Date: Tue, 26 Feb 2008 23:10:15 -0500
From: J.J. <jjjanicki@gmail.com>
Subject: Austin and Stephanie's Story-chapter 3

The following chapter very definitely contains sexual situations involving
young teens. So of course if this offends you or if for any reason you
shouldn't BE here in the first damn place, please, I beg of you, go away!

And thank you for doing this. So OK, now this is for the everybody else.
This chapter (which is by far the long-est chapter I should ever submit)
might not on the surface seem to be a story involving incest, but since Seth
is happily reading it to his half-sister Stephanie, there IS a very strong
possiblity this will lead... well, pretty much to where Seth HOPES it leads.
But it would be a lot less complicated if I were to get to THAT after the
story started below runs it's course. And it might ALSO seem that this story
is in no way bisexual, but Austin will read it as well, and then HIS
reaction will lead to... somewhat unexpected places. (What? Do you want me
to give everything away right NOW?)

But the biggest reason this chapter is so lo-ong is that it's not until the
3rd installment of Seth's story that things really start getting
interesting. But Seth's first chapter is needed to explain exactly how
Jeremy ends up Renee's basement in the first damn place, then the 2nd
chapter explains their motivation(s). And I think chapters 1 and 2 will be
fairly entertaining as well. Or at least I certainly HOPE so. But at any
rate, (and without any further ado either) we now will go directly into
Seth's story. First comes his soon to be torrid affair with Amy (who really
does bear a striking resemblance to Stephanie) and then... ahem. I said
"Without any further ado" didn't I? So OK then. I hope you enjoy it. Honest.



                    Austin and Stephanie's Story
                            chapter three


On Thursday January 14th, Amy asked me to play Uno with her in the patient's
lounge. Around eleven, which is after most everybody else will be in bed
asleep. Trying my best to be nonchalant, I ask what she'll be wearing, not
that it matters, but...

She said "I'll wear my nightie with a robe over it, of course. It's more
comfortable that way."

I decide to wear my gym shorts, reasoning that if I was unashamed of my
legs, she might not be ashamed of her's either. But I didn't want to appear
lecherous.

That night was a complete disaster, as she kept her robe tightly clasped
about her the whole time. Possibly that's why before the night was over, I
felt almost like an exhibitionist even though there really was no reason to
feel that way. Well, I suppose my gym shorts are perhaps a little baggy from
repeated washings, so certainly she saw more of my legs than I saw of hers,
but I guess the biggest reason for my discomfort was I had a feeling she
KNEW of my evil intentions to look at her legs. And so after a short period
of time, I retired to my room in shame. And at that point I was sure I had
totally fucked things up.

Shortly after lunch the next day she asked if I was trying to avoid her and
was I going to play Uno with her that night. She also hoped I'd end up
staying around a little longer than I had the night before. So apparently I
hadn't totally messed things up after all.

So that night I did play Uno with her, but I was fully clothed. Only she was
in a playful mood and kept trying to push my pants legs up and my socks
down. She said she wanted to see my legs.

I said, "You saw my legs last night and you didn't seem very interested."

"Well, last night I had a headache" she replied.

"Oh. I'm sorry. But you've seen my legs already. And I haven't seen your
legs at all." (That night her robe wasn't so tightly clasped but even so, it
was still very much in place.)

"Well, you're not going to see them."

"That's not fair."

"All right then, I'll let you see my knees if that'll make you happy."

"Well, that's certainly a step in the right direction."

She bit her lip in what appeared to be deep thought for a moment or so, then
said, "Oh, all right." Then, quick as a flash, she pulled her robe up past
her knees, then just as quick, back down again.

Then she asked, "How did they look?"

"I'm not really sure, but they looked sort of interesting I guess." But she
made no move to flash her knees at me again. So finally I put both feet back
up on the couch and faced her. (We were sitting at opposite ends of a small
couch, and I'd removed my feet from the couch when she kept messing with my
pants legs.) "Why don't you just put your feet up on the couch like this and
then let me have one more GOOD look. Give me time to at least get my eyes
focused."

"I'm afraid not" she said, "You might see more than just my knees."

"YOU probably saw a little more than just my knees last night."

"Oh, you have no idea! It was cute though."

I looked at her for a moment. She had this smile on her face. Finally I
asked her, "What... was cute?"

Then Bob, the male counselor on duty, walked by and exchanged pleasantries.
"You kids up awfully late aren't you?"

"Not sleepy" said Amy.

"Well, we  better not have to drag you  out of bed tomorrow, or should I say
later this morning? You two don't stay up all night and keep your hands to
yourselves, you hear?"

"Yeah, see you" said Amy.

We played Uno until Bob returned to command central, then I asked her again,
"What... was cute?"

"So you want to see my legs, huh?"

"Oh yes! But WHAT-"

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"About what?"

"My legs, silly."

"I won't. Let me see them."

"Well, not tonight. Tomorrow night I'll remember to wear my nightie under my
robe. Then I'll let you see my legs, IF you have enough nerve to wear your
gym shorts. I like your legs."

So now I had two things to wonder about; just what WAS she wearing
underneath her robe and also what she saw that was so cute; but
unfortunately she was about to call it a night.

"Well" she said, "see you at breakfast. Nighty night." She paused. "Oh by
the way, tomorrow night maybe you ought to check your underwear. I mean last
night it was pretty loose. Well, bye bye."

I just looked at her. I was speechless! I thought about it later. Oh, I
thought about it and thought about it and I just don't know WHAT she saw.
She MIGHT have been making it all up, then again, maybe... Oh NO! Well, I
was sure going to check real close from now on. And what did she mean by
CUTE? What kind of girl WAS she?

But actually I suppose cute is better than gross though.


Sat Jan 16.. 6:30 came a lot sooner than I had hoped, only then I remembered
I was that much closer to tonight, so I didn't mind so much.

I didn't share with the group today. Neither did Amy.


Sun Jan 17.. It is early a.m., but I can't go to sleep yet, so I guess I'll
discuss our just completed Uno session.

In case you're interested, we really did play Uno, by the way. We sat facing
each other on the couch. She didn't keep her robe clutched tightly about
her, but for awhile I still wasn't seeing much even what I did see was
certainly more interesting than her knees. She has very nice legs, slender
and tan, but I was wishing I could see where the tan stopped. I figured I'd
wait until Bob made his round, then with the coast clear for an hour, I'd
mention that I was supposed to see a lot more than I had seen up till then.
I was almost sure of it. At the very least I was supposed to see her legs up
to her nightie, and I THOUGHT I was supposed to see her nightie as well.

At last Bob made his round. Pleasantries were exchanged, none of which are
memorable enough to reprint. Five minutes passed. I cleared my throat once
or twice, but didn't say anything. Just how revealing WAS her nightie? I was
at a loss for words though. Obviously.

Then SHE mentioned her nightie. "About my nightie" she said.

"Yes?"

"You know that's what I sleep in."

"So?"

"So what do you sleep in?"

What did what I slept in have to do with her nightie? What was she  getting
at?

"Well, what do you sleep in?" repeated Amy.

It was then that it finally dawned on me that she was in the process of
saying she wanted me out there in what I slept in before I could see her in
what SHE slept in. So I'd put a stop to that line of reasoning once and for
all. "I sleep in my underwear" I said.

"If you want to see me in what I sleep in, I have to see you in what you
sleep in."

"O what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive." But I
just didn't want her to know I wore pajamas, that's all. So I just assumed
if I told her I slept in my underwear, she'd drop the subject, but nooo. I'm
sure glad I didn't say I slept naked.

At any rate, I admitted that I didn't REALLY sleep in JUST my underwear, I
also wore gym shorts. She was LOOKING at what I slept in. It didn't work.
She wanted me in my underwear.

"Uh uh!" I said, "You're crazy! I can NOT sit out here in my damn underwear.
What if Bob-"

Amy interrupted. "Bob or whoever won't be back for almost an hour."

"No! It's too big a risk!... Ok, I confess then. I wear pajamas." I was
really desperate.

But she wouldn't believe me! She was stuck on seeing me in my underwear! So
we argued awhile, until at last she went "Oh, all right! You got a robe?"

I knew what she was thinking, and I didn't want to do that either. But then
I had an idea. It really wasn't a good idea, but at least I thought it was
an improvement on HER idea. It just so happened that I had another pair of
gym shorts in my suitcase, only these had a rip up one side right up to my
waist, so if I wore them she could sure see my underwear all right, but the
ripped side would be facing the back of our couch, so I'd look almost normal
from the hallway if someone else happened by.

Well, she finally said ok to that and once I changed, she would open her
robe and I could look to my heart's content, not a quick open and shut, so I
guess I got something out of the bargaining after all.

She is warped. But then so am I, I guess.

Her nightie is white. Not transparent. Spaghetti straps. She has nicely
sculpted brown shoulders. The nightie has a low neck line although it isn't
all THAT low. I mean I saw some cleavage but not a whole lot. But she
obviously wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were jiggling around a little
when she moved. They're not huge, but they're way past budding. It was nice
playing Uno and her not concerned that I was looking. But of course it
didn't take long until I had a boner. She pretended not to notice, but she
knew I knew she knew.

I didn't get a good side view, but I could still tell that she doesn't have
a tan all over. Her nightie is a two-piece. The top comes down to just above
her navel. She has a cute navel. The bottom isn't exactly a bikini but it's
close enough. I could see the bottom of her cheeks. No tan there. Real
white. It looked SO soft and pliable and I wanted so badly to touch... but I
shouldn't torture myself like this. Heck, I sure never saw that much looking
up Heidi's skirt in French class, no way. I couldn't see any hair, but I HAD
to be close. I could see the boundary of her v even. I wonder if she shaves
it there? She probably does. It was awfully hard to concentrate on Uno, it
really was. It was hard to choose exactly where to look. But finally I
settled on her breasts because I was hoping to see more than she may have
bargained for. I could already see the outline of her nipples.

So I concentrated very hard on Uno. Finally I drew a wild card. That was
good. Next turn, I threw it. She leaned over to draw from the deck. She had
to draw from the deck because of that wild card, you see. She has very nice
breasts. That really doesn't do justice to them. I'd guess they were about
34s, nicely rounded, firm yet jiggly. And I saw her nipples!! Amy very
casually mentioned that there was a wet spot on my undershorts. I was very
surprised to hear that. Well, I was surprised that she would mention it.


Sun Jan 17.. Oh by the way. Last night I asked Amy, "How do you feel about
my writing you a sex story?" I said it might take four or five days to
finish it. It would be like a serial. Well, guess what, she said it sounded
like fun. All right! I'll get on with it then.

                      o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Sun Jan 17.. The story. Part I.

It was in the early hours of Saturday morning May 14th and Jeremy Mauvais
had a very serious problem. Put simply, three large, intoxicated red necks
wanted to kill him. Now Jeremy could understand how they might be upset,
since it was mostly his fault that they ran into a telephone pole. He didn't
know how much damage there was though, because he hadn't stuck around long
enough to find out.

It had all started out innocently enough when Jeremy and three friends;
Michael, Yong and P.K.; were camping out. I should say that SOUNDS innocent,
because the simple fact was that when Jeremy and his friends camped out, it
was almost never innocent. At fourteen they had for some time graduated from
camping out for the sheer joy of roasting marshmallows, telling stories of
psychopathic ax-murderers and being eaten alive by mosquitoes and chiggers.
No sir, at fourteen all they wanted to do was raise mortal hell.

More often than not, the first ritual of camping out was to see just how
drunk they could get. On Friday night, May 13TH, Michael supplied a fifth of
vodka lifted earlier after a party his folks had. Yong supplied the orange
juice and mixing expertise.

But none of them were veteran guzzlers, which is why when at first none of
them felt all that intoxicated, the others started bitching at Yong. Yong
really thought he'd mixed it a little on the strong side, if anything, but
maybe if they were to run or something, then what alcohol was in their blood
streams would get circulated quicker.

"Well shit. Let's race then" said Jeremy.

So they did, and in no time at all the alcohol was well circulated. Why,
their feet flew on air, all by themselves, their heads were zooming to the
stars, their hands... where WERE they? Oh, THERE they were... yes, the
alcohol was very well circulated, in fact, once Michael managed to untangle
himself from the jumbled maze of arms and legs (they had a wreck); it seemed
to be coming out of his ears even. And so before long Michael and Yong were
finished for the night. Yong did manage to reach the campsite, Michael ended
up in a ditch.

Originally the gang of four had planned to blockade Lakeshore Road with
metal milk crates borrowed from a nearby supermarket. Lakeshore Road wasn't
in their neighborhood, but they had discovered the perfect spot for placing
the barricade, just beyond the crest of a hill. That location would produce
better sound effects, as the unsuspecting drivers would have time to lock
their brakes before the crashing and clanging. The modest pile of purloined
milk crates had been hidden in a patch of woods overlooking the hill. Well,
they decided that whether Michael and Yong pussied out or not they were
still going to set the barricade in place, and with that in mind, they
wobbled on down the road.

They sat up the barricade, but it was very disappointing. For one thing,
there was little traffic on Lakeshore at that time of night. It hardly
seemed there should be, as there were no houses on that stretch of road,
although there was a fairly new subdivision about half a mile beyond the
woods. For another thing, they had erected their barricade too far beyond
the crest of the hill, so the two cars that passed by had time to stop
before running over the crates, although they left some nice skid marks. The
drivers had jumped out cussing up a storm, kicked the barricade aside and
drove on. Jeremy and P.K. then slipped out of the woods where they lurked
and as swiftly as was possible, re-erected the thing.

After the second car didn't hit their barricade, they decided to move it
closer to the crest, oh, to about two feet or so before the skid marks
ended. They were only six crates from completion of that task when P.K.
muttered thickly that he had to go to the bathroom and he wandered off in
the direction of the woods, never to be seen again, at least not in this
story.

Jeremy muttered to himself that P.K. was just pussying out like the other
two. He lugged two more milk crates into place. They weren't heavy and only
had to be moved a few feet, but being profoundly under the influence, he
grew petulant.

"Hey, goddammit! I'm not doing all this shit by myself!"

No answer.

He reiterated.

Still no answer.

"Well, shit on it!" and he kicked the barricade, then hopped around saying
stuff like "Fuck! Muther fucking son of a bitch shit ass candy ass muther
fucker!" which doesn't make much sense, but then, even if completely sober,
one seldom makes much sense after losing one's temper and kicking a stack of
metal milk crates.

Still no answer from P.K., so he decided he really WOULD shit on the
barricade, only before an actual movement was begun, it occurred to him that
he had nothing to wipe himself with, and so it was that he was just reaching
for his pants bunched up at his ankles when the pickup roared over the crest
of the hill, bearing right down on him. He had an involuntary movement right
then and there, he just went poop poop and he peed on his pants while he was
at it. And that's one more reason why you shouldn't drink, especially if
you're underage.

Had the driver had time to reconsider, he probably would have just slap run
over Jeremy and that would have been that, for he certainly had no use for
punks who set up milk crate barricades in the road and he very definitely
had no use for being mooned. But as it was, reflex action took control and
he savagely jerked his wheel to the side and stood on his brakes for all he
was worth. The next few terrifying split-seconds were filled with sounds of
screeching tires, metallic crashing and clanging then a big WHUUMMP along
with rending metal and breaking glass as the candy apple red 88 Ford Ranger
pickup with huge mudder tires plowed into a ditch and then into a telephone
pole.

Really, it was very fortunate that Jeremy wasn't run over in spite of reflex
action, seeing as how the three good ol' boys inside the truck were pretty
well lit themselves. Well, the crash shook them up just a bit, but they were
mobile and hostile. While the wreck was in progress, Jeremy had stood there
transfixed. Then the cussing started and this one guy was reaching for a
deer rifle in the back window, so he turned to flee only at first he fell
flat on his face because of his pants still being down at his ankles. Had it
been necessary, he would have kicked the damn things off, but fortunately he
quickly got them pulled back into place before running for his life. And it
soon became very clear that he really WAS running for his life as aside from
the large person with the deer rifle, another had what looked like a .357
Magnum, and the other a large hunting knife. And they were EXTREMELY
hostile. They spilled out of that truck saying just UNIMAGINABLE things, in
fact the one with the knife screamed that  he would cut Jeremy's fucking
balls off and shove them down his mutherfucking throat. So Jeremy didn't ask
if he really and truly meant that, no, he ran like he had never run before
into the woods.

He'd never ventured more than a few scant yards into those woods in his
life, and it was a darker than normal night, being heavily overcast.
Fortunately, neither had his pursuers. But UNfortunately his enemies were
experienced coon hunters and used to racing through strange woods at night.
But they had started off without their light, so by the time one of them
could go back and fetch it, Jeremy had managed to put a little distance
between himself and his impending doom.

There is nothing like the fear of death to sober a person up. For better
than fifteen minutes he ran and ran and ran some more. He may well have run
in circles, since it certainly shouldn't have taken that long to escape from
the woods, yet after fifteen minutes Jeremy; his breath coming in tearing
gasps, his legs turning to rubber; was still IN the woods. He was running in
circles. He had to be. And he was also running into things. He collided
head-on with a pine tree. Knocked him flat, but he got up and kept running.
All the while he could hear those drunken pissed off red necks crashing
through the underbrush behind him, cursing the briers and BLAMING the briers
and low overhanging limbs and losing their light all on HIM; and they seemed
to be drawing ever closer in spite of his efforts. He KNEW about the briers,
they were everywhere, in fact he had crashed headlong through one patch that
no sane person would have considered for even a single instant; HE would not
have considered going through THAT had he not just blindly run into it. He'd
almost gotten hung up but somehow he managed to fight his way through. From
that patch of briers alone there had to be over fifty, maybe 100 angry red
scratches trickling blood from the top of his head to the bottom of one foot
as somewhere he had lost one of his Air Jordons and the sock that went with
it. Worse were his face and chest, but almost no part of his body was
entirely unscathed, not even his legs; although at least his pants offered a
little protection. Had he lost his PANTS, well, that was too awful to even
consider. He had lost his shirt, at least for all practical purposes, as it
was in tatters.

He dodged more briars and then tripped over a small fallen tree and fell
face first into a mud puddle. He scrambled to his feet again and kept going,
although in light of the damage he was inflicting on himself, he almost had
to wonder if he might not be better off trying to reason with his pursuers.
He HAD to consider that, for they were drawing ever closer and he was
slowing. His breath was coming in the previously mentioned ragged, tearing
gasps. It was becoming ever harder to force himself on, especially since it
seemed no use, they were still gaining! They seemed only a few short feet
behind him! Wildly, he considered what he would do when cornered, for it
seemed inevitable that he would be. He hoped if it came to that, he could
force himself to charge the one with the knife and just get it over with.
One quick stab and it would be over. He hoped.

But then one of his drunken pursuers snagged his nose on yet another brier
and he screamed out, "BOY, WHEN I CATCH YOU I'LL SPLIT YOU OPEN FROM YOUR
ASS HOLE UP TO YOUR NOSE! I'M GONNA DO IT REAL SLOW BOY! OH, YOU GONNA
WIGGLE BOY! YOU GONNA WISH YOU COULD DIE!"

Fresh adrenalin flooded through Jeremy and he ran like the wind. Yet after
only a few minutes, it STILL seemed no use. They were still GAINING on him.
By then he could hear their ragged breath. They must be right behind him! At
any second, a big hairy arm would clamp on his shoulder and it would be too
late. Gasping wrenchingly for breath, his head spinning, he felt an icy claw
of terror in his stomach, and it grew with a terrible, implacable certainty.

But then with Jeremy mere seconds from their view, the knife brandisher
tripped over an exposed tree root and with a guttural scream, fell heavily
on his weapon.

Whew!

Momentary confusion reigned. "Oh, Lordy! Billy Randolph done cut himself
bad, Billy Bob!"

Billy Randolph was dying. He knew it. Still, through blood flecked droll he
gurgled, "Billy Bob! Neville!- URK- Promise me you won't let that little
bastard get away! Promise me!!"

"Lord, we won't, Billy Randolph, but do you want us to tote you back to the
truck?" asked Billy Bob.

"GET 'IM!!" screamed Billy Randolph. And then he died.

The two survivors thrashed about in momentary confusion, then went back to
get Billy Randolph's knife, and while all that was going on, Jeremy suddenly
stumbled out of the woods into somebody's back yard.

Of course Billy Bob and Neville noticed the sudden silence up ahead, but
having no idea the wood's edge was so near, assumed he had taken refuge in
some underbrush or perhaps a tree. Yeah, well, soon enough he would make a
break for it, then they'd hear him and then before very long at all, they
would have him. Oh yes, and then they'd hang the little punk from a limb by
his ankles and commence to cutting. Well, after they'd had a little fun,
they would. They'd seen that white ass all righty and who was he going to
tell about it anyhow? Oh, they'd get him, they just needed to catch their
breath, that's all.

Meanwhile, Jeremy discovered what he hoped would be a safe hiding place. As
he stumbled towards the rear of a large brick house, he spotted an open
window at ground level.

"It must be a basement", he thought.

Cautiously he lowered himself down into the darkness. Unfortunately, he
wasn't cautious enough and his leg brushed against what later proved to be a
lamp and it went crashing to the floor. He cringed and stood very still,
hardly daring to so much as breathe, straining to hear any sound of movement
in the house. Finally, hearing nothing (at least for the moment), he very
carefully lowered the window, then slowly slid into a sitting position and
leaned back against the damp coolness of the concrete block wall. Slowly but
surely his gasping for breath was quieted. Although he felt relief, he still
was afraid to believe he was actually safe. He also realized that eventually
he would have to get out of that strange house, hopefully undetected. Each
night sound was magnified to be possibly the last one he would ever hear.
Even so, it wasn't long until the lingering effects of the chug-a-lugged
vodka, combined with understandable exhaustion and a relative feeling of
relief brought down the merciful curtain of unconsciousness.

                            TO BE CONTINUED

                      o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Sunday night, Jan 17.. Amy is not writing this damn story, I am. But I
decided to give in to her on one point. See, at first I had Jeremy only
attempting to hitch a ride and when the pickup went by, the occupants yelled
obscenities at him. So in reply he unwisely gave them the finger and the
chase was on. And originally the milk crate barricade was only mentioned as
one of the gang's favorite past times. Well, shit. Why not just reproduce
parts of our conversation?

Amy said the story was OK she guessed, but where was the sex? I said it was
going to eventually show up, but I needed to explain how he ended up in that
house passed out in the basement floor.

"Shit" said Amy, "the little candy ass hasn't even hardly done anything to
deserve being chased FOR!"

And that's when I decided to rewrite part of my story. Actually, I like it
better now, since it IS pretty difficult to imagine the red necks wanting to
torture Jeremy just because he shot them a finger although I'm sure that's
probably happened in New York. And come to think of it, in Atlanta. It
happens. But still, NOW I can see why my red necks might consider such
action, because if somebody made me wreck, well, I'd be pissed off too. Amy
also liked it much better as well, but...

"I STILL don't see any sex. So is something good going to happen in the
basement?"

"Uh huh, but I ain't saying what. It'll be clearer tomorrow night."

"Well, what happened to P.K.?"

"I don't know. I think he went to sleep in the woods."

Amy thought both Jeremy and P.K. should have been taking a shit out in the
middle of the street when the red necks roared over the hill. She actually
SAID "taking a shit".

So that's when I told her that she wasn't writing the story.

She stuck her tongue out at me, then added that both of them would have then
LOST their pants. In the woods!

I said no way, because I didn't want them to get damaged.

So she asked, "You don't want what damaged?"

I answered, "Oh, you know" and she couldn't get me to go into any further
detail. She tried, but I could not bring myself to do it. I cannot believe a
girl so achingly cute can talk the way she does and it still sort of
embarrasses me, but it also makes me stiff.

"Well, tell me this then" she goes, "Do they have big dicks?"

Now do you see what I mean? Of course I started blushing but finally allowed
as how Jeremy's was decent. I had no idea whatsoever about P.K.'s because he
wasn't even in the damn story anymore.

Then she wanted to know if Jeremy had a lot of hair.

I shrugged. I'm honestly not sure if she was referring to pubic hair or
hairy legs or what, but I sure was having trouble dealing with her actually
coming right out and asking about it.

But finally I guess she figured out that I wasn't going to really answer
that question either so she asked me how tall Jeremy was.

That I could deal with. "Oh, about 5-5 but he's real skinny; he only weighs
about a hundred; and he had blue eyes, blonde hair-"

She broke in with "You ain't even five feet tall and not only that, I bet
you don't weigh ninety pounds, much less a hundred."

"Well I'm not Jeremy!" I said right back. And I'm not.

"I'll bet" she answered.

She seemed to be deep in thought for awhile, then she seemed to brighten.
The NEXT time I see her do that, I'm moving across the room from her,
because all at once she scooted next to me, grabbed my arm, raised it and
peeked into my armpit! Sheesh!

Well, I was shocked. "WHAT are you trying to DO?" I asked her. At least I
used my Speed Stick. I sure hope it hadn't let me down.

"Just checking" she said. "I'm impressed! You got three of those little
muthers!"

Do you BE-LIEVE that girl? And so what if I've just started growing hair
under my arms? We all have to start from scratch, right?  And besides, I've
seen people older than me who DIDN'T have any underarm hair yet and I don't
know if it bothered them or not, but it sure shouldn't have, because sooner
or later it's going to start. But of course if some damn girl starts trying
to peek at it, well, THAT might just bother them.

Anyway, she talked some more about how she thought my story should go, then
allowed as how maybe Jeremy shouldn't lose his pants, at least not until he
got out of the woods.

She definitely has a sadistic streak though, plus a definite predilection
towards scatology. We were discussing how awfully painful it would be to go
crashing through a briar patch without your pants on and I suppose we were
testing our limits. Actually, she may have no limits for explicitness, at
least not with someone else's anatomy. So fine then, I was testing MY limits
and had just mentioned snagging your nuts.

Then she said, "Well, what if he caught a sticker up his slit?"

AWK. Amy won by default.

THEN things got REALLY weird. Like we discussed this back and forth for a
very long time, but I'll not bother with all the back and forth and just get
to the point. So here's the bottom line: Tomorrow night she wants me to wear
my gym shorts with the rip up one side again. (I wore my good gym shorts
tonight.) Now, she is not going to wear a top. That's right. No top. And no
bra. Topless. Sounds good, right? Except BENEATH my ripped shorts I am
expected to wear (you've probably already guessed this, even if you can't
really believe it)... nothing. That's what I said; NOTHING!

Of course at first I was all for her not wearing a top, and I still am, but
when I discovered that in exchange for that favor I was expected to wear my
ripped gym shorts without my underwear, I had to pass. I hated to do it, but
no.

So THEN she said OK, she'd be topless beneath her robe and of course she
would open her robe once in the patient's lounge AND she'd also be wearing a
G-STRING. She said it just covered her up front and that was about it. She
bought it at a head shop one time just as a gag but she had packed it and
she would wear it. And like I said, she would open her robe once the coast
was clear and let me look at her breasts and her red valentine shaped
G-string to my heart's content, but only if I wore those ripped gym shorts
without my underwear.

So eventually I said that I would.

I'm not sure if I really will do it or not. So far I have only changed my
mind about twenty times I guess and I can always change it again. (Right at
the moment I'm back to yes I will.) If I chicken out I suppose Amy will get
mad about it, so I guess... OH SHIT!!!


Monday, Jan 18 (early a.m.)... P.S.. Amy said she wants to be a witch. I'm
not kidding!


Monday, Jan 18 (too damn early) (but rise and shine).. Before getting back
to Jeremy passed out in somebody's basement, I just have to tell you about
the dream I had about an hour ago. It might be a warning.

At first the dream was looking like one of those wet dreams. I was in India
walking along by myself when I met up with this native girl. She looked a
lot like Amy, not exactly, but there was a striking resemblance. Anyway, we
hit it right off and before I knew it, she suggested we go swimming, as in
skinny dipping. Now, one weird thing about this dream is that I was like two
separate entities. I mean I was running toward this unseen lake just over a
hill, naked as a jaybird, but I was ALSO watching me run and both of us were
certainly hoping I got to frolic about and at least have SOME body-to-body
contact before the inevitable great roaring ocean squirted in my shorts. It
was almost like watching a movie. Well anyway, this girl was naked before I
knew it; I mean one instant she had her sarong on and the next thing I knew
she didn't; although I didn't SEE her get naked; and she was running behind
me. I can't really remember what she looked like or even if she had pubic
hair, but I was sure hoping to get a good look. We both were. The girl told
me there was a lake just beyond the hill and there would be a slight drop
off. She would race me. She was right behind me. She was definitely naked.
The ocean was beginning to roar. I jumped. I saw the lake. Slight drop off,
my ass! It HAD to be at least one thousand feet. And no, I didn't shoot off.

When I woke up in the middle of my fall, all I could think about; aside from
being very relieved it was only a dream; was did she jump? Or was it all a
trick? Just before I woke up, I recall trying to look back to see if the
girl was still behind me, hopefully expecting to survive the plunge, like
she did it all the time. Or was it just a terrible mistake? Or worse of all
possibilities, was she standing at the edge, looking down at me and laughing
her head off?

This obvious deep-seated distrust of the opposite sex is somewhat
unsettling. But of course it really could be nothing more than distrust of
would-be witches who want you sitting around in your ripped gym shorts with
no underwear, too.

                      o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Monday, Jan 18.. The story. Part II

At first he couldn't remember where he was, but then with a start of fear,
he remembered Billy Randolph, Billy Bob and Neville. He had been captured!
With that horrible thought in mind, he considered an investigation to
determine if any important body parts were missing. He was having some
trouble focusing his eyes, but as the fog slowly lifted, it seemed as though
he was in a lighted room.

A girl's voice cut through the fog. "Just don't make any sudden moves or
I'll shoot. And I'll do it too!" The voice trailed off.

SHOOT?? The fog was almost cleared away. He remembered the basement. Of
course the light hadn't been on, and there previously hadn't been a shotgun
pointed at his nose either. It was only about an inch away! And a girl was
holding the shotgun. Twelve, possibly thirteen; hard to tell actually. (She
was thirteen.) Cute... but... she was pointing a SHOTGUN in his face!

He studied the situation. The shotgun was not good, but the girl was
beautiful. And Jeremy was a very horny child, even in comparison to most
fourteen-year-old boys.

The girl was somewhat beyond the little girl stage, tan and slender with
straight black shoulder-length hair. She was seated on the floor, with her
left leg drawn up so as to support the 12 gauge shotgun with her knee. The
right leg was folded under in a lotus position. She had on a white cotton
night gown. He could not quite look away from the gun, but at the same time
he could not help but notice her tan slender legs. He could almost see ...
well, maybe he wasn't awake after all. He HAD to be dreaming! He shook his
head so as to clear it. Carefully. No... it was real! She was wearing aqua
blue panties with a can-can print. No, wait... they were possibly
hand-me-down droopy drawers and he could see a dark shadow of curly PUBIC
HAIR and her partially exposed pink LABIA! He could! A little was left to
his imagination, but not very much. He was in danger of becoming permanently
cross-eyed.

"Who are you, and why did you break into our basement? I should turn you
over to the police, you know."

Jeremy pondered. Obviously, the police HADN'T been called. At least not yet.
Also, it was apparent she was alone, else someone older would be holding the
shotgun on him. Someone younger would most likely be peeking around the
corner. He had no idea what time it was, but he guessed it had to be at
least three or four in the morning, so it really didn't seem likely anyone
older would be returning in the next couple of hours. Well, he didn't know
that for sure and that shotgun was possibly loaded, so he had best explain
and hope that would defuse the situation. So he told the belligerent girl he
was Jimmy Smith and was well into his story of how he was just walking down
Lakeshore Road, minding his own business, when three red necks in a pickup
passed by and one of them threw a half full can of beer at him and hit him
so he threw a rock at the truck and they turned around and tried to run him
down so he threw another rock through their windshield and so they ran into
a telephone pole and because of that they started chasing him through the
woods and so on when suddenly he stopped in mid-sentence with a very audible
gasp as the girl had shifted her position for comfort, and as a result her
left leg; the one supporting the shotgun; was even further out than before!
Even LESS was left to his imagination and he could almost-

"Well, go on, what's the matter?" asked the girl.

"Oh, it was just the pain, that's all" said Jeremy, which shouldn't have
been too awfully hard to imagine from his appearance. He really did look a
sorry sight at that with angry red cuts, welts and scratches all over his
face, chest and arms, mud caked from head to foot, his shirt in tatters and
practically gone, holes in both knees of his pants and missing one shoe and
one sock. His knees were badly scraped and he'd stubbed two toes. He SHOULD
have been in pain, very great pain, and he did feel twinges here and there
and just about everywhere else, but his attention had been distracted. That
girl would have made a good nurse. Unless possibly the patient suffered from
some sort of cardiac condition.

At the mention of pain, the girl's expression appeared to soften a bit. He
noticed this, so he allowed a pitiful whimper to escape his lips and though
he fought bravely to suppress it, yet another as well. Then clutching his
stomach, he collapsed to the floor. This was partially for dramatic effect,
but the view was also better. He guessed she had no idea just how much of
her anatomy was on display.

"Do you suppose you'll have to go to the hospital or something?" She had set
aside her gun and was kneeling beside the possibly mortally wounded boy. And
she also looked disappointed.

Jeremy was also disappointed until he noticed her breasts. Now THEY were
exposed! Pretty much, as her night gown was sleeveless and just a trifle
large on her. Her breasts weren't huge; they were small, still developing
actually, but they were coming along nicely. At least they wouldn't have
been mistaken for a boy's glandular condition. As she moved, her breasts
moved also with a slight bounce or quiver or possibly a jiggle. Whatever, it
was interesting. As shapes go, he supposed them to be semi-ski slope.
Slightly. Well, they were pretty close to conical to tell the truth, and he
could almost see her nipples! Then... he... DID... yes! YES!! He did see
them!! Yes, little brownish-red points and he wasn't sure if it was his
imagination or not, but they looked stiff. And so was he. Stiff, I mean.

The girl's name was Renee. Her adoptive parents were visiting an ailing
relative in West Virginia and wouldn't return until late Sunday night. She
had an older foster sister, Wanda Sue, who supposedly was "babysitting" her,
but in fact Wanda Sue had taken advantage of their parent's absence to visit
her boyfriend in Athens and wouldn't be back until early Sunday evening.
Renee knew what Wanda Sue was most likely up to, at least vaguely, but she
wouldn't tell. At thirteen she felt old enough to take care of herself.

Except she had wondered about that when the crashing lamp awakened her. For
a awfully long time she had lay there in her bed listening for another
sound. Should she call the police? But what if it was nothing, maybe a cat
or something, maybe it was only a dream, and what if the police made out a
report stating she was home by herself and they wanted her parents to sign
it? She had no idea what police reported if it was a false alarm. She kept
wondering and waiting and straining to hear something and debating; for
almost thirty minutes she had done this; then finally she decided to
investigate and there he was, sound asleep. In THEIR BASEMENT! He really
didn't look all that dangerous, only what in the WORLD had he been into? But
he HAD broken into her house, so she had the right to... do almost anything.

Her foster parents were obsessively religious and almost equally protective.
One of the things she was protected from was sex and the knowledge of it.
Wanda Sue had sabotaged some of her protective cocoon, so she wasn't caught
completely unaware of monthly periods, budding breasts and all that, even if
for awhile she had wondered if it would EVER happen for her. Well, it had
finally started, but what was it supposed to mean anyway? She knew a few
basic facts, but there was so much more not covered by the basic facts and
it seemed unlikely she would learn much on the subject at the Christian
academy she had to attend. She longed to be wicked. Well, just little. One
of her favorite fantasies involved a boy about her age who would break into
her house when she was all alone. Yes. She would surprise the boy and while
holding a gun on him, threaten to call the police. Of course the boy would
beg her not to do this. So she would finally relent and not call them just
as long as he did exactly what she said. She would then make him strip naked
so she could make sure he had no hidden weapons and see what he looked like.
Or possibly she would undress him herself. She'd seen two boys naked in all
her life. There was Wanda Sue's cousin, but he'd only been nine years old.
And she had been only nine at the time herself. So one day they were
wrestling around in the floor and evidently he forgot to wear his underwear
(or just didn't bother putting any on) and he was wearing khaki shorts like
Boy Scouts wear and she'd seen it. A couple of times. And she had seen her
next door neighbor naked. But that was when she was nine as well. (Her next
door neighbor had been ten.) But anyway, he'd talked her into playing doctor
with him. She saw him and he saw her. But unfortunately his older sister saw
them as well and then went and told on them. She got into a lot of trouble
because of that. Since then, she had never even seen a picture. (She seldom
visited the public library.) She had heard a little about bats and balls,
but on a boy around her age, EXACTLY what did they look like? She thought
she might play with the boy, although her fantasy got a little vague once
she had the boy undressed. She wasn't sure, but she might let the boy see
her. (Oh, she had no IDEA. She had intended to be tragically alluring, which
was why she hadn't slipped on her full-length house coat, but she simply had
no IDEA. Really, she didn't.) In her fantasy, she might even let the boy
touch her, maybe just a little. That was all. She had heard of going all the
way, but she didn't have the slightest intention of being THAT wicked.

Then there was the fantasy about the sick (or wounded) boy, in which she had
to give him a bath. But darn it all, he wasn't supposed to be so bad off he
had to go to a hospital!

Jeremy was propped on one elbow and clutching his stomach in obvious agony.
He hoped to elicit additional sympathy that way, although he certainly
didn't intend to go to no hospital, uh uh. He wasn't sure what he could
expect before the girl ordered him out of her house but he certainly
intended to look around as much as he could. Beyond that, if without saying
as much he could convince this  girl to maybe hold and comfort him, why that
would be nice. To that end he acted to the very best of his ability, even if
it was a bit melodramatic. While insisting that he was only suffering from
really painful but nevertheless superficial cuts and bruises and an upset
stomach, he appeared to be on the verge of dying. But it was to make sure
the girl didn't decide he should be hospitalized that he reached his
creative zenith. He related in great detail how his cruel, alcoholic
step-father would mercilessly whip him with a wet rope until he passed out
if he ever went NEAR a hospital. It seemed his brother had died unexpectedly
after minor surgery and his step-father had never forgiven the medical
profession. He rationalized that his little brother would never know he had
been dead and besides that, it was for a good cause.

Renee was deeply moved by the performance. Of course she was very happy to
learn that he couldn't possibly go to the hospital, but she didn't let on,
as after all, one has to keep up appearances.

"Well!" she said briskly, "I suppose we should do something about those
cuts. If we don't get you washed up, they could get infected." She paused,
as though deep in thought. "If only my parents were home..."

Jeremy also wished to appear concerned; I mean he surely didn't want to get
her in any sort of trouble, so when WERE her parents going to be back? She
told him. He had to turn his head for a few moments until he could look
unconcerned and not overjoyed.

"Well, let's get you up to the bathroom and out of those clothes. Do you
need any help walking?"

He wasn't sure he heard her right. Probably the impersonal we, except it
sure didn't sound that way. Only one way to find out, he guessed.

"I guess I'll need some help" he said weakly.

Somewhat awkwardly she helped him to his feet, placed his arm around her
shoulder so she could support his weight and eventually he was able to make
his painful way upstairs to the bathroom. She opened the door and switched
on the light, laughed nervously, took a deep  breath, and then advised her
patient what she was about to do.

"Well, we sure shouldn't have much trouble getting your shirt off. There
doesn't seem to be much left. Could you lift your arms?"

He raised his arms meekly. Darn! Her hands were trembling. She just couldn't
help it. Eyes downcast, she slipped the remains of his shirt over his head.
She wasn't sure where to look, but it sure did look like he had a big bat.
She glanced up into his wondering eyes, then decided to look at his chest
instead.

"You're really scratched bad!" she noted. (Why, you could see his ribs! Poor
thing!) "Well, I guess we've got to get your shoe off. Could you just sit
down on the edge of the tub a minute? What happened to the other shoe?"

He mumbled something, but she couldn't quite understand what. Maybe the pain
was getting worse. He sat down.

She laughed again, although she wasn't so obviously nervous. "Your feet are
dirty, you know that?"

"Umm" said Jeremy.

"Ok" she said in a businesslike manner. "Could you stand up again?"

He stood up. And HE was trembling! The pain must be awful. She sure hoped
she was doing the right thing. She took a deep breath. "Well, I guess we've
got to get these off..." Another deep breath, then quickly so as not to lose
her nerve, she unsnapped, unzipped, tugged and slid his pants down his legs
without actually looking; she was going to look, but then one does have to
appear proper.

He was standing as still as he could, scarcely daring to so much as even
breathe. This failure  to flex resulted in his suddenly losing his balance.
He really didn't mean to. Well, when she sensed that he was falling, her
reflexes took control and she looked up from his pants which she was just
then sliding down to his ankles. An instant later, he fell against her, his
rigid exclamation point leading the way with a jab to her forehead, almost
between her eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I mean I didn't mean to... uh... I mean you tripped me, I
didn't mean to..." He gave up, a flush of color coming to his face.

Renee, suddenly finding herself sitting in the floor, glanced up at the
strange protrusion that had knocked her down. Being restrained only by his
jockey shorts, it was very noticeable. And actually, it was on the verge of
escaping. See, the head was caught between the inner and outer flaps of his
fly. It's just a wonder it hadn't popped out. The reason it was straight out
instead of straight up was that at first it had been tucked in a downward
position, then it got hung up as it started to rise.

"Brother! He sure does have a bit bat!" she thought. It was a LOT bigger
than Wanda Sue's cousin's. At that moment she was more than a little
nervous, in fact, she wasn't sure if she wanted to continue.

Jeremy was more than just a little flustered himself, obviously, else he
might have explained better. Then of course, he might have flexed too, but
he hadn't, and now he really wasn't so sure he WANTED that girl undressing
him. Thinking he would most likely hate himself once he had time to think
about it, he nevertheless reached down to pull up his pants.

                             TO BE CONTINUED

                      o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Monday, Jan 18... Amy saw my second installment around 6:30. She said it was
probably better than the evening news. We also missed Wheel Of Fortune.

"But where's the sex?" she wondered.

"Well, obviously there's a situation developing."

"Like hell! The little chicken shit is about to leave!"

While I COULD continue my story with him walking mournfully home, it
wouldn't be much fun, not even if old Billy Bob and Neville start chasing
him again. I was sure she knew I wasn't about to let him leave, so I just
said so.

"Is she going to get him in the tub?"

I shrugged. "Probably."

"So what will he look like?"

"He'll look naked, and he'll have a hard-on."

"Do you think you could be a little more specific?"

"No."

"Oh yes you are."

"Oh no I'm not."

Mockingly Amy said, "Well, he has a BIG bat! How big is it?"

I thought about that. "Ten inches."

"Now let's not be ridiculous. That's ridiculous."

"OK, about eight inches...... Nah, make it.... 8 1/4 inches."

"Ha! But sure, why not? 8 1/4 inches. That's a really big bat all right.
Let's go for it. Why not?"

So at that moment, my thoughts about what she wants me to wear tonight were
"Like hell". She had a few more comments though.

"Now about this Renee", she said, "She seems to look just a little like me.
I mean she's a year younger, but if you think I didn't even get started
until I was thirteen, you're crazy. Shit, I started before I was twelve."

I stroked my chin thoughtfully, then said, "I don't know Amy. Eleven is
awfully young for what Jeremy has in mind, even if he doesn't really have it
in his mind yet. I mean he wants to mess around a little, sure, but like...
well, no matter. Some girls start late, that's all. Anyway, Renee is
half-Cambodian. And half-American. She was abandoned as a baby, but anyway,
I heard Orientals on the average are late-developers. She started just after
thirteen. ... Hey, tell me something. Once you started, how fast did your
hair spread anyway?"

"That's none of your damn business."

Aha! She isn't infinitely explicit, after all. "Well OK, just how much hair
do you have NOW?" I wondered.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yes. That's why I asked."

"Well, how much do YOU have?"

"I asked you first."

This nonsense continued for just awhile longer, then ended when she said,
"So if you don't chicken out on me tonight, you might find out. ... Not
tonight, but... well, it's up to you. You going to still do it?"

Oh SHIT!!! (I said I guessed so.)

                           TO BE CONTINUED.

Tuesday, Jan 19, in the wee hours... Drained, that's what I am. So what
happened? I chickened out, that's what happened. I'm sorry, but I did. Look.
If Amy's sitting right next to me on the couch, wearing NOTHING but a
valentine-shaped G-string under her robe, then I'm most likely going to get
a hard-on, right? Most likely, shit. Even BEFORE she opened her robe, I KNEW
I'd get hard just thinking about it, especially if she was right there NEXT
to me. So it's obvious enough even if I'm wearing my underwear, but at least
if I sit just so and put my hands in my lap, there's hope I can hide it, but
with NO underwear, the LEAST that could happen would be a tent and actually
it would be likely to move around on me because there really wouldn't be all
that much holding it in place. The damn thing could escape.

Also, to tell you the truth, it's not full grown yet. It is GROWING and it
already can make a mess like you wouldn't believe, but I KNOW it's going to
get bigger around. Right now it looks pretty ridiculous I guess. And so I
just wasn't prepared to have her checking it out.

So for awhile I considered telling her I couldn't make it tonight, that I
must've accidentally eaten an anchovy when we had pizza this evening. It was
probably hid under a pepperoni or something.

But finally I decided to compromise. I didn't discuss my compromise with her
beforehand, but I figured if she wore a G-string, I could wear my jock.

I have no idea why my mom packed it in the first place because the thing
doesn't even fit me right, it never did, and you can be damn sure it didn't
when I was in the seventh grade. In the seventh grade when coach said we had
to get one I decided I didn't need either my mom or my dad picking it out
for me, I could do that myself, thank you very much, but I wasn't sure about
all the sizes, so I ended up with a medium. An adult medium. So I'm STILL
not real sure about the sizes, since it's a hard question to put into actual
words, but adult medium is just too large for me. We are talking mostly
waist and side band size here, but like if your side band doesn't fit
snugly, then nothing else fits snugly either and what you end up with is a
cross between a jock strap and a loin cloth.

(Oh by the way. I have a jock strap in my locker at school that fits me. Not
that it's much help now, but I DO have one that fits.)

But anyway, since for some reason the damn thing had been packed into my
suitcase I supposed I might as well wear it. After all, it really is sort of
the same thing as her G-string. I mean neither one exactly covers your ass.

So I did wear it. Amy was in the patient's lounge waiting, robe all buttoned
up, humming softly under her breath. I walked up real innocent like. She
told me to be seated next to her, facing her with my feet on the couch. I
swallowed hard and did so. She glanced down at me and...

"And what is THAT?"

I saw little point in asking "What?", so instead I said, "Amy, I had to wear
SOMETHING!" Then I brightened a bit. "It's my G-string."

"Uh uh. No way. I'm not wearing a top."

"Well, how do I know that?"

So I guess it was worth a try anyway. "Well, you ain't GOING to know, if you
don't get rid of that jock strap. G-string, my ass!"

"It's about the same thing, and anyway, I'll just pull up my shirt and you
can see my chest... We'll have to make sure the coast is-"

"You can go straight to hell." She paused, then with grim and menacing
determination she said, "Either you go to your room and get rid that thing,
or I'll pull it off of you right here!"

Yeah, well I'd just like to see her try. In a motel room, though, NOT in the
damn patient's lounge. And I didn't think she would either, not there, so I
sat there looking stubborn. And maybe a little uncertain. Uncertain because
after all Amy had previously stated that she wanted to be a witch. Witches
are sometimes very hard to predict.

Really, they ARE. Suddenly, quick as a mongoose, her hand darted out and she
grasped the bottom of my pouch; you know, the jock strap's pouch; right
where it ends and the straps start, and she pulled it back sort of like a
slingshot, then she let it go. KAPOW! That smarted. Now the thing is if she
had tried to be surgically precise about the whole thing, she wouldn't have
touched my skin down there since after all it doesn't exactly fit me like a
glove, but she DID touch me down there and she DID touch an erogenous zone.
(I think it was my perineum.) It's pretty hard NOT to touch an erogenous
zone where she yanked at my strap. And I bet she didn't care if she touched
one or not. In fact, I bet she WANTED to. But at any rate, that convinced me
to go to my room and change.

My room mate was snoring away. (His name is Rod and I hate him.) Cussing
under my breath that I was an idiot, I slipped off my shorts and offending
jock strap. I sat on the side of my bed a moment, looked down at myself and
sighed. It didn't look good at all. Full red alert.

Two thoughts occurred to me between the couch and the sigh while sitting on
the edge of my bed. First of all, I was going to yank her G-string and touch
one of HER erogenous zones. And secondly, it was beginning to look to me
like maybe Amy was an exhibitionist. She WANTED to display herself. And she
also wanted ME to display MYSELF, so I guess that would be mutual
exhibitionism. Oh well. I pulled my ripped gym shorts back on, scurried out
of my room, across the hall and back to the couch, from all appearances
suffering from stomach cramps in my lower abdomen.

She giggled. "Hey! You know your nuts were hanging out when you crossed the
hall?"

My face aflame with dawning recognition, I sat there not looking at her. In
clutching myself tightly in place, I had inadvertently pulled my shorts up
too much. If they had been looking my way in Command Central... I didn't
even want to think about it.

Amy wanted me to assume the position, facing her with my feet up on the
couch. Well, I was being petulant right then, so I didn't, nope, I just sat
there staring straight ahead.

"Boy, you sure get embarrassed easy, don't you?"

I shrugged. Good answer.

Oppressive silence reigned briefly. She evidently didn't like oppressive
silence, so she broke it with low, monotone humming sounds. Then she spoke.
"Hey! Could I have your attention?"

This petulance and silence was beginning to wear at me a bit, so I guessed I
should at least glance at her. Then it was poof, no more disinterest. There
she sat, feet up on the couch, robe opened wide.

                            TO BE CONTINUED


Tuesday, Jan 19.. I had to get some sleep, OK? It was almost 3:30 when I
stopped writing and I had to be up at 6:30. Really. You think I'm kidding, I
bet. Well, I'm not. At 6:30 in the damn morning, a scratchy recording of
Reveille blasts through the intercoms into each and every room, then before
I can so much as get the sleep out of my eyes, I hear "Up and at 'em kids!",
which probably isn't a recording because I have occasionally noticed subtle
changes in inflection. There is then a brief reign of blessed silence, but
then what do we hear but The Star Spangled Banner and I didn't know this at
first, but by the time our national anthem comes on, we are all supposed to
have pissed, dressed and be at attention with our door open.

I'll get back to Amy and her G-string in a minute. I have this roommate. His
name is Rod and I hate him. I don't know what he was like before they
brainwashed him, but it sure is hard for me to imagine him EVER being cool.
Oh, I hated him right off and if there was any way possible, whatever he
did, I WASN'T going to do. Of course I found out soon enough that I really
didn't have all that much choice, but I can still have an attitude, I don't
have to kiss staff's ass like Rod does all the time. And there were also
little things I could do, like for example first night Rod was getting into
his pajamas, so I decided I WASN'T wearing pajamas and I slept in my
underwear. I HAD pajamas, but if Rod wore them, then I wasn't.

But actually sleeping in my underwear wasn't a good idea because the next
morning I was just getting out of bed when Rod threw our door wide open and
LEFT it open. Wide open. Then he went to the foot of his bed, which he had
MADE UP and started standing at attention!

I thought he was just being weird, so I said to him, "Would you close the
damn door?"

About then, this day staff turkey named Arnold walked by, looked in our
room, did a quick double take, then stomped in breathing fire and brimstone.
"Why aren't you dressed and at attention?" he roared.

So I said to him, "You have GOT to be kidding!"

"Stand at attention!!" he shouted at the top of his voice.

"Get fucked" I replied. I'm usually not in a good mood when I first wake up
and I sure as hell wasn't at no damn 6:30, and I was NOT going to stand at
attention in my underwear. Not with my morning boner, I wasn't, no way.

"Clint! Room 14, on the double!" Clint is another counselor. And exactly WHY
did Arnold, who weighs over TWO HUNDRED POUNDS, have to call for help?

Beats me, but anyway Clint grabbed my legs, Arnold grabbed my arms and they
toted my ass right off to the quiet room. In my underwear. And I still had a
boner. (But only because I hadn't pissed yet.) So I was kicking (or at least
I was trying) and cussing. (I was cussing VERY loudly.) None of which was
very wise, since all that commotion only brought curious stares from each
and every room we passed, both boys and GIRLS. And then when they got me
into the quiet room, Clint jerked my shorts off! Sometimes I wonder about
him. Well, actually they did that so they could get my gown on; that's all
you get to wear when you're in the quiet room; and they were threatening to
put me in a straight jacket, so I hushed up, but after they were gone, I
pissed in the floor. I didn't feel like using the pot, that's why, and
besides, it stinks whether you use the pot or the floor and I did do it out
of the way. I was two days in there over all that, but at least you can
catch up on your sleep.

Oh, I don't know, I just thought it would be funny if I left Amy sitting
there with her robe open for awhile. Maybe I ought to stop doing shit like
that, but what made me think of Arnold and Clint was this morning I almost
decided to pitch a fit so I could go to the quiet room so I could get some
more sleep. If they'd let me take my notebook and a pen, I'd go for it, but
of course if I had a pen I could stab myself. And besides, I don't want to
miss any Uno games with Amy, I mean this is getting very interesting.

But the very BIGGEST reason I gave up on trying to describe what happened
last night is that to tell you the truth, I just couldn't find the adequate
words. But in spite of that, I'll try one more time.

Even though I had seen almost all of her breasts; including her brown
nipples; seeing everything at one time was a deeply moving experience. They
are extremely lovely cones, firm yet jiggly. I see little point in being
more specific, since I tried for a long time last night before giving up and
going to sleep. Well OK, she has a little black hair growing below her left
nipple, but I don't mind. It gives a personal touch to things I think. After
all, how many people know about that?

The red valentine-shaped G-string covered everything important up front,
including hair, but nothing else. Her thighs are lovely. Her hips are
lovely, firm with a cute dimple on each side. I saw a good deal more of her
cheeks than ever before, although I didn't get a rear view.

I am painfully aware that lovely has already been used three different times
to describe what caught my attention. Well, it really was. Lovely. I wanted
to gaze at that lovely view for as long as I could and so without any
further ado I sat facing her as she wished. I hardly saw any point in
worrying if my balls were hanging out, since there was hardly any way they
couldn't be, and she'd already seen them anyway. But I didn't want
EVERYthing to be out in the open, so I held my rebellious prick in place by
pushing it up against myself. She wondered if I had to go to the bathroom.

"No" I said.

"Well, let's play follow the leader. You do what I do."

What I thought was about to happen was that we would take turns touching
each other's erogenous zones, which was sure to cause problems before long,
I knew as much, but what the hell. So I said OK.

So what did she do? She put her hands behind her head, that's what.

I thought "Oh shit", sighed and locked my hands behind my head after giving
my pecker one last shove to the right which I hoped would keep it from
escaping. Well, it didn't immediately jump out of my shorts, but it did
pitch a tent. Oh, it was a very nice tent. I should have been proud. Well,
whatever, that ended follow the leader, because she started sniggering and
it seemed from that point on, everything I did just exacerbated things. Amy
said later on this morning what started her laughing was how at first I was
trying to act nonchalant about it all, but then; according to her; I started
looking downright horrified. I don't actually recall being HORRIFIED; I was
a little worried maybe; but not really horrified.

I remember I wasn't sure what to do, I do recall that, and I also was kind
of liking the optical illusion. It looked pretty impressive, I kid you not.
She couldn't seem to stop laughing though. Well, sniggering. Sniggering in
this case is when you're trying not to laugh because you don't want them to
hear you in Command Central. And then there's whoofing. That's when you've
got your hands over your mouth, but sounds keep leaking out anyway. In her
case, trying to hold it all inside was causing her to experience a major
body quake. Almost her whole body was shaking, but what was particularly
interesting to me was seeing her boobs jiggling all over the place. I hadn't
previously seen them jiggling around like that. She was totally out of
control except she was still sniggering and whoofing pretty quietly from
behind one hand. Her other hand started clutching spasmodically at her
tummy. She was sort of bent over and her left leg wasn't drawn up anymore,
but instead was trying to reach the floor, only you know how it is when you
need to go to the bathroom real bad? Well, her legs were swinging apart,
then closing, then swinging apart and she was wiggling around and that red
valentine was starting to ride up and over some. This wantonness, so totally
and completely in abandon, was causing a rising tide of sweet aching on my
part. I was thinking about zapping her with her G-string and I definitely
wasn't going to be surgically precise about it either. So of course this
resolve to touch her major erogenous zone did not in any way lessen the
sweet aching. Then, things happened. It was like a chain reaction.

1: I leaned forward, full of resolve and sweet aching. 2: But in doing so I
caused my tent to collapse. 2-A: It collapsed because the tent pole moved
forward. 2-B: In fact, my tent pole decided to stick it's head out and see
what was so damn funny. 3: Amy was on the verge of collapsing herself as she
pointed at my mid-section. 4: So I looked down and saw what she was pointing
at. 5: But I also could not HELP but notice her G-string which by then had
rode up and over to such an extent that her pink labia and some curly black
hair was exposed and she was wiggling around. 6: Then before I could get my
hands on my pecker and put it back, I squirted. It happened so fast! And
right out in the open! 7: The silent bombardment all over the couch hadn't
even stopped (she saw it jerking in little spasms, fire one, fire two, fire
three...) when suddenly, she wet herself. Well, she wet the cushion mostly.
A steaming pale yellow stream. Gusher. Right in front of me!

We then straightened up very quickly, made ourselves presentable, turned the
seat cushions, bid each other red-faced nighty nights and that concluded
last night's Uno game.


Tuesday, Jan 19.. A few odds and ends before returning to Jeremy and Renee.

First, right after breakfast (BLEAUGHH!), Barbara the counselor came by as
Amy and I were talking. (We were both glad neither of us was mortally
embarrassed.) She came up to us and said, "About you two talking and playing
cards late at night in the patient's lounge ..." My heart sank. (Barbara
continued.) "Although we have some reservations; you kids really ought to be
getting more sleep for one thing; but all in all I guess it's a good thing,
since both of you seem to be coming out of your shells a lot. I do have to
make one request though... Austin, do you have a bathrobe?"

"Well, yes but-"

"Do you have it here with you?"

"Well yes, but like it only comes to about here", and I pointed halfway
between my knees and my waist.

"Well, that's fine" she said, "Could you start wearing it at night when
you're in the lounge? Those shorts of your's are possibly just a little
revealing." She looked at Amy then added, "I'm not suggesting impropriety on
anyone's part, but it just looks better."

Greatly relieved, I said I would. Amy and I then parted company before
another snigger attack erupted.

Then after group, Amy once again tried to tell me how to write my story,
then she discussed tonight's dress code. In regard to my story she said if I
wanted to have Jeremy with a 8 1/4 inch dong, it was ok with her, but she
knew better. Well, like I said already, I'm not Jeremy, but I knew what she
was referring to. I've already admitted that it's skinny. But it can extend
over four inches and by next year, who knows? And she also wondered if
Jeremy had to have any pubic hair at all. She said once she saw a comic book
where the super hero DIDN'T have any body hair at all but he DID have a big
dong. What kind of comic book is THAT?? But anyway, she thought it was
interesting. Well, possibly, but I still think Jeremy should at least have
SOME. 8 1/4 inches and no hair would just look weird. Which is what I told
her.

Then in regard to the new dress code she said, "So you're wearing your robe
tonight?"

I said it probably was a good idea.

"Fine. So am I, as usual. Now. Guess what I'm wearing underneath."

Well, if she... GULP... continued the progression...  "Nothing?"

"Right. Now guess what YOU'RE wearing underneath."

I got it right on my first try. "Not even a tee shirt" said Amy. "I want to
see your tits."

                      o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Tuesday, Jan 19.. The story. Part III.

If Renee had been at all uncertain about continuing, the prospect of her
patient leaving in shame firmed her resolve that he would NOT leave.

"No!" she shouted, stopping his hands and pants at knee-level. Startled by
her forcefulness, as was Jeremy, she paused, then added softly, "I mean
you're hurt, Jimmy. We shouldn't be embarrassed. We need to get those cuts
washed out. Now be still."

Jeremy mumbled that his name was really Jeremy, not Jimmy. After awhile they
got that straightened out. It didn't take too long and Renee introduced
herself as well.

And so he sat down on the edge of the tub and looked at her in wonderment.
He thought, "Well, all right. If that's what she wants, then I guess we'll
see what happens." Sure. Otherwise, he would hate himself.

She finished tugging his pants off and tossed them aside. "So there we go.
That wasn't really so bad, now was it?" She talked mostly to keep their
courage up. "Looks like your legs are scratched up too" she noted. She took
a deep breath. "Well, I don't guess we can very well give you a bath unless
we get those off", but still she hesitated. It looked like that protrusion
was still straining to get out, although now it was pointing mostly up. It
seemed to be sculpted in relief against the still damp fabric of his
undershorts and she noticed that the end of it looked something like a
mushroom and she noticed the vein that ran the length of the shaft. Things
that she HADN'T noticed when she saw up Wanda Sue's cousin's shorts or when
she played doctor with her next door neighbor.

She must go on though, she must. "Could you stand up a second?"

He meekly complied. She tentatively inserted two fingers under his elastic
waistband. Jeremy jumped. She pulled her hand back quickly and laughed, but
it was still a nervous laugh. Well, perhaps she could sneak up on it.

"Uh, maybe you should turn around."

Jeremy did so. Actually, he was relieved. So she took one more deep breath,
then with great resolve grabbed the back of his shorts, closed her eyes and
jerked down. For a barely perceptible moment, his shorts snagged on
something in front and then she opened her eyes, he bent to step out of
them, she sailed them to the door, and that took care of that.

He still stood with his back to her, looking straight ahead. His bottom
didn't look much different from hers except maybe hers was a little more
rounded and high-cheeked. His was very white, especially in contrast with
his tanned back and legs. It looked soft. She wished she could run her
finger down the crevice between his buns but did not think it would be
proper to do so, at least not yet. Her hand HAD touched his behind when she
jerked down his shorts though. Briefly.

"Um, I guess I'd better run some water" she said. "You can't hardly take a
bath without any water." Jeremy moved away towards the door. She resisted
the urge to look and turned to the faucets, humming softly to herself and
testing the water with her hands until it felt right. Of course she would
look eventually, but not quite yet. Well, she doubted he'd try to escape
again.

She thought to herself that he hadn't EXACTLY looked just like her from
behind, no, there was at least one major difference, or two, one a little
lower than the other. She'd seen them when he was bending to step out of his
shorts. She'd only gotten that one glance though, then when she looked again
he was standing with his legs together almost like he was at attention.
Well, his balls sure didn't look much like the ones she'd previously seen.
Although of course she knew that boys changed. They got bigger down there.
How much bigger? Apparently a LOT bigger. Did the bat stick out like that
all of the time, most of the time or just some of the time? She wasn't
exactly sure. Boys grew lots of hair when they changed, on their legs and
all. So where was his then? She hadn't even seen any except for some fine
hair on his legs. It barely even showed up. But oh well, he was really cute,
anyway. That's what went through her mind as she ran the water, tested it
with her hands and hummed softly, then she thought, "Why I don't even hear
him", so she glanced back to make sure he was still there. He was. He was
standing there with his hands positioned modestly in front of his privates.
Oh well.

"Just wondered if you were still there" she said in explanation. "We're
almost ready. You really don't need to be so shy, you know. I've seen boys
before." She turned back to check the water.

"Shy?" thought Jeremy, "Does she think I'm shy? Now how could she get an
idea like that? Well, maybe because you're acting like a twerp, you twerp."

He gave himself a wry grin, shrugged, removed his hands from in front of his
privates, (her back was turned anyway) and sat down on the floor, leaning
back against the door. His hands. What to do with his hands? He locked his
hands behind his head. Now... should he cross his legs? If he wanted to look
like it was all normal as could be, how should he sit? Well, he'd just draw
his knees up, let them swing open ... this WAS NOT NORMAL. Not for him, it
wasn't. He'd been with girls, sure, but he didn't know if you could call it
an actual date. Shooting the breeze at the game room wasn't really a date
but it was progress, he guessed. He'd kissed, in a way, and he'd been
kissed, once right in the mouth, but beyond that... well, he wanted to look
like he'd been beyond that quite a few times. So OK, he'd just let his hands
casually hang supported by his knees. No, he'd fold them across his stomach,
but he wouldn't bother with keeping anything hid. Shit, he wasn't sure WHAT
to do with his hands. At least his boner was below half-mast. Almost at ease
in fact. Apparently he was getting used to being in his birthday suit around
a stranger. A girl, actually, and he'd seen things he'd never seen before
except in pictures, and she was going to give him a bath! Oops, it was
rising again. Well sure, what could he expect, thinking about all that? So
what was he supposed to think about, algebra? And it wasn't anything to be
ashamed of, was it? Of course not. Shit, far as he knew, he had the biggest
dick in the eighth grade. Not that there were any official measurements, but
he hadn't seen any bigger, that's for sure. It was almost funny after awhile
getting all those double-takes when he dressed out for gym. For awhile he
had wondered exactly how long he was going to have to wait for puberty, but
when it got started, it sure did grow in a hurry! Right at eight inches
soft, 8 3/4 inches fully erect. Although of course it's length soft varied
depending on the weather and really, he wasn't even sure if he'd measured
from the right place, but it was big, that was for sure!  Only one problem.
WHERE was his hair? How come some people grew hair before they were much
bigger down there than the average ten-year-old and his had just barely
started? He didn't even really have a bush yet, although at least there were
by now more than he could count. Shit. There was just no explaining puberty.
So how was it with girls? He'd never seen a girl around his own age naked
before. And no girl had ever seen him naked either. So here he was. On the
verge? Maybe. That girl WAS NOT NORMAL. She was cute though. She wanted to
give him a bath, well fine, he'd let her. It sounded pretty interesting.
Then maybe he'd get HER into the tub. He'd say that he had seen girls
before, so she shouldn't let it bother her. Not your normal come-on, no, but
he didn't know many come-ons anyway and besides, she wasn't normal. And then
after he dried her off, well... well, it was possible. That was what went
through his mind while he tried to figure out what to do with his hands and
wondered if that girl was EVER going to get the water right. (She ran it too
full. No, that was too much. WAY too much. So she drained it down a bit.
Then it was too hot. Then it was too full again, then it was too... he did
wish she'd hurry up.) And that was why when she finally got the water right,
he was hard as a brick again. It was a wonder he hadn't exploded.

But with the water FINALLY just right, she turned to face him. He was just
sitting there and he didn't have it hid, not at all. "Are we... uh, ...
ready?" But she tried to act like it was very normal.

Self-consciously, he stood up. Truthfully, he seemed to have made a
remarkable recovery. The cuts and bruises were still there, but shortly
before he seemed to be at death's door. He stepped gingerly into the tub. It
took awhile to get settled in, almost five minutes of yelping and inching
slowly down into the water, but finally he calmed down and before long he
began to enjoy his bath.

She bathed him extremely well, even though she had no prior experience with
that sort of thing. She washed his hair without getting shampoo in his eyes.
She rinsed. She washed his face and his chest and his legs. She washed his
feet. She washed his chest again. She washed his back. She was very
thorough. She did however seem a bit hesitant in getting to one area, and he
wondered about that. With feigned playfulness, he splashed her.

Startled, she exclaimed, "Jeremy! Stop that! Now look what you've done!" She
held her nightgown out away from her. The front was sopping wet.

"Well, you're stupid. You should know you're going to get wet, so you're
stupid to be wearing that. I mean, YOU'RE the one who said we shouldn't be
embarrassed."

"Well, we're going to have to wash your clothes, so when we put them in the
dryer, I'll just put my nightgown in too. It doesn't matter to me" she said,
but it did matter and she didn't think she was up to removing it in front of
him.

"You're just scared" he jeered.

She let her nightgown fall back into place, only it plastered tightly
against her front with her nicely developing semi-ski slope but really much
closer to conical breasts etched in complete detail, including her slightly
stiff nipples.

"Ok, stupid. If it'll make you feel any better, I'll take it off now. It
doesn't matter to me a bit."

So she started to pull her nightgown up, but hesitated when she noticed he
was looking at her all bug eyed. Seeing her hesitate, he shrugged and looked
down, as though it didn't matter to him WHAT she did. Not a bit. He made
ripples and whirlpools in the water with his hands. And so relieved he
wasn't staring at her for the moment, she turned her back and pulled the
nightgown up over her head. She shivered just a little and her small breasts
quivered as though they were surprised at the prospect of being bared to a
boy's eyes. She certainly hoped he'd like them. Trying to act natural, she
returned to the tub's side.

He liked them very much, but he had already decided to try for naked even
though such thoughts caused a warm sweet ache in his penis. He realized if
he wasn't careful, he might soon lose it. That would never do. Fortunately,
he'd read a few sex manuals and he was pretty sure one way to avoid a messy
premature ejaculation was to grab his shaft at the base and hang on for dear
life whenever he felt like he was on the verge of losing it. After awhile
the feeling would subside a bit. But then sometimes there is a difference
between theory and reality.

She knelt beside the tub. "Now. Can we go ahead and just get on with it? I
mean, are you satisfied?" In a businesslike manner she worked up a lather in
the washcloth. She wondered why he was clutching his bat so tightly. Did he
have to go to the bathroom?

"What about those?" he asked, then he dumped a handful of water over the
front of her droopy drawers. "I thought you weren't embarrassed."

She pretended not to notice that her droopy drawers were sopping wet and
sagging badly. She wanted to be the one in control, and she didn't want to
take them off. "I'm not supposed to let you see that. Now cut out the funny
stuff and let's finish your bath. Move your hand."

He instead snatched the washcloth away and draped it over his pole, not
entirely covering it. He still clutched himself with one hand.

"Give me that" snapped Renee and she grabbed the cloth back. In so doing she
inadvertently pinched his bulb. She was surprised to find it soft, almost
spongy. And he just about jumped right out of the tub. So in retaliation, he
grabbed her left nipple and pinched it.

"It felt like a little marble" he thought to himself.

Renee gasped. "I SAID CUT IT OUT, JEREMY! NOW, MOVE JUST YOUR HAND SO I CAN
FINISH!" Actually he wasn't scratched or bruised in that area, but policy is
policy. Or something. Anyway, she pulled his hand away and in so doing
brushed against his rigid shaft, which did not feel one bit soft. It also
jumped. She noticed a small drop of funny looking clear fluid ooze out of
his pee hole.

Well, it would be awfully nice if she soaped him up and kneaded it and
worked it up and down and thumped it with her fingers so it went SPROnnngg
for about two hours. That would have been really nice and all the while he
would have squirmed and thrashed about, curling and uncurling his toes in
almost unbearable ecstasy, but that's not what happened. Oh, he DID squirm,
when she first tentatively touched his balls, once again he almost scooted
right out of the tub. He felt that almost electric current and it was all
focused right down there, but when she clasped her fingers around his shaft
and pulled up, that did it.

When his bat erupted like a tubular science fair volcano, she really didn't
know WHAT to think beyond being thankful she wasn't in the way. While the
white stuff didn't splatter the ceiling; the ceiling being relatively high;
it still achieved remarkable height. And the velocity!

Then the white stuff arched back down and splattered into the water, where
it floated, sort of like Ivory Soap.

"What was THAT?" asked Renee.

He didn't say anything. He looked very crestfallen. He started crying! So
the difference between balling and bawling is... well, never mind.


                             TO BE CONTINUED


So was this OK? I hope so. Seems like I said that before. Well, I really DO
hope so. Please advise. If you want to. I probably won't mind too much.

And oh by the way. From here on out my chapters should be much shorter. Just
wanted to get the ball rolling is all, so I'm guessing I have, soo...


jjjanicki@gmail.com


    

austin-and-stephanie-3