Date: Thu, 20 Jan 2005 02:42:26 -0500
From: g d <parrafan@ureach.com>
Subject: The Contest

The Contest

by Parrafan

DISCLAIMER
This is a made-up story. Only adults (by whatever definition
applies in your jurisdiction) may read it. No-one in this story
corresponds to a real person, living now or previously.

DEDICATION
I dedicate this story to Boisterous (boys-stir-us) whose stories
have always stirred me.

THANKS
To Rebel, Ulissnin, Paul, Miguel, Frank, Mr Malaprop, Kent,
Danny and Michael, for your supportive comments. You know who
you are.

* * *

"Howdy, friend", the middle-aged barkeep greeted me as I ordered
a glass of the house claret.

"Hi", I replied non-commitally, picking up my vino for a
tentative sip.

"First time in Town?", he inquired.

As his question was within the bounds of normal conversation
between strangers, and not yet close to nudging the red line of
my "Nosy-ometer", I replied with a vaguely affirmative grunt and
a nod of the head.

"You'll find we're a friendly bunch, I'm sure. Salesman?", he
continued.

"Newspaperman", I replied, because that's what we called
ourselves before the word 'journalist' became widespread and
devalued.

"Oh - City boy, eh?", he smiled as he polished another glass.

"Only for work. Otherwise my heart lies in them thar hills since
I were a young'un", I countered, trying to match his down home
accent, and not quite completely failing. But the attempt
brought a thin smile to his lips, which slowly broadened to a
warm grin.

"I guess you're here to cover the Contest", he stated knowingly,
and I saw a look in his eyes that my instincts interpreted as
"Hello- Big Story Here".

"Well, a Contest would sure explain why there are no rooms left
at the hotel tonight, but no, I'm not here on business, my Aunt
at the nursing home asked me to come on down and give her some
financial advice. Seems I'm the only one she trusts because I'm
not in her Will", I added, not knowing why I gave a complete
stranger such a piece of personal information.

"I hear ya", the bartender returned. "Nothin' guaranteed to tear
a family apart faster than a funeral is a Will".

"You got that right - especially MY family", I concurred. I was
beginning to warm to this man whom I had only known for twenty
minutes. "So, what is this Contest you mentioned?".

"Oh, I don't know if our small town entertainment would be of
any interest to a big city newspaper man such as yourself. It's
not really a tale of any great literary or historical merit", he
replied.

My interest was now definitely aroused, if not piqued. He had
mentioned this "Contest" a couple of times, and now he doesn't
want to talk about it? Hell, everyone wants to talk to
newspapermen, no matter how boring the subject matter. I had to
find out more.

"So, can you recommend anyone in town who can give me the
lowdown on this Contest? The Town drunk, maybe? Or is it a state
secret?" I taunted.

"No secret, my friend, we're quite open about our annual
Contest. It's just that most - if you'll pardon the expression -
outsiders - don't appreciate the full quality of our Contest,
and what it means to our little Town". The barman turned away
from me as if to indicate that the subject was closed, but I
have always been a persistent, some may even say stubborn
S.O.B., so I pressed on.

"So, you're not ashamed of it, but you don't want to talk about
it, is that it?", I called over to his back. "What is this
Contest, some kind of redneck IQ test, or maybe all the town
grannies have a naked hot jelly wrestle, is that it?". I was
trying to be deliberately insulting, and I think the barman knew
it, and it washed straight over him. He turned back to me, his
lips slightly curled in a wry smile, not insulted in the least.

"Have you finished your business with your Aunt?", he inquired
softly, seemingly changing the subject.

"Er, yeah, I guess. I was going to spend the night in town
somewhere and then head back tomorrow morning".

"The Contest begins in an hour. It runs for the whole weekend.
Are you willing to invest a weekend in ... a piece of heartland
history?". He had pushed the one button that I could not ignore.
A Challenge.

"Sure. I got nothing to rush back to anyways. My annual leave
runs for another ten days", I replied.

"No immediate family to wonder where you are?", he asked gently.

"My Aunt is my closest adult relative. The only one that cares
if I live or die, anyways. I got a couple of second cousins back
East that I send Christmas and birthday gifts to is all", I
ended lamely.

"These second cousins - would they be boys by any chance?", the
barman asked.

"Well, yeah, sure, they're boys all right. They're in boarding
school. Their parents, my cousin and her husband, both passed
on. Cutest damn kids you ever seen".

"Uh huh. Cute, are they?", he answered.

"Damn straight. I don't get to see 'em as much as I'd like, but
I got their pictures plastered all over my cubicle wall at the
newspaper office. When my time comes, they get whatever I
haven't pissed away". I had no idea why I was running off at the
mouth like this, after only one glass. Seems like I was telling
this guy my life story, and not just the public bits either.

The bartender put down the glass he was polishing and looked me
in the eye. "I'm thinking that I might have misjudged you
earlier, friend. Seems to me that you might be just exactly the
person the Town is looking for".

"I don't think you'll find my picture on the wall down to the
Post Office with a hefty price under it", I retorted, still not
getting what he was driving at.

"A sense of humour, I knew it. It'll come in handy", he said,
smiling. "And a love of boys", he thought to himself. Out loud,
he said "I've had a change of heart about telling you about the
Contest. In fact, if you're interested, I'll not only tell you
all about it, but make you a most exceptional offer. You may be
in a position to play a central role in our Contest. I think
you'll find it will be right up your alley".

I could only look at him with a mixture of puzzlement and
burning curiosity. He threw down his cleaning rag, nodded to
another man whom I guessed to be his replacement, and walked
around the corner of the bar, leading me to a private booth. We
sat opposite each other on the overstuffed vinyl cushions and
resumed our little chat.

"What I am going to tell you may sound unbelievable, and I have
to admit, much of it is legend. Do you newspaper folk still know
what 'legend' is?".

"Fairy tale. Made up. Fiction", I replied, quoting from my
college journalism lecturer.

"Not quite. 'Legend' is what you call a story whose proof is
lost. The story itself is true, because it is still alive and
happening. What's going to happen this weekend is part of a
legend. That doesn't make it any less true. It just means that
no-one is left alive who knows for sure how it started. But
obviously it did start somewhere". The bartender explained all
of this to me like I was a well-loved but slightly backward
child.

"You mean it's one of those stories 'Lost in the Mists of
Time'", I said, half joking.

He looked at me sideways before continuing. "If you can restrain
your newshound instincts for a little while, I'll tell you what
I know of the Contest, then make you an Offer".

I nodded, and backed it up with a "Yes, okay, go ahead". I
listened to him intently for the next twenty-five minutes,
committing most of what he said to memory. I have recorded it
here, as well as I can recall it, so that you can judge the
Legend of the Contest for yourselves.

* * *

(the barman's tale begins)

Since the 1700's our small Town (now numbering some 12,000
souls) has held a contest for boys. By 'boys', we mean they must
be males aged from 8 to 12 on the starting day of the contest to
be eligible. If they still fall within the age band they can
compete in subsequent years. Many boys have been known to
compete four years in a row.

The origins of the contest are now unknown. Some say it arose
out of a wager between two old farmers who were bragging to each
other about the relative superiority of everything they owned,
including their children, who happened to be boys (**otherwise
this story would be appearing on another site!**). The bragging
led to more and more outrageous claims, which led to bets, which
led to the very first contest as the only way to settle the
wagers.

The Contest has four sections:
1. Talent (the boy may either sing a song or recite a poem.
Generally, boys who believe they can't sing choose the poem. For
the last sixty years, Shakespearean sonnets have been the
preferred poem. The songs that attract the judges' favour have
usually been Italian arias);

2. Swimsuit (since the late 1800's, the boy has been required to
fabricate the swimsuit personally. This rule was only enforced
after several years of alleged cheating by wealthy families
trying to gain an advantage for their sons by purchasing the
latest European designs. "A boy ought to be able to make his own
way in the world, as well as his own drawers" was a saying that
won the day at the time);

3. Strength (nowadays simply a wrestling bout, but in previous
centuries quite a challenging and dangerous part of the
Contest);

4. Skill (the boys are required to show that they are not merely
beauties, nor only musclebound, but able to use their brains and
common sense as well. This component could best be described as
'problem solving').

The Contest usually runs from Friday night to Sunday afternoon.
It's all over in a weekend.

The first Contest was believed by several old-timers to have
been held sometime before the Revolutionary War. Some other
folks date that first Contest to the actual time of the War
itself, and suggest a more sinister origin. It seems that a
detachment of Redcoats was garrisoned in the town around 1779,
and the Town Fathers hit upon the idea of the Contest as a way
of distracting the British soldiers long enough to permit an
ambush by a force of Irregulars which operated in the area.
Others swore that the patriotic boys themselves committed the
slayings, while their British suitors lay in their bunks,
exhausted from the boys' attentions. In any event, the Town was
among the first to shake off British rule, with none of those
Redcoats ever returning to their godforsaken British Isles.

A few folk believe that only a handful of soldiers were actually
killed - the rest decided to lay down their arms and remain in
the town as settlers (which suited their inclinations).

No one knows what components were in the early Contests, but
almost everyone you talk to has an opinion about it. Most are
fairly sure there was a "handsomeness" section, in which judges
(the Town Fathers) chose the prettiest boy - but no one can
quite be sure what criteria were used. That section would
correspond to the Swimsuit component that now occurs on the
Friday evening. A few of the old-timers claim they recollect a
'Bravery' section, involving wild animals, but since that
neccesarily took place out of doors it no longer suits the
modern format. The 'Skill' section is widely regarded as an
adequate substitute.

The present format has existed since Prohibition (which also
bypassed the Town, somehow). Following the Friday evening
Swimsuit competition, the boys are free to try to influence the
judges further by whatever means they can. There is no question
of 'cheating' here - all the boys are entitled to invite judges
to their rooms to show them all their charms throughout the
Friday night until breakfast on Saturday, by which time the
judges usually call it quits though sheer exhaustion.

Saturday noon marks the start of the Strength competition. The
boys take part in a series of wrestling bouts, with every boy
eventually matched up with every other boy. Each bout frequently
only takes a few minutes, because unlike traditional or
Greco-Roman wrestling, the winner is the boy who can first
remove the other boy's swimsuit. This is the only one of the
four events that does not need much expert judging, as the
winner is obvious. Enthusiastic crowds of onlookers, many of
them previous Contestants, make sure the boys compete fairly.

On Saturday evening the boys gather for the Skill tournament.
This may last for several hours, well into Saturday night. The
judges compose written descriptions of Tasks and place them in
envelopes, which the boys draw blind. The Tasks change every
year, and their composition is often the most difficult part of
the judge's role. It is considered an honour for a judge to come
up with a new Task, although nobody really minds if a judge
repeats a Task that has been used in a previous year. For
illustrative purposes, here are a few Tasks that have been used
in Contests over the years:
a) Select a Judge, and bring him to sexual climax using only a
feather.
b) Using food colouring, tattoo a drawing of your own genitals
onto a judge's buttocks, then lick it off.
c) Transfer a pile of iced donuts from a plate on a table,
across the room to a judge's mouth using only your erect penis.

By Sunday morning, most of the boys (and judges) are showing
signs of tiredness. The final competition, Talent, only requires
singing a song or reciting a poem. By tradition, the boy
dedicates his performance of the song or poem to the judge who
has captured his heart over the preceding days. It also makes
sense for the boy to select the judge who is likely to give him
the highest score.

At lunch on Sunday, the judges, having considered their ratings
in a private room, announce the winning boy. That lucky child is
declared 'Prince of the Town', an honour equivalent to the
Freedom of the City, and guarantees a year of libertine
behaviour from the boy.

* * *

The bartender concluded his exposition of the history of the
Contest and leaned his elbows on the table of the booth, resting
his chin in his hands, bringing his face nearer to mine. He
looked me in the eye.

"Have you considered my Offer? I have to caution you that time
is a little short, and we only have one Judge position left to
fill. Before you arrived, I had planned to finish my shift and
go calling on an in-law of mine a few miles out of town, see if
I could drag him away from his orchard for the weekend." The
man's drawl was almost hypnotic, and I felt myself nodding in
acceptance before thinking it through. I stopped myself in
mid-nod.

"Can I ask a coupla questions before I decide, I mean, is that
okay under the Rules?". I was stalling for time, and also
wondering whether I would have the courage to commit to this
intriguing job. Every instinct I possessed told me that this had
the potential to be a big story, but would I be able to write
it? Should I get personally involved in it? What if one of the
boys...came on to me and I liked it? The barman opened his hands
in a gesture that said "Fire away!"

"Um, If I agree to be a judge, but then I don't like how things
are going, can I drop out?" was my first question.

"The short answer is No, but no-one has ever expressed a desire
to drop out before". He smiled a funny little grin and added "A
few judges have expired, but none has retired".

"Oh. Well, what about the local constabulary? Are any steps
taken to ensure they are kept ignorant of the proceedings?". My
instinct for self-preservation had begun to kick in.

"Kept ignorant? Friend, the Police Chief is one of the judges.
It is what you might call a privilege of office. It is one of
the conditions of accepting the position of Chief that he
consent to be a Judge in the Contest. Couldn't do it any other
way. Let me reassure you, it's all legal within the Town
boundaries.

"Ah. I guess the only other thing I'd like to know is...if it's
not an offensive question...er, how come you get to pick a
Judge? And, if you think the Contest is so great, why don't you
appoint yourself as a judge?"

"A very sensible question, friend. Unfortunately for me, I am
both qualified and disqualified, if you take my meaning. I am
qualified to select a judge because I am the father of last
year's winner, and I am also disqualified because I am the
father of one of this year's contestants. Yep, last year's
winner wants to go in the contest again. As he is eleven and
three quarters now, this will be his fourth and final
appearance. He's my pride and joy, my youngest boy, John."
Turning towards the family section of the bar, he called out
"Hey, Johnnie, can you come over here please son?".

A lively young fellow who had been playing a video game looked
around on being called. He had a toothy grin and a sparkle in
his brown eyes. He ran up to his dad and clambered onto the
padded bench next to him. The top of his head only came up to
the man's chest, so he could easily put his arm around his Dad's
waist. The barman reciprocated by cuddling the boy's shoulder.

"Goin' in the Contest again Johnnie?", the barman asked his son,
smiling.

"You bet Dad! Gonna win, too!", the boy responded
enthusiastically.

"This here's a new friend of mine. I'm thinkin' of him for a
possible Judge. Reckon he'd do a good job, son?" He winked at me
as he asked the boy's opinion.

The boy unwrapped his arm from his father's waist and hopped off
the bench on his father's side. He skipped the short distance
around to my side of the booth and jumped up onto my bench,
wriggling along the faux leather seat until he was next to me. I
wasn't quite sure what was going to happen next, but when it did
I was a little shocked. The boy gave me a hug, rubbing his head
on my chest as he did so. He then let me go and turned to his
father.

"He smells good, an' he's not too fat. I reckon he'd be a good
judge, Dad.", the boy advised in a very self-assured manner. I
felt as though I had just passed some kind of interview.

"Job's yours if you want it, but I need to know nigh on right
away. Boat's sailin', friend. Are you on board?", the barman's
gaze held mine.

I paused only for a few heartbeats before consigning myself to a
weekend of mystery. "Aye aye, Cap'n", I replied. Johnnie let out
a little 'Yippee' of glee, and grabbed my hand. He pulled me out
of the booth, then swung himself all the way around me like he
was on a carousel, then closed in again for another hug. Heck, I
reckon I could get used to this Judging game!

* * *

One of the fringe benefits of being a Judge was that my
accommodation problem was now solved. The Contest took place in
the town's gymnasium, which was shared between both the
Elementary and High Schools. Each of the four Judges had his own
comfortable room in the Gym, converted from storerooms for the
annual event. Johnnie guided me to my room, the Gym being only a
five-minute drive from the Bar. We were the first to arrive.

"Would you like to see my swimming costume, that I'll be wearing
tonight in the first section of the Contest, Sir?" Johnnie asked
me as soon as I had stowed my luggage under the bed.

"Uh, is that allowed in the rules, Johnnie? I mean, since your
Dad has been so kind to me and all, I'd hate to have to
disqualify his son for, er, cheating". I gave the boy my most
serious look.

"Nah, that's okay, you're a judge. There ain't nothin' in the
rules says you cain't see one of the Contestants before the
Contest. It'd only be breakin' the Rules if I stopped one of the
other Contestants from gettin' to ya. I did this last year, it
was okay". While he was speaking, Johnnie had been separating
the studs on his western checkered shirt, kicking off his
joggers and pulling off his socks. All he had left on was his
old blue jeans and a cowboy hat. The jeans looked like last
year's size.

"Well, as long as it's okay. I mean, you've done this now, what,
three years, I guess you should know what's allowed and what's
not". I was running off at the mouth a bit, to cover my
nervousness at what was about to happen. The barman had not
actually coverd the topic of 'sexual contact prior to the
Contest', had not even hinted at it, but this whole setup reeked
of it. What if I let Johnnie continue with his impromptu
preview, and his father walked in? Do they horsewhip Contest
Judges in this town?

Maybe I was getting ahead of myself. After all, Johnnie had
simply offered to show me his costume, that's all. He never
mentioned any sexual favours. While I was thinking those
thoughts over, I had forgotten about the boy in question. When I
turned back to him, my jaw dropped. Johnnie had squirmed out of
the tight jeans and was now pirouetting around the room in a
skimpy, spangly bikini bottom.

"What do you think of the sequins, Sir? I hadda sew them all on
by myself". The garment reminded me of something that one of
those South American girls with unpronounceable names might have
worn at Mardi Gras or Fiesta time, only minus the tassels. It
sure suited Johnnie, what there was of it.

"It...it's great" I stammered as the boy flounced around the
room, arms raised above his head, hips swivelling with abandon.

"I wore a leopard skin thong last year, so I thought I'd try
something different. Pretty cool, huh?", the boy asked, inviting
my admiration. He must have had them on under his jeans, I
realised.

The boy pranced over towards me as I sat on the bed. "Feel how
sheer the material is, Sir, go on", he presented his hip into my
face. There actually wasn't much material to feel at that point,
as the sides were just strings, so I obliged Johnnie by gingerly
grasping the bottom hem of the back of the bikini. Sure was
sheer, I thought, so I just smiled at the boy and nodded.

"I'm glad y'all agreed to Judge, Sir. You're nice", Johnnie
remarked, jumping into my lap and giving me a hug with his arms
around my neck. "Gotta go - gotta put mah face on for tonight",
Johnnie laughed as he hopped out of my half-hearted grasp and
scampered over to his jeans and shirt. He didn't bother to
dress, just ran straight out of the room with the bundle of
clothes in his arms. I was to learn later that the contestants
had their own dressing rooms on the opposite side of the Gym.

* * *

So, here I am, sometime assistant feature writer for a
medium-sized East Coast newspaper, sitting on a makeshift cot in
a Gymnasium in the middle of a rural State in America's
heartland, wondering what the Heck I had got myself into. A
bartender's whimsical tale about a boys' beauty contest that had
gone unreported (as far as I knew) for over two hundred years,
some sketchy details about Rules and procedures, a handsome boy
nearly at the end of his childhood, and I was hooked, gaffed and
landed. The only little boys I had ever had anything to do with
up till now were my two second cousins, Jamie and Jesse. Gosh I
loved those little fellows. When their parents were alive I
visited with them about three times a year, often as I could,
and always kept in touch by letters and postcards. My cousin
tolerated my visits because I was something different for her, a
well-behaved and moderately well-off male relative. I showered
the boys with gifts, and they were already named as sole
beneficiaries of my estate. I never spoke openly about the way
my cousin's husband treated them, but I sure hope he's feeling
exceedingly warm, wherever in the afterlife he is now.

I should have tried harder to get custody of the two boys. I
know that now. Granted, I was about tenth in line in the legal
right of guardianship of all their relatives to claim them after
the car accident, but most of the family who had stronger claims
than I did simply wanted the two boys as trophies. They could be
paraded out at Christmas and Easter as proof of Christian
charity, then shunted aside again to that awful boarding school,
St Vomitus Academy or some such nonsense. At the moment the two
boys were the centre of a legal tug-of-war between my cousin's
husband's parents and my cousin's husband's brother-in-law. I'd
never even met him, so I had no feelings about him either way.
Two sets of lawyers were slugging it out in Family Court over
the boys' futures. Meanwhile, my two precious boys were
sentenced to full time detention at that dreadful year-round
boarding school while their fates were decided. I guess it just
shows the benefits of leaving a Will. If my cousin (and her
grotesque husband) had made out a Will, none of this would be
happening. The boys would have some certainty at least. On
another level, it was disgusting to know that parents could
bequeath their children in the same way that they might bequeath
a motor car or a gold bracelet.

None of this thinking was doing me any good. "Don't sweat it"
was a phrase that we threw around at College, meaning "don't
think too deeply about stuff you've got absolutely no control
over", but I never could stop myself. I wanted the weekend's
activities - the Contest - to begin, but I knew I was not
prepared for whatever it may bring. I wanted to do something
about my two little angels, but I had no idea how to go about
it. I decided to lay on the bed and conserve my eyesight.

* * *

I awakened to a radiant sight. Two of the Contestants had been
despatched to bring me to the Judging Arena (a.k.a. the
basketball court). The two little lads wore only their
competition outfits. One had dressed up in what appeared to be
his mother's panty hose, except that the legs had been carefully
cut off in a zig-zag pattern half an inch below the buttocks -
imagine what Tinker Bell might have worn if she appeared in a
porno flick and you'll be pretty close. What was left was sheer
nylon, his little package showing clearly through. The other boy
seemed not to have opted for such showy exhibitionism, as he
only wore a silver jockstrap. "Where have I seen that before?" I
thought to myself, then realised that Sting wore something very
similar in a movie version of Dune that I had once seen. "You
have to come to the Arena, Sir", nylon-boy declared. "The
judging is ready to start". Both boys hauled me off the bed and
took my hands, dragging me out the door and through a long
corridor towards the basketball court. Along the way,
silver-jock-boy pointed to a doorway and said "That's my room".
Useful information, indeed.

I could hear the Arena long before I could see it. As a
newspaperman I was well used to sporting crowd noises, but this
was unlike any I had ever encountered. It was more of a rumbling
than a shouting, more a groaning of approval than a yelling of
dissatisfaction. The bleachers were packed with men and boys of
all ages. On the sideline of the court were set a few trestle
tables. Seated thereat were my three brother judges. In front of
them, stretching from one free-throw line to the other, were a
parade of the most scantily clad boys your wildest imaginations
could conjure. I kid you not. The boys who were wearing
conventional Speedo designs were decidedly overdressed by
comparison to the rest. One little chap was wearing what looked
like an egg-cup as a codpiece, secured with string. Another boy
- one of the older competitors - had pulled a sock, one of those
short ankle socks that are all the rage nowadays, over his
genitals. It was being held on by the stiffness of his member
and nothing else. Another boy had obviously borrowed his
mother's kitchen curtains and made a frilly kilt out of it,
though no Scotsman I had ever heard of would wear such a thing.
It was of transparent white damask and only two inches wide. He
wore it very low on his waist, and as the boy leapt about, the
material flounced up, revealing what it had (barely) meant to
cover. Yet another lad had simply wrapped six feet of
transparent kitchen cling film around his waist twice, knotting
it at his hip, leaving the excess to fall rakishly down his
thigh.  I thought that was ingenious, if cheap.

Bikini bottoms with string ties at the sides were very popular,
as was lycra. One clever little fellow had taken a pair of lycra
bicycle shorts and slit them up the sides all the way. He then
cut the legs off and rejoined the sides in a bootlace pattern
leaving a three inch strip of skin showing on each outer thigh.
It looked hot, until he got a stiffie, then it looked REALLY
hot! Another little tyke, one of the younger boys on show, I
guess he must have been about 9 years old, wore a fishnet
bikini. He probably made it out of one of those muscle shirts -
it was dark blue with about a quarter-inch mesh, just small
enough to prevent his cute little willie to pop through,
although I couldn't guarantee what would happen if he boned up.
That would really be a test of his costume!

Standing together near the tip-off circle were two boys who
appeared to have collaborated on their costumes. (It kind of
made me wonder what else they collaborated on). One of them, the
older of the two, I guess he was eleven or thereabouts, had a
dozen pink tongues, made of paper - probably photocopied off the
front of a Rollng Stones album - tied by a length of string
around his waist. They jiggled as he shook his hips. I could
tell that he wore nothing underneath because the tongues didn't
go all the way around, but left his hips exposed. Each tongue
had a dob of congealed white goo on it. I decided it must have
been whipped cream or maybe meringue. It certainly couldn't be
what I thought it was at first sight. The junior of the two
boys, maybe a year younger, wore a similar item, only instead of
tongues, he had little pink phalluses, alternating between cut
and uncut, on his piece of string, half a dozen in front, same
number in back. The two boys (maybe brothers - I made a mental
note to find out later) danced together, with the paper
phalluses making occasional contact with the paper tongues. My
description doesn't do it justice because it was hysterical.

My eyes were popping out of my head on stalks by this time, my
own tongue panting and drooling. I had to shake my head to clear
it as I walked past this display of happy, wanton boys.

My two escorts led me to my table, then joined their fellow
competitors. I scanned the forty or so boys on the court until I
found Johnnie, and gave him a smile and a little wave. He smiled
back. With his sequinned outfit he looked like he was wearing a
disco ball. It flashed and sparkled in the light as he gyrated,
and he even had the attention of a few of his fellow
Contestants, as well as many of the audience. I leaned over to
the judge on my right, who turned out to be the Elementary
School principal, and engaged him in a whispered conference.

"How are we supposed to rate the contestants? I've got no...er,
guidance notes or anything", I kept my voice low. His answer
surprised me.

"You don't have to rate them. This is only the swimsuit contest.
Not all of the boys have entered every section of the Contest,"
he replied.

"But, er, how do I decide who wins?", I whispered back.

"Which one do you fancy the most?", he asked, not taking his
eyes off the display before us.

I blushed a bright red before replying "I fancy all of them!"
Obviously I could not rate them all 'equal first'. All I had on
the desk in front of me were blank sheets of paper. I looked
around to see that one of the other judges (the Police Chief?)
was scribbling furiously. The other judge, a local realtor I
learned later, was reclining in his chair soaking up the view.
Why did I agree to this?

The boys in front of me continued to cavort and display
themselves like puppies in a pet shop window. The pranced back
and forth, mincing up and down and generally flirted shamelessly
with the wildly enthusiastic crowd of onlookers. "Some of these
kids must be the children of some of the men in the audience," I
reasoned to myself. "Is it some kind of seasonal madness that
overtakes the town, to allow them to let go of their
inhibitions, and their sons, like this?". I knew that they held
beauty contests for teen boys in Thailand, but those boys
dressed as females. These boys flaunted their boyness!

The Principal saw the anguish and desire on my face and leaned
over to give me some advice. "You're thinking that it's all a
bit much", he said, matter-of-factly.

"Yes, oh gosh yes. I could die happy here and now", I answered.

"Well, try to remain alive, because the coroner would have a
tough job deciding on the cause of death", he chuckled in reply.
"Do you mind if I offer a suggestion? I wouldn't want to
influence a Judge, but I can see you're floundering a bit".

"Oh, please do", I begged.

"The bathing suit contest is just the appetiser. Not every diner
chooses to eat an appetiser, does he?"

"No, I guess not", I answered, beginning to follow his
reasoning.

"Every boy does not have to participate in all sections of the
Contest. Some of the younger boys just enter the swimsuit
section to show off, especially the eights and nines. Of course,
it's possible to win the Contest from one section only, but the
boy would have to be exceptional to do so. Have you seen any
exceptional boys here so far?"

"They're ALL exceptional" I thought to myself, but I realised
that I would only be revealing my naivete if I admitted this
sentiment to him, so I simply shook my head No.

"Exactly", he pronounced, as though his point had been proven
beyond doubt. "Some of the boys are relying on their back-room
talents to seduce the judges into giving them a winning score.
Others think that their skills in the various sections will be
enough. But as Judges, we are completely at liberty to decide
how we shall judge, what we shall judge, whom we shall judge,
and most importantly, when we shall judge", he declared, rather
pompously I thought.

"But what about the final reckoning? How do the judges decide
among themselves if they have used different, er, criteria on
which to base their decisions?". I was still puzzled about this
aspect of the competition.

"My dear fellow, that is the best part of the process. The four
judges meet on Sunday afternoon, and give a brief accounting of
the boy or boys who have made the strongest impression on them.
They all agree that whatever decision they reach shall be final,
and then proceed to draw the winner's name out of a hat. Each
boy gets his name entered in the hat once for each section he
competes in. So a boy who competes in all four sections will
have his name in the hat four times, and so on. There's no
fairer way, I assure you." The principal returned his gaze to
the cavorting boys. Some of them had removed their flimsy
garments and were using them as streamers, much like you might
see in the female gymnastics at the Olympics.

"It's all a farce", I realised. "A gigantic, elaborate, erotic
farce. A giant pretence to get the boys of the town to show
themselves off". I had that feeling that astronauts must have
when they look out the window of their spacecraft and see the
Earth dwindling below them, and realise in a concrete way for
the first time "Hey! It really IS round!".

That realisation lifted a great weight from my shoulders. I
could actually have a good time here this weekend. It didn't
matter which boy (or boys) I favoured - they were all in with a
chance of winning. It didn't even matter whether some boys
visited me after hours to bestow their favours on me in return
for preferential treatment in the judging. I could always claim
afterwards to have been outvoted. I could picture it now: a
weeping naked ten year old being comforted in my arms as I
assured him that I voted for him but the others were against me.
I took a piece of paper and began scribbling. I think I wrote
out the ingredients for beef stroganoff, I can't recall exactly,
but it had the desired effect. Two of the boys sashayed over to
my table and displayed their bodies to me without a scrap of
shame. They had already dispensed with their swimsuits and were
naked and perspiring. One was erect, his pencil-thin organ
pulsing and bobbing up and down. I was glad that neither of them
was Johnnie -I would have felt bad about that.

"Gosh you boys are good looking - real chances at winning this
whole thing", I assured them. They smiled at me and began to
work their moves, gyrating and squirming around. On a hunch, I
pushed a blank piece of paper and a pencil towards the end of
the table towards them. The older-looking boy took the pencil
and wrote "23" on it. The second wrote "29" underneath. I leaned
toward the Principal for more advice.

He had anticipated my question. "Room numbers", he said. "The
boys are inviting you for some one-on-one Judging".

I think I kind of guessed that already. "How long does the
swimsuit section last?" I asked him.

"Judges can leave anytime. The boys can likewise go when they
wish. The ones who think that length of performance guarantees
'high scores' will stay as long as they can. Their dads or
uncles are in the audience, and will take them to their rooms if
they fall asleep on their feet."

I had seen enough. Surprisingly, there comes a time, even for a
man who is dedicated to looking at boy flesh, that enough is
enough. For me, now was that time. I pushed away from the table
and strode toward the doorway of the corridor. Three boys tagged
along after me: '23', '29', and Johnnie.

As I reached my room, Johnnie followed me in straight after. "If
you're going to bed, Sir, can I help you with your clothes", he
asked, in a rather direct manner.

"Johnnie, it's you", I responded. "Are you, er, going to spend
the night", I smiled nervously.

"Not allowed under the Rules, Sir. But I can stay as long as I
don't fall asleep." No-one had ever undressed me before, so I
graciously allowed Johnnie to perform the task. When I was as
naked as he was, I fell back onto the bed. I waited for him to
perform some kind of sexual favour upon me, but all he did was
delicately kiss my nipples for a minute or so, then whisper
"Don't forget me on Sunday afternoon". He slipped out of the
room without another sound. I began to reflect on the day's
activities, but was immediately distracted by '23'. He crept
into my room shortly after Johnnie left.

"Hi '23'," I remarked flippantly.

"My name is Greg", he affirmed. "Can I relax you, Sir?".

"Do whatever you would like to do, Greg. I'm yours for the
taking." Greg took my right hand in both of his, and began to
kiss it on both sides. Now this was a sensation I had never
before experienced, having my hand kissed. I had always thought
that the chivalrous actions of courtly gentlemen in centuries
past were foppish and amusing, but now I realised that some of
those actions were quite purposeful. I actually found it very
stimulating to have my hand kissed. Before I could remark on it
to Greg, he gently laid my hand on my chest and snuck out of the
room. Alone again, I thought.

No sooner had that thought entered my mind, than '29' appeared
beside my bed. "Can I blow you, Sir?", he whispered.

"Shivers", I thought "This must be a much more horny boy than
the previous two". "Go ahead", I whispered back, and reclined on
the bed only to receive the most amateurish, inept, awkward and
clumsy oral sex I had ever experienced. Those men who reckon
that any sex is good sex had never encountered anyone like 29.
After enduring five minutes of 29's dreadful efforts at fellatio
I reached down to pat him on the head.

"Hey, come up here a moment", I whispered. "What's your name - I
can't keep referring to you as '29'". He climbed up to lie
alongside me.

"Peter", he whispered back. "This is my first year in the
contest, but I'm already nearly 12, so I can't go in it again. I
didn't know what to do, so I just followed Greg, and listened at
the doorway."

"Peter, you have an absolutely beautiful body for a nearly
twelve-year-old. You don't have to blow me, just give me a
cuddle". He lay down on top of me and let me enclose him in my
arms. My hands grasped his buttocks. I kissed him on the end of
his nose, just a peck, which made him giggle. The tension
between us was broken.

"Peter, don't feel bad, but you still need a bit more practice
giving blow jobs in my opinion. I'm telling you this as a Judge,
so you have to follow my advice." I could see him looking at me
in the dim light, taking in what I said. "I hope you have some
friends of your own age you can practice on".

"Y-yes", he replied, "I know some boys from school what I can
practice on".

"Good boy. Make sure you ask them how they like it, and what
makes them feel good, use you hands a lot and get your tongue
involved, and I'm sure you will improve. I think you should hop
off to bed now." Peter extracted himself from my arms and crept
off to his room. I fell asleep, dreamlessly, almost immediately.

* * *

I had no more night visitors, probably just as well. I guess I
sorta felt that letting a boy pleasure me in return for using my
influence on Sunday afternoon - an influence I now knew to be
non-existent - seemed grossly unfair. I think I missed Jamie and
Jesse as well. I also felt that any serious messing about with
these Contestants would feel like a betrayal of Jamie and Jesse.
I smiled as I thought of the two of them. They were such giving
boys, so generous with their smiles and hugs and laughter. They
allowed me to hold their hands, one boy either side of me, as we
walked down to the corner grocery store after school to buy
ice-creams. They let me wash them in the bathtub that they
shared, and dry their slippery bodies afterwards. They never
fought over whose turn it was to sit in my lap after dinner, but
somehow worked it out between themselves. They showed genuine
pleasure when I brought them gifts, even if the gift itself was
too young for them or out of fashion. At the end of each visit
they let me shower their faces with kisses (a custom which made
their father turn away in mild disgust - he thought a manly
handshake was sufficient).

* * *

Morning arrived with a pleasant surprise. I was in that
delicious limbo state between waking and sleep when I felt a
warm, wet tingling around the head of my penis. As I am not
exactly a virgin I knew right away what was happening. What did
surprise me was the cause of this delightful feeling. It was 29!
- that is, Peter. His oral technique had improved out of sight!
Even though I didn't want him to stop what he was doing, I
wanted to talk to the boy and find out the origins of his
newfound ability. I patted him on the head. As he looked up at
me, then released his lips from my member to crawl up the bed
next to me, I saw that he was nude.

"Hi Peter", I began.

"Hi Sir, good morning", he replied politely. I gave him a little
hug.

"It's a marvellous morning, and what a marvellous way to wake
up! Thank you, you were doing such a terrific job I didn't like
to stop you. Er, did you come here dressed - uh, undressed -
like that?"

"Sure, Sir, most of the other boys are nude too, so I felt kinda
silly to get dressed."

"Aren't you worried about...um, you know, the men from the
audience, they might..." Peter understood my concern and quickly
explained.

"Ain't no-one left here 'cept us boys and the Judges. Police
chief hunted all the men out last night after the beauty
contest. Told 'em they'd be barred for life from all future
Contests if'n he caught 'em sneakin' back in before the next
Section. It starts at 12 o'clock noon," he added helpfully.

"Well, that's a relief, I guess", I answered. "But now tell me,
I don't want to embarass you, but your...uh, oral technique this
morning was excellent. How did you get so good so fast?"

"It's okay, I ain't embarassed. My Mammy and Daddy reckon I was
born without a shame bone, and they think it's healthy. After I
left your room last night, I decided to follow yer advice, Sir.
The first boy I seen in the hallway was a boy from my school
that I knew. He was nude as well, so I just came right out and
asked him if'n he wanted me to blow him right then and there.
Well he just said "Sure" right off the bat, so I knelt down in
front of him and took holt of his little willie. I told him he
had to give me suggestions about how he liked it done an' all,
then I started to lick and suck that cute pecker of his. He was
moanin' and cussin' some, but he made a few good suggestions
too, like when I done something with my tongue he really liked.
Another boy was walkin' past and he just watched fer a minute
then got in line behind the boy I was blowin'. Pretty soon there
was about seven or eight in that line, and I done worked my way
through the whole lot of 'em!"

"Well, that's...er, very impressive, Peter. But wasn't it
uncomfortable on your knees all that time?"

"Oh, it weren't so bad, Sir. After I done made the third boy
cum, he went and brought back a cushion fer me ta kneel on, made
it right comfortable," the boy reminisced.

"That was thoughtful of him. Uh, did any of the boys, er, shoot
off in your mouth?", I asked, not really knowing why I did,
perhaps just my perverse curiosity.

"Only one, Sir, it was Johnnie the barkeeper's son. I didn't
mind, he's a really nice and friendly guy. All the rest're dry
like me." Peter's candid account of his nocturnal learning
experience had done nothing to reduce the stiffness of my member
- rather the opposite. I asked Peter, if his mouth was not too
tired, would he mind finishing off what he had begun earlier. He
smiled and went straight back to his labours. I felt that I
should reciprocate, but before I could make the offer, or show
the willing lad how to enjoy a 69, he brought me to a blinding
climax. I was still seeing stars as he cleaned up with his now
very talented tongue. When he had finished mopping up the
survivors, he grinned and skipped out of the room, yelling "Bye,
Sir" as he exited.

* * *

I dozed off again after my interview with Peter. When my stomach
grumbled an hour later I got out of bed. slipped on a pair of
boxer shorts and went in search of breakfast. It seemed I had
missed the group breakfast session in the basement kitchen of
the gym, so I helped myself to some toast and jam and a cup of
coffee with the remains.

At noon precisely I heard the fulltime siren from the basketball
court, summoning contestants and judges to the second Section of
the Contest. The main external gym doors had been opened to
admit a large group of spectators, and I saw many familiar faces
from the previous night.

When the men had settled into their seats in the bleachers, the
boys emerged from a side door. They were all dressed identically
in red speedos. I remembered from the bartender's story that
this was to be the Strength competition. The Principal made the
boys line up as though for the start of a soccer match, and
checked that all the boys had trimmed their fingernails for this
event. Three whiteboards were set up at the end of the court
with the Draw for this part of the Contest. I gathered that most
of the boys had come in earlier (while I was sleeping or
breakfasting) and checked up their matches, because there were
only two or three at the whiteboards finding out the order of
their opponents. From looking at the line of competitors, it
appeared that the eight and nine year olds, who had so enjoyed
the previous night, had mostly opted to sit the Strength
competition out by joining their dads and uncles in the
bleachers. Three large gym mats took up most of the basketball
court. I deduced that they were the sites of each Strength bout.

I saw Johnnie, and also Peter and Greg, as the boys formed into
pairs. Three pairs of boys competed at a time, one pair to each
mat, with the remaining eighteen boys waiting their turn at the
side of the court. The scene reminded me of movies that I had
seen of the gladiatorial arena, only without swords or animals.
As soon as a whistle sounded (courtesy of the Police Chief) I
realised that the Roman comparison was not very apt. Put
bluntly, it was hilarious! What I had not known was that the
speedos were rigged up with Velcro sides, so it was not
necessary to get the skinny little garment all the way down your
opponent's legs. One good rip and the red swimsuit came away in
your hands! The Velcro also reduced the chance of a garment
tearing, so the speedos were able to be used for a boy's
subsequent bouts.

I'm not sure what was so amusing about seeing a boy being
pantsed by another boy, but it was hysterically funny. Some of
the little blighters had obviously put a lot of thought into
their technique, or maybe they had remembered Contests from
earlier years, because some of their tactics were ingenious. One
lad circled his opponent in the usual manner, but then dropped
to the floor, lengthwise, and rolled towards him like a rolling
pin flattening out some pastry. His target was the shins of the
other boy, who if he was not alert would be bowled over and an
easy target for stripping. Another youngster, about the smallest
I had seen in this part of the competition, after the obligatory
circling, squatted down on his bottom and shot his legs out,
using his legs like scissors to trap the other boy. When he got
him, he twisted around and the other boy would fall to the
ground, and be stripped before he realised what had happened.

The taller boys used their longer reach to effect their victory.
One boy, quite a muscular lad, picked Johnnie up at the waist
and threw him onto his shoulder like a sack of flour. With his
free hand, he reached up to the waistband of Johnie's speedos
and tore them off with a flourish, waving them around his head
to the cheers and applause of the crowd. For a finale, he did a
tiny lap of the 4 metre square gym mat, showing Johnnie's now
bared bottom to the delighted spectators. Even Johnnie was
laughing.

The realtor kept account of the result of each bout on the
whiteboard. With three bouts being contested simultaneously, it
didn't take long before every boy had been matched up with every
other one of the eighteen boys, maybe an hour and a half. Each
bout only ran for a minute or so. The only undefeated boy in the
end was the lad who had hefted Johnnie up onto his shoulder.
Gilbert was his name. He had used that method successfully for
the entire match. His reward was to be attacked and stripped (in
a good-natured way) by the remaining 17 boys, then held aloft on
their hands like a crowd-surfer. I noticed a couple of scraggly
hairs around Gilbert's member and a few more in his armpits
which made me realise that it must be his last year in the
Contest. He was going out in style, though. The Police Chief
thanked the audience for their support, and invited them back at
6 p.m. for the third Section before showing them to the doors.

* * *

I spent the remains of the afternoon trying to think up one or
more good Tasks to contribute to the third Section of the
Contest. The barkeeper had told me it was quite highly regarded
by all when a Judge devised a novel Task. I didn't even know how
many boys would compete in the third Section, so I was unsure
how many Tasks each Judge would be expected to contribute. I
decided to go looking for advice.

I wandered the gymnasium, passing the occasional naked or
scantily clad boy, until I found the room where the other three
judges were already preparing for the evening's entertainment. I
was quite miffed. Choosing a chair alongside the Principal, I
came straight to the point and asked him why no-one called on me
to help with the Tasks.

"Well, sorry about that, but there was no need, really. From the
last couple hundred years we have a wealth of Tasks that have
been used in previous Contests. They're all recorded in this
journal, that's kept in a safe at the Police Station. All we
have to do is pick out a few dozen and write them out and
envelope them, really it's a one-person job. They (here he
nodded his head towards the Chief and the Realtor) chose me
because I have the neatest handwriting." The Principal continued
writing out sentences from the leather bound ledger that I
gathered was the Journal he mentioned.

"What if I come up with a New Task?", I asked, trying not to
sound as petulant as I felt.

The room fell instantly silent. The Principal stopped writing
and looked at me in surprise. The Chief looked around, and the
Realtor also stopped talking and looked over at me. The three of
them waited for me to continue.

"Well, last night and this morning I was kinda thinking, since
the contest has been going so long, most of the Tasks might be
getting a bit old fashioned. Maybe they need modernising a bit,
you know, brought up-to-date. These are the ones I came up with,
tell me what you think:

1. Using a mobile phone, the boy has to text an SMS message to a
Judge but using only his unaided penis to spell out the letters.
He is, of course, allowed to make himself stiff first, otherwise
it would be very difficult;

2. The boy has to do a yo-yo trick with the string tied to his
penis;

3. Using his penis (which should be stiff) the boy has to
catapult a jellybaby into a Judge's mouth. He gets three
attempts and the Judge can't move his head to help or hinder.

There was a moment's pause when I finished, before the room
erupted in laughter. The Police Chief had tears running down his
cheeks, he was so amused. The Realtor clutched at his stomach
and held onto the table for support. The Principal leaned back
in his chair roaring with laughter. I was a little bemused
myself - I didn't think my suggestions were all that great.

After the three men calmed down, they all slapped me on the
back. "Those are definitely going into the envelopes for
tonight", the Chief assured me.

"I hope Johnnie gets the jellybaby one," the Principal was still
chuckling. "I can't wait to see his stiff dickie launch a lolly
into space, heh heh. May I suggest a modification, though? I
think it would be fairer to simply land the jellybaby onto the
Judge's body somewhere - like his chest, for instance. Will you
accept?", he enquired.

"Sure, sounds like it makes my idea better, and gives the boy
more chance of success", I replied.

We ended up enveloping forty Tasks, even thought the other
Judges commented that the Skill tournament does not usually
attract every competitor. Better to have too many than too few.

"What if a boy fails in his Task, does his name still go into
the hat for that event?" I asked of the whole room.

"Sure, why not", the Chief replied.

"But the boys don't know that. Keeps 'em tryin' hard", added the
Realtor.

* * *

At 6 p.m. the now-familiar siren sounded. I had spent the last
two hours lying on my bed, thinking about Jamie and Jesse. Had
they lived in this Town, they maybe would have entered the
contest. Jamie was now a little over 11, Jesse 18 months
younger. I imagined how they might have presented themselves in
the swimsuit contest; how they might have fared in the Strength
section. I pictured them fooling around with the other boys in
the gym during the night. I rose out of bed almost reluctantly
and made my way to the basketball court.

The gym mats had been cleared away. In their place stood a table
with a porcelain vase on it. I guessed that the envelopes with
the Tasks were contained within it. On the opposite side of the
court to the bleachers (which were nearly full) were four lounge
chairs for the Judges, three of them already occupied by my
confreres. Only twenty-five of the total forty-four contestants
opted to compete in the Skill tournament. As there were four
judges, up to four Tasks could be under way at the one time. As
soon as a boy saw that the judge he favoured was unoccupied, he
walked up to the vase and drew an envelope. The enthusiastic and
supportive crowd had to deduce what was in the envelope from
what the boy did.

I felt quite honoured that by the time the tournament finished
two hours later, no fewer than ten boys, including Johnnie,
Peter, and the two brothers who did the double act with the
cutout paper tongues and penises in the Beauty contest (their
names turned out to be Tommy and Terry) had selected me to Judge
their Task. The Principal only had seven takers (not that I was
counting!) and the Police Chief and Realtor split the remaining
eight between them.

The Skill tournament, overall, was nothing less than a visual
feast. Most of the Tasks required the boys to have erections, so
half the fun was in watching the boy stimulate himself to that
state. A boy I could not recall seeing earlier, Glen, having
chosen me as his Judge, logically felt he should ask me to bring
him to an aroused state so he could complete his Task. After
conferring with the Principal, I reluctantly told him that he
should ask another boy to do it for him, to ensure my
impartiality. I don't know how I kept a straight face when I
told him, but I managed it. Glen was particularly handsome, in a
fragile way: he was thin as a rail, and wore his hair short in
front and long at the back. He had the longest foreskin of any
boy I saw at the Contest. I felt a tug at my heartstrings,
because my Jesse and Jamie also have very long foreskins. Glen's
extra skin didn't affect his ability to send me an SMS message
with his mobile phone: LUV U SIR ME WIN.

A boy named Francis drew the jellybean-flipping Challenge, and
chose me as his Judge. Honestly I couldn't stop laughing when I
saw him try to launch the little sweet with his stiff little
pecker. First he tried holding the jellybaby on his tool
crosswise, pushing his dick down ready for blastoff, but when he
let it go, it simply spiralled off to the side, hitting an
adjacent competitor on the shoulder. That boy promptly picked up
the misguided jellybaby and poppped it in his mouth. The crowd
went wild with laughter. For his second try, he laid the
jellybaby lengthwise along his skinny dong. He pushed his stiffy
down and then released it, and the jellybaby flew backwards and
hit his own face! I became hysterical, as did the other judges
and most of the crowd. For a few seconds I couldn't even
breathe, I was laughiung so hard. Even some of the other
competitors were holding their sides with laughter. Francis was
not put off by this - we were not laughing AT him, after all, we
were laughing ALONGSIDE him. What a hoot. For his final attempt,
Francis took matters into his own hands, so to speak. He walked
up to my chair and climbed up on it, kneeling on the armrests.
In this position, his loins were only half a foot from my face.

"There's nothing in the rules says I can't get up close, is
there?", Francis  declared. Everyone was still laughing too hard
to give him a sensible answer, so Francis stretched his last
jellybaby until it was almost a rope, and wrapped it around his
stiffy, which I must admit remained firm throughout. I opened my
mouth wide, daring Francis to aim for it. The crowd urged him
on. "Mouth! Mouth!" they yelled in unison. Even the other two
Competitors paused their Tasks to watch the outcome. When
Francis pushed his hardon down and launched the stretched
jellybaby, it hit my nose and dropped into my mouth; the crowd
went berserk. I don't know what the Chief told them earlier, but
they stayed in their seats, otherwise I suspect they might have
rushed Francis and carried him off the court like a winning
quarterback. It took two and a half minutes for the screaming to
subside, and when it did, the Chief stood up and announced to
the audience that it was I who had devised that particular Task.
They yelled again, clapping and cheering. I felt as proud as if
I had won Olympic Gold.

Compared to that, you might think the rest of the Skill
tournament was an anticlimax. Not so. The boys all tried
valiantly in whatever Task they drew from the vase, in spite of
the raucous laughter all around them. The Realtor made a show of
keeping track of the Contestants' efforts on his whiteboards.
The end came too soon for me, but in another way I was relieved,
because my ribs ached from laughing and my stomach muscles hurt
as well. Two boys (Ralph and Glen) escorted me back to my room,
undressed me and departed.

* * *

Sunday marked the end of the Contest weekend, and also of my
sojourn in the Town. I rose a little earlier than previously so
that I could have breakfast with the boys. It was a delight to
see that almost all of them had discarded their modesty along
with their pyjamas. Many of them sported morning wood, a few
fingering their tools absently while they poured cornflakes into
bowls and buttered their slices of toast. The only other judge
awake at this time was the Principal, who had the advantage of
knowing every boy by name. He moved around the breakfast room,
chatting with each boy, giving them a few words of
encouragement. "That's how I'd like to be with Jamie and Jesse",
I thought. "Completely at home with them, nude or not".

I tore myself away from the breakfast room and had a quick
shower. I was quite looking forward to the final section of the
Contest, the Talent quest. A few boys had already hinted to me
that I should listen especially for them when they compete, so I
guessed I might be the lucky recipient of one or more
Dedications.

It was only a short walk from the gym's communal shower to my
room, so I didn't bother to dress, or even drape my towel around
me. Before I reached my door a nude Greg, the boy who had kissed
my hand, met me coming from the opposite direction. He took me
by the arm and led me away from my doorway, towards his room.

Greg closed the door behind us and wrapped his arms around my
waist, looking up at my face. I'm not very tall, but Greg only
came up to my shoulders.

"I wish I'd done more than kiss your hand the other night", he
whispered, as I felt my penis lengthening.

"You can make up for it now if you like," I suggested hopefully.

"Come over to the bed", Greg ordered. "This is a little farewell
gift from our Town. My Daddy is the crowd, and he said I could
pick out whichever Judge I liked and thank him for his services.
And I like you."

I have never had such an erotic invitation from anyone before in
my life, so I allowed Greg to pull me towards the bed. After I
lay down in the normal orientation, Greg reversed and I quickly
caught on. We sucked on each other in the most mellow and tender
coupling I can recall, made all the more remarkable because Greg
was only ten years old. This was his third Contest, and after
swallowing my seed he said that his only regret was going to be
growing up and being ineligible in two years' time.

"You are always eligible to compete in the game of Love", I
counselled him, and he gave a small smile at my trite advice.
"You've got the necessary sporting equipment" - here I gave his
little penis and balls a light squeeze - "and you know the rules
pretty well". I rose from his bed and bade him farewell.

* * *

At ten o'clock the siren sounded for the final time on a truly
memorable weekend. I was already dressed, so I strode out the
door to the basketball arena. To my surprise, there was no
audience this time. "The boys prefer it like this," the
Principal told me when I asked. "This Section in a way belongs
to them alone."

The boys chose casual dress for this event, most wearing shoes,
slacks and open necked shirts. They all looked quite handsome to
me, the more so because I had seen almost all of them nude or
scantily clad.

The boys had decided among themselves the order of performance.
The Principal volunteered to accompany any on the piano that
required it. Johnnie, as last year's winner, had the honour of
leading off, and he recited "Shall I compare thee to a summer's
day" by Shakespeare. He prefaced his recitation with a few
words: "To my Dad, who is not here, and to his Friend, who is".
The other three judges all looked straight at me, a tinge of
jealousy in their eyes. They all knew who had selected me for
Judge. Johnnie was word-perfect, and received sincere applause
from both Judges and boys.

Next up was Greg, who had sucked my brains out only two hours
earlier. He sang one of my favourite arias (how could he have
known?) "Ombra mai fu" from Handel's opera Serse. Sometimes
called "Handel's Largo", he gave an inspired performance, and I
was in tears by the last notes, not least because he dedicated
his song "To a man I knew only briefly, but very well". Lucky
for me the other Judges did not look my way again or I might
have hidden under the table.

I heard the remaining songs and poems, but did not see the
performers very well because my eyes kept filling with tears.
Why didn't the boys want their fathers and uncles to see this, I
wondered. I wished I had a videocamera, so I could record these
performances for the lonely nights to come. Every one of the
boys showed his gentler, softer side. Some boys were hugged by
other boys after their performances. The whole stadium was
charged with an emotion seldom felt by males: tenderness.

At the end, the boys simply filed out and returned to their
rooms to pack. We Judges were left alone to pretend that we were
deliberating about a winner. Instead we were reminiscing about
the funny and touching moments that were strewn all over the
weekend.

"Time to get on with it", the Realtor brought us back to earth
with a thud. "I've got all the tiles laid out on the table,
would you each like to check that the boys' names appear as
often as they appeared in the Contest."

I wandered over to the table, now a bit reluctant to let the
weekend end. I gave the tiles a cursory glance. There were six
boys who had competed in every Section, so they each had four
tiles with their names on them. I recognised Johnnie's name, and
Gilbert, winner of the Strength Section. Peter was there too, I
guess he figured he should go in everything to make up for those
past missed years. I smiled when I saw Greg's name, the boy who
kissed my hand and touched my heart. The two other names were of
boys I had not encountered.

After all four Judges had scrutinised the tiles, the Principal
tipped them into the vase we had used last night for the Task
envelopes. He put the lid on and gave the vase a noisy shake. He
offered it to each of the three remaining Judges to shake if
they wished. The Police Chief gave it a token rattle, then took
off the lid. Rolling up one sleeve, he turned his head away and
reached into the jar with his bare arm.

"Are we all willing to accept whatever name comes out as the
winner?", the Chief asked the three of us, reminding us of the
Contest Rules. We all nodded, and he withdrew the tile with the
lucky winner's name on it. He held it aloft, and all of us could
clearly see the name "Gilbert" on it.

"Very fitting", the Principal remarked. "It's always a relief to
have a Section winner come out as the overall winner. Makes the
boys try harder next year".

"What happens now?" I asked, being the most inexperienced Judge
present.

"Well, the boys are due back in here in-" he paused to check his
wristwatch "ten minutes. I announce the Winner, he makes a short
acceptance speech, the other boys give him congratulations, then
the boys all go home. Their fathers and uncles are waiting for
them in the car park".

"There's one thing I've been wondering," I began, addressing no
Judge in particular. "Are there any women in this Town? And what
are they all doing this weekend?"

The Police Chief replied for his brother Judges. "Sure there's
women - someone's got to be havin' the babies, after all. But
about thirty five years ago, the Judges at that time modified
the Rules so that only boys who had no mothers could compete.
All these boys come from homes that are broken by divorce, death
or other maternal absence. We publicise the Contest as a
'Father-Son Bonding Weekend' for boys whose family life has been
disrupted. That way we keep out the nosy do-gooder women who
wouldn't be sympathetic to the exact practices that are the
essential nature of our Contest".

It was the longest speech I had heard the taciturn Chief give.
But his answer generated even more questions.

"What about boys who have single mothers as, er, mothers?" I
replied.

"That's what the Good Lord made Uncles for, sonny", the Chief
returned.

"But what if a boy learned about the Contest, say from his
friends, and he wanted to go in it, but his family is intact?" I
persisted.

"You know, our Town's Travel Agency gets mighty busy this time
of year. I should know, my niece runs it. Seems like a lot of
women go on trips to visit their folks interstate right about
now. Fine travellin' weather", the Chief concluded, sounding as
if he had answered enough questions. He was in the business of
asking questions, after all, not answering them.

I smiled in recognition of his friendly duplicity. A knock at
the inner doors heralded the return of the boys, carrying their
weekend bags. They took their places on the bleachers, and at
the announcement of the winner all forty of them cheered long
and sincerely for Gilbert. The little strongman clamboured down
from his seat and accepted the Principal's handshake
(representing all of us Judges). He turned to his fellow
Contestants and cleared his throat. The boys fell silent.

"I reckon I'm the luckiest boy in Town right about now", he
began. "This was my last chance at the Contest, an' even though
I won, I want you guys who are younger'n me to know that I think
you're luckier'n me 'cause you can go in the Contest again next
year. To you boys who're the same age as me, well, this was our
last Contest, but let me tell you, I reckon now we're friends
for life. I mean it. I guess the only thing'll make me happier
than I am right now is when I bring my own son, or nephew, along
to a Contest some time in the future. I hope I'll see some of
you guys there too." Gilbert dropped his head in a sort of bow
as the boys cheered him again.

I was very emotional as the boys filed out of the double doors
into the car park to meet their dads or uncles. A couple of the
boys stopped off on their way out to give me a chaste hug or a
peck on the cheek. I was wiping my eyes for about the fiftieth
time that weekend when I saw that the last boy left in the gym
was Johnnie. I felt immediately sorry that he did not retain his
title, but he did't look at all sad to me.

"Dad said I've got time to say goodbye to you", Johnnie began.
He held out his hand for what I thought would be a handshake,
but when I reached out with mine he grasped it and pulled me
towards the inner gym doors. I let him drag me along to the
first vacant room we encountered along the hallway. Johnnie
closed the door behind us after we entered, making the room
darker. The room was sparsely furnished, I could only make out a
bed, table and a chair. Johnnie pushed me against the wall next
to the door and wrapped his arms loosely around my waist, his
hands clasped behind my back. His chest pressed against my lower
sternum. I didn't know what to do with my hands so I just draped
them on his shoulders. He looked up at my face.

"Dad told me about your two cousins", Johnnie started.

"Uh, second cousins", I corrected him gently, looking down into
his eyes.

"Whatever. He told me that you love being with them and miss
them a lot", the boy continued in a soft voice.

"Well, yeah, but things haven't been working out for us lately",
I lamely replied.

Johnnie wriggled a bit closer to me (if that was possible) and
whispered "I've got my sequinned bathers on - wanna feel 'em
again?". Sure I wanted to feel them again. It would give me
something useful to do with my hands. I reached down Johnnie's
back to the waistband of his tracksuit. One hand pulled the
material outward while the other reached inside to grasp the top
of Johnnie's sequin-spangled briefs. Some of the sequins had
fallen off, so I was able to feel the material onto which they
had been sewn. It felt slippery, like silk.

"You can reach in if you want", Johnnie breathed.

"Uh, o-okay," I stammered. I pushed the hand that had been
feeling the material downwards into the deeper darkness between
bottom cheeks and briefs. My hand settled on Johnnie's right
cheek and I suddenly remembered a joke I heard a thousand years
ago about an English guy who was asked by his Yankee date to
reach down the back of her dress to retrieve an earring that had
come off while they were dancing. Anyway, the guy was embarassed
to be groping his dance partner's derriere in public, so he says
"I feel a perfect ass". She says "Never mind the compliments,
just get the earring". It's funny how stupid crap like that pops
into your mind at the most inopportune time.

Johnnie dropped his head onto my chest as I slowly rotated my
hand on his right cheek. I crossed the Great Divide and moved on
to his left cheek, giving it the same treatment. Johnnie was
purring on my chest. My chin lightly rested on his head. I was
starting to relax and enjoy what I was doing. Johnnie's arms
tightened on me a little, as he whispered "Go in between".
Needing no more encouragement, I repositioned my hand at the top
of his bottom crack and began to plunge my middle finger
downward along his crevasse. Right about where I expected my
fingertip to encounter a warm moist pucker, I found instead a
piece of hard rubber.

"What's this?" I whispered urgently, even thought the nearest
other person who might have heard me was three walls and sixty
metres away.

"That's my little friend. It's your placeholder," Johnnie
giggled. "I've been wearing it all weekend, hoping you might
come on to me. I gave you plenty of signals and hints and you
ignored every one. Are you shy or something?"

"Uh, I guess, I think the boy has to make the first move", I
mumbled weakly, wondering why Johnnie was wearing a dildo.

"Well, I've used up all my first moves. Now I'm hoping you'll
make your move", Johnnie asserted. He let go of my waist and
undid the cord of his tracksuit. It dropped to his ankles. He
pulled the sequinned briefs down to his knees, whereupon they
fell the rest of the way to join his tracksuit. Johnnie waddled
a couple of steps to the table and bent over it. I followed,
groping a little in the almost pitch darkness.

"Pull my little friend out and replace it", Johnnie urged. "Greg
told me yours is a nice one. I want to find out if you will make
a good partner for those cousins of yours, or whether I should
keep you here for myself".

"Uh, second cousins", I gasped, as I pushed my impossibly hard
member into the hole from which I had just removed a four inch
dildo. Johnnie braced his hands on the table as I pushed into
him from behind. I held his hips at first while I got a slow but
even rhythm going. We were both panting, mine more of a gasp,
Johnnie's more like a moan. After about twenty strokes I found
myself fully lodged inside him. I stoppped pumping and bent over
to whisper into his ear.

"Tell me how you like it, Johnnie", I breathed, slowly grazing
my hands around his hips to converge on his genitals. My left
hand grasped his testicles, my right took his rod. It was
comparable in size to the rubber toy I removed from his anus.

"Push and rub at the same time, Sir. And..." Johnnie paused. I
sensed he was about to ask me something extremely private and
personal. "...tell me nice things while you do me...please?"

I smiled in the darkness. Keeping my mouth to Johnnie's ear
while bending over him and pleasuring his bottom was going to
give my back hell, but I could live with the pain.

"Your bottom is so hot and tight, my darling", I whispered,
honouring his most profoundly expressed request. "Your stiffie
in my hand feels like it's alive, a squirming snake, a tasty hot
dog, a lever for a passion engine. Your balls feels like sweet
plums, soft yet firm, ripe, ready for sucking the sweet juice.
You are giving me your bum for my pleasure, my generous darling
loverboy. I can feel your muscles squeeze on my dick as I plough
it into your innermost being, the place where you are your most
real self, where you alone let your lover enter, let your lover
drill you, let him fuck you and handle you, holding your boyhood
in his hands, holding your jewels..."

It gets a bit too embarassing to record beyond that, but you get
the idea. Johnnie was well pleased with my efforts, he didn't
even mind me nipping his neck and earlobe a little as I got
close to climaxing. He squirted a little juice in my hand after
I shot off in his bottom. For a minute after, I couldn't
straighten my back, but eventually the old vertebrae clunked
into position and I was able to stand upright. Johnnie swivelled
in place and rewarded my hard work with a long and deep kiss.
The dildo went into his pocket, after he pulled up his briefs
and tracksuit pants. We left the room and headed for the double
doors.

Even though Gilbert won the Contest, I think I got first prize.

* * *

The last thing Johnnie said to me as we walked to the car park
was "Do the right thing by your second cousins, the two boys."

"How do I know what the right thing is?", I countered, feeling a
bit weird to be asking advice of a nearly-twelve-year-old.

"Do what your heart tells you. That's what I always do." He
smiled as he jumped into the passenger seat of his father's
jeep. I waved at his Dad, and they both waved back as the
vehicle swung around and headed for the road.

* * *

Which explains why I am lying in the long grass at the side of
the sports field of St Vomitus Academy at six thirty in the
morning three days later.
My back has recovered from its exertions with Johnnie, and I
have driven to Jesse and Jamie's place of incarceration. I
recalled that the boys told me that they always went for a walk
around the school perimeter before breakfast. Apparently a few
of the other boys did likewise. The theory was that after their
walk they were so hungry they were even able to eat the food the
kitchen served.

I watched from my concealment as boys walked by, singly or in
pairs, thinking of a million ways in which my plan was certain
to backfire. Maybe the boys didn't go for morning walks any
more. Maybe they would refuse to leave with me. Maybe they had
already been handed over to one or other of the relatives who
were haggling over them and wasting the Court's time. Too late
to think of more flaws, here they were!

"Psst!" The boys stopped. I detected an extreme wariness in
them, as though they were ready to run.

"Psst. Over here, Jamie, Jesse!", I whispered. Another couple of
boys were only forty metres away and closing fast. Luckily they
had their heads down. Probably contemplating the breakfast menu.

"Hey!", Jamie called as he grabbed his brother's arm. "It's
Uncle! What are you doing in the grass, Uncle?"

"Be quiet boys, and get over here fast", I urged, still prone,
only my head up.

Jamie looked behind him to the two downcast walkers, who were
now only thirty metres away, then dived for the ground alongside
me, pulling Jesse with him. The three of us wriggled backwards,
keeping low so as not to be seen, until we reached the shelter
of some shrubbery. As soon as we were able to stand without
revealing our position, the boys flung themselves on me in a
double hug. Little Jesse looked up at me with his big eyes and
asked "Have you come to rescue us? I hate it here. I wish I was
dead." Jamie looked as though he was about to chide Jesse for
being a baby, but he checked himself before repeating his
younger brother's question. "We both hate it here, Uncle," he
confessed sadly. It nearly broke my heart.

I have lost count of the number of times I have asked the two
boys to call me by my given name, but their late Father (may the
flames surrounding him never be quenched) told them I was to be
referred to as "Uncle", and old habits die hard. I guess I'm
used to it now.

"Boys, if you can survive just a few more hours, I have a plan
that will spring you both out of here and let you live with me
forever," I declared bravely, with more confidence than I felt.
The boys' eyes widened as they stared in shock at each other
before rushing me again with the double hug. It took them a
while to let go this time, giving me plenty of time to explain
the parts of the plan that were pertinent to them before they
were expected to show up for breakfast.

* * *

>From page seven of the local newspaper, dated two days later:

"No sign has yet been found of the bodies of two young boys,
pupils at St Veritas Academy, whose clothing was found beside a
notoriously treacherous bend of the Savage River, two kilometres
from the school grounds. Police confirm that the two boys were
brothers, orphans whose parents died tragically some months ago.
Police also confirm that the older boy left a note pinned to his
pillow, but will not confirm that it is a suicide note. The
search for the two boys is now concentrated on the downstream
reaches of the fast-flowing river. A family spokesman denied
that the boys were unhappy at the school, however it is
understood that there was an ongoing custody battle in the Court
over guardianship of the brothers. A source within St Veritas
Academy, who did not wish to be identified, confirmed to this
newspaper that all the belongings of both boys were found
intact, suggesting that they were not runaways. Schoolfriends of
the boys described them yesterday as friendly but quiet, and
very protective of each other. More details to follow as they
come to hand."

* * *

"So, Jamie, how's it feel to be dead?", I asked, ruffling his
wet hair with the motel towel. Jesse stood patiently alongside,
waiting his turn to be dried.

"Pretty cool, Uncle. Do you think the Police will really stop
looking for us  soon?", the naked dripping boy replied. The
three of us had exited the tiny motel bathroom; I knelt in front
of the two boys in the main room of the apartment trying to
complete the chore.

"Even if they do keep looking, they'll be looking for two
bodies, not two real live squirmy skinny boys like I see before
me." Jamie giggled as I tickled his waist a bit before returning
to drying his hair.

"Uncle", Jamie started. I paused in my drying duty. "I love
you".

"Why thank you Jamie," I returned. "I guess I'm pretty darn fond
of you too", I managed to enunciate before I choked up a bit.

"I love you too, Uncle", piped up Jesse, waiting patiently
alongside.

"Thank you, Jesse. I'll be with you soon", I answered my younger
boy's declaration.

I had only gotten as far as Jamie's armpits with the towel when
he began to speak again. "Can you give me a kiss, Uncle, like
the one you gave me on my birthday?" Darn kids, they'll do
anything to prolong the towelling.

"On your birthday? You can remember that kiss, what, ten month
ago?". Jamie nodded vigorously. "Okay. Let me get most of the
water off your brother first before we have a flood in here". I
switched to the younger boy and towelled most of the surface
moisture off him before returning to Jamie.

"Are you sure, Jamie? That was a pretty special kiss, you know",
I cautioned. He nodded again, holding his arms out for me to hug
him. As I was on my knees, our faces were about level. I
remembered giving him a French kiss on his birthday and was
terrified for weeks afterwards that he would inadvertently blab
about it to his mother of father.

"Can I have a special kiss too Uncle, after Jamie", Jesse
pleaded, as my lips mashed onto his older brother's. I sucked
Jamie's tongue out of his mouth and swirled it around in mine
before invading his mouth with my own tongue. I sensed Jesse was
getting a bit restless so I released Jamie's lips and held my
arms open for Jesse to throw himself, still damp, into them.

"Okay, Jesse, here goes" I declared before locking lips with
him. I couldn't recall whether I'd given him a kiss like this on
his ninth birthday four months ago, but he quickly got into the
swing of it, duelling his tongue with mine and clutching my
shoulders tightly with his little hands.

"Uncle", Jamie interrupted. I broke my kiss with Jesse to take a
breath and listen to Jamie. "Can you show me how to check under
my foreskin like you did before? I forgot how to do it."

Jamie's face radiated innocence, but his smile betrayed his real
intentions. I challenged him on it.

"So, you forgot, eh? After all the time and trouble I took
practicing with you so you would remember", I chided him. He
could only giggle in reply. "Okay, up onto the bed and spread
those legs. And remember what I told you about getting
stiffies".

"I remember, Uncle," Jamie replied earnestly. "You told us that
stiffies were normal and good and not to be ashamed of, and I
can get one any time I want", Jamie answered as he clambered up
onto the motel's double bed to lie on his back, displaying his
breathtaking ten-and-three-quarter year old body for me.

"Can you check my foreskin next after Jamie's, Uncle? I got a
stiffie already," Jesse proclaimed, pushing his hips towards me.
Even with his two inch erection, Jesse had a surplus half inch
of foreskin hanging loosely off the tip of his horizontal organ.
I conceded defeat.

"Okay, both of you, up here", I ordered. "Might as well do both
jobs in one go." The two boys had positioned themselves on the
bed so that I could kneel between them and reach their little
tools easily. I used one hand on each boy to roll the surplus
skin down their phalluses, revealing the dark pink crowns of
their glans (glanses?) beneath. They smiled at me as I
manipulated the ample skin. Jamie shut his eyes, Jesse licked
his lips as both boys gave themselves over to pure pleasure. I
realised that this was no mere inspection, it was a reprise of
what Johnnie had told me - the boys had made it clear that they
wanted me to pleasure them, and I should stop prevaricating and
get on with it.

"Boys," I began, "I think now would be a good time to talk to
you about our future." I continued my stroking of their penises,
all pretense of 'checking' now discarded. "I know a Town where
the people are friendly, where there are lots of boys to play
with, where the police won't bother us, and where they have a
great Contest for boys every year. What do you think of that?"

Jamie and Jesse both looked at me. "I think you should follow
you heart, Uncle" Jamie said. He looked at his brother for a
moment of unspoken support. "We will go with you anywhere".

End

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