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Related article: Date: Tue, 18 Jun 2002 17:25:51 +0000
From: Java Biscuit
Subject: Free to Good Home, chapter oneThis is a futuristic fantasy involving inter generational
male/male graphic sex and it's not intended for reading
by minors. If you are underage, or this type of material
is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read
something else!Feedback, always appreciated, to:
Free to Good Home ~ chapter oneby Biscuit
December 15 - 3 AMI'm not preteen drawing galleries a brave person. Among the many things that make
me nervous are androids, bots. I don't wet my pants or
burst into tears at the sight of them like I did when I was
young -- I just feel uneasy. Then again, I don't see many in
the city as scary as the man shaped things without faces that
worked in the fields of my dad's farm.The thing I found tonight is a boybot. Not faceless. God no.
Its face is terrifyingly real. He looks like my brother Sam.
Sam at thirteen, a beautiful kid on the verge of becoming
a handsome guy; still innocent looking but giving off the
heat of sex. Sam as he was when his tackling and grabbing
games were suddenly aimed at getting me between his legs.
I was ten and I worshipped him. I would squeal and try to
run away from him, but I loved it when he caught me, his
thighs clamping around me. He'd hug me to his chest and
poke at my butt with his boner. I used to wiggle around like
I wanted to get away but I was praying he'd never let go.Sam was my champion, the one I loved best in a family
where I seemed as out of place as if they used some other
guy's sperm at the breed house, not my dad's. My brothers
and I all came from the same house; certified sons of our
father. As much contempt as my dad had for me, he never
denied I was his. How could he? I looked like him. More
than Sam or Joseph did, really. We all got his blond hair,
but mine's the most like his, stick straight and thick with
the same annoying cowlicks and swirls.Oh God. Why am I sitting here rambling about my family
in the middle of the night. I must still be drunk. punk preteen models I've got to
do something, get rid of this thing, put it back where I
found it. Fuck. A broken bot that looks like my brother,
stuffed in a cracked recycling crate with a stick jammed up
it's ass. I almost died when I saw it.It's snowing hard now. Even if I could make myself go back
out I couldn't put him back in that alley. There has to be a way
people dispose of bots, surely it's not right to put something
that looks so human in a recycling bin. Kids must have found
it and done that stuff to it, they thought they were being funny.
So sick. Free Bot to Good Home, scrawled on its chest.There's something wrong with me. There has to be. No one
in their right mind, even drunk, would do what I did; wrap
their coat around a thing like that and carry it home, crying
like a baby the whole way. My arms and back gay preteensex are feeling it
now. What does it weigh? Can't be a hundred pounds but
my arms are aching.If I hadn't blown up and run out on Ted I would never have
walked down that alley. If he'd come after me I'd never have
seen it.The thing looks like he's sleeping. I should never have put it
on my bed, put its head on the pillow.-------------------
I never wrote more in that journal. I think I was too freaked
out to record what I was doing. Ashamed of myself. Scared,
like alwaysIt was a pussy real preteen raw time for me, a lonely time; my second winter
on my own in Boston. I loved the city. The old part where I
lived, protected by charter, seemed a thousand times more
alive than the world I grew up in. At the farm every blade of
grass, even the insects were planned and cultivated, endless
acres of regulated earth.In the city I had a view of the Charles River from my one
room condo. A small place, but mine. It was the mark of my
success, modest as it was. I hadn't become a great writer. I
didn't write literature -- I wrote what amounted to propaganda
for a pharmaceutical company; they'd taken me straight from
trade school. But at twenty-two I felt like I'd accomplished a
lot -- at least I'd gotten away from home. More than my older
brothers had preteen sex clips done, not that they wanted to leave. They shared
my dad's opinion that I was throwing my life away.I'd made up my mind that I wasn't going back to the farm for
Christmas that winter. I couldn't stand to see my brother
Joseph gloat over his new wife, to see Sam reaching for our
old closeness and failing to grasp it.My dad said, "Suit yourself, you always do," when I told him.
He wanted me there because youngest preteens pictures
I should be there. There's a correct
way to do things and once again I wasn't doing my part. He
wanted me at home, he wanted to rub my face in the things I'd
given up by gay preteen chatrooms leaving.My father hadn't always had money. The farm barely survived
until he bred the fiber tomato and patented it. Now it was like
harvesting gold and he hated the way I'd turned my back on the
things his money could buy me. A wife was something my father
couldn't afford for himself when he was young. He was proud to
offer it to his sons. Sam was next in line for a marriage contract.
Like me, Sam preteen porn russia had no desire for a woman. It meant nothing to
our father who believed it was a preteens nonude
moral and civic responsibility.
If you had the genes and the money you married and bred
children. Sometimes I think the population of women dwindled
because they couldn't stand to be born in a world where they
were treasured but not treated much better than bots. I hope some
man who desired one, preteen ass pictures who could love one, got the woman who
might have ended up being my unhappy wife.The city was my haven. I could walk along the river and see wild
things growing, flowers and weeds. There were squirrels and
geese in the park along the water, a swath of untamed greenery.
There were ancient trees in the streets of the district. I loved it.
But I was lonely.The first flush of joy in solitude had begun to wear off. I had
friends from work and the writing group I'd joined. I had lovers
but no one steady. I didn't like to bring guys home. I was nervous
about sleeping with a stranger, waking forum nn preteen up with someone I didn't
really know in my bed. I'd go out, get drunk and I'd go home
with someone -- easy to escape -- or fuck them in the back room
of whatever club I met them in. Ted was a man I'd seen a couple
of times who wanted to get more serious with me. That was the
fight that sent me fleeing for home on foot in the snow, cutting
through an alley with the restless pace of drunkenness.Only drunk and in a panic could I have gotten that limp body
home and up my stairs. Ty63. Tiny letters printed behind a
perfect seashell of an ear.A boybot like Ty63 would have cost as much to buy as a marriage
contract. How could someone spend so much money and then toss
him in the garbage like trash? It had hurt so bad to see it.I took it straight to the bathroom when I finally reached home,
desperate to wash off the words, the reek of the alley. I lost my
grip as I was lowering the body into the tub, banging its lolling
head shamless preteen models on the edge in my hurry to put it down. I cringed at the
sound of impact. I knew it couldn't be hurt, couldn't feel, but my
hands were shaking when I turned gay preteen chatrooms the head to look for an injury.
That's when I discovered its name, etched so small behind the ear.I kept most of my toys on my bed as a kid. A lot of them were
handed down from my brothers, broken but finally mine. Things
that I'd coveted so long that I didn't care if parts were missing
by the time I owned them. There's a word for it, for the habit of
investing inanimate objects with life. I did it with toy preteens bbs japan starships,
with tiny cargo transports. A family of horses was my favorite;
tail broken off one, ear chipped off another, the third one I'd
gnawed on before it belonged to me. Sam had told me to keep it.
He didn't want some dumb chewed up horse. My babies I called
my toys. The day came that my dad lost his patience at the sight of
the pile on my bed and announced, "It's time for these babies 12 preteens to go
to the orphanage." Even Sam laughed at his joke. I must have been
close to twelve myself by then. Old enough to know better, to let
go. But I hid and cried, I couldn't stand the sight of my babies
being thrown away. Sam, the traitor, came looking for me."Toby," he said, "they're not real. There's nothing to cry about."
So preteen horny nudist much like the times he tried to talk me out of my fear of the
bots.Not real! He's not real, not hurt, I told myself, pulling the stick
out of Ty63's violated ass. Wet flakes of bark stuck to its skin;
skin so pink and tender it was breaking my heart. My stomach
heaved and I willed my dinner and drinks to stay down.The owner couldn't have done it, I couldn't believe that. preteen nude teen
boys, like the ones I'd been scared of in school, could have done
something so horrible. Even if it wasn't alive, even if it couldn't
feel, the image alone was monstrous. I had to make it not be.I hardly remember washing it, only the flood of relief when
the words disappeared in the soapy water. Part drink, part
whatever the mess was I'd worked myself into -- I japan preteen videos talked to it.
I remember saying, "It's okay, you're okay now," underage preteen toons over and over
as I got a towel wrapped around it and carried it out to my bed.For a couple of hours I sat at my work table, trying to write,
to think, drinking coffee to sober myself up. At some point I
dimmed the lights to half.It was a small place, that condo. The size was a secret comfort
to me. When I showed it to someone for the first time I always
said something like, "It's not much," or "It's very small." But I
really liked being able to look around and see everything, like
the compact corner of the kitchen in back. The bathroom door
was always open so I could see in there; the gleaming white
edge of the old fashioned tub and the toilet seat set in the tiled
wall. There was a little table between the kitchen and my bed,
a pair of stools. At the other end of the room, the best part, the
bay window that faced the river. I didn't need a big screen for
entertainment. I had a small one and nude preteen drawings rarely looked at the thing.
Both my bed, and my comfy chair with its footrest faced underground preteen model the
window. That night, though there were lights to see out on the
water, I swiveled my work table toward the bed.Toward Ty63.Finally, I had to go to bed myself. I was exhausted beyond the
reach of coffee and calm enough to lie down next to the thing.I took off my suit in the bathroom. It seemed like years since
I'd put it on, standing in front of the mirror to look at myself
every which way. It was a lot like my other ones, the one piece
things that were popular then. This one was shiny and thin as silk,
black. It was loose but revealing in its own way. Tight things, I
thought, made me look too thin. Why had I even bothered trying
to look good to Ted?He was so angry at me. I'd seen his eyes absorb every inch of
me through the thin fabric, like I belonged to him, and I'd
panicked.My own face looked pathetic to me in the mirror, my eyes red,
features all puffy from crying. Guys told me I was pretty. No
one ever said that about my dad. Not that I'd ever heard anyway.
Our features were much the same but our lives had given us
different faces. His was weathered and creased by exposure to
sun; his mouth a hard line as if he'd managed to compress the
softness of his lips by an effort of will. I had to force myself
away from the mirror and thoughts about my father. Time for
bed, I thought, an odd whisper of excitement touched me at the
memory of Ty63 out there waiting for me."Low lights," I whispered in the quiet as I made my way to
the bed. The room dimmed.A fresh wave of nerves, muted but strong enough to make my
heart beat harder, washed over me as I carefully got under the
covers. Ty63 was on top of them, a spare blanket over him. I
stared at his profile, not a foot away from me. Long dark lashes
fanned his high cheekbone. Dark for how blond he was. His nose
wasn't small, wasn't big, it was perfect. Like Sam's. The lips
though, were his own. Fuller than my brother's. I could almost
imagine the motion of breathing. Seen close up he wasn't scary.
Far from it. I liked looking at him like that, not thinking about
where he'd come from or what I was going to do with him. As
long as I could see him and not bump into him in the dark I was
sure I would be okay. I fell asleep like that, mindlessly studying
his face. preteen panty modling
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# by papekelam | 2012-07-13 15:45

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at 2012-07-13 15:45