "Yeah, right," Bobby chortled as he rolled his eyes.  "Honestly."

   "Benny's right."

   "Fish eggs?" Bobby asked wrinkling up his nose.  "Then I'm glad we're
not going."

   As things turned out, the boys did go.  Brad came down with the mumps so
the visit to Barry's youngest brother's had to be cancelled at the last
minute.  Brenda was going to stay at the hotel with the boys, but when the
bank president found out, he insisted she and the boys accompany Barry. 
The first thing Bobby did upon their arrival at the party, was find out
which of the plates of largely unrecognizable food was the caviar. 
Fortunately there were many types of crackers and cheeses and other snacks
to munch on, and a nonalcoholic punch.  In that Barry's four sons were
attending, the son of the man Barry was going to meet, Tommy Junior, who
was the same age as Bobby, was also invited, and the two boys hit it off
instantly.  Figuring Bobby couldn't get into any trouble, his three
brothers mingled and did their best to try to help their dad by finding out
all they could about the guests who were there.  Being found cute and
charming, especially by the wives, it wasn't hard for the three boys to
innocently probe for any useful information their dad could use.

   Finishing off his tenth glass of punch, Bobby headed off to find a
bathroom, which proved to be more difficult than he'd imagined in the large
mansion.  Hearing voices behind a partially closed door, he approached it
intending to ask for directions.

   "So, tell me honestly, what do you think of this pet supply proposal?"

   "Totally unrealistic.  I mean, what sort of market can you have in a
country of what, thirty million people?  That's not even twice the
population of New York State for God's sake!  Besides, people are too
occupied surviving their God-awful winters to be bothered with pampering
their pets.  Whoever came up with this harebrained idea mustn't have a clue
about Canada or the market."

   Bobby recognized the voices as that of the bank president and the fellow
his dad was meeting with, Thomas Barrington.  He was about to storm into
the room and tell them just what he thought, but he was stopped by the bank
president's next question.  "And what do you think of this Brewster
fellow?"

   "Seems like a nice sort of chap, but way out of his league.  He's
playing with the big boys now, and he's going to need some impressive stats
to convince me to go with this idea."

   "Well, we'd better get back to the party.  I'll check with the
impressions of some of our board members."

   Bobby scooted down the hall so when the two men emerged from the room,
he appeared to be just entering the hallway.  "Hey, I'm glad to see you two
guys," he said, dancing from foot to foot.  "Where can a guy can find a
bathroom in this place?"

   "Down the hallway and to the right," the bank president said with a
smile.

   "You go on," Thomas said.  "I'll show the young man the way."

   "So, your name was Bobby, wasn't it?" he asked as he lead the way down
the hall.  "This your first time in New York City?"

   "Oh yeah.  We're staying at the Waldorf-Astoria.  Only the richest of
the rich stay there," Bobby observed solemnly.

   Thomas smiled.  Barry Brewster and his son were very much alike, country
bumpkins.  The boy was clearly enamoured with his father and trying to make
an impression, which was likely his father's advice.  The boy was obvious,
just like his father.  Definitely out of their league.

   "Your family has a very different accent.  I'm usually pretty good
recognizing accents, but I can't quite place yours.  You're from out west,
right?"

   "Actually, we're from out north," Bobby replied.  "We're from Canada."

   "You are?" Thomas asked in surprise.  Now that he had not known, and
that was an important piece of information to know for their upcoming
negotiations.  "I thought Wecare was an American chain."

   "Oh, it is," Bobby said as they arrived at the bathroom.  He stepped
inside and quickly drew down his fly and slipped his fingers inside.  He
really had to go bad, and besides, there were just the two of them, and
they were both guys.  He didn't see it as a big deal.  "We moved two years
ago," he said as he let loose, remembering too late he was supposed to lift
the seat.  Oh well, it was too late now.  "Dad's checking into if we can
get dual citizenship.  That would be neat.  I'd love to learn to duel." He
held up his left hand and made several fencing motions as he continued
emptying his bladder, his stream coming dangerously close to the edge of
the toilet seat.  Tom felt awkward standing there in the doorway while a
ten-year-old stood there taking a leak, but it was too late now, and the
boy had information that could be important.  "I imagine your family is
pretty eager to live in a country where you're not ruled by the head of a
foreign government."

   "Huh?"

   "Where you don't have to swear an oath to the queen of another country."

   "Yeah, that's dumb."

   "That's what I figured."

   "Everyone knows she's real."

   "Pardon?"

   "She's on TV every Christmas, as regular as, as Santa Claus.  It's dumb
having to say we believe in her when she's right there for everyone to see.
She's as real as, as Santa, or the tooth fairy, or, or leprechauns," Bobby
ranted, thinking of some of the more recent experiences of himself and his
brothers.

   "Ah, yes," Thomas said.  This angle certainly wasn't going to get him
any dirt on Barry Brewster or discredit his proposal.  "Canada doesn't have
a very large population," he observed, taking a different tack.

   "That's right.  We're a young and growing nation," Bobby said,
remembering reading that somewhere.  "Lots of open spaces for kids and
their pets to run around." That part he added on his own.

   "Somehow I never pictured Canadians as pet lovers."

   "Oh sure we are.  Almost everyone has a dog, you know, for hunting and
stuff," Bobby said, remembering when they'd first moved to the US that
everyone thought Canada was mostly wilderness and everyone was hunters and
trappers.  "And just about everybody has a dog team, or two or three," he
continued, his classmates also having had the impression everyone in Canada
lived in igloos and travelled by dog team because it was always winter.

   "Two or three?"

   "Sure, you know, if both parents are working they both need a team, or
like when the dad has to go trapping, the mom needs a team to go shopping
at the mall and to take the kids to school, and when you're a teenager you
can't wait to get your own team," Bobby said, warming up to the idea.  "And
you know how hungry huskies are.  That's a lot of dog food.  And of course
they need mukluks to protect their feet from the snow and ice, but dogs
need four while people only need two, and they're always losing them." He
was really on a roll.  "And we're always replacing their food dishes and
water dishes on account of the polar bears and seals stealing them.  And of
course we're always losing their balls and toys in the snow banks and
having to buy new ones."

   Having finished taking his leak, Bobby shook his dick off and Tommy
turned around in embarrassment.  Meanwhile, Barry, who was talking to the
bank president, had noticed Bobby was missing.

   "Last I saw him he was upstairs with Thomas Barrington," the bank
president observed.

   "Bobby, alone with Mister Barrington?"

   "Oh, I'm sure you needn't be worried about your son," the man observed,
having noticed the concern in Barry's voice.  His first thought was that
Barry was worried his son might reveal something that could be harmful to
their negotiations on Monday, and that was inwardly satisfying.  His second
thought was that Barry was worried about his son being alone with a man,
which was absurd.  Thomas Barrington was a Harvard law graduate and a
happily married man to a beautiful wife, and a father of a ten-year-old
child.  There was as much chance of Thomas Barrington molesting the man's
son as there was of Barry Brewster convincing Barrington to agree with his
proposal on Monday, a proposal he himself was leery about considering how
stingy Canadians were about sharing their natural resources and the sloppy
way Canadians handled their border security.

   "Actually I was worried about Mister Barrington," Barry observed,
causing the bank president to snort with amusement and surprise.  Barry of
course was not joking, and was relieved to see the two enter the room.  "I
hope my son hasn't been a bother," he observed, glancing at Bobby
apprehensively as the two approached.

   "Oh, not at all.  He's quite the conversationalist," Thomas said
purposefully, intending the comment to unnerve Barry.  All was fair in love
and contract negotiations.

   "Yeah, me and Mister Barrington had a good conversation while I was
having a pee."

   "While, you, ah . . .  ," Barry replied as Tom suddenly turned a bright
red, knowing how that sounded and finding that instead of Barry it was he
who was unnerved.

   "Yeah, the punch stuff is real good, but it makes a guy gotta go," Bobby
continued.  "It's not made from caviar is it?" he asked, suddenly
apprehensive as he looked up at the bank president.

   "No, it certainly isn't," he chuckled.

   "Good, then I think I'll go have some more."

   One of the bank trustees and his wife approached before Tom could
explain the context of Bobby's statement, and by the time they'd left Barry
seemed to have forgotten the comment and Tom figured it best to just let it
drop.  Encouraged by his conversation with Bobby, Tommy approached his
brothers, though purposefully making sure that he was in sight of another
adult at all times.  He certainly couldn't afford to raise any further
suspicions in the mind of the man he was going to be negotiating with.  The
rest of the evening went by without any incidents.

   "Well," Barry observed as they headed back to their hotel room, "things
seemed to have gone smoothly tonight."

   "Oh, yeah, I put in a lot of good words for ya, Dad," Bobby observed
happily.

   "Us too," Brent observed, he and his brothers having conferred with each
other after each had met with Thomas Barrington.  Among other things, Brent
had vouched for his father's character and business intuition, Brett had
assured Tom of the financial solidarity of Wecare, and Benny had bragged
about his father's creativity.

   "Thanks boys," Barry said, though not certain just what his sons might
have said, comforted at least that they didn't know anything about the
proposal he'd be making on Monday so couldn't have revealed any secrets. 
"The bank's executive chairman has invited us to attend a Puno festival
tomorrow evening, and their Phagwah parade in Queens on Sunday."

   "Phagwah parade?" asked Bobby.  "I thought it was called a Ga-, ga-, ah.
. . ."

   "Guyanese parade?" his father asked, more than a little surprised.

   "Yeah!  Guya, ah, gu, what you said," Bobby replied relieved.  He'd
almost said Gay Pride parade, and his father would have certainly wanted to
know how he knew about that.  As it was, his father would certainly want to
know how he knew the other word too, whatever that was, which didn't
totally leave him off the hook yet.

   "So what is that?" Brett asked, knowing his father would surely follow
up on how his kid brother thought it was a Guyanese parade and hoping to
distract him.

   "Well, it's part of the Guyanese tradition," his father explained.  "The
executive chairman, Mister Kalidasa, is from Guyana.  I understand from him
that Richmond Hill, where the parade and tomorrow's celebration will be, is
the largest concentration of Guyanese in the US.  In fact it is known as
Little Guyana."

   "Oh, I see," said Bobby, not seeing at all.  He'd heard of the Gay Pride
Parade, but he'd never heard of Guyana.

   "Boy, Bobby, you almost blew it tonight," Brett observed as they got
ready for bed.

   "No I didn't.  I didn't even come close.  When I put my hand on his
thigh, he drew it away quick.  I don't think he likes guys like Mister
Stewart did.  Though I think he's ticklish."

   "What you talking about?"

   "Mister Barrington.  I didn't come close to blowing him.  I put my hand
on his thigh to see if he liked boys but he drew his leg away.  He sortta
laughed like he was embarrassed, but also like he was ticklish.  What were
you talking about?"

   "Almost blurting out Gay Pride Parade."

   "Well, when Dad said Phagwah I thought the word had something to do with
fags, especially when it was, you know, in Queens."

   "Adults would never use a dirty word like that for a parade.  What were
you thinking?"

   "I thought we got invited to a fag parade because they heard about
Brent," Bobby replied impishly with a winkle in his hazel eyes and the
wrestling match was on.

   The following evening he, and his family, got a crash course on Guyana
and Phagwah from the executive chairman Vallabhbhai Kalidasa and his
family.

   "Just over half the people from the Cooperative Republic of Guyana are
East Indians, the descendants from indentured labourers brought over to
settle the country and work in the sugarcane plantations and rice fields in
the 1830's.  The other major segment of the population, about thirty
percent, are black Africans.  About forty percent of the population is
Christian, and thirty-five percent are Hindu like ourselves.  In the 1960's
there were riots and economic and political unrest between the East Indians
and those of African descent and many left, mostly for Britain, Canada and
the United States, and many, like my wife and me and our parents, settled
here in New York City.  Our parents and their parents before them brought
many customs from India and adapted them to life in Guyana, and now we have
brought the traditions we grew up with in Guyana here to America.

   "One of those traditions is the festival we call Holi, or Phagwah, the
Hindu festival of spring, named after the lunar month Phagun.  In olden
days it was a way for the people to give thanks for their crops and for the
beginning of spring.  Holi also symbolized the triumph of good over evil.
These things are still so today.  With the first day of spring we begin the
new year with love, cooperation and equality, and with generosity,
truthfulness, and purity.  It is a very sacred time," he observed, glancing
over at his oldest son meaningfully.  His son, Ramesh, returned the look
with a smoldering angst and poorly disguised look of disdain that only
teenagers can give.  "In India and in Guyana it is an official holiday
celebrated on the first day of spring during which everyone has a holiday.
Here it is not, so we celebrate it on the first weekend after the first day
of spring," his father continued, not taking his son to task for his
attitude in that they had guests.

   "Today is Puno.  We attended special services and prayed to Vishnu and
to Prince Prahalad this morning.  Legends tell us Prince Prahalad was a
follower of Vishnu and opposed his evil father Hirnakashyap who wanted his
son to worship him instead of Lord Narayana, and when he refused, his
father tried to hurt him in various ways to denounce Lord Narayana.  His
aunt, Holika, sister of the demon king, even took him in her lap and
entered a ring of fire intending on killing him as she herself had a boon
not to be burnt, but because of this act against Narayana she lost the boon
and was burnt instead.  Another legend says Holika was an ogress who
devoured little children, but it was learned she could be subdued by the
abuse, pranks and foul language of boys.  So the children subdued her and
then burnt her remains.  So now tonight we sing songs of these legends and
dance around the bonfire," he explained, gesturing to the bonfire that had
been built in the middle of the park where the Brewsters had met him and
his family.

   "In India wood and straw are piled on top of a castor oil plant
symbolizing Holika for forty days until the pile is fifteen feet high. 
Here of course we must settle for smaller bonfires before our mandirs, our
temples, and here in the park.  Babies are carried clockwise around the
fire five times by their mothers to bless them," he continued.  His son
snorted and his father's eyes flared, but again before his guests he said
nothing though his displeasure was clear to all, including his son.  "And
so we symbolically express our belief that those who love God shall be
saved, and those who abuse the followers of God will be burnt." He glanced
at his son meaningfully.  "But you did not come here to listen to a sermon.
Go now and eat and dance and sing and be merry.  It is Holi."

   None of the boys were much for dancing and singing, but the music was
lively and the songs catching, and soon they found themselves joining in
with the celebrations and those celebrating were quick to include them in
the spirit of the holiday.  Some of the younger children played harmless
pranks on each other, and some of the older ones recited dirty ditties
they'd overheard or swore for the fun of swearing and the natural
competition to outdo each other when out of hearing range of the adults in
commemoration of the legend of boys subduing the evil Holika.  Holi was,
among other things, also a time of licentiousness and a relaxation of
rules. Ramesh was not one of those celebrating.  The boys could not help
but notice the moody teenager hanging back glumly and by himself and any
attempts to get him to join in were met with blank stares and disinterest.

   "Hey, look," Benny indicated, pausing in filing his plate with pastries
for the third time.  The boys looked to where he pointed.  Ramesh was
slowly walking toward the bonfire as if in a trance, a faraway look on his
face.

   "I think he's gonna walk right into the fire."

   "Fuck, I think you're right."

   Brett, being the fastest thinker of the four, and the closest, raced
toward the boy and tackled him.  They had gotten so close he could feel the
heat of the flames on his cheek and it was a miracle his long, fine hair
didn't get singed.

   "Why did you do that?" Ramesh asked, looking at Brett angrily as Brett's
brothers ran up to join them.

   "Why?  Another second and you'd have walked right into the fire, that's
why."

   Ramesh turned his head to look at the bonfire.  "You should have let
me."

   "Let you?  Why?"

   "You heard my father.  Those who abuse the followers of God will be
burnt."

   "Abuse?  Who'd you abuse?"

   "My father for one.  And my mother."

   "Yeah, well, I sortta noticed you and your dad weren't exactly on
friendly terms tonight."

   "Tonight, yesterday, this month, this year.  We haven't been on friendly
terms for a long time," Ramesh replied sourly.

   "Yeah, well, it's still no reason to jump into a fire."

   "What do you know?  You don't have a father who is ashamed of you.  Or
who totally is an embarrassment."

   "Oh I dunno, Dad's not always pleased with us."

   "And sometimes he and Mom do and say embarrassing things."

   "Like that crap about ogresses and Prince Prahalad?  Your father a
superstitious old man who believes in fairy tales and monsters?  Is he
always on your case for not following his customs or believing his beliefs
or because of how you dress or the length of your hair?" the teenager
ranted angrily, his dark brown eyes flaring and his face flushing.

   "Well, no," Brett replied.

   "I guess not," Ramesh said with smug satisfaction.

   The boys didn't know how to respond.  With his indigo turban, tied so
one end hung along the right side of his face to his shoulder, his tan
Nehru shirt embroidered with an intricate design in dark brown thread, and
his sharply creased white slacks, the handsome, brown-skinned,
fifteen-year-old boy looked very sharp to them, and certainly traditionally
dressed.

   "Personally I think you look rather cool," Brent observed.

   "Yeah, well, my father doesn't think so.  He wants me to dress like all
other American boys.  You know, a shirt with some American logo on it and
blue jeans and a baseball cap, the works, and of course short hair." He
glanced over at the long, blond tresses of the twins.  "He wants me to
dress American so I'll fit in, but on the inside he wants me to think like
an East Indian, or a Guyanese, whatever that is.  Well, I don't want to
dress like everyone else, and I can't believe that superstitious crap that
he does.  So there's like totally no way I can please him."

   "It's still no reason to toss yourself into a bonfire."

   "Hunh," Ramesh snorted, "when my ol'man finds out what I am he'll toss
me into the fire himself."

   "What do you mean what you are?  What are you?" asked Brent.

   Ramesh looked at him, debating, and then without warning wrapped his
arms about him and kissed him, long and passionately and directly on the
lips.

   "Whoa!" gasped Brent when they broke, his big blue eyes wide with
surprise.  Ramesh bit his lower lip but looked directly into Brent's eyes
as he waited apprehensively for the revulsion and derision he was
expecting. It was his turn to be surprised as Brent returned the kiss, just
as passionately.  When Brent broke the kiss, Ramesh stared at him, not
knowing what to say.

   "There somewhere private we can go where we can all have some fun?"
asked Benny.

   "Fun?" spat Ramesh finally.  "Is that it?  You mock me?  Being gay isn't
fun."

   "It isn't?" asked Bobby.  "Someone forgot to tell Brent and Brett."

   Ramesh looked at the twins, and then at their two brothers.  Although
suspicious of their sincerity and motives and suspecting he might be being
set up for a bashing, or to be used, he nodded in the direction behind him
and got to his feet.  He no longer really cared what happened to him.  The
brothers followed him to one of the tents that had been set up for
tomorrow's celebrations.  To his surprise his suspicions had been wrong. 
They sat and talked, about parents and Ramesh's differences with his
father, about the difficulty he was having balancing his father's
traditions and beliefs, which he considered superstitious and old
fashioned, with his own ideas and beliefs, and about the difficulty they
were all having with the negative and oppressive attitudes most members of
their society still had toward homosexuality and the denial of teenagers
and preteens being sexual beings.  And then they had sex.

   Ramesh had learned a lot about sex with a member of his own gender from
Internet sites, gay teen chat rooms, and experimentation with a good friend
and fellow classmate, but it was a strange and mysterious world and though
the fifteen-year-old knew what he liked and enjoyed, he was still filled
with questions and uncertainty as were many gay teenagers.  The Brewster
brothers by their personalities and from their experiences, and from having
each other, were comfortable with their sexuality and were able to answer
his deepest questions that he'd been unable to ask anyone else and to help
resolve his uncertainty, especially Brent and Brett, the two teens having
come to terms with and accepted their homosexuality despite being a year
younger than Ramesh.  That help came not just from their empathy and from
talking with the fifteen-year-old, but from their actions.  As one of the
twins kissed him on the lips the other unbuttoned his shirt and as the
first caressed his smooth chest and nipples, the other kissed his cheek and
nibbled on his ear and caressed whichever nipple and whichever breast his
twin was not, and then the two switched.  Unable to tell them apart, he had
no idea if it was Brent or Brett who was kissing his lips or nibbling on
his ear.  Meanwhile their kid brother was caressing his thighs and between
his legs, expertly finding where his limp dick was lying and gently
caressing and squeezing it.  Unbuttoning his trousers and slipping his hand
inside his fly, he found the semi-flaccid tube of flesh and continued to
squeeze and rub it, the heat of his young hand outside his underwear
penetrating the cotton cloth and causing his dick to swell.  At the same
time their other brother, the one with the gelled, spiked hair, had slipped
his hand inside his cotton briefs from the back and was caressing and
squeezing his smooth cheeks.  Ramesh inhaled deeply as he felt him slip his
middle finger along his crack and give it and his butthole a single-finger
caress.  As the four boys pressed their bodies against his and wrapped
their legs about him he returned Brent and Brett's kisses with equal
passion if not the same skill, and he caressed whichever body was
available. His fingers found their way inside shirts to caress identical
smooth, warm, soft pink chests and sensitive young nipples that quickly
became firm with his fondling, and his slender, brown fingers unbuttoned
jeans and pulled down flies and cupped the warm, damp balls and swelling
flesh stirring inside boxers and in the pouches of tight briefs.  This was
totally unlike the uncertain and awkward fumbling of his initial
investigations with his best buddy Amir or their bursts of lust when they
gave in to their hormones, and unlike the loving cuddling the two could
enjoy for hours in each other's arms.  This was raw, hot sex, a bursting
forth of their primal teenage lust, but at the same time caring and
attentive, focussed on bringing the other pleasure rather than oneself, on
bringing the other that erotic, overpowering pleasure that caused a boy's
stiff dick to throb as powerfully as his heart and his dickhead to burn and
itch with a sweet pain.

   Feeling Bobby's hot, moist mouth envelop his knob and begin to suck,
Ramesh nuzzled the hot, sweaty ball sack before him, inhaling the nutty,
teenage fragrance, and he mouthed the semierect cock of first one twin and
then the other.  He cocked his head and licked the shaft of first one
slender, rapidly-swelling cock and then slipped his lips about the
mushroom-shaped knob of the other and sucked on it.  Behind him he could
feel a hot, wet tongue worming its way into his butthole and then a pair of
lips fastening about his anal pucker and kissing it as it worked a gob of
slimy spittle into it.  He knew the boy's intention and he inhaled deeply
in anticipation and eagerness, filling his lungs with the heady, musky
scent of teenage lust.

   As he began to work his lips up and down the shaft of the now stiff,
throbbing five-inch cock in his mouth, he felt a hot mouth begin to do the
same to his swollen prick and the hard, hot dickhead of the boy behind him
pressing against his butthole.  He relaxed and pushed out with his
abdominal muscle to assist the boy behind him in penetrating him as he'd
learned in one of his late-night chat sessions on the Internet.  Ever so
slowly his sphincter stretched open until at last he felt the boy's knob
pop inside him and he shivered with pure delight as the boy penetrated him,
a delight no straight boy could ever understand or appreciate.  He closed
his eyes and sucked deeply on the cock in his mouth as he felt the boy's
hot, slender cock, now just short of four inches hard, sink up his rectum
until his smooth pubes were pressing against his ass cheeks, and he
trembled with delight as he felt the boy slowly withdraw and then sink his
cock back up his asshole.

   All five of them were breathing heavily, sucking in the sex-laden air
through their nostrils, delighting in the fragrance of cock and balls and
teenage sweat.  Wet, slippery dicks slapped against smooth, downy cheeks
and ruby lips like eels flopping out of water and hungry, eager lips
pursued the flopping eels and went down on them, sucking and slurping as
heads bobbed and lips slid up and down the thick, throbbing, bone-hard
shafts.  Behind Ramesh a hard, hot, slender cock eased in and out of his
body, sinking deep up his rectum and then easing out only to plunge back
into his depths and he tightened and relaxed his velvet smooth chute in
time with the thrusts and withdrawals of the fleshy sword.  Hot, young
blood throbbed through stiff, bone-hard cocks as they sucked and fucked and
were sucked and fucked.  Their smooth bodies, one wheat brown and four soft
pink, slid against each other, slick with teenage sweat, and their laboured
breathing became irregular and still louder as the tension developed in
their loins.

   Feeling unbelievable randy, randier than he'd ever felt before, Ramesh
could not hold back and the fifteen-year-old gasped out a warning as the
felt the familiar twang deep in the pit of his groin and as his young balls
drew up tight beneath his aching cock and constricted.  His hot, young gizm
raced up the core of his swollen, brown cock and spurted out the burning
tip and the hot mouth fastened to his swollen cock began to swallow,
drinking his hot, teenage cum as a leech drinks hot blood.  He heard a
warning from one of the twins and as the fifteen-year-old spurted out his
hot slime he felt a rapid and successive throbbing below the knob of the
swollen cock in his mouth and suddenly his own mouth was filling with the
nutty, teenage slime of whomever he was sucking.  At the same time the boy
behind him grasped him tightly and quivered as his own orgasm hit and his
young, slender cock throbbed and strained to ejaculate what the still
immature balls could not yet produce, and the brown-haired, ten-year-old
boy sucking his cock similarly quivered with his own dry orgasm while the
other twin gasped with delight as he began to spurt, his young, teenage cum
spraying Ramesh's smooth chest and his twin brother's thighs.  The night
air was filled with the sharp tang of teenage cum as the three teenagers
exploded and spurted and two younger Brewsters trembled with just as
powerful and pleasant dry orgasms.  It was a warm, wonderful evening that
early spring night, a night they would all long remember.  It totally was
awesome to be young and gay.

   "I can't believe I'm doing this," Tom observed as he looked at himself
in the mirror.  Accustomed to wearing a starched shirt and a suit and tie
and designer labels befitting his position and Harvard Law School training,
he felt uncomfortable in the loose-fitting shirt and white cords that his
wife had picked out for him.  At least he had on his Gold Top silk black
socks.  Standing at six-foot-two and weighing two hundred pounds, all of it
solid, compact muscle, he was an impressive man, and combining his athletic
build with his jet black, perfectly coiffured hair, crystal blue eyes and
handsome good looks, he turned the head of many a woman, and though
completely straight, many a man too.

   "If the Executive Chairman of NYC-Sydney Financial Corporation thinks
it's a good idea, then it's a good idea," Stephanie reminded him.

   "Yes, I know.  I still don't think either you or I is going to find out
anything more about Brewster and his proposal than we found out last night.
And I certainly don't see how engaging in Vallabhbhai Kalidasa's personal
favourite festival is going to impress Brewster as an example of high
living in the Big Apple, nor help prepare for his proposal tomorrow."

   "Still-."

   "I know, I know," interrupted Tom.  "He's the Executive Chairman of the
Board." Tom was good at his job and highly respected by his peers and his
superiors, and one did not get to where he was on the corporate ladder
without knowing who was in charge and how to obey orders.

   Barry and Brenda Brewster were looking forward to the day with almost
the same eagerness.  Like the Barrington's, they saw little to be gained as
far as further information that would help Barry the next day, and spending
the afternoon in a Hindu festival wasn't what they'd envisioned as an
afternoon in the Big Apple.  Also like the Barrington's, they knew one did
not offend an Executive Chairman.  Their four sons, on the other hand, were
eagerly looking forward to the afternoon.  For one, they were hoping to
join up with Ramesh again, and for another, from what they'd been told
about the parade and festivities afterward it sounded like their kind of
fun.  To everyone's surprise, when they arrived at the parade route they
found thirty thousand other revellers, an assortment of East Indians,
Hispanics, Sikhs, Guyanese and Americans, lining the streets and crowded on
verandas and roof tops who evidently felt Phagwah was their type of fun
also.

   Ramesh was there with his family at Cheddi Jagan Square as promised
along with the Barrington's and their son and another fifteen-year-old
Guyanese boy and his family.  From the glances the two were exchanging he
was evidently Ramesh's best buddy Amir, the boy he had discovered gay sex
with and whom he had mentioned the previous night he was in love with.  As
the last float passed and the last CD's, bandanas and T-shirts were tossed
out to the crowd, the Brewsters found themselves being swept down Liberty
Avenue along behind the parade with the Barrington's and the other
revellers past brightly coloured homes, sari shops, grocery stores and
restaurants offering a mixture of Hindi and Carribean cuisines.  Arriving
at Smokey Oval Park, they wandered about the grounds enjoying the choutaal
music and singing and sat down and watched the variety show that the local
people put on, including the performance of the Richmond Hill High School
marching band, a handsome young trumpet player in tight slacks catching the
attention of the Brewster brothers in particular.  The boys quickly joined
in "playing Phagwah", tossing coloured powder at each other and at whoever
was near by and squirting each other with coloured water.  Sincere
environmentalists, the Kalidasa family had prepared the bags of powder
they'd given the Brewsters and Barringtons from dried flowers and berries
so as not to be harmful to the environment or to others.  Following the
lead of their host, they wet their hands and then dipped them in the bags
of powder to make a paste, which they then smeared over each other's face.
With everyone doing the same, men and women, adults and children,
regardless of age or nationality, it was impossible for their parents and
the Barrington family not to join in the riotous merriment.  Being a spring
festival celebrating a good harvest and the fertility of the land with many
of the floats and songs featuring phallic themes and symbols, it was a time
of license and of relaxing physical restraints, especially as some of the
more exuberant celebrants overdid their consumption of bhaang.

   As they jostled each other in the milling crowd, Bobby's observation
about Tommy's ticklishness was quickly verified, and Brett came up with an
idea how they might convince him to see things their father's way when the
two met the next day.  Spraying him with his water pistol and quickly
backing away but leaving himself open as an easy target, Brett began. 
Thomas of course retaliated by stepping forward and squirting his pistol at
Brett, but of course the limber teen quickly sidestepped out of the way and
stepped back again.  Certain this time, Thomas stepped forward again but
his aim was distracted by Brent tossing a handful of powder at him.  Of
course Thomas stepped toward him and as Brent turned and ran he began to
chase him.  Despite being thirty-five he was quick on his feet.

   As several Phagwah players stepped across their path, Thomas stopped and
turned and began to head back to his family and the rest of the group. 
That of course the boys did not want.  Benny intervened and distracted him
by throwing a handful of powder at him, and of course Thomas took the bait
and chased him.  Benny ran slow enough to give the man hope, but zig-zagged
so as not to be an easy target.  Again Thomas gave up and began to head
back toward his family.  Bobby ran in this time and daringly ran right up
to him and reaching up smeared a blue streak across his cheek.  Caught by
surprise it took Thomas a moment to respond before aiming his pistol at
Bobby and charging after him, managing to strike him in the back.

   Nearing the edge of the crowd the boys were encouraged by their cat and
mouse game, but Thomas was satisfied and once again gave up the chase and
headed back.  Brent and Brett both intervened but though Thomas responded
by squirting at them or tossing a handful of his own powder at them, he
made no attempt to follow them.  The boys glanced around desperately for
their brothers.  They had intended on leading him away from the others and
through the crowd of people similarly "playing Phagwah" over toward the
floats which had been parked away from the main action in the park where
they could tickle him without interruption until he gave in to their
demands.

   Bobby came to the rescue.  Dashing up behind Thomas and slipping the tip
of his water pistol down the back of his pants, he squeezed the trigger,
sending a squirt of coloured water down his ass crack.  Thomas of course
immediately turned with the unexpected shock of wetness down his crack, and
as Bobby giggled and turned, the chase was on again.  As he zig-zagged
through the crowd with Thomas hot on his heels, Thomas managed to squirt
him several times, Bobby making sure he didn't get too far ahead and
discourage his pursuer.  Unfortunately his plan had the opposite effect. 
Satisfied that he'd paid the boy back, Thomas again turned and began to
head back, much to the consternation of the four brothers.  The boys were
determined however, and experts at luring their intended prey to their
doom, and Tom had no idea they were leading him to a particular location.
So once again Benny intercepted him and managed to lead him to the edge of
the crowd before Thomas gave up the chase.  As he turned, he spotted Bobby
squatting behind the nearest float and, figuring Benny had been trying to
lure him into an ambush, Thomas smiled as he pretended to be heading away
from the parked floats.  Instead he angled parallel to them and then as a
group of teenagers passed between him and Benny he dashed into the parked
floats and headed to where he'd seen Bobby squatting.

   Disappointed to find he was no longer there, Thomas was about to head
back to the crowd where he saw Bobby squatting several floats further with
his back to him.  He cautiously began to creep forward but as he was about
to take aim Bobby turned and spotting him, leaped to his feet and ran
further into the parked floats.  Thomas hesitated, and then figuring he'd
outsmart him and circle around in front of him, he took off in an arch
toward the back of the parked floats, keeping his eye on Bobby.  Ducking
around one of the brightly decorated floats, he was caught totally by
surprise as the four brothers leaped off the float.  Landing on him and
dragging him to the ground, they playfully began to wrestle as they
attempted to dust each other with coloured powder.

   Pulling Thomas's loose shirt out of his trousers and raising it, Benny
dipped two wet fingers into the bag of blue powder and ran them along his
right side, leaving two blue streaks along his ribs and causing Tommy to
chuckle.  "You ticklish Mister Barrington?" he asked innocently as he
skipped his fingers along the man's ribs, leaving powder fingerprints below
the lower blue streak and eliciting another chuckle.

   "How about your feet?" asked Brett, who'd sat down on his legs and
unbeknownst to Tommy had untied his shoes.  Pulling them off, he skipped
his fingers along the sole of Tommy's right foot, causing the man to laugh
and squirm, trying to lift Brent off.  He had strong, muscular legs, the
result of being an avid runner and working out at his exclusive Wall Street
gym three or four times a week, but Brett had strategically sat down on his
knees, preventing him from bending his legs and getting any leverage,
though he did manage to raise the one hundred and one pound boy a few
inches off the ground.

   "Bo-ahahahaha, boys, ahahaha, tha-ahahahahaha, tha-ahah, that's not
ho-ohhohoho, ah, that's not how you play Phagwah ahahahaha, stop!"

   "Yeah, your feet are ticklish," Brett observed as he continued to tickle
Tommy's soles.  "And they're huge!  I think they're even bigger than
Brent's!"

   "Whoa!  That is big," observed Bobby and Benny.  Their brother had the
biggest feet of anyone they knew and were often the objects of their jokes,
and their erotic amusement.

   "What about your pits, Mister Barrington?" asked Brent.  "They ticklish
too?" In their wrestling, the boy had lost, or had purposely kicked off,
his runners and had managed to pin Tommy's arms down with his knees as the
boys had wrestled him onto his back so he was kneeling on Tommy's arms, his
legs drawn up under him and his stocking feet in Tommy's face.  Tommy had
to admit the teenager did have big feet that rivalled his own.  With
Tommy's loose shirt pulled up to his neck, Brent managed to reach down and
tickle both of his armpits, sending the man into gales of laugher once
again.  "Yeah, guess they are," he observed impishly.  As Tommy inhaled
deeply, trying desperately to stifle his laughter and to speak, he was
rewarded with a whiff of Brent's large feet rank with sneaker odour and
teenage sweat.  They were as odorous as his own too.

   "Ah-hahahahaha, boahahahahaboys!  You hahahahahave to stop!  No, no
hahahaha more!" Tommy called out as he persisted in trying to dislodge the
boys sitting on him and now actively tickling him.  He could feel hands
fiddling with his belt and then unclasping the top of his trousers. 
"Whaahaha, whaaaat are youhoohoohoohoo!  Whoohoohoohooo, whose
p-p-pahahahaha," he chortled, unable to speak as he felt his fly being
pulled down and the top of his baggy trousers being spread open. 
"Ahahahahhahaha, aghaaaaa!" he screamed as fingertips lightly danced along
the inside of his right thigh and he raised his legs so violently he almost
managed to topple Brett.  He inhaled deeply again, willing himself to
stifle his laughter so he could protest, and again the odour of Brent's
sweaty, teenage feet overwhelmed him.  His good friend Ronald liked the
odour of socks-how he had no idea-but even he would have difficulty
appreciating this teenager's feet.  For a moment he relished the idea of
having Brent pinning Ronald down and giving him a good whiff of his sweaty
feet, maybe even stuffing his socks in his mouth as Tommy enacted his
revenge against Ronald for the time he'd kidnapped him right out of his
home and subjected him to days of endless tickle torture.

   "Ewww, your feet smell almost as bad as Brent's," observed Brett as he
pulled off one long, black, silk sock, exposing Tommy's foot.

   "That's got to be real bad," observed Bobby as he skipped his fingers
along Tommy's thigh once again, sending him into another gale of laughter.
The ten-year-old observed something very interesting, and to confirm his
observation, he tickled Tommy's thigh once again.  The bulge in the man's
white, executive briefs was definitely growing larger.  As Brett skipped
his fingers along Tommy's sole and he was convulsed with laughter again,
the bulge very definitely grew.  Now that was most interesting, and added a
whole new dimension to Brett's plan to tickle the lawyer until he cried
uncle and agreed to give their dad the money he wanted.

   "Boys, stop now!" Tommy ordered in the most authoritative, fatherly
voice he could.  "This is not how you play Phagwah!"

   "He's right," Brent observed to Thomas's relief.  "We're supposed to be
sprinkling him with powder and smearing him with coloured paste, not
tickling him." That wasn't exactly the response Thomas was looking for.

   "What are those balls on that float made of?" asked Brett.

   "I dunno, cotton I think."

   "Can you reach one?"

   "Just a sec." Unbuttoning Tommy's shirt and pulling it back off his
shoulders and half way down his arms so as to tangle his arms and pin them
behind him, Brent crawled over to the float while Benny and Bobby adjusted
their positions so the two preteens were sitting on Tommy's stomach and
chest, their combined weight preventing him from getting loose.  Returning
with a handful of the cotton balls, Brent tossed a couple to his twin
brother before kneeling on Tommy's shoulders from behind so the man's head
was raised and resting in his lap.

   "Perfect," Brett announced.  Tearing a bit of cotton off from the large
ball, he dipped it in the bag of green powder he'd been carrying and then
dabbed at Tommy's large toe.

   "No hohohoho, do-hohohohoho-n't do hoohoohoohoo thahahahahahat!"

   "I think I'll powder each toe a different colour," Brett observed with a
wide grin, his face a rainbow of colours itself from their earlier play. 
Pulling Tom's large toe and the next apart, he lightly sprinkled between
them, sending Tommy into another fit of laughter.

   "Great idea.  I bet his pit hairs would look great rainbow coloured,"
Brent said with a grin, dipping his fingers into one of the powers and
grabbing a few of Tommy's long, black armpit hairs and pulling on them,
turning them a brilliant red and causing Tommy to chuckle as the boy's
fingertips brushed against his armpit.

   "I think his nipples would look great yellow," observed Benny, picking
up one of the cotton puffs and dipping it into the yellow powder, lightly
dabbing one of Tommy's nipples.

   "Ahahahahaha, ah boys, ahahahaha, nohohohoho.  Ahahahahaha!"

   "That's gonna take a lot of powder," observed Brent.  "He's got big
nipples."

   "That's not all he's got that's big," observed Bobby suggestively,
nodding toward Thomas's bulging underwear, his hazel eyes twinkling and his
high cheek bones streaked with orange and red dye.

   "Hey, his looks almost as big as Dad's!"

   "Your dad's?" Tommy asked, immediately picking up on the comment.  How
would the boys possibly know how big their father's was?  Unless he. . . .
Was this something that he could use against Barry Brewster?  He hardly
seemed the type of guy who would mess around with his own sons sexually,
but these days, who knew?

   "Speaking of our dad, we think you should give him the money he wants
tomorrow," said Brett, who tended to be the faster thinker and leader of
the four boys.

   "Of course you do," chuckled Tommy.

   "No, I mean we REALLY think you should give him the money," Brett said.
By then he had finished powdering the toes on his right foot, each one a
different colour, and he now emphasized his point by tickling the sole of
his right foot with the cotton ball, eliciting another gale of laughter.

   "Yeah, REALLY," added his twin brother, tickling Tommy armpits and
causing him to squirm violently and roar with laughter.

   "Yeah," agreed their two younger brothers, Benny tickling one of Tommy's
bright gold nipples while Bobby tickled his thigh with one of the cotton
balls.

   "Ah, ahahhahaha, yeahahahaha!  Oh God Almighty!  Ahahahahaha!  I
knoohohohohoh whahahahat yohoohoohoo mean," Tommy gasped.  "But I
dohohohohon't think-."

   "We think," Brett said, intensifying his tickling.

   "Well, boyoyyoiyoioyoi," began Tommy.  "Ohhohohoho, ah dohohohon't,
ahahahaha, boys!  Oh fuck!" He was not one to swear in front of children,
but he couldn't help it with the shocks of tickle pleasure piercing his
nipples, his pits, his thighs, and his feet.

   "Well, when you think he should, let us know," Brent said.  Dipping the
cotton ball in the red dye, he impishly powdered the tip of Tommy's nose
and then returned to tickling his pits.  Having finished dusting powder on
Tommy's large, sensitive nipples, Benny returned to his ribs, lightly
tracing each of them with a finger dipped in paste, leaving a smear of
colour along each rib and at the same time sending Tommy into convulsions,
resulting in the lines being rather jagged as the former linebacker twisted
and turned in a desperate but futile attempt to dislodge the
eighty-four-pound boy sitting on his stomach.  Bobby had meanwhile pushed
his loose, baggy pants down to his ankles and was now intently tickling his
inner thighs while his older brother proceeded to dust powder on the toes
of Tommy's left foot.

   Tommy twisted and bucked and arched his back as gales of laughter
erupted from his lungs, but despite his workouts at the gym the muscular,
athletic former college linebacker could not shake off his four young
attackers.  Shocks of painful pleasure ripped through his ribs, across the
soles of his feet, pierced his irritated, swollen nipples, and penetrated
his hairy armpits.  He squirmed and tensed as gales of laughter erupted
from his throat until it was raw and had it not been for the playing of the
Richmond Hill High School Band everyone in Smokey Oval Park would have
heard his peals of laughter.

   "So, are you going to give Dad the money he wants tomorrow?"

   "Boys," Tommy gasped as they stopped in their tickling, "it's not that
simple."

   "Sure it is," Brent said with an angelic smile, his fine-featured face
mottled an assortment of colours from the dyes the boys had been tossing at
each other.  "You simply gotta say yes."

   With that the boys resumed relentlessly.  Tommy's nipples were swollen
and hard and jutting up from his muscular chest, his biceps were bulging as
he clenched his fists and tried to wiggle his wrists out of his binding
shirt sleeves, and his leg muscles were taut as he tried to wiggle out of
his lowered trousers tangled about his ankles and to dislodge the
fourteen-year-old boy who was sitting on them and relentlessly tickling the
soles of his feet and his toes with a cotton ball, barely touching the
sensitive skin.  Benny was now attacking his belly button, lightly rimming
it with the tip of his index finger, just barely touching him as he
encircled the sensitive depression.  Meanwhile Bobby had begun to tickle
his swollen testicles from the outside of his cotton briefs.  Thomas's cock
was now rock hard and stretching out his thin cotton briefs, the head
dangerously close to poking out from under the restraining elastic waist
band.

   After all these years, why tickling got him so violently sexually
aroused Tommy still did not know, but it was blatantly evident that it did.
As he lay there thrashing and straining to get loose, his throat raw and
sore from laughter, he thought back to just over twenty years ago, to the
day he'd been tackled by his cousins at a family reunion.  While two of his
cousins, two twelve-year-old girls, had held him down, pinning down his
arms with their bare feet, his other cousins, ranging in age from ten to
twelve, had proceeded to tickle him until he'd popped a boner, and then
beyond until in a wild fit of laughter he'd cum, filling his underwear with
his hot, sticky cum.  Fortunately they had thought that he'd peed himself,
not that that had been any less humiliating for the young teenage boy.  Now
twenty-one years later he was again being tickled to a climax, this time by
four boys, ten to fourteen years of age, the youngest the same age as his
own son, the oldest close to the age he'd been when he'd been brought off
by his cousins.  These boys, he suspected, were not as naive, and if he did
reach that ultimate point, which had to be any time now, they'd know it was
not pee.  As badly as he wanted to cum, he had to stop them.

   "Boys, boys, bohohohohoho, ohhhhh, stop!  Ohhohohoho!  Oh fuck!  Let's
tahahahahahalk!"

   "Sure," Brent said with a smile as they stopped instantly.

   "Boys, you have to understand," Tommy gasped, assuming his most
lawyer-like voice, which was ridiculous under the circumstances, spread out
on the grass with his toes painted a rainbow of colours, his nipples
projected out stiff and swollen and brilliant yellow, and his nose powdered
a bright red.  "I just can't give your father-."

   "Enough talking," Brent said, and the four boys resumed their torture.

   "No!  Nohohohohohoho!  Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease!  Agahhhhhhhhahahahahaha!"

   It was like a thousand ants crawling over his naked body, tickling here,
tickling there, sending painful, irritating shocks through his irritated
flesh, through his swollen nipples, up his hairy, sweating pits, piercing
his belly button, causing the soles of his feet to burn and itch like he'd
stepped on stinging nettle, causing his stiff, aching cock to strain and
throb and ooze out the first dollop of pre-cum.  "No!  Nohohohohohoho! 
Yes! Yesssssssssssss!"

   "No, yes?" asked Brent, continuing to tickle his armpits.

   "Yes!  Yes!  Just stahahahahahahaha, just ahahahahahahaha, I'll do it!"

   The boys stopped moments away from him climaxing.  Tommy, delirious with
laughter and now fighting the urge to ejaculate, gasped and groaned and
quivered with relief and with regret.  He so needed to find a private place
and satisfy the lust pulsating in this stretched cotton briefs.  Tickling
had the same effect on him as an aphrodisiac had on a normal man, and he'd
just been given a near-lethal dose.

   "You'll give Dad whatever amount of money he asks for tomorrow?"

   "Yes," Thomas gasped.  "I will.  I swear.  Now let me up."

   "Not yet."

   "Not yet?" Tommy asked in surprise and frustration.  "I agreed to your
terms you fu-, fu-, fu-, you little twir, twir, you spoiled bra, bra-just
let me up!" He came close to cursing, and to calling the boys twirps and
brats, but that would not be wise considering they were still sitting on
him, and that he would be negotiating with their father the next day.

   "Hey, he's got the same stuttering problem as Bobby," Brent said with an
impish grin.

   "Yeah.  What were you trying to say Mister Barrington?  Fu-, fu-, fu-?"

   "Just let me up boys.  I ...  I need to go pee."

   "Oh yeah?  Is that what you need?" the youngest of the brothers, the one
who'd been tickling his thighs and his balls, said with an impish grin as
he looked at his swollen cock bulging out his briefs and then directly into
his eyes.  The boy knew.  He was only ten, but he knew.

   "First we gotta talk about your interest rate," Brett said.

   "Interest rate?  Now listen boys, I've already conceded giving your
father the loan.  You should consider yourself lucky I don't report your
antics to him and cancel tomorrow's meeting.  In fact maybe what I should
do is take the whole lot of you to court," he threatened in his most
lawyer-like tone.

   To his Harvard trained, legal mind, that seemed like the most logical
approach to take.  He was, however, dealing with two teenage and two
preteen boys who like most boys their age seldom thought logically.  They
renewed their attack with vigour, and what little composure Tom had gained
he quickly lost as their nibble, multi-stained fingers danced over his
body, sending renewed ripples of painful pleasure through his irritated,
sensitized flesh and fresh gales of laughter from his raw throat.  The
throbbing of his stiff cock intensified and the pressure in his loins was
unbearable.  He could not hold back.

   "I think we're hurting him," Bobby observed.

   The boys suddenly stopped once again.  Thank God.  He'd almost lost it.
Bobby ran his index finger along Tommy's swollen shaft from his balls to
his blood-engorged knob.  Tommy inhaled sharply and tensed as he fought
back the urge to let loose.

   "I think you're right," Benny observed.

   "Yes, yes, yes!  You're right boys!  Enough is enough!  Now let me up."

   "You heard the man," Brett said.  "Let it up."

   Benny and Bobby slipped their hands under the elastic band of Tommy's
briefs simultaneously.

   "Wha?  Ah, no, no boys!  Not that!  That isn't what I meant!  Boys!  I'm
a man!"

   "Yeah, we sortta noticed that," Brett said with a mischievous grin as
his two brothers continued to push Tommy's briefs down.  Considering the
state he was in, that was not easy.

   "But you're just boys!"

   "Just boys?" the four of them asked, their young voices rising several
octaves in anger.

   "Ah, well, ah, I didn't mean just, I, ah, no!  Don't!  You shouldn't,
what I meant-."

   It was too late.  He felt his stiff cock become disentangled from his
briefs and as he felt his underwear being drawn down past his balls and
halfway down his thighs, his cock sprang up free and exposed.

   "He does have a big one," observed Brent.

   "Oh yeah.  And nice balls too."

   "I think we need to blueball him," observed Benny.

   "Hey, yeah!" agreed Bobby, reaching for a cotton ball and the blue
powder.  "That's a fuckin' great idea.  But just one.  I think the other
should be . . .  orange.  And his dick with red and white stripes, like a
candy cane."

   "That isn't what I meant by blueball."

   "No?  Then what did you mean?" asked Bobby, wrinkling up his nose in
perplexity as he looked at his older brother, the cotton ball poised a
hair's breadth away from Tom's lower testicle.

   "He wants to cum."

   "Yeah, so?"

   "So when a guy is super horny and wants to have sex but he's not
allowed, they say he's been blue balled."

   "Yeah?" Bobby looked at his older brother with admiration.  Benny was a
wealth of information, especially forbidden information and stuff about
sex. "So we can't play Phagwah with his balls and dick?" he asked with
disappointment.

   "No, I didn't say that," Benny said with a grin.  "I just said we
shouldn't let him cum, not until he agrees not to charge dad any interest."

   "Cool!" Bobby replied happily, brushing the cotton against Tommy's lower
testicle.

   "Ah, no boys!  This isn't right!  You hoohoohooo, ah, ahahahaha,
nooooo!"

   Tommy's dick wagged its disapproval, Tom himself being unable to speak
as Bobby and Benny dusted the powder over his testicles, sending ripples of
tingling pleasure-pain through them.  They similarly dusted his
blood-engorged knob, turning the purplish-red bulb a vivid green.  As the
cotton brushed against the rim of his glans, he convulsed again in laughter
as a dollop of pre-cum oozed from the tip of his irritated, aching cock.

   "Careful guys.  We don't want him to cum until he agrees to no
interest."

   "No!  No, I can't.  I have my job to consider," Tommy protested.  He
figured giving in to whatever amount of money the boy's father asked for
could be compensated for by asking for a higher than normal interest rate,
one that would compensate for the risk the bank would be taking or that
would be impossible for Wecare to absorb and thereby forcing them to back
down.  Either way he'd have done what the boys had committed him to doing.
It was blackmail they were engaging in, but even so he had given his word
and he was a man of honour, and he had a reputation to uphold.

   "How long does this Phagwah thing last again?" asked Brent.

   "Til five o-clock."

   "Then he's got two hours to consider his job," Brent said.  "Wanna
switch places?"

   "Sure."

   The twins switched places and the four boys resumed their tickling
torture.  Two hours.  Well, he was a man, and they were just boys.  He
could hold out two hours.  Or more likely, the boys would not be able to
prevent him from cumming, and then their game would be over.  They were
only boys after all.  Thomas Barrington had never met four boys like this
however.  It was only a matter of fifteen minutes before they brought him
to his first brink of shooting his load, but they somehow knew that and
suddenly ceased their torture.  Tommy lay there, his eyes closed, his chest
heaving, concentrating on not shooting.  He would show them.  They weren't
going to let him pop his nuts until he agreed to charging their father no
interest.  Well, he didn't want to shoot a load.  Not in front of four
young boys.  That was obscene.  That was perverted.  He was a Harvard
graduate, a married man, a highly respected bank lawyer.  He didn't want to
cum in front of four children, and he couldn't let their father get a loan
with no interest, so it wouldn't happen.

   The tickling resumed and Tommy's resolve hardened.  So did his cock.  It
was only minutes before he was ready to shoot again.  Well, let it happen.
Then the boys would have no further leverage on him, and he'd still be able
to thwart their plan by charging their father an exorbitant interest that
he couldn't agree to.  In fact he'd compound it.  Not only that he
could-one of the boys had gripped his swollen, throbbing cock just below
the knob, cutting off his circulation and deadening his need to shoot off.
Now how did whoever it was know how to do that?

   The tickling resumed but now the pressure in his loins was doubled. 
Compounded you could say.  Very well, he'd reverse his tactic.  Instead of
defeating them by not coming, he'd defeat them by coming.  As peals of
laughter erupted from his throat his lust ballooned between his legs,
threatening to burst his swollen balls and his blood-engorged knob.  He
concentrated on the pleasure throbbing though his swollen cock, on the
mounting pressure in his loins, and he bellowed with insane laughter.  Any
second now.  Any second!  Suddenly Benny jabbed his forefinger at a spot at
the base of his aching, throbbing cock, on the underside where his balls
joined it, and suddenly the lust dissipated.  How could a twelve-year-old
boy know how to do that?

   The tickling continued, relentlessly.  Stained fingers happily skipped
along the hair trail from his pubes, following it up over his flat,
six-pack abs and circling his bellybutton, sending him into gales of
laughter.  They continued following the trail of hair up along the centre
of his chest and then spread out over his muscular pecs.  While someone
lightly brushed a ball of cotton over his swollen, irritated nipples,
sending him again into convulsions, someone else skipped their fingers
along his ribs, causing him to howl and his ribs to ache from laughter. 
Someone else was tickling the soles of his feet while a fourth was lightly
tickling his armpits.  He howled and twisted and his swollen cock throbbed
and his tightly drawn-up balls ached.  He strained to hold back the release
of his seed.  He had no idea how much time had passed.  It had to have been
close to two hours.  All he had to do was hold on.  Hold on.  Shoot.  He
was so confused he couldn't remember which course he'd decided on.  His
cock was aching and his blue and orange balls drawn up tight below it.  He
had to get off!

   "How much more time do we have?" Bobby asked.

   "An hour and a half."

   An hour and a half!  Only thirty minutes had gone by?  It seemed like
twenty-four hours!  "All right!  Ahahahahaha.  I said ohohohohohohoho.  I,
I, ahahahahahha!  I wa, aha, ahahaha."

   "I think he's agreed," Brent said.  The boys stopped.

   "No interest?"

   "No interest," Tom gasped.  "Now let me cum.  Oh God, let me cum!"

   The tickling resumed, but this time the boys took turns stroking his
thick, swollen cock.  Racked with the sweet pain of tickling, his entire
body feeling like it had been skinned raw, and his colourful, bright green
cock head itself feeling like a ripe tomato about to burst, Tommy closed
his eyes and bellowed and gasped and at last felt his cum begin to surge up
the core of his, stiff, thick-veined, red and white striped cock.  He
gasped and grunted and raised his hips as his cum spurted out of his
swollen cock, spurting high into the air and dropping to land on his
multi-coloured thighs and to spatter his heaving stomach.  Spurt after
powerful, delightful spurt erupted from his body and he trembled and sighed
with pleasure like a man overdosed on Viagra.  He'd never had such a
powerful ejaculation in months.  He closed his eyes and groaned with open
and abandon pleasure.

   It seemed like forever, but finally his ejaculation ceased and slowly
his breathing returned to normal.  All the money Barry Brewster wanted, and
no interest.  Well, there were other terms of the loan to be negotiated. 
He could make the turnaround for repayment of the loan so short it would be
impossible for the company to do, and if this Brewster fellow knew anything
about what he was talking about, he'd know better than to agree and risk
the bank foreclosing on his company.  And of course for a loan that size
there was the surety Wecare would have to put up.  He could ask for-.

   "I think Wecare should have forty years to repay the loan, with the
option of negotiating an extension if they can't make it," Brent said,
interrupting Tommy's thoughts.

   "Forty years?" What did the boy know about bank loans?  Evidently
nothing.  No bank would allow a loan to exist that long.  "Go ahead. 
Tickle me all you want.  I've shot my load."

   "Which should make you super ticklish," Benny observed.  He brushed the
tips of his fingers along Tommy's ribs as if tinkling a xylophone, and the
music that erupted from Tommy's throat was proof of his skill and his
knowledge.

   "How?  How the fuck did you know that?" Tommy asked, too surprised and
too exhausted to curb his language in front of the four boys.  Besides,
what did it matter considering what these four had done?

   "Benny knows all sort of sex stuff," Bobby observed, looking at his
brother proudly.

   Tommy hadn't noticed but at some point the ten-year-old boy had stripped
naked.  Even more surprising was the fact that the boy was erect, the
four-foot-four, sixty-four-pound boys' slender little three-inch penis
jutting up obscenely from his smooth pubes.  Tickle torturing him had
turned the boy on!  He bent over and nibbled on Tommy's ribs, sending Tommy
into a new fit of laughter.  Continuing up to his still erect nipples he
flicked his tongue at them like a snake causing his victim to scream with
laughter and arousal.  The yellow powder, made from rice flour mixed with
the ground rind of Bael fruit had sort of a lemony flavour.  Slipping his
lips about Tom's irritated nipple, Bobby sucked eagerly on the bright
yellow nipple.

   "Besides," said one of the twins, tossing back his long, blond hair
streaked with a multiple of dyes as he ran his hands along a very obvious
bulge in his multi-stained shorts, "you have to bring each of us off yet."
He bent over and swept his long, fine hair over Thomas's thighs as his twin
brother swept his blond hair along Thomas's exposed sole.

   "Noooooohohohoho!  Bohohohohoho!  Boyhehehehehes!  Ahahahahaha." As the
fine, silky hair brushed against his super senstive thighs and soles Thomas
felt his flaccid cock begin to rise again.  God no!  Once again he was
attacked by four pairs of hands, thirty-two nimble fingers and eight thumbs
skipping across his ribs, tweaking his overly sensitive nipples, and along
tenderized thighs now super sensitive after his ejaculation.  His nipples
and his cock quickly became rigid and the four boys attacked them with
fingers, lips and tongues, nibbling on his burning, erect nipples as they
skipped their fingers through the fine hair patch covering his chest and
followed the trail down the centre of his torso to his belly button where
they paused to tongue the depression until their victim was howling with
laughter and his stiff cock was wagging its disapproval.  Of course they
could not resist tonguing the rim of his exposed nine-inch cock, sending
him into further convulsions.  He was not the only one erect, and the twins
snuggled up to him and rubbed their stiff five-inch teenage cocks against
his irritated nipples, sending shocks of desire through the irritated
flesh. Benny ran his stiff little cocklet along Thomas's thighs, sending
him into a quivering fit and resulting in howls of laughter.  Bobby
straddled the heaving, gasping man and rubbed the tip of his stiff little
cocklet against Thomas's blood-engorged knob, causing a thick droplet of
pre-cum to ooze out of the slit.  Bobby smeared it over Thomas's swollen
glans with the tip of his cock, coating his ruddy plum-like knob with the
man's slimy juice.  The eroticism of his act caused another thick droplet
of cum to ooze out of his pee slit.

   "Now, about the length of time Dad has to pay back the loan," began
Brent.

   "Anything.  Anything you want," gasped Thomas.  "Just stop with the
tickling and the fucking around."

   "Anything we want?" asked Brent, running his long, slender fingers along
Thomas's ribs as his brother's fingers began to do a butterfly dance in
Thomas's hairy right armpit.

   "Ahahahahahaha!  Yesssssssssss!  Ahahahahhaha.  Bubububububoys!  Oh
fucking hell!  No more!"

   "You want us to bring you off again?" asked Bobby, slipping a hot little
hand about Thomas's swollen, deeply veined cock and giving it a light,
gentle stroke.

   "Oh fuck yes!  Yes!" Under normal circumstances he'd never consider
having sex with young boys, but these were not normal circumstances, and
these were not normal boys.

   "Before we do, about the collateral-," began Brent.

   "Enough!  I can't give your father anything more."

   From behind the float came a bray like a hyena, a hyena overdosed on
Viagra.  "Ahahahahaha!  Holy fucking shit!  Hohohohoho!  Boihoihoihoiboys!
I cahahahahahan't.  Ahahahahaha.  All right!  I'll do whaahahahahat ever!"

   "So you'll agree the collateral should-."

   "Yes!" Thomas interrupted.  "Fuck the details.  Whatever you say!"

   "And you'll let me fuck your ass?" Benny asked.  They had Thomas on his
back with his legs raised over his head and his buttocks in the air.  Benny
was kneeling behind him and grinning down at him from between his legs.  He
prodded Thomas's asshole with his stiff prong.

   "Yes, yes!" Thomas gasped.

   "And you'll blow us?"

   Thomas had no idea which of the twins had asked.  They were identical
right down to their balls and stiff teenage cocks.  They were fourteen for
Godsake and he was a thirty-five-year-old man.  He couldn't-. 
"Ahahahahahhaha!" he bellowed.  "I'm aahahahaha!  Fuck yes!"

   "And you and me can have a foreskin fuck," Bobby said with a wide,
boyish grin.

   Thomas had no idea what that meant, but at that point he'd have agreed
to fuck the ogress Holika.  And so he lay there with his legs raised above
his head as Benny, his carefully-combed, spiked hair in disarray and
streaked with assorted colours and his face blotched with red, green and
orange dye, grasped his upraised legs with his blue-stained fingers and
sank his slender, four-inch twelve-year-old cock up his asshole.  As the
boy began to thrust his hips to and fro, Brent and Brett knelt on either
side of Thomas's head and leaning forward they dangled their cum-filled
teenage balls in his face.  Flushed with lust and aching to get off another
load, Thomas inhaled deeply and the nutty fragrance of their sweaty,
teenage balls abolished any doubts and hesitancy about what he was expected
to do.  He remembered his own lust at that age and what it was like to have
hot teenage hormones pulsating through his veins and his blood-engorged
cock and he stuck out his tongue and licked the salty sweat from the pair
of balls dangling above his face.  His mouth quickly filling with saliva,
he basted first one pair of young balls and then the other with his spittle
and then sucked his saliva, now flavoured with teenage ball sweat, back
into his mouth and swallowed.  As first one twin and then the other
presented his stiff, slender cock to him he eagerly ran his tongue up the
shafts of the two identical cocks and swirled his tongue about the knobs of
the two boys, their foreskins having pealed back to form a collar about
their knobs.

   His own knob was being attacked by a hot, eager mouth, ten-year-old
Bobby eagerly swirling his tongue over the blood-engorged knob and
delighting in the perverse taste and sliminess of pre-cum.  His hot, wet
tongue of course resulted in a third globule of pre-cum to ooze out of
Thomas's cock and Bobby quickly lapped it up.  Straddling the prostrate man
with his muscular, hairy legs raised on either side of him, Bobby sat on
his heaving belly and taking his stiff cock in one hand and his own stiff
dicklet in the other, he shuffled into position until the tips of their
cocks met and Thomas discovered what the boy meant by foreskin fucking. 
Stretching open his foreskin he slowly stretched it over Thomas's
circumcised knob as far as he could, and holding it there, he began to bump
the tip of his cock against Thomas's.  It had been Benny who had discovered
docking on the Internet and who'd first tried it with his kid brother,
first one and then the other pealing back his foreskin while the other
stretched his over the exposed knob.

   As the blood pulsated through his aching cock and he felt the pressure
of ejaculation building up in this loins, Thomas could not believe what was
happening.  There he was, a thirty-five-year-old Harvard graduate and one
of NYC-Sydney Corporation's leading lawyers, laying naked on his back with
his legs thrown up over his head in Smokey Oval Park, his body smeared a
rainbow of colours, a twelve-year-old youngster eagerly humping his ass,
his face beaming with pleasure as he thrust his slender cocklet in and out
of his asshole while he sucked on the boy's twin brothers' stiff, throbbing
cocks and their kid brother bounced on his belly, his stiff cock sheathed
by the boy's foreskin and the tips of their cocks repeatedly touching and
his oozing pre-cum coating the other boy's knob.

   That was as erotic as it was perverse and he felt his balls tightening
and the pressure rapidly building in his loins.  From the erratic thrusting
and the gasping and grunting of the twelve-year-old boy fucking his ass and
the throbbing of the two teenage cocks now pressed against each other and
both in his mouth, it was evident the three boys were approaching the same
peak as he was.

   "I'm going to cum," gasped one of the twins.

   "Me too," panted his brother.

   "So am I," Benny gasped excitedly.  "And this time I think I'm gonna
squirt!  I really am!"

   "Ungh, huh, grunnngh," gasped Bobby as he wiggled erratically on
Thomas's stomach.

   Benny grasped Thomas's ass and thrust his hips forward as he arched his
back, his smooth pubes pressed against Tom's buttocks, and he groaned and
grunted as loud as Bobby as he climaxed.  To his disappointment it was
another dry orgasm, but the powerfulness and pleasure of his climax made up
for it.  The twins meanwhile inhaled sharply as they came, the two of them
filling Thomas's mouth with their watery teenage cum.  As Thomas swallowed
their hot milk he felt his balls constrict and his own cum begin to gush up
the core of his cock.  Still encased in Bobby's foreskin, it filled the
young boy's sheath and flooded over his cherry knob as he quivered and
bucked with his own dry orgasm.  Swallowing the hot teenage cum directly
from the two throbbing faucets in his mouth and feeling Benny's smooth
pubes pressing against his backside while his young cocklet throbbed hotly
up his rectum as Bobby's hot, slender fingers milked his thick, stiff cock,
Thomas was dizzy with the raw sexuality of the four boys and his own
ejaculation.  The release of the tension that had been built up by the
boys' tickling and foreplay had been awesome, and immensely satisfying.  As
his thick, hot cum was milked out of his balls and over Bobby's slender
cocklet and tight little hairless nuts, he wondered what his wife and own
ten-year-old son would think if they could see him now.  What he'd just
done slowly sank into his sex-numbed mind.  "Oh fucking shit," he sighed

   "I simply can't believe it," Barry said for the tenth time that hour as
they boarded their plane to fly back home the next day.  He shook his head
in disbelief.  "Barrington was actually very much in favour of the idea
right from the start." He had told Brenda that for at least the fourth
time. "He was nowhere near as tough a negotiator as I'd heard, nor as
informed.  He had some very strange concepts about Canada actually," he
observed, glancing over at Bobby in particular.

   "Hey, you know these Americans," Bobby said innocently.  "They all have
some weird ideas about Canada."

   "Tell us again what happened," Brent said, knowing it would earn him
brownie points, and besides, it would distract his dad from whatever
suspicious thoughts his father was thinking about Bobby, which was probably
best for all of them.

   "Like I already said, when I told them I'd be tickled if they accepted
my proposal, Barrington got a very strange look on his face, just like you
said he would," Barry observed, looking over at Benny.  "It seemed like
every time I said the word tickle it unnerved him."

   "Yeah, well, it's just something Bobby first noticed at the cocktail
party," he observed, giving credit where credit was due.  Brent jabbed his
younger brother in the ribs with his elbow and gave him a disgusted look
for drawing their father's attention back to Bobby.  Barry looked at his
youngest son and sure enough was about to ask just how he'd found that out,
but remembering the circumstances under which he'd had a conversation with
Thomas Barrington he decided it best to not ask.

   "Maybe he wasn't feeling well," Brenda observed.  "When he joined us at
the end of the celebrations in the park yesterday he looked very flushed."

   "Yes, he did.  Very flushed," Barry agreed.  Even in his casual clothes
he'd appeared very proper and reserved at the beginning of the
celebrations, the typical Harvard lawyer, but when he and their sons had
reappeared toward the end he looked a total mess, his clothes stained and
dishevelled and half undone, and his face flushed and a myriad of colours,
his nose a bright red, and a wet spot down the back of his trousers.

   "I hope he won't be in too much trouble with his bosses for being so
generous," Brenda observed.

   "Oh, I wouldn't be too worried," Barry replied, reaching over and
putting his arm around his wife and giving her a hug.  "I'm sure he'll be
able to take it.  He's a big boy."

   "He sure is," Bobby observed appreciatively, drawing the attention of
both parents besides his three brothers to himself.  "Ah, well, he's, you
know, what, two hundred pounds, and like, way over six feet tall."

   "Right, he's even heavier and taller than you, Dad," Brett observed,
coming to his kid brother's assistance, knowing that was not what Bobby had
been thinking of.

   "Besides, he just met a superior negotiator," Brent pointed out, and his
three brothers quickly agreed.  "Three cheers for Dad."

   "Yea Dad!  Yea Dad!  Yea Dad!" the four of them cheered as they headed
down the aisle, causing everyone on the plane to turn and look, and Barry
to turn as red as Thomas Barrington had turned the previous afternoon.

   "They're right, dear," Brenda said as they sat down.

   Actually she needn't have been concerned about Thomas Barrington.  Tom
too had thought after all the concessions he'd made at the meeting that if
he wasn't fired on the spot he'd be in for a severe reprimand and maybe
even relegated to negotiate minor contracts normally given junior lawyers,
but instead he was told by NYC-Sydney Corporation's CEO to take the rest of
the day off and to take his wife and son out for a special treat at the
expense of the corporation, and that he could expect an extra little
something in his next paycheck.  Apparently the son of the Executive
Chairman had a miraculous turnaround in attitude, which the Chairman
attributed directly to the Brewster brothers, and he was pleased and
particularly impressed with Thomas's intuitiveness in seeing that on Sunday
and rewarding the boy's father accordingly.

   He would never know the truth, that in reality Thomas had made the
concessions because he'd given his word to the four boys, and even though
he'd thought it would likely cost him his job, he was a man of his word and
would not go back on his promise.  Besides, the boys had a guarantee he
would keep his word-a ten-year-old boy's pair of briefs stained with the
semen of a ticklish Harvard lawyer.  Barry would never know the truth
either.  However, as he studied his boys huddled together across the aisle
as Benny told them about a special mile high club he'd read about on the
Internet, though he had no idea how, he suspected that they were just as
responsible for his success as he'd been. 
_________________________________________________________________ Try
Chicktionary, a game that tests how many words you can form from the
letters given.  Find this and more puzzles at Live Search Games! 
http://g.msn.ca/ca55/207

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