---
title: 'CHAPTER THREE'
---

### My Dad, The Homo Zombie", Chapter 3

Date: Fri, 5 Nov 2004 11:07:50 -0800 (PST)
From: tom jones <mb_writr@yahoo.com>
Subject: "My Dad, The Homo Zombie", Chapter 3

Suffice to say that it is this characteristic feature of the hypnotic state
- the absolute surrender of will and self-consciousness to the hypnotiser -
which possesses such importance, from its bearing upon crime, in the eyes
of legal authorities.



"My Dad, The Homo Zombie"
CHAPTER THREE

By: Molester By Proxy
mb_writr@yahoo.com


The night before Franklin Elementary's big "Halloween Magic Faire", I was
so excited and so wound up after dinner that my mom, happily exasperated as
she cleared the dinner dishes, finally asked my dad to take me outside in
order to shoot some hoops with him. I will admit that I was getting a
little rambunctious at the table, although in a fun way. But I couldn't
help myself - I had all this energy coursing through me.

Without even much thinking about it, I normally - probably - would have
gone upstairs to my room after dinner and jerked off to some 'puter
porn. And no, it wasn't just because I was "getting to be that age".

Starting when I was in the third grade, Mr. Hendricks would, on occasion,
write down and send me home with a list of really, really hardcore Internet
sex sites. He would tell me that once I got home from school, I was to find
them all on my computer. Then, the following day at school, while with him
in a stall in the boy's bathroom, he'd have me describe in detail exactly
what each site showed.

I still remember the first site he ever directed me to showed two adult men
in an enormous room crowded with toys, ratty mattresses and half-naked
little boys. Together, the two men were working the room by sticking their
big erections into the mouths of all these different boys'. Clearly, a
third man must have been taking the pictures. The next day, Mr. Hendricks
told me it was inside a boy's orphanage somewhere in Eastern Europe. The
two men must have had fifty or more different boys, all crammed together in
this one dirty playroom, sucking on their manboners.

And now that I was in the sixth grade, Mr. Hendricks gave me even more list
sites to look at, including one where an old man let a huge bunch of very
young boys, all around my same age, ejaculate on his face and into his open
mouth.

The images never failed to get me super horny and I always wound up
masturbating to every site which Mr. Hendricks would send me home to find.

But this weekend, he had specifically instructed me not to make any more
sperm until the Halloween fair the next day. And I didn't want to ruin
that, so I figured I wouldn't turn on my 'puter or even touch my penis for
the rest of the night.

And that's a really hard thing to do, especially when you're told not to,
you know? I mean, I might not have even jerked off at all that Friday night
had I been left to my own devices. But now that I was told I couldn't, I
felt, more strongly than ever, the urge to play with myself! And I soon
realized how revved up a boy can get when he's not able to squirt off a
round of watery kidseed...especially when he really, really wants and needs
to!

How Mr. Hendricks would have known whether or not I actually shot some of
my babygoo was something I didn't yet understand. But I didn't want to risk
his noticing any difference at the Halloween fair. So I secretly vowed to
myself that I would neither touch my boner again that night nor until I saw
Mr. Hendricks and met his friend, Sir Albert, at the school the following
day.

"Come on, sport", my dad said as he headed out to the garage to find the
basketball.

As I followed him out, pressing the automatic garage door opener as I did
so, my dad added, "It would seem that your mother wants us to burn off some
of your male...adolescent energy."

'So that's what we're doing', I thought to myself as I ran out to the
basketball court which my dad had drawn-out next to the driveway when I was
eight-years-old, 'We're burning off my adolescent sexual energy. Isn't that
what dad really meant to say?'

I laughed and jumped around in my new cross-trainers, suddenly feeling very
full of myself as a twelve-year-old "adolescent". Now that I was capable of
pumping sperm into Mr. Hendricks' butthole, I had an entirely different
sense of what that meant - to be not merely a "boy", but an "adolescent"
boy. Heck, I was an adolescent boy...and a "breeder"! If only my mom and
dad knew that!

My dad and I played some one-on-one for about a half an hour but around
eight o'clock, it started getting just too cold. So we went inside. And, I
admit, that for the hour that followed, I was relatively mellowed out.

But then, just a bit after nine o'clock, I started feeling all frisky
again. It's a horrible scourge to be an adolescent boy! I mean, everyone
talks about girls at that age. They discuss how a girl's budding boobs
affect her self-esteem and how, at eleven or twelve, her period is a
"curse".

But we eleven and twelve year old boys have our own difficulties, too, you
know. Um, like sporting a boner all the time - and I mean, all the
time. Heck, I was even getting boners in front of people that weren't even
meant for them - like in front of all the school bus drivers earlier that
afternoon.

And I knew I was acting up some with my parents. But I just couldn't help
it. It was either bouncing around on the couch in the family room or
standing there in front of my mom and dad with a raging kidboner in my
pants.

And, yeah, those were the only two choices, especially that night.

I mean, I even got a boner at Wal-Mart the week before when we'd gone there
to buy me some more spiral notebooks for school. I was standing in the
school supplies aisle with my mom and then actually had to go to another
aisle so she wouldn't see my tenter. I tried to "hide" in the aisle with
closet hangers and mothballs, thinking I could duck away so no one would
see my boner. Instead, this man is there with a double stroller and looks
directly at my tenter. He just smiled and walked away when his wife called
to him from the paper towel aisle. But I could have died on the spot and
been buried in the Patio paving stone department!

So when you're a constantly horny adolescent boy of twelve, with continual
boners you can't control, it can get quite difficult to operate in
public. That's why all my friends and me like to wear baggy pants and loose
t-shirts whenever we can. I don't need the lady cashier at Albertsons
seeing my boyboner throbbing inside my pants!

But in the family room that Friday evening, as I bounced around once too
often while my mom was trying to watch "20/20", I accidentally flipped the
television remote into the aquarium. And that's when my mom said, "I think
its time you start getting ready for bed". She wasn't mean about it. She
had simply had enough. "I have to get up early, too", she continued. "I
have to bring all the Kool-Aid punch drinks to your school before nine
a.m."

"We all have to get up early", my dad announced as he stood up and waved
for me to get off the couch. "Come on. Upstairs", he said. And then he
added. "We're driving your mom there, so we're ALL going to your school
early. I'm not driving back and forth tomorrow."

I was at once annoyed that I was being sent up to bed like a baby. And yet
I knew that the quicker Saturday came, the quicker I would, too!

I went upstairs with my dad, as my mom stayed in the family room to watch
some "20/20" segment on 'Six-year-old girls who seduce their stepfathers',
which was, apparently, an on-going problem in some California town.

My dad followed me upstairs, to make sure that I went to bed. In the last
year, it was he who most often tucked me in, if you want to call it
that. He'd flip on the light, make sure I didn't wear my gym shoes to bed
and then watch as I'd get into bed. I suppose he had to make a full report
to my mom since now that I was an "adolescent", she didn't feel it
appropriate to tuck me in anymore. It was her decision but one that was
fine by me. After all, just changing into my pajamas caused me another
boner most nights.  Again, without any control over myself, I got to
feeling frisky and leapt up the last two steps where I then did a stupid
little "dance" into the hallway bathroom. Since my parents had one in their
room, this was basically my bathroom - although sometimes, my dad, before
I'd even wake up for school, would shower in there most workday mornings.

"What is with you? You are all pepper and spit tonight", my dad said,
laughingly, as he leaned against the open door frame of the bathroom. "Is
it the Halloween fair tomorrow or are you just slowly getting to be just
another one of those goofy teenagers?"

I bopped around as I opened drawers and cabinets to collect my toothbrush
and toothpaste. I knew that my "energized" behavior ran the risk of making
me look wacky. But I figured that it was better to let dad think I was a
wacky twelve-year-old than to have him know the truth which was that I was
a twelve-year-old trying to control this wild urge to pop a kidboner and
screw it into something...ANYTHING! 'How come Mr. Hendricks doesn't make
house calls?', I thought to myself as I stuck the toothbrush into my mouth,
while I still bopped a bit in front of the mirror.

Instead, I mumbled, "Just all excited about tomorrow. I want to play that
game where you dunk someone."

"They're going to have an actual dunk booth there?", my dad said, sounding
rather impressed.

"Yeah", I replied. "A dunk booth. Drown the black cat or something like
that. Mr. Crane and Mr. Levinowitz built it. It's huge and in the back
corner of the gym."

"Well, the sooner you're able to get some shut eye", my dad answered. "The
sooner you can dunk your principal or a teacher. Who are they going to be
dunking?"

I shook my head as I rinsed out my mouth. "I guess anybody who wants to be
dunked. I don't know."

"Well, that's the last place you'll find me. You know how much I hate
getting water in my nose", my dad stated. Then, as he saw I was done with
my nightly regime, he said, "Come on, let's get you to bed",

I bopped past him and did a Monty Python silly walk across the hallway and
into my bedroom. Although I wouldn't be thirteen for another ten months, I
felt like such a teenager because, secretly, I knew that if I hadn't been
acting so goofy, I'd have been masturbating (such a cool, teenage boy thing
to do)!

While I changed out of my clothes, my dad busied himself as he tossed my
"Franklin Trojans" sweatshirt, which had been on the floor, onto the heap
of other clothes piled high on the chair at my desk. "You really have to
fold some of these clothes sometime this weekend", he said. "Do you hang up
any of your things? Do you even know what a hanger is?"

As he tossed items around, illuminated only by the halogen lamp on my desk,
I quickly stripped down to my tightie-whities. "I will", I pathetically
vowed. "But it's the Halloween thing tomorrow and then..."

"Sunday", my dad stated as he moved my many pairs of sneakers and then my
school backpack out of the path of the doorway. "I want this all
straightened up. Before you go back to school on Monday."

As he talked, he had his back to me slightly. I took the opportunity to
look at my dad's backside. He always changed into NFL-style sweatpants
after coming home from work and I had to admit that my dad looked like he
had an even hotter butt than the one I'd been fucking every day at school -
Mr. Hendricks'.

"'K", I said as I pulled down and then stepped out of my underpants. Out of
habit and without even thinking, I sort of kicked them to someplace under
my bed. But then I stood there frozen. I couldn't find my PJs within the
many books, clothes and Gameboy stuff, all which littered the top of my
bed. And so I was left, like that, totally naked.

My dad looked up and saw my dilemma. He chuckled as he said, "Messed
yourself right out of any clothes, I see." He looked at the jumbled pile
strewn across my bedspread and added, "Well, they have to be in there
somewhere."

I lifted some clothes that were piled on the bedcovers, looking for my
"Lord of the Rings" pajamas.

"Maybe they're over here", my dad said almost laughing, as he poked through
another pile. "I am telling you. You have to clean this room, young man!
Otherwise, one day, we are going to find a dead body under all this mess."

Then I felt it; my penis was getting that tingly sensation again. A
sensation that sort of starts in your nutsac and shoots up your shaft,
following a similar root as when a guy ejaculates, actually. I was starting
to get another one of those boners that I knew I couldn't control and
didn't even know where they came from.

I was springing one out of nowhere...and right in front of my dad!

Since he, too, was looking around for my PJs, I don't think he noticed
right away. Or maybe he was pretending not to notice. I don't know. But I
found a pair of "Franklin Trojans" gym shorts on my bed and said, "I'll
just wear these". And trying to be quick about it, I clumsily stepped into
them, and almost fell backwards into the window seat as I did so.

My dad looked up and watched as I awkwardly put my feet into the leg
openings, my boner, erect as all get-go, freely bouncing about as it aimed
high and reached above my smooth navel.

"Are those clean, I hope?", he asked as he watched me pull the gym shorts
over my big, sixth-grade hard-on, acting as if he didn't even see it.

"Yeah", I replied, all red-faced. "I just wore them to one gym class this
week."

My father rolled his eyes, knowing what had occurred, why I had put them
on, so he didn't press on. "Well, they're okay for tonight", he said as he
looked at me up and down. It was impossible for him not see how huge a tent
I made in the light heather-gray gym shorts. "But try to find your regular
pajamas in this mess tomorrow. Okay?"

"'K", I replied, totally embarrassed, my cheeks three shades redder than my
naked chest. But, oddly, as I quickly crawled into my mess of a bed, to
hide, I recalled what Mr. Hendricks had told me about seeing my dad's big
cock in the men's locker room at Bally's earlier in the week. Although my
dad hadn't been aware or even erect at the time, someone had been looking
at his penis, too. In fact, if what Mr. Hendricks had told me was true, it
was a lot of people looking at my dad's big penis without his knowledge as
he stripped down after running.

While my dad casually looked at some stuff on my desk, waiting for me to
settle in, I noticed how really big his bulge looked in the lamp light in
which he stood. I mean, the halogen desk lamp cast a shadow across his
crotch and that made it real easy to see what a huge lump my dad made in
his NFL-style sweatpants. And no way was he even hard or anything.

Then, as I scrunched my head deeper into a pillow, and tried to keep my
hands outside the covers and away from my boner, I started to wonder what
my dad would look like with a boner. I mean, I wondered if my dad's boner
was just like mine? The times I had seen his penis, as he'd come out of a
shower or stood at a urinal, he was always soft. And yet, even then, he was
sure a whole lot bigger than me. But that never surprised me. I mean, after
all, he was an adult man of nearly forty. So as I lay in bed, looking
surreptitiously at his crotch, I had to figure that if his soft penis was a
lot bigger than mine, then it stood to reason that my dad's boner would
have to be a whole lot bigger than mine, too.

I was startled from my thoughts when my dad looked at me and suddenly
asked, "What you thinking about, son?"

"Nothing", I mumbled, afraid he somehow knew what I had been thinking. But
that would be impossible, so I added, "Um, just thinking about the
Halloween fair tomorrow."

"Yeah, and it will come earlier than you think", he replied as he came over
to my bed in order to "tuck me in", (which consisted of his making sure the
blankets weren't half-strewn on the floor). "I'll wake you up around eight
tomorrow so you can shower. Your mom has to be there before nine."

"There's going to be a hypnotist there", I suddenly blurted out. I caught
my breath, forgetting whether I had promised Mr. Hendricks not to tell
anyone about Sir Albert at all - or just about the scheme that Sir Albert
was planning to hypnotize the first graders and getting me to "breed" him.

"A hypnotist? Really?", my dad said as he tossed a pair of my undershorts
that he found on the floor onto the window seat. "That should be fun. Who
is it? One of the parents? Heck, I remember when I was in school, one of
the lunch-ladies, Mrs. Kennedy, used to dress up at Halloween every year
and pretend to be a gypsy fortune teller."

I figured it was too late not to tell him more about Sir Albert. Heck, it
wasn't like a major secret that a hypnotist would be there. I had, earlier
in the day, in fact, seen a poster of Sir Albert being hung on the doors to
the school gymnasium.

"No," I replied. "Um, he's a real hypnotist ...from New Orleans."

"New Orleans?", my dad asked with knitted brow. "What sort of a budget does
this school have?", he joked. "They have as yet to reimburse your mother
for all the Kool-Aid and bags of ice we bought. Who said he's a real
hypnotist?"

"Well, I think he's passing through town or something. Some parent knows
him or he does this, like, for school charity events, I think", I chattered
on, trying hard to conceal any link between Sir Albert and Mr. Hendricks.

"So he's a traveling hypnotist?", my dad stated, skeptically. "Well, I
suppose if your uncle can travel around the country playing Frisbee with
his dog for five-thousand dollar prizes, there must be traveling
hypnotists."

"Yeah", I replied. "They say he has these powers or something."

My dad tried to contain a chuckle as he said, "Powers, eh? Sounds pretty
scary. We'll have to find him tomorrow. Maybe he can hypnotize you...into
cleaning up this room!"

I could tell that my father didn't buy the idea for a minute that Sir
Albert was a real hypnotist but he was always cool and would never ruin the
magic for a kid. He then lightly kissed the top of my head, which was
always deemed okay. My dad could kiss me goodnight but I had stopped
kissing him goodnight. It was just some weird, "adolescent boy" rule I had
adopted in the last year.

He then went back to my desk and I got one last look at my dad's butt as he
clicked off the lamp. Damn, why did that have to be the final image seared
into my brain that night? My boner throbbed and throbbed beneath the covers
as my dad slipped out of my bedroom. I laid there in the dark, tortured
between thoughts of wanting to sleep and thought of wanting to fuck my
boysperm into men's butts.

Usually, at night, I would picture only Mr. Hendricks' butt or some butt
from an image I had seen on a web site. But now I had my dad's tight butt
on my mind. The image of my dad's small, hard butt in those NFL-style
sweatpants was now like permanently etched onto my twelve-year-old psyche.

And then, in the dark, adding to it all, I could 'hear' Mr. Hendricks words
about seeing my dad's mule-hung penis...and all the men watching my dad
strip...and recalling the weird way that Mr. Pachinski, the school bus
driver, had stared at my tenter...and how good Mr. Hendricks' was at
clamping onto and squeezing my kid-sized boner into his hot butthole...and
how he let me know that Sir Albert wanted some of my sperm, too...

It was all too much for a little guy and I think fell asleep by I passing
out - my peach fuzzed nuts chock-full of kidsperm, all aching and aching
the entire time. The final thought I had that night, best as I could
remember, was 'Damn, God, make the Halloween fair come fast!'



In order to be continued, write to the author, Molester By Proxy
mb_writr@yahoo.com

COPYRIGHT/2004; THIS IS COMPLETE FICTION (as far as we know); ADHERE TO ALL
LAWS IN YOUR AREA.
