                      ____________________________
                     |                            |
                   /)|     KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF    |(\
                  / )|         DIRECTORIES        |( \
               __(  (|____________________________|)  )__
              ((( \  \ >  /_)              ( \  < /  / )))
              (\\\ \  \_/  /                \  \_/  / ///)
               \          /                  \          /
                \      _/                     \_       /
                 /    /                         \     \
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o                                                                   o
o  The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories.  o
o  They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also o
o  from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order  o
o  other than offering them to you in alphabetical directories.     o
o                                                                   o
o  All works are copyrighted to the author and may not be used for  o
o  profit without obtaining the author's permission in advance.     o
o                                                                   o
o  Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o
o and should not be read by minors.                                 o
o                                                                   o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o


Dirty Boys (boys coming of age, voy)
by MIKE HUNT (mrm1ke@aol.com)

**

This is the kind of stuff that only dirty old men read. OK, 
some dirty old women read it too. Even some dirty young women, 
judging from my e-mail.  But dirty young children should go 
away, take a bath, and then go play cards with a friend or go 
to the basement and play pool or something. It's a good 
diversion, and as you dirty old men and women know, can lead to 
some interesting experiences from time to time.



I've been accused of being a dirty old man.

I shouldn't take that kind of accusation lying down, but it was 
made while I actually *was* lying down, and she was sitting on 
me, so I took it lying down. Of course I was standing erect 
while I was lying down, and she was sitting up as she was 
sitting down on top of me.

She was smiling as she made the accusation, and I watched her 
lips curl while she was smiling. Her lips surrounded me, of 
course, and as they slid up and down around me, I knew that her 
smile was forced because she was pointing her finger at me as 
she sat on me while I was standing up.  She was squatting down 
as she sat down, and I was angry that she forced me to take it 
lying down. Just ten minutes earlier I'd been kneeling down and 
then I wouldn't have had to take it lying down. So she was 
laying me as I was lying there, even though I was standing up 
and she was squatting down as she sat up.

Uh, maybe I should start this over again.

I've been accused of being a dirty old man.

I was never accused of being a dirty young man, and nobody ever 
even thought to accuse me of being a dirty little boy, but I 
was.

In fact I think that's why I turned out to be such a voyeur. I 
was the youngest kid in the class. I'd started kindergarten 
when I wasn't even five; they allowed that in California. Of 
course my parents didn't know that I'd also be late to mature, 
which also made me the smallest in the room.

When it was time to choose up the baseball teams at school I'd 
always be one of the mopes to be chosen last. They let me play 
second base, cause hardly anybody ever hit the ball there. When 
it was time to play football I was absolutely the last person 
chosen. Then they let me play the part of the football. Just 
kidding. Actually, my position was Left Out.

So I naturally gravitated to individual sports like swimming 
and diving and gymnastics. I was small, and coordinated, and I 
actually got pretty good. And during the summers I would 
practice my diving, and the girls would watch.

It wasn't my stunning physique they were looking at, and it 
wasn't my boyish and oh-so-cute face, trust me. But girls are 
apparently interested in a variety of different things having 
to do with boys, and when I found one of those thing, man did I 
work at it. My best dive was a one-and-a-half gainer in pike 
position from the 1 meter board, and a forward "two" from the 3 
meter.

I almost killed myself learning the dives from the high board, 
but it was worth it. The girls looked.

Occasionally they even talked to me, but I was such a fumbler 
it never went any further. So as I say, I started to watch. No 
pressure, no expectations, and no pussy, but what the hell, it 
was a living.

The first experience I can remember happened one night when the 
pool had closed. Judy was one of the female lifeguards, and all 
the boys lusted after her. We begged her to teach us the 
fundamentals of rescuing someone, but only because we knew you 
had to swim with your arm across her tits and under her armpit 
to drag her back to the side of the pool. She pretended not to 
know what we 13 year olds were up to.

The pool closed each night at 8PM. They usually let me stay 
around while they stacked the chairs so I could practice my 
diving without waiting in line behind 11 kids who wanted to 
jump off the high board. I had about 30 minutes of 
uninterrupted time, and I used it most every night.

One Tuesday Judy and her boyfriend were stacking the chairs and 
I was diving. After maybe 20 minutes I noticed that they had 
disappeared, and having done a perfect one-and-a-quarter onto 
my face from up high, decided to call it a night. I walked 
toward the clubhouse. It was twilight and the place was 
deserted.

I remembered my towel and walked back to the pool. I heard her 
giggling and him entreating, and I slowed down my pace. It took 
me a few moments to figure out where they were, and when I did 
I didn't think, I just sort of walked quietly around the edge 
of the pool.

They were in the filter house room down behind the embankment 
by the deep end. I'd been in that room a couple of times; 
typical teen-age boy curiosity kind of thing, and I remembered 
it as an industrial cavern the size of our living room at home, 
except with giant metal containers and pipes and valves.
And I heard her giggle again.

"He's gone," I heard him say. "Come on."

"You're terrible," she chirped. "I'm at work, thank you."

"You're in a tiny little bathing suit and you're hanging out 
all over the place and I can't stand it," he said.

There was a metal grate directly under the business end of the 
low dive.  You hardly ever noticed it because the room wasn't 
usually lit and the metal pipes holding the diving board 
camouflaged it, but from the right angle you could just see 
into the front half of the place.

And I saw.

They were playing and they were kissing and he suddenly took 
her in his arms and her arms wrapped around him and they 
embraced and started making out with the passion that 17 year 
olds have.

And I watched. I saw his hand reach up and pull her shoulder 
strap to the side and then down. I watched as her breast popped 
out of the top of the stretchy material, and I unconsciously 
imprinted the scene so strongly that I can still "see" it 
today, as though it was a 35mm slide that my father had taken 
during some random summer vacation.

His hand covered her breast, and then he was tugging at the 
other strap and lowering it and I watched with a 13-year old's 
fascination as he pulled down the other side and her other 
breast came into view. And they stood there, kissing and 
fondling for at least 20 minutes, and I watched.

I had an immediate reaction, but I was standing in public view, 
and even though there was no public I didn't touch myself.

I've learned as I've gotten older this early part of the sex 
ritual gets shorter and shorter, to the point where once you're 
married you're not allowed to make out or do much of anything 
but stick your dick where the sun don't shine. It's a rule, I 
think.

But 17-year olds are more eager and yet perversely take more 
time in petting and foreplay, and I eagerly drank the scene in, 
wondering if such an event would ever happen to me.

He was moaning and she was sighing, but the scene went no 
further, at least while I was there. Because I stupidly 
shuffled my feet and happened to kick a pebble and it made a 
noise and they both jumped back with a start. I quietly raced 
out of the pool before they could compose themselves and come 
upstairs for a look. But I'll always remember Judy and the 
filter room. I'll bet I remember it better than she does, and 
she was there!

About a week later I was spending the night at my friend Tom's 
house on the other side of town. I'd ridden my bike there, 
because it was becoming very uncool to have to be delivered 
everywhere by Mom, and anyway I was 13 and had plenty of excess 
energy.

Tom's folks were very hip, and didn't mind a bit when we took 
off on our bikes at nearly 10PM. In my house it was practically 
lights out, but Tom's folks were looser. So Tom and I took off 
for the "bend", where we knew teenagers went parking after the 
movies.

We fairly flew up the deserted road, picked a spot and rolled 
our bikes into the brush. We climbed up a small hillside and 
sat down.

"Now what?" I asked.

"Well, there's this..." he said with a grin. And he reached 
into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboro's.

"Cool," I said, trying to be cool.

He lit one and took a big drag, expelling the wispy smoke in a 
steady stream from his mouth and his nostrils. He handed one to 
me. I lit it and took inhaled deeply.

"Arrgh. Huuuh. Awhooo. Chhwz! Huuuh. Hoh, hoh, hoh. HOH. 
Whooof."

Tommy laughed out loud at my discomfort. "Never smoked one 
before?"

"Uh, no, not really." No point in trying to be cool when your 
face is redder than a third-degree sunburn and you're about to 
puke.

"You'll get used to it," he said.

"Of course," I said, taking a tiny drag on the cigarette and 
pushing the smoke immediately out from between my lips. "Hoh. 
Awhooo." I gulped.  "That was better."

"Yeah," he laughed.

We finished those two, then talked for a while, then smoked 
another one each. About 11:00 we saw the cars start to come 
down the lane. They never drove in together, and they never 
parked too close to each other, but we were lucky and watched 
as two of them parked within sight. And the ambient light from 
the full moon was enough to be able to see.
And we watched.

The car farther away had two couples in it; a double date, 
apparently.  And they wasted no time in getting to business. 
The two people in the front seat merged into one larger unit, 
and the couple in the back seat did the same. They were far 
enough away from us that we couldn't really discern any 
details, but it was clear what was going on. Heavy making out. 

Maybe some petting. Like I say, it was tough to see.

The car which parked directly in front of us had just two 
people. We could see her clearly through the large glass 
window; he was hidden by the heavy dark roof. But as he slid 
from behind the wheel and across the bench seat that was 
popular in those days, he came into view, and we watched as 
they melted together in an embrace of teenage passion.

And we had a perfect sight line as his hands began to wander 
across her front, grasping and squeezing at her breasts, and 
fumbling with the buttons as she acceded to his desires. In the 
dark my own hands slipped to the front of my trousers and I 
surreptitiously squeezed myself while I watched.  I didn't dare 
glance at Tommy, but I suppose he was doing the same.

At last the front of her blouse was completely unbuttoned and 
we could see her heavy white brassiere, and we watched as he 
pushed her blouse down her arms and off her shoulders in his 
eagerness. He fumbled with the bra clasp behind her for 
probably five minutes, and finally she must have gotten as 
frustrated as he was and reached around behind and undid it.

Her lacy white support fell away and her nudity was revealed to 
him and unknowingly to us and then he moved back toward her for 
a deep kiss that hid our newly found treasures from view. We 
could see his hands dancing across her chest, and while the 
view wasn't perfect, there was not an iota of doubt in our 
minds what was happening.

"You gotta buy some binoculars," I said absently.

"I know," he replied.

It was our only conversation for the next half hour.

We watched as their petting continued, and then suddenly she 
bent down and disappeared from view. Her face was now hidden 
behind the heavy door of the passionmobile, but it was obvious 
what was going on.

Either she was trying to read the word "Talon" on his zipper in 
the dark, or she was sucking on his dick. I figured it was the 
dick. I was squeezing my own, now, by trying not to be obvious 
about it, and I figured Tommy was too. I never actually found 
out. And I never actually came that night, although I'll bet 
the guy in the car did.

I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. Well, obviously it was 
the guy in the car who was in heaven. I was sitting on a 
hillside amid the poison ivy trying to play with myself through 
my heavy blue jeans without having Tommy think I was being 
queer about it. 13 year olds are like that.

Just a couple of weeks later I had my first real sexual 
experience. Once the hormones start running, they don't rest, 
I've found out. I'm still waiting for a breather, frankly.
I was at Jimmy Vertis' house, and his parents were gone for the 
night.  A movie maybe, or cards at the neighbors, I don't 
really remember. I was telling Jimmy about my two experiences 
so far, and he said "Want to see something?"

"Sure," I replied with all the savior-faire a barely teenage 
boy can muster.

He went to a bureau in his parents room and returned with a 
deck of cards.  The box that held them was frayed, and had a 
strange design cheaply imprinted on just one side. It looked 
like there was a German word in big letters. Maybe Polish or 
Dutch. Foreign, for sure.

"So?" I said.

"Let's play cards," he smiled, extracting the deck from the 
cardboard housing and giving them a quick shuffle.

"Fine," I responded.

He dealt us each 5 cards, face down on the rug where we were 
sitting.

"Straight poker," he said, "one-eyed tits are wild."

"Huh?" I said. I picked up my cards. It was a real deck, with 
aces and kings and everything else. But in the center of each, 
instead of those boring diamonds and spades was a picture of a 
naked woman.

"Holy shit!" I said, actually dropping three of the cards in my 
excitement.

Jimmy howled.

"Come on, pick them up," he said.

"Holy shit!" I said again. I stared at the cards. My young 
penis went from zero to sixty in 3 seconds. "Holy shit. Holy 
holy holy shit."

I studied ever millimeter of every card in my hand. Whew! The 
only naked women I had ever seen to that point were a couple of 
saggy titted African ladies in an issue of National Geographic 
and Judy-through-the-grate and the brassiere girl at the bend 
with Tommy. Whew!

I focused in on a brunette with beautiful breasts. She was sort 
of hidden behind a gauze top which actually hid nothing at all, 
but was all the more exciting for the tease it created in the 
"now you see me but now you don't" pose. Whew!

"Uh, what did you mean, one-eyed tits are wild?" I asked.

If you can see both her tits, then it's a regular card. If you 
can only see one tit, then it's a wild card, unless you can't 
see the nipple. Then it's also a regular card," he explained 
patiently.

"I get it," I said. I studied the cards in my hand. Two wild 
cards. I hadn't yet thought to look in the corners are see what 
the actual numerical value of them was! We played the hand and 
I won. I couldn't wait for the next hand.

"How about we make it more interesting," he asked.

"It's plenty interesting," I said. "Gimme some more cards."

"No really," he said. "Let's add something."

"Like what?"

"Let's play strip poker."

"Uh, OK," I answered. The hormones were raging. I couldn't wait 
to get more cards in my hand.

Jimmy dealt the cards. One eyed tits were wild, and I had a 
bunch. I won the hand and he took off a sneaker. I won the 
next, and the next, and both shoes were joined by a white sock. 
Then it was my turn for a run of bad luck. Soon we were even, 
and on the next hand he pulled ahead.

I won one, he won one. The tits were flying, I was studying, 
the clothes were piling up. He lost his shirt. Literally. We 
argued after the next hand whether his belt counted as a piece 
of clothing. I didn't have a belt, so it didn't seem fair. In 
the end he agreed, and when he lost that hand, dropped his 
pants onto the growing pile.

As he stood to remove his trousers, it was obvious that he had 
an erection.  It distorted the natural flow of his briefs, and 
I could see the general shape and outline through the cotton 
cloth. He sat back down.

I dealt the next hand and I made two eyed tits wild. And I 
lost. My pants came down, and it was just as obvious that I had 
an erection. My boxer shorts had acquired a third dimension 
that could only have been produced by a stiff boner.

Neither one of us was uncomfortable, but neither one of us 
wanted to lose, either.

I got two aces and a wild card. Good enough to win almost any 
hand of the night. Jimmy got two eights and two wild cards. I 
looked down at my one remaining article of clothing, and now I 
started to sweat.

"Come on, come on," he said.

I bounced up off the floor and pushed at the material and slid 
it off my waist and down my legs. My little pink dick pointed 
skyward. Jimmy stared.

"I've never seen a dick before," he said. "Except for my own, 
of course."

He paused. "And my Dad's, but it wasn't big at the time."

I nodded in my embarrassment. "One more hand?" I said. "Gimme a 
chance to get even."

"OK," he said nonchalantly.

I got a king, a jack, and three numbers. I looked again. The 
jack was a wild card. She had the biggest tit popping out of 
her top I ever saw.  Of course I hadn't seen much to that 
point, and I was still at the point where really big tits were 
the most important thing, but my pecker reloaded with blood, 
which was tough since it was already quite full.

Jimmy smiled, and I saw his wanger bounce inside his shorts. He 
discarded three cards, as did I. I got another king and two 
numbers. It was time to call.

"Three kings," I said. "How about you?"

"Two jacks. Nothing wild. Guess I lose."

"Guess you do."

He stood up and began pushing his shorts down. It took some 
effort, and when he had them down a few inches it became 
apparent that this was going to be a show. He pushed them 
further, and his dick bent down, held by the elastic waist 
band. He pushed further, then bent at the hips to try to give 
himself some room, and finally with a quick shove pushed the 
elastic below his throbbing member.

It sprang up with the force of a torsion suspension, sticking 
straight out from his body. It was longer than mine. And 
thicker by size.

"Holy shit!" I said. "Look at that!"

"Yeah, well..." he said.

"Holy shit!" I said again. I couldn't take my eyes off his 
dick, bouncing as it was with every beat of his heart. "Holy 
shit!"

He sat back down even though he was standing straight up. I was 
also standing up as I was sitting down. No wait. I've already 
done this.

We both sat there, quite unashamed, both fascinated with each 
other's erection, both pawing through the 52 little pictures 
Jimmy's folks had so thoughtfully provided.

"Look at this one," he said, leaning over to me. "Isn't that 
awesome?" He handed me a card with a beautiful girl winking at 
the camera. Her hands were clasped just in front of her cunt, 
and her arms were squeezing her tits together; they were 
pointed right at the lens like a couple of 38mm howitzers.

"God, how do they get them to do that?" I wondered.

"She's just squeezing them with her arms," he answered.

"No, no. How to they get them to take off their clothes and 
stand in front of a camera?" I asked. "Girls don't do that," I 
said with the assuredness of my many years of experience.

"Sure they do," he said. "Haven't you ever seen a Playboy?" I 
shook my head. "You're kidding," he said. "Wait here."

He disappeared down the hall, his dick waggling with every 
step, and he returned with a magazine the likes of which I had 
only seen behind the counter at the local drug store. I could 
only imagine. He set it on the floor, and immediately opened 
the centerfold.

"Holy shit!" I said. "Look at her." She was beautiful. She was 
a goddess.  She had life sized tits. Her lower half was hidden 
behind a table; this was in the days before pubic hair was 
common. In magazines, I mean.

My eyes drank her in, my dick throbbed in agony. I looked over, 
and saw that Jimmy was touching himself. Actually more than 
touching himself, he had his hand wrapped around his dick and 
was stroking back and forth.

"You do that to?" I said. "Doesn't it feel great?" My hand went 
to my own penis.

"Yeah, it does feel good," he admitted.

"And isn't the best part at the end?" I said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" I said.

"I mean what do you mean, 'at the end'?" he replied.

"You know, when you do that for a while, and then you just 
*go*. It's like you have to pee, only it's not pee." Hey. I was 
13 years old.  I didn't have a manual. They didn't teach it in 
school. I had a shitty vocabulary, OK? Don't laugh.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said.

"Really?" I said. It was obvious that he was telling the truth. 
I didn't press the issue. I just said, "Watch."

I began playing with myself. With my free hand I turned the 
page and saw more pictures of a lovely girl. In one of the 
poses you could see her hanging breast and erect nipple peeking 
out from between her unbuttoned blouse. I stroked myself some 
more.

It didn't take long, and soon I felt myself on the way to the 
"end."

I didn't know what to call it. I didn't care. "OK, OK, watch," 
I said.

Jimmy's eyes focused on my dick, and suddenly I came, and 
little gusher of white erupting from the tiny slot at the end 
of my member. One spurt, then another, then still another. I 
grasped my dick and stroked in between each of the surges, and 
pumped some more. I watched him as he watched me and I looked 
at the magazine and I looked at his dick and I looked back at 
the girl. I pumped again.

I collapsed back on my haunches, the remnants of my orgasm 
still coursing through my system.

"Whew!" I said. "See what I mean?"

"I don't understand," he said.

"Just do it," I said, years before any slick ad on TV 
encouraged me with those words.

"OK, but I don't get it," Jimmy whined.

He began to play with himself, and I turned the magazine toward 
him and occasionally flipped the pages. I could only look at 
the girls upside down now, but it was enough. And anyway I was 
fascinated with watching him jerk off. He did, and after 
several minutes, far longer than it took me, by the way, he got 
a strange look on his face. I knew what was coming, so to 
speak.

His eyes opened with wonder and he increased the rhythmic 
pounding of his wrist, and I watched as he hit his peak. He 
erupted a gusher, spurting everywhere. On the rug, on the 
magazine, on his folded leg in front of himself. His eyes 
squinted closed; mine stayed wide open as I watched him 
traverse the course I had traveled just a few minutes earlier. 

He kept pounding, even when he was done.

His breathing was labored, his arm tired, but he didn't stop. 
Nothing more happened, of course, and I waited a minute or two 
before explaining that you couldn't repeat the exercise for a 
few minutes. He didn't understand, but he took my word for it.

"Holy shit!" he said. "I've never done that before. That was 
GREAT!"

"Yeah," I said. "I know."

Isn't it funny that I don't remember my own first orgasm, but I 
remember his?

I remember many more, although not with this kind of 
specificity. Jimmy and I got together pretty often after that. 
He lived just down the street from me. And while I had a couple 
of National Geographics in the basement, his father had 
Playboys. And cards.

During the next twelve months we progressed from simultaneous 
solo masturbation to well, mutual masturbation. I thought 
nothing of having my hand around another boy's cock; I'm 
guessing that I might have been sufficiently distracted by 
having his hand around mine. At that age, I just wanted the 
experience again and again.

Jimmy and I stopped our little society cold the following 
summer. He found a girl who would let him unbutton her blouse 
and who would play with him. I visited my cousin on a farm.

We'd still share experiences, of course, but we never touched 
each other again. One time he told me about his summer job at a 
shoe store. I told him about feeling up Jenny Sue Walters while 
teaching her to play pool in my basement. He liked that story, 
and though there wasn't that much to it, it was more 
information which he processed and added to his store.  Neither 
one of us could believe that girls actually let you do that! 

And then at other times if you looked at them funny they'd 
treat you like dirt. We never figured it out.

Still haven't.

* * * *

Alfred Kinsey, of sex research fame, talked to thousands of men 
and women about their sexual experiences. And even though it 
was during a time of complete sexual repression, he gleaned a 
vast amount of information about the sexual habits of 
Americans. He even made dirty movies in his attic!

One of the things he firmly believed was that every person is 
potentially bisexual. In fact, he rated people on a scale of 1-
10. No, there was no "Athena" rating. But he gave a "1" to 
someone who was exclusively homosexual, and a "10" to someone 
who was exclusively heterosexual. He says that less than 20% of 
the population properly falls into one of those two categories.

He also says that the great majority of people rate themselves 
as either a "1" or a "10" and are hung up about choosing any 
number in between.  Societal pressures and all. Peer groups and 
all. Maybe he's right.

His theory, if I understand it correctly, (and not stated 
exactly this way for Nobel Prize purposes), is that any pair of 
lips around your dick feels pretty good. I'm guessing he used a 
thesaurus when he wrote his book to dress it up a little.

And of course you just have to look at the vast array of 
pornography available to see just how clearly the lines are 
drawn, at least for men.

It's fine to have two women having sex with each other, and 
it's fine to have two guys humping a girl at the same time, but 
the guys NEVER touch each other. Not for a millisecond. Can it 
really be that it's so weird?  Suppose you stuck your dick 
through a glory hole with the promise of a right-fine blow job 
on the other side. If you didn't know what gender the lips 
belonged to, would you not cum?

Anyway, I'd guess that I'm an "8", though I feel the same 
societal pressures as everyone else, and if asked, I'd answer 
"10". That's what makes it so embarrassing to spell my name 
with a "1".

Boy that was a long way to go for a lame joke.

But it really is true. I really did feel up Jenny Sue at the 
pool table.  She claimed she didn't know how to use the cue 
stick, so I'd stand behind her. And as she bent over to take 
the shot, I'd lay my hand down on the table, palm upstretched, 
and she'd carefully place her breast right into it. She 
pretended not to notice. I pretended to be aiming the shot. The 
funny thing is we weren't boyfriend and girlfriend or anything. 

I never kissed her once. I just took what she gave me with the 
gratitude that a 14-year old can only express with a bar of 
soap in the shower. Again and again. For months afterwards.
I even told Jimmy the story while he blew me one afternoon over 
at his house. I came right in his mouth. And I wasn't hung up 
about it at all.

Like I said, I'm probably an "8" or so. It's entirely 
subjective, of course, and I've lived the life of a "10" ever 
since. And no, I'm not posting this in the gay forums, because 
while I like expanding my audience, I'm not looking for a lot 
of weird e-mails from guys. Weird e-mails from girls, now 
that's a different story. Maybe I'm an "8.5", verging on "9".

Speaking of e-mails, if you'd like to get some of my more 
heterosexually inclined stories on your computer, send me a 
note. Make sure to tell me you're at least 18, and if you want 
to include a rating from 1-10 that's OK, too. No, you can't be 
an 18/18. The scale doesn't go that high.

Address your request to MrM1KE@aol.com. Remember that the 
second character in M1KE is a "one" (1) not an "eye" (I). Yes, 
how embarrassing.

I have lots of stories on my webpage. They all involve girls. 
Most also involve me. You can visit it at 

<http://members.aol.com/mrm1ke>.

This story is Copyright 1997 by M1KE HUNT. You can distribute 
it, archive it, or burn it, as long as you do it for free. I'd 
appreciate it if you wouldn't repost it, especially on gay 
boards. That's all I need. Next thing you know I'll be sliding 
down the scale to a "3" or something.

I'm pretty adamant about this request. If you violate my 
wishes, I won't take it lying down.

Uh oh.

