Boy Power House
folder
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
43
Views:
3,454
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
43
Views:
3,454
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction about oral & anal sex between men and young boys. The characters, locations & incidents are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 30
©2007 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.
.oOo.
Chapter 30
Date: Saturday, April 5, 2003, morning
Place: BPH
"Come on, Sirs. Let's get loaded up." Nelson catches himself reverting to his old self. He's just trying to get this trip organized, but after two years at BPH, it feels so fuckin' uncomfortable giving the orders. He decides to keep his mouth shut and let the teachers try to corral the boys. He switches from the imperative to the interrogative, "Who wants to ride with me?" Dean and Walsh climb into his back seat and Kenny chooses to ride shotgun.
The four older boys split up between Wilson's and Kennedy's cars. Hump tells Maxwell he can go with Kennedy, "Back seat." The Doctor of education of course obeys.
"OK, Wilson," Jack demands, "give me the keys." Wilson meekly hands over control of his brand new Pontiac Grand Prix to the lad with the new driving permit. "Let's get this show on the road. Bronx Zoo or bust!" Wilson prays it isn't the latter.
From his window above the garage, Victor watches the departing caravan. "There go all my boys," he sighs to himself. "But of course they're not 'mine.' Now I am 'theirs.'" If Victor were still in control, most of them wouldn't be his boys now anyway. Mark's arms, chest and legs are covered in hair. Hump has a mustache and a big muscular fullback kind of body. Washington is sporting dreadlocks, for Christ's sake! Kenny's squeak is now a mellow baritone. Jack is training for the New York Marathon. They just aren't Victor's preferred age any more. Even Walsh and little Dean are starting to sprout underarm hairs. "They treat me like dirt. What did I do to deserve this?" But of course, he knows the answer. Not that the boys have ignored him totally. All of them have taken him into the fishbowl at least once in the last two years, and some a few more times. But he doesn't get the many daily lays he had grown accustomed to. "Shit, don't they give any thought to my desires? my cravings? my needs? All they think about is themselves! And here it is Saturday and I'm not even allowed to look at my DVD collection." He cleans up his little kitchenette from his paltry pancake breakfast and slips into a sweat suit.
With all the boys and Nelson gone for the day, Arnold plans to use this Saturday to get a head start on next week's menus. Do some roasts and a turkey. Bake some breads. The house is unusually quiet, so he starts whistling as he works.
Midmorning, there is a knock at the door. It takes Arnold a moment to realize he's the only one around to answer it, so he leaves the kitchen and hustles to the foyer, trying to keep track of all his crucial timings. There on the stoop stand two magnificent bronze Hispanic boys, one in his early twenties and the other appearing half his age. "Hi," says the taller, "Uh, does Victor still live here?"
"Well,... yes, are you a friend?"
"Oh, yeah, Victor and I go way back." He doesn't wait for an invitation to come right on in, and his little companion follows. "Tell him Antonio is here."
"Well, OK, wait in the living room, right over there."
"Yeah, I remember where it is."
Arnold gets on the phone and rings Victor's apartment. In a few minutes, the once owner of this home walks through the door. "Antonio, uh, I didn't expect to see you again. You've gotten taller."
"Well, duh! It's been nine years, Victor. You sure as fuck look older too. But the house looks better. Hey, you got a cook now. What, did the Mrs. run off or die or something? Miguel, you want something to eat?" The younger lad nods. Arnold goes to the kitchen and comes back with a plate of sandwiches. He decides he'd better stick around and listen. Antonio notices Victor makes no move to dismiss his employee.
"Arnold makes the best sandwiches, Miguel. Go ahead, dig in. Is he your nephew or something, Antonio?"
"Brother. Well, half-brother. Mom had him just about the time you kicked me out."
"Well, now, about that..."
"Hey, don't sweat it, Victor. Agua under the puente and all that. No hard feelings. In fact I really made good use of all you taught me, Vickie. I was getting too old for your tastes, Old Man. I know that now."
"Well, you were, what, 16?"
"Just turned 14. But, hey, you'd sure like little Miguel here I bet."
"Well, now, listen, Antonio. There's a prob... well, things have changed since you..."
"Look, let me lay it on you, Victor, my Man. You see a few months back Mom she ran off to San Juan or some fuckin' place and left him with me. So I been taking care of him, you know. But like I got into a little trouble a couple days ago with the cops..."
"Prostitution?"
"Not this time. Drugs. Some shithead user snitched me out. So the streets are too hot for me right now. I'm heading to... no, I'm not going to tell you where, better you don't know. Anyway, I gotta leave Miguel somewhere for a while. I know he'll be safe with you, Victor. And I know you'll have fun together. Just like we used to when I was your Sweetheart." Victor looks at Arnold, who is vigorously shaking his head no.
.oOo.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.
.oOo.
Chapter 30
Date: Saturday, April 5, 2003, morning
Place: BPH
"Come on, Sirs. Let's get loaded up." Nelson catches himself reverting to his old self. He's just trying to get this trip organized, but after two years at BPH, it feels so fuckin' uncomfortable giving the orders. He decides to keep his mouth shut and let the teachers try to corral the boys. He switches from the imperative to the interrogative, "Who wants to ride with me?" Dean and Walsh climb into his back seat and Kenny chooses to ride shotgun.
The four older boys split up between Wilson's and Kennedy's cars. Hump tells Maxwell he can go with Kennedy, "Back seat." The Doctor of education of course obeys.
"OK, Wilson," Jack demands, "give me the keys." Wilson meekly hands over control of his brand new Pontiac Grand Prix to the lad with the new driving permit. "Let's get this show on the road. Bronx Zoo or bust!" Wilson prays it isn't the latter.
From his window above the garage, Victor watches the departing caravan. "There go all my boys," he sighs to himself. "But of course they're not 'mine.' Now I am 'theirs.'" If Victor were still in control, most of them wouldn't be his boys now anyway. Mark's arms, chest and legs are covered in hair. Hump has a mustache and a big muscular fullback kind of body. Washington is sporting dreadlocks, for Christ's sake! Kenny's squeak is now a mellow baritone. Jack is training for the New York Marathon. They just aren't Victor's preferred age any more. Even Walsh and little Dean are starting to sprout underarm hairs. "They treat me like dirt. What did I do to deserve this?" But of course, he knows the answer. Not that the boys have ignored him totally. All of them have taken him into the fishbowl at least once in the last two years, and some a few more times. But he doesn't get the many daily lays he had grown accustomed to. "Shit, don't they give any thought to my desires? my cravings? my needs? All they think about is themselves! And here it is Saturday and I'm not even allowed to look at my DVD collection." He cleans up his little kitchenette from his paltry pancake breakfast and slips into a sweat suit.
With all the boys and Nelson gone for the day, Arnold plans to use this Saturday to get a head start on next week's menus. Do some roasts and a turkey. Bake some breads. The house is unusually quiet, so he starts whistling as he works.
Midmorning, there is a knock at the door. It takes Arnold a moment to realize he's the only one around to answer it, so he leaves the kitchen and hustles to the foyer, trying to keep track of all his crucial timings. There on the stoop stand two magnificent bronze Hispanic boys, one in his early twenties and the other appearing half his age. "Hi," says the taller, "Uh, does Victor still live here?"
"Well,... yes, are you a friend?"
"Oh, yeah, Victor and I go way back." He doesn't wait for an invitation to come right on in, and his little companion follows. "Tell him Antonio is here."
"Well, OK, wait in the living room, right over there."
"Yeah, I remember where it is."
Arnold gets on the phone and rings Victor's apartment. In a few minutes, the once owner of this home walks through the door. "Antonio, uh, I didn't expect to see you again. You've gotten taller."
"Well, duh! It's been nine years, Victor. You sure as fuck look older too. But the house looks better. Hey, you got a cook now. What, did the Mrs. run off or die or something? Miguel, you want something to eat?" The younger lad nods. Arnold goes to the kitchen and comes back with a plate of sandwiches. He decides he'd better stick around and listen. Antonio notices Victor makes no move to dismiss his employee.
"Arnold makes the best sandwiches, Miguel. Go ahead, dig in. Is he your nephew or something, Antonio?"
"Brother. Well, half-brother. Mom had him just about the time you kicked me out."
"Well, now, about that..."
"Hey, don't sweat it, Victor. Agua under the puente and all that. No hard feelings. In fact I really made good use of all you taught me, Vickie. I was getting too old for your tastes, Old Man. I know that now."
"Well, you were, what, 16?"
"Just turned 14. But, hey, you'd sure like little Miguel here I bet."
"Well, now, listen, Antonio. There's a prob... well, things have changed since you..."
"Look, let me lay it on you, Victor, my Man. You see a few months back Mom she ran off to San Juan or some fuckin' place and left him with me. So I been taking care of him, you know. But like I got into a little trouble a couple days ago with the cops..."
"Prostitution?"
"Not this time. Drugs. Some shithead user snitched me out. So the streets are too hot for me right now. I'm heading to... no, I'm not going to tell you where, better you don't know. Anyway, I gotta leave Miguel somewhere for a while. I know he'll be safe with you, Victor. And I know you'll have fun together. Just like we used to when I was your Sweetheart." Victor looks at Arnold, who is vigorously shaking his head no.
.oOo.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.