It was a nice hot afternoon, the perfect afternoon for a swim. I was going to enjoy myself, too. (bwa-ha-ha-ha)

In the boys' locker room, I spotted a little punk changing in a private stall. Those type, who hate anyone seeing their schlongs. This was going to be fun. "Hey, girlie. What are you doing in our locker room?"

I could see him through the slots in the stall. He was naked, cowering and facing away, bent over, his hands down in front covering something.

"I'm not a girl!" shrieked the punk.

I burst into the stall. "Prove it! Show me your beaver, Beaver."

"No, go away!" he whined, cowering. "I'm not a beaver!"

I crouched down and grabbed his ankles. I shot back up, flipping him upside down, and raised him way up, spreading his legs wide. His shriek was manna to my ears. I observed his petite schlong sticking out. "What do they call this? Yes, a clit. Lovely beaver you display."

His stomach growled. His bowels rumbled. He farted. Boy did he fart -- right in my FACE! Pewwwwwwwwww! The longest, smelliest fart ever!

I dropped him and whipped my hand at my face, fruitlessly trying to brush away the flatulence. I kicked him and fled the stall.

After diving in the pool, swimming underwater, and returning to the surface, I breathed deeply, sighing that the air was once again clean. I still remembered the stench in my face.

I was swimming upward, after having dived to the bottom of the pool, and spotted a girl's bikini-clad butt above me. She was treading water, spreading and closing her legs. Hah! Great opp! Kicking up, I reached out and up, and swiped my index finger along her crotch.

I barely dodged as she slammed her legs together and scrambled to remain afloat. Whipping my legs, I swam back downward, and surfaced a good five yards away, a couple swimmers between us.

You're kidding! That was no girl, it was ... El Wimpo himself! He, of all people, was wearing a girl's bikini bottom -- here, in public, at the pool! Boy, oh boy, the fun I was going to have.

I spotted my opportunity half an hour later. I ran out and accosted him behind an oak tree just outside the pool.

"Billy!" he exclaimed as I closed in. That was the last thing he said other than grunts and moans, because in no time flat, I had him up against the tree. My left forearm filled his mouth; my left hand rigidly held both wrists. Meanwhile, my right hand was down between his legs, free to molest him to my heart's content.

And molest him I did, at first over his bikini bottom. I knew how to make a girl feel really good ... really really good. And down there, under his bikini, he was all girl. Come to think of it, his legs didn't look bad, either.

Anyway, I knew it was working, when his "Mmg... mmg... mmg" rose to a whiny high-pitched "Nng... nng... nng!" I could even feel his moisture seeping through his bikini crotch.

I yanked the bikini front down and cupped my hand over -- a nutsack and a hardening cock! Yanking my right hand away, I slammed him aside with my left and ran off, my stomaching heaving.

My nose and mouth, and my right hand, both felt irrevocably stained as I jogged homeward -- stained with that megafart and that cock-and-ball handful. My stomach kept heaving and coughing. Nobody who has never gagged knows what it's like, no matter how often he says, "Gag!"

Whoa, could I believe my eyes? Over there across the street, was it really one of *those* guys? Whatever dared him to plant himself in *our* neighborhood? I dashed across to teach him a lesson he'd never forget.

He turned as I neared, and jumped back, landing on bent legs with his fists up. "Hah!" Feisty, wasn't he. That was all the more fun; I was itching for a fight. This boy was half a head lower; he wouldn't be too hard to take out.

Arms out for the tackle, I ran up -- right into his foot. "Ooff!" I exhaled.

A brick hit my side -- okay, it was his other foot, but still -- right under my ribs. I barely saw the flash of a karate-chop before it slammed into my neck. How underhanded! His leg swept my knees, and I was down. I barely managed to tuck my head in, and keep it from slamming the ground.

The boy was off and running almost before I noticed. Lying on the ground, pounded and aching, I couldn't resist bellowing out the last word: "You fight like a girl!"