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*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, using Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned.

*.*.*

Chad Boyle sat on the bench and watched the Saturday afternoon shoppers parade by. The Courtyard Mall in Pinoak, Louisiana was designed to be like an open-air European market, even though there was a high ceiling over the expanse. There were no large box stores in the mall, just smaller individual boutiques, smaller independent vendors set up in the open floor plan.

The store Chad Boyle was seated in front of sold what Barbara Boyle, Chad's mother would have called 'whore rags.' The tops were lacy scraps designed to leave bellies bare, designed to present cleavage. Other blouses were designed with cut-outs that exposed tantalizing glimpses of skin. The same was true of the jeans; most had naughty cut-outs designed to pique interest. The shorts were extremely short, exposing much of the wearer's buttocks, presenting a camel toe.

The shop did sell men's clothing, also designed to flaunt a man's sexual prowess. To wear such clothing, though, a young man really had to be in good physical condition. A man had to be extremely confident in himself.

Chad watched an attractive African-American girl as she shuffled through the shorts. She found a pair of pink shorts and held them up. There was a heart cut-out over the left buttock, a club cut-out over the right buttock. The spade cut-out was over the right hip and the diamond cut-out was where the left pocket would have been.

"Can't be wearing no panties with that," Chad heard the girl say.

The girl looked at the shorts again, checked the price tag, checked the size, then moved on to a rack with some gauzy tops.

A young man walked past, interrupting Chad's view of the young African-American beauty. Chad watched as the handsome young man strolled. He was blonde, with bulging arms, a flat, toned abdomen displayed in a sweatshirt that had been ripped to expose his belly, sleeves ripped off to display his muscular arms. His distressed jeans were snug, showing a nice lump in his front, displaying his taut backside in the rear.

An older man walked right behind the young man. Chad had almost risen to his feet to follow the handsome blonde youth, but knew if the older man was the boy's Daddy, he wouldn't appreciate another young man infringing on his territory. And if the older man was the young man's father, he certainly wouldn't appreciate a young man trying to pick up his son.

Chad followed the pair's progress and thought back. A few years ago, when he was eighteen, he'd had a Daddy. Daddy was Marvin Brown, his foster parent, and Marvin had taught Chad how to suck a man's cock. He then taught Chad how to open up his ass, to accept a man's cock.

Chad's father had been Alan Boyle. As in St. Elizabeth Parish Treasurer Alan Boyle. Then Secretary Boyle. Then Representative Boyle. When Chad was eighteen, Alan Boyle had been St. Elizabeth Parish President Alan Boyle.

Alan Boyle knew the number one rule of politics. It doesn't matter how smart, or how stupid you are. It just matters how much dirt you have on others. Alan Boyle was born with no morals and had no qualms about running roughshod over anyone that stood in the way of his ambitions. He saw being Parish President as a springboard for Senator Ship of Louisiana. Then from there, Governorship, possibly even the White House.

Alan also saw his wife and only child as props. They were there to make him look good, a loving devoted father and loving devoted husband in front of the cameras.

Behind the scenes, Alan Boyle was a tyrant. Barbara turned a blind eye to Alan's multiple affairs. She also turned a blind eye to his horrific beatings of their son. Alan would use a rattan switch on the boy, slashing with almost maniacal abandon at Chad's flesh.

Then, when Chad was seventeen, Chad grabbed the switch and broke it, snapping it over his knee.

Alan pummeled the boy with his fists until Chad fell unconscious to the floor.

Teachers saw the numerous welts. P.E. Coaches saw the bruises and cuts. And they did nothing, said nothing. Alan Boyle was a dangerous man to cross.

Then one evening, at a debate between Adam Boyle and his challenge for re-election, Trevor Williams, Alan sneered and asked Trevor, "Is it true that your wife was a cover girl for Parasols magazine?"

Trevor smiled directly into the Channel 12 camera and declared, "Yes she was. My beautiful wife was on the cover of the May issue, the Mother's Day issue. It was before we met, but I have a framed copy of that cover in my office, and I have a copy of the magazine in my bedside table. I am not ashamed of my wife's beauty or her sexuality. But, President Boyle, is it true that you used money out of the road construction fund to pay for an abortion? One Ms. Lorilyn Gremillion? Wasn't she your son's girlfriend at the time that you checked into the DeGarde Inn with her?"

Chad actually felt erotik film izle faint. He and Lorilyn had been dating since the second day of the ninth grade. They'd planned on going to the University of Louisiana at DeGarde together, and upon graduation, they would get married.

They'd both agreed that they'd wait until marriage; they'd be virgins on their wedding might. After their eighteenth birthdays, Chad's was on October fifth, hers was on October sixth, they learned how to use their mouths on one another, to please one another.

Then in December, Lorilyn complained of an upset stomach and left school. That night, she took her father's shotgun and blew the top of her head off.

And now Chad knew why. Being a staunch Catholic, Lorilyn considered abortion a grievous sin.

"You mother fucker!" both Alan and Chad screamed.

Chad was screaming at his father, his tyrannical, heartless father. At Lorilyn's funeral, Alan had patted Chad's shoulder in an almost fatherly gesture, then suggested Chad find someone that wasn't so mentally unstable.

Alan was screaming his rage at Trevor. It was bad enough that this little upstart would dare challenge his bid for re-election, and according to the polls, was steadily gaining ground on him. It was really insufferable, that he would have to debate the little pipsqueak for a job that was rightfully his; he'd been the one to pay his dues in the lower offices. But to have this man that was barely old enough to shave stand there and expose his dalliance with that starry eyed tramp his son had been dating was inexcusable.

Trevor smiled. He also had the names of nearly a dozen eighteen and nineteen year old girls that had been guests of President Boyle. As well as times and dates of bribes Alan Boyle had accepted for projects around St. Elizabeth Parish. Projects that cost the taxpayers a pretty penny, but brought no benefit to the taxpayers.

Alan Boyle got the first punch in. Trevor had been blindsided; he'd not expected Alan Boyle to charge him.

Alan Boyle got in the first lick. Trevor got in the second, third, and fourth lick. He did not kick the unconscious man; Chad Boyle got that honor.

Richards, Pellichet, Jones