A N.I.C.E. Boy, Part 6

Not Just Pedophile Priests: School Teachers Are Guilty of Child Abuse Too

L.A. Star, July 27th 2004

According to research being undertaken in a random sample of ten California

schools, as many as 30 percent of the nation's male school teachers may be

pedophiles. This startling revelation was made by Doctor Albert Burke of the

Free Children From Abuse Center in Los Angeles. Data collected by the FCFAC over

the last twelve months indicates a high probability that many male teachers in

elementary and primary schools are sexually attracted to the children they are

teaching. Pedophilia has become a crisis of epidemic proportions, said Burke,

further reinforcing President Holly Denton's campaign that pedophiles are

terrorizing America's children. "Everywhere we look we keep finding pedophiles

who have taken on jobs that place them in close contact with children, but we

were shocked to find so many of them in schools. Every parent in the land need

to realize that it's not just priests who threaten our children."

Teaching children brings a pedophile into a position of power, from where it is

a relatively easy matter to force a child into a sexual act. It is well known

that pedophiles tend to focus their efforts on children who are having

difficulties at home and school, establishing trust and achieving a rapport with

offers of affection that troubled children find irresistible. From a friendly

hug or a slap on the back, it is only a short step to sexual activity. Burke

pointed out that the recent situation in the Santa Monica School District was

probably symptomatic of a the larger problem addressing the entire country. Only

two months ago it was revealed that several male teachers had recruited as many

as one hundred boys from three public schools in the Santa Monica area. The boys

were engaged in illegal sexual activities with a network of highly placed

pedophiles. The network was known as LAB for L.A. Boys and even received funding

from the U.S. department of Social Services. The boys, mostly from low income

families, were introduced to pedophiles as part of a mentorship program for

disadvantaged youth. The boys received expensive gifts for their services.

In addition to the problems lurking in our schools, Burke also indicated that

coaching sports teams remains the most popular way for pedophiles to gain access

to children. "Trust no one!" Burke offered as counsel to parents. "Tens of

thousands of pedophiles are out there on the soccer fields and baseball diamonds

waiting to get their hands on your sons and daughters."

Chapter 6. Eisenhower Executive Office Building, July 30th, 2004

"I'm glad you could come at such short notice, Congressman Lane," Hackman said

as eloquently as he could manage. It sounded as if he had been practicing the

opening line for some time for his usual manner of speech was very different.

"Not a problem," Lane answered.

Even though the appointment had been set up the previous day, and he had

concluded that it was very likely he was going to be asked to serve on the

President's Education task force, Lane was still wondering what the meeting was

about. Hackman's secretary, the middle-aged spinster whose job it was to make

appointments and organize the Vice President's schedule was both suitably

friendly and competent. She had said that the meeting was not urgent, yet she

had also made a point of telling him that he had been given the only available

opening in Hackman's schedule for the next three weeks. Had she been trying to

warn him?

Since early Saturday afternoon of the previous week, Lane had been bothered by a

disquieting sense of foreboding. It was too late to change what had happened,

not that he wanted to, but it was very apparent that he needed to be very

careful in the future. Perhaps it was merely his residual guilt because there

was nothing definite that he could put his finger on. Still, he was left with

the nagging suspicion that something was very wrong. Jeff had not telephoned and

he had promised that he would. Equally, Lane's attempts to reach Jeff by

telephone had been to no avail. It was not a matter of having the wrong number

for he had personally copied it down from the telephone just before he left. He

had called five times in three days well after school was out, but before most

people came home from work. He called to speak to Jeff, but he also enjoyed

listening to the boy's amusing welcome and invitation to leave a message. Much

as he wanted to, Lane did not dare leave a message on the answering machine.

Putting his worries aside, he followed Hackman across the room.

He took the proffered seat that left Vice President Hackman with his back to a

vast window with a spectacular view over the Mall. Lane never tired of looking

down the axis at a symmetrical if overly formal arrangement of institutional

buildings that was enhanced by the judicious use of landscape elements. It was

all about power and prestige, but then so was Hackman's position. His seat

ensured that he would be surrounded by the glare from outside. He sat behind a

desk that was first used by Theodore Roosevelt in 1902, a tradition in a way but

also trying to associate himself with one of the nation's finest leaders. Lane

smiled. His impression of the Vice President was being confirmed again and

again.

"I s'pose you're wonderin' why I got ya in `ere?" Hackman queried. He paused

before adding, "Congressman Lane." It sounded sarcastic, and it was entirely in

character,

He relaxed in his chair, a cloth-covered relic of the mid 18th Century that had

been used by one of the nation's most influential statesmen.

"I've been giving it some thought," Lane answered with a glance to the side.

"Well now,... We'll get to tha' `fore long. D'ya think there's a chance in hell

fer them Sox?" Hackman was never one to come to the point quickly.

Lane shrugged. He watched Hackman closely. The man was delusional. He was

something of a joke in the nation's capital. It was common knowledge on the Hill

that Hackman considered himself to be the equal of Machiavelli. There was even a

rumor that having tried to read 'The Prince', the Vice President could not

fathom why the man had acquired such a reputation. Admittedly, the story went,

he had only perused it, because to do otherwise would have meant expending

intellectual effort that was beyond him. Even then, people resented him less for

his mediocre intelligence and the manner in which he had gained the Vice

Presidency than for the bold-faced liar that he was known to be in political

circles.

"A `course it's too soon to tell. We could do with some rain, don' ya think," he

added, changing the subject without warning.

Beyond the window, the grass was vivid green. Lane shrugged again and waited

while the Vice President continued to review the weather forecast for various

parts of the country and then went on to talk about his last trip to the Mid

West. In particular, he focused on his visit to a struggling black college and

how the faculty was having trouble recruiting a minority president, as if it

would be of vital interest to Lane.

"Mind if I call you Doc? I hear you got two of `em," Hackman asked, deliberately

referring to Lane's two doctorates to show how little he was interested in

education.

"Do I get to call you Reverend?" Lane quipped.

Hackman laughed. "Only if yer in my congr'ation, `n frankly, I don't think you

white Midwestern' types be fittin' in. `a course it would be int'restin' ta see,

Doc."

"I do have things I need to do," Lane said pointedly after Hackman had stopped

talking for a few moments.

Hackman glared at him. "Well, I `spose you congressmen's busy `n me," he laughed

feebly. "So I'll get to tha' poin'." He scratched the back of his head,

endeavoring to look thoughtful. "I gotta tell ya' Lane,...."

"Tell me what?"

"Tha' President was mighty teed off `bout what you done to Hana. The H.N.A.," he

added as if Lane was insufficiently versed in Administration jargon to

appreciate the acronym for the Healthy Nation Act.

"Was she indeed?" Lane asked cynically. "I didn't mean to upset her."

"Tha' Hill's diff'rent to bein' in ac'demics. Sorta thin' you done to Hana can

do real damage to a man's career. You plan on quitting pol'tics?

"I haven't given it any thought," Lane answered flippantly. He had not intended

to antagonize the man but Hackman's expression was one of irritation.

"You oughta think more `bout tha' long term."

"Perhaps I do. I was thinking about another term."

"Yeah? It's goin' to take more'n you got tha next time." Hackman laughed. "Yer

wonderin' what this is `bout, ain't ya?"

"I have a few ideas," Lane replied.

"Like what?"

"Hm,... well for one,..."

Lane paused. Hackman smirked, waiting. Whatever he thought, he was wrong. He

could tell something was going on from the way Hackman was playing with him. It

was not about the Education Task Force that much was certain. He took a wild

guess, basing his response on Hackman's reference to the ignominious fate of

some sections of the H.N.A.

"Go on!"

"I heard a rumor that the Administration was working on some interesting

legislation," Lane continued innocuously after Hackman leaned forward to listen.

"Ya heard what?" Hackman demanded huffily.

He appeared surprised and he leaned closer to the Congressman from,... what

district was it that Lane came from? Indiana? Illinois? Probably Illinois,

because some reporter had once likened Lane to Abe Lincoln. Not that it mattered

much. Lane was an independent, unaffiliated with either political party, so

while he owed no allegiances to others, few people owed him support in return.

However, given the close balance of power in both the House and Senate,

political independence made Lane a very dangerous man.

"I have very high regard for our civil liberties," Lane said flatly, wishing

that he knew more of what was being rumored. "I believe that the Administration

is eliminating individual sovereignty piece by piece."

"In'vidual wha?"

"Our freedoms. Our rights to live as we chose." Lane stopped.

What did it matter? There was no point in explaining the original goals of the

founders of the nation. Talking to Hackman was a lot like talking to the

gardener where he lived, except that the gardener was honest and forthright in

his opinions. With Hackman, it was impossible to know where the man stood on any

issue, not because he did not have opinions, but simply because he could not be

trusted in any view that he expressed. In Lane's experience, such failings were

typical of flagrant womanizers. With Hackman's record of siring bastard

children, the reputation was well deserved.

"The way I hear it, what's happening is not very nice," Lane added

circumspectly.

The legislation was closely guarded, but it was referred to as NICE in the vague

rumor he had heard. Although the acronym had not been defined, he had presumed

two of the words were `National' and `Equality'. It was likely based on the

leanings of the Administration.

The other man glared at him, hiding his surprise remarkably well under the

circumstances. The simple reason behind his anger was that the President had

deliberately charged him with stopping leaks. NICE was supposed to be a secret.

"So,.... Ya know `bout NICE. Yah, I thinl ya do, don' ya?" he asked carefully.

His eyes narrowed as Lane nodded slowly. The President was 100 percent right

about this man. He was too smart for his own good.

"I know something of it," Lane remarked a little haphazardly. "Not a lot, but

enough."

In truth, he knew very little beyond the vague rumor of an Administration

initiative to mount a campaign against sexual discrimination. However, a long

time ago he had learned that it was often beneficial to appear fully informed.

He waited patiently, hoping that Hackman would fill in the missing details. Some

fifteen or twenty seconds passed. His bluff worked.

"Tha country needs us to take drastic action 'fore it's too late. What we're

doing is fer tha best, fer tha kids."

Lane nodded encouragingly and folded his hands to appear relaxed. What Hackman

had just said seemed unrelated to sexual discrimination.

"Our most important resource," Lane countered ambiguously. It was a standard

phase in the nation's capital.

Hackman studied him with a bored expression. "What d'you thin' `bout `em?"

"About who?"

"Pedos. You think pedo-philes are protect'd by tha' Cons'tution?" Hackman

demanded arrogantly.

Lane shrugged, harboring an uncomfortable feeling inside. At least he knew more

than a minute earlier. One important detail had been provided. It was not about

sexual discrimination. Instead, it was sexual aberration that was under attack.

Worse, the Administration was focusing on people like himself. It was

politically correct to attack pedophiles. He shuddered.

"I don't think they were excluded," he answered calmly.

Hackman laughed suddenly. "Not so far they ain't. You think it's okay, what them

pedos do to boys?"

Lane's eyes lifted up. He swallowed and endeavored to control his rising panic.

There was a reason why he had been singled out for Hackman's pleasure.

"No," he answered simply.

"Tha's good. I cain't help wonderin' `bout you Lane? What mot'vates a man like

you?"

"Can we get to the point?"

"Well,... I am, see. It's disgustin', what they do to boys," Hackman said

bluntly. "You know what they do?"

"Not really," Lane answered. He swallowed, anticipating the worst.

"Ya know, Doc, I got a tape that shows it," Hackman leered. "Maybe if you seen

it, you'd feel more like s'pportin' NICE. It stands for Natural In'vention to

Control,... Curb Evil, `n what's on the tape `s evil."

"I'll take your word for it," Lane replied abruptly. He began to rise.

"Better sit and watch," Hackman said, tapping the remote controller that lay on

his desk.

Lane sat down as he recognized the image appear on the large flat-screen

television that was built into the bookcase on the opposite wall. He could

barely breath, but breathing had been almost impossible for him when the video

had been made. Then, he had been incredibly excited both by the situation and by

a young boy who exceeded his wildest dreams. Now, he was confronted by his worst

nightmare.

Despite common sense, they had gone to Jeff's home directly from playing laser

tag. Jeff lived in a condominium in a neighborhood that was very similar to his

own. There was a pleasant view from the living room. They had sat there, looking

at the distant trees, at a group of children playing, talking about laser tag,

about nothing in particular. They were a few feet apart, yet close enough that

it seemed to Lane that he could feel the boy's body heat. He found it difficult

to take his eyes away from Jeff. He had always been attracted to blond-headed

boys, and the boy beside him was so good-looking that Lane was easily

infatuated.

They stayed side by side on the expensive grey leather couch for nearly half an

hour. For a long while it seemed innocent. Certainly nothing sexual happened,

not until Jeff had giggled and without further ado, climbed onto Lane's lap and

then there was no stopping what followed. The video showed them `making out'

like two hot-blooded teenagers instead of a middle-aged man and an

eleven-year-old boy. Jeff had some initial hesitation in French kissing although

he instigated it in the first place. Lane had often read about boys were

reluctant to kiss so he was not all that surprised, yet after the first few wet

kisses, the boy settled down quickly. Indeed, it seemed to Lane that the boy

enjoyed being kissed, willing offering his mouth to Lane's persistently invading

tongue and stabbing with his own tongue as far as it could reach.

After a few minutes, Jeff had groped his groin then began to tug against his

zipper. The camera zoomed in with a close-up of the boy's hand reaching into the

opening, fondling under the cloth, then carefully pulling the man's engorged

penis out and into the open. The photography was equal to anything that had ever

been seen on the highly rated, `Suburban Voyeur', a popular prime-time show

which used amateur videos to amuse a live audience. Lane's penis filled the

screen, its head crimson and swollen and dominating the boy's deft small

fingers.

Lane sat still, unable to respond as he watched it happen again. Jeff stroked

his penis, working the skin with languid ease. Slowly travelling up and down,

pulling the skin tight so that his glans bulged and darkened, and beads of

preseminal juice oozed from the gaping hole. The camera slowly panned up Lane's

body, stopping only when their faces could be seen. His tongue looked as if it

was halfway down the boy's throat. Vaguely, he wondered where the camera was

located until he remember that he had thought it strange how many mirrors were

in the condominium. There had a small gilt-framed mirror on the wall opposite

the couch. From the angle, the mirror concealed the camera, yet even as he

realized that, he remembered that there been a huge mirror that filled the wall

behind the couch. The scene faded only to be replaced by a new scene and a new

angle, a close up of Jeff leaning down, kissing the man's thick erection,

quickly lifting up, drawing a delicate silver thread on his tongue. His hands

worked with unsettling impulsiveness, kneading the man's plump testicles. By

then, Lane had begun to take Jeff's clothes off. He remembered how his hands

shook with excitement. It was so bad that he had difficulty unfastening the

button on the boy's jeans. He breathed heavily, barely able to resist tearing

the clothes off and making contact with warm bare skin. Jeff had pulled his

belly in to make it easier. Both of them had difficulty in concentrating. Jeff

giggled continuously, which only served to make Lane more aroused.

"You havin' fun I see," Hackman said sarcastically.

Lane grimaced. "I've seen enough."

"So far it's only oral, `n by some `counts oral ain't even sex," Hackman joked.

"Though I bet Holly don't `gree wid tha', given what her pussy-lovin' husband

used to do in her office," he chortled. "Watchin' yerself bother you? Would me."

Lane realized then that he had no choice but to let the situation run its

course. Hackman was finally playing the part of Machiavelli and he was not about

to back off and allow Lane to save face. His reputation was well-deserved. The

man thrived on power. Lane eased down into his seat, wishing that he had exerted

more self-control. He would never forget the overwhelming awe he had felt when

Jeff finally wriggled out of his jeans and he saw the boy's sex organs in the

flesh, so to speak, and in the light. At the time, despite his best efforts he

had been unable to restrain himself. They were both intensely excited. If he had

any doubt it was removed when he saw that the boy's penis was fully extended. By

the time his jeans came past his feet, Jeff had leaned over and taken Lane's

penis inside his mouth once again, yet the video remained on the boy's small

organ. Lane gazed at it, still disbelieving that what he saw was real and not a

dream. Eventually when lust conquered his inhibition and reason, he had reached

out. It naturally came into his hand, bobbing up and down, alive and vibrant

whenever the boy enthusiastically flexed his inner muscles. It had been very hot

to touch, and both harder and softer than anything that Lane could remember

touching.

The tape had been capably edited and it faded to black. The momentary lull in

action was replaced by a view taken from a different angle. It showed Lane's

head and shoulders, and the boy's body from navel to knees. He could not

remember how they had gotten into the sixty-nine position, but somehow they had.

He remembered the first taste, savored in the privacy of the room. There was no

flavor except sweetness. Mind numbing sweetness. His lips slipped down the short

rigid shaft and his tongue swirled over the distended spike of flesh. He stopped

when he could go no further. By then, he held Jeff's reproductive organs inside

his mouth. Penis, scrotum, testicles, all of it, easily containing Jeff's

succulent boyhood. Then, without further ado, he had sucked Jeff to within

seconds of orgasm, backing off only because the boy had stopped sucking on his

penis. Jeff whispered something in his ear about being more comfortable on the

bed. Like a groom carrying his bride, he carried Jeff's almost nude body into

the bedroom, feeling a thrill that made him tremble as he walked.

"Now fer tha' good stuff," Hackman snickered.

Lane tensed. At Jeff's instigation, they had gone into his mother's bedroom. The

much larger bed was unmade, but not untidy. Amid an array of cosmetics on the

dresser, there was a photograph in a chrome-plated frame of Jeff. It had been

taken a year or two earlier and his hair was longer. The woman next to him,

obviously his mother, reminded Lane of one of the receptionists who worked in

the Capitol Building, although she was better dressed.

There were mirrors in the main bedroom as well. There had been one mirror on

what he thought had been the closet door. Another mirror covered most the wall

behind the bed. It reflected them as Lane carried Jeff across the room to the

bed. Jeff's arms lifted up and Lane hurriedly pulled the last piece of clothing

from his body. Like a randy Latino lover, he flung the tee-shirt across the

room, making both of them laugh.

Now, Lane watched himself from behind, watched as he peeled off his shirt,

removed his jeans, took off his underpants. He saw his naked back, the paleness

of his buttocks, and from the side, the beautiful boy grinning up at him,

inciting him to take everything off. Again and again he had tried to resist but

Jeff had seduced him.

Lane heard Jeff's voice in his head. Soft, sensuous, alluring, urging Lane to

take him, to show him what he could do. He needed to distance himself. He tried

to close his eyes, but the darkness lasted only for a few seconds. The man in

the video stepped forward until his knees touched the mattress and Jeff reached

out, giggling and making funny faces. The camera hidden behind the mirror above

the bed showed Jeff as he eagerly took hold of the man's penis. Lane swallowed,

unable to resist looking at the television as the memories overwhelmed him. His

brow sweated.

"Pity there ain't no sound," Hackman said. "Bet you were doin' a lot `a heavy

breathin' `bout now."

Lane shook his head in denial. Sound changed everything. He had tried so hard to

talk to Jeff, to talk him out of it, several times offering to leave, trying

very hard to avoid the intimacy that was going to occur if he remained in the

same room as the boy. However, with competent editing and the haunting silence

of the video it looked as if Jeff was the victim.

At Jeff's adamant insistence, Lane had climbed onto the bed next to him. Jeff's

hands reached up, brought their lips together, sucked the breath from Lane's

lungs until he was ready to collapse. Then, as Jeff lay back into the

down-filled pillows, he pulled Lane with him. Lane straddled the naked boy, his

knees pressed either side of two slender hairless legs. He remembered kneeling,

still awed by the utter perfection of the nude boy, his huge penis looming out

over the recumbent child like a thick wooden stake ready to be driven through

the sleeping vampire's heart. Instead, Lane quieted his demon by leaning down

and gently kissing the boy on the bridge of his nose. He worshipped Jeff as he

had worshipped a million other boys from a distance, with respect and restrained

love.

"G'damn faggot stuff," Hackman growled. "Lemme fast-fo'wad."

It had lasted for the best part of an hour. Sixty minutes of kissing and

touching, of building familiarity, of giving infinite untrammeled pleasure

without taking back. By then he had kissed or licked every part of Jeff's body,

every nook and cranny, every orifice but one. Jeff wanted more, even urged the

man to `do it in my ass' with words that were obscene, yet still Lane managed a

modicum of self-control. Again and again he had focused his attention on the

sensitive nipples, sucking them to hardened tiny points. He was amazed by the

boy's multiple orgasms, the ability to writhe and shudder for what seemed

minutes at a time. And above the rest, the immature penis entranced Lane,

twitching, pulsing without ejaculation, turning redder and redder beneath his

lips and fingers until it seemed to glow. Lane lived a lifetime of frustration

in a single hour, absorbing everything for he knew it would never happen again.

Finally, Jeff's persistence broke through Lane's resistance. The boy had

orgasmed shamelessly for what seemed like the tenth time. Still gasping, yet

showing few signs of being tired, Jeff rolled onto his back and pulled his knees

to his shoulders. His buttocks lifted up, spread apart, revealed what Lane had

longed to see for as long as he could remember. He had seen similar sights

before but only as photographs, photographs of virgin boys whose anuses were

still puckered or Russian boys whose bodies had been violated so often that the

flesh surrounding the gaping opening was purple-brown. Lane did not ask the boy

how often or who he had been with. He simply accepted the reality that the faint

discoloration around Jeff's anus meant that one of them knew what to do.

There was a half-full tube of K-Y conveniently placed in the drawer of night

stand next to the bed. Jeff's instructions were urgent and Lane responded

equally urgently. He was unable to stop from realizing his dream. Hurriedly he

lubricated the little opening, easing the way inside. How often had he

fantasized about doing that, inserting his finger into a small anus, pushing

through the outer muscle into the tighter confines, feeling the inner muscle

that pulsed and grasped his finger and tried to push and pull against it. The

muscle was ever so much stronger than he had imagined, and it opened much faster

than he had ever thought possible. All it took was a few gentle strokes and

Jeff's body relaxed and allowed his finger to slide back and forth. And the look

that slowly changed from discomfort to bliss, to sheer unrepressed delight that

lit Jeff's face, an expression that was hard to believe because of its

intensity. It eliminated the few reservations that remained to Lane. He felt the

muscle loosening, the movement easier, becoming increasingly slippery until his

finger glided in and out and Jeff was unable to stop shaking. Jeff was insistent

that he did not stop. A second finger was tight, but not so tight that it could

not move back and forth. After a while, even that felt loose and Jeff had no

reluctance in telling Lane that he was ready.

That was when Jeff rolled over onto his back and lifted his legs close to

shoulders, bringing his buttocks up into a position that might have been called

`presenting himself for inspection' or `showing the target'. He looked over his

shoulder, still giving instructions in his throaty whisper and Lane kneeled over

him panting with pent-up arousal as Jeff slide his hands up and down the man's

erection, to make it stiffer and harder than seemed humanly possible. Lane

stared down between them, fascinated by the boy's thin hands, the contrast of

age and size, and the opening that was no longer as tight as it had once been.

It glistened with the copious KY, some even oozing out of the boy's anus as if

there was too much inside and there was nowhere else for it to go.

Lane was barely cognizant that there was a condom conveniently placed in the

drawer although he laughed when Jeff said something about 'putting a wet-suit on

Mr. Cock.' He watched as the boy, giggling with mirth, expertly nipped the

cellophane covering with his teeth and extracted the cream-colored ring. He

rolled the latex sheath down the thick veiny shaft as if he had been doing it

all his life. With that out of the way, Jeff resumed his position, lifting his

knees high, this time beyond his bony shoulders. Again, Lane gazed at the

exposed hole. At times, when Jeff pushed down with his inner muscles, he could

actually see inside, into the vivid crimson tube where a man and a boy joined.

In silence that was punctuated only by the pounding of his heart, he pushed a

finger loaded with the crystalline gel back into the heated canal. He was

promptly greeted by a lusty sigh. Jeff twitched and nodded. Lane used his

fingers to spread even more of the cool slimy gel inside where it was going to

be needed. He was awed as he watched his shiny fingers disappeared once again

into the boy, the glistening slick rim of his anus, opening so easily, yet still

stretched impossibly tight and less than a half-inch from his knuckles. It

looked as if it would hurt but Jeff showed no sigh of discomfort. He lay

quietly, sighing when Lane's fingers pushed all the way in or started to

withdraw.

"Sooner we cut the fuckin' balls offa you perverts tha' better," Hackman taunted

loudly to get Lane's attention.

Lane resisted the urge to respond, wishing that he had also resisted the urge to

have sex with Jeff, if that really was his name. However, he had not. At the

time, he not realized that he had been entrapped. Even now, it was difficult to

grasp the reality of the situation. All along he had believed that his companion

was a willing eleven-year-old boy, a boy with the face of a child but the desire

of an adult. When Lane finally extracted his fingers, Jeff had leered knowingly

at him, wriggling his bottom temptingly. He was fully aware of the effect that

he had on the man, and he was out to enjoy every second. However, he had also

been as cunning as any whore who knew how to take advantage of a situation.

`Come on. Put it in,' Jeff had demanded in a low desperate voice that pleaded,

even begged. It sounded so distant to Lane's lust-filled mind that it seemed

hard to believe what was happening. And all that Lane had been able to do was

try to shake his head, knowing full well that he was going to do everything that

the boy wanted him to do. Without saying a word he moved into position, reached

down and clasped Jeff's skinny knees so the boy could not get away even if he

wanted to. Then, barely realizing what he was about to do, he moved even closer

until he felt his penis bump against the boy's buttocks. He paused there, aware

of nothing but the pounding of his heart. The camera recorded what Lane had seen

first-hand. A close up of a man's enormous penis nudging a tiny gel-covered

opening. The head was crimson and it looked huge, far too big to fit through the

pink dot of the boy's anus.

Jeff urged him to do it, 'to put it in', but `just go slow, okay', and Lane's

left hand moved back to clamp his ankles together. He held him tightly, pushing

the boy's shoulders down into the pillows while lifting his buttocks higher. His

right hand, assisted by Jeff's right hand positioned his penis where it needed

to be, the angle not too steep, just right. `Push when I push out', Jeff

advised. And Lane, having heard the boy's guttural command had pushed. It was

not hard enough the first time, nor the second time, but he was learning very

time as he tried to force his way inside. However, on the third attempt, he

squeezed down instead of pushing with a sudden jerk, and he felt the boy's anus

open up. It was as if the head of his penis had been swallowed and for a few

seconds he was shocked. Shocked by the heat, the pressure, the surge of emotions

that came from knowing he was inside a boy's body for the first time. Jeff

whimpered and closed his eyes to shut out a momentary pain. Lane felt the cramp,

a spasm that seemed to travel through the boy as a tightening shudder.

`Don't stop!' Then a sudden gasp as another spasm clamped against his penis.

Yet, Jeff was fighting back with erratic pushes of his own, forcing more inside

before it could be ejected. The last thing either of them wanted was for Lane's

penis to come out. Lane followed instinct and kept very still as the boy

struggled to accept the presence that was now lodged inside his body. A minute

passed. A minute of video that captured Lane's awkwardness, his fearful

expression, and the wonder of it all because during that minute he achieved the

impossible. Jeff relaxed well before the minute passed. He nodded encouragingly

and Lane felt the pressure begin to diminish. He hesitated, but Jeff did not.

The boy smiled and breathed deeply and whispered to Lane what he needed to do

next.

Afterwards, a hundred times during the next day, Lane had tried to explain the

sensation of penetration to himself. Certainly it was very hot and incredibly

tight inside Jeff's body, but such words failed to capture what had occurred.

Instead, Lane decided it was a lot like forcing his penis into a hose, a garden

hose that had been lying in the sun. Despite the lubricant he had used, there

was very little slipperiness at first. The pressure was extreme, overpowering

his will and reason, restricting his ability to continue at the same time as it

became impossible to hold back. Lane was barely able to keep from succumbing to

his deepest desire, a longing to thrust as hard and deep as he could.

The boy's grimace was enough to suggest it was painful, if not agonizing, at

least until the head of Lane's penis passed through the sphincter and into the

comparatively loose void of his rectum. The garden hose remained, clamped around

the base of the man's penis. It had the effect of making it even stiffer,

thicker, larger. He remembered Jeff's head shaking, his eyes wide open and

imploring as he whimpered and gasped. `Yessssss. Ohhhh God. It's big. So fucking

big. Do it slow. Oh, oh, man'.

On the television it appeared as if Jeff was shaking his head in anger, denying

that there could possibly be any pleasure in it for a boy. Yet, the truth was

otherwise. Lane had seen if for himself. Jeff's hands moved to Lane's hips,

pushing, pulling on him so that he began to thrust. Very slowly at first,

because Lane was fearful of hurting the boy beneath him. Another minute passed

before Lane's penis bottomed out. It was impossible for him to penetrate any

further. The boy gasped and groaned and muttered obscenities under his breath,

vulgar adult words that only served to encourage Lane. It amused him to hear a

boy demand to be `fucked'. Is seemed impossible, but the powerful spasms that

had tortured the little body had been replaced by deliberate contractions that

made both of them shudder uncontrollably.

By the time Jeff suddenly became tense and gasped frantically with the parched

spasms of prepubescent orgasm, Lane had a new appreciation of why men loved

boys. Simply knowing that an eleven-year-old boy had been able to achieve climax

without his penis being stimulated was sufficient to increase Lane's own

pleasure to the point where he began to thrust in a frenzied effort to fill the

cramping bowels with his semen. He slammed against the boy, cognizant of his

wails and whimpers, yet no more able to stop himself than he ever had been

capable of interrupting masturbation seconds before he ejaculated.

Vaguely, Lane was aware of the boy writhing underneath him, of small heels

hammering against his shoulders and back, and a rectum that was no longer tight

trying to strangle his penis as it surged relentlessly back and forth. He had

often read about anal climax, even studying a medical encyclopedia to confirm

the exact location of the prostate gland just in case he ever needed to know,

but he had never expected the act of intercourse to be so thrilling. He began to

pump, for that was what his thrusting had become as he churned the boy's

innards. Each powerful lunge, each grunting retreat sucked loudly in the sloppy

seething bowels. When had that happened? It took a while before Lane realized

what had caused the sudden increase in wetness. His penis was discharging

copious fluids, thankfully lubricating the way just as nature had intended.

Again and again the boy's face contorted, squeezing as hard as he could on the

thing that possessed him. It was strange, Lane realized as he watched the video,

how often he had read stories that talked about the man's penis as an `invader',

implying that there was assault, an undesired incursion when in fact it was

really a matter of belonging, of two people being joined together to become a

single being. But was it love, that awesome feeling that made him feel that he

was finally alive? There was no doubt that he had triumphed, that some part of

the boy's desire had been temporarily satisfied, even vanquished, that both of

them had enjoyed it. But was it love?

"Thin' we seen `nough," Hackman sneered. "Tha' kid's ass must `a hurt like hell

after you got done wid `im."

He used the remote controller to switch off the television. Lane's face was

crimson with shame. The two men glared at each other until Hackman had to speak

to regain control.

"You're finished, Doctor Lane. You oughta be fried fer that, but so far

boy-fuckin' ain't a capital crime. Just a crime `gainst nature `n God, `n with

two strikes, it'll cost tha' rest of yer life. Reckon the D.A. could find two

counts in tha'? Sodomy of a minor? Anal rape? What ever they call it?"

Lane sighed. What was happening was as difficult to believe as what had happened

with Jeff . They had spent just under two hours together in the bedroom. They

had `done it' twice, both times because the boy wanted to, even insisted. He did

not believe it was humanly possible to be consumed by lust, to feel such intense

pleasure, to be so satisfied from having sex. Then this! There was only one

reason why the video tape had not been sent to the police. He was going to be

blackmailed. Yet, in the guilt-filled reality that loomed before him, his mind

continued to replay the events in the bedroom. Even before Lane's erection had

softened, Jeff had swivelled around like a gymnast and suckled on his penis.

Barely a minute after it had been carefully extricated, still wet, still

slippery with slick strands of semen, and soiled with unpleasant streaks, and

Jeff had licked it clean. He had licked it without a word of complaint. He

looked back up at Lane and smiled obscenely as he devoured the remaining traces

of their orgasm. Then, they had kissed like two animals, sweating and hot from

the passion of their rutting. Jeff was beyond uninhibited. He was shameless. For

a few days, Lane had actually wondered whether all boys were like that.

"Okay, get to the point Hackman," he muttered.

Hackman smirked. "Ain't no point, Doc."

"What do you want?"

There was a reason why Lane was a force to be reckoned with on the `Hill'. His

reputation after less than two years exceeded that of most lifelong politicians.

He could read people's motivation with uncanny accuracy and he had learned

quickly that people with principles were few and far between.

Hackman shrugged. "You wanna know `bout NICE, Lane? Well, it's ta' stop g'damn

ass fuckers like you. We're gonna cut their balls off, Lane. We're getting' rid

`a pedo-philes fer good. We're talkin' castratin' of all men and boys whose got

it, that gene they say causes it. Your kind ain't goin' t'be passin' on that der

Vinci gene, and you sure as hell ain't gonna be fuckin' boys aft'wards." He

paused.

"Then I plan to do my best to stop you."

"Ha! You'll be long gone `fore it comes up fer vote. Long gone, Lane. Then there

ain't gonna be no one to protect you perverts. We git rid'a tha' der Vinci gene

`fore long. In a coupla gen'rations there won't be a pedo left," Hackman

rebuked.

He smirked at Lane. Although he enjoying toying with his victims, he was almost

ready to play his trump card. What would that Machiavelli dude do? `Cat and

mouse', that was it! Wear the opposition down using superior intellect.....

"What I don't understand is how you pulled this off?" Lane asked thoughtfully,

yet appearing confused. He did not refer to the video. There was no need to.

In truth, he was finding it difficult to concentrate. For most of the video, he

had been fortunate not to be erect. Yet in the end, as he watched the frenzied

copulation like a voyeur, his penis had stiffened until it was impossibly hard.

He was consumed by thoughts of Jeff, of that beautiful lithe body climbing onto

him, positioning himself to achieve the ultimate physical contact between them,

shamelessly uniting their genitals, then giggling and pressing down,

relentlessly moving again him. The boy's penis remained as stiff as before, as

if his multiple orgasms had merely liberated his desire instead of draining his

energy. Lane had enjoyed every second, grasping the boy's rounded buttocks,

feeling the oozing slime along the deep crevice. It was his male juices, his

seed, and it filled with him pride. Lane's masculinity had been delightfully

reaffirmed when he became erect again.

He glanced at the television, wanting to see more of what had been recorded even

as he realized that he should have been more anxious about his future. The

second part of the video tape would be even more arousing. The second time,

Lane's penis slipped into Jeff's still dilated opening. It was a lot larger than

it had been earlier. With a single slow thrust, the young body had absorbed him

until he could go no further. Jeff had squatted there with Lane's manhood

totally contained. As he rested, poised above him, he closed his eyes and

relished the feeling of being full, his inner muscles pulsing around Lane's

thickness. They had changed position several times, finally ending up 'doggy

style' so that Jeff could watch the action reflected in the mirror behind the

bed. The thought of seeing that on video sent Lane's mind into turmoil. Jeff,

with his head burrowed into a pillow, his buttocks lifted high, looking

underneath and back at the mirror behind him. And Lane, kneeling behind him, his

knees outside, crouching over the smaller body. The concealed camera would have

captured it all, the long deep thrusts, Lane's huge penis sometimes even pulling

out and splattering wetness in the suction until it plunged back inside and Jeff

shuddered and shrieked with ecstasy.....

"Yer s'posed to be the genius. Figure it out. It weren't tha' hard to come up

with it," Hackman boasted. He sat forward, studying Lane with amusement.

It had been done by experts, edited carefully to present the situation in the

least favorable light. The absence of sound made Jeff the innocent victim and

Lane the abuser. Yet, in a court of law, with the video tape and lip-reading

experts to examine it, the matter would very likely be considered as entrapment.

To Lane, even as inexperienced as he was with subterfuge and trickery, there

were signs it was set up by professionals, that he had been duped. Yet, as he

considered the possibilities he decided that it was very likely that the FBI had

not done it. Simply, they could not have managed it with the ongoing emphasis on

counter-terrorism. The nature of the operation was illegal and far too risky for

them. That left Lane in a quandary. The CIA perhaps?

"The condo?" Lane asked curiously as he considered the uncanny sense he had at

the time that something was wrong. It was too perfect. The photographs of Jeff

and his mother, the abundant toys and boy's clothes, possessions everywhere he

happened to look.

"A safe house," Hackman answered without volunteering more.

"Really?" Lane said in an exaggerated voice."I can't believe that,...."

Hackman interrupted him. "It don' matter what you b'lieve."

"I know I screwed up but it's obviously entrapment. The courts won't sit still

for this," Lane said in a tense voice. "It's clear I didn't force him to do

anything. In fact, I tried to talk him out of it."

"I heard tha' on the 'riginal tape. It don't matter thou'. See, it ain't goin'

ta' court," Hackman said in a silky voice that aroused Lane's suspicions.

"What then?"

"Tha' President wants yer resignation pronto."

"Does she indeed?" Lane asked cynically. "Perhaps I'll to go to the news media

as soon as I walk out of here."

"You won't," Hackman said confidently. "Not unless you want to see excerpts of

this on the evening news," he added with a gesture towards the television. "fact

is, ass'ole, yer political c'reer `s jus' finished. Yer done fer good, Lane."

"I was thinking about another term."

Hackman laughed. "Tha' ain't happenin'. Here's wha' ya got, Lane. And there

ain't no deals. This's take it or leave it. You resign today and get tha' fuck

outta politics. You plead guilty in a Wes' Virgina court fer a s'pended

sentence. Tha'll get you on a' list`a sexual predators. You're reg'sterd as a

pedo- phile. One fuck-up and you're covered by two-strikes fer life. You shut

up. We keep tha' video. Nuthin' more happens if you stay clean."

Lane nodded slowly. There really was no choice but to accept whatever deal was

offered. He was lucky that the tape was not in the hands of the police already.

It would be a simple matter for a prosecutor to make a case for multiple

offenses. Despite what he had said, it would be difficult to prove entrapment.

"That's it?"

"I ain't done. You keep yer mouth sut 'n you cain't go back ta' teachin',"

Hackman added. "We don't wan' you spreadin' yer poison."

"Okay." Agreement came surprisingly easily. There was no choice.

"I hope you got some money saved, `cause you ain't workin' after this." Hackman

smirked. "What you plan on doin'?"

"I always thought it would be fun to own a bookstore."

"Whatever. I ain't much fer readin'."

Lane started to rise. He hesitated. "Who was he?" he asked softly.

Hackman laughed. "Tha' kid? I don't know `is name. His uncle you prob'ly heard

about. Malone? I hear tha' kid's awesome on a ska'board 's well as lyin' in bed

with 'is butt up."