The Adventures of Stevie #57
These stories were told to me by friends and other people. Some of them
are true. Some of them are only partly true. Some of them should have
been true. LOL
My first post about Stevie ("Call me Stephen!") was when he was 12 and
in summer camp and was told by another camper. This was from a time
before computers would fit on a desk and when people communicated with
friends in other countries by actual letters sent through the postal
service. When children did this those friends were called "penpals".
Carlos is Stevie's penpal in Argentina and knows English. This is a
fictional contrivance to enable Stevie to tell us his stories because
he isn't here in person. I think.
All characters are fictitious, even if some of them might have names
that belong to some actual people, or act like people we know.
Stevie's school is for gifted children who don't fit in regular schools.
The stories may not be posted in chronological order.
Stevie is 12 in this story. It is Spring of year 2 of his special
school.
The Adventures of Stevie #57 "Rod Invitation"
Dear Carlos,
The last day of school, I asked Rod for a private conference. We went
into my usual room. I said "I want to help you with fighting practice.
Will you let me?" He said "You know about my test?" I said "I could see
from how you were after it, you didn't do as well as you hoped." He
said "I failed!" He looked like he was ready to cry. I said "That's
alright. We learn much more by failure than by success." And I hugged
him. For a moment he resisted, then relaxed into my arms. I guess my
little shot of love energy didn't hurt. I said "It's alright if you
want to cry. I did, even after I passed. There is nobody here but us,
and they will never know." He did cry. For a tough old man of 15, that
means something.
I said, after he stopped, "It does make you feel better to cry
sometimes. I do it when I'm happy, too. Would you like to visit me
where I live, maybe stay over a few days so we can practice before I go
to summer camp? My foster brother is a counselor there, so he will be
leaving a week before me to help set it up, so there will be an extra
bed in our room." He said "I would like that. I've seen you practice.
For a short guy, you're pretty good." I poked him and said, "Who you
calling short?" He poked me back and said, "You, shorty!" I think you
have an idea where this went. We tickled and laughed, and tickled and
laughed, and wrestled each other to the floor. It was a lot of fun. My
monster thought so, and I think his did too. He said he would check
with his parents.
I said "There is one thing you should know. My foster family doesn't
wear clothes in our house. Our foster parents are what they call
"Naturists" or "Sun Worshipers" or "Nudists". They believe clothes get
in the way of nature, and of knowing people. It's not what people
think. I thought it was strange at first, but after the first day, I
didn't even notice people like they were naked. It was like it was just
normal. You don't have to worry about getting and hiding boners,
because nobody minds. It's perfectly natural. Like right now." He
looked embarrassed. "Do you really think clothes hides them? They
don't, and REALLY don't to somebody like me, who is an artist and a
black belt. I would know even if your back was to me." He looked like
he didn't want to believe that. "Come on, do you really think I would
try to lie to you? To YOU? That's what's so good about not having
clothes on. When you can't hide it, you don't think about it as much,
because you know it won't make any difference, and that makes it not
happen as much. You don't have to undress if you don't want to, but you
have to accept the rest of us will, including the girls, if they are
around."
He did look more interested when I mentioned the girls. "If you want
to come, NO, not that way, I mean visit, you need to tell your parents
about this part of us, okay?" I knew what he was thinking by his quick
smile, and I poked him. I said "If you want do the other way, that's
alright too. Just not in the bathroom. There is only one for everybody,
so we can't spend time masturbating in it. That's one of the rules. We
are supposed do it in our bedrooms. My foster brother taught me how to
do it, with their permission. It's a whole lot of fun. I try to make
time for it at least once every day. Sometimes me and Jeremy have
contests to see who can squirt the farthest. I see your boner is
looking like it wants to do something right now. I have to be going,
but if you want to stay and take care of it, I keep some clean up
things here, and I'll tell the guard to make sure nobody disturbs you.
He will do what I say, because he works for my father, and he likes me.
Yes, I have done some fun things here before, myself. Are we all set
now? Here's my foster home phone number. You can tell your parents my
father approves of my foster home, and you know what HE is like. Call
me when you find out either way. Have a fun time." I left, but on the
way out I noticed him reach for his belt buckle. I felt good for him.
Your friend,
Stephen
--
Grant
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