End of original BOYABUSE Stories – charges also included an unfinished version of Stand By America.

Suck It! (He demands)
A Devotee's Lament

SUCK IT he demands. Oh this ridiculous phallic worship. Oh that I were free, from the slavery, that a skinny, skinny boycock, can wiggle over me. SUCK IT FASTER Yes Sir master. Oh the years I never touched you, honourable and scared. You weren't no fag and hated queers, and all I got for several years, was to occasionally measure your prick's progress as it grew from close to two, to a quarter short of four. USE YOUR TONGUE MORE LIKE YOU USUALLY DO Sorry Master,

I was just trying a little variation, as my job can be a bit monotonous at times. Eight years ago when you were eight, and came knocking at my door, "Got any empties Mister?" And you came in and partied with my friends, waiting for more empties. And soon you were around everyday, and brought your friends. You looked at my books, played with my games, stared at the tube and engaged in some petty pilfering. You had manner and style then. You could look me in the eye and lie with serene confidence. And you knew you had me, almost from the start. You'd come to pee beside me, giving me a quick flash. And the games we played; chess, backgammon, crazy eights, and footrubs that never progressed beyond the knee.... How many years did you tease me? DO IT DEEPER LIKE YOU USED TO Sorry Master. It's not so easy now you're almost seven inches. Inviting me to rub, your back in the bathtub, you put your gaunch back on. You weren't no fag or fucking queer, something you made very clear, when you asked if you could watch Ted and me. "Curiosity" you said, and Ted the teenage chicken hawk agreed. From sitting arms folded on a chair, you progressed to where with elbows on the bed, your eyes were inches from the action. And after, still "curious" as I'd swallowed the cum, you wrapped a rag around your hand, so you wouldn't touch me, and made my fountain squirt. You were wide eyed at the time. However that phase of your education complete I was denied even toe massages for a month. NO TWO FINGERS HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU I ONLY LIKE ONE But Master you loved two last time. But I spent a while sensitizing your orifice with my tongue then, the wiley pedophile I am, pursuing my ultimate aim, to defile your end. SLOW DOWN THAT'S IT JUST KEEP IT LIKE THAT Thank you Master, you're so kind. Like when you do your Lief Garrett poses, wiggle your unobtainable ass and wave your hardon at your fan. But there was the time I let you tie me up and you went and played video games for two hours. And when you left in a huff because I wouldn't let you pee in my mouth. Ah, but then there was that strange first time, and you were a twinkly twelve. It was after a marathon of backgammon that I eventually won, and my foot massage "accidentally" violated the sanctity of your lower thigh and you protested with outraged dignity. I argued the point. And you stoutly maintained you would never, ever let anyone touch you again, "not even for a hundred bucks". I thought about that, and soon had you down to twenty because of the hard facts of my wallet. "But only this one time." You really wanted that album and T-shirt, and I had to drive you down to the store as part of the deal. You eagerly pulled down your jeans and shorts, plunking yourself on the bed. There hard and hairless quivered grail of my quest. I fell to my knees and respectfully touched your springy little white thing. "Get on with it." you encouraged me to proceed. The twenty seconds and fewer strokes my lips were allowed to work, I must confess, sufficed my own needs by sheer inspiration alone. Ah, the golden expensive days that followed, although you soon came down to ten with free refills. Those good old days when my appetite for your flesh exceeded its for my lips. SUCK HARDER AND SPEED IT UP Yes Sir. And then gradually over the months your spasms grew until finally I was provided with some nourishment for my efforts - interest payments on the many steaks and hamburgers I had invested in your protein nourishment. Oh how we celebrated that first pearl you made for me; dinner by candlelight, domestic [you didn't know] champagne, black designer jeans, an hour of video games at the arcade and God forbid, Kung Fu Kid double billed with Friday the Thirteenth at the Odeon. And you started to call me Mr. Cuntlips. Oh I corrupted you Master, my requests became your demand, although you insisted on calling them toe massages for ages. You kept my head between your thighs for hours, me starting and stopping on command, while you thumbed through Penthouse or viewed the tube, and once incredibly, while we played checkers - you held a mirror so I could make my moves. HOLD IT HOLD IT Yes Master, I know. I can feel the pulses starting. I am well trained, I know when to slow down and stop. Now may I just let it soak with gentle suction? GET READY. WE'RE GOING TO MACDONALDS. I'M HUNGRY