All Prepared for the Boys: Part Three

Blond-haired Larry's older brother Steven, after his discussion with
the boys regarding the castrating of boy-molesters, orders his kid
brother and his middle school friends to keep away from their 
hangout, saying that he will check things out for them and do
whatever is necessary to protect them.  

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Although it was only around 11:00 AM, the atmosphere was already 
as uncomfortably hot and muggy as it had been yesterday afternoon. 
These were the dog days of mid July and Steve had dressed only in a 
pair of shorts, sneakers, and a baseball hat.  When the door opened 
to the boys’ hangout, Dave, who was still handcuffed to the stove leg, 
saw what appeared to be a god from Valhalla enter into his presence.

Steve was a Nordic youth in his early twenties. His body was 
perfectly proportioned with well-developed thighs, washboard-rippling 
abdomen, fine biceps, an exquisite chest and finely featured yet 
strongly chiseled face. He had about him the confidence of that rare  
male who is cognizant of his own beauty as if it were his birthright. 
There was nothing pretentious or exaggerated in Steve’s bodily 
movements as he slowly crossed to the other side of the large room 
where Dave, naked and lying supine on the floor boards, had been 
expecting the return of the middle school boys.

Dave was in his mid thirties. He was very average looking, neither 
handsome nor ugly. His was two inches under six feet tall. His body 
was somewhat scrawny and his chest hairy and rather unimpressive 
in comparison to Steve’s smooth and masterfully sculpted chest. 
Dave, seeing the Nordic youth now standing above him and looking 
at him with his penetrating blue eyes, was speechless. His whole 
fantasy of being castrated by a gang of twelve and thirteen year old 
boys had fallen into total collapse. And yet, Dave, subconsciously 
aware of being in the presence of a higher being, was more 
dumbstruck than frightened.

Steve was the first to speak. “From what my brother and the other 
boys told me last night, I told them to stay away from here until I 
checked things out for them. My intuition was right on target.”

As Steve paused, Dave became aware of his ridiculous situation. 
Here he was self-handcuffed to the stove leg. His naked body had 
become a bulletin board with his very own hand-scribbled messages 
of “faggot,” “queer,” and “cut off his nuts.” These messages were 
meant to be read by pubescent boys not by a fully-grown adult male.

While Dave was pondering his predicament, Steve, glancing round 
the room, had noticed the handcuff keys on the nearby kitchen table. 
He moved a few steps away from Dave, picked up the keys, and then 
– from Dave’s perspective – did an unexpected thing. He knelt down 
next to Dave’s face and proceeded to unlock and remove the cuffs 
from his hands. Then, without saying a word, he raised himself up, 
walked back to the door by which he had entered and left.

It took Dave a few moments to come into full realization of what had 
just happened. Almost automatically, as if driven by some invisible 
hand, he tore the butt-plug out of his rectum and violently threw it 
towards the closed front door. Then in a gentler and more consciously 
aware action he removed the tit-clamps from his nipples. An 
incredible sense of shame began to spread from his guts into every 
fiber of his body.  Without understanding what was happening, he 
burst into tears, mumbling, “why, why, why?” This emotion halfway 
between tears of joy and sorrowful weeping continued for what must 
have been close to one half hour.

At length, Dave recovered himself. He went to where he had hidden 
his clothes and began to put on his pants and other clothes. He 
noticed that his notebook was missing but that the elastrator and 
bands and small knife were where he had left them. He picked up the 
bag in which he had brought these items and put them inside of it. He 
went across the room and recovered the butt-plug, which a half-hour 
earlier some mysterious force had compelled him to eject from his 
rectum and to violently throw towards the front door.

On going back towards the kitchen table he noticed the discarded tit-
clamps below it, and he put these also in the same bag. Looking 
around for the handcuffs and seeing them nowhere, he realized that 
the young man must have taken them with himself on leaving. The 
key also was gone. All that was left was the black marker pen on 
which he had vandalized his body and a blank piece of lined paper, 
which obviously had been torn from his notebook, which the boys had 
taken the day before.

He was about to put the marker pen and this piece of paper in his bag 
when suddenly he took off the marker pen’s cap and on the clean 
sheet wrote down – almost without any mental awareness – “God 
saved me from myself today, Dave.”

This was the last message the young boys ever received from Dave. 
He never returned again to their hangout. The rest of the story lies in 
the divine realm of Dave’s heart.