BBC - Part One free porn video

BBC - PART ONE By Katharine Sexkitten I was about ten when I first saw Gabriel. He and his Mom moved in across the street. My Mom, also a single parent, grabbed me by the hand after their movers had left and said we should meet our new neighbors, and welcome them. When we knocked on the door, I wasn't ready for what was behind it. His face was cherubic. That's the only way to describe it. He looked exactly like a Renaissance painting, by an old master. He looked like an angel. He had a full head of reddish hair, in gentle ringlets, and a round sweet face, which was pale. Almost alabaster. He had perfect skin, with no blemishes or marks or zits or anything. His eyes were round and wide and full of wonder, and ice-blue, the color of a frozen mountain lake. He had red, rosy cheeks, and full plump pink lips, bigger than they should be, without looking like the Botox queens of today. He had a smile that could light up the room, no matter how big or small it was. He was a short boy, like me, dwarfed by our peers and contemporaries. His body still retained some of his baby fat, so he had a gentle roundness to him. When he turned to call upstairs to his Mom, his most amazing asset was suddenly right in front of us. Gabriel had a huge ass. It was as if the rest of him was normal size, for a small kid. But his ass, his ass was a completely different story. He had an ass built for someone much older and bigger of frame. My first thought was WOW! My second thought was HOW DOES HIS MOM BUY PANTS FOR HIM? Anyway, introductions were made and welcomes were delivered and promises of good clean wholesome neighborly activities were expressed. His Mom was a Notary Public, which sounded unusual and I didn't understand at the time, but it meant she worked full-time. My Mom worked as a receptionist for a dental office, and she too was gone every day. When we went back to our place, my Mom asked me what I thought of them, and I said they seemed nice. She agreed. Then she said that Gabriel and I could become good friends. I agreed, in theory, but told her it wasn't something I was really thinking about. He just seemed like another kid at that point. She smiled and reminded me that none of us knows what the future holds. That was one of her favorite expressions. Then I giggled and commented on his huge bum. She shushed me, and looked down at me, and scolded me, a little bit. "We're not supposed to judge other people", she said for about the thousandth time, "on how they look." I apologized. She was right. Then she gave me the look like she'd forgiven me, which always made me feel elated, and then she giggled and said something I'd never contemplated could ever come out of her mouth. "Besides," she almost-whispered, "you're one to talk. Have you looked in a mirror recently? You've got a pretty impressive-sized keister yourself, young man!" The truth, it's said, can hurt. Gabriel and I were tasked with looking out for each other. Latchkey kids, the both of us. The next day, I knocked on his front door, at my Mom's insistence, and walked him to school. Mostly so he knew where it was and the quickest way to get there. I wasn't planning on making it a daily habit. He carried a backpack with his supplies, which looked heavy, and even though I wasn't all that much bigger, it was hard work for him, so I carried it part of the way. When I took it from him, and slung it over my shoulder, he looked me in the eyes and smiled and said "thank you". His smile was extraordinary. It wasn't just his mouth, or his lips. His whole face changed. His whole demeanour changed. I'd never seen a smile like that before. It was genuine, and sincere, and entirely riveting. It looked as though he was smiling from deep inside his soul. I had a couple of friends, so I introduced them to him that first day. After that, I figured, he was on his own. I noticed right away that a lot of the girls were drawn to him. Most of them were prissy and girly and wore poufy dresses and skirts, and played up the whole ideal of feminine softness and weakness. They were the real girly girls of school. There were a couple of tomboys in the class, and they sneered at Gabriel. Or maybe they were just sneering at his instant popularity. But the girly girls, they loved him. And he loved them. He wasn't athletic, so most of the boys ignored him. With his fat ass, he waddled a little bit when he walked, and couldn't run much at all, even when the P.E. teacher yelled at him to do so. So he spent his free time surrounded by girls. They'd talk about fashion, and art, and make-up, and the teen idols they loved, and boys in general, and their favorite teachers. Heck, they'd talk about the classroom stuff, the crap we all were being taught. None of the rest of us would be caught dead doing that, or planning after-school get-togethers to work on essays or projects. Gabriel caused quite a ripple through our elementary school. The bullies, mostly led by Austin Donnelly, were relentless with him. Austin was unusually developed for his age, for our age. He was a good five or six inches taller than the next kid down, and way heavier. He had inherited from his single Dad the worst parts of humanity. He was a racist. He was violent. He learned early on that threatening other kids, to get what he wanted, worked just about every time, because of his size and because he could back it up with action. The bullies of the school had a new target. Poor Gabriel. I had been one of several smaller weaker boys who had incurred the wrath, almost daily, of three or four bigger boys, including Austin. I'd learned to avoid them, for the most part, which meant changing my life slightly here and there. In between classes, I learned to get to my locker and get whatever I needed for the next class quickly, and get to the next classroom quickly, so as to avoid incidents. And there were certain places on the school grounds I didn't dare go during recess or lunch hour. That kind of stuff. It was a shame that I had to adjust my life like that, but it became a necessary evil. You get used to adapting. Gabriel had to learn those things all on his own. I tried to warn him, especially about Austin, and his cohorts. His posse. They were mean, and could be vicious, and weren't above hurting other kids for the silliest of reasons. Sometimes it was the old 'do- my-homework' stuff or it was the 'give-me-your-lunch-money' stuff. Sometimes it was the 'you're-a-different-color-than-me' stuff, which I always found horrible, and my Mom used to tell me was probably handed down from their parents. She figured bad adults usually passed along their disgusting habits to their own kids. Bigots bringing up bigots. Gabriel's Mom was a bit of a looker, and occasionally my Mom would be conscripted to baby-sit on Friday or Saturday nights. Date nights. Most of the time it was different cars and different men that dropped her off back home again. Sometimes they said their goodbyes outside. Sometimes they went inside. My Mom would peer out the window blinds, watching. Gabriel and I used to do the same thing, from my bedroom. From the get-go, I was expected to entertain him while he was in our home. He didn't seem all that interested in games, or music, or the popular t.v. shows of the time. Or the movies. He talked about clothes. A lot. And not boy clothes. He had a lot of opinions on the things that women wore. The high-fashion models on magazine covers. And the women and girls of the neighborhood, and our school, too. He was obsessed with Miss Edmondson, the principal. She was tall and willowy and blonde and stacked and in her forties, which to me meant she was just about ready for a retirement party, and she was a single woman. Never married. Never known to have had a husband, or for that matter any boyfriends. She was always dressed to the nines. Even on casual days, she was always impeccable. Gabriel called her a "fashionista", which he explained to me meant she was on the top of the game when it came to trends, and seasons. There were seasons to clothes, as it turns out. She was his favorite subject, he would go on for hours about her. Her choices in everything, including shoes. Did you see what she had on Tuesday? That sort of thing. And she always wore heels, and always tall ones, and even at that young age I somehow recognized and agreed that she had great legs. Gams, he called them. Long, and curved in all the right places, and toned, and feminine. She always wore pantyhose too, her legs were never bare. Well, I assumed they were pantyhose. It was rumored, in hushed whispers by the brave of heart, that Miss Edmondson had been seen one summer's night a few years ago, by someone's older brother or sister, downtown, in the 'rough' section, where the nightclubs were. According to the gossip, she'd been in the company of a small gaggle of other fancy-dressed women, all of them probably inebriated, all of them dressed to kill, and all of them loud and noisy and boisterous. Miss Edmondson, it was added, was wearing a blouse that was unbuttoned far more than respectful people would allow, showing off her more than ample bosom. It was further said that she had been seen holding hands with one of the other women, which in and of itself was not all that unusual, but that she had also been seen kissing said woman, on the lips, not like the air-kiss thing that some people do, but a full-on romantic kiss, which was unheard of in most quarters and scoffed at as being enough potentially to incur the anger of God, who apparently would smite his evil enemies and all the sinners of the world. Like Miss Edmondson. When Gabriel's Mom's dates would drop her off and go, we would be watching, through the slats of our blinds, and he would sigh and waddle his way across the street back home. He seemed sad for her. When his Mom's dates went inside with her, he would change. He would get quiet, and he would hum to himself, apparently not aware that I could hear him. And he would smile too. That amazing smile. A lot more than usual. And, as I've already mentioned, he had a smile that could light up a football stadium. The evenings that her dates went inside with her, Gabriel would sit patiently and smile and hum and wait for them to leave. Sometimes it was only a matter of a few minutes. Sometimes it took an hour or more. He used to say that the longer they took, the happier his Mom would be when he got home. One time, he quietly said that he hoped when he got older that he could have dates over too, and find out what made his Mom so happy. As we got older, like every other kid in the world, puberty struck. Neither of us really grew all that much. We both got a little taller, and a little heavier. For both of us, but more for him than me, we added size and heft to our butts. His big ass just got bigger. My less-than-his big bum increased too. We graduated from elementary school and moved onto junior high school. We went from a school population of just over a hundred students to a school that had almost a thousand students. Which meant more girls for him to hang with, and more bullies for him to avoid. Me too, for that matter, but I was better at it than he was. I had a sixth sense about them, where they were likely to be waiting for kids to pick on, and when. I got away, for the most part, from all their harassment. Gabriel viewed everyone with a kind of innocence. He seemed to think that every kid in the school had nothing but good intentions, and so he got roughed-up way more than I did. A couple of times, it was more than roughed-up. A couple of times he got beat up. Seriously. One of them was Austin, said the rumor mill. When I pressed him about it, Gabriel wouldn't divulge anything. He would just shrug it off, the bruises and swelling and bleeding notwithstanding. He'd change the subject. We both continued to see each other every day. We couldn't help it, we lived across the street from each other, and his Mom was still going out and being social on weekends and he was still hanging around my room from time to time. I remember once I asked my Mom why she didn't go out a lot, like Gabriel's Mom, and she almost choked on her cup of tea. She said she had a man in her life already, and that was me, and that was plenty. The symbiotic relationship that Gabriel and I had in elementary school faded somewhat in high school. He had his circle of people, almost all girls, and I had my tiny clique of slightly-odd boys. None of us fit into any other cliques, so we formed our own. But we did hang around some, occasional evenings and weekends. We didn't do much, other than ride our bikes, and bullshit about life. They all had plans, things they couldn't wait to do once they escaped from the drudgery of high school. I had absolutely nothing in my head about the future. I had no idea what I wanted to do in life. I was a so-so student, and I got so-so grades. And yes, my Mom was right, it became even more apparent as I grew that my ass was bigger than all my friends. I mean, I wasn't even close to Gabriel-sized, but I did have a little more junk in my trunk than the average boy. Sometimes buying me pants for school frustrated my Mom. My jeans, for instance, would always end up being skin-tight, because the extra flesh of my fanny pulled all the material every which way. And, most of the average boys had at least some relationship with girls. Some that they liked, talked to, chatted with, or dated even. Some of my friends actually went to movies with girls, or when they got licenses they'd take them to the drive-in fast-food place. It was the local hot-spot. Or the beach. There were all sorts of stories about what went on at Triangle Beach. Girls putting out, girls who were rumored to be easy. Girls who liked sex. I liked girls. I liked the shape that many of them had grown into, and were still growing into. I was fascinated with breasts. I was fascinated with make-up, and how some girls used a little bit to enormous success, while others used a lot, to varying successes. There were two in particular that I was ga-ga over. They were the target of all my hormones. I wanted both of them to like me, and go out with me, and fall into bed with me, when I discovered what that entailed. Sadly, neither of them seemed all that interested in me. Ever. Gabriel had taught me a lot about fashion, and I grew into a quiet appreciation for girls who dressed up a little bit, more than just jeans and a t-shirt. The women too. Some of the staff were boring, but some of them, like Miss Edmondson, dressed like women. Skirts, blouses, dresses, high-heels. That, to me, was the textbook definition of sexy. And lingerie. I went absolutely bananas when I saw a girl or a woman who was wearing high-end frilly and lacy finery. I discovered early that it was way better seeing it live than looking at it in a catalogue. I was a virgin. I wanted sexy. Twenty-four/seven. Thirty-one, as some of the kids said. Our paths had separated as we grew up, but we still saw each other, Gabriel and I. However, the older we got, the less I crossed paths with him. From about grade ten or so, he almost disappeared. His days, after school, and on weekends, were spent away from home. Whenever I'd ask him about it, he'd smile, that mega-watt smile of his, and his pale face would flush with redness, and his long curly ringlet hair would shake, and he'd giggle and make up some story about hanging with new friends that he'd met. I noticed one day that he'd gotten his left ear pierced. It wasn't all that unusual, for some boys and men to have that done, with a simple stud put in. Left ear meant you were hip, and cool. Right ear meant you were weird, and potentially 'funny'. The sign of the times. Gabriel giggled, and then used his finger to pull back the curly red hair from the other side of his face. "I've had both ears pierced," he showed me, presenting it as a secret that I was more or less promising I'd keep. From an underground perspective, at the time both ears pierced meant that a male was either gay, or that he was ahead of his time in the fashion world. I started out hoping it was the latter, for Gabriel. He was just a trend-setter. Fashion-forward. We continued along, the two of us, on our journeys. His wrapped in mystery, and mine, nonexistent. Mid-way through senior year, Gabriel drove to school one day in a brand-new BMW. Electric blue. It became the talk of the town. Students and teachers alike were asking questions. How did he get it? Where did the money come from? Wasn't his Mom a single-mother-barely- making-ends-meet? Later on that day I was walking down the hall, headed for my next class, and I passed by a group of girls and Gabriel doing their usual flamboyant chitting and chatting. I pretended not to be listening, like always. I heard one of them ask him how he got such a cool car. Such an expensive car. He said his Daddy bought it for him. Those words struck me. First off, he'd never mentioned a Daddy, and his Mom had never mentioned a husband. Or ex-husband. Or even just a plain old lover boy, who got her pregnant and then vamoosed. Second off, even if he'd reconnected with whoever had supplied the sperm for his own creation, how did he manage to get the guy to buy him such an over-the-top gift? I mean, in that scenario, I imagined you finally meet your Dad and maybe he wants to be a part of your life somehow so he might buy you something, like a watch maybe, or a baseball mitt, or whatever. This guy bought him a car? So who was this Daddy of his? I saw him right at the end of the school day, and he offered me a ride home, since we lived across the street from each other. I accepted, and on the drive I asked him several times how he managed to find this sweet thing. He said it was his Daddy's doing. I replied that he'd never mentioned a Daddy before. He said that it was a new thing, a recent relationship. I asked if his Mom and Daddy were reconnecting as well. He shook his head no, and asked me, fairly begged me, to not bring the subject up if I saw her. He said she's still really upset about the whole thing, and refuses to accept the man. All in all, he said, it's best to just not bring the subject up at all. She was so upset, he mentioned, that he was going to park the car around the block every night, so she didn't have to see it. It all sounded weird to me. But, he was a friend, so I went along with it. There were days when he'd be wearing brand new clothes. The latest thing, for fashion-conscious young men. Tight pants, corduroys and jeans, and satin shirts. He had a necklace too, which wasn't entirely out of the ordinary, since some of the guys did, even some of the he- men jocks. Gabriel's necklace was gold, and thin, and looked expensive. One day I noticed he had a ring on one finger. The ring finger of his right hand. It was a thin, gold band, and had a single glittery diamond chip. He said it was another gift from his Daddy, and we left it at that. Like every other kid in the world, we were both growing older. I'd squirted up a couple of inches taller than him, but we were both still the two smallest boys in our peer group. Some of our classmates had moustaches, and beards. I could barely grow a whisker or three. Gabriel didn't seem to have any hair on the flawless skin of his face. I had no social life to speak of. Gabriel was always busy, and hardly ever home. I was still a virgin, desperately admiring women who dressed like women, and their skirts and dresses and blouses and heels and make-up, and when I could perceive it, their sexy frilly lacy lingerie. I wanted a girl just like that for me. It was the summer after graduation from high school, and I was outside the same school one day, helping a group my parents were involved in, working with disabled kids to have some athletic fun, some of them playing a pick-up game of softball. I was helping to 'coach' them, on the first base line, where no one was ever thrown out of course. At one point, I had to pee. I wandered back to the school, from the field, for some reason carrying a baseball bat. I don't know why I didn't drop it on the field. It was a good thing I didn't. The school should have been deserted, but I could hear sounds coming from down the hallway I had to use. I remembered the hallway, from my years attending here. I crept slowly, and kept my eyes wide open, for bullies. Any of them. I mean, I was out of high school, and yet I still worried about bigger boys harassing me. As I got further down the hall I realized the sounds were coming from the boy's bathroom, the same one I needed to use. Just outside the door, in the giant hall, I realized the sounds were physical, and there were multiple people involved, and someone might be getting thumped. I snuck in the open door, and peered round the corner. Three of them had Gabriel down on the floor, in the fetal position, his arms and hands covering his own head, trying to deflect from the punches and kicks he was getting. It left his torso wide open, and I watched that bastard Austin Donnelly punt Gabriel in the ribcage, like he was trying to kick the winning field goal at the Super Bowl. Behind him, watching intently, with their backs turned to me, were two of Austin's buddies. I had no idea why any of them were in the high school, but it didn't matter. They were laughing and taunting Gabriel, and encouraging Austin to do more. They were enjoying the pain vicariously. They were gutless cowards. Something inside of me snapped. I hit the first one in the back of the knees with a full swing of the bat, and he fell to the ground hitting his head real hard on the tile floor. I didn't see it happen; I just heard the hollow 'clonk' sound and then his scream of pain. I was too busy to watch him, lining up asshole number two's ribs for a line drive, which he practically invited me to do when his body turned as he was reacting to the sounds his falling friend had just made. After that, I spun, anticipating every move, and as Austin was barrelling for me, I used the bat like a lance, and with all my weight I thrust it straight into his groin. The pitiful sound that came out of his mouth as he fell to the floor made me realize that any human, every human, demonstrates pain in their own unique way. Gabriel was quiet, holding it in, taking the punishment without crying out. Austin cried like a baby, in between all the puking he was doing. Hit someone hard enough in the balls, and they tend to retch for the next little while. I surveyed the three of them, and confident none of them were in the shape necessary to come after me, I went to Gabriel. "It's over," I said, "you're okay now." There were streams of tears on his face, but he'd done his crying silently. One of his cheekbones had a slight bruise on it, and I figured since it was fresh the bruise would be huge in an hour or two. He looked up at me, with the most pained plaintive look on his face. As if he was asking me, WHY? Why would anybody hurt anybody like that, for no good reason? What made some people think they had the right or the approval or the position to be cruel? Why? I leaned down, to try to help him up. He sat up, but that was all he could do. I sat next to him, and it just felt natural to wrap my arms around him, and hug him. Console him. He melted into me, and it was only then, when we were touching, that I realized his whole body was shivering, shaking with fear, spiking with the indiscriminate release of chemicals from his brain. His cheeks were wet, and his eyes, icy blue, were full of tears. I don't know what made me, but seeing his face, the pain so blaringly obvious, brought out some sort of intimacy in me. I kissed him, on the forehead. Gently. He sighed, the biggest damned sigh I ever heard from anybody anyhow anywhere, and then wrapped himself to me, moulded his body to mine, as we sat there on the tile floor. His arms pulled at me, pulling me to him, pulling me into him. I pulled him in too. While keeping one eye on the boys. None of them had moved. I suspected, with the injuries I'd caused, that none of them was going to move anywhere for a bit. Then I thought that no matter what happens, I should ditch the bat somewhere. Gabriel took a few minutes, but he finally stopped shaking and trembling in my arms. I held him, as tight as I could, just to provide some comfort. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't think of anything to say, either. I did look down on his face a couple of times. Even crying, he was lovely. That's the only word I can use to describe it. Just lovely. His creamy skin, the ice-blue of his eyes, the ringlets, the lips, full and plump and quivering. He was just lovely. I kissed him a second time, on his forehead. He sighed again, the loneliest and loveliest sigh imaginable. Once I felt he'd regained some strength, I squeezed him. "Let's get you out of here," I said, beginning to stand up. He rose with me, a little shaky. He didn't want to look at them, so he turned and buried his face in the space where my neck meets my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around him, and used my hand to shield his face. "C'mon," I said, and we started towards the door. He started sobbing, suddenly. "What's wrong?" I asked, stopping us. He cried, tears racing down his curvy rosy cheeks. "They're going to come after you," he barely got out, "aren't they?" I thought about it for a second. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I left Gabriel by the door, and then leaned down and took pictures of all three of them, each one down for the count. I took multiple shots of all three of them, from different angles, but always making sure that their faces could be seen. Then I bent down and whispered into their ears, one at a time. Then I picked up the bat, walked away, and pulled Gabriel into the protection of my arm. "They won't come near either one of us, ever again," I said. I got him to his car, the fancy Beemer. He asked me if I could drive him home, and since I was one of many volunteers that day, I figured I could slip away, so I did. I could see the bruise on his face getting a little bigger, and a little darker, and knew he'd be that way for a few days, maybe even a week. People would see it, no matter where he went. I felt even worse for him. All the way home, I got him to tell me what had happened. There wasn't much. They were assholes; he was there to pick up something from someone at the school, which made him an easy target, in the wrong place at the wrong time, end of story. "But why were Austin and the pricks there?" I asked. "Didn't they graduate same time as us?" He shook his head. "All three of them have to do summer school," was all he said. When I got his car parked, I put my arm around him again and walked him to his house. He got his keys out, and unlocked the door. Then he turned to look at me. "I don't know if 'thank you' is enough, but," he paused, tears rising to his eyes again, "thank you." I smiled. "My pleasure." Then we just stared at each other. I couldn't get over, again, how lovely he was. Classical features, flawless skin. Everything about him seemed bathed in that romantic era of classic art. He radiated an innocent and yet devious energy, a joy, a rapture. I looked at his big lips. They looked, like him, lovely. They looked delicious. They looked, I realized with a start, well, they looked 'kissable'. I began to wonder what it would be like to kiss Gabriel. All at once, it was like the sun coming up. He began to smile, and then grin. Lovely. "Didn't you just turn nineteen a couple of weeks ago?" I nodded. "Happy Birthday," he whispered, "well, belated happy birthday." I thanked him. Then I noticed a reddish spot forming on his shirt, near his collarbone. It startled me. "Gabriel," I said, my voice and face serious, "you're bleeding." I saw his shock appear on his face. "I AM? WHERE?" I pointed at his shoulder, and then pulled the edge of his shirt aside, to peer under. "We should clean that, before it gets infected." He nodded and reached down and took me by the hand, leading me inside. We both went upstairs, to the bedroom level. His Mom's was at the back of the house, and his was at the front. The big bathroom was in the middle. We went straight in there, and I found a washcloth and turned the taps on and told him to take his shirt off. He stopped, and looked away for a second, as if far, far away, thinking of something other-worldly, and then he came back, and I saw some hesitation in his eyes. "I can clean it," he said, softly. "Let me help," I said, "I took first aid last year, so get your shirt off." He hesitated. "Okay," he said, slowly. Then he thought about something for a bit, and then he looked at me. "The thing is," he said, "that I, well, I kinda got a tattoo a while back, and I don't want Mom to know, and I've never shown it to anyone. So you promise not to tell her?" "Of course I promise." He nodded his thanks. Then he took his shirt off. Like his face, the skin on his body was flawless. No warts or freckles or blackheads or scars, nor hair. He was completely smooth. He had cherry-red nipples, which stood out like nubs, and round deeper-red areolas. And his chest had some roundness to it, his pecs were perhaps the only slightly-flabby thing about him. He had a flat tummy, and his arms were lithe and supple. I couldn't see a tat. I got the cloth wet and wiped his wound. It was superficial. I washed and dabbed and washed and dabbed, and eventually dried him off and he pointed at a medicine cabinet and I found a box of Band-Aids and I put one on him. The whole time he just looked at me and smiled. "Where's the tat?" I asked, wrapping up. He smiled. "On my back." I peeked over his right shoulder, but couldn't see anything except his pure alabaster skin, the curve of his back, and his big round plump ass. "I can't see anything." He pulled at the waist of his pants, moving them up slightly, and then he turned, revolving that big butt of his around in an arc, and displaying his back. From the top of his pants I could see a few curly-ques of what might be a flower, in black. Everything else was hidden underneath his pants. "Let me see the rest of it," I said. He blushed a little, with his head turned back towards me. Then he must have unbuttoned and/or unzipped his pants, because he put his hands on the waistband on both hips and started shimmying. It was a hard shimmy. His fleshy buttocks, curving out from his hips, meant his pants were tight, and there was some struggle to pull them down. He slowly revealed the rest of the tattoo. He stopped when I could see the bottom of the tat, but not his ass crack. I could see the swell from his lower back to what was the beginnings of his monumental cheeks. And I could see a little strip of something black, like the fabric of underwear maybe. But it was thin, and had some sparkles about it, and it didn't look like any guy underwear I'd ever seen. His tattoo was just a random design of flowering and flowing curly-ques and in the middle were three letters. BBC It was a tramp stamp. That's what some people called it, I'd heard. Then he pulled his pants up, quickly. "What's BBC?" I asked. He turned bright red, and then turned his face away from me. "Nothing," he whispered. I scoffed. "It's got to mean something. You had it inked into your skin for god's sake, it must have some significance." He wouldn't look at me. "C'mon, Gabriel," I pleaded, "it's me. You can tell me anything, no matter what. I won't judge you. You know that, right?" He finally looked at me, and nodded. Then he looked down at the ground. As if he was ashamed of something. "What is it?" I asked again. "I owe you an apology." I was mildly surprised. "You do? Why?" "The tattoo," he continued, "is related to it. See," he paused, searching for the words he wanted to use, "I was trying to find a way, the last year or so, to ask you something, but I could never work up the courage, or the nerve." Curiosity rose up. "Ask me what?" We walked the short way down the hall to his bedroom. He pointed at his bed, so I sat near the foot and he sat near the head and we just looked at each other for a few moments. Finally, I could see him reach some sort of decision. "Have you had sex yet?" he asked, bold as can be. I stammered and sputtered my shock. "What?" I put as much incredulity into my voice as I could. "Are you still a virgin?" he asked, serious. Now it was my turn to not know what to say. But there was something in his eyes. Some spark of kinship, of friendship, a history of knowing each other. An intimacy. He was silently letting me know it was just him and me, and there were no wrong answers. "Yes," I squeaked out, quietly, "Sadly, I am still a virgin." He nodded, and smiled. There was something rueful in his smile. "I always wondered if you and Cheryl ever did anything," he said, softly. Cheryl was a girl I sort of dated, off and on, for a couple of years. I shook my head and sighed. "We got to second base a few times, and once on third, but she'd never let me go all the way." He nodded, as if he understood how frustrating that was for me. "What does that have to do with your tattoo?" I asked. "I'm not a virgin. I haven't been for almost four years," he blurted out, proudly. I nodded at him, as if to say 'good for you'. I realized I was jealous of him. I also realized that he must have started really early, at about fifteen. I thought for a second about where I was with girls when I was fifteen, and remembered that I was a failure. Most of the time, even if they talked to me, I was pathetic around girls. They intrigued me, they captivated me, and they mesmerized me, but I was a stammering idiot around them. I still am. He studied my face, and then dared to say what was on his mind. "I've had lots of sex, Clay," he smiled, "so much sex you'd be shocked if you knew how often I have sex." I looked at him, stunned. Stunned that he was saying it, mostly, but stunned that, if true, he was so much farther into that world than I was. His face became dreamy. "It's the best thing in life. It's the best kind of life." I couldn't think of one single thing to say, other than the clich?. "I guess I'll just have to take your word for it." He came out of his dream state, if just a little. "You don't have to! That's what I've wanted to talk to you about." He was smiling again, lighting up the room. "You could do it too! You could have more sex than you've ever dreamed of! You'd really like it." I just looked at him. "I really like it," he said, quietly. He nodded, and added, "the sex." We sat for a bit, and let silence fill the room. "I turned nineteen back in November. So that's the legal adult age, right?" I nodded. That was my understanding of the law. He took a second to form the next sentence. "When I was fifteen, I became friends with some guys, and we formed a club." "A club?" "Yeah," he nodded, "like a group, a group that has members, and, well, that has shared interests." I nodded. That sounded reasonable. "That's what the 'C' stands for. Club." "From BBC?" I asked. He nodded. "Okay," I said, "so what's the BB stand for?" He suddenly leaned towards me, and looked at me as seriously as I've ever seen him. I could tell this was a matter of great importance to him. He was still lovely. "Promise you won't tell anybody? And I mean EVER?" I said yes. "You promise? Even if it makes you hate me? Even if it disgusts you, in some sort of way?" I scrunched my face up. "C'mon, Gabriel," I said, "how could you disgust me? How in the world could I ever hate you?" His face got closer to me. "You might. Anything's possible." I pushed my face closer to his. We were just a few inches apart. "What's the BB stand for?" "Promise?" he whispered. I smiled. "Promise." Gabriel sighed. "BB," he said, "stands for 'BEAUTIFUL BOY'." I put the three words together in my head. Beautiful Boy Club. Beautiful Boy Club. I had no idea what it meant, but I knew one thing. It was an apt name, in his case. Gabriel was a beautiful boy. "And what do you do in this club?" He smiled. "Be beautiful." I had to giggle. "Okay. And how do you do that? How do you 'be beautiful'?" I asked, and then said, "other than by being your normal self, because you are really naturally beautiful." I watched tears rise up in his eyes. Those wide, round crystal-clear ice-blue eyes. With his long thick lustrous lashes. I'd noticed them since the day I'd met him, but this was the first time I was verbalizing it, albeit silently to myself, in my head. He had gorgeous eyelashes. And come to think of it, his eyebrows were curved, and arched, and thinner than mine, and they just, well, they just suited him. They, like the rest of him, were lovely. He was indeed a 'beautiful boy'. "You think I'm beautiful?" he asked, shocked. I stared into his eyes. "Yes. Of course. I mean, I'm sorry if it offends you, but I have always thought that you were the loveliest, most beautiful boy I'd ever met. And you've grown into a beautiful young man. Seriously. You are, Gabriel, you're lovely and beautiful. Those are the only words that seem appropriate." I watched one solitary tear fall down his left cheek. His voice became a whisper. "You're beautiful too." Which warmed me, of course. "Thank you," I said, sure that he'd meant it in the general 'everybody is beautiful' kind of way. His stare at me changed. It became somehow more genuine, and kind, and thoughtful. "No," he whispered, "I mean, you are beautiful." He stressed the last word. "You are. You don't even realize it. I've wanted to tell you about the Club for a long time, I've wanted to ask you if you'd consider joining us." He paused. "I just didn't know how. I was worried you might not like it, the idea." Now I was even more curious. "What do you do, in this Beautiful Boy Club?" His smile came back, a hundredfold. "We be beautiful!" he answered, proudly. I smiled. "And how do you 'be beautiful'?" "You promise you won't tell?" I nodded. "Well," he started, his voice quiet, "we dress up in beautiful clothes, and we make ourselves look beautiful, and we spend time together, and we dance and we laugh and we, well, we..." He looked at me, worried. "You what?" I asked, needing to know the answer. "We have lots of sex." He finished his pronouncement and then he studied me, trying to gauge my reaction, and he bit down on his bottom lip a bit, the way women do sometimes. You could have knocked me over with a fart. "With who?" I asked. His smile came back. "With each other." I put two and two together in my head and came up with a billion. As in, a billion questions went shooting out of my cerebral cortex. Before I could ask any of them, he jumped off the bed and walked over to his closet. He opened the door and bent over, from the hips, his legs straight, his amazingly full ass pointed right at me. It was amazing. Amazing, and, I realized, quite sexy. Gabriel rummaged around in a pile of stuff on the floor, and then pulled out something. He walked back and sat on the bed. This time our legs were touching. He was holding a photograph. It was an eight-by-ten, in a frame. He turned it and showed it to me. It was taken in a mansion of some sort, in front of a massive fireplace, a roaring flame in the background. I was looking at five of the most gorgeous women I'd ever seen in my life. They were all absolutely stunning. They were all dressed up, I mean really dressed up, like runway models, or celebrities going to an Oscar party or the like. Five gorgeous women. From left to right, a blonde, two redheads, a black woman with a shocking mane of multi-colored hair, and a chestnut-brunette who took my heart away, and seemed somehow familiar at the same time. Gabriel pointed at the blonde. "That's Lisa," and then his finger moved over, "and that's Patti," moving his finger again, "and this is Elizabeth," and then he pointed at the black woman and sighed, and then giggled a little bit, and said, "and this ravishing creature is LaToya," and he pointed at the brunette, "and finally here's Gabriella." I was struck that her name was so close to his. I looked at him. Then I looked back at her. Then I looked at him again. He watched me slowly figure it out. "That's..." I stopped, shock on my face, "is that..." I paused again, "is that...you?" He nodded. I looked back at the photograph. At him, or her, or whatever pronoun you're supposed to use. Then I looked at the other women again, closer. They were all gorgeous. They were, all five of them, sexy as hell. Sexier than any woman I'd ever met in real life. They were wearing evening gowns and high heels and jewelry and make-up and they each looked like a million bucks. They were all alluring, they all glowed with an energy that made my blood race in me and made me instantly erect in my pants. Beautiful Boy Club. "Is this..." I stammered. He nodded again. "That's the Beautiful Boy Club." He let that sink into my soul. "Well," he said, "as of last October. Elizabeth's family moved back east since then, so she had to go with them. The rest of us were really sad about that. But the good news is, she's going to start a new chapter of the BBC when they get settled. But that does mean we're down a member right now." "Wow." It was all I could think of to say. I studied the group pic. They were enticing. Gabriel touched my arm, with his hand, making me look up at him. "You would be perfect, to join the club." I sat stunned at that. "ME?" He nodded, quickly and a lot. "I told you, you are beautiful already. You just don't know it." The million or so questions in my head fought for prominence, for who got to be voiced first. "And you have lots of sex?" Gabriel laughed. "LOTS! LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS! EVERY DAY!" "With...", I paused, not quite knowing how to finish the sentence. He did it for me. "With each other, of course. I mean, we're boys, after all. Raging with pent-up hormones, filled with powerful sex drives. And, it would be illegal and immoral and not acceptable if we were having sex with grown-ups, right? So that's a hard and fast rule. Now, there are adults around, most of the time, but it's purely non-physical with them, for the boys. But," he continued, "when we reach the legal age, then, if we want, we can also have sex with the adults." He paused. "Any adults." I spun my head, and looked straight into his eyes. "Adults?" He bit his lip again. "Adults." He paused. "Adult men. Daddies." My heart started seizing and I thought the oxygen was being squeezed out of the room, if not the solar system. "You have sex with men?" I asked, tentatively. He leaned closer to me and whispered conspiratorially. "Every day since I turned nineteen. I'm not kidding. I have sex, the most mind-blowing sex, the most out-of-this-world sexual experiences you can possibly imagine, now that I'm old enough. And make no mistake, Clay," he said, his ice-blue eyes piercing mine, his hand on my arm, no longer just touching me, but caressing me, "you haven't lived until you're dressed up in the sexiest clothes and a big strong romantic man makes love to you." In a heartbeat my mind was flooded with images of Gabriel, or Gabrielle as he'd called himself, the most lovely and beautiful boy imaginable, dressed up like a woman, like the stunning woman in the photograph, lying on her back, her thousand dollar dress pulled up, her panties pulled down, her legs wrapped around the back of a bigger, stronger, hairy (or not) virile man. The man forcefully and passionately making love to her. Fucking her. Sliding his huge horse-like cock into her lovely amazing fantastically-generous ass, while kissing her, his tongue in her mouth, both their eyes closed, lost in the throes of passions unknown to me. I'd never experienced anything like that. I looked at the photo again. He thinks I'm beautiful? We sat in silence for minutes on end. I stared at the photograph. Five gorgeous sexy alluring beautiful women. Who, as it turns out, were all born as boys. Like me. I mean, not like me, since I've never dressed up in women's clothes, and I've never worn make-up, and I've never met up with other boys doing the same thing, and I've never had sexual relations of any kind with other girl-like boys. And I've never had sex with adult men. "Did Cheryl ever give you a blowjob?" he asked, quietly, changing the subject. I didn't hesitate in answering. "No." He leaned closer to me, his head inches away from mine, his eyes wide as saucers and alive with energy, and he smiled, the softest, warmest, smoothest smile I've ever seen. "Would you like Gabriella to give you one?" I couldn't speak. "As a birthday present, to celebrate turning nineteen?" he asked. I couldn't form words. "She'd love to suck you, and swallow all your juicy cum!" he giggled. I still couldn't speak. He grinned some more, and then sprung up off the bed onto his feet. "Give me ten minutes, okay?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he grabbed a small suitcase from his closet and scurried down the hall to the bathroom. I watched his big beautiful ass wiggle all the way. He turned at the door, and said, "don't go anywhere, I'll be right out." I sat on the end of his bed, completely inert. I know my brain was doing the yeoman's work of keeping my heart pumping, and my lungs working, and all the necessary functions operating, but otherwise I was static. The mountain of things I'd learned in the last few minutes was crushing me. It was like being attacked by a hundred different assassins at the same time. There was no way for me to concentrate on more than about two of them. Three at the most. He has sex. Gabriel has sex, every day, according to him. He's a member of a club of young men who dress up like women and have sex with each other. Every day. He'd said 'lots and lots and lots', which meant, well, lots. He dresses up like a woman. He's a beautiful woman, as are the others in the club. BEAUTIFUL BOY CLUB He thinks I'm beautiful. I heard him humming, and my concentration went back on the photograph. These were five of the most gorgeous, feminine women I'd ever seen. Absolutely stunning. And even more stunning was the knowledge that they weren't naturally- born women. Gabriella thinks I'm beautiful. She said so. She said she'd wanted to invite me to join the club, for close to a year. She said that I'd like it. I stared at the women. Their make-up was perfect, each of their individual assets highlighted perfectly. Lisa had high cheekbones, which shone with joy as she smiled, her long white fingernails holding onto a flute of champagne. LaToya was wearing the most amazing blouse, a diaphanous and almost see-through black lace that showcased her deep plunging bra underneath, the garment pushing up her body and creating the most inviting of cleavage. Elizabeth, now moved away, was thin and lithe and wore the most jewelry, Patti had really big lips, like Gabriella, but hers glowed. And Gabriella, who was just so very beautiful. Angelic. Angelic, and seductive. I had to push my erection with my free hand, because it was bunching up my lap inside my pants and everything was so tight it hurt. I couldn't take my eyes off the photograph. Until I heard the door opening in the hall, and turned to see her walking towards me. Gabriella was wearing a garment I didn't even know existed. It was red, and sexy, and full of lace. It was panties, that had garter straps attached to them, which held up thigh-high stockings. She was wearing a bra as well, also red. She'd done something with her hair, and it was now piled up on the back and top of her head. It looked like something done in a salon. She had a light touch of sky blue eye shadow on her upper lids, and the brightest neon blood-red lipstick on, covering those big lips of hers, the ones I'd known for almost a decade. She walked with a pronounced movement of her hips that startled me. It was a complete equal to every sexy woman I'd ever seen walking, especially in heels. Gabriella walked into the room and came to stand right in front of me. She put her hands on her hips, her legs spread a little bit, and stood proud as punch. She was like Wonder Woman, the way she was posed. I couldn't help myself. I moaned out loud. I know she heard it, because her mega-watt smile got louder, and brighter. She was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen in my life, without exception. My eyes just kept going up and down, from the tip of her toes, encased in lacy stockings, to the top of her head, her high piled up and high behind her. And every time I scanned past her panties, I could see a lump there. It was the only un-feminine thing about her, the protruding bulge in her panties. And yet, it was the fucking sexiest thing I'd ever seen! I couldn't help myself, I suppose. While ogling her, while taking in every square inch of sexy that she represented, I was also conjuring up images in my head of me. Me. Dressed like that. Me. Sexy like that. I felt a wave of something rush over me. It was a new kind of feeling, something I'd never experienced before. It was stronger than any other emotion I'd ever felt, including anger, including whatever it was that had inspired me to take down the three bullies in the boys bathroom. The sweetest, loveliest, most addictive kind of feeling. I suppose that it was a combination of things. Love. Lust. Jealousy. Unbridled passion. All-out sexy. Gabriella looked down at me, her lips slick and shiny and spread in a humungous smile. "What do you think?" she whispered, cautiously. Again, I couldn't form words. I realized there was a sheen of sweat on my forehead. My heart was beating at about a thousand thumps a minute. My lungs were expanding and contracting as if I'd just run a marathon. My crotch was almost hurting me, my cock filled with more blood than at any other time in my life, but trapped in the confines of my underwear and pants. My clothes. My boring boy clothes. Gabriella, on the other hand, was anything but boring. Her clothes were the exact opposite. Not boring, not one little bit. Exciting. Riveting. Titillating. Arousing. All-out sexy. She looked at me again, really focussing on me. It felt like she was scanning into my soul. "Will you let Gabriella make you feel good?" Her voice was soft, and whispery, and running through it was a hint of huskiness, and a trace of just plain sexy. My inexperienced cock answered for me. I nodded, slowly. She beamed a smile that could have shone the way for a battalion of army men to navigate a minefield in the middle of the night. Then she stepped towards me, and put her arms around my shoulders, and then she put her knees up on the bed, on either side of me, and then she settled herself down so her panty-covered crotch was sitting in my lap, her body weight on mine, her thighs gripping onto my sides, and the very next thing I knew, her head was moving towards mine. "Close your eyes, Clay," she whispered, "and let me make you feel good." I closed my eyes. A second or two later, I felt her breath, her exhale, on the skin of my face. The next second I felt her lips on mine. Her lipstick and gloss tasted like something fruity. Her big lips were soft, and warm, and quivering. I'd kissed women before. Cheryl, for one. A few others, here and there. Not a single one of them could hold a candle to Gabriella's kiss. It was as if a connection had been made. It was like having two separate pieces of a puzzle, both of which were useless by themselves, but put together showed a picture of abject beauty. Abject joy. Abject sexy. My warms wrapped around her, without thinking about it, just pulling her close to me. The material of her lingerie was silky, and smooth, and cool to the touch. Her bra straps felt like heaven, like I'd reached some sort of plateau in life where nothing could get any better. I was wrong about that. The curve of her back, the way her shoulder blades stood out, meant that the bra strap made a little bridge, hovering just over her skin. I could slip my fingers underneath it. I had no intention of trying to undo the garment, though. With every other girl, I would have thought about it. All I could think about with Gabriella was that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and the bra staying on was part of that beauty. Her tongue was thin, and warm, and wet, and darted here and there into my open mouth. Mine was doing the same thing in hers. My hands moved down her back, slowly sliding towards her amazing ass. Her huge ass cheeks. Her generous, curved, sexy globes. She moaned into my mouth when I cupped them. I realized that my hands were barely grasping her, that she had so much more ass for me to feel. To feel. To fondle. To caress. To grope. To love. To kiss. To pleasure with my mouth. Gabriella had a great ass! We made out for a long time. Holding each other, tightly. Squeezing each other. Trying to get our bodies closer to each other. If I'd held her any harder, I'd have hurt her. Her kisses were better than anyone. Anyone that I'd ever kissed, for sure. But somehow I knew they were in a class by themselves. And yes, I did realize, for a second here and a second there, that she was really a he, underneath it all. Gabriella was really Gabriel, the boy I'd known for almost a decade now. But Gabriella was also something else. Womanly. Feminine. The textbook definition of the word 'sexy'. I couldn't stop kissing her. I couldn't not kiss her. Her lips were magical, and playful, and never mind that she was sitting on my lap, grinding her ass into my crotch, teasing and toying with my erection, the biggest one I'd ever known. Her kisses were about to make me explode. And somehow, she knew that. Somehow, she sensed it. It was probably her years of experience, having, as she put it, 'lots and lots and lots' of sex. She'd gained so much more life-knowledge than me, in this Beautiful Boy Club of hers. The club she thinks I could join! I let that thought bounce around in my skull. She broke our kiss, and when my eyes opened her face was right in front of mine, and she was smiling like she'd just won the Miss Universe pageant. She was lovely enough to do that. "And now," she grinned, "Gabriella wants to suck your cock." She slid off of me, slowly, and ended up on her knees, on the floor, in between my spread legs. Her eyes were focussed on mine, as her fingers started trying to undo my belt. The boy I'd grown up with was now the sexiest woman I'd ever seen. My fingers moved on their own. I helped her with the belt, and the snap, and the zipper. I stood a little bit and she pulled my pants down, and my own larger-than-most ass made the operation tight and I had to shimmy my hips a little bit. Gabriella giggled like crazy. When my pants were pooled at my feet, she let me step out of them. Then her eyes locked onto the throbbing lump in my boxer shorts. They seemed to glow, her icey-blue eyes. She licked her lips. She looked up at me. She smiled, the most genuine real sincere and natural smile I'd ever seen. Then her fingers slid up my naked legs, and she grabbed my underwear by the top, and with a slight nod of her head, she pulled them down. My cock sprang up, once it wasn't trapped by the clothing anymore. Gabriella "oohed" out loud. The head of my six inch monster was shiny, sparkling in the ambient light of her bedroom. I'd never been a huge producer of pre-cum before, but today I was practically spewing it out by the gallon. Looking me in the eyes, her right hand reached out and grasped my shaft, right at the base. The very touch of her made me take in a huge lungful of air, the only sound in the room my sucking in a breath. Gabriella licked her lips again. "Clay," she whispered, "sit back down, okay?" I sat back down, on the edge of her bed. "In the club, we play around with the letters, and what they mean." I nodded, but I didn't know what she was getting at. "Sometimes we call it the Beautiful Bum Club, or the Big Bum Club, or the Big Booty Club, or the Big Butt Club." "Oh yeah?" She smiled again, bigger. "Sometimes we say it stands for Boys Blowing Cock. Or Babes Blowing Cock." She giggled. "Right now, it could stand for something else." I took a deep breath. "Like what?" I asked. She laughed out loud. "Begin Blowing Clayton." Then she leaned forward, and wrapped her lips around the head of my cock. Her tongue snaked out, and she began running it around and around the roundness of it, ending her journey with the tip of her tongue inserted just into the opening of my pee hole. Never having had a blowjob before, I didn't really know what to expect. How it would feel. Which kind of sensations it would create. How it would affect me. What I found out was life-changing. Life-altering. Cataclysmic. Intoxicating. Paradigm-shifting. The absolute most amazing experience that had ever happened. Gabriella teased me and toyed with me for a short while, and then began bobbing her head, the inside of her mouth wet and hot, her tongue constantly moving, her years of experience at oral sex obvious, her hunger for sucking cock blaringly apparent, both in her sucking techniques and in the look in her eyes, which were focussed on me and which showed a human being in total love with what she was doing. This Beautiful Boy, now an adult, just like me, was having the time of her life. And that kind of joy she was showing was nothing compared to how I was feeling. My first blowjob. The first time my cock was in someone's hot mouth. I didn't last long. I started moving my hips and bum, a little bit in and a little bit out. Her left hand slid around me and grabbed onto my right bum cheek, and she squeezed hard like her life depended on it. Her lips seemed to get wetter and slicker and her sucking increased and she was bobbing down right to the base of me, her top lip meeting the skin of my lower belly and her bottom lip meeting my testicles, which I realized felt like they were on fire, and I could feel the head of my cock moving into her dripping wet sucking throat. I started screaming. I couldn't help it. I felt like everything inside my body was about to explode, about to come sailing out of my body, through my penis. I felt like I was about to blast a few hundred pounds of dynamite through the tiny hole at the end of my cock. I worried about it, as I kept moaning and yelling, grunts and groans and sighs and screams. My upper body fell backwards, onto the bed. Gabriella didn't stop. If anything she got more committed to the action. Which is when I lost it. I tried to warn her, my left hand sliding over to the top of her head, not putting any pressure on her, but simply touching her, being intimate with her, as she performed the most intimate act on me anyone ever had. Then all control left me, my body erupted inside and out, I lost the capacity for reasoned thought, I began pumping and pumping, and Gabriella hummed her delight in the loudest sexiest growl I'd ever heard, and then I more or less passed out. When I awoke, or came to, just a few seconds later, I bent my neck and looked down at her. She was swallowing, and swallowing. My cock was still spurting cum, although in tinier little shots now, and she was happily grinning and tasting me. All of me. All of what I'd produced. Every drop. Until her sucking began to go from total pleasure to a little bit of tenderness. And, like before, she seemed to know exactly what was happening to me, what I was going through, and she slowly let go of my cock, her hand stroking my shaft as it slipped out of her lipsticked-mouth. Then she smiled, and swallowed one last time, and then she smacked her lips and hummed a happy sound. "YUM!" she gasped, taking in a huge lungful of air, "I love sucking cock!" I just lay there, looking down at her. "Wow, Clay," she marvelled, "your cum is tasty! It's sweet! What did you have to eat for dinner last night?" My mind raced, trying to remember that short time ago. I couldn't. Everything about my world had been rocked, and I seriously failed at recalling anything about my life before the last hour or so. Then it came to me. I remembered that I'd had some pineapple for dessert after dinner. I'd had a whole bunch of it, actually. Pineapple was sweet. And the juice was sticky, and yummy! Gabriella started getting off her knees, and she slowly stood up and then lay down on me, her lingerie touching my skin, instantly sending thrills and titters through me, instantly sending blood back into my penis. I was getting hard again, after just cumming harder than I'd ever cum in my entire life. I'd NEVER had that happen before. As her lips descended towards mine, Gabriella smiled. "You're getting hard again, aren't you?" she asked. I nodded. "Does that mean you enjoyed that? Did you like getting your first blowjob?" I nodded again, much much harder. Much more pronounced. "So," she hesitated, kissing my lips tenderly for a second or two, allowing me to taste the musky saltiness of my own ejaculation, still fresh in her mouth and on her lips, "what do you think?" I couldn't find words, and I wasn't sure to what she was referring. "Would you like to join the club?" Before I could say anything, she said the words that would forever change my life. "You're beautiful, and you'd look sexier than all of us if you dressed up, and I promise you that as much fun as it is to get a blowjob, its way more fun giving one. And if you join our club, you'll be giving and getting every second of the day and night. And the Daddies! Holy shit, they'll go crazy meeting you. You'll have Daddies falling all over themselves to be with you. To make love to you. It's the fucking best thing of all. Ever." I could only find the energy for one word. "Ever?" She giggled and kissed me and then nodded. Her voice got serious. And she pronounced every word slowly, and put spaces between all the syllables. "The. Best. Thing. Of. All." Somehow, even though on the face of it the whole thing seemed ludicrous, I believed her. "Do you want to join the BBC?" she asked. I finally found some energy, and I said words that I'd never contemplated before. "YES! I WANT TO JOIN THE BBC!" End of Part One.