Message-ID: <45934asstr$1071886203@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: corp.supernews.com!not-for-mail From: Ron Garret X-Original-Message-ID: User-Agent: Xnews/06.08.25 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 19 Dec 2003 22:21:32 -0000 Subject: {ASSM} The Christmas Gift Pt 1 (bb, little sex, beginning) x-archive-expire: 2004-02-01 x-asstr-no-archive: no Date: Fri, 19 Dec 2003 21:10:03 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: hoisingr, hecate 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. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderators: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at Hosted by | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+