Alternative Education

by Gingerfred Man

 

Chapter One – Johnson, Johnson's Johnson, Johnson Junior

Mark Johnson, PhD, lay naked on his bed. His chest was heaving as the result of a stupefying orgasm that had spewed a large amount of hot sperm in a semen sauce along the length of his flat belly and hairy, buff chest. His considerable cock was softening as the exhausted educator considered the fact that he had cum three times in the past 45 minutes.

The cause of his sexual agony was gripped tightly in his left hand. A long, cum-stained printout of an email from his son, Josh, a student at the Lovejoy Institute in Pink Beach, Florida.

Mark loved his only child very much. And 18-year-old Josh loved his father. The loss of Josh's mother to disease when Josh was only five had bonded father and son tightly. That was why the separation and transition had been so difficult for them both.

But it was for the best.

Mark Johnson was an internationally known authority on educational-testing methodology and the interpretation of the results. When the results of his testing of Josh had been so clear cut, to deny the action he knew he must take for Josh would be a betrayal of his life's work.

Still, Josh had been so sad when his father told him what the tests clearly indicated what Josh must do. He cried. And so did Mark. Josh denied the results, but they both knew they were accurate. Josh was frightened that he wouldn't fit in at Lovejoy Institute. But his father knew he would.

Mark's balls ached, but he had to read the letter again.

It began:

Dear Daddy,

Oh, Daddy, I love you so much! What a wonderful, wise man you are to send me to this place where I can learn the way I need to learn, be who I am, and live as I need to live.

You know what I was afraid of, Daddy, but I'm not afraid of that anymore. Now that I've met Brett. <Blush>

I felt abandoned when you put me on the plane to Pink Beach. You know high school was rough for me, but I thought college would be better. I had no idea how wonderful college could be!

There was a van for me at the airport, just as you said, Daddy, and there were three other "boys" like me catching rides. You know I'm a little shy, but the boys were sweet and friendly and it was a short drive to Lovejoy Institute.

What a beautiful campus! A real quad. And ivy. Things you wouldn't expect in Florida. But the school is very heavily endowed (just like the men who contribute to the institution, Daddy – LOL).

We were taken for a nice, light lunch of salads, where I got to meet some of the other "boys like me." There are 16 of us in this year's class.

After lunch, they brought in a bunch of ladies who stripped us to our boxer shorts and measured us for our "real clothes." (Oh, Daddy, the clothes!) Then the ladies gave us manicures and pedicures and painted our finger- and toenails red or hot pink. I would have been embarrassed, but the other "boys" were being girlied up too. We smiled shyly at each other and giggled as the ladies pierced our ears for earrings and showed us how to put on lipstick, just lipstick. I guess we all looked silly standing there in just our boxer shorts with girlish fingernails, toenails, ears and lips, but it was very exciting Daddy. I saw quite a few hard bulges around the room as we walked into the Grand Hall to meet Dr. Lovejoy.

Oh, Daddy! Dr. Lovejoy is incredible! So smart and powerful and strong and handsome. A real "alpha-male," like you, Daddy. And he made us feel really welcome. A lot of the stuff he talked about was the same as what you told me – we had been selected from all over the country because we had scored the very highest on the Gingerman Test. That meant we were the most feminine boys in our age group in the whole United States. Another group of boys our age was being in-processed separately. They scored the lowest on the Gingerman Test, which meant they were the most masculine boys in the country. We were the sissies or pantyboys and they were the alpha males. An alpha male needed a sexual partner who was much more feminine than any woman could ever be. An alpha male needed a pantyboy. And a pantyboy needed an alpha. For years, alphas and pantyboys were denied true, sexual union during the height of their sexuality – the college years. But Dr. Lovejoy had recognized the problem and done something about it. At the Lovejoy Institute, alphas and pantyboys got a superior college education and were able to realize their full sexual potential as they learned.

Then Dr. Lovejoy told us to take our boy boxers off and put them in a pile at the front of the room. Some of the "pantyboys" jumped right up and did so. I was nervous about being naked in front of them and <gasp> Dr. Lovejoy, but I knew it was the right thing to do. You raised me right, Daddy.

It was a strange but lovely scene, looking at the other 15 pretty, feminine, naked boys. Most of us were covering ourselves a little, but there were things we already had in common. We were all slim, with good complexions and not much muscle tone. We were already girlish in our movements. And <blush> we all had pretty little bottoms, plump, but not fat. And little peenies.

I'm going to tell you all the details, Daddy, because Dr. Lovejoy says honesty is the only way for a pantyboy to get through life. I was stiff, looking at all those pretty boys, Daddy. They excited me. In a funny way. But more about that later.

Dr. Lovejoy then had us line up and he came down the row of naked (and all erect) pantyboys. He introduced himself to each of us and gave us each our girl's name (mine's Paris. Like it? I do.) Then he took each of us into his strong, manly arms and gave us a deep kiss. With tongue! That was weird! Especially since some of my classmates started spurting their sissy cream, just from that kiss! Dr. Lovejoy seemed very pleased when that happened. I didn't "spurt," but I could have. It was a great kiss and, as you know, my first from anyone. I was a little worried about "that issue we discussed," but I was getting less worried.

Anyway, when he was finished, he said that we would be getting our girlie clothes in a few hours. Meanwhile, we could go have some fun at the Institute pool, just outside the Great Hall.

My classmates and I felt a little funny going out to swim naked, but Dr. Lovejoy said no outsiders would see us.

Hmmm. Anyway, we went out and the pool was wonderful! We were the only ones there, so we got into the spirit of things and took a dip. After a half hour or so, I had just gotten out when I heard lots of girlie squealing. Sixteen of the hunkiest boys in the world had just entered the pool area. They weren't naked, but it was close. They were wearing something called the "alpha pouch," which, with sandals, is what the alpha males wear at our school most of the time. It encases the penis and testicles in a thin, revealing pouch and covers nothing else. It's connected to the waist with thin strings and is almost dirtier than being naked.

I sensed something important was about to happen. The apparent leader of the alphas (my Brett!!!) called for order and submissively, the sissies stopped squealing, but we continued to cover our nipples and our privates with our hands and arms. Brett said, "Welcome, Ladies. It's great to see you all here. You're going to love this school and the school will love you. A selected group of alpha seniors and juniors will welcome you freshman creampuffs today. So please, don't be afraid."

The pantyboys calmed a little and I got a good look at Brett and his 15 companions. Tan and buff. Heartbeakingly handsome. Big bulges in the alpha pouches. Very self-assured.

Then Brett made a beeline for me! As he got closer, I noticed that he had some bruises on his face and that he had something in his left hand. He was saying something: "…..must be Paris. You're even lovelier than your pictures. I'm Brett. I'm a senior here and I know what sunburn can do to skin as beautiful as yours, may I put some lotion on you?"

Oh, Daddy! Oh. It was a bottle of tanning lotion he had in his left hand. I guess all the pantyboys were being invited by their men to take lotion, but I could only see Brett.

Somehow, I managed to nod yes.

"Please turn around, Sweetheart."

If I turned around he would see my bare bottom! I was so shy and so embarrassed at my nakedness. But he was so manly and handsome that I had to obey him.

Submissively, I turned. At least Brett wouldn't see how my nipples had erected at the sight of him. Not to mention the great distress my underused-to-that-point-in-my-life peeny was in – throbbing and quivering and engorging with hot blood.

He stood behind me, rubbed some suntan lotion on his hands and began to massage my shoulders with his strong hands.

Oh, Daddy. It was the greatest moment of my life.

Then it got better.

Brett slid his hands down my sides and began to massage my hips. He took a step closer to me and said, "Your body is a feminine masterpiece. You're the prettiest girl we've ever had at Lovejoy Institute."

Oh, who cares if it's true? It's exactly what every pantyboy wants to hear. I was melting.

Then Brett grew bolder. Still standing behind me, he reached around and began to massage both of my distressed nipples with his oiled fingers. I whimpered loudly, then moaned. The naughty boy began to kiss my neck as he moved even closer. So close, that I felt his cock in the small of my back. It was hot and hard. And VERY big!

What happened next was inevitable. As Brett rubbed his pouched cock against me, kissed my ear and tormented my left nipple with his left hand, he gently, tenderly cupped my "little pink bag" with the fingers of his right hand. Stirring my pearls. Whispering how beautiful I was as he kissed my neck and ears.

Daddy, I'm only human. I screamed. It was <blush> embarrassing, but I was helpless in his strong-but-gentle embrace. My poor little bag exploded, and I began to spurt out my wet, sissy cream in thick, hot ropes of ecstasy. Brett held my scorched scrotum in his gentle fingers and milked out every drop of my juices until I was spent.

Then he turned me around and, still standing, kissed me deeply for so long that I lost all sense of time. So long that I was stiff and needy again.

I had never made cummies with another person, Daddy. And I had never kissed with tongue like that (except for Dr. Lovejoy). And I also hadn't sobbed like I began to when he broke that kiss.

Brett was genuinely concerned about my tears. "What's wrong, Paris? Please tell me," the wonderful, 21-year-old man said.

"Oh, Brett," I bawled. "It's true. It's what I've feared all my life and it's true."

"What's true, Darling?" he asked.

I sobbed. "I'm homosexual!!!" Then I went into convulsions of tears.

Brett threw his full energy into comforting me. When I was able to listen, he said, "Paris, 'homosexual' means you're attracted to the same sex. Is there anything the same about you and me?"

My eyes got wide and my brain was engaged. Brett was right. I was more feminine than any female on earth. Whom else should I consort with than the manliest men? I was the most hetero of heterosexuals.

And it was time to enjoy it.

I stopped blubbering and Brett began to kiss away my tears. My little knoblet was all needy again and I was hoping Brett would suggest something really naughty.

He did.

"Come with me to my room, Lover," Brett said. "And we'll spend an afternoon and night in paradise."

Well, Daddy, that almost squeezed my gumdrops dry right there. I looked down shyly, the way men like, cause they don't want girls to be too trampy. Then I said in a little voice, "OK."

That spurred my man on and I thought he was going to do something very carnal there, right in front of my 15 classmates and their men. But for the first time, I noticed that they were all gone! They certainly hadn't played hard-to-get! They were probably already "deeply" engaged with their new friends.

I took Brett's hand, then I kissed a bruise on his delicious face. "How did you get that?" I asked.

Brett gave the million-dollar answer. "Two of the other alphas said they wanted to be the first to meet you. I insisted that I be first."

Men fighting over me!?!?!

I almost fainted with lust and my desire to satisfy the winner's naughtiest needs. It was almost as if they were cavemen or something. And I was the prize!

Brett led me to the dorm area, where every student has a private, hotel-style room. With king-sized bed. Private bath with double-wide shower and sunken tub.

Brett's room was clean, but the smell of dried cum was in the air. I had to imagine that Brett had gently coaxed the cream from the pink bags of legions of sissies before me, right in that room, on that bed.

I didn't care. He was mine at that moment and he had fought over me!

I waited for instructions from my heroic man. He had them.

"Let's take a shower, Paris. It was so sweaty out there, all that suntan lotion, and you were in that chlorine in the pool."

Did he say let's? As in together?

He did.

Being jaybird-naked, I didn't need to disrobe. But Brett did and it was spectacular.

Brett reached behind his back and untied the knot that held his alpha thong. The whole, filmy thing came off and I saw what I had only imagined in my most unguarded moments. The Golden Fleece. The Promised Land.

A handsome, hunky, kind, sweet, loving man's enormous, veined, thick, engorged, hard, hot, uncircumsized, throbbing cock.

And it was all for me.

I couldn't wait for the shower. I fell on my knees right there at the bathroom door. For an instant, I thought Brett would insist on his agenda, but the man is no fool.

I cupped his thick, hairy, full ballbag in my left hand as I felt his cock from stem to stern with my right.

It was so much fun being heterosexual!

My guess is that Brett has "had" a few dozen sissies in his sex-glutted life. But he seemed to be completely focused on the little creampuff who was about to devour her first cock. His grunts and moans definitely made a girl feel special. <giggle>

I settled my bottom on my haunches and set to work on that delicious slab of meat. My own "little person" was standing chubbily as I hesitantly skinned his thick "hood," then kissed the slick arrowpoint of Brett's "pink helmet." Brett shuddered with lust as I began to lick up his steadily flowing juices. I felt so submissive there – on my knees and servicing that magnificent man with my hot, wet tongue. He was so sweet and appreciative that I would have gone on licking him and cuddling his balls all day.

But things don't happen that way. I had that poor man in quite a sexual dither. I think his heart rate went up 40 beats or so and his face was all scrunched up. As if he were in some sort of distress.

Then he made the cutest groan and started pumping big, thick cords of the thickest, hottest, creamiest cum on earth. My goodness, it almost burned my face. It filled my poor little mouth and I had to swallow the delicious cream to avoid choking. It was so sticky that my eyes were almost welded shut when the seventh and last glob was joyously launched.

It was so emasculating, Daddy. I was on my knees in front of a man whose cock I had just licked to a spectacular orgasm. My face was frosted with his goo and I had swallowed two or three thick globs of the manly juice. I could never be a real man after that, Daddy. My maleness, what there was of it, had left town.

I was so proud!

Brett was enchanted with me. He told me so. As he was kissing my cummy face and licking my girlish tongue.

See, Daddy, I made a nice new friend my first day at college.

I was squealing and giggling as Brett dragged me into the warm shower, then kissed me all over as he washed me with a warm cloth. Just to be sure I was extra clean, he even washed my toes and between my bottom cheeks <blush>.

Brett even washed my cum-drenched hair. He wouldn't let me wash him. He just told me to stand there so he could look at me as he was washing himself. He said I was the most beautiful sight of his life and that looking at me alone would produce something we would both like – his next big boner. He was right. It got stiff and big. And I liked it a lot.

When we got out of the shower, he dried me off as if I were the most precious, delicate flower. Daddy, I was half in love with him already, after two hours.

Brett cupped my freshly scrubbed-and-dried bottom with his big hand, leading me to his king-sized bed.

I was a little worried about what might happen to my bottom. But eager, nevertheless.

Brett stopped at his dresser and extracted something pink. My man held it against me and said, "I got this for you. I think it'll make you feel nice and girly as we…uh…get into bed."

It was the prettiest babydoll nightie, Daddy. Pink, with a lacy, white trim. And tiny red hearts. Brett slipped it over my head and he was right again. I felt extra girlie in it – my first nightie. It was so <blush> short that my "girlish excitement" was completely exposed. Just the way Brett and I wanted it. The friction of the silky material on my tender nipples had me extra-aroused. Oh, I love being feminine!

Brett lay on his back, his head on the pillow, and beckoned for me to join him. I got on top of him and melted into his embrace.

Oh, Daddy.

He rubbed his big cock against my doodle as we kissed. He was such a gentle lover, with very active hands. Brett especially liked my bottom, which he cupped in both his hands, controlling me in his grasp, rubbing my stiffie against his monster as he kissed me.

I was on a new planet, Daddy. Pleasurus. The planet all sissies hope to visit. His kisses were heavenly and I adored the way I seemed to excite him. I know he wasn't faking excitement because his penis exploded first, Daddy. A lot. All over my privates. His eyes were rolling back in his head, he was so turned on! I counted six, strong spurts and let me tell you, I was soaked. In the best possible way.

Full of surprises, Brett drew me up to straddle his shoulders. He asked me to lift my nightie and then "feed me your little tinkler, Sweetheart."

Oh, I was embarrassed because I was so wet "down there" with Brett's cum. But he certainly didn't mind. In fact, Brett first set about to "spruce me up" in my pubic region. He licked off all the sex juices from my thighs, tummy, and "pink bag." Then, Daddy, Brett took my little point into his mouth and showed me how it's done.

All real men love to suck their sissies' doodles, Daddy. And from what I've learned, they're darned good at it. I was only able to lick the perimeter of Brett's big "business," but Brett had my whole set of pink parts in his mouth. I looked down at a beautiful sight, Brett was rolling his tongue around and around my little, pink knoblet, then kissing my little peanuts with his wet, skilled lips.

Oh, Daddy. What a college education I was getting. I was squirming and gasping, with some sissyish whimpers thrown in for good measure. He was trying very hard to make me happy and he was succeeding. I didn't know anything could feel that good. Brett happened to be sucking my nuts at the exact moment of my near-death-experience explosion, so he got four thick wads of my sissy juices full in the face. I was afraid that I had committed a faux pas, but no. He loved it. He was smiling and happy when I leaned over to kiss him and to lick his beautiful face clean. One hot thing led to another, hotter thing and, before we knew it, I was on top of him, reversed, sucking his cock as he, and I'm not making this up, Daddy, had his tongue in my bottom! In my bottom! His tongue!

What a great idea. The tongue feels wonderful there and the whole thing was so awfully "dirty." The tongue in my bottom told me too that my "boyfriend" was pretty darned smitten by me. You don't just stick your tongue in everyone's bottom hole, no sir. That's reserved for special people in your life.

I enjoyed Brett eating my "pussy" so much that I stopped sucking his lovely cock. The naughty man made me squeal like a little girl being chased by a boy on the playground. Again, I lost my sticky mess, this time all over my new best friend's hairy chest.

Daddy, I guess you know what happened next. <blush> I was all wet and soppy "back there" and suddenly I felt that maybe I could accommodate a nice, big "visitor." I know you told me that the men here would want to stick their things into me and, you remember how horrified I acted. Well, I wasn't terribly horrified. I was excited too. Frightened about the pain and more frightened about the homo-ness of it all. But really excited too. And I was practically hyperventilating when Brett flipped me over onto my stomach and slipped those three pillows under my hips.

I guess my bottom was a nice, plump target for his "sticker," which was iron-hard again and so thick and long that I thought the Lovejoy Institute would be shipping my body home to you in two boxes. But Brett was (and is) sweet and gentle, the way truly "real men" are. He showered my pink bottom with soft kisses, telling me how beautiful my derriere was. He also said that my anus was the prettiest one he had ever seen – completely pink, without even a hint of brown. <blush> Well, talk like that can really turn a girl's head, Daddy, but I was still sort of crying and trembling a bit, so Brett said, "We don't have to do this if you don't want, Darling."

But, Daddy, I wanted to. And I told him so. "Don't you dare stop now, Brett," I said. "I'm afraid, but I'm ready."

Brett smiled. Then he got on his knees, in position behind me. He placed the wet tip of his penis right on my anus and teased me with it, rubbing it around and pushing slightly. I groaned and said, "Please put it in me. Now."

That was enough of a mandate from Brett. "Try to relax, Sweetheart," he said.

I did, just a little, letting my breath out. And at that moment, he pushed. In. The big, wet, slippery head.

I was being fucked by a man. Emasculated forever. In total surrender to his passion.

It was wonderful, Daddy. Wonderful.

Brett sort of wiggled his way into me. I think he's been in a few sissy bottoms before. And it hardly hurt at all. After a minute, I felt only gut-wrenching pleasure. And a strong urge to poop. But that passed.

Brett picked up a rhythm. In and out of me. Fucking me. Telling me how I was the best he had ever had. "You're a perfect angel," he said. "Built for a man's love."

He really knew what to say to a girl.

I was sort of wiggling my bottom and pushing back to get every centimeter of his big boy. He liked that. Then the point arrived when he began to concentrate on his own orgasm. He stopped talking and got down to some serious fucking. My little tinkler was rubbing on those pillows and the cock in my bottom was making my own situation quite desperate. My nutsies were sending out distress signals. I gasped and thought I would cum, but no! The cock in my ass had blocked something and I couldn't….oh. That did it. I came late, but came very hard, with much of what I felt centered in my bowels. My body erupted, from my nipples to my toes. And that was the little extra that drove my man over the cliff. He began to pump the first creamy load I had ever taken into my bottom. It gushed out of him. He was wincing in ecstasy. Even he, the veteran, was surprised at the intensity of his pleasure.

And we were only on our first date.

Oh, Daddy. Brett and I are more than "an item" now. He squires me around school as if I'm his "possession." We're together all the time, except for classes, two-hour, daily study time, and the two hours each day when the alpha males are playing rough sports and we girls are doing "maintenance," looking for clothes, gossiping and comparing boyfriends. And of course, we spend every night together. Every lovely night.

The other girls tell me I need to sample some of the other men. And I know nothing lasts forever, especially in a sexually charged atmosphere like Lovejoy Institute. But I'm enjoying being the "best girl" for the alpha of all the alphas.

Oh. And so far, after two weeks, I really like the classes. They seem determined to give us an outstanding, liberal-arts education. You know; make us people who can read, write, speak, add, investigate and think. It's difficult to keep your mind on class when there's an incredibly sexy, overheated man sitting in front of you, wearing only a thong around his huge penis. I'm sure it's just as difficult for the men. We pantyboys all dress to thrill. Stockings and big stiletto heels. Bustiers, teddies and babydolls. Bras, camisoles and corsets. Lots of make-up. And panties, panties, panties! Some of the girls wear the kind of panties that you can see right through, so their mini-peenies are exposed to the men and the other pantyboys. And the faculty.

That's an important fact, Daddy. Our freshman class has 16 "girls" and only ten men. The other three classes are similar. Dr. Lovejoy did that on purpose for two reasons. One, he knew that pantyboys didn't just "like" and need men. They "like" and need each other. So if the forty men are matched up with forty panty princesses, that leaves 24 pantied cuties free for girl-girl fun, naughty threesomes with a man-pantyboy couple (rarer than you think) or the third option, which is the second reason for the numbers as they are. The faculty needs love too. Lots of it. Beginning with Dr. Lovejoy, whom a lot of the students call Dr. Love-BOY. Dr. Lovejoy has been getting more than his recommended daily allowance of pantyboy pussy for a number of years. And the girls love him. He's very alpha, they say, and a great lover. Not as much stamina as one of our 18-22-year-old studmuffins. But the wisdom, wile and technique of age. The same goes for the hunky, alpha-tested-and-bonded faculty.

This place is heaven on earth for a pantyboy.

Or an alpha male.

Which brings me to my good news. By now, you should have received an invitation from Dr. Lovejoy to attend "Fathers' weekend." Only the dads who test high enough as alphas (you scored off the charts!) are invited and no dad has ever turned the invitation down. It's three days of orientation and a chance to spend hours and hours – quality time – with their pantied sons' friends. Let me spell it out, Daddy. It's a big sex party for the dads. And a big spark to alumni giving. Please come!

I've been telling my friend Carly about you. She's mega-cute, Daddy, and since she saw your picture and your alpha-test results, you're all she can think about. I've enclosed several pictures of her. And <blush> I've also enclosed a pic of Brett and one of me as a pantyboy – you've never seen me like this. I'm pretty!

That's all for now Daddy. I'll see you in about ten days. I love you.

Your pantied son,

Paris

Poor Mark had cum again. He had never been so excited about anything in his life. He was looking at Carly's pictures and, impossible as it was, he felt his balls stirring and significant activity in his cock-stiffening apparatus.

Carly was spectacular. Slim and feminine, with a tiny set of male privates. A masterpiece of a face, carefully tended to. Killer legs encased in silky, black, fully-fashioned stockings. Her three, erect inches were facing the camera. She was smiling gorgeously, though her face was drenched with must have been the cum of a 12-foot-tall man with ten-inch-diameter balls.

Oh, please no. It would be too painful. Oh. He was cumming again. His back arched and his guts exploded, though only watery juices dribbled from his considerable equipment.

The 18-wheeler hit him, then backed up to ensure his complete demise.

When he recovered, he dared to look at the individual pictures of Paris and Brett.

Thank goodness Paris hadn't sent him a picture of herself as racy as what Carly had sent along. Though Paris was in a very small black nightie, stockings and what must have been five-inch stilettos. Her face and manner were completely feminine and he could see why men would do anything for her favors. Anything. Mark put that picture down before he harmed his constitution and what remained of his morality.

Then he looked at the picture of Brett. Naked. Standing tall. And erect. Fully erect. Very handsome and manly. It was no wonder that Paris had fallen in love with… Oh no. Was his johnson stirring again?

Time to put those things away and fall asleep.

 

Chapter Two – Lovejoy loves boys

It was eight p.m. on a Wednesday and Michael Lovejoy was enjoying his evening. In fact, Michael Lovejoy enjoyed every evening, but he was having a particularly fine tete-a-tete with Dana, a delicious senior at Lovejoy Institute and one of Lovejoy's favorite companions.

Actually "partner" may be a better word, since it seems to match with "sex," which is the activity in which they were heavily and delightedly engaged.

Lovejoy was naked, lying on his left side. Lying on her right side, Dana was wearing only tan, fully-fashioned stockings and a pretty, white garter belt. Her face was cosmetic perfection that enhanced her total, natural beauty in a stunning manner. Her D-cup titties were thrust forward, toward Lovejoy's eager mouth, which was sucking and licking each huge, brown nipple in turn.

Dana's cock was small, but very erect and her "pink purse" of testicles was dangling sweetly and temptingly.

Except for her incongruous "male privates," Dana's body was fully feminine, with narrow waist, swelled hips and the finest breasts Lovejoy had seen on anyone. She even had a "French manicure," which gave her talons that a pornstar would be proud of.

Such augmentations were voluntary for his student princesses. Lovejoy left it up to the pantyboys, of course. Just as he left everything up to them. They all had choices to make, with attendant consequences. They could choose Dana's path, becoming complete she-males through hormones, implants and other surgeries. Or they could choose to remain just pretty boys. Most chose the latter.

Lovejoy had enjoyed a spectacular night 24 hours earlier with Julie, a sophomore without enhancement who, nevertheless, was one of the most feminine XY-chromosomed people he had ever made love to. And he had made love to hundreds. Julie was slim and sexy, with a warm, wet mouth and a tight, hospitable "pussy." And she did feminine wonders with her attitude and accessories.

But why compare, he thought. Any night in bed with a pretty pantyboy was a good night. So every night for Lovejoy was good.

Lovejoy was secure in the knowledge that he would be giving Dana a good, hard fucking. Probably several. There was no rush. So he made sure they both enjoyed the journey as well as the destination.

Dana certainly enjoyed having her titties worshiped. But they both enjoyed kissing more. Lying in bed. Kissing. Rubbing cocks. Dana rubbing her erect nipples against Lovejoy's hairy chest. Frequent lovers, they enjoyed that very much. So that was what they did.

Dana still showed great wonder whenever she touched Lovejoy's cock. He liked when pantyboys gasped at its length, thickness and rigidity. It was the biggest cock any of them had ever seen or even heard of. And that made Lovejoy proud. It also sort of set his life path. That and his long-time affection for pretty boys in dresses.

The most alpha of alpha males, Lovejoy found the niche many such teenage boys find – he was a bully. Through elementary school and the first two years of high school. He wasn't particularly violent with the boys he picked on. But they wouldn't be inviting Michael Lovejoy to their weddings, bar mitzvahs or birthday parties either.

Lovejoy's widowed mom doted on him. And his late father had left Michael and his mother well off. So 16-year-old Michael had few worries when he began his junior year in high school. Except for the fact that he had no friends, since potential pals were afraid of him. Then there was that other issue.

The other problem was that he was a virgin. Hadn't even been kissed. Not from lack of opportunity. The girls adored a rough, big-bulged, potential felon like Michael Lovejoy. But Michael didn't like them. That's not entirely true. He liked a part of them. The feminine part. Michael Lovejoy wasn't gay. The simple truth was that he didn't think that girls were feminine enough for him. He knew what he wanted, but he couldn't articulate it. He knew that to reach his goal, he would need to change his strategy for dealing with his environment.

The first day of high school that junior year, Michael came upon three of his former bully associates beating up on a frequent target, their classmate Jerry Blanchard. The thugs were quite surprised when Michael turned on them, chasing them away from the hapless lad.

Jerry was amazed. And more frightened than he would have been had Michael not intervened.

"Are you all right?" Michael asked the slight, whimpering victim of bad boys' torment.

Jerry nodded. What was happening? Michael was known to be the school's number one bully.

"Good," Michael said. "They won't bother you again." And he left a stunned Jerry alone.

Jerry didn't see Michael again until three days later. True to Michael's word, the three bruisers and all the other bullies in school had left Jerry alone. It was an amazing, glorious development, the first of many for Jerry.

Jerry just had to rush up and thank Michael when he saw him between third and fourth periods. Michael responded in an unexpected way.

"You're welcome," Michael said.

Jerry screwed up his courage and asked. "Why did you do it?"

Michael smiled. It was a dazzling smile. Jerry's stomach flipped when he saw that smile. "You didn't deserve that," Michael said. "I needed to grow up to understand that, but I'm happy I did."

Jerry could only stare, open-mouthed

Then Michael added, "That's a nice shirt. You should wear blue more often." And he departed.

Jerry's ears were warm. He was puzzled beyond belief. For the next few days, he wore blue. It paid off.

Jerry ran into Michael at church that Sunday. Both were with their parents, but Michael excused himself from his mom and joined Jerry and his parents. Dazzled by the attention from one of the coolest guys at school, Jerry introduced Michael to his parents. Michael was charming and respectful to the parents and, what would be a good word, "attentive" to Jerry.

Over the next weeks, Jerry and Michael became friends. Publicly. Which raised Jerry's status in school and permanently destroyed Michael's status as a cool guy.

Neither cared. Jerry, as it turned out, wasn't as nerdy as popularly believed and Michael was not as cool.

They enjoyed each other's company a lot. Just hanging out. Playing video games. Movies. Even though the rumor at school was that they were gay. It wasn't true and they didn't care anyway.

Things had plateaued for them after six weeks and that was OK. Wasn't it?

Then there was the sleepover. At Michael's house.

Michael's mom made the boys a great dinner. Then they watched a video. Mrs. Lovejoy was delighted that Michael had made a nice friend, albeit he was only 5'4", 100 pounds and looked as if he would blow away in a strong wind.

When the boys said goodnight, Mrs. Lovejoy wondered briefly about whether they would both sleep in Michael's double bed. No big deal either way, she thought.

Michael thought otherwise. The boys were in Michael's room. Jerry had taken out his pajamas and was trying to decide if he should change in front of Michael or go into the bathroom. Michael sort of decided that by stripping to the waist right there, unashamedly, in front of Jerry.

Michael's naked body reminded Jerry of Superman's physique in those comics he used to read. Oh. It reminded Jerry that Michael was so manly and Jerry…Jerry wasn't.

Now Jerry was embarrassed and knew he would have to change in the bathroom. Especially since, for some reason, Jerry's tiny cock was threatening to rip his pants.

But then, for the second time in six weeks, things changed radically.

Michael saw Jerry moving toward the door and said, "Wait a minute, Jerry. Those pajamas are so nerdy." Not a putdown. Smiling when he said it.

Jerry smiled back. "They're all I have with me. What should I wear?"

The moment arrived.

Michael looked at Jerry, took a deep breath, opened his dresser drawer and pulled out something blue and lacy. A lovely nightie. And a pair of matching panties. He extended them, offering them to Jerry.

Jerry gasped.

Was this a joke?

Was Michael being cruel?

Jerry looked in Michael's eyes. Jerry saw only sincerity. And need.

Jerry trembled. Then he said, "Are you serious? Tell me now."

Michael's throat was dry. "I'm serious," he said. And Jerry believed him. Trusted him. Surrendered to him.

Jerry reached out and took the nightie and panties.

What did it all mean? What would happen if Jerry put the girlie things on? He was scared to see what would happen. But more scared about what he would be missing if he didn't.

Again Michael took the initiative. He removed his trousers, underpants, shoes and socks, then sat on the side of his bed to watch Jerry undress, then transform.

Jerry shuddered when he saw Michael's huge, erect cock and massive balls. Was such manly beauty possible? What did Michael want from him? Did he want…..?

Jerry took a deep breath and began to undress. It was difficult to believe that Jerry and Michael were of the same gender. In the most important ways, they were of totally different genders.

Michael was delighted with the show. And the prospect of what could follow. He knew he was jeopardizing his relationship with Jerry. He also knew that Jerry could tell everyone in school that Michael was gay, which Michael knew wasn't true. Michael was 75% sure that Jerry would react in the way that would be best for both of them.

Jerry proved him right. Jerry disrobed, displaying his slight, girlish body to Michael for the first time. Michael's thick cock twitched. Jerry was delicious. Alabaster skin. Flawless lines of hip and leg. Pretty, slim feet. Erect, pointed nipples. And an equally erect, though miniscule penis and tiny, pink bag of pearls.

Being naked in front of Michael was bad enough. But putting on those girlie things… And the way Michael looked at him. As if Michael were starving and Jerry was a feast.

Jerry locked eyes with Michael and said one word: "Why?"

Michael smiled and said, "You know why."

It was true. Jerry knew.

He put the panties on first, his whole body blushing. Oh, the panties felt wonderful! He gasped when he settled his privates into the silky treasures, his delicate testicles rubbing against the smooth material. Michael drank in the lovely sight of a pantyboy in his first panties. He almost stood up, took Jerry into his arms and pelted him with kisses. But he waited.

Jerry felt the heat rising from Michael. Jerry gave off several therms of his own.

Jerry turned his back to Michael and slid the blue nightie over his head, then over his sweet body. Jerry turned to face Michael.

It was true. Blue was Jerry's color.

Red was Michael's. The color of his cockhead anyway.

Jerry was everything Michael had hoped for when he decided to romance pretty boys. And this particular pretty boy several weeks earlier. But one more touch was needed.

Michael strode across the room and removed a tube of red lipstick from his drawer. He handed the lipstick to Jerry, who, figuring in for a penny in for a pound, took the tube from Michael and carefully, but inexpertly applied it to his full lips.

Jerry turned to face a smitten Michael. "You're gorgeous," the pantyboy's beau said to his lover-to-be. That wasn't quite true, but inevitably, it would be.

And then he kissed her.

Hot, wet and needy.

Tongues in swirling, erotic combat.

Grunts and moans and the smell of arousal.

Pricks, large and small, dribbling their sticky nectar of arousal.

Rubbing and groping.

Jerry cried out when she felt Michael's full slab rub against her little appetizer. The monster cock was so hot it scorched Jerry's tiny tickler.

Jerry was almost comatose with lust. She knew she was being too forward, but she held Michael's thick rod in her dainty hand, then explored the shaft manually as they continued their oral engagement. Michael had never kissed anyone erotically before and neither had Jerry. But their enthusiasm more than compensated for their inexperience.

Jerry kept asking herself, what was she supposed to do next? Then she realized that she had surrendered to her man and the agenda was his. Though he did seem to be enjoying her soft caresses along the length of his penis.

Michael cupped Jerry's bottom in both of his strong hands. With easy strength, he lifted her by her soft buttocks, carried her across the room and laid her gently on her back on his bed. She squealed softly as he covered her with his huge body, mounting her, kissing her again as he held her cocklet in his large, but gentle hand. Jerry maintained her grip on Michael's equipment. She followed Michael's lead, rubbing tender, pink cockheads together as they kissed deeply. Jerry was doubly excited by the fact that, with her man on top of her, she was completely helpless. He could do anything he wanted with her. It was totally emasculating. Which seemed to excite her more than anything.

Both sets of peelips were weeping steadily, wetting both cockheads. Making the rubbing slick and agonizingly delicious. Jerry thought, "I'm such a little pantyboy to let a man do 'dirty things' to me like this. I'm not a man. I'm a sissy." And that was the thought that was the "little extra" we all need sometimes to make us eject the contents of our "goodie bag."

For the first time with a man, Jerry spurted sperm. Big globs of it. With excellent accompanying sounds. By the blood-curdling screams, someone walking by would have thought a murder was taking place. In a way, it was. Michael Lovejoy had just murdered the masculine side of Jerry Blanchard's personality. And the murder weapon had just exploded. Michael cried out in joy and his massive ropes of cum soaked Jerry's nightie, half-off panties and privates.

Remember, it was Michael's first time with a sissy, the object of all of his fantasies, as well.

Well, Michael had certainly picked a good sissy to start his career, because Jerry had managed to wiggle out from under Michael, moved her lover to flat on his back and was licking his still-drooling cock with a skill we can only attribute to beginner's luck.

Wow. Jerry had Michael rampant and ready again in very short order, but she didn't stop sucking when he was hard. In fact, she kept licking his fat knob with her wet, warm tongue. And those looks she gave him as she did it. So…coquettish. This was a sissy just waiting to happen. If Michael hadn't brought her to the surface, a man would have smiled at her in a month or so and she would have dragged him into an alley to suck his dick. In a way, Michael had done Jerry a favor.

It appeared Jerry was about to repay that favor in a big way. Michael was grunting with pleasure as his first love's hungry tongue polished his cockhead to a fine gloss. Then, all cum broke loose. His first two creamy globs hit Jerry in the mouth and nose. The third hit her forehead. Jerry aimed the last four at her mouth, which gave her a full meal of the juice of life. A supersized meal, even without the first three, thus biggest, shots.

Jerry thought absently, "My man is a cum factory. And he gets erections on demand." Not totally true, but close enough.

Michael surprised Jerry by drawing her on top of him for a long session of delicious, cummy kissing. Michael didn't seem to mind getting some of his own cum on his handsome face. Jerry tidied him up by trying to lick off what she could. But Michael's agenda ruled the day. She squealed loudly when he pulled her to her knees astride his chest, then was enchanted when he asked her to feed him her peeny.

Her man was going to suck her off.

Jerry had been stiff and needy since she had begun to suck Michael's bruiser. But she subordinated her need to that of her man. But like any true lover of sissies, her man was very aware and very attentive to her needs as well.

Michael knew that when he began to make love to sissies that he would need to suck their little pricklets, swallow their sissy cream and lick their tight pussies. He welcomed the prospect.

So did Jerry, whose prick had never been in anyone's mouth before. It was heavenly to rock back and forth as your man licked and sucked you. He was so strong, but so giving and loving. It was a dream come true, so, of course, the pantyboy began to weep tears of joy. Then things got too hot for anything other than concentration on the upcoming cream delivery. Jerry dropped off what felt like a quart to the nice man who was the only one on her route at that time. She pushed and came and whimpered and came and gasped and came. Michael swallowed it all. And loved it. Jerry dropped senseless onto her lover's hairy, manly chest.

When she recovered, she was on her stomach and someone (hopefully Michael) had his tongue several inches into her anal regions. Again, she squealed from shock and pulse-pounding pleasure.

Things were happening to Jerry so quickly. Was Michael going to fuck her?

Oh yes.

Lovejoy's remembrance of fucks past continued as he plowed the lovely furrow of the delicious Dana, who was really a she-male, not a pantyboy.

No matter. Lovejoy was an equal-opportunity pooper-porker.

Lovejoy was a man who loved feminized males. He liked young, pretty, pantyboys best. But he also enjoyed older crossdressers and every flavor of she-male. It was just that there weren't enough hours in the day to diversify in all the ways in which he was capable.

Dana was on her stomach, her teeny wienie was rubbing the sheets as a fully mounted Lovejoy fucked her from above. His supersized salami was making Dana squeal as each long, deep stroke scraped her tender prostate.

Despite having fucked hundreds of sweet, feminized males, each was special. And in his own way, Lovejoy loved each girl he made love to.

Jerry, his first, was certainly special, though. He went beck to his memories of his first fuck. He had just surprised himself by eating Jerry's tight little pussy. She was so…cooperative and so…needy. He knew she would welcome his cock in her secret place.

Jerry practically rolled out a red carpet for Michael's large, blunt object. She wiggled her bottom and whimpered, which is as close to an engraved invitation as such a situation allows.

Michael was as inexperienced as Jerry was, so he was very cautious about his approach. He knelt between Jerry's splayed legs and held Jerry's hips in his hands. He lifted Jerry's torso up a bit, then parted her bottom cheeks with his big splitter. Jerry was trembling and in a bit of a cold sweat as her moment arrived.

Michael eased his cock forward, rubbing her anus a bit to get the correct angle. Then he pushed. She gasped. He gasped. The big mushroom popped in with a "squish" sound.

Both lovers saw their futures. Both liked what they saw. And felt. A lot.

Michael gave Jerry three more hot, stiff inches. The little doll squealed. Three more inches and the pretty angel's bottom muscles contracted on her lad's tosser. She ejaculated helplessly into the already sticky sheets. Michael rubbed his cock gently as she sobbed and shook and dribbled the remaining cum from her aching nutbag. When she let her guard down, Michael pushed the remainder of his big boy all the way in her.

It felt wonderful!!! For both of them. Not just the physical feelings, which were exquisite. Michael reveled in the feelings of dominance. Jerry adored the feelings of submission and emasculation. And the huge load of cum he pumped into her ass felt awfully good as well.

That memory triggered a very nice, present-day explosion in the well-buttered bottom of the lovely Dana.

Girls like Dana, and certainly girls like that new little beauty, Paris, were the reason his Lovejoy Institute was able to exist. Big donations from big donors made his college a very healthy institution. Frequent "donor weekends" where donors and girlish students spent quality time together seemed to engender even more generous donations. Really big donors even enjoyed the pleasure of a pantyboy's company for one or two weeks of winter break or spring break.

Lovejoy had a good thing going. But it was good for everyone associated with the Lovejoy Institute, not just him.

 

Chapter Three – Johnson joins son

Mark Johnson, PhD was thinking that it hadn't been a good idea to get a rental car to drive from the airport at Vista del Sol to his son's school in Pink Beach, Florida. Driving while both frighteningly nervous and horribly erect is not optimal.

Funny how Mark still thought of Josh as his son. Of course, he hadn't seen the lovely Paris since her transition, though he had seen her pictures many times. And the pictures of the lovely Carly, Paris' pantied friend.

Oh the fantasies Mark had conceived since Carly had offered to transport Mark to a carnal carnival where a kewpie doll was won several times a day! Mark had even dared to dream of taking Carly as his boy-wife, always dressed to thrill and subject to his every need, no matter how disgusting. The envy of the neighborhood. The most feminine person within hundreds of miles. Men need to dream. It's what keeps them sane.

Paris had even hinted about meeting and "enjoying" other Lovejoy Institute students. Had he filed his will properly? He had better remind Paris where the key to the safety deposit box was.

In a secret corner of his mind where he rarely allowed himself to visit, Mark knew that his "stones stirred" when he saw the naked, rampant Brett as well. Had he reasoned it out, he would have known that as an alpha male, his urge to dominate, even emasculate a powerful, yet lesser alpha male was a strong instinct. Plus Brett had a great butt.

Anyway, Mark breathed deeply as he pulled into the parking lot at the Lovejoy Institute administration building for his 1 p.m. meeting with Dr. Lovejoy.

It would be some long weekend.

Meanwhile, in a different part of campus, at noon, Carly Suckmore was leaving her freshman English class and heading across the quad to her dorm. She wanted to look extra pretty, and a little trampy, for Paris' extra-hunky Dad, Dr. Johnson. Carly giggled a little at that name – Johnson – the nickname for a penis. What a tough name to go through life with.

The usual lunchtime crowd was out on the quad. Alphas with tight pouches looking for a lunchtime assignation. With 60% more pantyboys than men, the alphas usually didn't have to look very diligently. Most of the pantyboys hadn't been fucked since before breakfast and they were itching for a full bottom.

Carly wasn't looking because she had a date with an older man! The other freshman girls were so jealous, since most of them hadn't even dallied with the faculty yet, just upperclassmen and their classmates. Which was VERY nice, thank you. But the thought of a bottomful of cock from a beautiful, hairy, 40-ish man like Dr. Johnson made pretty Carly's testicles rumble in their pretty, pink bag.

Carly was sissying across the quad in black, patent-leather, five-inch-stiletto pumps, black, seamed stockings, a miniskirt that didn't cover her stocking tops, and a baby-T that said, "Ask me if I swallow." across her flat chest. Alphas were staring at her with lust, as were many of the other pantyboys. But the word was out that she was taken for the weekend.

Arriving at her nicely appointed room, Carly assured herself that things were clean and straightened. She didn't want her first "seasoned" man to think she was a slob. There was plenty of lube and babyoil in the nightstand – check – and seven sets of clean sheets – check. That should get them through until tomorrow, she thought. Some of the upperclass girls had warned Carly that older guys couldn't cum 10 to 15 times a day like the younger ones. "So what," the precocious pantyboy said. "I can." And that ended the advice session.

Carly gave herself a two-quart enema so she would be squeaky-clean for that hunky treasure. Then she settled into her bubble bath.

Meanwhile, at 12:50, Mark entered Lovejoy's palatial, outer office. The most impressive part of the office wasn't the luxury, it was the receptionist. She was a middle-aged knockout. Dressed in a business suit that was failing miserably at dampening her raging femininity, Lovejoy's secretary was a world-class beauty, with legs that a Rockette would kill for.

"I'm Jerry Blanchard-Hayes," the masterpiece said, in a deep, yet girlish voice. "I'm Dr. Lovejoy's assistant. You're a little early, Dr. Johnson. May I get you anything?"

"Yes," Mark thought, "Two weeks in a hotel room with room service for the two of us, then a body bag for me." Mark had been at Lovejoy Institute only a few minutes and already he was in love. With Lovejoy's 40-something secretary.

Mark attempted conversation. "Have you been with Dr. Lovejoy long?"

Jerry smiled. Mark blinked at the radiance of it. "Oh, yes, Dr. Johnson. I was his first. My husband doesn't like to be reminded of that, but the pay is great here and I think it's kind of cool."

Mark thought dully, "His first what?" but he didn't ask. Wait, did that divine work of pulchritude mean that she was once a …..?" Mark dismissed that thought just as the door flung open and Lovejoy appeared.

The man was incredibly vital, as you might expect from a guy who is getting all the best sissy pussy in the world, wherever and whenever he wants it. Taller than Mark would have guessed, and good looking.

That approximated the evaluation Lovejoy made of Mark Johnson.

Lovejoy welcomed Mark into his huge office, then sat him in a chair at a long conference table. Lovejoy sat at the head of the table. They engaged in the usual small talk until Mark felt gentle hands in his crotch, opening his zipper!

Lovejoy smiled at Mark's reaction. "Don't be concerned, Dr. Johnson," Lovejoy said. "Our pantyboys are always looking to please our important visitors, such as yourself. The lovely Allison is under the table, on her knees, looking to relieve the tensions of your trip by using her mouth and fingers to pleasing effect. May she proceed?"

<Gulp> Knowing it would be rude to turn down such hospitality, Mark said, "Yes, please. Thank you, Dr. Lovejoy...and Allison."

Lovejoy was happy at Mark's response. So was Allison, who set to work immediately and skillfully. So was Mark, who realized that Allison was the first biological male to touch him "down there" since Randy Roberts sucked Mark's cock behind the barn when they were twelve. Then moved away. The horny ones always move away, Mark mused. Imagine what life would be like if they all moved to one place.

It was difficult to concentrate on Lovejoy's questions with Allison slurping Mark's ponderous putz. The questions were probing too. Was he being interviewed or something?

Anyway, Lovejoy seemed to like Mark's answers. Mark asked Lovejoy questions about the school too, and even asked if a pantyboy was under the table "relaxing" Lovejoy as they conferred.

"Yes, Dr. Johnson. The beautiful Darla has me in a bit of a state, as I imagine you are too. Why don't we take these lovely ladies into the other room and enjoy them more fully?"

That sounded good to Mark, though he didn't want to use up the spunk he was saving for Carla. Maybe just one, nice creamy cum for Allison wouldn't hurt, though.

The girls emerged from under the table. They were stunners!! Each lovelier and more feminine than the other. And they each had a stiff popsy poking from their only garment, tiny, pink panties.

Lovejoy led the way, escorting Darla to a couch against one wall of his office. He gestured to Mark to use the couch on the opposite wall. Then Lovejoy stunned Johnson by stripping naked. He then welcomed Darla to his lap, his huge cock "angried-up" as some say in the American South.

With no intention of being a wet blanket, Mark stripped equally naked, wondering if Lovejoy was testing him in some way. No matter. Allison was whimpering with lust and that took priority.

Lovejoy was kissing Darla deeply as he stroked her cock with his gentle hand. Darla squealed and panted appropriately.

Mark surprised himself by wasting no time in removing Allison's pretty panties.

Mark had wondered if he would be able to, you know, actually do sex things with pantyboys. Pantyboys had flounced through his dreams for many years. He had been an avid "reader" of Panty Boy magazine since its inception and had spilled an ocean of cum in tribute to the pantied princesses featured on its sticky pages.

But pantyboys had…penises. Penises were icky for heterosexual men. A lesson hot-wired into his DNA – every guy's DNA – since birth. Would Mark be able to make love to someone with a penis? Even someone as gorgeous, feminine and eager to please a man as a Panty Boy pantyboy or a Lovejoy Institute pantyboy? Someone like Allison…or Carly?

It still required a huge leap of faith for a lifelong "heterosexual" man to take a pantyboy's popsy into his mouth and to suck out the creamy filling. Or to push his "business" into a pantyboy's pretty "pussy."

Mark looked at the delicious, eager prize before him. He was ready to take that leap of faith. Allison was too good to pass up. But he didn't know what to do.

Allison, who looked like a beautiful, well-maintained-but-flat-chested girl, but had a 19-year-old boy's sex drive, understood. And she knew what to do.

The naked little doll sat on Mark's lap and started to kiss him. They both liked that. Then she said, "Oh, Daddy! You've made me so stiff and drippy! You're so handsome and manly. You make me so excited that I'm almost bursting. And my little bag is getting sore. Please help me feel better."

How could a chivalrous gentleman turn that down? Mark continued kissing Allison as he placed a hand on her very stiff, but teeny peeny.

"Oh, Daddy, that feels so good," she said. Mark didn't know why she was calling him Daddy, but it made his own equipment stiffen even more. "Please keep rubbing me, Daddy. I need it!"

Pantyboys say (and mean) the kinds of things men wish women would say.

Mark was giving a "boy" (by a very strict definition only) a handjob. And they were both enjoying it very much. He even dropped his hand to her pretty pearls and gave them a nice cuddle as well. Allison responded enthusiastically, which tripled Mark's enjoyment. When he moved his hand back to her sensitive cockhead and gave her a very nice thumbrub, she squealed, "Daddy!!!!!" and spurted her hot creamies in thick globs, Mark almost lost his own load of goo.

That was apparently next on the appreciative Allison's agenda.

Mark was perplexed about how to deal with the sissy cream all over his right hand. Again, Allison anticipated his needs and, taking Mark's hand in hers, licked off and swallowed her own sperm.

Oh. That was sexy.

But not as much as when Allison literally sat on Mark's cock.

Mark was sitting. Allison kissed him deeply, then managed to rid him of his troublesome trousers. Naturally, his penis was straining the limits of its skin. In a move worthy of the Lovejoy Institute's fine traditions, Allison faced Mark, straddled his legs and, with one steady movement, lowered herself (and her pre-lubed bottom) onto Mark's delighted dick.

Truth be told, Mark had never had his cock in anyone's bottom before. It was very different from your standard, garden-variety pussy. The "grip" was different. The lubrication was different. The angle of assault was the most different of all.

But when a tight, hot bottom was attached to someone like Allison, it offered the best fucking known to humankind.

His reservations completely addressed, Mark decided it was time to take charge. Allison, being naturally submissive, couldn't be happier.

Mark applied his lips and tongue to each puffy nipple of his naked, squealing partner. Just like titties, he thought, only better. They would never sag. They were totally sensitive to a man's love. And they puffed like little cocks when a pantyboy was excited.

Allison was very excited.

Mark marveled at the intensity of his sexual sensations. Frankly, he hadn't had his cock inside anyone in more than 13 years. Women had pursued him, but the downsides with women had always seemed much steeper than their upsides.

To begin his fucking life anew with a Lovejoy pantyboy was like breaking a long fast with a 20-course feast.

So it surprised no one, including Mark when his balls exploded, WRENCHING the cum from his hairy bag and soaking sweet Allison's perfect bowels with his hot juices.

The poor fellow actually passed out from the joyous agony. When he awoke, only he and Lovejoy were in the room.

"You'll have to pace yourself a bit, old sport," Lovejoy said. "I know you've been out of the game for a while, but I can see that you are an excellent player. And you seem to have overcome that little problem many new men have about fucking girly boys' bottoms. I imagine you'll be sucking their peeners next and swallowing their sissy cream. It's so delicious. You'll see. You seem to be a natural alpha male. And just the age for these randy little creampuffs to drool over. They'll be wiggling their pretty bottoms at you the whole time you're here. And I imagine you'll end up taking most of them in your bed, if you want to stay a while longer than just the weekend. You're welcome to do so."

Mark's heart leaped. It appears that he had impressed Lovejoy enough to give him an open-ended invitation to stay at the Institute. He would do just that. Stay a week. Maybe two. How wonderful.

"Let's get you dressed and off to see your sweet Paris. She's a knockout, Dr. Johnson – one of the cutest, sexiest little prickteasers we've ever had here. And I understand she's lined you up with her friend Carly for the weekend. A magnificent introduction for you to our community. After the weekend, you may want to find some other pretty boys to grace with your hot juices. Meanwhile, take this. You can go wash up in my private bathroom, then put it on, with these sandals and I'll take you to meet Paris."

Lovejoy had offered Mark an "alpha thong," the revealing pouch that male students and faculty at Lovejoy wore most of the time.

But Mark couldn't walk around 90% naked, could he? Of course, that was what Lovejoy was wearing and Mark was convinced that he could look at least as good at the Institute's president in that skimpy gear.

What would Paris think when she saw how sexy her Daddy looked in a garment that only covered his cock and balls? And revealed their shape and erectile condition in some detail?

Mark shuddered and began to erect at the thought of arousing his pantied "son."

It was wrong, but it was making Mark crazy.

When Mark emerged from the bathroom in pouch and sandals, Lovejoy said, "My goodness. You look outstandingly sexy. It'll be a wonder if I can get you across the quad without you being gang-sissied by the entire student body."

Mark smiled. Lovejoy was kidding, wasn't he?

Anyway, Mark was fully erect and fully ready to see what lay beyond Lovejoy's office doors. Beginning with seeing his son in full pantyboy mode for the first time. And his pantied son seeing his Daddy as an alpha male for the first time.

Lovejoy was in a fine mood when he and Mark, dressed only in their alpha pouches and sandals, strode toward the quad, the busiest place on campus. Mark knew he had an exceptional, male body, but he was self-conscious about being a bit pale over most of its muscular expanse. The pantyboys and alphas Mark and Lovejoy encountered on their stroll didn't seem to notice.

Mark expected the students to show Lovejoy respect – the man ran their little playpen and he had the biggest cock Mark had ever seen. But he was unprepared for the appreciation the students gave him, a man no one knew.

The alphas gave the strolling, older men wide berth – a sign of respect. The sissies giggled and preened and wiggled their little bottoms at Mark. Pretty little bottoms. Bottoms that had experienced many fine visitors. Unlike the men, the girls were dressed eclectically, with all manner of alluring feminine attire. The sissies giggled, then ooohed and aaahed when Mark, who was after all only human, erected fiercely in their presence.

Lovejoy made an announcement, word of which would surely rocket across campus. "Ladies, this fine gentleman and alpha-daddy is Dr. Mark Johnson, Paris' father. He'll be spending the weekend with Carly." [Disappointed groans from the girls] "But then he'll be staying for quite a while, so I want you girls to make him feel welcome." [Excited murmurs from the crowd of girls.]

"I can make Dr. Johnson feel very welcome right now," a lovely she-male junior named Maria said. She had double-D titties, huge, curly, black hair, tan-stockinged-encased legs that belonged in the Smithsonian, and a face that would make the young Elizabeth Taylor envious.

Everyone laughed except Mark, who was trying not to humiliate himself by cumming into his alpha thong.

Perhaps sensing Mark's arousal, Lovejoy good-naturedly broke up the crowd and moved Mark toward their destination, Paris' dorm room.

Mark and Lovejoy stood at Paris' door. Mark took a deep breath and knocked.

The door flew open. The kind of girl Mark (and every other male) thinks he will never live long enough to see in person, screamed in joy, then leaped into his naked arms.

My goodness, Mark thought, as he embraced his lovely "son." He had only caught a glimpse of her as she joyfully flung herself at him, but what he saw was truly stunning. Mark's son made that Maria he had met in the quad look like the last girl picked to play spin the bottle.

Paris was weeping with joy, hugging her Daddy as if they had been apart for two years, not the two months it had been. Paris had changed so much, it may as well have been two centuries, Mark thought.

It took all his strength for Mark to extricate himself from his loving son's grip and to hold her at arms' length for inspection. First impressions were confirmed. This was a world-class pantyboy. The kind men mortgage their homes to buy jewelry for. The kind men go insane dreaming over and longing for. She looked like everyman's wet dream in a black lingerie peignoir set that included a filmy robe that concealed nothing of her filmy, black, babydoll nightie with matching, skimpy panties, and long, silky, black stockings so high, only inches of creamy thigh were uncovered. Paris walked easily in the highest heels – strappy, black, stiletto mules – that Mark had ever seen. She was even <gulp> Mark's wet dream.

And she was strong too. She didn't spend much time allowing herself to be admired by her father. In moments, she had broken Mark's grip and was back into her father's full embrace – rubbing her loveliness against Mark's naked flesh. Very excited to be with her Daddy again. Inadvertently (?) rubbing her stiff, little tickler against her Daddy's big, hot, hard pussypoker as they embraced, weeping and professing her undying love for her Daddy.

Mark was scared silly that he would cum while his pantied son was holding him and rubbing…oh, rubbing…her package against his. He didn't want that. He tried to… He was going to… Oh – humiliation. All that stimulation on the quad, then the joy of seeing Paris! The rubbing. The poor, mortified man was cumming hard. Gasping for air. Tears in his eyes. His alpha pouch was drenched with his sticky juices, as were his thighs. And worse, Paris private regions were soaked with the overflowing paternal juices! It was unintentional. He would never…

It was a good thing Lovejoy was there to give things proper perspective. "Think nothing of all that," the wise educator said. "Overexcitement is the norm at Lovejoy Institute, especially for someone as new as Dr. Johnson. It's clear that all this 'naughty business' was unintentional."

Mark felt some relief at that. But when he looked at Paris, smiling coyly at him, he wondered whether she had tried to… No. She was a good girl. It was unintentional and that was that.

Paris seemed to notice the globs of cum on her pretty tummy for the first time. "Oh, Daddy, Dr. Lovejoy," she said, "Please come in. I need to clean up. My boyfriend Brett is coming by and it wouldn't be proper for him to see me with my father's creamy spendings all over me. I'll get you a washcloth too, Daddy. And a fresh, XXL alpha pouch. It's so easier for men to 'freshen up' around here. "

It was true. Mark, Lovejoy and Paris went into the lovely dorm room. It was functional and feminine, with a huge bed, four walk-in closets, one of which was just for shoes, and a vanity table strewn with every cosmetic known to humans.

Mark saw Paris slip into the bathroom and, it appeared that, but he wasn't sure…Was Paris scooping a bit of her Daddy's cum from her peignoir with two fingers. What was she doing? Oh. Why was she licking her fingers and sighing deeply. Mark must have been mistaken.

But Mark's third erection in less than an hour was no mistake. Goodness knows what might have happened if Lovejoy had not distracted Mark with conversation about the room's amenities.

Things were certainly different here, Mark thought.

When Paris emerged from her bathroom, fresh and tidy, Mark slipped in there to straighten himself out. He peeled back his minimal garment to reveal a sticky, cummy mess, all over his pubic hairs, cock and balls. He was thinking of taking a shower, not just a sponge bath when there was a knock on the bathroom door. It was Lovejoy.

"I'm off to other things, old sport," Lovejoy said. "Why don't you shower so you'll be fresh for a fun weekend with Carly? Then come by on Monday morning and we'll discuss some things. Things about your future. Meanwhile, I reminded Paris that while we don't have many rules of decorum here, the things she may have on her mind about you are definitely out-of-bounds."

Mark thanked Lovejoy sincerely, then closed the bathroom door. He stepped into the warm shower with lots to think about. Was Lovejoy thinking about offering Mark a job at the Institute? Is so, was Mark's life insurance paid up? Did Mark want to live and work in the most sexually-charged environment on the planet? And what kinds of things did Paris have on her mind about her and Mark?

"Bad Mark" thought, "What business was it of Lovejoy's to meddle if a pantyboy wanted to show her father some affection?" "Good Mark" slapped "Bad Mark", but "Bad Mark" began to fantasize that Paris had stripped and gotten into the shower with the real Mark. They were soaping each other and embracing and kissing…

"Good Mark" won out! "Bad Mark's" fantasy never happened. Mostly because Paris never came into the bathroom, naked or otherwise, when Mark was in the shower. Otherwise, since Mark was a guy, "Bad Mark" would have probably kicked "Good Mark's" bony ass and father would have been very bad with his offspring.

Again, that "bad stuff" with Paris did not happen. Though that fantasy was to remain a sure-fire way for Mark to regain an erection whenever he needed one. And he was to need one frequently at Lovejoy Institute.

Anyway, Mark dried off and slipped his alpha pouch and sandals on. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Paris on her bed with a randy, beautiful young man, who had Paris' stiff little tinkler in his mouth and was making her squeal happily.

The couple stopped coupling when Mark appeared, but neither was self-conscious about being "caught" like that by a girl's father.

"Daddy," Paris said, "This is Brett, my man."

Wow! Paris was possessive, Mark thought. He recognized Brett from the email pictures, but they didn't do him justice. He was the acme of male beauty. Masculine, yet so handsome that he was almost pretty. His pouch had been removed during his love-tussle with Paris and his cock was standing tall and skinned.

Mortification for Mark seemed to be occurring at least once every half hour during that lovely, life-altering day. He was erect again. But that time, at the sight of his pantied son's boyfriend!!!! A totally unexpected and unprecedented (for Mark) occurrence.

Was Mark "turning gay?" Did he need to get Cher CDs, a timeshare on Fire Island and designer alpha pouches?

Politely, Mark and Paris pretended not to notice. Or maybe they really care enough to notice. Brett looked as if he wanted to bury his cock deeply into Paris' eager behind as soon as Daddy cleared out.

To move things along, Paris popped up and said, "Daddy, I just spoke to Carly. She's ready and waiting for you and she's in 223, four doors to the right. The four of us can have breakfast tomorrow at 9, if that's OK with you."

That was more than 18 hours away. Was he going to be in that room that long with an eager, hot-to-trot pantyboy? Could he keep her happy that long?

He wasn't 18 anymore – more like 40.

Still, how often does a guy get an offer like that? Mark took a deep breath, went to Paris, kissed her on the cheek and said, "Have a nice time, kids."

Paris giggled and said, "You too, Daddy. Don't do anything Brett wouldn't do." Then she lay on her back spread her legs and brought her knees up to her nipples so Brett could have oral access to her anus. Brett kissed and licked and tongued that perfect rosebud as Paris squealed happily and Mark slipped from the room.

He turned to the right. Walked. Room 223. OK. Another deep breath. He knocked.

Milliseconds later, the door flung open. They certainly didn't teach these girls to be coy, Mark thought.

But someone who looked like Carly didn't need to be coy. She only needed to be Carly.

Pink. That was his first impression of Carly. A pink outfit that looked identical to the super-femmy, super-sexy, black ensemble that Paris had worn.

Paris. That was his second impression of Carly. Same build. Same size. Carly looked enough like Paris that they could be sisters. Creepy. Very creepy.

Randy. That was his third impression of Carly. She threw her arms around Mark and said, "Oh, Dr. Johnson. I've been counting the days until your arrival. I'm so happy to see you. And Dr. Johnson, you are the hunkiest man in the Northern Hemisphere, do you know that?"

Praise is a great aphrodisiac. As is the smell and look and touch of the feminine masterpiece who stood before him.

Mark was very excited. He wished Carly didn't look so much like Paris. But he planned to get over that very soon.

Carly took Mark by her warm hand and led him to a comfortable chair.

"You must be so tired from your trip and all the 'oddities' you've already seen and experienced around here. Can I get you some lemonade?"

Mark, like most guys around someone like Carly, was not thinking about lemonade.

"No lemonade?" Carly said. "OK. I only have one chair in here, so would it be OK if I sat on your lap?"

<Gulp> "Yes, please, Carly. I would like that very much. Paris tells me that you're an English Literature major." Mark was very nervous.

Carly settled into Mark's lap. Making sure her thigh was rubbing against his stiffening sissypleaser.

"Oh, yes, Dr. Johnson. The academics are very good here. Very challenging. Just like the extracurricular activities." <Rub, rub>

<Gulp> "So, Carly, I know you're a freshman, but do you have a career selected yet?"

Carly laid her head on Mark's hairy, bare chest. She began playing with the hairs around Mark's nipple and said, "Oh, yes sir. I want to be a nice, rich man's boy-wife. Making myself pretty for him, making his home comfortable and pleasing him in any way he wants – forever."

<Gulp> <Gulp> "I can see where that's a very achievable ambition, Carly. You're stunningly beautiful and you have an attitude that almost no women have. You want to please men. Do you want to please me, Carly?"

Carly smiled, "I thought you would never ask, Dr. Johnson. Dr. Johnson is just too many syllables. You're the first man over 22 I've 'been with.' May I call you, 'Daddy,' Dr. Johnson?"

Mark thought: A boy who looks like my son. Both of them dress and act as girls. This one wants to have continuous sex with me and wants to call me Daddy. What does that say about me? What would Freud say? Who cares?

Mark embraced Carly, kissing her deeply. "Oh Daddy," she moaned softly.

So sweet. And pink. All over. And she smelled fantastic. Was that "White Diamonds" perfume? Her lips were perfectly glossed. And how did she "do" her eyes like that? They looked enormous. Like Paris' huge, cosmetically-enhanced baby blues he had marveled over less than an hour earlier.

Carly was covered from neck to foot and he was practically naked. That peignoir looked so feminine, but it had to come off.

Mark peeled Carly's frilly, night covering over her creamy, left shoulder, kissing it as he exposed its magnificence. Carly gasped in appreciation. Mark exposed the right shoulder and that time it was Mark's turn to gasp. Only the thinnest of spaghetti straps from Carly's tiny nightie covered the pretty boy's alabaster neck and smooth shoulders.

The bare shoulders were so kissable. And the kisses were so appreciated. Mark had located the first of what must have been 70 or 80 erogenous zones on the marvelous Carly.

His long-term goal was to give Carly at least one screaming orgasm from the stimulation of each erogenous zone.

Gently, with minimum wiggling, the lovers lowered the filmy robe to Carly's waist. Oh, my. Her upper arms were lovely too. So were the lower arms. Pink was everywhere, both in skin and lingerie.

It occurred to them simultaneously that the project they were undertaking would better be accomplished on the bed, so they rose and, kissing all the way, navigated to the bed, the robe divested en route.

Carly lay on her back in her teeny nightie. Her spaghetti straps were down. Her panties were "pointed." Her luscious legs were encased in pink, fully-fashioned stockings with reinforced heel and toe. Her pretty, red-painted toenails were peeking from behind the silky nylon. Her pink, strappy, six-inch-stiletto mules made her look even sexier than the wet dream she already was.

Mark lay next to her, deciding how he should proceed. When you're 40, your lover is 18, and you've cum twice in two hours, you take your time, giving your ball bag time to move from "E" toward "F."

Top-down seemed to be working well, so he continued. Lovingly, Mark peeled Carly's babydoll down to expose the prettiest nipples he had ever seen. Mark considered his prizes. Pink and stiff, as Mark imagined Carly's as-yet-unseen sissypole was, her nipples invited a man's kisses. Vaguely, he wondered what Brett and Paris were doing four rooms to the left.

"My nipples need love, Daddy," the little prickteaser extraordinaire said.

Mark wondered vaguely who was really in charge of that operation. It was true that Carly's nipples needed his immediate attention, but something "alpha" within Mark stirred when Carly gave him so much "direction." If I wanted direction, Mark thought, I could fuck a woman.

Wasn't the man supposed to be the master? And now and then, shouldn't the man be a bit of an animal?

Mark decided that if he was going to stand out as a worthy sex partner for these worthiest of sperm receptacles, he was going to have to be a bit different from the "boys" who were servicing the pantied princesses. He was going to have to be a man. A real man. A bit wild and very firm.

Mark began by giving Carly's right nipple a tiny lovebite. Just a hint of teeth, but Carly's pretty eyes opened wide at that one. And she whimpered. When Mark repeated the process on her left nubber, Carly knew she was dealing with someone different from the lovers who merely kissed and licked and made rapid, but frequent love to her.

Mark liked the reaction he was getting. He sensed the tiniest bit of fear, which adds a very spicy element to basic lovemaking. Carly was 99.9% sure that Mark would not tear into her with his teeth like a starving jackal. But that 0.1% had her senses boiling.

He gently chewed on each nipple, doing no harm, other than causing every blood corpuscle in Carly's body to rush to her penis. Then, suddenly, he abandoned her nipples, leaving her trembling and whimpering.

Carly's respite was brief, but long enough to increase her fear to 0.2%!

Mark peeled Carly's panties down and exposed her tiny "package."

A tiny pricklet. Pink and stiff. And quivering with lust and fear.

A silky, pink purse of delicious, girlie pellets, dangling and swollen with raw need.

Mark stayed with his theme. Slowly and carefully, Mark began to chew the loose skin of Carly's scrotum.

Carly's eyes opened completely, she arched her back, screamed as if she were being gutted, and pumped thick globs of the world's sweetest cream allover her flat, warm, silky tummy.

Mark continued to chew the wrinkled skin as Carly whimpered her way back to the land of the living. Then he stood up and said, "Stand up and face the wall!"

Oh, goodness!! Was this brute going to shoot her? He was an animal! USING her to satisfy his own disgusting needs!

Carly couldn't remember ever being that excited.

Carly stood immediately and sissied over to a bare wall in her dorm room. Facing it. In her big heels, stockings and babydoll. Panties down to her knees.

Mark moved her feet apart with his foot, none too gently. Her legs spread about two feet apart. Just enough to open her cheeks to this rampaging brute.

What was he going to do to her? Fuck her? She certainly hoped so.

She said, "There's lube in my drawer."

Mark gave a fairly convincing snarl and said, "No lube for you. I'll lube you with my cum. Maybe I'll spank you first. Is there a strap in the room?"

In one of the least proud moments of her life, Carly peed herself when Mark said that. All over the wall. Mark hoped she had some good cleaner in the bathroom.

Mark had had no intention of spanking Carly, but if it excited her like that, he would certainly add it to the weekend's agenda.

For the first time since she had been allowed to express herself as a pantyboy, Carly was totally under a man's dominance. She was scared. Terrified even. But her cock was hard as hardened, hard stuff and near orgasm from her stupefying excitement.

Mark hoped she wasn't scared shitless. That would have been a messier cleanup.

The sissified lad had been fucked many times in that pretty anus, so Mark was sure he wouldn't injure Carly by "fucking her dry." But it would not be easy either. Having come that far, Mark proceeded.

He reached around Carly and held her stiff, aching popsy in his manly hand. "I thought you were afraid of me, Baby. This stiff thing isn't afraid."

Carly whimpered, panting heavily as the rude man stroked her lovestick.

Mark put his cock into position at Carly's tiny hole. "Tell me you want me to put it in you, Baby, Mark said."

Carly held her head back, reveling in the strokes the bad man was giving her penis. Afraid, but longing for full insertion of his thick pole. "Please put it in me," she begged breathlessly.

Mark said, "I knew you wanted it. Here it is." Trite, but accurate. Then he did something far from trite. Rather than enter her as she was, legs apart, standing, Mark pushed Carly hard against the wall. Flattening her. Immobilizing her.

Carly yelped from surprise. Then he let her cock go and used his hands to spread her cheeks and, in one swift motion, pushed six inches of his cock into the helpless girl.

Carly squealed and came all over herself and the wall. More cleaner needed.

Mark shoved in the last three inches, then pressed himself into Carly. Making her a "wall pancake" as he fucked her dry bottom. The pleasure for Carly exceeded the pain by a factor of 100 to one.

She felt totally emasculated and used. Completely at a strong man's mercy. Just the way a true pantyboy sees herself in her naughtiest dreams.

She couldn't move; could hardly breathe.

A big cock plowing her bottom. A hairy, rutting, ultra-masculine man using her for his pleasure.

Mmmmmmmm!

Carly gave herself completely to that brutish man. And dreamed of marrying him, bearing his children and submitting to him sexually many times a day for the rest of their lives.

But Carly was the kind who rushed things.

At the moment, the highest priority was milking out her man's big, creamy load. Her gasps and whimpers, combined with her complete submission and, let's not forget, her perfect "pussy," did the job very well. Ten rutting, almost suffocating minutes later, Mark's dam burst and he filled his new friend with thick juices.

Did Carly hear him mumble, "Oh, Paris!" when he came? Maybe not. And what if he did? It was Carly who had just gotten the fucking of her life.

Not Paris.

Carly was completely smitten by Paris' father. A man she once imagined to be a wimpy academic.

A man who had withdrawn his big cock from Carly's ass and was standing by the bed, ordering Carly on her knees in front of him.

Gladly!!!!!!

Carly sissy-ran over and hit her knees, a familiar position to Lovejoy Institute girls.

"Look at me," her lover said. She did.

Then he did something else that the younger alphas never did. He began to smack her face, gently, but smacks nevertheless, with his wet, limp cock. Rubbing his cum and other juices on her perfectly made-up face.

Using me again, Carly thought, and her blood boiled.

"Clean me," he said and Carly did. Licking and kissing. Sucking and caressing.

It took her 30 minutes to get him hard. Then he said, "I'm going to cum in your face, then you're going to clean that pissy mess you made by the wall. After that, we're going to take a shower. I'm going to fuck you again in the shower. Then we're going to take a long nap."

Secretly, Mark hoped he could meet that agenda. The only part he was sure he could do was the nap part.

But the Force was with Dr. Johnson that day. And it didn't take long for every pantyboy at the Institute to know that a true fucking-star had been born.

 

Epilogue

I guess you can figure out the rest. Mark and Carly made love that entire three-day weekend. Carly came so many times she ran out of fingers and toes to count them. She came hardest after Mark spanked her, then fucked her blistered bottom.

Paris was sooooo jealous. And a bit moody. She and Brett broke up soon after that weekend. Which was a good thing for Paris and all alphas besides Brett at the Institute.

Word of Mark's stardom reached Dr. Lovejoy, of course. That strengthened his resolve to offer Mark employment.

"I have a groundbreaking project for you, Mark," Lovejoy said. "Research funded by the U.S. taxpayer."

[For our readers outside the USA: Members of Congress often help ensure their re-election by spending taxpayer money on bewildering projects (such as tennis courts where no one lives, research into jelly flavor choices, support for a zithering school) that bring that money to their home districts. The original name for this was "pork-barrel politics," but today, it is called merely "pork." So the Lovejoy project was "pork for porking pantyboys."]

"We know that a boy who scores 95 or higher on the Gingerman Test is a simpering little nancyboy," Lovejoy told Mark. "But where does it end? Can a '90' be a cock-sucking, pantied princess? How about an '85' or an '80?' We want you to go out into 'the field' and do the research! Long weekends back here at the Institute, of course."

Hmmmmm. Mark would have to think about that job offer. Maybe he would just go back to his home in the Midwest, where it was 15 degrees below zero and he hadn't been laid in 13 years.

Hmmmmm.

Sounds like a good idea for a follow-up story, doesn't it?

 

If you would like to read a story about Mark Johnson's research project (assuming he accepts Lovejoy's offer), please let me know at gingerfred99@yahoo.com

  

  

  

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