The Brats from Nextdoor

The Brats from Nextdoor

By: Spectrotica247

...

Summary:

19-year-old Jaden Wilson's peaceful time in his backyard garden was ruined once again by the Boebert brothers, a group of four Southern-accent boys who enjoy bullying and degrading him with his secret that he doesn't want the world to know about: his sexual attraction to young boys.

Main Characters:

Jaden Wilson - 19 years old, Biracial (Caucasian and African-American) cis male, his hair was a mass of curly dark-brown locks that fell in unruly waves around his face, his eyes a deep, soulful brown, and is 6 feet tall with a body a testament to his dedication of manual labor, with muscles honed from countless hours in gardening. Cock size: 4.0 inches and circumcised.

Mitchell Boebert - 14 years old, Caucasian cis male, his brown hair was messy with unruly locks under his black American flag flexfit cap that's worn backwards, sapphire blue eyes, and his physique was a blend of lean muscles and adolescent grace, a preview of the Southern hunk he was destined to become. Cock size: 14.5 inches and circumcised.

Ethan Boebert - 13 years old, Caucasian cis male, textured spiked blonde hair, same blue eyes as his eldest brother, his lean body that was stretching into the beginnings of adolescent musculature, with a hint of the broad-shouldered and robust man he would one day become. Cock size: 14 inches and circumcised.

Evan Boebert - 13 years old, Caucasian cis male, a mirror twin to Ethan with the same textured spiked blonde hair and blue eyes, but with slightly more tanned complexion. Although he shared his twin's lean physique, Evan's body had a more muscular build that could one day surpass even Mitchell's as he grew older. Cock size: 14 inches and circumcised.

Cameron Boebert - 11 years old, Caucasian cis male, his brown hair was shorn to a buzz-cut that accentuated the sharp angles of his still-boyish face, dull brown eyes, has chubby cheeks filled with freckles and his figure a blend of the nascent strength hinted at by his older brothers, a canvas of potential yet to be fully recognized. Cock size: 13 inches and uncircumcised.

CONTENT WARNING!

This story is 18 and may involve homophobic slurs, rape, and themes of incestuous, pedophilic sexual intercourse between four underage boys, whom are brothers, and a grown man. If this story offends you, or if you live in an area where it is outlawed, or if you're under the legal age, then please do not read and click yourself out of this site, just to save yourself from a life of sin. This is supposed to be 100% fictional, any similarity to individuals, living or dead, is entirely accidental. Thank you!

- Spectrotica247

Chapter One - "The Bulging Nightmare"

...

Jaden Wilson stepped out into the sun-soaked embrace of his backyard, the garden hose coiled around his hand like a serpent waiting for instructions. His dark brown eyes scanned the vibrant patchwork of greens and blossoms, a sanctuary from the cinder-block walls of his suburban home. The warmth of the afternoon wrapped around him, a gentle embrace that made the world's troubles feel a few degrees more bearable.

At the age of 19, he'd learned to find peace in the quiet moments, the in-betweens of life's storms. The spray from the nozzle danced in the air, a misty ballet of water droplets pirouetting over the leaves of his meticulously cared-for plants. Each one a silent companion in his solitary dance of nurture and growth.

The scent of freshly turned earth and blooming flowers filled his nose, a sweet bouquet that reminded him of his maternal grandmother's garden back in California. He'd inherited her green thumb, a piece of her he carried with him across the country when he and his family relocated themselves to this unassuming corner of Kentucky.

The hiss of the water and the rustle of the leaves painted a serene sonnet that played in his ears, a welcoming symphony that drowned out the distant honks of cars and the occasional barking dog. His thoughts drifted to the future, to the day when he could claim a garden of his own, a place where he could truly belong.

With the tender touch of the spray, he caressed the petals of a particularly stubborn rosebush, coaxing it to reveal its crimson secrets. The droplets of water shimmered like diamonds in the sun's golden gaze, a silent promise of life's persistence against the desert's relentless grip.

The 19-year-old biracial boy with a mop of curly dark brown hair felt the earth beneath his sandals, solid and reassuring, a foundation for his dreams that seemed to stretch as wide as the horizon. It was in these moments that Jaden felt a semblance of control, a sense of purpose that eluded him in the shadow of the four-walled prison that was his high school.

He whispered to himself, "How peaceful it is for gardening on a good day." The words were a mantra, a gentle reminder that amidst the chaos of the world, there was a place where he could create beauty and find solace. Each plant was a silent confidant, privy to his thoughts and fears, yet never judging him for the tumultuous cocktail of emotions that often swirled within.

However, a sudden shout pierced the tranquility, jolting him from his reverie.

"HEY LOOK, IT'S THAT FUCKIN' PEDOPHILE FAGGOT!"

The voice, young and male, sliced through the garden's peace like barbed wire—sharp, jagged, Mitchell Boebert's Southern drawl dripping with venom. Jaden froze, hose trembling in his grip as droplets pattered onto his sandals. His heart sank once the unmistakable sound of laughter of young boys, a cacophony that could only mean trouble.

Ah damn it... Looks like I spoke too soon...

Jaden's dark-brown eyes snapped toward the chain-link fence separating his sanctuary from the neighboring property. There stood the Boebert brothers—Mitchell, Ethan, Evan, and Cameron—a quartet of Caucasian pre-adolescent hellions, each one a mirror image of the other's malicious grin.

Mitchell Boebert, the eldest at 14, leaned against the fence with the lazy arrogance of a born predator. His brown hair was perpetually unruly, a chaotic tumble of strands escaping the confines of his backwards-facing black flexfit dual American flag cap. The cap's defiant tilt seemed to declare: "You can't touch me". Sunlight caught the chain necklace around his neck, its silver color a stark contrast to the whiteness of his teeth that stretched into a sneer. Beneath a red polo shirt embroidered with a small, defiant bull symbol that seemed to snort silent challenges, the lean muscles of his adolescent torso hinted at the Southern hunk he was destined to become. His blue jeans, cinched tight by a thick western belt with a dangling strap that swayed like a pendulum of dominance, clung to hips already widening with impending manhood. On his feet, scuffed brown country shoes—the soles scarred by Kentucky clay—locked him to the earth like roots of poison oak.

He tapped the fence chain-link rhythmically with a knuckle. "Y'all seein' this?" Mitchell called over his shoulder to his brothers, his drawl thick as molasses. "Looks lak Pedo Pete's playin' house with his flowers ah-gain." His sapphire eyes, bright as shattered glass, locked onto Jaden's trembling hands. "Bet he's daydreamin' 'bout little boys instead of weeds." The cruelty in his tone was casual, learned from a father whose fists had taught him boundaries were for the weak.

Yet beneath the swagger, a flicker danced in those blue depths—a ghost of curiosity, almost vulnerability—like sunlight catching dust motes in a condemned barn. Jaden had glimpsed it once when Mitchell tripped over a garden rake last summer; for one heartbeat, the boy's face had crumpled into something lost and small before the mask slammed back down.

Beside him, Ethan Boebert leaned forward, 13 but already mirroring Mitchell's coiled aggression. A black country head bandanna dotted with white stars sat low on his forehead, damp tendrils of spiked blonde hair plastered beneath it like wheat stalks after a downpour. His white flannel hung open, fluttering in the breeze to reveal a ghostly strip of chest and the collar of a grey long-sleeve tee beneath. The shirt tails danced against his hips, teasing the thick black belt cinching his tight grey jeans. His Nike shoes were crusted with dried creek mud (proof of their morning escapade hunting frogs near the railroad tracks), compared to Jaden's clean sandals.

Ethan's nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply. "Smells lak dirt 'n' desperation out he-yah," he sneered, gripping his hands on the fence. "Or maybe that's just you, faggot." His voice cracked on the slur, betraying the instability of adolescence, but his eyes burned with a conviction Jaden found terrifying.

Ethan's cruelty wasn't inherited; it was a poison brewed from equal parts Mitchell's disdain and his own gnawing insecurity. He is a shadow of his older brother's effortless swagger. Mitchell, who towered taller, laughed louder, commanded fear with a lazy smirk. Ethan's venom-tipped tongue became his weapon, sharpening itself on insults like "faggot" and "pedo", each syllable a barb designed to draw blood. His insecurities festered beneath the surface, the way his voice still cracked at inconvenient moments, how his chest remained stubbornly smooth while Mitchell's sprouted wiry hair, and he masked it all with viciousness. His twin, Evan Boebert, mirrored this toxicity, their bond a frayed rope of shared spite: where Ethan lashed out with words, Evan's silence coiled like a snake, ready to strike with a shove or a stolen glance that spoke volumes.

The said twin, born 6 minutes after Ethan, leaned against the fence besides him, 13 and already carved from the same jagged mold. A white country head bandanna dotted with black stars sat low on his forehead, damp tendrils of darker blonde hair plastered beneath it like tangled vines after a storm. His black flannel hung open, fluttering in the breeze to reveal a snug grey tank top hugging the nascent muscles of his chest. The shirt tails danced against his hips, teasing the thick leather belt cinching his long grey jeans. His white Nike shoes gleamed improbably clean against the dirt-scarred wood of the fence, a testament to some private fastidiousness lost in the chaos of his brothers. Sunlight had kissed Evan's skin to a warmer gold than Ethan's, a subtle divergence, and his blonde spikes were slightly sharper, framing eyes that held less rage and more... calculation.

When Ethan spat, "Smells like dirt 'n' desperation out here", Evan's lips twitched. Not a smile, but a flicker of something colder. He didn't speak. Instead, his gaze, blue as frozen petrol, raked over Jaden's trembling hands, the hose, the damp patch spreading on Jaden's worn jeans. A single finger tapped the chain-link fence. Tap. Tap. Tap. Like a countdown.

"Or maybe," Evan finally murmured, his voice sounding the same as Ethan's, but low and smooth as creek stones, "it's just the stink of fear." His eyes locked onto Jaden's. "Ya look real jumpy today, Pedo Pete. Dream 'bout somethin'... specific last night?"

The question hung heavy, like velvet-wrapped poison. Ethan smiled next to him, encouraged by his twin's brutality, mistaking Evan's accuracy for unity. Evan's allegiance to Ethan served as a shield, which was obvious and anticipated, but it concealed a restless need. He had a thrill that wasn't quite brotherly as he saw Jaden's throat bob and the perspiration beading at his temple.

The crunch of dry leaves and the sudden snap of a twig broke the tension. From behind Mitchell's legs, Cameron Boebert pushed forward, his brother's shadow no longer able to contain him. Cameron, the baby of the family at 11 years old, possessed a face that seemed perpetually caught between innocence and menace. Chubby freckled cheeks, flushed pink with exertion, framed a gap-toothed grin that tugged sideways into something sharp. Dull brown eyes like muddy puddles after a storm gleamed with a cunning that felt alien on his boyish face. A buzz-cut scalp, mottled brown and prickly, caught the sunlight like worn burlap. Around his neck, an American cross necklace swung lazily against his collarbone, a cheap symbol of his own brand of patriotic defiance. On one plump wrist, a frayed leather country band peeked from beneath his shirtsleeve, a declaration of roots he hadn't yet earned.

Cameron was a master puppeteer draped in bubblegum wrappers. Where his big brothers wielded fists or venomous words, with Mitchell's sneers and Ethan's shouts, he played the silent conductor, committing manipulation with sticky hands and boyish smiles. Speaking of his hands, while one was grasping Mitchell's jeans leg, the other was buried deep in his left nostril. He dug with the fervor of a prospector striking gold, his dull brown eyes fixed on Jaden like a hawk sizing up prey. His brothers would grimace, look away, gag even, but they never stopped him. There was power in that disgust, Cameron knew. Power that let him whisper poison into ears while everyone stared at his snot-coated finger.

"Y'ain't sweatin' 'cause of the sun, are ya, Pedo Pete?" Cameron chirped, his voice syrup-sweet as he withdrew a pea-sized booger from his nose. He held it up, glinting green-gold under the harsh Kentucky sun, rotating it with theatrical reverence. "Nah... ya look like ya seen a ghost! Or..." His grin widened, gap-toothed and predatory. "Like ya seen somethin' ya shouldn't wanna see."

He popped the booger into his mouth, never breaking eye contact with Jaden. Ethan snorted laughter. Mitchell's lip curled in revulsion. Evan watched, impassive, but his expression sharpened. Cameron rubbed his booger-speckled finger against the chain-link fence, leaving a faint smear. "Prob'ly dreamin' 'bout kid hands touchin' his tiny prick," the nasty boy chirped. "Bet it gets lonely under them baggy jeans."

Each brother sounded different, but they were all harsh when they laughed at Jaden. Evan's quiet laugh and Ethan's piercing nasal bark were synced like harsh instruments. Mitchell let out a louder chuckle, a rumbling growl that shook his shoulders. Cameron's laughter was a chorus of derision, high and moist.

Fuck, not today! Not those little shits again. Jaden gave out a huff of frustration, just when he thought that he was about to have a pleasant day. Those runts are always such a pain in the ass. Especially with their... their...

The Boebert brothers weren't just infamous for their cruelty; they were walking, sneering advertisements for premature virility. At ages 14 and under, their physiques were already sculpted beyond their years: Mitchell's lean grace hinting at future hunk status, Ethan and Evan's twin frames sharpening into adolescent muscle, and Cameron's chubby build layered over nascent strength. But it was their other assets that truly defined them in the neighborhood's hushed gossip. Each brother sported an erection straining against skin-tight jeans, creating obscene bulges that seemed ludicrously outsized for boys their age. Mitchell's unmistakable bulge seem to pulse with every shift of his weight. Ethan and Evan's matching monsters that defied their age were pressing bold ridges against grey fabric. Even Cameron, the chubby-cheeked 11-year-old, sported a shocking swell against his own trousers that looked ludicrously large on his shorter frame.

The collective endowment was a grotesque point of neighborhood gossip, whispered about over fences and in the aisles of the Piggly Wiggly. And nobody amplified that gossip louder than their father, Cletus Boebert, a hulking, bearded mountain of a man with his pwn legendary endowment who brayed about it at the local bar: "My boys? Hell, they're HUNG! Packin' heat like grown men! Proof there ain't no weak seed in MY line! That's the Boebert blood, pure 'n potent!".

Cletus had always dreamt of raising a brood of alpha males who would go on to conquer the world, or at least the local female population. His own experiences with the ladies had been numerous and varied, and he hoped his boys would follow in his footsteps, using their natural advantages to claim the hearts and bodies of the fairer sex. He'd drilled it into them since their balls dropped: size was power, a battering ram to claim dominion.

"See that?" he'd roar when they hit puberty, slapping his own thigh for emphasis, his blue eyes—identical to his sons', but bleary with cheap whiskey—bulging above cheeks permanently flushed from sun and alcohol. "That ain't no accident! That's Boebert blood! Yer birthright! Y'all walk 'round like loaded rifles, boy! USE IT!"

He hadn't just taught them confidence; he'd forged arrogance sharpened by the sheer, undeniable bulk straining their jeans. Their burgeoning manhood wasn't private; it was a crude, public declaration - a blunt instrument wielded against anyone deemed weaker.

The quartet of Boebert brothers, each with their own brand of malice, had been shaped by the overbearing influence of their father, whose hyper-masculine environment had suffocated their mother, Lillian. A slender woman with tired eyes and a once-radiant smile now worn down by the relentless grind of her life, she found solace in the quiet moments she could steal away from the madness of her household. Sleeping most of the day and working late-night shifts at the local diner, she served patrons with an air of resignation, her mind often drifting to the days when she had dreamed of a life filled with more than just the echoes of her husband's belt buckle and the boys' rowdy laughter.

Her absence had left a void in the brothers' lives, one that their father had filled with his own distorted view of what it meant to be a man. They had grown up watching Cletus flex his dominance, both physical and emotional, and they had learned all too well the power of fear and intimidation.

Jaden couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for their mother. The poor woman's exhaustion was etched into her face like the lines on a well-read book, and it was clear that she had no hand in shaping the monsters her sons had become. He often wondered how she could have allowed such vile creatures to sprout from her loins, to be raised under her roof without a semblance of empathy or decency. Her eyes, once vibrant and hopeful, now held a haunted look, as if she were a prisoner in her own home, trapped in a nightmare she couldn't wake from.

Despite her apparent weakness, there was a resilience in her that Jaden admired, a silent strength that whispered of survival amidst the tyranny of Cletus's heavy hand and the boys' never-ending barrage of cruelty. He couldn't help but question her parenting, her ability to stand against the toxic masculinity that Cletus had so proudly cultivated, but he knew the truth was likely far more complex than it appeared on the surface. Lillian's defeat was palpable, and Jaden felt a strange kinship with her, both of them trapped in their own ways by the brutishness of the Boebert men.

Seeing the monstrous bulges in the Boebert brothers' pants was an unwelcome reminder of the dark secret Jaden harbored - a secret that they had unfortunately uncovered and mercilessly used against him. His dark-brown eyes, despite his disgust and anger, would often inadvertently drift towards the prominent bulges, his mind betraying him with a flicker of curiosity and desire that made his cheeks burn with a mix of shame and arousal.

It was a secret that haunted him, a silent confession whispered by the throbbing in his own pants every time the brothers taunted him. The sight of their youthful, robust manhood served as both a taunt and a temptation, a constant reminder of his illicit desires that he struggled to keep buried in the soil of his garden.

Mitchell, the brunet ringleader of the quartet, noticed the flicker of interest in Jaden's eyes as they strayed to the bulges in their pants. His own cock swelled with a mix of pride and malice at the power he held over the young man. He smirked, his teeth gleaming in the sunlight, and casually adjusted himself through his jeans, making sure the outline of his thick erection was impossible to ignore.

"Somethin' catch yer eye, Pedo Pete?" The 14-year-old drawled, his Southern accent dripping with knowing amusement. He let his palm drag slowly over the prominent bulge, fingers pressing just hard enough to make the outline of his cockhead visible through the denim. "Ooooh yeah... I gotta big ass rod en mah drawers that yer perverted mouth wanna snack own. Bet that's what ya're starin' at lak a goddamn thirsty dog at a waterin' hole, huh ya sick fuck?"

Jaden's body locked up like rusted garden shears—feet rooted in damp soil, fingers spasming around the hose nozzle still dribbling water onto his pant leg. His throat clicked uselessly, no sound emerging, because what could he say? Mitchell wasn't wrong. The truth sat like a rotten peach in his gut: he had been staring. Not at Mitchell's sneering face. But lower. At the obscene tenting of his jeans where a thick, adolescent erection pressed against the zipper like it was trying to escape.

Ethan and Evan erupted into identical snorts of laughter, their own hands instinctively adjusting their matching bulges.

"Shit Mitch, I think ya broke him!" Ethan crowed, hiking up his grey jeans just enough to emphasize the heavy outline straining against his thigh. "Ol' Pedo Pete's brain done short-circuited lookin' at them Boebert genetics! Bet he's imaginin' what's under here—" He slapped his own crotch hard enough to make the denim slap, "—ain't that right, queer bait?"

Evan, quieter but no less cruel, simply clutching his belt buckle with his right hand. "Heh... reckon he's wettin' his pants right now," he murmured, watching Jaden's face with predator's focus. "Wanna see somethin' real nasty, Pedo Pete?"

Cameron's booger-smeared finger tapped the fence like a metronome counting down Jaden's humiliation. "Mah pee-pee's bigger'n Evan's," the 11-year-old announced suddenly, pressing his chubby palms against his own obscene bulge. "Mitchell said so when we peed behind the Walmart dumpster."

Evan's icy composure cracked. "The fuck it is," he hissed. "Ya couldn't even see yers past yer gut 'til last summer." His fingers twitched toward his own bulge—a reflexive motion, like a gunslinger reaching for his holster—before he caught himself. The chain-link fence rattled as Ethan hip-checked him, pressing his own denim-clad erection against the metal links with a wet smack of mud still clinging to his jeans.

"At least mah dick don't curve left like a goddamn banana," Ethan shot back, grinding against the fence hard enough to leave a dusty imprint. His voice cracked mid-insult, but the heat in his glare burned steady.

Mitchell rolled his eyes and spat into the grass on Jaden's side. "Y'all squabblin' like hens over feed." He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and thrust his hips forward, the worn denim straining over what looked like a forearm-sized python trying to tunnel out. "Ain't no contest when this monster's in the room." The boast was textbook Boebert bravado, but his smirk faltered when Cameron suddenly shoved between his legs.

The 11-year-old wedged himself under Mitchell's arm like a barn cat demanding attention. "Nuh-uh!" Cameron chirped, kneading his own crotch with sticky fingers. "Pa said I'M the grower!" His high-pitched giggle dissolved into a wet cough as Mitchell yanked him backward by his dark-blue shirt collar.

"Christ almighty, Cam—" Mitchell's drawl hitched when Cameron's elbow accidentally jabbed his swollen bulge. He shoved the boy away with a hiss. "Watch the merchandise, ya lil' fuckwit!" Cameron stumbled back onto the mud-caked sneaker of Evan, who shot Cameron a glare sharp enough to flay skin—a silent warning to back off.

Ethan snorted at Mitchell's jab, "Bet yer monster's cryin' now," he mocked, pointing at Mitchell's groin where Cameron's elbow strike had clearly caused discomfort.

Evan remained silent, but his fingers tapped faster on the chain-link like Morse code for impending disaster.

Cameron, recovering his balance, shot Mitchell a venomous glare. "Least mine don't smell lak a fuckin' possum died in my britches," he shrilled, clutching his own bulge possessively.

The brothers devolved into a squabble over genital size and hygiene, their insults bouncing off each other like ricocheting bullets. Mitchell shoved Ethan away, Ethan retaliated with a muddy shoe-stomp on Evan's clean Nikes, and Cameron seized the moment to kick Mitchell's shin.

Amid the chaos—the grunts, the insults about "crooked cocks" and "worm-sized wonders"—Jaden's paralysis broke. A distant sound sliced through the brothers' noise: the creak of Mrs. Baldwin's screen door two yards over. If that nosy widow caught wind of this...

"Shut up!" Jaden barked, louder than intended, sharp as snapped garden shears. The brothers froze mid-tussle, four heads whipping toward him. "All of you—just stop." He gestured wildly toward the street, hose spraying an arc of droplets. "Anyone could hear this trash! Mrs. Baldwin's porch light is on. Y'think people like her would be okay listening to y'all brag about your... your... junk?"

Silence. Even Cameron froze mid-pick, his dirt-crusted nail hovering near his nostril.

Mitchell recovered first, squinting past Jaden's shoulder toward the faded yellow bungalow. The porch light was indeed on, a weak bulb haloed by moths. He scoffed and spat again, this time landing near Jaden's sandal. "Ain't nobody out here 'cept us chickens," he drawled, but his voice lacked its usual conviction. He adjusted his cap, the American flag patch glaring under the sun. "Old bat's prob'ly deaf as a post anyway."

Cameron giggled, high and reedy. "She smells lak pee!" Ethan elbowed him quiet.

Evan uncurled his tapping finger from the fence. "Reckon Pedo Pete's right," he murmured, so soft the others leaned in. "Wouldn't wanna scare the neighbors." He turn to look at Jaden, lingering on his damp jeans. "Not when we're just gettin' started playin'."

Mitchell's grin returned, wider, meaner. "Yeah," he said, stepping closer to the fence. "Wouldn't want anyone to see the pedo lookin' at what's en ow-wah pants."

"I wasn't looking at... Ugh, will you guys just leave me the fuck alone?" Jaden hissed, jerking the hose nozzle back as water sprayed uselessly onto his tomatoes. His voice cracked like dry twigs. "Go and disrupt someone else's day, will ya?"

The seeds of Jaden's torment had been planted one fateful afternoon months earlier, when an innocent game of catch had turned into a nightmare. The Boebert brothers had been playing in their yard when an errant throw had sent the ball sailing over the fence and hurtling towards Jaden as he returned from school. The ball smacked Jaden on the side of the head, knocking him to the ground. The impact caused him to drop the notebook he'd been clutching tightly because of how heavy his school backpack was. The notebook flew open to reveal the forbidden fruits of his secret desires: a treasure trove containing sketches of young boys, their naked forms and engorged penises engaging in intimate acts with each other, some with grown men, drawn with a trembling hand, each page a silent confession of his deepest, darkest longings.

It was too late for Jaden to gather them all up when the brothers stumbled upon these images, and with a cruel cunning of the young, had recognized the power they held. They had found his weakness. They figured that it was because of what they've packed in their pants that drove him to do it. From that moment, they'd used Jaden's secret as a weapon, a tool to cut him down and make him feel the very same fear and disgust they believed he embodied. Their taunts grew more vicious, more explicit, as they revealed in the power they had over him. The ball had not only knocked him down but had also knocked down the walls that had kept his desires hidden. The Boebert brothers had become the gatekeepers of his shame, and as long as they reside here, they were not about to let him forget it.

Now, every time Jaden stepped into his garden, every time he tried to find peace amidst the foliage, he could feel their eyes on him, could almost hear their snickers and the whispers of the secret they held. There's no escape from the prison of his own desires, no matter how much he wished it were otherwise.

With a tremor of self-disgust, Jaden averted his gaze from the Boebert brothers' lewd displays, his cheeks burning with a crimson blush that matched the roses he so tenderly cared for. He knew that his own perversion had laid the foundation for their cruel games, and the guilt weighed on him like a leaden blanket, suffocating the air from his lungs.

He whispered harshly to himself, "Guess this is what you get for being so sick, Jaden."

The Boebert brothers didn't want to leave. Why would they? The wounded rabbit was caught in their trap, twitching under their stares. Mitchell leaned against the fence, his thumb hooked casually in his belt loop just inches from that obscene bulge. Evan mirrored him, silent but predatory. Ethan spat on the grass near the dandelions. Cameron just grinned, fingers tracing the cross on his necklace—a mockery of innocence. The garden wasn't just Jaden's sanctuary; it was their hunting ground. They'd scented weakness, and like wolves, they circled.

Mitchell's voice cut through the silence, smooth as creek ice but poisoned beneath. "So, Pedo Pete," he began, tilting his head with exaggerated curiosity. "Whatcha plantin' over there? Some kinda... special seedlings?"

Ethan snorted at the pun, nudging Evan hard enough to make his brother stumble.

The eldest Boebert's smile widened. "Bet they need extra care, huh? Real tender touch?" His southern drawl thickened, sticky-sweet venom. "Kinda like them boys ya sketch?"

Jaden's grip on the hose tightened, his brown eyes never leaving the ground as he felt the weight of their accusations pressing down on him. Don't give into them, Jaden. They're not worth your time!

He knew the lewdness in their tone was a deliberate attempt to provoke him, to make him react in a way that would give them more ammo for their cruel games. But he also knew that the truth behind their taunts was what made it so much worse. After all, they had found his notebook, filled with explicit drawings of younger boys, and they knew exactly what kind of thoughts filled his head.

So instead of rising to the bait, Jaden took a slow breath, letting the damp garden air fill his lungs. The cold water dripping onto his ankle felt grounding, a reminder that amidst all this filth, life still grew where he tended it. He turned the hose nozzle off with a gentle twist, the sudden silence amplifying the distant chirp of crickets. Then, he met Mitchell's mocking gaze squarely. "My name isn't 'Pedo Pete'. It's Jaden. And yeah, I'm watering plants. That's what people do when they want peace. Minding their own business. Don't reckon any of y'all would understand that."

Cause y'all are nothing but obnoxious BRATS who just don't know how to leave others alone. He finished in his thoughts, even though he wanted to shout it out loud. That would only fuel the boys' determination to bother him.

Mitchell's grin slipped like wet gravel. He hadn't expected Jaden to bite back. Not like this. Not with words. His hand dropped from his belt loop, fingers curling into a fist. Evan's tapping stopped cold. Ethan blinked, momentarily stunned. Cameron sucked his lower lip, eyes narrowed.

"You got a mouth on ya today, Pedo," The boy with a cap snarled, shaking off his surprise. He shoved away from the fence, closing the distance to the chain-link until his breath fogged the metal. "Peace? Ain't no peace when yer brain's crawlin' with pictures of kids' privates." He spat the words like venom. "Betcha' dream 'bout plantin' more than seeds in that dirt."

I REALLY do not want to have this kind of talk with some nasty little hillbilly runts. Jaden mentally groaned while feeling the unwanted stirring in his own pants, the same arousal that had led to his downfall.

"Is it really that hard for y'all to just... let it go?" Jaden growled, resisting the urge to glance down at Mitchell's straining zipper as he leaned against the fence. "Leave me alone? Find somethin' useful to do? Don't y'all have chores? Anything?" He pointed toward their own yard, a wasteland of trampled weeds and discarded plastic toys. "Instead of wastin' daylight tormentin' someone who just wants to water his damn tomatoes?"

Or is tormenting me the only chore they know? He thought bitterly. God, asking them to stop is like asking weeds not to choke my roses.

Mitchell chuckled darkly, leaning so close his chin nearly hooked the chain-link. "Why the hell would we stop, Pedo? Ya're likin' this. We see ya peekin'. Every damn time. That blush ain't just shame." He tapped his temple. "Ya crave ow-wah attention. Ya just too chicken-shit to admit it."

Jaden felt his stomach clench at this brat's challenging tone, his mind racing with thoughts of what could happen if he did give in, if he did admit to the desires that consumed him. Would it finally end the torment?

No Jaden, you can't do this. He scolded himself in his thoughts. You know how immoral and disgusting this is! If you do this there's no going back from it. Plus, who knows what they could be planning next if you do it. It could be the beginning of something far, far worse that's gonna become a permanent stain for the rest of your life! You seriously don't want your parents to know you're just like... just like him!

The person he's referring to as 'him' was his maternal uncle Trevor.

The very reason he and his parents had uprooted themselves from California to the desolate embrace of his father's home state had been to escape the shadow of Trevor's heinous acts. The middle-aged man, once a beloved figure in Jaden's life, had been arrested for engaging in sexual acts with pre-teen boys at the middle school where Jaden had attended when he was around Cameron's age at the time.

The scandal had shattered their lives, leaving a stench of perversion that clung to Jaden like a noxious cloud. It always reminds him of the dark path that lay before him, a path he swore never to walk. His parents had hoped that a new environment would help him heal, that he would be free from the echoes of his uncle's depravity. But now, as he stood before the Boebert brothers, the ghosts of his past and present seemed to merge into a single, taunting form, daring him to embrace the very fate he feared most.

"How about you go fuck off, Mitchell," the Wilson teen finally managed to spit out. He knew that standing up to them was like poking a beehive, but the sting of their words had gone on long enough.

As predicted, the Southern-accent brothers all started laughing.

"Oooh, he's got a mouth own him!" Evan quipped. "Why don't ya show us what ya can do with that mouth, boy?"

"Yeah, ya know ya want it," Ethan added, "to taste what we've got." His tongue darted out to lick his lips. "We could show ya things ya've only ever dreamt of, make all those dirty pictures en your head come to life."

Are these brats trying to get me in trouble? What if someone is outside hearing what they're saying? Jaden thought as he looked around nervously. But the neighborhood was dead quiet except for Mr. Cuomo's barking beagle two blocks over. "You're not going to get what you want... You are not gonna end up like that man," he whispers harshly to himself, refusing to say his uncle's name while trying to regain control over his body and his thoughts, cupping his hand over the bulge.

The Boebert brothers however already noticed his discomfort, their smirks growing wider.

"OOOOHHHH, HE'S FONDLIN' HIS WEENIE!" Cameron's shriek sliced through the garden like a rusty blade, his booger-crusted finger pointing toward Jaden's cupped groin. "LOOKIT THE NASTY FAGGOT TOUCHIN' HISSELF RIGHT HE-YAH!" Cameron danced backward with gleeful revulsion, bumping into Evan's leg. "WHAT A SICKO! GETTIN' OFF TO THE THOUGHT OF US LITTLE BOYS!" The little brat wiggled his fingers in a lewd gesture, mimicking the act of masturbation.

Jaden jerked his hand away from his crotch as if scalded, his cheeks flaming hotter than his prized Carolina Reapers. "I wasn't—!" His voice cracked, raw. "Shut up, Cameron! That's disgusting! You don't know what you're talking about!" He took a furious step back, spraying muddy water from his sandal onto his own tomatoes. His denial rang hollow, thin as a spider's thread stretched taut. The bulge beneath his worn jeans hadn't vanished. If anything, their crude accusations seemed to pulse against the denim.

The eldest of the four juvenile bullies didn't laugh. His locked his sapphire pools onto Jaden's hips like a cat spotting a trembling mouse. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. "Disgusting?" Mitchell retorted. "Look who's talkin', Pedo Pete." He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, deliberately pushing his own straining erection against the chain-link. The metal links groaned. "We know exactly what got yer little worm wigglin'."

The biracial young adult's hands clenched into fists, dirt embedding under his nails, groaning. "Stop calling me that," he hissed. "My name is Jaden. And I'm dead serious, get off my property."

Mitchell snorted at his words. "Property? This flimsy chicken wire?" He gave the fence a vicious shake, rattling the entire section where Jaden stood. It swayed precariously, dirt crumbling from the base posts. "Ain't much of a fortress, pedo. More like a... suggestion. And suggestions," he squinted his eyes and made a mean face, "are made to be ignored."

Cameron rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, a feral gap-tooth grin splitting his grubby face. "Yeah, Jay-Jay, we're just being friendly! Ya look all tense'n' sad, waterin' yer plants. We just wanna help ya feel better lak good neighbors!" He took on a singsong, mocking lilt. "Bet ya got itches need scratchin'... down low." He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully towards Jaden's groin. "C'mere, ya pedo. Less' show ya somethin' reeeeal fun!" His eyes traveled down Jaden's shorts, then back up, wide with performative innocence. "Mama says helpin' folks is Christian charity." He puckered his lips obscenely, making wet, kissy noises.

Deep beneath Jaden's panic and loathing, a traitorous cord vibrated: a sickening hum of arousal at Cameron's crude, childish taunts. The blunted sexual aggression, wrapped in playground vulgarity, scratched a dark itch he'd fed for years in lonely fantasies. He imagined Cameron shoved against a chain-link fence somewhere else, anywhere else—not him, not really him—just a mouthy phantom in a crude sketch. That phantom would whimper differently. Beg prettier. But this was real. This was Cameron Boebert, all sour breath and dirt-streaked spite. The disconnect was jarring, nauseating. His body reacted like a puppet twitching to old strings, even as his mind screamed; Wrong, Wrong, WRONG! He couldn't indulge this. Not here. Not with them.

"No thanks. I'm not interested," Jaden stated flatly. He kept his eyes fixed on the wilted basil plant near his foot, fighting the urge to glance at Cameron's leering face. "Not in your 'charity'. Not in your games. Go find a stray dog to torment. Seems more your speed."

Cameron's mock-pout evaporated into a sneer. He kicked savagely at a clump of dirt clinging to the fence base. "Ya're no fun, Pedo Petey-Pie," he whined, dragging out the nickname like sticky tar. "Ya never wanna play with us! Always hidin' with yer stupid flowers!"

Jaden rolled his eyes hard enough to ache. "At least my flowers don't call me names," he reply back, turning his back on them completely. The hose lay coiled and dripping near the tomatoes. He strode past it, his damp polyester shorts clinging uncomfortably, heading not toward the house, but toward the small aluminum garden shed tucked against the far corner of the yard. His sanctuary within a sanctuary.

The shed door groaned open on stiff hinges. The curly-haired young man slammed it shut behind him, plunging the space into gloom thick with the smell of potting soil, rust, and old grass clippings. He leaned his forehead against a stack of terra cotta pots, breathing hard. Outside, muffled laughter flared—Cameron's shriek punctuating something crude.

"What kind of sick shit has Mr. Boebert been pouring into those boys' heads?" Jaden muttered under his breath. "What kind of father teaches his sons to behave like this at such a young age? Thar swinging a big dick makes you king of the goddamn trailer park? That it's okay to grind on fences like dogs in heat?" The image of Evan's silent, calculating stare flashed behind his eyelids. Mitchell's entitlement. Ethan's crude sneers. Cameron's gleeful taunts. All warped reflections of their father's toxic creed. "They're becoming a bunch of horny brats, thinking they're God's gift to the world just because they've got big dicks. This isn't normal for little boys to behave like this. This is seriously fucked up."

He couldn't help but wonder what Cletus would say if he knew the truth about his sons' taunts and the desires they stirred in Jaden. If that man saw them with me, knowing what they know, it would be a whole other kind of hell, he thought, his mind swirling in a tumultuous storm of fear and anger. I already heard about what he said about uncle T—... that man... when he came over to fix my dad's car.

Jaden can remember how Cletus's face was twisted into a mask of pure hatred when his father had once mentioned the scandal with Trevor. "If'n I ever catch one o' them low-down, perverted fucks 'round these parts, I'll string 'em up by their nuts," he'd growled, his voice a thunderclap that had left no room for doubt. The vehemence in his words had crafted a picture of the venom he reserved for pedophiles, especially those with a taste for young boys.

And boy, if the Boebert patriarch finds out about Jaden's attraction to young boys, imagine how terrifying it would be. This made his skin crawl, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. He couldn't let those little runts control him, not even in the quiet whispers of his own mind.

Suddenly, Jaden was startled by a sharp thwack that hit the shed wall. Mud smeared across the dusty windowpane. Cameron's voice piped through the aluminum. "Comin' outta there, pedo? Or ya hiden' 'cause yer pecker's pokin'?"

"Don't worry, Cam," Evan's murmur followed, chillingly calm. "He'll crack faster if we let his nasty thoughts fester."

Jaden's fist clenched around the rusty trowel. Let them laugh. Let them whisper. He wouldn't give his bullies the explosion they wanted. Not today. Not ever. He focused on searching for marigold seeds inside the toolbox, ignoring Cameron's mud-spit stains blooming on the window like rotten flowers. His fingers brushed past coiled garden twine and cracked seed packets before finding the small brown envelope labeled "Tagetes Patula". He grabs the entire bag with his hands and prepares himself to carry it outside.

But as Jaden turned to leave, the jingling of belt buckles and the sound of unzipping pants reached his ears, accompanied by the Boebert brothers' snickers. He froze, his hand hovering over the shed's doorknob, the reality of their intentions crashing over him like a cold, hard wave.

"The pedo's gonna be in fer a surprise..." Mitchell's whisper slithered through the shed's thin walls, followed by a wet slap of skin that made Jaden's stomach drop.

Oh, no... No they did not. They better fucking not. They can't be serious, he thought, shaking his head in denial of what they're probably doing. He knew he couldn't let them see his reaction, couldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing how much they'd affected him. He opened the shed and stepped back out into the sunlight.

The curly-haired teen forced himself to turn around, and the sight that greeted him from behind the wooden fence that separated their yard is something that would definitely make any sick-minded, child-loving pervert stick their hand in their boxers. The four brothers had indeed done what Jaden feared they're doing; they dropped their pants, their pre-adolescent cocks (if you can describe them 'pre-adolescent' when they're already size of damn bananas) standing proudly at attention as the fence between them did little to obscure the lewd display they'd decided to put on.

Mitchell's cock, jutted forward like a bronzed battering ram—a monstrous 14.5 inches of taut Southern flesh glistening sweat beneath the Kentucky sun. The swollen head, plum dark and veined with angry ridges, pulsed visible with each heartbeat, it's musky scent—a brutal cocktail of salt, Coppertone, and something distinctly feral—wafting through the chain links. Pre-cum beaded at the slit, thick as sap, and Jaden's through tightened as Mitchell lazily thumbed it away with a smirk, the motion stretching his foreskin taut over that obscene girth.

"Lak what ya see, pedo?" he drawled, hips rolling forward to make the heavy shaft slap against the fence.

Beside Mitchell, Ethan's rigid teenage beast, swollen to 14 inches of thick, muscled meat that had no business belonging to a 13-year-old. Circumcised and gleaming with a sheen of sweat, the flushed mushroom head flared wide enough to choke on, its slit already leaking ropes of pre-cum that dripped down the veined shaft. The scent hit Jaden first: coppery musk combined with cheap body spray and something cloying sweet, like stolen peach schnapps. Every ridge stood our in obscene relief, the frenulum taut where it connected to the throbbing underside.

The blonde Caucasian boy gripped the base with dirt-streaked fingers, hissing through gritted teeth as he gave himself two rough strokes, breathing, "Bet ya wanna taste this more'n yer damn tomatoes, faggot."

As for his younger twin, Evan's 13-year-old erection was a horrifying work of art—14 inches of smooth, circumcised flesh with the diameter of a Red Bull can, the shaft so engorged that the veins stood out like electrical wiring under his translucent skin. The head alone, glistening like polished garnet under the sun, dwarfed most grown men's entire members, a deep burgundy mushroom cap weeping creamy white strands of pre-cum that dripped onto the trampled ragweed below. Unlike Mitchell's animalistic musk or Ethan's cloying peach-scented sweat, Evan carried the sterile reek of bleach and wintergreen chewing tobacco, the scent clinging to his shaft in nauseating contrast to its grotesque vitality.

His fingers dragged up the shaft with methodical cruelty, smearing his semen across the throbbing crown. "Bet ya measure shit in yer head," he smirked, thumb circling the slit. "Countin' how many inches ya wish ya had."

And finally, the last-born Boebert himself, Cameron—11 years old with 13 inches of thick, uncut Kentucky meat swelling obscenely beneath the stretched foreskin, the swollen pink tip peeking through like the head of a viper emerging from its nest. It was a grotesque fantasy plucked from a pedophile's fever dream. The scent rolling off him hit like a punch to the sinuses: sour adolescent must layered with bubblegum and the unmistakable tang of unwashed pre-teen arousal. Every vein pulsed visibly beneath limpid skin, the entire throbbing length twitching whenever he giggled... which was often, because Cameron laughed like this was the funniest damn thing in the world.

His chubby fingers fisted the reddened shaft in rough, jerky strokes. "Ain't never seen this in yer dirty magazines, huh, queer boy?" He taunted.

Jaden couldn't believe his eyes... or the unbearable pressure in his own shorts, where his own neglected penis strained under the knotted drawstring, the damp spot growing as pre-cum soaked through his boxers. Four monstrous erections bobbed obscenely across the fence, belonging to boys who shouldn't even have this kind of size yet. This isn't him like looking up shotacon NSFW online fantasies, this is him seeing real-life giant cocks belonging to boys who don't even have their high school diplomas yet, not even close.

This can't be real! The biracial teen's mind screamed. Those are CHILDREN'S cocks! But they're—damn—they're bigger than porn stars. Sexy as fuck for boys as young as th... FUCK, WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING!?

Jaden hollered with ire and shock, "WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK ARE YOU IDIOTS DOING!? HAVE YOU ALL LOST YOUR GODDAMN MINDS!?" He whirled around like a man on fire, scanning the street for neighbors, praying that no one had heard or seen the lewd display unfolding before him. But the suburban street lay deserted, lawns crisp and empty under the midday sun. Only Mr. Cuomo's beagle barked in the distance, oblivious.

Mitchell threw his head back with a bark of laughter, his cock swaying obscenely as he slapped his thigh. "Ohhh, lookit him, boys. The pedo's all riled up ovah a little show! Betcha he's never seen a real man's dick before!"

Ethan and Evan joined in, their mocking laughter harmonizing as Cameron did an exaggerated jerk-off motion, his tongue lolling out like a panting dog. "Aww, poor Pedo Pete—got his fee-fees hurt 'cause lil' boys got bigger pee-pees than him!" The youngest boy crowed, his freckled face scrunched with delight at Jaden's flustered rage.

"Yeah. Lookit 'em all," Evan said, a wicked smile spreading across his face as he gestured towards his brothers' exposed erections, "These are the dicks ya've bin' fantasizin' about, aren't they, ya cock-cravin' queer?"

Jaden's breath hitched—not just from outrage, but because Evan's words struck true. The shed's shadow hid his own traitorous bulge as Mitchell suddenly grabbed the fence links and hoisted himself up, his monstrous cock swinging freely like some grotesque pendulum. "Tell ya what, garden fairy," the eldest Boebert sneered, spit glistening on his lower lip. "Ya lak tendin' yer thirsty plants, how 'bout ya let us plant somethin' in you?"

Cameron howled with laughter, slapping his bare thigh hard enough to leave a red mark. "OH SHIT, MITCH! THAT'S DIRTY!" His tiny hand jerked his own erection faster, smearing pre-cum down the shaft.

Jaden felt a bile rise in his throat as the Boebert brothers continued to mock him. Are they THAT fucking crazy? If they think it's gonna succeed in making me fall into their trap, especially outside where anyone could see us at any minute, they better think again.

"You guys are fucking sick! I'm not gonna be playing this shit!" the 19-year-old yelled, his voice trembling with rage. "You CAN'T do this out here! What if someone spots you guys?" He knew he had to put an end to this before it escalated further, before someone else saw, before the neighbors called the cops... or worse. "What would happen if your dad comes out and sees what is happening?"

"Don't ya worry 'bout Pa," Mitchell said with a wink. "He's out at the bar, lak always. We got all the time en the world to show ya what real Kentucky boys are made of."

Cameron shamelessly picks his nose, ejecting a slimy booger with his finger before popping it into his mouth for a taste. "Mama's also out cold, Jaden," he said, licking his lips, the action crude and deliberate. With his other hand, he squeezed his still-hardening cock, a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip and then slipping down the shaft like a tiny teardrop. "We got the house all to ourselves. So why don't ya come ovah he-yah, 'n we can go hide somewhere nice 'n private?" His grin widened, showing off a missing tooth, and he wiggled his hips suggestively. "Ya know ya wanna."

The thought of slipping into their home, of their hands touching him, was enough to make his pulse throb in places it shouldn't. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste iron.

They're just kids, his conscience screamed. They don't know what they're doing. They don't actually want this. This needs to stop right now.

"Look," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "I don't know what kind of sick shit you've got going on over there, but I'm not playing your games. All of you, put your pants back on and go home. Now!"

"Ya're the sick one, Jaden," Mitchell shot back with a sneer, thrusting his hips forward so his monstrous erection slapped against the fence links. The metal rattled, chains singing a sickening tune. "What kinda twisted pedo makes porn sketches of lil' boys, huh? Caint keep yer nasty thoughts en check?" Pre-cum glistened at his tip, thick as syrup. He flicked it toward Jaden's sandals with a wet snap. "Admit it—ya love seein' this. Love that we're young. That's yer sickness talkin'."

The other brothers giggled, their cocks twitching in unison like grotesque marionettes.

"I'm serious, Mitchell," Jaden spat. "This isn't funny."

But even as he said it, he knew he was fighting a losing battle. His eyes were drawn to the youthful erections, the images from his notebook coming to life before his very eyes.

"Then how come ya're still lookin' at ow-wah dicks?" Ethan crowed, thrusting forward so his erection slapped against the chain-links with a wet smack. The fence shuddered, hinges squealing. "Come own, ya pedo. What are ya so scared of? Ya know ya want a taste." His Southern drawl dripped with taunting amusement.

Jaden tried to ignore it, telling himself over and over that this wasn't right, that he wasn't some sick predator like they were making him out to be. He cannot become like his uncle. His hand clutched the bag of marigold seeds tighter, using it to cover the bulge as he took a step back, hoping to hide his body's traitorous response. He watched as their eyes flicked down to the spot where the bag of seeds failed to conceal his growing arousal.

"Ya see that, boys?" Mitchell chuckled darkly, nodding toward where Jaden's shaking hands clutched the seed bag like a shield. "The pedo caint even hide it when we're just talkin' dirtah to him."

The twins shared the same annoying smug. Even Cameron, the youngest, had lost the last vestiges of his innocence, his eyes alight with a newfound understanding of the power they wielded over the object of their torment.

The youngest Boebert boy's nasally laugh pierced the air as he pointed his grimy, snot-covered finger at Jaden. "Ya know, for a grown-up, I bet ya got a real tiny dick," he goaded with childish glee and malevolent intent. "Prob'ly nothin' but a lil' peanut down there that gets hard from watchin' us, huh? Or maybe ya ain't got one at all, 'cept for those sick thoughts of ow-wahs ya've got in that twisted head of yers."

Evan, his spiked blonde hair glowing in the sun, stepped forward with a smug grin, a bead of pre-cum glistening on the tip of his engorged cock as he rubbed it with his thumb. "Looks lak ya're pretty desperate fo-wah some action, Jaden," he taunted. "Is that why ya had to resort to drawin' us en your little book? Nobody to keep ya company, so ya just have to settle fo-wah fantasizin' about us?" His finger traced a lazy circle around the sensitive tip of his cock.

Jaden felt the sting of their words cut deeper than the thorns of the roses he tended to. Memories of the cruel laughter of Naomi, his ex-girlfriend, echoed in his ears, the sting of rejection still fresh.

"Yeah, I know," Mitchell said with a smug look, "ya've got that sad, desperate look of a boy who's never had a real man to show ya how it's done. Maybe ya should just admit it 'n come ovah he-yah, we'll show ya what it's lak to have a cock that doesn't look lak a shrimp."

The twins and Cameron cackled, their youthful voices a symphony of cruelty.

Jaden, still refusing to give in to their depraved offer, gave them a gritted smile and a raised middle finger. He turned away from the fence and stomped back towards the garden, his dark-brown curly hair bouncing with every step. The boys' laughter and taunts grew distant as he focused on the marigold seeds, planting them one by one into the fertile earth with a determination that mirrored the anger coursing through his veins. The slurs "faggot", "perv", and "cocksucker" they hurled at him were like a noxious weed, but he would not let them choke the beauty he cultivated here.

Each seed was a declaration of his resilience, a silent rebellion against the cruelty they sought to impose upon him. Yet, as he worked, he couldn't help but feel the warmth of his own arousal, a traitorous response to their twisted game. He planted the last marigold, patting the soil down firmly, and whispered a silent vow to himself. "This is my garden, and I'll be damned if I let them ruin this for me."

And with that, he picked up the hose and doused the freshly planted seeds, the droplets of water mingling with the sweat on his brow as he ignored the fading sound of their laughter, determined to find peace in the one place they hadn't fully tainted with their malice.

As Jaden's back was turned to the fence, Ethan's voice grew louder, "I bet as soon as ya go inside, ya're gonna whip out that sad little carrot of yers 'n jerk off to the thought of us!"

Cameron added, his words sticky with faux innocence, "Ya gonna think 'bout which one of us ya wanna suck first?"

Jaden clenched his fists as he fought the urge to give in to their taunts. They're still watching him, waiting for a reaction, waiting for him to crack under the weight of their malicious teasing. But he would not give them that satisfaction. Instead, he let out a slow exhale and focused on the task at hand. He would not let them win. He would not let them control his desires or his sanctuary.

Jaden's thoughts drifted to the coming weeks as he worked in the garden, each shovelful of dirt a countdown to the day he could escape. College, a brand new start, a chance to leave the Boebert brothers' cruel taunts behind.

He imagined the walls of his new dorm room, a sanctuary from the torment that had become his reality. He envisioned the freedom of living among peers who didn't know his darkest secrets, who wouldn't judge him for the desires that plagued him. When the summer break ended and the school bell rang once more, he would be gone, leaving behind the confines of this neighborhood that had become a prison of his own making. As he tended to the marigolds, a silent vow formed in his heart: Once I'm out of here, I'll never have to deal with those little shits again.

But then, Ethan's taunt rang out... closer than before. "Hey, didja hear us, ya faggot?!"

He whipped around and jumped, startled. The Boebert brothers were now in his yard, their pants still around their ankles, their youthful cocks still standing proudly erect as they stared at him with amusement and challenge.

"How the fuck..." he muttered under his breath, his eyes wide with shock and fear. The fence had been breached. They must've climbed over it while he'd been lost in his own thoughts about college. "Did I give you brats permission to come over here?" he seethed. "Get the fuck out of my garden before I call the cops!"

The brothers only laughed once again as they took a collective step closer, their erections bobbing with each step they took on the soft earth. The game had escalated, and Jaden knew that this was far from over.

"The cops are gonna love seein' fo-wah naked little boys en a grown man's garden," Mitchell jeered, his hand still casually stroking his erect cock. The smug look on his face made Jaden's blood boil, but he knew the 14-year-old wasn't wrong. The situation was precarious, and calling the authorities would only serve to further expose his secret. The twins and Cameron snickered in agreement, their eyes glinting with the same sadistic pleasure.

Jaden felt his throat tighten as the reality of his vulnerability set in. "You think they're gonna believe you weren't the ones who climbed over here to start shit?" he retorted, trying to regain some semblance of control. "Why don't you all just get out of here before this gets any more fucked up?" he pleaded through gritted teeth.

Cameron, the youngest with the buzz-cut, took a step closer to Jaden, gleaming with a new idea for humiliation. With a grin that showcased his gap front teeth, he began to pick at his nose, the tip of his finger disappearing into his nostril before emerging with a glistening glob of snot. "What's wrong, Jaden?" he jeered, flicking the snot at the 19-year-old's sandals. "Scared of a little boy lak meh?"

His brothers roared with laughter, their erections bobbing in time with their mocking applause.

Jaden's disgust was palpable, his eyes flicking between the vile act and the leering faces of his tormentors. "Cut it out, this is fucking sick," he sternly replied, trying to maintain his dignity amidst the degradation. "It's not funny!"

Mitchell, ever the ringleader, took a step closer, his own erection standing tall and proud. "Ya're the one with the dirtah mind, Jaden," he sneered. "Ya're the one who caint keep it en your drawers when ya see a little boy lak this." He gestured to his younger brother, who's picking his nose again and smearing the contents on his fingers, his toothy grin growing more malicious by the second. "So why don't ya tell us, who do ya want first?"

Jaden's heart raced, his mind a tornado of fear and anger. He knew that giving in to their demands would only fuel their cruelty, but the desire, the dark, twisted desire that they'd unearthed in him, was a siren's call that grew louder with each passing moment. The sun beat down on him, a silent witness to the unfolding horror, as he took a step back.

"This isn't right," he shook his head. "I'm not going to let you do this to me."

Yet even as he said the words, the brunet's eyes strayed to the youngest brother's snot-covered digit, his traitorous mind imagining the taste of that youthful innocence, the feel of that nasal warmth against his own tongue. It was a thought that made him want to retch, but also one that sent a thrill of illicit pleasure through his body, his cock straining against the fabric of his shorts.

The brothers noticed this and their laughter grew more raucous, their cocks twitching in response to the power they had over him. "Looks lak someone's gettin' excited," Ethan said, his own hand moving to stroke his shaft.

"Looks lak ow-wah little garden gnome he-yah's got a taste fo-wah the exotic," Cameron crowed. He brought the snot-covered finger to his mouth and licked it clean, his eyes never leaving Jaden's horrified gaze. "Bet ya'd love to see more of that, huh?"

Mitchell's smirk grew wider. "Maybe he's got a nose fo-wah little boys' boogers too," he said, nudging Ethan and Evan with his elbow.

"What!? Eww, NO! That's disgusting, you little fuck!" Jaden roared, his voice cracking with revulsion. "What the hell is wrong with you, Cameron? Who the fuck wants to be with someone who can't keep their fingers out of their fucking nose? Gross!" His words were a desperate attempt to regain control, to push back against the tide of their twisted game. But as he watched Cameron suck the snot from his finger, a sick fascination gripped him, the line between disgust and desire blurring like a watercolor painting in the rain.

Cameron's obsession with picking his nose and consuming his boogers was a peculiar trait that had been with him since childhood. It was a habit that had grown into something more than just a simple bodily function for him; it was a declaration of his dominance, a way to assert his power over others. In his twisted mind, it was a show of his own brand of manliness, a display of his fearlessness in the face of societal norms and the disgust of those around him. It was his way of saying, "I do what I want, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it".

As the youngest of the four Boebert brothers, he often felt the need to prove himself, to stand out from the pack. And what better way to do that than by flaunting his ability to disgust and manipulate those around him? It was his secret weapon, his trump card in a world where strength was king, and he used it with the precision of a seasoned bully. The look of revulsion on Jaden's face only added gasoline to the fire, making him feel more powerful with each sickening slurp of his snot.

The 11-year-old grinned with squinted eyes—suddenly, deliberately—and gagged theatrically. He leaned forward and spat a glob of chewed-up snot onto Jaden's prized marigolds. The wet plop echoed louder than it should have.

Ethan clapped Cameron's shoulder. "Damn, Cam! That's some Olympic-level nasty!" His free hand kept stroking his swollen cock, thumb smearing pre-cum down the shaft. "Bet Pedo Pete's gonna sketch this in his little perv book later."

"WHAT THE FUCK, CAMERON!?" Jaden yelled, kicking dirt over the snot-smeared marigold. His gardening gloves twitched at his sides like electrocuted spiders.

The nasty little brat smirked up at him, snot still glistening on his chapped lips. Cameron made a show of licking them clean before puffing out his chest—his prepubescent cock bobbing with the motion—and declared: "Ya know why ya hate it, Jaden? 'Cause ya know I'm right. Ya lak seein' me messy. Bet ya got a whole page en that nasty sketchbook just fo-wah dirty lil' boys lak me."

Jaden's stomach lurched. The kid wasn't wrong. Three months ago, when insomnia had clawed at him like a starving raccoon, he'd drawn Cameron exactly like this: grubby knees, grass-stained shorts around his ankles, fingers digging in his nose with that same smug squint. He'd torn the page out at dawn and burned it in the sink.

Oh god... this is fucking nasty. I can't deal with this any longer. The older teen thought to himself with a repulse, deciding to change the subject. "Look, you four are trespassing. So I'm not asking, I'm ordering you guys to get out of my garden," he told them in a serious tone. "Now!"

But the Boebert brothers didn't move, because of course, they don't want to. It was clear that this was a battle they had no intention of losing, not when they had the upper hand. This was just the start of a summer of hell, a summer where the only refuge would be the very place they had so effectively invaded.

Mitchell stepped up, his cock grin growing as he watched Jaden's discomfort. "Ya know, Jaden," The eldest Boebert drawled, his voice thick with the unmistakable Southern charm that seemed to ooze from every pore, "Meh 'n mah brothers, we Boebert boys ain't ever had a problem with the ladies. They just caint get enough of these big ol' cocks," he said with a proud jut of his chin, gesturing to his brothers, their erections still proudly on display.

"'n ow-wah Pa? Oh, he's real proud of us, proud that we're becomin' men. Says we're the spittin' image of him when he was ow-wah age. We got all 'em cute chicks from ow-wah middle scole eatin' outta ow-wah hands. Ya should see 'em squeal when we whip these bad boys out. They just love when we show 'em what real alpha males are made of," He said, his hand wrapping around his thick erection with a possessive confidence that made Jaden's stomach churn. "But as fo-wah ya, I reckon ya never had a taste of that, have ya? Nothin' but a sad little garden 'n a secret nobody wants to know about."

"Yeah, we've had more pussy than ya could handle," Ethan added, his voice laced with venom. "Ya're never gonna git a missy to do that fo-wah ya, not when all ya want is to fuck lil' boys. The way ya look at us, the way ya git all sweaty 'n nervous. It's pretty fuckin' pathetic, really."

"Yeah, we're the real men around he-yah," His younger twin chimed in, stroking himself more vigorously. "What's a sad little faggot lak ya know about that?"

Their youngest brother took a step closer with the same inappropriate intent. "Yeah, ya're just a sad, sick puppy with no bone to chew own," he jeered, miming throwing a bone before snatching it away with a cackle. "But look at us, we're the big, bad dawgs that all the bitches want!"

Jaden felt a sting of jealousy as the Boebert brothers boasted about their conquests, flaunting their youthful virility like a pack of wolves in heat. Despite the horror of their words, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of longing for the ease with which they navigated their desires. He couldn't believe what he was hearing; that (unsurprisingly) these brats, who aren't high schoolers yet, were already able to have luck with girls flocking over to them, eager to satisfy their every whim. And meanwhile, Jaden Wilson, a 19-year-old, remained an outcast, his own desires were a prison that no key could unlock.

Mitchell grinned, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement as he watched Jaden's discomfort. "What's the matter, Pedo Pete? Jealous?" he taunted, his fingers lazily stroking his shaft. "Ya wish ya could have what we've got, don't ya? Too bad yer stuck with yer sick fantasies 'n yer sad little garden."

Jaden clenched his fists, fighting back the rising tide of shame and anger. "Shut up," he muttered. "You don't know anything about me."

Ethan snorted, rolling his eyes. "We know enough," he drawled. "We know ya jerk off to pictures of boys younger than us. We know ya sketch 'em in yer lil' book lak some kinda creep." His smirk widened. "We know ya like it when we mess with ya."

The words hit Jaden like a punch to the gut. His breath came short, his vision tunneling as the truth of Ethan's accusation settled over him like a suffocating blanket. Because deep down, beneath the revulsion and the self-loathing, there was a part of him that did like it. A part that thrilled at their attention, their cruelty, their power over him. And that realization was worse than anything they could say.

Evan took his index finger, slick with pre-cum, and traced a line of it across the bulging head of his erect cock. "Anyways, Jaden, ya could be ow-wah little bitch, cleanin' up after us." He brought the finger to his lips and licked the salty substance off with a flourish, his blue eyes remained glued to Jaden's brown orbs. "It's not so bad as much as ya might even lak it, lak watchin' us play with ow-wah big boy toys, don't ya, ya nasty pedophile? It's okay, ya can admit it. We know ya want to play with us."

The sight of Evan's tongue gliding over his own glistening finger was almost too much for Jaden to bear. The blatant sexual provocation made his knees feel weak, and his own cock was now painfully erect, pressing against the damp fabric of his shorts. He could feel the weight of his secret pressing down on him, threatening to crush him beneath the heel of their juvenile cruelty.

Then Cameron let out a high-pitched, eerily joyful giggle before puckering his lips and spitting a thick glob of saliva over the tip of his still-leaking erection. The spit flowed down in a slow, vulgar trail, clinging to the heated pink head.

Ethan grinned and followed suit, spitting onto his own cock with exaggerated force. The twins synchronized perfectly, each relinquishing a string of spit onto their swollen members with practiced ease. Mitchell, the eldest, merely smirked before leaning forward—eyes locked onto Jaden's horrified face—and letting a thick wad of drool drip directly onto his shaft, where it pooled at the base.

"Bet ya wanna lick it clean, don'tcha?" Cameron taunted, waggling his spit-slicked cock like a grotesque lollipop. The buzz-cut boy's prepubescent voice dripped with mock innocence, but his eyes were sharp with cruel intent. "Ya could start with mine. It's the littlest, so it ain't too scary fo-wah ya."

The curly-haired teen felt a strong throb in his shorts, totally giving him away. It pulsed as though the veins beneath the fabric were being traced by invisible fingers tickling the underside. He swallowed. With each laugh, Cameron's spit-slick foreskin twitched as his uncut cock gleamed obscenely in the sun. Jaden's hips lurched forward uncontrollably despite the fact that it was pink and soft-looking despite the hardness beneath... Wrong! So very wrong. Fuck! Why the hell am I getting hard on those little runts!? They're fucking CHILDREN! I can't let myself dwell on my perverted thoughts on children.

Mitchell grinned as he saw Jaden's obvious struggle. His own cock twitched with anticipation. "Lookit 'im, boys. The pedo caint even hide it no more!" he drawled, gesturing toward biracial teen's visible erection tenting his shorts, "Ya want it that bad, huh?" He spat onto his palm and gave his cock another slow stroke, watching Jaden's reaction like a hawk.

Ethan sneered, twisting his torso to show off his erection at a mocking angle. "Ha! It's not even half our size!" he crowed, jerking his chin toward Jaden's bulge. "What kinda man gets hard over some middle school kids, anyway?" His words dripped with venomous glee as he deliberately bounced his hips, making his own thick cock sway obscenely. The contrast was deliberate—Ethan's teenage girth against Jaden's adult shame.

As the brothers' stroking grew faster and more aggressive, so did their insults. Evan flicked his thumb across the swollen head of his 14-inch erection, sending a spray of pre-cum flying into the air, some of it landing on a few of Jaden's prized plants. "Ya yell lak ya hate this, but yer cock's tellin' us a whole diff'rent story. How sad." He jutted his hips forward, the tip of his pinkish-red erection glistening with fresh spit. "Why don't ya be a good lil' perv fer us if ya want us to leave ya alone. Git own yer fuckin' knees 'n show us how much ya like it. We can do it in yer house if ya think the cops'll drive by 'n see us. Sound lak a deal?"

Cameron scratched at his parted bottom lip with a dirt-caked fingernail, digging for some unspeakable treasure before adding in a sickly sweet whine, "Pleeeease, Jaden? We bin feelin' bored today, 'n we reallly want ya to play with us real big boys." He scratched his balls as his other fingers rubbed his cock faster, tugging harder at the uncircumcised shaft. His voice went higher—almost mocking baby talk. "Pwetty pwease? I'll let ya play with mah big boy toy."

Jaden's pulse pounded in his neck as he forcefully gulped. Purposely infantile, purposely wrong, Cameron jumped on his toes, his prepubescent hips jutting forward obscenely and his cockhead shining with pre-cum. The marigolds shook in the wind as if they were making fun of their owner.

Just grab him. The dark side of his conscience suggested. He wants to play, right? Then pin him against the ground and show him what happens to rotten brats who tease grown men.

The idea was hot, embarrassing, and electric, and it struck Jaden like a physical blow. Jaden's throat went dry as Cameron's piss-slit gleamed with a bead of pre-cum, and his cock twitched obscenely as he jumped on the balls of his feet. He envisioned licking it clean for a dizzying moment, imagining the boy's startled gasp—

NO!

Jaden wrenched his gaze away from Cameron's bouncing erection so violently his neck cracked. The marigolds, his marigolds, the ones he'd started from seed last spring, were wilting under the sun's glare. Their petals curled inward like shy fingers. He focused on that, on the way their orange hues deepened at the edges. Anything but the slick sounds of four pairs of hands stroking—

Psssss

A hot, acrid stream hit the back of his shirt.

Jaden gasped. Not at the sudden wetness seeping through his threadbare tee, but at the realization it was Cameron's piss. The Caucasian brat had arched his hips like a goddamn lawn sprinkler, golden droplets now soaking into the fabric between Jaden's shoulder blades. The scent hit him next: sharp, musky, unmistakably adolescent. His cock twitched. NO—

"Cameron—Ew, you little fucker! Why did you piss on me!?" Jaden roared, spinning around just in time to see the 11-year-old still dribbling the last few golden drops onto his twisted-x shoes.

The boy just grinned, his prepubescent cock twitching as he gave it a final shake—right onto Jaden's marigolds. The scent of adolescent piss mingled with the earthy garden air, thick enough to taste.

"Hey, stop it! Don't get your piss all over my merigolds!" Jaden snapped.

"Why not? I'm just waterin' yer flowers," Cameron crowed, shaking his dribbling cock like a dog after a swim—except dogs had dignity. "If they can take mah piss, then so can ya!"

Ooooh, does he want to elbow that horrid little runt in the ribs. He HAS to get rid of them before he lost all control, before his own perverse cravings led him down a path he couldn't come back from. "Back off," he threatened, turning his back to them to return his focus on the marigolds, trying to ignore the way his shorts clung to his erection. "You fucking kids better get out of my garden, now. I'm NOT gonna tell y'all this again!"

"What are ya gonna do?" Mitchell jeered, his hand still working his cock with a practiced ease while walking towards the teen. "Ya gonna tell yer mommy?"

... And then it happened.

Mitchell's wiry teenage power pressed tight against the larger teen's back as his arms snapped around Jaden's waist like steel traps. Mitchell's erection, thick and pulsating at a startling fourteen and a half inches, slammed against Jaden's ass with purposeful, humiliating precision.

"MITCHELL, WHAT THE F—... GET OFF ME!" Jaden bucked violently, but the eldest Boebert's wiry strength surprised him—those farm-fed arms were like steel cables coated in teenage sweat.

Mitchell's hot breath hit Jaden's neck—equal parts mint gum and adolescent musk—as he ground his hips forward with a wet chuckle. "Ain't no point fightin', Pedo Pete. Yer hips're already pushin' back."

And fuck if he wasn't right; Jaden could feel his own traitorous body arching into the contact, the damp fabric of his shorts riding up as Mitchell's precum-slick cockhead left sticky streaks across his back. Behind them, the twins' synchronized laughter cut through the garden like a rusty blade.

"Ya lak that, don't ya, Jaden?" The 14-year-old whispered, grounding his hips even harder.

No no no! This has to fucking stop! I ain't gonna let those nasty little perverts win! The Wilson teen thought to himself with urgency. He knew that if he didn't act soon, he'd be lost to them, forever a plaything for their perverse games.

The cap-clad Boebert boy then crawled down Jaden's torso, fingers digging into the waistband of his shorts. The older teen gasped—not just from the sensation, but from the realization of what Mitchell was about to do. He's gonna expose his embarrassing private part in his own garden, with his brothers watching like predators circling wounded prey.

With a tremble of determination, Jaden yanked the garden hose, turning the spray directly on Mitchell and the others. The brothers yelped in surprise, jumping back from the sudden deluge.

"I warned you, you little shits! KEEP YOUR DIRTY LITTLE HANDS TO YOUR FUCKING SELVES AND STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" Jaden thundered, the water jetting from the hose like a weapon of purification, chasing them back to their own side of the fence.

The Boebert brothers hastily pulled up their pants, the wet fabric clinging to their thighs, belts still unbuckled, jingling with each retreating step as they sprinted back to their own yard, their laughter turning to curses. As the biracial teen watches them go, he couldn't help but feel a twisted mix of victory and defeat, his secret still very much in their clutches, ready to be used against him again.

He knew it was only a matter of time before they'd be back, emboldened by their newfound power over him. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just postponed the inevitable, not stopped it. He let out a shaky sigh, his grip on the hose loosening as the cold reality set in.

No longer wanting to be outside for the rest of the day, the Wilson teen turned the water off and slowly walked back towards the house, the wetness seeping into his own clothes, and closes the door.

...

To Be Continued!