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Related article: Date: Tue, 12 Jul 2005 00:16:12 -0400
Subject: The Chronicles of DamienYou thought it was over, didn't you?This is, in fact, a continuation of the story Between Us, the last
installment of which I wrote MONTHS ago (May tight young cunts
2), with rather mixed feedback.
Rather. Some people wrote to me saying "BOOO! YOU SUCK!!" Others wrote in
tears, saying that the sad ending was good. Still others were grateful that
I didn't pack it with sex. Cool.But I'd advise you to read Between Us before reading this. You kinda need to
know the background on Sly and his life before now. And for those of you who
think that the sad ending was a better way to finish the series, stop
reading here. But Sly's life continues, as you will see, and if you want to
delve deeper into the mind of our favorite twelve-year-old love interest,
keep reading. I got some young cheerleader
very nice e-mails, and I want to thank the fans who
were kind enough to send a message. But keep reading, boys! Things are just
getting started.Remember, it's WriterAtWork849msn.comAnd here is the very beginning of The Chronicles of Damien.************************************************************************I walked to school in the light breeze of spring, cool but not xxx young lollitas
getting closer to summer. Northern Ontario, April. The end of winter. nude young prettens
snow was still melting, a little, but overall, there was green all around.
The trees young cum suckers
were even starting to bud. It was a great time of year, and a
great day. It's too bad that one must suffer through school on days like
My name is Damien. Smarter than average kid, I think. I was really the only
kid in my class with more A's than B's. In fact, I was pretty much the only
kid with more B's than C's, which I found truly pathetic. But then again,
you can't expect everyone to understand grade seven mathematics.
I was thirteen years old. Older than many of my classmates; most of them
were twelve. But I'd been born early in gallerie young
the year. I found myself to be that
guy that everyone asked questions to. The guy that knew the answer to
everything. I've been beaten up, too, but that's just an occupational
hazard. Fact is, I've always loved who I am. Of course, who I was then is
very different than who I am now.
Thanks to the events of that warm spring day in April.
I ploughed through a small pile of snow and saw the street sign: Alchester
Road. My school's street. Finally! I thought; my foot had been killing free younger sex
that morning, thanks to yesterday's quality young nudes
soccer mishap. I don't play soccer.
Well, not usually. I had picked the previous day to give it a try. I gave up
when my foot made harsh contact with a tree.
Wincing at the pain in my foot, I walked across the school's parking lot
and headed for the front doors. My limp must have been obvious, because I
got more jeers and laughs than usual. Whatever, I thought. The downside to
attracting more attention was that I couldn't really do my usual morning
scout for cute boys.
Yeah, I'm gay. I knew it then, too. Not to mention, thanks to my
"booksmarts" (wink wink) I knew much more than I should have about what gays
were, and what gays did. Sadly, I was still a virgin, in any form of the
word, but I was hoping that would change soon.
So I usually did my scout. Now, however, with everyone looking at me, it
was much harder to do without getting caught; already, young cheerleader
people were starting
to call me "Gaymien" which couldn't be good. So I passed on the scout this
morning and concentrated on getting to homeroom in one piece.
After a quick stop at my locker to throw out the rotten banana that someone
had pelted it with, I got to class and went to my usual seat at the front of
the left row. Everyone else, naturally, sat as far to the right as illegal free young
They'd only associate with me if they had to, or if they knew they could
extort answers from me. That wasn't a big deal; each time that happened, I'd
give them the wrong answer. Sure, I'd usually get punched for it, masturbating young girls
never bother me again about it.
Today, however, nobody came up to me to bug me. There were whispers, but
they weren't about me, I could tell. I couldn't make out much, but I could
swear that I heard one of the D-average idiots in the back row say something
about a "new kid".
My first reaction was: Thank God, maybe they'll pick on him instead of me.
That changed in a hurry when he walked into the classroom.
This kid was a total goth. Or, at least, he dressed like it. Black from
head to toe (with a fifties black leather jacket to top it off), and black
hair that was obviously dyed that color. His skin was pale, kind of
unnaturally pale, but I didn't think he was wearing any makeup. He sported
an ear stud (black, of course) and was carrying a black denim backpack.
This kid has serious issues, I thought.
He stood at the door for a few moments; the teacher tight young cunts
wasn't here yet, so he
had all the time he wanted. He scanned the room in the stunned silence,
figuring out where young babysitter
to sit. I looked around. There were three seats behind
me, and one near the back of the room in the middle row. Naturally, I
figured he'd sit in the middle row.
So imagine my shock when he chose the seat right behind mine.
He did. He walked around the desk to my right and found a seat directly
behind me. I did my best to hide my surprise, although I did turn around
curiously; the look on my face showed confusion, and through that disguise I
was able to check him out. He looked relatively well put-together, not big
muscle but not chubby either. Aside from all the black, which was a total
turn-off, he actually looked kind of cute.
It was at that point that our teacher walked in, drawing the students'
startled gaze away from the mysterious kid and his awkward seat choice. The
teacher, Mrs. Gamazaloniakapinski – or Mrs. Pinsky for short – was an old
woman... the guess among my classmates of her age was around 143. She had
her wispy grayish-white hair tied back in a tight bun, and from behind her
thin glasses she scanned the seats, making sure that everyone was present,
pausing only for a moment upon seeing the boy sitting behind me. "Oh yes,"
she said, "we have a new student in today." She muttered something under her
breath about the administration and the fact that it was almost the end of
the year, and then turned to write on the board. "Today, we'll be starting
on our end-of-year projects, class. Open up your books and copy this down."
The rest of class was note-taking, and I was writing so furiously that I
forgot all about the kid in black.
Until lunch.* nude young prettens
* * Lunch. That's what everyone else called it. I thought of it as
Run-Very-Fast-And-Hide-Or-Lose-Your-Lunch. I spent many a day without
anything to eat. But normally that was all right. Just being forced to be in
close proximity of those oafs in my class was enough for me to lose my
I'd managed to bolt out of the classroom before anyone else had packed up
their books (not easy, I'll assure you) and head for the nearest washroom. I
did what it took; I dodged around people with bags, headed through the back
hallways, ducked behind a garbage can, and snuck into the boys' room.
Breathing heavily, I snuck into the middle stall, sitting on the toilet
with my feet on the seat. I finally opened up the plastic bag that contained
my lunch; I had so many lunch boxes stolen that my parents decided not to
waste the money buying any more. I took out my sandwich, and was russion sex young
take the first bite...
The door to my stall swung open, and staring down at me was the face of
Bitch, one of the tougher girls at my school. She called herself Bitch out
of distaste for her own name; her real name was Celia, but she didn't like
that. Behind her was one of her cronies, Jack, and both had bored
expressions on their faces as one took my sandwich bag and the other shoved
my ass into the cold water young extreme porn
of the toilet.
Laughing, Bitch and Jack left, wolfing down my lunch. Me... well, I learned
a long time ago that if you get shoved into the toilet, the best course of
action is to go nowhere. Instead, you just get back up on the seat and wait.
I did that, and casually closed and locked the stall door. This kind of
thing was old news, but it gave me privacy. I rarely got any of that at this
So I started to think. I thought about my wet ass for a bit, but then my
mind drifted to the mysterious boy in my class that had... actually... sat
behind me. Wow. And he was cute, too. I could picture it... My hand
unconsciously moved down to the front of my pants as I fantasized about it.
But I tried to picture him without the black garb... I saw blond hair on
him, and without eye-shadow, his blue eyes would be more obvious. I imagined
what he would look like naked, what we would look like naked. Together.
I must have made some sort of noise because I heard the echo of a voice in
the bathroom, bouncing off the walls. Instantly I jerked my hand away from
my crotch and sat still. Finally, I realized that the door had opened and
some noise had wafted in from out in the hall. The door swung shut and I
remained sitting stiff as a board, hoping that whoever had come in would
leave without any incident. I heard the footsteps walk into the bathroom and
pause in front of the stalls. For a while, there was no sound, and after a
few more seconds, I just figured I imagined the footsteps.
Then, a lunch bag came sailing over the door of the stall. I caught it and
looked inside. It was my lunch... or what was left of it. boys naked young
returned my lunch to me... but who would have done that?
I quickly opened the stall door, and glanced around the wall, and for a
second I saw a flash of black clothing leaving the washroom. No, I thought,
it couldn't have been him.
But as I would soon find out...
If you haven't guessed who the mysterious Goth stranger is, then keep
reading the series. If you have... well, keep reading anyway. Remember, any
feedback can go to WriterAtWork849msn.com :)