Message-ID: <45934asstr$1071886203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Ron Garret <rongarret2000-assm@yahoo.com>
User-Agent: Xnews/06.08.25
Subject: {ASSM} The Christmas Gift Pt 1 (bb, little sex, beginning)
Date: Fri, 19 Dec 2003 21:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


This story is a bit different from the previous two posts, as it isn't a 
romantic tale in any sense.  It does, well, contain a bit of humor.

This text is copyright 2003 by Ron Garrret and may not be archived on 
any system aside from the assm archive for the specified period as 
defined in the headers.  It may not be re-posted except in its entirety 
with this notice intact and unmodified.  It may not be displayed nor 
linked to by any commercial service without prior permission secured in 
writing with a valid contract.

I welcome comments, but I'm not looking for partners.

Most of all, I hope you enjoy the work.


-=-=-

The Christmas Gift Pt 1 (bb, little sex, beginning)
By Ron Garret 

Ah, shit.  Christmas morning was here yet again.  Time to go pretend 
that we have a loving and whole and happy family.  Hoo-ra!  I never 
could quite figure out why we put in the effort - it wasn't as if anyone 
was watching us, observing us, or rating us.  But each and every year, 
on Christmas morning, we pretended that we all just loved each other to 
pieces.

I suppose that was better than pretending that we wished that everyone 
else was dead.

Let me describe our glorious home life.  We have my mother, who is a 
boozing dependency addict that apparently couldn't interest my father in 
the slightest.  He's more into his porn magazines and whatever the 
flavor of secretary he's screwing this week.  My brother, the big man 
about town, just entered high school, and of course, he's God's gift to 
women.  'Cept Eve must have whispered around a few rumors, because he 
wasn't getting anything. And my sister, the elder slut, who was 'finally 
settling down' to the pride of my darling parents.  Wonder what they 
would do if I told them that I caught her sleeping with the best man the 
night before the wedding?

Oh, and myself, the precocious computer geek who was supposedly a 
genius.  A genius who was lucky if he got a 2.0 gpa.  Yeah, this sucks.  
Oh, but not on Christmas Day.  We're all angels on this day...

We all gathered in the living room, including my sister's new husband 
who I knew was a jerk, but just haven't caught him doing anything yet to 
detail right here.  Marrying my slut sister is enough of a pre-
qualification in my book.  The Christmas tree was glowing, the sun was 
shining in the window, bright and gay presents were piled under the 
tree.  Envelopes also decorated the dead bush, each holding the wishes 
of someone gathered here, or so they hoped.  

See, they were all sure that they had successfully sucked up to my great 
aunt before she kicked the bucket, and some of those envelopes were 
delivered by her estate.  Her inheritance was going to be distributed 
today, and everyone in that room was just ready to leap up and show how 
they were better than everyone else.  Were I my great aunt I would have 
made sure that each contained a shiny penny to go use at the candy 
store.  Wasn't that what kids in her day did?

It was a great act, everyone digging through the presents under the 
tree, oohing and ahhing at presents they could care less about, making 
huge productions about how something was the perfect color (neon 
pink?!?), or how they couldn't wait to use some tool, be it a toaster or 
a screwdriver.  Myself, I had some interesting ideas I didn't share with 
the crowd about the pen knife I got, though it did make going through 
the rest of the pile a bit easier.  After all, being the 'baby' of the 
family, I did get the lions share of underwear.

Oh, whee, Mom decided that we should sing a couple of my great aunt's 
favorite carols before we opened her envelopes, one upping the crowd in 
demonstrating how well she knew her favorite aunt.  Her target, of 
course, was her husband.  Then again, considering community property 
laws in California, it didn't matter which of them got the coveted 
prize, they would end up having to share it, like it or lump it.  The 
envelopes were passed about and as one, we ripped them open.  Ahh, look, 
mine has a card in it.  How sweet.  Look, no check, no cash.  I didn't 
even bother to read it as I waited for the expectant squeal of delight.

The only problem was the silence as each inspected their envelopes for 
the missing surprise, somehow sure that there should be a bonanza there.  
I started chuckling, and snidely asked if our great aunt had dedicated 
the preservation of some Amazon rainforest tree in each of our honors.  
The room turned rather chilly, rather contrary to the balmy 70 degree 
weather outside.

As one, they turned on me.  My brother was the one who broke the news as 
to what was written on the card..  Wow, when did he learn how to read?  
"It says, "To my loving relatives:  I only wished that I had saved and 
scrimped more money throughout my life, that I had chosen a cheaper 
hospice to take care of me in my later years, preferably far away from 
each and every one of you.  To think that you even bothered to open this 
envelope shows how far you misunderstood me in my life.  In my death, I 
bring you the news that I should have expressed more directly.  You're a 
fucking loser."

I started laughing, really cracking up, which was a poor choice when 
everyone in the room was sure that they'd be spending the day tomorrow 
picking out a brand new car.  My new radio controlled car took the worst 
of the damage, and I would have been the buffer rather than the wall 
behind me had I not ducked in time.  The roar from my father was matched 
by my other genetic family, or even the recent transplant.  I hightailed 
it out of that room, only managing to grab my underwear, my pen knife, 
and my great aunt's card in the process.

Wow, who would have thought that our family could actually work 
together?  A screwdriver, drill, and saw were put to good use, a rarity 
for gifts in our household, and I was soon in my own prison.  It would 
take a union construction crew at least a week to get that door open; 
for a twelve year old wimp it was a hopeless exercise.  I vaguely hoped 
that they'd get around to drilling a food and water hole at some point.

Really, I didn't mind.  Actually, I was really happy that they did work 
together, and my room had my computer, with its own broadband 
connection.  Through that, I had a library of books that would take me a 
lifetime to read, friends I could talk with, new friends I could make.  
Just about anything I really needed, having given up hope of finding the 
caring environment within my own walls.  Let them have their fun, their 
family unity.  I was proud to make the sacrifice.

If they had ears to the door, I'm sure that they would have matched the 
Grinch in happiness as, well, I cried.  Damn them, they went and did 
something together, not trying to backstab each other, and I was the 
target, not part of it.  Story of my fucking life.

After the waterworks finished their course, I slumped up in the bed.  
Underwear, a pen knife and a card.  Maybe I could slice off pieces of 
the card, use the elastic of the underwear, and slingshot messages to 
the neighbors requesting that child services come rescue me.  Damn it, 
that would be the sucker's way out.  I'd just end up in a family that 
didn't give a shit about me, but instead welcomed the monthly check from 
the county.  Yeah, I was hitting bottom.  

I threw myself back onto my pillow and stared up at the ceiling, then 
decided to read my great aunt's card.  The family fuck you ought to 
bring a smile, right?

Dear Ron,

I'm quite pleased that even though the rest of your family is filled 
with trailer trash that doesn't know that they are living on the wrong 
side of the tracks that you turned out so well.  You, unlike the rest, 
have made me rather sorry that I didn't give motherhood a chance.  I 
would like to have imagined that had I a grand child of my own, he would 
have been much like you.

Alas, I didn't go down that road, I instead took one of patriotism.  I 
answered the call of my country, and went into the factories to build 
planes for the war effort.  And when the troops came home, I wanted 
nothing of going back into the home and staying there forever.  I wanted 
more than society was ready to give a woman, and for that, I paid.

But I eventually got my revenge by virtue of the American Dream that was 
promised to all of us.  I worked hard, saved my money, and using a 
fictitious husband, bought myself a mortgage.  Eventually the mortgage 
turned into a house, which later became the seed money for my company.

Even then, the challenges were there, and it took a lot of hard work to 
build it up like I did.  In the end, the typewriter business was sold at 
exactly the right moment, right before computers came in and ruined the 
entire industry.  By that time, I was well into retirement, and I 
cruised along on my pension from my first career.  It was you who taught 
me about those computers, and showed me how I could reach out into a 
whole world without people asking who I was, but instead just took me 
for whatever I wrote.

That was the biggest thing that anyone had ever done for me, and it was 
more liberating than any of the trips to Laughlin that my contemporaries 
so valued.  It was also there where you showed me how I could do what I 
was never allowed to do before; to invest my money in companies I wanted 
to, to amass a larger fortune that I would never actually need nor use.

That is, in life.  In death, I am using that fortune, and I'm using it 
in the best way I know how.  I'm giving you your own life, free of those 
vultures.  Their cards tell them to fuck off - my, in cursive, that is 
such a pretty little word.  Do not tell them what your card says until 
the Friday after Christmas.  That is when the estate settles probate, 
and no challenges can successfully be made afterwards.

The following Monday, a law office will deliver to a former courtier who 
sits upon the bench an emancipation request.  I know my dear friend will 
sign such an order, after all, I asked him after I let him kiss my hand; 
yes, in my day, that was quite scandalous for someone who was so much 
younger than me to do.  That order will be delivered to your parents by 
my attorney, along with some officers.  You'll have an hour to gather 
what things you wish to bring from your old life to your new one.

I suggest you leave most everything behind, see if they can actually 
clean a disaster up for themselves, or if they turn it into some museum 
in the mistaken hope you'll interpret it as being an act of love.  The 
court order will be very specific, their only contact with you will be 
by letter delivered to your attorney, who will forward on what 
correspondence he desires to.

You are about to become a rather rich little man; squander it, keep it 
like a miser, do whatever you will with the money.  You can even give it 
to your family members, if that is what you decide.  Unlike a fairy 
tale, in this one you can indeed go back, though I certainly wouldn't 
expect to see the phrase 'And he lived happily ever after' anywhere near 
such a story, if that was your choice.

Oh my, a twelve year old on his own..  I only wish I was brave enough to 
do this before I died, but unfortunately I never was one for 
confrontation.  Merry Christmas, Ron.

Love, Auntie.

P.S.  I also sent along some fresh underwear.

I sat there and stared at the letter, reading it again, then again, then 
a couple more times.  I started laughing at myself, wondering if the 
pack of underwear beside me was from my great aunt.  I checked the size 
and giggled some more; it must have been, no one else in the family had 
ever gotten my size even close to right.  I remembered helping Auntie 
with her MS Money charts of accounts, and scrambled across the room to 
find the disc, which I popped into the drive.  Assuming that the market 
didn't take a nose dive in the next few days, I was presently worth a 
little over forty-five million dollars.

I stared at the number a moment, then I plopped onto the net, and rushed 
to one of the net tax preparers.  After some fudging, I typed to the 
customer support rep, inquiring as to the tax liability for my nephew's 
family, were he to inherit a large sum of money.  Oh, such sweet 
revenge..  I would get all that money, and my parents are legally bound 
to pay the taxes, even if I wandered off with it all.

-=-=-

This will build up as the story goes along, consider this back story.  
I'll have plenty of fun for you sex fiends in later chapters.


-=-=-

The rest of the day went, well, in a flash.  I spent most of it on 
Amazon.com, or the HGTV website, dreaming about a new home, and stuff to 
fill it with.  About dinner time I realized a few things.  The first was 
that spending the first million or so wouldn't be all that difficult, 
but the remaining fortune would likely take a lifetime to waste.  Sure, 
I could buy myself a jet, that would nail out a lot of money, or buy 
some big expensive home with more rooms than the number of hairs below 
my neck, but what would be the point?

The second was that I didn't have a bathroom.

I banged on the door, yelling to my family that I needed to take a piss.  
It had been hours since this all started; surely by now they were ready 
to let bygones be bygones.  My shitty brother was the one to answer for 
the family, "You pissed on your whole family, you can just go and piss 
on yourself now."  Oh, the mental giant that is he.  I yelled back 
something stupid like that they should buy some room deodorant because 
in a couple days, this was going to stink and I made a hissing noise and 
lightly scratched the door.  He went triumphantly back to the family to 
tell them that I had just pissed on my bedroom door, and wasn't that 
just great.

Hmm, my mother is someone who desires neatness in all things, excepting 
her family or her life, and yet there was no sudden screaming about my 
doing such a horrid thing.  The gambit failed.  Crap..  Which might be 
another problem coming soon.  I went back to my bed for a moment, sat 
there for all of three seconds and then rolled my eyes.  These people 
are fucking morons.  Was I switched at birth?  Is there some family of 
scientists trying to figure out why their son is playing "show me yours 
-- I'll show you mine" with the family dog?

I opened the ground floor window carefully and leaned on the windowsill 
as I literally just pissed into the wind.  It felt, well, kinda great.  
Especially since Mom's prized rosebed was there.  I checked the other 
windows which thankfully hadn't become suddenly stuck, and realized I 
could leave at any instant I desired.  Oh...  Well, ok, maybe that 2.0 
gpa was deserved.  I could leave at any time through the computer too, 
but the authorities might make a bit of a stink about it.

Hmm, I'd seen Survivor... What do I need.  Water, food, shelter - pretty 
much in that order.  Obviously I had shelter, and I wasn't really 
worried about the other two yet.  Besides, there was a hose out one 
window and if I really got hungry I could always slip out that same 
window and hit up some fast food joint then return to my prison.

But first, I'd best make sure that I help my Great Aunt's Master Plan..  
Well, help my family help her.  I e-mailed my auntie's lawyer, 
explaining what happened, what my present living conditions were, and 
the lack of immediate need of rescue, and suggested that perhaps that 
court order might be hurried if he happened to 'discover' my living 
conditions by 'accident.'

I hadn't even gotten out of my chair before I got a reply to my e-mail.  
I turned back to the screen to read it, and started giggling.  The 
lawyer was just re-reading the documents that my auntie had left behind 
and wasn't sure that her desires exactly matched my desires, or that it 
would be worth it to fight the inevitable court battle.  He indeed could 
speed things up, asked me if I had a camera attached to my computer, and 
had an additional idea.

I smirked at his plan, typed back some minor improvements, got approval 
and turned on the video camera.  Who knew that spending that forty 
dollars of birthday money would actually turn out to be my salvation a 
few days earlier than planned?  We made sure that the sound was working 
well, I even moved the computer closer to the door so that any reply 
could be picked up, and waited for the people on the other end to get 
settled.

With a clearing of my throat, I then proceeded to put on a much better 
act than one of my infamous 'Mom..  I want to go to school today, so 
don't make me stay home because of.. (insert retching noises and a can 
of chunky chicken soup into the toilet.)'  They always fell for it, let 
us hope they fall for this.

Bang on the door, call to the family, ask for some dinner, get denied.  
Ask for at least a glass of water, get denied.  Ask for at least a glass 
so I could piss in it, get denied.  All with the colorful language of my 
father.  I'd like to thank the Academy on behalf of my father for his 
award for being Moron of the Year.  He'd be here to thank you himself, 
however he's in jail because he's, well, a moron.

Twenty-five minutes later, there was a knock at the door.  Ahh, I could 
just picture it, the lawyer standing at the door, telling them that my 
auntie was just letting them sweat it out as she had a change of heart 
on her death bed.  See how much she cares?  She even had her lawyer 
deliver a fruitcake and candy cane to each of the family members.  Oh, 
where was little Ron?  There was a special chocolate Santa for him..  
Oh, how horrible, being sick on Christmas day.  Well, it wouldn't take a 
moment to deliver it to him in his sick bed, and after all, wouldn't 
that just help a little?  Contagious?  Oh my, couldn't have that, 
especially with the will reading the next morning.

I couldn't hear the whole dance by my family as they tried desperately 
to scrape between themselves a bit of wit, but I did hear the shouted 
order by the police for them to get their hands up against the wall and 
to not move.  When the police officer opened my door, I about fainted.

Why?  Because I had given my family too much credit, assuming that they 
would have set those screws into the frame of the door, not the door 
surface itself.  Yes, it didn't open all the way because the scrap 
lumber did get bound on the hinges, however it was more than enough for 
a fully armed police officer to ease through.  Absolutely without a 
problem for a scrawny twelve year old.  I felt like a fucking idiot.  
Maybe I was actually related by blood to them.

The officer smiled to me and played the 'aww, nice kitty, come down out 
of the tree' type routine to me, to which I replied that I was just 
fine, pointed to the window and computer and said I had escape routes, 
but I appreciated his presence none the less.  The officer chuckled and 
pointed to the door and I suggested that it might be enough to block the 
removal of some of my possessions if it was intact.

Ahh, I am so glad that college graduates are now police officers as he 
and another officer helpfully demolished the door before someone started 
taking photos of the horrible conditions I was forced into.  I gathered 
up a few things, including the fresh underwear, and stepped into the 
living room, ready to put out waterworks at the appropriate moment.  
Tears of pain I wasn't really able to do, faking the tears of joy into 
pain I could handle.

I was introduced to my auntie's judge friend.  Oh, scandalous - he had 
to have been around sixty, twenty years younger than her.  He helpfully 
glared at my family, held out his hand, and got my emancipation papers 
placed by the helpful lawyer.  A signature, it was done.  I carried out 
my first load to the howls of my family members who were starting to 
realize that I was the ugly duck who laid the golden egg.  The howls 
became more intense on my second load, and a couple officers helped me 
on the third, carrying different computer parts between them.

People had gathered outside their doors on our quiet little street to 
watch and listen, being the gossip mongers they are.  The old bat from 
next door even approached an officer to complain about my urinating and 
exposing myself in my window.  I could have kissed her as the officer 
dutifully wrote down her complaint than informed her about how I was 
imprisoned, even going so far to note to the woman that likely the 
district attorney won't be filing charges against her for failing to 
report the child abuse.

Damn, can't have all one's Christmas wishes fulfilled - she did not fall 
over in a heart attack at that instant. Ahh well, least I knew I would 
outlive her.

I was belted into the car of the judge, who would oversee me until the 
papers were properly filed and recorded, something that could not occur 
until Monday.  Once we were all settled, we drove away from my home of 
twelve years like the Christmas parade I always wanted to see in person.  
We even had flashing lights.

-=-=-

Judge Crenshaw Bedford was his name.  Yes, he agreed that his parents 
should never have named him after the street where he was conceived.  
No, he did not regret that his skin color helped get him where he was 
today.  And yes, my auntie was the first white woman of her generation 
that accepted him as a suitor.  And no, he wasn't offended by my 
questions.

Christmas dinner at Denny's wasn't horrible, especially since the 
service team was working extra hard to ensure that the judge and his 
guest was well cared for.  I tried really hard not to laugh when he 
mentioned that virtually everyone in the service staff had been before 
him for minor crimes and transgressions.  They even managed to find the 
ingredients for a Grasshopper Sundae which had inexplicably fallen off 
the menu.  Mint and chocolate with ice cream - how could such a thing 
ever fail?

After I had pigged out on desert, we got back into his mini-van and went 
to his house, which to his regret had a lone occupant before today.  His 
wife had passed away some decades back, I didn't inquire as to the 
details, and both of us seemed satisfied with the limited exchange of 
information.  It took far more than three trips to unload, and the both 
of us to carry the monitor.  His back, my lack of one, you see.

I was introduced to the den that would become my temporary abode until 
all the T's were crossed and I's dotted, or longer, depending on what I 
wanted.  Once things were happily stacked in various nooks and the 
package of underwear deposited prominently with the card, I was handed a 
test sheet and a pencil.

Ugh!  I saw the letters at the top and froze.  I Suck At Tests.  There's 
a reason why I just barely make it through school.  I usually just 
freeze up at the first sight of them, and barely get my name written on 
them.  Talk about ruining an evening that was so far absolutely 
wonderful.

The judge was insistent, and he took a seat in a recliner across the 
room to watch.  I took a deep breath, snapped the cover open, and 
looked.  Oh my gawd..  This is a joke, right?  How on earth do people 
fail these things, much less avoid them like the plague.  Everything on 
that test was something I could do with my eyes closed..  Well, open, 
gotta look at the pictures that blatantly tell you the answers.  Such as 
one on volumes, which asked for the measurement of a container's 
contents.  The arrow helpfully pointed to one quarter full, and low and 
behold on the multiple choice questions, there was indeed a selection 
for, yes, you guessed it, one quarter full.

I had read on the cover that it would be expected that this test would 
be completed within two hours, though special requests for disabled 
students can be honored to extend the time.  I handed it back twelve 
minutes after I read the first question.  He handed it back and 
indicated that it might just be a good idea to fill in my name.  Those 
family genes just love to sneak up on me.

So, instead of twelve, it was fifteen minutes for the test.  Five 
minutes to verify that I passed, and I was suddenly a high school 
graduate.  He even signed the certificate and shuffled around the room, 
finally finding some useless community award that had the proper sized 
frame for the document.  I was emancipated from both my family and the 
dreaded school system, all within a matter of hours.

Free at last, free at last, thank you Auntie, I am free at last.  Only.. 
What now?  I may be a smart kid, but teachers do have their uses, as 
well as adults.  I asked him that question.

He wasn't quite sure.  It was assumed that the money would be 
transferred once I had an account set up, and since the court offices 
were closed tomorrow, the emancipation wouldn't be officially effective 
until after the probate closed, so perhaps if the family moved REALLY 
quickly, they might gum up the works over the weekend.  I replied that I 
doubted it, since the only judicial friends they might have had seen 
them on the wrong side of the bench for such wonderful things as drunk 
driving, drug possession or in my brother's case, a girlfriend who 
nailed him on indecent exposure.  That.  That was cold.

So it was pretty much decided that the judge would have a live in guest 
for a time who could pay a pretty damn good sized rent come the 
following week.  That, of course, was an offer refused.  It was instead 
decided that it had been a long day, he was still stuffed from turkey 
dinner at my auntie lawyer's home, and we'd best get to sleep.  Him up 
to his room, me down on the couch.

Sleep.  Yeah, right.  You try to sleep after such a day.  Somehow, 
though, I did find the time to dream.

-=-=-

I was walking through the weeds in the field, having decided to accept 
Larry's dare to walk through it nude.  Larry, being the young nudist he 
was, was walking right next to me.  A few seconds later, we were walking 
through the trees along the wash, typical suburbanite homes containing 
oblivious people lining the top when Larry stops by a fallen tree and 
climbs atop it, mock humping it a little.

Another flash forward, and I'm on the trunk, humping it like he was, 
when I feel his hand on my bottom.  I'm still humping it as he sticks 
his little finger into the depression where by butthole is.  Unlike the 
reality of the event, in the dream, it was an explosion of pleasure.

Another flash, we're naked and it is wet, or I'm wet, rather, since I 
just laid down on the ground and pissed up into the air, the golden 
drops falling down to cover my groin, while Larry looked on in glee.

Another flash, Larry has his mouth on me, but I was more like I am 
today, his wet tongue going up and down my hard on, making it all wet.  
Or it was already all wet.  The dreams were starting to scare me, 
especially when I had another explosion of pleasure.

And woke up.

-=-=-

I remember the last time I accidentally wet the bed, I think I was three 
at the time, and in the middle of the night I dragged my bedding to the 
washer to clean it, not really understanding that yes, a little extra 
soap sometimes helps, but half a box just makes a disaster.  The 
embarrassment of that experience taught me to always go to the bathroom 
before going to bed.  I had failed to do that this evening, and I was 
dreading the disaster that I had made of the kind judge's couch.

Oh, shit, it was even worse than I thought.  That piss must had been 
stewing for a while and mixed poorly with desert, because it was all 
sticky and runny and everywhere on the blanket.  And down my legs, and, 
well, everywhere.  I gathered up the disaster and padded naked to find a 
washer and dryer, trying desperately to be silent as a mouse as I did 
so.

The washer made it to the spin cycle before the noise woke the judge, 
and if I thought I was embarrassed anytime in my life before, I was 
mistaken.  Naked me, still damp and sticky from wetting the bed, err, 
couch, standing in front of a washer, just blinking at the bright light 
that snapped on as he entered.

"What happened?" he asked after a moment.  I missed, really, the look on 
his face.  I was too acclimated to life at home.  I heard it like I 
heard my brother's mocking of me when the suds were floating all around 
the room so many years ago.  I reverted.

"I don't know," I wailed.  Tears, sobs shaking my body, I was the three 
year old who wet his bed in all senses of the phrase.  The only thing 
missing was the sucking of the thumb - oh, wait, there it was.

I don't know what kindness is, or didn't know.  I didn't grow up with 
such a thing.  I suppose my sister must have, at some point..  The 
family couldn't have been poisoned that far back.  But for me, I 
expected that hand to slap my ass, or face, or something, not to wrap 
around me in kindness.  "Don't worry, everything can be cleaned up," he 
said gently.

"The couch," I wailed.

"Won't fit into the washer," he replied softly.

I laughed through tears.  "No it won't," I agreed.  I could picture the 
attempt, however, which was what it made it so funny.

"Come on," he told me, "let's get some of that precious underwear of 
yours on you, and we'll see what we can do about the damage.  Worse 
comes to worse, I've another couch you can wet."

Sobbing and chuckling at the same time, I walked with him into the den, 
and when he turned on the light, I sobbed again.  There was a dark spot, 
about three inches across, right in the middle of his golden velvet 
couch.  "Your couch," I wailed.

"Your underwear first," he noted, tossing the package at me.  He went to 
the couch while I fought with the package, too ashamed of myself to even 
look.  Here, he had shown me kindness, and I just pissed on it.

He hmm'd, probably trying to figure out what the cleaning bill would be 
and I mumbled out something about buying him a new couch, or getting the 
old one fixed, or whatever.  I was too busy using my underwear to wipe 
my eyes and nose, ruining that as well.  Thankfully, it was a three 
pack.  I put one of the unsoiled ones on, and turned to face my 
punishment.

He lifted the cushion, flipped it over, and pronounced it good as new.  
He then asked that I come over and sit on the couch, because he had to 
talk to me.  Yeah, about how I'd be spending tomorrow night in juvenile 
hall.  There is a law, I was sure, somewhere, about not pissing on a 
judge's couch.  I was again covered in tears by the time I sat where 
indicated, long experience taught me that delaying punishment only made 
that punishment all that much worse.

"How old are you again?" he asked me softly.

"Twelve, but," I said, rallying myself to my defense, "the last time 
that happen, I was three, and I just forgot to go to the bathroom, and 
I'm sorry, and," well, I babbled.

He laughed, "That didn't happen when you were three," he assured me.  
Well, of course it did, like I could forget that night.  I told him so, 
pretty forcefully.  Get the punishment over with, my mind was screaming.

"No, it did not," he insisted.  "Were you having a dream?" he asked 
hesitantly.

"Yeah," I said, trying to remember exactly what it was I was dreaming, 
and when I remembered, trying to think of a fake dream to tell him.

"When that happened to me," he said, picking his words with care, "I had 
been dreaming about a neighbor girl.  I dreamed that she took off her 
clothes and that her tits were all black, like me, rather than the white 
of her arms.  I had just barely touched them when I woke up and found 
that I had messed my bed."

I don't know why I said so, but I did.  "That's stupid, why would her 
tits be a different color?"  I then blanched.  Bad words to judges 
likely ranked right up there with pissing on their couches, I probably 
just added a year to my time.

"No, no," he said, "I knew that the dream was wrong, I was more telling 
you about, err.."  What was he telling me about?  "Well, I was trying to 
explain that this happens to every boy, when he turns into a man."

We all piss ourselves?  I must have said it aloud as he laughed.  "No, 
we have wet dreams."  Now there was a nifty term for..  OH FUCK!

He started to do the speech about the birds and the bees and about 
biology, and I dutifully nodded my head at all the right parts.  I 
didn't need to listen, since I had heard all this before, in human 
growth and development class.  I felt stupid, I had seen the signs - 
hair growing where it didn't before, the penis getting hard not only 
when I really had to go pee, voice.. Well, least that had not started 
yet.  So, instead of pissing on his couch, I had dumped a load of cum.  
That seemed worse.

He was continuing with his speech, and I fell back into listening, ready 
for the pronouncement that I would be leaving the next day.  Instead of 
that, I got words of wisdom about tissues and 'relieving the pressure' 
and how every man did it, even if he lied to his fellows, and how it was 
just all normal for it to happen.

Every man.  Ahh, shit, I was gay.  My first wet dream, and it had to be 
about a guy.  At least gay guys aren't vile any more, there's usually at 
least one on every evening television program.  Ha, I should have known, 
I was looking at the HGTV website and planning home decoration.  I'm a 
flaming fag, which really sucked, because I really wanted to find out 
what those tits the girls had felt like.

I must have not been paying the proper amount of attention because there 
was a moment of silence there.  "It's ok," he assured me, reaching over 
to give me a gentle pat on the back and a ruffle of the hair.  "We all 
grow up sometime."

Hmph, I thought.  Now what, was I supposed to get down on my knees and 
make him cum?  That's what little gay boys do, right?  Ok, aside from 
the HG&D class, my sex education was composed mostly of dirty stories 
from the Internet.  After all, you just clicked yes or no as to your 
age, that was the gatekeeper for the library of sex that had fascinated 
me for the last year.  I must admit, my eyes looked over towards his 
groin, wondering if it would be so horrible.  After all, I did like 
Larry's finger, sort of, maybe...

"Look," he said with a sigh, misinterpreting, and not, at the same time, 
what I was thinking.  "I'm sure you've heard horror stories at school 
about such things, but this is not a problem.  If you need something, 
err..  I don't know, in my day we used lard, but I guess there's better 
stuff today, to make it easier, I'll get it for you."

It hurt enough when I was crapping a big log..  Disgusting too, having 
to pick at it to get it to come out of my ass.  What would a big dick 
feel like?  The stories always made it out to be the best thing in the 
world, unless the story was about some wacko that wanted to kill little 
boys.

He sighed again, "look," he suggestion reasonably, "tomorrow we can get 
a book that will explain it better than I can.  Maybe, err, if you don't 
tell anyone, a magazine that will show you some pictures as well."  He 
shock his head, "damn, this is embarrassing.  I never had a child to 
explain this stuff to."

Well, at least in the stories, when this happened in the family, it was 
always the best thing in the world.  "It's ok," I said.  "I'll just do 
whatever you tell me to do."  There, I was resigned to what was going to 
happen.  Besides, it was a hell of a lot better than what I would get at 
home.

"Wha...?"  The look of confusion on his face made me feel kind of bad.

"I'm sorry," I said.  I took a deep breath and then plunged forward, 
"Look, if you want to, I can pretend to be scared instead?"  I'd read 
both types of stories, remember?

"I don't know what you're talking about, or thinking, young man, but 
I've a feeling that it wasn't anything like what I was thinking when I 
was your age...  Something else you should know, those, err, first 
dreams, they are just whatever your mind has to use.  Don't focus on 
them, they're just, well, random thoughts that accompanies it."  The 
judge slumped back, "though I must say I'm flattered that I was in it.  
But understand, that's never going to happen for real.  It was just a 
dream."

OH FUCK!  He just, umm, err, oh crap. Sometimes I just think I'm too 
bright for my own britches sometimes, even if they are scratchy, 
unwashed, new butthuggers.  "I'm so sorry," I said, trying to smooth 
things, not really understanding that it might have been better for me 
to keep quiet.  "The dream was about a friend from a couple years ago, 
he and I used to look at dirty magazines and sometimes we'd get naked 
and do things and..."  Oh, yeah, why don't I just say, HEY YOU'VE GOT A 
FLAMING FAG IN YOUR HOUSE.

He laughed instead.  "Sometimes we watched the bull mount the cow when I 
was young, and me and a friend imitated it.  If you're worried, don't 
be.  You're too young to even come close to figuring out what you'd like 
best.  Besides..."  He leaned over and said with a chuckle, "my second 
dream was about a cow, and you'll notice that there's no coral in the 
middle of my bedroom.  Like I said, we'll go find a book that explains 
stuff to you tomorrow, as well as some clothes, which you didn't bring 
many.  Now, there's another blanket in the hall closet, a couple of 
them, actually.  If you have another accident, just move over to the 
recliner, and grab another blanket.  I doubt that will happen, the, umm, 
pressure was likely gone by earlier.  Try to get some sleep.  Besides, 
you're going to need your rest to fight the after Christmas sales mobs."

With that, he got up off the couch, walked to the stairs, and went up.  
I sat on the couch for a bit, went to the washer, pulled the blanket 
out, tossed it into the dryer, went to the closet, took the blanket to 
the couch, laid down, and stared at the ceiling.  I am a fucking idiot, 
I told myself.  But a growing idiot.  All is obviously not lost, because 
what he said made a lot of sense and rang true.  I slipped a hand under 
my waistband, it still felt weird wearing anything to sleep, and 
scratched at some of the dried cum.  Wow, I did that.  I felt actually 
proud of myself as I fell asleep.

-=-=-

And so ends the first part of Christmas Gift.  Yes, this is my third 
start to a story in twenty four hours.  I'm not sure which one I'll be 
adding to first, or if I'll just be starting yet another story.  My 
guess is that I'll be adding to Happy Fucking Anniversary, but I don't 
know where the muse will take me.

Thank you to those who sent the letters of encouragement, I'm glad that 
you enjoyed the stories as much as I enjoyed writing them, and I hope 
that you'll continue to enjoy them as I write them.  Not every one will 
be to everyone's taste, I understand, but hopefully they won't offend 
anyone too deeply, because if they're reading this group, they should 
know better by now.

As always, I welcome feedback.  rongarret2000-assm@yahoo.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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