All the characters in this story are, of course, 18 years or over. ***** It was the summer of 1956 and the sun shone on the United States. It shone on the mid-West. On Minnesota. On the town of Brewer, set among pasture and lakes, with its silos, railroad tracks, dairies and car yards, its treelined streets and spacious old two story homes. It shone on it...
George Appplewhite lay on his sheet, on his metal framed bed with its chipped cream paint. Outside the Gangetic plain offered up its steamy heat and its swill and ordure. The ceiling fan droned and creaked, stirring the sluggish air. This was his junior teacher's bedroom- hardly bigger than a closet- where he had slept since his arrival in India to teach at...
This is, I think, a deliciously sweet story. Here are the ingredients. A baking hot summer day. A party of 18 year old school boys, walking in the woods. A secluded rock pool and - boys are boys - the fellas strip off all their gear and plunge in. Totally nude. This is the mid-50s and it's the age of innocence - the ole swimming hole in a woodland setting in...
Sarah's Picture Book. Sarah Maitland sat propped in bed under her mosquito net, a lamp shedding light on the outsize portfolio on her knee. Outside, night enclosed the Gangetic plain. India slept in moist heat. It was midnight. The book was precious and she had an opportunity to bid for it through Sotheby's, although opposition was being posted by the Metr...
The girl walked briskly through the outskirts of town. She walked past the town dairy and milk processing plant, past the rail yards with their silos, past the drive-in theatre with posters for the latest Elvis movie, Jailhouse Rock. It was the 1950s in mid-West America. She walked past the houses of the poor people, with rusted car bodies and dented ash...
I recommend you read the first two chapters if you have not, especially Chapter 02. This is loaded with CFNM and it is somewhat long. You might not devour it in one giant gulp but in bite-size chunks. All my characters are 18 or over. ***** Even Sarah Maitland trembled at a moment like this. Yes, after all she had faced, in her varied life. Several lives...
A volcanic outpouring of CFNM material in this story, my friends, more than you would find in any other work of fiction. I suggest, therefore, that you read it in bite-size chunks, a bit at a time. I can testify to its truthfulness, if not its truth: there was a lot going on in colonial India during World War One, most of the white male folk away in the Euro...
At Grover Cleveland High the swimming classes were held in the vast echoey basement pool, smelling of chlorine. There were bleachers rising on both sides to be packed out in the event of a competition. There were Corinthian columns and painted windows in the upper walls. The atmosphere was gloomy and... Well, full of possibility. For one reason. Classes...
It happened over breakfast, in the Marcello household in Upper Elm. And it came from Johnny's sister. Without warning, in front of their Mom, as they ate their Corn Flakes, she said, "The boys at school? Like Johnny?" That's all. "The boys at school? Like Johnny?" And she let the question hang there. They were all at the table: their mother, Johnny's yo...