“Hey Jack. It’s Wally,” I said as soon as he answered the phone.

“Well, Wally Mitty, you old hound dog. How’s it hanging?”

“ Pointing straight up Jack, just fine. You have anything for me this year?” Jack Hunter has been the head custodian at Harbor Middle School for the last fifteen years, and by December he has usually identified the half dozen, or roughly one percent, of the Sixth, Seventh, and Eight graders that account for ninety-nine percent of the extra work required to keep the place clean and in good repair.

“Oh yeah, Walt. There’s a hell of a crop of the little bastards this year. How many do you need?”

“Well, I want to hang one up by his balls, and I want to crush one’s nuts with a couple of bricks. I’d like to band one and just wait until they fall off, and I’d like to tie one of them to the floor and stomp his balls. I could double up on those, so that would be either two or four, but I want to slice another’s bag open and shuck out his nuts like peas, and one I want to double band one and then cut his whole bag off, and this year I’d like to try just doing one with my bare hands, either ripping them off or crushing them or whatever. So I guess it’d be either five or seven, depending on how many you have,” I answered. “Oh yeah, and all of them need to have hair and be squirting.” Most all of the troublemakers are Eighth graders and pubescent, but I always like to be sure, and Jack visits the locker and shower rooms often enough to check them all out in advance.

“You’re in luck this year, I have seven all picked out.” Jack sounded enthused. “One is a corner pisser that marks his territory just like a dog. He’s the youngest, just a Seventh grader, but he has a set of nuts and a cock to die for. Hell, even I wouldn’t mind a mouthful of that little darling. Another of the little shitheads likes to plug up the toilets, and another kicks holes in the walls. One shows up in the middle of the night and throws rocks at the windows, one is a spray-can artist, and one likes to shit all around the toilet instead of into it. The one I really hate trips other kids in the cafeteria and makes them spill their food trays. They all have balls and their hair and none are very big, so you should be able to handle them okay.”

“Sounds great,” I said, “You want any of them back afterwards?”

“Fuck no!” They’re all Ghetto Rats anyway and nobody’s going to miss them or give a shit what happens to them. You can nut them and fuck them and then sell’em to the A-Rabs. They all got cute little bubble asses and none are fatties or dinky-dicks. You ought to have a hell of a lot of fun this year. By the way, how are you going to work it this time?”

“Oh, I thought I’d strip them all down and shave off their pubes, that intimidates the hell out of them, suck each one off, and them show them a bunch of fuck movies. I’ll give them the standard warning about masturbating, which they’ll eventually ignore, then I’ll just monitor the tapes and nut the first one I catch jacking off. I’ll keep showing the skin flicks until I get them all.”

“Sound like fun. I wish I could help you, but you know how it is with the wife and all. Just no time anymore, it seems.” He said rather wistfully.

“That’s okay, I’ll be thinking of you anyway. If you can round them all up Friday afternoon and stick them in one of the old activity busses, I’ll pick them up that night and bring them over here and get started. That sound okay?”

“Yep, that’ll work. Well anyway, I gotta run. Have fun and call me later, okay?”

“You bet, partner,” I replied and then hung up the phone.

My cock was so hard I felt it might split the crotch of my pants apart, and I figured that Jack had the same problem. Neither of us could do what we’d talked about, of course, but both of us would use the conversation as fuel for our orgasms for the next month, his with his wife and mine with my hand, and I knew that one of these years I just might find that old bus occupied.