Pedophiles at Peace
folder
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
2,595
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
2,595
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction about oral and anal sex between adults and minors of both sexes. The characters, locations & incidents are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely co
Part 7
©2009 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 Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.
.oOo.
Part 7
Winter's chills were beginning to subside, daffodils were appearing, and the Wilson family was riding a roller coaster of expectation and disappointment. Each week, Allen would call to tell them about some publisher that was looking at the book, or about their rejecting it. Frankie gave up on becoming an overnight millionaire. Ginny told him it was still Mickey's bestest present ever, and that's what really counted.
So no one was too excited when Allen called again in April. "Guess what, Frank. Prairie Scribe Publishers is picking up the book."
"You mean they want to publish it?"
"Yep. Is Frankie there? Put him on."
Now the household was in a pandemonium. There were all kinds of contracts, releases, permissions, affidavits, and waivers to read, sign, and get notarized. Prairie Scribe needed an author bio.
The Wilsons could finally let the cat out of the bag. They told all their new friends at church. Frankie told his buddies at school and all his teachers. Mark told Wolchek. Mickey was bubbling that it was HIS present that started it all. At the monthly network meeting, Frankie's ass was the star attraction; all the uncles and aunts wanted to get their hands on America's newest author. Years later, when he would win the Pulitzer or Nobel Prize or something, they could say, "You know I used to fuck him. He was really great in the sack."
In May, the publishing house invited Frankie to their main office in Chicago. They wanted him to look over the galleys, to meet with a publicist, to sign some more papers, and to be photographed accepting his first advance check. They said they'd pay the roundtrip airfare for Frankie and one parent, and put them up for a couple days. Frank couldn't take the time off from work, so Ginny would go. Mark would be at Claviger Academy of course. And the Bannisters volunteered to look after Mickey, who loved the way both of them fawned over his baby dick and boy cunt. Frank said he could manage fine alone in the house, but when the Boones heard about it, Margo insisted he come and stay with them. "You can sleep in the girls' room." How could he refuse an offer like that? Though he knew he wouldn't get much sleep with Jane and Carla in his bed.
Frankie asked his mother if he should bring his strapon on the trip. Ginny said it would certainly be fun. Sex is always more exciting in a strange bed. "But I think it would be better if I carried it in my suitcase. They're going to x-ray everything at the airport, and it might raise a few eyebrows if a ten-year old boy is bringing an artificial penis aboard."
When the plane put down at O'Hare at 5:45PM, Mother and Son picked up their luggage and spotted a man holding a sign, "Wilsons." The driver took their suitcases and brought them to his car. Prairie Scribe had taken care of every detail. "Ms. Riley, one of the associates in the firm, offered to have you stay at her house. It'll be a lot more comfortable than a hotel. And she'll make sure you get to all your meetings this week. She lives in a suburb. Won't take us long."
Frankie and Ginny stared out at the big buildings of the Windy City. They'd been to New York City, but they were still small town folks and any building over ten stories was awe-inspiring. As they drove south along IS294 leaving the city behind, they watched the skyscrapers gradually give way to apartment complexes, and then to housing developments. They didn't pay much notice when the driver turned on to 55, then 12, then 45. But Frankie sat up when the car took an exit that read "Frankfort."
"Hey! That's where Grandpa grew up. Dad told me!" He stared out the window. He tried to imagine which house Grandpa might have lived in, which store he patronized to buy candy, which pond he used to go fishing, which school he attended, and in which alley, park or wooded lot he met his man friend,--maybe named Gillie,--for their trysts.
The driver stopped in front of a large old house. A two story shoe box shape building with steps leading up to the central front door. A tall woman in her thirties came out to meet them. She looked very professional in her pantsuit, and severe with her short black hair. But her smile was warm and friendly.
.oOo.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.
.oOo.
Part 7
Winter's chills were beginning to subside, daffodils were appearing, and the Wilson family was riding a roller coaster of expectation and disappointment. Each week, Allen would call to tell them about some publisher that was looking at the book, or about their rejecting it. Frankie gave up on becoming an overnight millionaire. Ginny told him it was still Mickey's bestest present ever, and that's what really counted.
So no one was too excited when Allen called again in April. "Guess what, Frank. Prairie Scribe Publishers is picking up the book."
"You mean they want to publish it?"
"Yep. Is Frankie there? Put him on."
Now the household was in a pandemonium. There were all kinds of contracts, releases, permissions, affidavits, and waivers to read, sign, and get notarized. Prairie Scribe needed an author bio.
The Wilsons could finally let the cat out of the bag. They told all their new friends at church. Frankie told his buddies at school and all his teachers. Mark told Wolchek. Mickey was bubbling that it was HIS present that started it all. At the monthly network meeting, Frankie's ass was the star attraction; all the uncles and aunts wanted to get their hands on America's newest author. Years later, when he would win the Pulitzer or Nobel Prize or something, they could say, "You know I used to fuck him. He was really great in the sack."
In May, the publishing house invited Frankie to their main office in Chicago. They wanted him to look over the galleys, to meet with a publicist, to sign some more papers, and to be photographed accepting his first advance check. They said they'd pay the roundtrip airfare for Frankie and one parent, and put them up for a couple days. Frank couldn't take the time off from work, so Ginny would go. Mark would be at Claviger Academy of course. And the Bannisters volunteered to look after Mickey, who loved the way both of them fawned over his baby dick and boy cunt. Frank said he could manage fine alone in the house, but when the Boones heard about it, Margo insisted he come and stay with them. "You can sleep in the girls' room." How could he refuse an offer like that? Though he knew he wouldn't get much sleep with Jane and Carla in his bed.
Frankie asked his mother if he should bring his strapon on the trip. Ginny said it would certainly be fun. Sex is always more exciting in a strange bed. "But I think it would be better if I carried it in my suitcase. They're going to x-ray everything at the airport, and it might raise a few eyebrows if a ten-year old boy is bringing an artificial penis aboard."
When the plane put down at O'Hare at 5:45PM, Mother and Son picked up their luggage and spotted a man holding a sign, "Wilsons." The driver took their suitcases and brought them to his car. Prairie Scribe had taken care of every detail. "Ms. Riley, one of the associates in the firm, offered to have you stay at her house. It'll be a lot more comfortable than a hotel. And she'll make sure you get to all your meetings this week. She lives in a suburb. Won't take us long."
Frankie and Ginny stared out at the big buildings of the Windy City. They'd been to New York City, but they were still small town folks and any building over ten stories was awe-inspiring. As they drove south along IS294 leaving the city behind, they watched the skyscrapers gradually give way to apartment complexes, and then to housing developments. They didn't pay much notice when the driver turned on to 55, then 12, then 45. But Frankie sat up when the car took an exit that read "Frankfort."
"Hey! That's where Grandpa grew up. Dad told me!" He stared out the window. He tried to imagine which house Grandpa might have lived in, which store he patronized to buy candy, which pond he used to go fishing, which school he attended, and in which alley, park or wooded lot he met his man friend,--maybe named Gillie,--for their trysts.
The driver stopped in front of a large old house. A two story shoe box shape building with steps leading up to the central front door. A tall woman in her thirties came out to meet them. She looked very professional in her pantsuit, and severe with her short black hair. But her smile was warm and friendly.
.oOo.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.