We were so different that I hated everything about Lennie with every cell of my body. He was a senior, and would be out free as a lark in a couple of months while I was a freshman and would be stuck in the Idaho Youth Facility until my twenty-fifth birthday, eleven long years away. He was tall and muscular, an adult really, with a dense mat of curly black hair all over his body. I was short and slightly dumpy, and had only a little pit and crotch hair on my newly pubescent body. His balls were easily twice the size of mine and his cock made my own seem insignificant by comparison. Most of all I hated him for the way he made me feel after making me his bitch.

The Idaho Youth Corrections and Rehabilitation Facility For Boys was really just an old high school that had been fortified to serve as a medium security prison boy’s school. Two high fences and several guard towers were added, and two new dormitory buildings were constructed to house the two hundred youths, all aged thirteen to twenty that fall victim to the system. I was there for six years before being transferred to another facility for the remaining five years of ‘education and rehabilitation’.

I had only been there for a few days when I met Lennie. He had gotten two years for kicking the shit out of a policeman in what he described as a fair fight, giving him a cachet as being a real hard ass among the Assaults and Grand Theft Autos in the school. We were both in the shower after morning PE when he noticed me.

“How much time did you get, kid?” He asked. The water cascading off the end of his hairy cock reminded me of a horse pissing.

“The Max,” I answered, referring to all the time to which a juvenile could be sentenced.

“So, what’d you do?” Lennie queried.

“My stepdad was trying to buttfuck me so I blew him away,” I answered. It was the closest I could get to admitting the real truth, which was that he had ass-banged me repeatedly over a period of time.

Your lawyer must have been shit-for-brains”, Lennie commented, “you getting that much time.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. Actually my lawyer had done a fantastic job. When my stepdad went to piss and flush the shitty condom I pulled his little .22 revolver from the drawer in his nightstand and gave him one in the balls and two in the guts, followed by one in each kneecap and finally one between the eyes when I got tired of his moaning. The lawyer had just barely convinced the judge to accept my confession and keep me in the juvenile system; otherwise I’d have been held over and tried as an adult and probably gotten Life Without Parole.

The school was actually a piece of shit; it was old and out dated and had been closed down for several years when the state took it over. The classes were geared to underachievers and meatheads so they were easy. The teachers, all male, were all rejects from the public school system and most were borderline incompetent. A few of them would hang out in the shower room after PE and I had a pretty good idea why they had been fired from their previous teaching jobs, but they didn’t seem to be interested in me.

We all worked some each day, either in the kitchen, laundry, or as custodial helpers, and we all had to attend either college prep or trade school type courses. We were told that graduates easily got good jobs, but I think it was because the State paid employers a subsidy to hire the junior ex-cons.

The worst part was the total lack of privacy and individuality. We slept in eight man cells that were only ten feet wide by fourteen feet deep. Each contained four double bunk beds and a combined lavatory/sink unit. Our only possessions were our combs and toothbrushes, and whatever pictures or letters that could be taped to a one-foot square board by our bunks. Cellmates were assigned by random and changed every month.

We were rousted out every morning at six thirty, given a few minutes to shit, brush our teeth, and get dressed before we had to line up inside our cells for the morning head count. We all had photo ID badges on plastic necklaces that we had to wear at all times, even in the shower, and these were checked three times a day.

We then went to Morning PE, which consisted of running around the track for an hour, or if the weather was crappy we did calisthenics in the big open-sided outdoor fieldhouse. We then hit the shower enmass, all two hundred of us depositing our clothing and in a bin at the door and placing our shoes in a rack. We each had two pairs of shoes and rotated daily between them. We were issued a thin towel leaving the shower, then given clean clothes after we had dried off. Guys who needed to shave did it nude in a separate room. The razors were all counted afterward and if a shortage was discovered they all had their assholes checked for contraband.

The clothes were all the same except for the size: Dirty looking white jockey shorts stained in the back and socks that didn’t fit, and either sweat pants and sweat shirt or tee shirt and shorts, depending on the season. Neither had pockets.

After PE we went to breakfast, which was always oatmeal or cold cereal, a hunk of half-rotten fruit, cold toast, and a carton of milk that was invariably past the expiration date. We all had to go through a sensitive metal detector leaving the cafeteria and those kids with metal dental fillings had to open their mouths for inspection to pass.

The classes were long, usually an hour, with a half hour in-class study hall after each one. No classroom materials were allowed outside of each class, and we had to pass through another metal detector leaving each classroom or work area. We couldn’t even leave with a pencil. All areas and all activities were monitored in person or by video surveillance, and even the shyest boys eventually got used to having a person or a camera watch them shit. Lunch was just as basic and tasteless as breakfast, and we had another head count as we left the cafeteria.

There was another hour of PE in the late afternoon with the group split up into four sections of fifty guys each for basketball, wrestling, soccer, or swimming. The pool was old and dirty and never warm enough but it was still preferred. The other classes didn’t get to change clothes or shower and had to wear the same clothes until the next morning, so most shed their shirts and shorts and just wore their undies. We swan naked, YMCA style, and there were always the same bunch of faggoty spectators watching us flop around. The swimmers were allowed to shower afterwards to wash off the chlorine and slime.

Supper was another gastronomical delight, and after that we went back to the dorm. The common area between the twenty-six cells had several TVs, some outdated video games, and a couple of ping-pong and foos-ball tables. At nine we were herded into the cells, counted and locked down and lights-out was at Ten. Lights out is a misnomer as they never let it get dark, just slightly dim. Talking after lights out was prohibited as was any other noise making activity. There was a microphone and a camera in each room and a guard walked by several times an hour. Anyone caught talking or beating his meat would lose his breakfast and lunch privileges the next day so we learned to jack off silently on our sides, facing the wall, and most guys took a sock to bed with them.

We had three sessions of PE on Saturday, but no classes and we got Sundays off to lie around the dorm after the mandatory church services.

Even though dreary it was no worse than Army boot camp and a hell of a lot better than the next facility that I would be in and wasn’t really so bad, except for Lennie.

Lennie figured out that nobody really gave a shit just where we were or what we were doing so long as we showed up for the head counts, and he discovered his own little hideaway.

The school had once been heated with an oil-fired boiler that was insulated with asbestos. Two new Weil-McLain gas boilers were installed in an adjacent room and the old room was sealed off rather than have the asbestos removed. The door to the room had a big Asbestos Hazard warning sign and a rusty old lock that looked like it hadn’t been opened in years, and more importantly was located in one of the few areas of the hallways that were in sort of a video surveillance twilight zone that couldn’t be seen from the monitor’s glass cage.

“Hold it a minute, kid,” Lennie stopped me right by the door, my arm clamped vice-like by his powerful hand. I didn’t like Lennie. He hadn’t done anything to me but he had a funny way of looking at me, particularly when we were in the shower.

”Hey, I’ve got to get to Algebra,” I informed him, “The bell’s going to ring in a minute.” You had to be in the classroom or work area when the bell rang and the doors locked or you’d be in trouble. You weren’t permitted in the hallways between classes for any reason, even to go to the toilet.

“You really get off on Algebra?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. He was right. I hated it. As soon as the last person had left the hallway, seconds before the bell, he gave the door some kind of lift or jerk or something that made it pop open and pulled me into the boiler room with him. The only light in the room was through two grimy skylights and the old boiler looked like some primordial dinosaur hulking in the gloom. The whole ceiling was obscured by a mass of piping, most of which was covered with shredding asbestos draped with yellow hazard warning labels. Lennie led me around the gaping maw of the beast through another door into a small room illuminated by three bare light bulbs.

The room had a small desk, several dusty shelves, and an old couch with a ragged blanket on it. This room, I learned later, was once the office of the boiler tender. The old boiler required frequent atomizer and water level checks, so a boiler tender was always somewhere near. Normally this was done by a custodian, but during the winter nights and weekends a guy stayed here all the time babysitting the boiler lest it might shut down or worse yet, blow up. He usually slept on the couch and kept an alarm clock handy to wake him for the periodic checks. The clock was still there, running, along with a twenty-year-old logbook initialed with the time of the checks and the pressures and temperatures of the boiler. The room was adjacent to the new boiler room and in addition to being extremely hot it was also very noisy. The only other door in the room opened to a small lavatory containing a dirty toilet and a small washbasin.

Lennie picked up the old clock, wound it up, and sat it back down. It was only then that I realized it was still keeping time. He then peeled off his t-shirt and sat on the couch, motioning me to join him. Beads of sweat glistened on the furry pelt covering his chest. “Lose the shirt,” he suggested, “or you’ll stink like hell next period. We went around shirtless a lot and it was so hot in there that I immediately complied. “Check this out,” he said, passing me a twenty-year-old magazine that had evidently been left behind. “Pretty neat, huh? Beats the shit out of Algebra.”

I was fourteen years old, still a virgin, and had never seen pictures of a woman’s pussy, let alone the real thing. The magazine was full of topless and full frontal photographs of nude women and some of men humping them. I immediately felt my cock getting stiff. I glanced over at Lennie and saw that he suffered from the same affliction.

“Damn!” Lennie said, rising to his feet. “It’s hot as hell in here. Ahh, that’s better.” He pulled off his shorts and skivvies, freeing his cock to flop up against his belly, all seven inches standing proud. Occasional nudity was a fact of life in the all-male institution but it was unthinkable to let another guy see you pop a boner. I bolted for the door but he grabbed me from behind as quickly as a striking rattlesnake and pulled me tightly against his body. I could feel the hot hardness of his cock in the small of my back and the bulges of his nuts against the swell of my butt.

“I’m not queer,” he informed me. “I like girls but there aren’t any here, so I kind of have to make do with what’s available.” I tried to struggle, but he held me firm by my upper arms, and then with a movement so fast and sure that it must have been practiced dozens of times he suddenly let go of my right arm and shot his hand into my shorts, grabbing me by the balls and squeezing them hard enough to buckle my knees, then guiding me face down onto the couch.

He released his grip on my other arm and pulled my shorts and skivvies down below my knees. I started to resist, but he pulled and squeezed my nuts until I submitted. I immediately knew that screaming was futile; the boiler room walls had been constructed to insulate the room’s noise from the rest of the building. I felt his cock slide down my back into the crack of my ass and I steeled myself for what I knew was to come.

I had been buttfucked before but it had been a seduction instead of a rape. I was just a prepubescent little fart willing to do anything to please my stepdad and I believed him when he said that all father and sons did it, and that it would feel just as good as taking a big healthy dump, and most importantly it would make hair grow on my crotch, which being a late bloomer was something that I desperately wanted. I submitted several more times, believing him when he said that it always hurt and bled a little the first few times but would feel really great after that. My stepdad was gentle with me, well lubricated, and of modest dimensions and it still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Lennie was none of those and when he felt the sweet spot he squeezed my balls hard enough to damn near pop them and when my anus involuntarily relaxed for a second he plunged in to the hilt in one quick motion. It felt like I had been run through with a red-hot sword.

I could feel the hair on his chest against my back and the stubble of his beard abrade my neck as he humped away. After what seemed like an eternity I felt him stiffen and convulse, and then an increased pressure in my guts as he pumped his load into my colon. He abruptly withdrew, eliciting another gasp of pain from me, then went to the sink to was the slime, shit, and blood from his cock while I lay sobbing on the couch.

“Go clean up or you’ll have goop running down your leg for the rest of the day,” he commanded as he pulled on his shorts. I sat on the toilet a long time, still crying, voiding his semen from my body before finally wiping myself clean and dressing. Lennie checked the clock and then pulled me from the room and shoved me into the hall seconds before the next bell sounded. Between the pain in my balls and ache in my ass I could barely walk and I was certain that everyone knew what had happened.

There was a procedure to lodge a complaint, of course, but to do so I would have to admit that he had used me for a bitch and a certain group of people would surmise that I had liked it. I stayed clear of Lennie after that and made sure to never be caught anywhere near his door. I did see him there with other boys, usually freshmen, and I wondered if they knew what awaited them on the other side of the door. I never drew him for a roommate, thank God. I don’t think I could have handled that.

The last time I confessed to a crime it cost me eleven years of my youth, so when Lennie came up missing I didn’t know anything. A few days later he was still missing and during a complete search of the facility a Hazmat crew wearing special protective equipment finally entered the boiler room. Lennie was in tough shape but still alive. A hood covered his head and he was trussed up on the floor, hog-tied. He had a severe concussion and a wound between his legs. A broken bottle covered with blood was found nearby but there was no trace of his missing testicles. They showed up in his hospital bedpan the first time he took a shit, much the worse for wear.

There were other predators in the school but somehow they left me alone, and by the time I was transferred to the older youth’s facility to serve the remaining five years of my time I was a strong young man and no longer prey to such deviants. I still think about him from time to time and I feel no remorse about what happened to him.