The usual warnings: this is a story about preteens, don't read if under 18 or if you find the topic offensive. This is a work of fiction or is it? Report any sightings of the Gamakyr or suspicions of its presence immediately to J.O. at authorsix@hotmail.com
The Gamakyr
by J.O. Dickingson
Eddie curls up into a tight ball, trying to make himself as small as a five-year-old can. The blinds have been drawn closed in the hope that darkness will help him fall asleep despite his pleas to keep them open. They have also closed the door to his bedroom to keep out the noise from the living room, ignoring his frightened contention that it will also keep the noise in. Oh sure, they have checked under the bed and in the closets and have assured him there are no monsters, but they do not understand that the monster can change its size and shape. It can be anything a coat hanger, a shoe, even a toy truck.
So they leave him alone, in the dark, to wait for the monster. He knows it will come, as it always does. Eddie does not have to wait long. He feels the weight of it pressing down on the mattress. Tonight it must have hidden under the bed. He feels the mattress sink as it creeps silently toward him. Eddie clenches his eyes shut as he feels the monster slip under the bed sheets. In his mind he sees it oozing toward him as a snot-green pool of slime, jagged teeth grinning, eyeballs on stalks able to see him under the blanket in the pitch blackness.
The slime collects and forms a hand. It spreads open the opening of his p.j. bottoms. Eddie dares not move as the newly formed hand picks up his wee-wee between thumb and first two fingers and tugs on it. Five short little tugs, and then the thumb and two fingers slowly side up and down his little wee-wee, once, twice, three times. Five more tugs and three more rubs, over and over the cycle goes, just like last night and the night before than and the night before that one.
Eddie inhales nervously as he feels his wee-wee become hard. It is scarey what the monster is doing, but it feels good too, although this pleasure is unlike any other type of pleasure he has known. It is better than being tickled, or chocolate ice cream on a hot day, or the smell of a McDonald's cheeseburger. Eddie kicks off the sheets and whimpers with the ecstasy rippling through his body. When the hand stops, he jerks his hips to drive his wee-wee in and out of the monster's hand so the pleasure will continue.
Suddenly the door flies open. The monster flees into the shadows behind the bed and on up the wall and behind the curtains! The hallway light floods into the room and over the little boy with the little stiffie no bigger than his pinky finger sticking out of his p.j.'s.
"Not again," sighs the dad, but it is a funny sigh, almost as if he is glad.
Eyes still tightly closed, the boy says nothing.
"How many times have you been told it's bad?"
"But it's not me."
"Eddie!" the dad shouts, causing the son to leap. "Don't lie to me! We've been through this before."
"But honest," the son whispers, his upper lip trembling as tears begin to well up in his eyes. "It was the monster."
Sitting on the bed and taking the boy over his knee without a word, the dad draws back the p.j. bottoms and smacks the tender butt. The boy sobs, unable to explain. His little bum stings with pain, and the spank drives his hard little wee-wee against the dad's jeans, causing it to tingle and jerk with pleasure. As the spanking continues, he can feel Dad's wee-wee getting hard too. Pain and pleasure merge for father and son. Eddie does not understand what is happening, but it has happened before, and he hopes it will happen again tomorrow.
Satisfied that what it has started is unfolding the right way, the Gamakyr oozes through the screen of the open window and flows into the night. Quickly it spreads down the street. The night has begun, and it has much to do, and places to go. It keeps to the shadows as it checks each house, searching for the next boy, any boy.
Sam lays in his bed half awake and half asleep, floating in that drowsy twilight time when you are not sure if you are dreaming or if you can really hear the voices in the family room. It is that comfy, secure time after milk and cookies and being tucked in, when you think of the fun games you and your best buddy played today, and the games you will play tomorrow.
The familiar fingers slip into the opening of his pajamas and begin to fiddle with his thingie unnoticed. By the time he realizes the fingers have returned, his thingie is hard and sticking out of his pajamas. Sam stretches out and relaxes and smiles with the feeling. One part of his brain says he should open his eyes and see what is playing with his thingie, but the bigger, stronger part of his brain says to lie there and keep his eyes closed and just enjoy the pleasure. It is pleasure, a wonderful, exciting mysterious pleasure that is better than anything in the world.
Sam, floating in the fog of arousal, hears his door open and close. Actually, it is more a matter of being aware of it than hearing it, just as he is aware that the footsteps are those of his older brother, not anyone else.
"Hey, wank, you doing yourself again?" his brother asks as he sits on the bed.
Sam keeps his eyes closed. It is not really a question. It is a statement. He smiles. His brother has been calling him wank ever since the first time he had come in and found him laying on his bed, his thingie stiff and itchy and sticking up in the air. Of course he never called him that in front of anyone. It is their secret name.
"It wasn't me," Sam said sleepily.
"Yeah, right, I keep forgetting. It was the wank monster."
Sam giggles. His brother is twice his age, and smart.
"Well, I've got a monster too," his brother says and Sam hears his fly being pulled down. "You wanna play with my monster for a while?"
Sam reaches over and takes his private part in his hand. They have played this game before. He knows how to make his brother's thingie hard like his. He giggles as his brother takes his and begins to fiddle with it. Doing it together feels even better. It is their secret game.
The Gamakyr does not stay to watch. It knows what will happen and makes its escape out the window unnoticed. It continues down the street, staying in the shadows, avoiding the street lights. A man is walking his dog. He feels a stirring in his pants and an urge to pleasure himself as the Gamakyr passes and hurries down the street. There are too many young boys, too little time. So many young boys, so much young cock. . . .
One a.m. Twelve-year-old Brett dreams about the girls in his class, first one then another, and finally of Wendy who everyone knows is hot. They kiss and hug and he opens her blouse and she has huge boobs like those he has seen in Playboy. She slides down her jeans and panties but he has never seen a pussy and in his dream it is just a blur and then becomes a hot dog bun, but it is sticking out like a dick and he knows that is not right. Irritated that his mind can't continue the dream, he tosses in his sleep and it fades away. Then there is a bunch of the guys and they all have their dicks out and they all are calling, "fuck her, fuck her" and his friend George slips his pants down and bends over and says, "fuck me."
Brett knows what an arsehole looks like and in his dream he can see it plainly. He and George kneel on the ground and he sinks his dick up George's butt. In his dream he feels the hot, wet muscle of George's ass close in on his stiff dick. In his bed the Gamakyr has wraps about his wood bulging out his jockey briefs and squeezes and pulses. Brett sighs with pleasure and a smile passes over his ruby lips as he puddles in his underwear. The hot stickiness and the thrill of ejaculation waken him and vaguely he is aware of his wetness. He reaches down and touches the stickiness and brings it to his nose and sniffs it. It is a wonderful aroma, the aroma of life and sex. Brett thinks of his dream and wonders what it would really be like to butt-fuck George, and he drifts off to sleep with a contented smile and the hope of dreaming of George again.
The Gamakyr slips down the street as silent as the late night breeze. The smell of boy and young hot cock and fresh semen wafts through the air and in open windows. Slumbering youth breathe deeply and smile. Young cocks stir and spring to life.
Several houses away twelve-year-old Jimmy sleeps in the raw, sleeping the innocent sleep of youth, unaware of the shadow slipping through the shadows. The Gamakyr creeps up onto his bed and penetrates his mind. Jimmy dreams of tossing hoops with his best buddy, David, and working up a sweat. He dreams of them wrestling and trying to give each other boners, of talking about screwing and of wrestling each other to the ground and pretending to hump each other's butt.
The Gamakyr forms into a slender, twelve-year-old penis and pushes against the boy's virgin button. In his dream Jimmy opens to his best pal, his buddy, his lover. His body quivers as he feels his buddy enter him and begin to hump him. He works his asshole open and closed, groaning at the feel of the imaginary lover, groaning at the feel of the humping Gamakyr. His breath grows heavy and he squirms as he stains the sheets. The boy sighs as the pleasure and relief of the wet dream floods over him, but he does not awaken. He slumbers on and dreams of David and their love for each other.
The Gamakyr flees like the flood of the pubescent boy's wet dream, flowing over the sheets and out the house and into the streets. There are so many young boys to visit this night, so many young minds to touch, so much tender young cock to please, before the break of dawn. There are so many more flames to ignite before it can rest and renew itself for the next night. . . .