A FAMILY AFFAIR,  by Ganymede.

WARNING:

This story contains a graphic description of consensual sexual acts  
involving a man and a MINOR boy. I do not condone the sexual abuse of 
children, however boy-love as described in this story is an entirely 
different matter.

Any resemblance to any individual, alive or dead, is unfortunate.

If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, stop now! If this material 
is illegal in your place of residence, or if you are under the legal age for 
such material, do not read further! You have been warned! Read at your own 
risk!

THE NIFTY ARCHIVE

This story, copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede, has been placed 
in the Nifty archive for your reading pleasure. If you enjoyed reading it, 
please contribute whatever you think is reasonable to the Nifty Archive. 
Directions for your support are given on the Nifty home page.

FINAL WARNING:

If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal in your 
place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't your thing, then exit 
now and save yourself from a life of sin! 



    	A FAMILY AFFAIR,  by Ganymede.



Chapter 1.     2.15 p.m. November 6th.



The wheels of my slide grate loudly on the concrete as I scoot out 
from under the car. With a greasy palm I brush the hair from my eyes, 
oblivious to the dark oily streak that came to my brow. Silently, I curse 
myself, the weather, life in general, just about everything, until I find 
the three-eighths socket. It is less than a few inches from where I had left 
it, and I should have remembered. Tiredly, I lie back down on the slide and 
begin to guide myself back under the car. Working on the transmission is 
nowhere near as much fun as the engine, if only because of the inhuman 
contortions required underneath the car.

His voice comes out of nowhere. It is not the first time that I hear his 
voice. The last time, in fact the first time was Halloween. he came to my 
house for candy on All Hallow's Eve. Then he was dressed in virginal white 
from head to foot. A tee shirt that was X-X-L and came to his mid-thighs, 
covered a white sweat shirt and pants, white sneakers, white gloves. He was 
like some vague apparition, perhaps an arab terrorist, perhaps some current 
action hero, but he was as beautiful as an angel. His upper attire was not 
long enough to be a robe, but it was so loose that his form was all but 
concealed.  Without a flowing gown, he could not be a ghost, so he was no 
vague apparition. Nonetheless, white suited him, and I settled for an angel 
because it was entirely appropriate for him.

In the darkness, he loomed mysteriously until he came into the pool 
of light from my lantern. Then his tousled golden-blond hair came alive, and 
the loose snow-white clothes gave him an aura of innocence and purity that was 
out of place on a night of hob-goblins and ghosts. For a moment I wondered 
whether he had simply dressed in his judo or karate outfit, but the trousers 
were tighter and there was no belt to be seen. The brilliant white of his 
clothes illuminated the porch even as his pretty face ignited my desire. 
Although his clothes communicated the unsullied purity of a virgin, my heart 
and my imagination shrieked lust. Like alchemy, I was drawn to him 
instinctively, a base metal turning to the purest gold in his presence.



There were two friends with him, and after even a cursory comparison, 
they went largely unappreciated in his company. Those boys simply did not 
interest me, at least not like the blond, curly-haired boy dressed all in 
white. He was beautiful. He was polite. He had a graceful body and the 
nicest butt of any boy I've seen, even if it was largely hidden by his white 
robe.

By contrast, his friends, while very good-looking by any standard, 
were relatively plain. One was also blond, straight-haired and nicely 
proportioned, but he lacked something that the other boy had in abundance. I 
could not look away from his startling blue eyes. His eyes were liquid magnets, 
and they attracted and held my gaze until I felt my neck and cheeks flushing 
from the mere thrill of looking at the young Adonis standing on my doorstep.

"It's your turn to ask this time, Adam," one of the boys prompted.

"Um,... Trick or treat?" he asked with uncertain eagerness.

"Hm,... I won't try to guess what you're supposed to be," I pretended to 
ponder. "Trick or treat, huh? You boys look like you could get up to some 
tricks. I'd better settle for the treat, I suppose?"

The boy called Adam grinned sheepishly and glanced back at his two 
companions in candy-larceny for moral support. He hit the jackpot at my 
house and his two friends benefited by their mere acquaintance with the 
golden-haired boy and his musical still-unbroken voice. What candy I had left, 
about a pound of various bars and packets, I split among the three of them, 
and then threw in a few of my own reserved-for-later treats for good measure. 
They scampered off into the darkness, shrieking their good fortune as they 
went with boyish excitement.

Adam could not know how much he had affected me. I had the distinct 
feeling that I had seen him before, somewhere, sometime in my past. In my 
eyes, he was the perfect boy who I would never forget. No one could know the 
pounding of my heart and the relentless desire that had immediately hardened 
and grew outward into the tight confines of my jeans. I closed my eyes 
after they were no longer in sight and pictured him, still standing on my 
porch, committing every detail to memory for later. I could barely wait to 
relieve my burning urge.

Not until they were gone several minutes, and there was no chance of 
their return, did I close the door and turn off the outside lights. I 
retreated upstairs to my bedroom. There, I masturbated feverishly as I 
fantasized about the perfect specimen of boyhood who had graced my doorstep 
for a few minutes that night. In secret fantasy, I emptied my balls into 
Adam's pretty mouth and then into his sweet, firm buttocks before I finally 
succumbed to watching a video I had smuggled home from Thailand. The brown-
skinned boys engaged in obscene coupling did little more than relieve my 
hunger temporarily. By then, my penis was only minutes from becoming red raw 
and I nearly regretted my earlier frenzied jerking.

From that first acquaintance onwards I chose to believe that fate, or 
some mysterious force, had brought us together. That chance meeting left me 
emptied of human emotion as my energy was depleted in unrequited desire. I 
masturbated again and again that night before I finally fell asleep. My 
fantasy was fixed on Adam with a single-mindedness that was disturbing. What 
detail of his remarkable body did I fail to imagine? There was no part of 
him left untouched by my depraved mind.

His voice brings me back to reality, or is it merely an extension of the 
dream that has plagued me ever since the night of a week ago. I scoot 
forward until my face is no longer hidden under the car. From the ground, I 
stare up two slender legs hidden in the faded denim of old jeans. A small, 
finely featured face looks down at me, and the hint of a smile flashes 
across his mouth to leave dimpled cheeks. Perfectly blue eyes seem to pour 
into mine with an openness that is disconcerting. I feel that he is 
revealing his soul to me and I am blessed. His blond, curling hair, is even 
blonder in the afternoon light that enters the garage. I feel as if I have 
known him for years instead of a matter of mere seconds.

"Hi!" I gush ebulliently.

"Hi yourself! Cool car!" His voice gives me shivers. It is so high- 
pitched that he sounds feminine. If he sang he would be a soprano.

"Thanks!"

"I'm not bugging you am I?" Again, my eyes and ears belong to him. I 
bask in his precious tones.

"No! hardly! You're cool kid!" I wonder whether he can hear my heart 
pounding for him. To me, my voice seems distant and very strained.

"My bike chain came off," he says to explain his presence. "I was 
going to my friend's place. He lives over there," he adds with a vague gesture 
towards the woods behind my house.

"Do you want me to look at it? I'm pretty good with mechanical things. 
Your chain probably needs adjustment, especially if it has gears."

"It's a 21 speed," he answers with pride. "I just got it a few weeks 
ago."

"I'll take a look at it in a few minutes when I've finished with this."

"You don't mind an audience?" He asks. "My mom says I can be a pest 
sometimes?"

"You're not!" I shake my head, enchanted by his soft tones and continual  
inflection so that he turns a statement into a question. 

"I always wanted to learn about cars. What are you doing to it?"

"Replacing the clutch."

"Cool! Is it expensive? It sure looks it."

I swallow. His voice has penetrated to the very center of my brain 
just as his clear, large eyes have absorbed and held my gaze until my soul 
seems to be sucked into him. It is an idea that holds distinct fascination for 
me. I drag my eyes away and down to his sneakers, to ankles so thin and 
insubstantial that they belie the very act of supporting him. His jeans 
taper to stope-pipe legs, the outline of small knees as my eyes begin to 
lift up to his groin. I stop and stare, fully aware of what lies behind his 
petit bulge. There is merest hint of impending manhood, a fold in the aged 
blue denim, the slightly asymmetrical fullness of a young penis and still 
childishly small scrotum. From the size of the bump, I doubt that he is 
sexually mature, but I have no way of being certain short of tearing his jeans 
off. It is another fascinating idea.

Again our eyes meet. Another radiant smile flickers, lingers on his full 
red lips until his dimples form again. He has a beautiful smile, that lights 
on me and makes my day brighten. His eyebrows raise slightly as if to form 
another question, issuing a silent challenge to my now continuous gaze.

"What? The clutch? It cost about a thousand bucks for the set. That's 
the clutch assembly over there in the box."

"No, I was asking about the car. It's a Lotus, right?"

"Hey, the kid actually knows his cars!" I tease. "Actually its an Esprit 
Turbo."

He grins impishly. "I thought it was. The kid knows a lot things!"

"I'm sure he can. The kid can make himself useful too, it he wants. 
Could you pass me the screwdriver, please Adam?" I feel a thrill as I 
address him by his given name, a feeling that I have known him since I was a 
boy myself.

He follows my gesture and he stoops to the side to pick it up. As he 
reaches to pass it to me, he suddenly hesitates.

"How do you know my name?"

"Adam? It is Adam isn't it? You were here for candy on Halloween, if I'm 
not mistaken. That's what your two friends called you."

"Not wrong! You must have a great memory. My name is Adam. I live over 
there." He gestures vaguely to the back of the garage. "Mostly my friends call 
me Canada. I guess because I used to live there before my mom got divorced."

"Hi Canada," I joke.

He smiles weakly. "I'd rather you called me Adam. I haven't lived in 
Canada for ages. Not since my mom got divorced."

"Okay, Adam. My name is Chris. It's nice to meet you. I'd shake hands 
except I'm covered with grease."

"That's okay! Later man! So what's it worth, Chris? A lot I bet!"

I laugh and shrug good humoredly at the overt youngster. He exudes 
precocious maturity. "You only get what you pay for," I answer deliberately.

"You sound like my mom! You really don't mind if I watch you work on it, 
do you? I can be kind of a pain sometimes, at least that's what she says 
when I pester people."

I laugh again and answer as I shake my head. "You already said that. 
You're not bothering me in the slightest."

I am dumbfounded, so engrossed in the delightful young male that words 
escape me. His voice has a melodious quality with clear high notes that 
penetrate the dullness in my head and leave my senses whirling like a 
dervish in ecstatic abandon. Under my cover-alls, under my briefs, I can 
feel the rock-hard heat of my engorged penis as it throbs mercilessly to the 
frenetic beats of my heart. Fortunately, he either cannot see it, or has not 
seen it, assuming that he recognizes what it is or why it is. The youngster, 
mere stripling, still several years from being a teenager, has excited me in a 
way that I never dreamed possible.

Unable able to stand the strain of being so close, of being so far 
away from the untouchable boy, of being so intensely aroused in a child's 
presence, I push myself forward and slide under the car again. I try to 
dismiss the thoughts that overwhelm my reason as he leaves my sight. My 
thoughts are in turmoil as I realize the absolute futility of it. Society 
forbids what I am thinking, yet I can no more stop the thoughts as I can ask 
him to leave me in peace. It is no different to the first time I saw him, just 
as impossible to maintain control of my desires on All Hallow's Eve.

I want to, need to take my penis out and masturbate until my climax 
relieves my hungry urge. Under the car, in the under-world existence of the 
machine, there is privacy. I grope myself with greasy fingers on the grey 
cloth of my coveralls. My rigid member aches, throbbing urgently.

I am tortured by unrequited love for a boy who can be no more than ten 
or eleven years old. I squeeze my blood-filled flesh as I imagine his young 
slender body trembling hungrily as he discovers passion. I imagine his lips 
stretched wide, a thin pale line of nerve-filled tissue as he takes my shaft 
into him. No matter whether it is his mouth or anus that holds me. I am not 
particular, either end would suffice to hold my love and the seed I want so 
desperately to share with him. I have forgotten the three-eighths socket.

"Hey Adam?"

"Yeah, Chris," comes his unseen sing-song voice.

"There's a socket on the floor next to my feet. Can you push it to me?

"A socket? What's it look like? Is it like this chrome tube thing with 
holes in it?"

"Yep! You got it, kid! Just push it to me will you?"

With difficulty I rotate my shoulders and look out into the space beside 
the car. I watch Adam's feet as he steps forward. When he squats, I see the 
slenderness of his ankles again, and as his knees came apart, I stare at 
what has suddenly become a small yet prominent bulge in the crotch of his 
jeans. Is it my imagination that it is bigger now? Perhaps it is merely 
exaggerated in size because of his position?

I watch his hand, his fingers scooping up the socket, and then he 
comes to his knees. His face beams at me with visible enthusiasm at being 
included in an adult world. My mechanical toy has justified itself again. 
Thirty-five thousand dollars of secondhand automobile, with mechanical repairs 
of astronomical cost, but of undeniable interest to any red-blooded boy with 
an interest in cars. With little more than a wriggle of his narrow hips, 
Adam scoots under the car beside me. He grins ebulliently as he holds out 
the socket in his small palm like a treasure for my inspection.

"Thanks!"

"I told you already, The fact is this kid can do a lot of things," he 
teases.

"Maybe I should just teach you how to work on my car. Then I can leave 
it up to you to fix things from now on." I laugh. "There's a lot more room for 
you to move around under here than I have."

Adam giggles softly. He wriggles closer until his head is next to 
mine. "It's probably the only advantage there is to being small for my age."

"How old are you?"

"I'll be eleven in two months."

"Huh? Oh, okay so you were born during the holidays. I expect you made 
your mom a great Christmas present," I chuckle as I reach up under the car.

"What's that? The silver thing up there?" Adam inquires.

His hand moves up to the transmission and for a second, his fingers 
slide along my arm. I shiver. The sensation is at once incredibly exciting and 
very frightening. I have been touched by this very handsome boy. I freeze, 
thinking hard and fast as my skin is tantalized by his soft small fingers. Did 
his fingers linger just a moment longer than an accidental touch would 
justify? My mind reels with the thought. I am too sacred to say anything for 
several seconds. My mind is turned upside down. My thoughts are jumbled and 
I blurt out my answer.

"Oh! That! I think that's the starter motor." My sanity returns 
slowly. "Actually, I don't think it is, I know it is because I put a new one 
on the car a month ago and that's it."

"Unless it fell off," Adam giggles playfully. "But then the car wouldn't 
start would it? Can I help?" he offers.

"Help? Yes, I guess. It's kind of hard for you to help because I'm not 
even sure what I'm supposed to be doing myself. If you really want to help, 
I'd appreciate it if you could pass me the shop manual. It's right beside 
you."

"Sure! So where did this come from?" Adam demands.

"England! Just about every part of this car comes from England. See 
there," I said as I pointed my grease stained finger at the center of the open 
page. "Could you read from there for me? I know you can read."

Adam giggles boyishly, feels a sudden thrill from helping an adult, 
and begins to read aloud. "Each of the bolts securing the housing has two 
nuts. Completely remove the lock nuts. The bolts should be loosened 
consecutively one half-turn while the rear flange is supported in the frame. 
Once the assembly is loose, the upper bolts should be removed while the two 
lower bolts are left in place." Adam giggles again. "Why do the bolts have two 
nuts?"

I grin cheekily and say something that I would normally never say. It is 
a risk, but I am so light-headed that I do not care. "For the same reason 
you do, I expect."

"Huh?"

"One nut would be lonely wouldn't it? And if you only had one nut, 
well you might lose it and then where would you be? With two nuts there's a 
safety factor."

Adam's blush is immediate and very obvious even in the relative darkness 
under the car. "You mean,.. Yeah, kinda, I guess...." he answers with juvenile 
awkwardness. "But that really isn't the reason, is it?"

"I wouldn't lie to ya, Adam." I tease with a mock accent of unknown 
origin. "One nut keeps the other one from coming loose. It locks it in 
place, hence the name, lock nut. Like I said, it's a safety factor. Which is 
probably a good idea when you think about it."

"Does every bolt have two nuts?"

"Not always, in fact on a car it's something you almost never see, but 
its a good idea! You have two nuts don't you?" I boldly tease again. 

I wonder what is making me so daring besides being sexually aroused by 
the beautiful boy beside me. It cannot be that I have nothing to loose. By 
nature, I am not impetuous. It is his presence alone, and the sense I have 
that tells me he is not easily offended.

Adam smirks knowingly. He clearly enjoys the innuendo, childish though 
it is. "Does it depend on the size of the bolt?" he asks sweetly, as he avoids 
my question adroitly.

I stifle a laugh. I like him a lot. He is adventuresome and he rises 
to the challenge of our word play. "A big bolt probably needs two nuts more 
than a little one, but these bolts here are a bit one the small side."

"I guess it must depend on what you use the bolt for," he smirks, no 
longer able to hold back. His restraint vanishes as his mirth bubbles into 
an infectious puerile giggle. After all, he is still very much a boy.

"These bolts are under a lot of stress." I grin in the semi-darkness and 
turn to face him. "The greater the stress, the more you need two nuts. Even 
small bolts can be under a lot of pressure sometimes. You wouldn't want the 
bolt to come loose at a bad time, now would you?"

"If you use it a lot, you'd need two balls. Ooops, I mean two nuts." 
He giggles even more as he tries to repair his error. "You'd need two nuts 
on a bolt then, especially when it was being used a lot."

I swallow as I try to avoid laughing out aloud. He is very good. He is 
not only intelligent and full of precocious wit, but he is also incredibly 
sexy.

"I expect so," I say seriously. I pause and add fearlessly, "Do you 
think that's why you have two balls, oops I mean two nuts on your bolt?"

His eyebrows lift up as his eyes widen in disbelief that an adult 
could be so brazenly vulgar. "Because it gets stressed, or because it gets 
used a lot?" he asks cheekily.

I nod anyway. "Both, in some cases. Some bolts get stressed a lot 
when they are being used a lot." He giggles knowingly, telling me without 
words that he is no stranger to self-abuse. "I imagine it's only normal at 
your age," I tease with a slight glance downward.

My meaning is obvious and for a second, his eyes follow mine to his 
crotch. There is no mistake when he smiles slightly upon looking up again.

"Yeah! I guess some bolts get stressed if they get used a lot. Only, I 
don't know what's a lot."

"Oh, I don't know. I'd say normal is a couple of times a day,... when 
you're about eleven or twelve."

He grins with lewd curiosity. The pretense is abandoned and he comes 
right out with his next inflected statement. After the innuendo it does not 
sound lewd to my burning ears. "You mean it's normal to get a stiffy a 
couple of times every day at my age?"

"Yes, it's normal to get stiff," I chuckle. "What did you think? Every 
boy gets them. Every man too, for that matter. It's natural, kid!"

Adam laughs. "I get a stiffy all the time. Do you have one now?" he asks 
without hesitation.

I smile ambiguously and shrug, a difficult action under the car but 
one that is intended to raise his curiosity. I wonder how far he will go. It 
is hard to believe that we are having this conversation. My penis is as hard 
as it has ever been, but I cannot admit that to this beautiful child lying 
beside me for he alone has caused it.

"I bet you do," Adam giggles. "You sure are acting like you're horny."

"I'm not the only one, am I?" I grin at him and wink obscenely. 

"Do you want to do stuff?" he asks softly.

"Stuff?" I ask in disbelief.

'Stuff' cannot mean the same thing to Adam that it does to me. I swallow 
as my mind races. I try to maintain control of my physical urge to grasp his 
crotch and find out whether his penis is as hard as mine. He studies me 
nervously. I sense that he knows he has gone too far. Innuendo has ended and 
neither of us is prepared to accept what lurks immediately under the surface 
of the veiled words. His suggestion is impossible to ignore.

"What do you mean by 'stuff'?" I repeat with sudden intensity.

There is a shy smile on his face as he blinks, swallows, licks his 
bottom lip nervously. "You know, Chris,... STUFF!"

I realize his erect penis must be caught up in his underpants as he 
reaches down to his crotch and shamelessly grasps the front of his jeans to 
rearrange himself.

"So, I'm not the only one with that problem," I smirk knowingly.

"We've both got boners, haven't we?" Adam asks. "You did say it's 
normal," he adds with a grin.

It is impossible to look away. His eyes absorb me, hold my attention, 
silently communicating that he wants only what I want. He licks his bottom lip 
nervously. I think back, remembering my own first time with a man I admired 
more than my own father.

If I tried hard, I fancied I could still smell the lingering odor of 
chlorine from the pool at the country club. The setting then was no less 
inappropriate than now. It was certainly public, but it was private enough 
if we were careful. For no reason  other than we were in the pool together, we 
had raced. I had been swimming as hard as I could, barely managing to stay a 
length ahead. Even as he allowed me to win, he pushed me to the very limit 
of my endurance. Excelling for him was something I became used to doing. 
Later, I followed him out of the pool. I was still wet when we stood face to 
face in the change room. Just from the ravenous look in his eyes I knew what 
he wanted. He wanted me, as much as I wanted him! I grinned stupidly as I 
peeled my Speedo off, pulling the red nylon down until the brief covering 
was halfway to my knees. His eyes never left mine. I felt his strong hand 
cup over my penis and testicles. Even though I was physically drained from the 
race, I felt full of life and bursting excitement as he contained all of me. 
His fingers gently fondled my sex organs until I became aroused. Only 
seconds passed before my penis was rigid. I felt his thumb stroke over my 
short pre-teen organ, caressing my hairless flesh with loving touches. For the 
first time in my eleven-year-old life I felt complete and truly happy. It 
lasted less than a minute before someone came into the change room to use 
the urinal and we were forced to stop.



"Well, DO YOU?" Adam asks persistently.

"Do I what?" I ask as I am returned to the present and my memories of my 
own youth depart in the immediacy of Adam's demand.

"Nothing!" he replies angrily.

I have rejected him. He confuses me. At one moment he is brim full of 
confidence, the next second he is insecure. All logic tells me to be 
careful, but reason is distant now that I have risen to the occasion with 
the hardest erection I can remember having for many years. I know right from 
wrong as well as any person, however I also know that all moral standards 
are relative. One society can deny a child's sexuality while another can 
celebrate it with rites of initiation and passage to manhood. Some cultures 
even sanction the love of men and boys. This beautiful boy presents a dilemma, 
and my rampart lust competes with ingrained morality.

"There's no need to get mad," I retort argumentatively.

"Who's mad? It's cool! I thought you were into it, that's all!"

"Tell me how old you again," I say.

"I already told you. I'm nearly eleven. Why? Does it matter how old I 
am? I'm old enough to do what I want."

I grin at him. He is so beautiful that I cannot imagine why he is 
attracted to me. I wonder why he is offering his perfect body to a man who 
he has known only for a matter of minutes. Surely there are others who are 
more appropriate, including a large selection of boys closer to his own age. 
Merely knowing this wonderful boy is far more than I deserve. I bask in his 
presence. I am happy just be close to him, but the thought that he wants to do 
soemthing of a sexual nature with me sends a thrill through me unlike any I 
have known since I was a boy myself. I have a feeling of deja vu, and muse 
silently that Adam could be me twenty years ago. I want to tell him that I 
think how beautiful he is, how much I adore his perfect body, how I would 
worship him if I was given a chance to be his friend. Words fail me. I am love 
sick.

"Well?" he demands abruptly.

I sense fear is setting in. He wavers again between confidence and 
insecurity. Too soon he will be a self-assured young man, sanguine and 
fearless as he expresses his adolescent sexuality. For now, he is 
apprehensive, not even beginning to understand what it is that drives him to 
adult males, knowing only that I possess something that is essential to make 
him whole. I begin to laugh. 

"What's so funny?" he demands again. The cocky boy returns.

"Do you want me to put grease all over your nuts and bolt?" I ask as I 
hold my right hand up for him to see.

He sees the black grease and dirt and he grins as he shakes his head. 
"Gross man! You're not wrong! Don't you dare! Your hands are filthy!"

"I guess I'm too dirty to tighten your nuts?" I smirk. "But then, I 
bet they're probably already pretty tight."

Adam giggles. He sounds a lot like a girl. He's at the perfect age 
when his testosterone levels are still at the entry-level. From what I can 
observe, the essential characteristics of manhood have not started to 
appear. Up close, I see that his skin is as smooth and soft as a baby's. The 
masculine side of him is nearly balanced by feminine attributes that persist 
from childhood. He is not effeminate, but there are clear signs that he is not 
all boy, and a considerable distance from being a man. Physically, he is in 
excellent shape, and without knowing why, I suspect that he is better at 
individual sports than those requiring team effort.

It is impossible not to make the obvious comparisons between us. At 
Adam's age I was a daring and adventurous youngster who was eager to 
experiment with life. My interest in athletic pursuits was not encouraged by 
my father. My motivation to succeed in school was even less aggressive, a 
problem compounded by fifth-generation wealth and parents who did not care 
to focus my efforts with stern words. My performance was satisfactory in 
most subjects. Only Art held my interest, yet it was still surprising to my 
parents and their exclusive friends that I chose to pursue sculpture as a 
career. The need to secure income and job security was tempered by the trust 
fund I inherited from my grandfather, but even then I needed more than 
occasional commissions to maintain my self-respect. My ideal vocation was 
discovered by accident when I was requested by a gay friend to cover his 
graduate course in sculpture while he attended to the imminent death of his 
lover. Not only did I enjoy teaching and a steady income for remarkably little 
effort, but it gave me the opportunity to practice my art without the need 
to find patrons.

"Maybe I better go wash first," I suggest lightly. "I wouldn't want to 
get you dirty."

"It doesn't matter," he says with building uncertainty.

Adam's big eyes meet mine. The vibes are overpowering, his pretty face 
is irresistible. There is nothing manly about him. His features are delicate 
and soft, and again I am reminded again of a girl, a very attractive girl. 
My mind soars as I engage his eyes and contemplate a face that is more 
beautiful that words can describe. Perhaps that is why I am interested in 
boys. It is a matter of aesthetic preference. Adam, like all boys prior to 
puberty, does not have the flowing full curves of a woman or the muscular 
angularity of a man. Yet he possesses form in perfect measure. I smile 
inwardly as I remember why the Greeks admired boys. I have no doubts that 
the boys who affected the Hellenistic poets and artists to immortalize them 
were no different to Adam. The idea comes to me of preserving his flawless 
perfection in bronze. I picture his naked body in various poses, imagine the 
dull burnished luster of green, gold, and brown metal, each detail of his 
anatomy recreated with superb accuracy, until model and copy are all but 
identical. One boy is living flesh given form by divine inspiration, the other 
boy is metal wrought by my hands with all the skill I possess.

With racing thoughts I imagine Adam in classic poses, as the 'Boy with a 
Shell to his Ear', as 'Ganymede Astride the Eagle', as the 'Boy with a 
Dolphin', as a dancing Dionysius, as Hermes, as a young Satyr proudly 
displaying his thin but very stiff penis. Adam is unequalled as a model, 
superior to any boy of the great sculptors of the Renaissance and or Neo- 
Classical era. I conceive of Adam in a new way. It will be an original and 
powerful expression of form and material that transcends all that I know. A 
new work that will depart from my own style in disturbing ways. Purity and 
innocence will emerge from depravity and base desires, something that is 
vile and ugly transformed to become Adam's physical perfection. Even as a 
vague concept, the idea is evocative, surpassing everything that I had 
undertaken so far.

I slide from under the car without speaking to Adam. My heart is 
pounding rapidly, as much from thinking about the possibility of having sex 
with the startlingly attractive youngster as by the potential of having him as 
a model in my studio. He follows me eagerly, no different to when I followed 
another man. He stands up and suddenly I realize how much taller I am than 
he is. The top of his head is below my breast. His golden-blond hair is 
tousled and tangled like the uncombed silk of corn. He looks up at me, his 
green-tinted blue eyes imploring me not to deny him the affection he seeks. 
I smile at him fondly and try to convey my feelings. He watches as I rub my 
hands vigorously with orange-scented hand cleaner, turning cream to grey thick 
paste as the grease is removed. I wipe my hands. We have not spoken for more 
than a minute. I feel my excitement accelerating with each passing second. I 
cannot take my eyes away from him.

I feel like I am in love, and wonder whether it is merely infatuation. 
Space and time seem to stop while we stare at each other in silence. I 
cannot help but hope that he is feeling the same thing that I am feeling, 
thinking the same thoughts. Suddenly I am gripped by a sense that everything 
is happening too quickly. Reason intervenes. The attraction between us is like 
two poles of the same magnet. We are held apart at the same time as we are 
pulled together. His eyes seem to sparkle as his smile lingers.

"I think I need a shower," I say absently.

Adam grins and shrugs his thin shoulders. His eyes meet mine and I stare 
into his gaze, meeting such intense beauty that I am awed. I am reminded of 
a pure white marble sculpture of Antinous, the boy loved by the Roman Emperor, 
Hadrian. 

"Mom said I didn't have to be home until five," Adam says out of the 
blue.

I wonder what the time is. It cannot be much after 2.00 p.m., I guess. 
Three hours! It is more than enough time to get better acquainted with this 
marvellous specimen of boyhood. I know what I will say even without thinking 
about it.

"Well,... uh,... why don't you um,.... come up to the house with 
me,... and er,... you can wait while I shower," I mutter nervously. "We can 
fix your bike after I clean up a bit."

My heart is pounding from the stress of issuing an invitation to the 
youngster. I am like the spider in its web, luring its prey closer until I can 
embrace it. I hunger to taste his innocence, my urgent desire now beyond my 
control. Adam nods, and then brushes his golden locks back from his 
forehead. He is so different to the late-teenage boys I have known that I am 
powerless to stop myself as the inevitable moment of truth approaches.

Adam meekly follows me out of the garage and up the stairs. He trots 
behind me like an obedient servant obeying his master's wish. The loft above 
the garage is my studio and I stop there and turn to face my companion. Adam's 
questioning eyes move around the room as if he is searching for something.

"You're an artist!" he says with animated interest. "That's really 
cool."

I smile at him and observe the same bric-a-brac that he sees. My work is 
scattered everywhere it seems. Most of it are marquettes for sculptures and 
detailed pieces that I have been studying for my latest project. The 
complete work, or rather the work in progress, is in the far corner of the 
loft and covered with dusty sheets.

"I'm a sculptor," I say. "Although you might not realize it in this 
mess."

I walk towards the sheets. I lift them away and lower them to the 
floor before I step back. The afternoon light grazes the waxy surface of the 
work. The figure is nude and is twisted among the coils of what at first 
appears to be a huge python. Only later, does the snake become recognized 
for what it is. The man's penis is seen only when one studies the beginning 
and ending of the serpent.

"It's,... it's his dick," Adam bursts out hysterically. "The snake is 
really his dick! That's wild!"

"I certainly can't fool you," I reply with mock severity. "It's supposed 
to be a serious work so you aren't allowed to laugh. It's a modern 
interpretation of an ancient myth."

"Oh! I'm sorry," Adam answers apologetically. "It's just that,... it's 
so big, it's weird." He takes a breath. "I didn't mean to laugh. I'm sorry."

Now it is my turn to laugh. "I'm joking, Adam. It's okay to laugh, 
especially when you have such a nice laugh."

"Oh! You're not mad at me?" he asks guiltily.

"Hardly!"

"Why,... um,... why is his dick that big for?" Adam grins cheekily.

I return his smile. "Isn't yours that big?" I tease. He shakes his head. 
"Maybe you need to exercise it more," I suggest playfully.

He raises his eyebrows with an unspoken question a moment before he 
averts his eyes.

"Who wants one THAT big, anyway?" he jests. "You'd have to drag it 
around behind you or put it out front in a wheelbarrow. You didn't answer my 
question," he adds.

"I didn't, did I? You want to know why his cock is so big? Well, it's 
called "The Last Man on Earth",... and the idea is that because he is the last 
man all he has left is his penis, so he makes love to it. It finally kills 
him."

Adam turns to look at the sculpture again. This time his eyes follow the 
curving thick pipe as it twists around the man's body. The snake's head, the 
swollen glans confronts the human face, both sets of lips are parted and ready 
to exchange a kiss.

"He's about to kiss his dick," Adam giggles. "If I really scrunch up, 
sometimes I can just lick the end of mine."

I swallow and stare at him in surprise. I am shocked at his lack of 
inhibition.

"Um, well when you're all alone, it's fun to try stuff like that," I say 
weakly.

Adam continues to smile knowingly. "That's his problem, right?" I nod 
slightly at this beautiful creature who graces my studio and admires my 
work. "If he does it, he'll probably drown."

My mind reels. Adam is outrageous. It is as if he knows he is exciting 
me and wants to arouse me even more. I decide to play along with the little 
extrovert. He does not seem old enough to know about semen but physical 
development and sexual curiosity are not necessarily related.

"What is IT?" I ask teasingly. "How would he drown, Adam?"

He grins and plays along. We have progressed a long way beyond innuendo. 
"You know! If he cums on himself,... Man, there'd have to be gallons of it."

"Oh, that! You mean he wouldn't be able to swallow all of it?" I ask.

Adam nods. I am taken back for a few seconds while I wonder what to say 
next. It is impossible to believe that an eleven-year-old boy knows about 
swallowing.

"I'm surprised you know about that sort of thing at your age. When I 
was eleven I had no idea what cum was," I blurt out.

Adam shrugs and gives me a look of feigned amusement. His expression 
is one of worldly experience and not the curious innocence that one should 
expect to see in a young boy.

"Well I do."

"You can't do it yet, can you?" I add without meeting his eyes. I am 
afraid he will see how nervous I am.

He shakes his tousled golden head slightly. However, in the space of 
just a few seconds his expression has changed completely. Gone is the 
provocative youth. A petulant boy stands in his place with pouting 
uncertainty. I have offended him by calling into question his maturity.

"I was twelve before I could do it," I continue. "The real fun is in 
practicing. I think I used to jerk off every day trying to cum. I'm 
surprised I didn't wear it out."

Adam's smile returns in a flash. "So do I," he admits without 
hesitation.

"Don't worry, you can't wear it out," I laugh. "Enjoy what you have, I 
always say."

"I do," he smirks.

I return his smile and we share a knowing look. I feel his eyes 
penetrate my mind, reading my thoughts as if he was reading a book. His eyes 
are impossible to resist. I am falling more in love with him with every second 
that passes. With difficulty I endeavor to change the subject away from 
where we are headed.

"You'd make a great model," I observe. "Maybe I could talk you into 
posing for a sculpture one day."

Adam smirks. "Like him?" he asks as he points at the work in the 
corner of the loft.

"Not quite! You wouldn't even have to take your clothes off unless you 
wanted to," I suggest. "Of course most sculpture uses a nude model because the 
purpose is to show the human body."

"Um,..." Adam hesitates. "I guess I wouldn't mind,... if you never 
told anyone. You'd have to promise?"

He has agreed and my heart rate soars as I contemplate the 
possibilities. Again, I conceive of him as a young Adonis, his perfect young 
body arched into a bow as he leaps into his lover's arms. Perhaps he is 
Hyacinth, regarding his own beauty as it is reflected back at him. And then my 
image of a different form of sculpture returns in my mind. Adam's refined 
and graceful beauty is of such classic style that he is eminently suited to 
a traditional expression in bronze. However, I realize that there is much more 
to be expressed through his body than mere physical appearance. I am presented 
by an opportunity to challenge my normal work with something new and exciting.

"What's wrong?" Adam asks. He interrupts my thoughts and I look up, 
startled by the idea that has formed again in my mind.

"Nothing! I was thinking of something," I mumble. I take a deep 
breath. "Contrast, Adam! We communicate ideas by contrast. Did you know 
that? Um,... like we see the color white, actually we know white, only because 
we know about black. There's rough and smooth, fat and thin, young and old, 
beautiful and ugly..." I take another breath and interrupt my lecture. He 
looks slightly confused. "Do you understand? There is one thing and the 
other thing that sets it apart. We only know the one because of the 
existence of the other."

"I guess," Adam equivocates as if the simple philosophy is beyond him.

He must think I am a lunatic. I place my hand on his shoulder. He is 
very thin and my fingers touch the firmness of muscle and bone under his 
sweater. Without a word I guide him towards the large window in the far 
wall. The light is better there. He stops when I release him, and he turns 
to face me. His eyes are alight with growing interest. My enthusiasm is 
infectious. I step back and move to one side. My heart is pounding loudly, 
as much from the thrill of touching him as from the ideas that are emerging 
rapidly in my mind.

I knee down and pick the cloth that I pulled from the other partially 
completed work, lift it up and drape it across Adam's lower body.

"Sit!" I order brusquely. "I want to try something."

Without question Adam squats before me and then settles onto his rump 
with his legs folded under him. He looks like a little boy-Buddha. His 
expression is serious, as if meditating. I drape the cloth over him, pulling 
it to almost cover him in a shrouded tent, and then progressively lift it away 
to reveal the child within. The tent could be made of sheet metal, thin folded 
plates, even like the tin of a can. I imagine it to be a Campbell's soup can 
that has been fractured, bent during recycling to divulge its secret. Part 
of me wants Adam to undress, to complete the process of unveiling the 
perfection under the fabric cover. I do not dare ask the question for fear 
of frightening him further.

"Do you want me to undress?" Adam asks meekly. Again I am startled. He 
reads my mind with conscious intent. "I will if you want me too. It isn't that 
cold in here," he adds.

"You don't mind?"

"If you want me naked, I don't mind," he answers. "You just can't tell 
anyone."

I nod and Adam stands with lithe ease. The draped cloth falls to the 
floor. He steps away. He smiles shyly and glances down at me as I continue 
to kneel before him. Thoughts of taking his clothes off fill my head until I 
can barely concentrate on anything else besides seeing his superb young body.

"There's a changing room over there next to the stairs," I say absently. 
My mind is clearly on other matters. "I think there's a robe on the back of 
the door that you can fit into. Don't worry if it's a bit on the long side."

Adam smiles and starts to walk away. I watch his small bottom moving 
under the tight denim of his blue jeans. He has a butt I would kill for. His 
thighs are slender and his spine is curved enough to make his buttocks 
appear like two round globes. He stops ten feet away and turns to face me. His 
torso is slender and his narrow waist emphasizes his hips. For a moment one 
could almost imagine he is a girl, but his pelvis is far too compact and his 
chest lacks any sign of breast development. His unspoken question is obvious.

"You can strip here, if you want," I offer quickly. "I think the 
changing room might be pretty messy, but you won't get dust on your clothes."

I can not believe what I am suggesting. My mind races ahead as Adam 
continues to look at me with interest while he considers what to do. His hands 
are by his sides and his fingers brush his mid thighs thoughtfully. He decides 
without speaking that some privacy is in order and he departs, leaving me to 
study his pert bottom thoughtfully. Two minutes pass before he reemerges and 
walks quietly across the room to where I am waiting. I have had enough time to 
gather some clay and begin to work it into a pliable mix. My hands are covered 
in the yellow ochre paste when Adam comes to my side. He is wearing the 
robe, tied at the front, but open from his neck to the middle of his waist. 
There is a groove that bisects him, from his slender neck almost to his 
navel and beyond. His skin is smooth and even-colored with a light brown 
tan. From what little I can, there is not a blemish on him.

He smiles shyly. "Do you want to see me in the buff?"

I nod. "If you don't mind, Adam. But if you do let me see you naked, you 
know you can't ever tell anyone about it."

He shuffles his feet. "I'm not stupid, and I wasn't born yesterday," 
he replies. "I'm not going to tell anyone I was here or what we did. I don't 
want to get either of us into trouble."

I study him carefully. He knows far more than I did when I was his 
age. He knows enough about sex to know that merely being in my loft needs to 
be kept secret. His duplicity arouses me even further. I begin to wonder where 
he had accumulated his experience. Before I can say anything more his 
fingers deftly unfasten the looped belt of his robe and it parts in the 
middle. I gaze upon a young body that is flawless. A sculptor with 
infinitely greater skill than mine has created absolute perfection in Adam. 
I need to touch his smooth as-polished-alabaster body. His skin is unblemished 
and has a luster like the sheen of finely woven silk.

"If I take this off no one will see me, will they?" Adam asks 
uncertainly.

"Only me," I grin. "And it's okay for the model to be naked in front 
of the artist."

His embarrassment is not feigned. He is visibly anxious, but not a 
little bit frightened. He shifts from one foot to another like a college 
sophomore who is afraid of failing a drawing assignment. His confidence is 
fading rapidly as the moment arrives. He looks at me sheepishly and I 
quickly turn away to begin to work my fingers in the modelling clay. I sense 
his eyes are on me while he wonders what he should do.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about," I explain gently as I 
glance back at him over my shoulder. "If you don't want to undress that's 
okay. It's totally up to you, Adam. You can keep the robe on if you feel 
more comfortable."

He smiles shyly, balancing on one foot as the toes of the other 
scratch at his lean calf muscle before it disappears under the robe. His 
tendons are long and pronounced and his ankles are very thin. For some 
reason I think he will be a fast runner and much better that I was as sports.

"Uh?..." Adam begins.

He hesitates. I wonder what his parents would think if they knew their 
beautiful young son was standing nearly naked in my studio contemplating 
whether he should undress before a man who he has known only for a matter of 
less than thirty minutes. If he was my son I would be more frightened than 
angry by the obvious implication that he is sexually attracted to men. I 
decide he knows what he is doing. For the second time my intuition warns me 
that all is not right with Adam. He should be playing with his friends and 
relishing his last few years of childhood. Responsibility weighs heavily on 
me. Again I look away as my conscience disputes with my greedy lust.

I draw my fingers through the soft yellow clay, creating the fold in his 
robe, drawing clay upward to make the rough shape of his head and shoulders. 
He is like putty in my hands. I have just enough clay for the maquette to be a 
scaled-down torso. With my thumb and forefinger I smooth the surface, pressing 
firmly to form the muscular indentations in his chest and belly. The clay is 
malleable and yields easily as I work it with patience. Adam looks on with 
growing fascination. He sees himself emerging from the earth, a likeness 
that is not particularly close captures the perfection of his body.

"It's starting to look more like me," Adam observes in awe.

My fingers caress the clay and deftly imprint the shapes of breast and 
neck, forming eyebrows with my fingernails. I am unaware of the passage of 
time so deep is my concentration. Occasionally I need to look up and ascertain 
the truth of the detail I am working on. He is so beautiful that I cannot even 
begin to approach his real form. I do not speak. For me, making art has always 
been an intense and very private activity.

As I work I am constantly mindful of the robe. My fingers press into the 
clay, imagining they are touching his flesh. Already it is becoming warm, 
although not as warm as Adam's living flesh. The figure is a poor surrogate 
for the real thing, the bewitching youngster who stands before me in silent 
admiration of my craft. I fantasize about taking the robe off and completing 
the nude torso to the middle of its thighs. I find my hand shaking as I 
dream about touching him.

"It's me," Adam says in reverence. "It looks just like me. You still 
have to do my belly button."

I hear the alarm in his unbroken voice as he realizes that his 
likeness is captured in a piece of clay. I shrug and complete the shaping of 
his lower belly, forming a navel that is the essence of his beauty. It is 
small and lies centered in a broad groove that runs from his neck to his 
groin, an area hidden behind the robe. His stomach is lean and without puppy 
fat and the skin is pulled tightly to either side of the small whorl that he 
calls his 'belly button'. Such a funny expression for a part that was so 
elegantly created when he was born.

"Cool," Adam giggles.

He waits for me to finish the final details before he glances down at 
the 'v' in robe and sees his navel in a different light. It has become a 
work of art. I rub my finger lightly across the flat mound of his right 
breast, tracing a line to his belly, then around his navel. It is distinctly 
erotic and Adam grins at me as if I have touched him instead. Without a 
word, all the time making direct eye contact, his hand moves to the knotted 
belt at the side of his gown. His deft fingers unfasten it and it opens at the 
front. He is silent as my eyes slowly lower. He is even more stunning that I 
expect. He is not well-favored in the size of his genitalia. Indeed, he has 
a penis and scrotum of a proportion favored by Hellenic artists. His beauty is 
classic in every sense of the word, without the modern, and to my view, 
ignorant demand that "bigger is better". The Greeks understood that a male's 
beauty hinged upon a balance of the parts and the essence of composition was 
proportion. Large sex organs were attached to the ugly and deformed, to 
centaurs, half-man, half beasts. By ancient standards, the enormous prick of 
Priapus was something to be worshipped as a sign of brute force, not envied. 
Small was beautiful, and Adam is small where it counts.

"You're a very handsome boy," I say softly. It is a gross 
understatement. My voice trembles like the hand holding the clay sculpture I 
have created.

My eyes are fixed on his groin. His penis is nearly as thick as his 
thumb, but it is much shorter despite the added length from his foreskin. It 
forms a puckered tip, like a tiny reddened nozzle against a stubby pink shaft. 
The shape of his glans is clearly evident in the gentle bulge under his 
foreskin. I cannot see more than the merest hint of his scrotum so tightly 
is it drawn up underneath him.

"You don't think I'm too skinny?" Adam asks awkwardly.

I shake my head, denying that any person with an appreciation of the 
human body could ever find him to be less that absolute perfection.

"No," I answer. I try to find the words to express my wonder. "You're 
perfect!"

Adam smiles shyly. His flat stomach pulls in slightly and his ribs 
become visible. He is sensual. His penis lifts up a fraction of an inch. He is 
so alive that it takes my breath away, unlike the poor imitation I have made 
of him. My fingers caress the clay while I compare the two, contemplating 
the destruction of my compromised copy.

"Are you going to change it now that you can see my thing?" Adam asks.

There is a breathless excitement, a shared realization that he has 
understood the way I formed the clay in order to simulate touching his body.

"Do you want me to?" I ask.

Adam shrugs with assumed indifference. My eyes drift to his groin 
again and I wonder whether I would be capable of the task. All of him is 
concentrated there. It is his essence, contained in a two small pieces of 
skin-covered reproductive organ. The challenge is more than I can accept. I 
shake my head slightly.

"Maybe next time, Adam," I add. I hear the doubt in my voice as I wonder 
whether he will ever come back to visit me. "This is enough for today."

Adam waits silently, lost somewhere in his own thoughts while I continue 
to gaze at his nearly nude body. I am surprised as I observe a slight 
inflation in the short little thing dangling between his legs. It begins to 
elevate even as I watch. Whether it hardens unconsciously or in response to 
Adam's will, I cannot tell. Slowly his penis lengthens. It is a certain 
precursor to becoming erect, enough to show a budding interest in someone of 
his own gender. He does not seem to be conscious of what is happening until he 
suddenly looks down. Instantly, his hands pull both sides of the open robe 
to cover the now nearly rigid projection. For a moment it peeks through the 
opening until the panicked boy closes one side completely over the other.

I grin and raise my eyebrows with exaggerated interest. "What's up?" I 
ask.

"Nothing!" Adam answers defensively.

"Nothing?"

Adam smiles shyly. "You saw it, Chris. 

"Saw what?" I tease relentlessly.

"I know you saw it. You were looking right at it. I was getting a stiffy 
again."

"It's nothing to be embarassed about," I say. "You're a boy. Like I said 
earlier, it's supposed to get hard, Adam. That's one of the two reasons why 
it's there in the first place."

He smiles again, experiencing the same purient enjoyment that most 
boys his age have when the subject matter turns to the one thing they all have 
in common. Cocks, dicks, pricks, tools, boners, stiffies,... an endless list.

He reddens slightly. "And the other is to pee through, right? I know! 
It's just,... well,... it's really embarrassing to get a stiffy in front of 
someone you don't know very well."

I nod my head in agreement. "Maybe, but you know, getting stiff is quite  
normal for a boy. It isn't something to be ashamed about. And it really 
doesn't matter to me whether it's soft or hard. It's a natural thing either 
way, Adam. You don't have to worry about having an erection in front of me. 
Besides, I think you have a beautiful penis."

His smile widens to a full-blown grin. For a boy his age he is very 
uninhibited. "Can I pose for you again some time?" he asks.

He can tell that I am immediately interested as I nod. Despite my 
usual self-restraint with my models, I am unable to prevent my desire from 
coming to the forefront. I have been frustrated for far too long to exert 
any self control.

"You can,... if you take off that gown and show me the rest of your 
body," I answer cautiously.

Adam's eyes reflect his own interest as clearly as if he has announced 
his thoughts aloud. A single gesture is all it takes as his arms lever back in 
their sockets and the gown drops away to the floor. He stands silent and naked 
while my eyes travel up and down his slender form. He is the most beautiful 
thing I have ever seen. His skin is unblemished, creamy when the sun has never 
been. There are darker, light brown tones elsewhere, the remnants of last 
summer's tan. His body is well proportioned. No, he is perfectly 
proportioned in the classical sense of harmony. His limbs and torso are so 
balanced in formal harmony that nothing could be changed for the better. His 
chest is well defined by the shape of thin ribs and firm belly muscles. His 
slight breasts, little more than a some fleshiness extending from his pectoral 
muscles, are identified by what may be the smallest nipples I have ever 
seen. His navel is similarly small, neither in nor out, a whorl of a well-tied 
knot that begins slightly depressed and bulges to become flush with his taut 
abdomen. Below, his maleness seems puny for the size of his body, but to me it 
is anything but insignificant. His stubby erection, perhaps three inches in 
length, but certainly no longer, points toward me at an acute angle that is 
barely above horizontal. What he does not have in length he more than makes up 
for in thickness, giving his sex organ a squat appearance not unlike a fat 
little sausage. His swollen pink shaft is crowned by a gem of a glans, a 
precious ruby flawed only by a tiny slit that is barely visible in the apex. 
His glans-corona flares so much that it looks wider than the rest of his 
organ, giving it a perched-on-top appearance  much like a cherry in shape, 
size, and color. Beneath, his foreskin is gathered in delicate folds. It is 
almost as if the opening in the thin membrane is too small to get past the 
broad ridge of his glans. I expect that Adam retracted it past his bulbed 
tip sometime earlier, or perhaps it has pulled back of its own accord when 
he became erect. I squash my urge to reach out and touch him, intuitively 
sensing not only that my clumsy grasp might not only be very much undesired, 
but I would destroy the perfection confronting me. How wrong could I be!

"You can touch it if you want," Adam mumbles with almost incoherent 
nervousness.

At the same time he steps forward a half-pace, bringing his genitals 
within easy reach. He is offering himself to me. I swallow and try to resist 
temptation as my lust-filled, though disbelieving brain goes into overdrive.

"You don't mind?" I ask uncertainly.

Adam shrugs and his lips purse anxiously as he senses rejection. "You 
can,... if you want. I don't mind."

Something snaps deep inside me. I am unable to resist. It is as if I 
do not have any control over my hand. Through the years I have longed for a 
moment such as this, always wondering what I would do if the opportunity every 
arose to fulfil my longing. This is the moment of truth.

I feel the warmth of his boy-cock before my fingertips ever touch his 
supple skin. So smooth, so soft, so incredibly hard. So different to mine, yet 
so similar. I feel Adam's instinctive tremble, nervous anticipation, a rush of 
adrenaline, the same surge of excitement that makes his maleness quiver 
beneath my fingers. I am barely touching him and I feel like I am joined to 
him, sharing something so special that I will never forget. I stroke 
downward from his tip and lightly trace my fingertips across the wrinkled skin 
of his very small scrotum, feeling lightheaded and curious. His testicles 
are like fat, small beans contained within an undersized pouch that is so 
contracted that it is almost undiscernible beneath his erection. Now, I feel 
so alive, so much a part of his life, and I wonder that it is strange that I 
have known him for no more than an hour at most despite the intimacy we are 
sharing. It seems very normal to be touching this most private part of him.

I glance upward, observe his blue eyes gazing at me, sense the wonder 
and the thrill he is experiencing. I want to speak, to ascertain his deepest 
thoughts, to find out what he wants me to do. Words choke in the dryness of my 
throat. Gently his hips push forward, presenting his sex organs until his 
buttocks tighten and become pinched. I watch his belly undulate, flexing a 
muscle within himself to make his penis lift against my fingers, breathing 
deeply and quickly as if he is engaged in physical exertion. The feverish heat 
of his young member is remarkable.

Finally I managed to say something. "You're beautiful," I gush 
exuberantly.

Adam smiles shyly, gazes into my eyes, stands patiently as I caress 
and fondle him. He seems to be content, for now. His scrotum is like a 
walnut under his penis, about the same size and just as wrinkled. There is a 
precise line identifying the transition from his smooth groin to his equally 
hairless pouch. I dandle his delicate little eggs, squeezing them relentlessly 
even as I take great care not to inflict even a trace of discomfort. Adam 
shifts his weight and moves his feet further apart, wanting me to continue 
despite experiencing unfamiliar sensations in this most tender of all 
places. He sighs, exhaling through his nose. His stiffness bobs up and down, 
synchronized with his belly, rising and falling with every breath he takes. My 
hand slides over his penis, cupping it lightly as I enclose his swollen 
part. I feel him quiver with growing excitement while I slowly stroke his 
penis gently between two fingers and my thumb. His skin is silky, warm, 
slightly moist, not sweaty. Elastic uncircumcised softness moves over 
rigidity, a resisting underlying hardness that throbs with urgency and a 
life of its own. This is his maleness, nearly three inches of future manhood 
that exists in contradiction to a prepubescent body whose very beauty is 
unmanly.

I glance up. His eyes have closed. My fear is irrational and it descends 
over me like the proverbial wet blanket. I question my motives and realize 
that I am knowingly taking advantage of a boy who is still only ten years old. 
And yet, despite my reservations there is no indication that he wants me to 
take my hand away. Indeed, all the indications are to the contrary. My careful 
stroking is clearly giving him pleasure. His increasingly labored breathing, 
his smile, his stance, all communicate one thing--Adam is flirting with me, 
teasing me with his immature yet proudly displayed sexuality. Despite his 
ten years I instinctively realize that he is not innocent. I resist asking the 
question, 'has he done this before?' because I know the answer already. That 
he is not innocent becomes extremely depressing to me. He is so young, so 
beautiful, so physically perfect in every way, that sexual knowledge is 
antithetical. And yet, in the silence we share I come to the inevitable 
conclusion that he is very experienced. There could be other explanations 
for his lack of inhibition, but I cannot think of them.

I am human. I take advantage of what is freely offered, shedding my 
guilt by convincing myself that this is what Adam desires, despite his 
tender years. He is ten. I am forty. Beside me, Adam is a mere stripling. 
His slender and unmuscled body is in stark contrast to the man's body he 
will have in his later years. My hand begins its rhythmic motion, both fingers 
and thumb travelling no more than an inch at a time, gliding over the rippling 
cords of his erection and pulling gently against his fattened glans with every 
outward stroke.

"Hmmmm," Adam purrs. His penis flexes, jerking in hungry anticipation of 
greater stimulation, encouraging greater speed and even more compression of 
the tender morsel between my fingers.

"Hmmmm, indeed," I tease. "You must like getting your dick rubbed, huh?"

Adam nods slightly, his eyes rolling in simulated abandon as his 
thighs press forward in a clumsy attempt to hump my hand. "Uh huh," he smirks. 
"It's a whole lot better than jerking off by myself," he adds.

"Oh! So you jerk off?"

Adam giggles slightly. "What boy doesn't? You'd have to be truly weird 
not to want to jerk off when it feels so good."

His body seems to shiver with excitement. I feel his heart pounding 
through his penis, sending a pulsing thrill through both of us. His belly 
pulls in, lifting his stiffness against my hand. It is a clear endorsement, 
a signal that he expects me to continue pleasuring him.

"It's a pity you can't cum yet?" I say. 

It is a stupid thing to say and I realize it as the words are uttered. 
His perfection is complete. His groin is perfectly smooth and his testicles 
are insignificant. There is no indication of the sparse down and testicular 
growth that heralds puberty. What is more, his immature body is perfectly 
capable of giving him substantial pleasure without the added complication of 
ejaculation.

"I already told you I can't do it yet!" He breathes deeply, slowly 
pumping forward and rotating his pelvis to extract even greater delight. 
"You don't have to be able to cum in order to have sex," he adds.

His answer is revealing. It is yet another indication that he is 
experienced beyond his years. Like the village idiot I am, I take the bait.

"What do you know about having sex?" I challenge playfully. "I would 
have thought you'd still be playing G. I. Joe with your friends."

"Yeah right! I haven't played G.I. Joe for years," Adam objects 
petulantly.

I grin at the defiant youngster. "How about sex?" I tease. "Assuming 
of course, you know enough about sex to even begin to know what to do."

"I know what to do," Adam counters in protest. There is an 
unmistakable nervousness in his retort, his voice faltering as he hesitates to 
illustrate his knowledge. Clearly, he does not being challenged.

"You have a nice hard cock, Adam," I tease as I lovingly squeeze his 
stiff boyhood, "but I don't think there are that many girls around here who 
would want you to put this in them."

"I didn't say girls, did I? A guy can do it with other guys, you 
know." Adam replies. I raise my eyebrows quizzically, silently taunting him to 
elaborate further. "It's called butt-fucking, in case you didn't know."

My intake of breath signals my shock and he smirks gleefully. I resume 
my self-appointed role of righteous adult. "You have a cute butt, Adam, and 
you're very sexy, but somehow I don't think you're anywhere near old enough to 
get it fucked, as you put it."

Adam shrugs with pretended nonchalance. His worldliness is both exciting 
and disturbing. "It's my body," he answers. "I can do what I want with it 
and it's no one else's business."

"That's true!" I acknowledge patiently. "It certainly sounds like you 
know what you want."

Adam glares at me, not oblivious to my cynicism. "So what if I do? You 
like guys too, don't you? I mean you're gay, aren't you?" he asks.

I wink conspiratorially. "I'm playing with your dick aren't I? What do 
you think?"

Adam laughs as he studies my hand. "I expect at least one of us is gay."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. You probably don't know 
this, but I've read somewhere that one out of ten males is gay." I pause for 
Adam to consume my statistical fact. His relief is visible.

"One in ten?" he repeats. "You mean,... out of the ten boys in my 
class,... one of us is gay?" He smiles cheekily. "I think there are two. No, 
that's wrong,... I know there are two."

"You and who else?" I tease. 

"He's a friend," Adam answers with a shy smile.

"Is he your best friend?"

Adam continues to smile and he does not deny what I have said. "Yeah, 
I s'pose you could say he's my very best friend."

He leaves the obvious unstated. Clearly, he has experimented sexually 
with this other unnamed boy. If his words leave room for doubt, his tone 
does not. I am not averse to the idea of Adam learning about sex from a boy 
his own age. It is entirely appropriate that his first forays into intimacy 
occur with someone his own age, if only because two boys of the same age 
will be more or less equally matched, physically and emotionally. However, 
my presumption of unsullied children engaging in innocent sex play does not 
address the ease at which Adam accepts sexual stimulation from me. Neither 
does it explain his apparent familiarity with anal intercourse. I try to avoid 
the looming question as I continue to masturbate my young acquaintance of 
nearly an hour.

"Man, you sure know how to make a guy feel good," Adam says. His hips 
oscillate, intimating that he desires even greater stimulation. "You must do 
this to a lot with other boys," he adds guilelessly.

I chuckle. "I'm inspired right now. I really don't have a lot of 
experience with boys as young as you."

I rub my finger over his turgid glans. It is hot and moist although 
the tiny crimson slit is bone dry. My caress makes him shiver with delight 
as a million highly stressed nerves respond. His penis jerks expectantly. 
Grasping his shaft firmly, my hand pulls back. His foreskin, still boyishly 
tight, drags over his darkened glans. I pinch the tumescent bulge between my 
thumb and forefinger and begin to massage it vigorously.

"Owwwww!" Adam groans with delirious joy.

"Feels good, huh?"

"Ooooh! That's the best,....."

"Is it better than doing it yourself?"

Adam grins crudely. "It's not in the same league, man. It's totally 
awesome."

"Totally awesome, huh?" I tease.

"It's the best, better even than getting sucked off."

I swallow my shock. "Hmmm,... is that the best?"

"There's always butt-fucking," Adam blurts out.

"You ever done that?" I ask crudely. "Got your butt fucked?"

He steps back suddenly, pulling his excited, throbbing penis away from 
my hand. "Maybe!" He hesitates, displaying confusion as he considers that I 
expect of him. "Maybe I do it with my friend," he says.

"I think your friend is very lucky if he does that to you," I reply, 
hinting in mock suspicion that Adam is not going to be the active partner.

Adam's shoulders, so slender and unblemished, shrug as if the thought 
had never occurred to him that he would do otherwise. "Did you do it at my 
age?"

"Do what?"

"You know. Buttfuck?" Adam pursues. I nod. "Did you like it?" I nod 
again. "Hmmm," he says thoughtfully. "Did you do it a lot?"

"What's a lot?"

"How often did you do it?"

"A lot," I return quickly.

Adam smiles shyly. "I've done it a few times."

"It's cool. You know, Adam, if you really love some one, having sex is 
the best thing there is. I guess you could say it's totally awesome. It really 
doesn't matter if you love a girl, or another boy! It's still fun."

"It's illegal for a man and a boy to have sex," Adam states matter-of- 
factly. "They could put us in jail just for doing this."

I smile. "Not you they wouldn't! But me, they would throw away the key 
for this."

"Help! Police! Help!" Adam squarks in a muted scream for assistance that 
he knows will not get through the walls of my studio.

I laugh. "I'll catch up to you in twenty years and cut both of your nuts 
off."

It is a ridiculous threat and Adam laughs with me. "Ouch!" he guffaws. 
"You wouldn't do that to my nuts would you?" he asks. "I would be able to 
use my bolt."

"You better not tell anyone then," I say amid laughter.

He shakes his head instantly, denying that he could ever breach the 
close familiarity that now exists between us. I am conscious of the developing 
relationship we share--half game, half serious affection. I am falling in love 
with him with every passing minute. He is witty, amorous, pensive, 
demanding. I feel envious of his parents who see him every day.

"Have you ever had sex with a boy?" Adam blurts out.

A question for a question. "Have you ever had sex with a man before?"

"That's not fair, Chris. I asked first. Have you?" Adam insists.

"No! At least not with a boy your age. The youngest guy I've had sex 
with was eighteen. He was a college student. Of course, eighteen is hardly 
what you would call a boy, but he was Asian and he looked much younger, 
about fourteen or fifteen."

I can sense Adam's agitation as he dissects my admission. He is not 
about to answer my question. Eighteen is legal, and he knows it. "What did you 
do with him?" he asks eventually.

"We had sex," I answer. I pause for Adam's next question but he is too 
embarassed to ask it. I laugh. "And yes, we did it,... we butt-fucked quite 
often if you must know. He moved in here with me for a few months last fall, 
so he had a pretty sore ass after a couple of days."

Adam smirks. "Did he ever do it to you?"

"No! He was, well,... he really didn't want to. He wasn't very 
interested. He was a natural bottom. That's the guy on the bottom."

"So you were on top?" He smirks again, becoming increasingly bolder. 
"Why was he a natural bottom."

"Uh, some guys prefer it that way. It was probably for the best 
anyway. You might say he wasn't all that big down there."

"He must have had a really tiny cock?" Adam chortled at his own sarcasm.

"Something like that," I said with a smile.

"Was his bigger than mine?" Adam asks.

"Not by much, except you have to remember he was about eight years older 
than you. Your's is a bit on the small size right now, but you can be sure 
it will start growing in a year or two. And anyway, the size of your penis 
really isn't important, Adam. It's what you do with it, and what you want to 
do with it."

Adam returns my smile, his cherubic cheeks conveying his happiness. "You 
want to have sex with me, don't you?" he asks candidly.

My heart leaps at his proposition. 'Do I want to?' Yes! YES! YES! I want 
to shout. Instead I swallow and hide my enthusiasm. I watch his eyes, so 
alive.

"My friend, he's only eleven,... and he has sex with his older brother 
all the time," Adam mumbles. "Like every night."

"Have you? Have you had sex with a man, Adam?" I ask querulously. I hear 
the rising panic in my voice.

"Get real! I'm a kid!" He replies with visible anxiety. 

"Do you want to?" I blurt out.

"If you must know, I've wanted to do it with a grown-up for as long as I 
can remember." Adam glances down at his bare legs and feet, focusing on his 
toes as if seeing them for the first time. "Do you want to? You can, if you 
want. I don't mind," he murmurs.

"Adam," I begin patiently. "Adam, there is nothing I want to do more 
than make love to you. You're a beautiful boy. You have a superb body. 
You're incredibly sexy. But,..."

"But you won't," Adam finishes. "It is because you're afraid I'll tell 
some one? Because I won't. I promise I'll never tell anyone. No one will 
know."

"It isn't that. If I love you enough to have sex with you, I'll trust 
you with my life. It isn't right, that's all!"

"It isn't right, that's all," Adam parodies. Although his unbroken 
boyish voice lacks my deep tones, his sarcasm is manifested. "What you 
really mean is I'm too young!"

It is time for complete honesty. He needs to understand what it means to 
be in love. "When I wasn't much older than you are now, Adam, I fell in love 
with a man who was about my age now. We starting having sex almost immediately 
after we met. We were lovers for more than three years. That's the reason, 
if you must know. I loved him,.... very much,... and he loved me back. We 
had sex because we loved each other."

Adam regards me with interest. "I thought,... "

"You thought what?"

"Nothing. Hmmmm, so you had sex with a man when you were a boy. Did 
you do IT with him? I mean did you do everything?"

Everything?"

"You know! Did he put his thing in your butt?"

"If you're asking whether we had anal sex, the answer is yes. That's 
what two guys do when they love each other."

Adam smiles slightly. Surprisingly, he is not at all embarassed as he 
invades my privacy with one question after another. He is both curious and 
sending me an unambiguous signal of what he is interested in. "Did you do it a 
lot? How often did he do it to you?"

I chuckle, remembering the afternoons I spent in his garage, in the 
woods behind the country club, on the front seat of his Mercedes with my pants 
at my ankles. How often? Every time, and sometimes several times; every 
Saturday, Sunday, and Thursday afternoon; more often when his wife was out 
of town. Over three years "it" had to be more than a thousand times. I lived 
on sex because I loved him and I enjoyed making him happy. Those were the 
three best years of my life. I thrived, passing through puberty and early 
adolescence with none of the difficulties most gay boys have. I had a few 
special problems of my own. I was far closer to him than my own father. 
Indeed, my father welcomed him, was happy for me to caddy for him, was glad to 
be rid of me so that he could concentrate on his golfing skills and 
entertaining his friends at the bar.

"A lot," I reply.

"I've done it a few times," Adam murmurs. "It hurts a bit. I was 
really worried the first time because there was some blood back there 
afterwards."

I smile reassuringly. The pain is something a boy has to put up with, 
even after the bleeding ceases. I tolerated it because I wanted him to love me 
and I learned to live with the problems that came with abusing my young 
body. It saddens me to think of Adam suffering.

"Doing that, having anal sex, is very special, Adam. I hope your 
friend loves you a lot," I answer tenderly.

Adam swallows. "Yeah, I s'pose he does."

I sense the truth. I try to minimize his torment. "I bled too, Adam," 
I admit. "I expect most boys do, even with boys their own age. After a few 
times,... well it usually stops and the pain goes away after a few minutes."

I remember my first time, the times we repeated the experiment over 
the next few days. His penis was not overly large, but it was big compared 
to mine. It was just too thick to enter my anus without causing injury. I 
risked the chance of rupture to have his penis inside me. There was some blood 
for the next week, although not a lot of it, and it always stopped as soon 
as he was finished. My body adjusted quickly.

"It doesn't hurt all that much now," Adam says meekly. "The blood 
bothered me. I thought I'd damaged something inside me"

I nod understandingly. "It's unlikely. Usually it's because your butt 
has to stretch and it's not used to it. Is his penis really big?"

Adam shrugs. "I guess. It's a lot bigger than mine. It's not all that 
long, but it's much thicker."

"It sounds like he's a bit bigger than normal."

"I guess. I don't have any basis for comparison, do I?"

I grin. "I've heard that the average length of a boy's penis is about 
three inches before he starts puberty. Once he's mature, his penis grows 
quickly until it's about six inches long. About this long," I add as I hold 
the first fingers of each hand about six inches apart. Adam is silent as he 
makes a quick comparison.

"It's way smaller than that. Is your's that big?"

"Mine's a bit bigger than average, but being bigger doesn't mean it 
feels any better."

Adam smirks. "Mine is small, isn't it?"

I wink. "It depends," I tease.

He accepts the challenge. "On what?"

"It depends on what you use it for. Most women usually prefer men who 
have big penises. If you're gay, it probably isn't all that important to 
have a really big one."

"Why is that?"

"Because if you're gay, Adam, you're either a top or a bottom,... or you 
take turns." 

I pause, wondering whether Adam really understands the basic concept 
of tops and bottoms. He swallows, his anxiety visible, but he nods. I 
continue, aware of the distress he is experiencing as I talk frankly about the 
main topic of interest since we met. 

"Now, like I said earlier, some gay guys much prefer to be the one on 
the bottom and have the other man's penis in his butt," I answered. "If you're 
smaller and you like to be the bottom, so much the better."

"Oh!" Adam answers tensely. "Then it means I'm gay, right?"

"What means you're gay?"

He sucks his lower lip inward, thoughtful as he considers his answer. 
"What you said.... If I like it, you know,... in my butt,... it means I'm gay, 
doesn't it?"

"If what you're trying to say is that because you like having sex with 
someone of the same sex, then you're gay, then the answer is probably yes, 
only there's a but attached to it."

"A but?" Adam asks gleefully. "As in however or like a butt hole?"

I laugh. "Most boys go through a phase of being attracted to other 
guys as they grow up. They're not gay when they're older. Maybe it's just 
nature's way of allowing a boy to let off steam without the risk of getting 
a girl pregnant."

Adam is silent for a long while before he finally murmurs. "I know I'm 
gay. I'm not going to change when I'm older. I'm one of the ten percent!"



Chapter 2.        1.30 p.m.   November 21st   



I step back from the podium and survey the audience as I wait for the 
inevitable questions. There were certain to be questions. My audience was a 
adhoc collection of mostly young and a few elderly lawyers who attend the 
annual conference of the Baltimore Bar Association. Most of them attend more 
for networking than edification. It is one of the few times that I have 
lectured to non-academic audiences, and is in a subject almost entirely out of 
my field but one in which I am very interested. The fine line separating art 
from pornography generally provides for a salubrious discussion and I have 
presented the case for art to audiences that are far less hospitable in 
attitude.

I swallow anxiously and wipe a few nervous beads of sweat from my 
forehead. They are certain to be critical. The last dozen slides have been 
particularly provocative. I ask the audience to compare and contrast images of 
Edward Weston, Robert Mapplethorpe, and David Hamilton and nude paintings by 
some of the great figure painters of history. In my experience, lawyers are 
seldom interested in new ideas or in interpretations that are different to 
their own, even antagonistic to positions that contradict accepted legal 
positions. I have tried especially hard not to be argumentative but realized 
that it was impossible not to arouse some ill feeling with the subject of my 
paper.

"Thank you, Professor Browning." The symposium facilitator comes to 
the podium. He is smiling, a wrinkle at the corner of his mouth as he 
readies for the onslaught. "As always, we save the best for the last of the 
year. I'm sure there are some questions on your presentation, 'The Politics of 
Pornography: an Artist's Perspective'. It is, shall we say, a very provocative 
title and your thesis is, well to at the very least, provocative. Like some of 
the young boys and girls who posed for the last few photographs you showed. 
I would imagine the sentiments are,... well problematic for a lot of our 
members as well as for society at large."

I return his smile. I wait. Only ten seconds pass before the first 
hand went up from the back row. I did not recognize its owner until the 
voice boomed out with a cynicism that was immediately identifiable. Some 
lawyers with political aspirations have a habit of being outspoken on issues 
they know nothing about.

"Professor Browning, beyond the implications that such photographs 
necessarily have for laws and moral standards at the time, what do you have to 
say about the unfortunate victims who are portrayed in these pornographic 
slides you've just shown us," the voice pauses with a soft snicker. "Is 
there any real evidence that the children who are placed in front of the 
camera for the world to see are not injured by the experience. And a second 
question, if I might continue, because if they do, as you put it, trust the 
photographer implicitly, what if the child discovers that his or her picture 
provides the basis for an adult's sexual stimulation?"

"First, Mr. Carley, I did not use the term pornographic for the last few 
pictures, you did. In my mind they clearly constitute art, but that's only 
my opinion!" This is a subdued laugh of amusement from the group. "I believe 
that I limited my argument entirely to photographs taken with artistic 
aspirations. We can debate whether the photographs have artistic merit, but 
that, like pornography, art has to be judged with the artist's intention in 
mind. If one of us decides that a certain photograph is pornographic, that 
is up to the individual and he or she can choose to look away."

I hesitate and survey the audience. I sense that some of them, the 
younger lawyers, many of them women, are probably on my side. I gaze at them 
and wonder how much support I really have. From experience, I know that 
women tend not to see the issue as simple right and wrong. What is 
pornographic to a man, can have artistic value to his counterpart.

"And now, to answer your questions. Let me use the last photograph I 
showed as an example. 'Neil Nude' was taken by his father, Edward Weston in 
the 1930's.  His son could hardly be considered to be an unwilling model. Now, 
I appreciate that I can't prove that Neil was irrevocably injured from 
exposing his body before his father's camera, but I serious doubt that he 
was adversely affected. Second, you suggest that photograph is pornographic. 
It is not, at least not in the correct sense of the word, because Weston's 
artistic intention has been clearly documented. The photo is a study of the 
form of the young male. If an adult looks at the photograph solely for 
sexual pleasure, it is beyond Weston's control."

Carley smiles gleefully as he rocks slightly on his feet. "Then you 
would deny that the boy was photographed with his sexuality as the focal 
point."

My smile is strained with feigned patience. The audience titters with 
subdued mirth as we cross into territory that is seldom discussed despite 
its great significance to society.

"Weston shows the child's torso from knees to nipples, which naturally 
places the boy's penis in the center of the photograph. I agree it is an 
expression of sexuality, indeed he focuses on the penis, however it also 
documents the utter perfection of a young boy's body of which the penis is a 
fundamentally significant element. I would imagine even the most prudish among 
us would have to agree with that observation."

"And you don't deny that a picture of a prepubescent boy's sex organs 
could cause sexual arousal for some people, and thereby create the basis for 
sexual pleasure?" Carley asks abruptly.

I smile and answer him as I struggle to avoid becoming antagonistic. 
"I wouldn't know about that. I imagine that some photographs can play a role 
in some people's sexual enjoyment. That would naturally include photographs of 
boys for those people who are sexually aroused by youg boys. All I am saying 
is that there was a lot more to Weston's taking the photograph in the first 
place than merely providing physical gratification for someone. 'Neil Nude' 
was never intended to promote sexual fantasies. It was about making ART! It 
could even be argued that it was about a father's pride in his son, and yes, 
even in his son's genitals."

"Professor Browning, then you're saying one thing and denying the sexual 
focus that you've already acknowledged exists," Carley smirks triumphantly.

"And you're denying the essential beauty of the human body and ascribing 
perverted connotations to a part that you find personally abhorrent," I 
retort. It is impossible to retain my 'cool'. I feel my anger building. 
"Neil was a beautiful boy, and because of this photograph his beauty has 
been captured for others to admire. Let's have no doubts about Weston's 
intentions. Neil was Weston's son and that alone is enough to suggest that 
taking the photograph was entirely appropriate."

"It's rather a depraved way to photograph one's children," Carley 
grumps. "Do you have proof of the artistic merit of the thing?"

I smile back at him smugly. "More than enough to prove the point, Mr. 
Carley. It's been described by a great number of art historians as a very 
significant photograph in terms of its quality and composition. I can also 
direct you to the published version of my own paper. I'm certain that you will 
find the references to be very interesting reading."

The moderator steps forward to the microphone. "Could I have the next 
question, please."

"Professor Browning, I was quite interested in your discussion of 
sexuality in art and its interpretation in American culture. I'd like to 
know whether similar situations exist in other countries, regarding moral 
and legal standards with respect to artistic matters. Is this just an American 
problem or is it something we share with other societies?"

By her accent she is of Danish or Swedish extraction. Not entirely the 
classic Scandinavian look, but the result of foreign imports. Even without 
my glasses, I see she has light-brown-hair with a burnished gloss and skin 
that glows with an natural lustre. Her full, red lips are inspirational. She 
is a beautiful woman, with a boyish charm, if one is inclined to the female 
sex. She speaks with a clipped, well-educated accent, traces of Baltimore 
and Canadian. I guess that she has probably been educated in private 
schools. It is an accent that seems strangely familiar. She is in her mid-to-
late thirties.

I nod. "I have not considered other countries besides the US and Canada, 
but I believe most countries in Europe are more liberal than we are. If one 
looks at the legal definition of pornography or the legal age of consent for 
example, uh,...?"

"I'm Elizabeth Andersen, of Munth and Haywick," she responds with a 
deliberate smile.

"The legal answer to your question you probably can find out better that 
I can,...." I begin.

I scratch my chin and momentarily avoid her penetrating eyes. It seems 
as though I should recognize her. Perhaps it is merely her intonation that 
implies a past acquaintance. I cannot place her and yet I am certain that I 
have seen her before, a long time ago. I take a nervous breath before I 
continue.

"However, knowing just how liberal most European countries are about 
sex, for that matter almost anything, I wouldn't be surprised to find they 
have a very different moral standard concerning art,... one that was more 
conducive to sexual overtones."

"Then by their moral standards these photos would not be subjected to 
the same political interpretations as some people in this room would have," 
she adds with a slight smile behind her. "What you're talking about really 
is a problem of American morality."

Carley interrupts swiftly. "This is quite preposterous, Browning. 
There is absolutely no reason to continue this discussion. I am entitled to 
have an opinion that is different to yours."

Andersen glances to her side and her withering look is seen by more than 
half of the attendees, interrupts him, loudly. "I do have the floor, Mr. 
Carley, your role as arbiter of public taste and comptroller of morals aside." 
Loud laughter ensues from the hall. "The interesting thing is that I have just 
been to Italy on business, and everything that I saw there seems to support 
Professor Browning now that I think about it. It's an interesting 
proposition."

I nodded in agreement. "I have to believe that in 'Neil Nude', both 
the boy and his parents were agreeable and that the child suffered no injury."

Carley snorts. "Then it appears to me that you are supporting the 
abuse of children in order to make pornography. The photograph you're 
referring to is prima facie evidence of that."

"While the photo of Neil is sexually explicit in that you can see his 
penis, it is preposterous to use a photograph of a ten-to-twelve-year-old 
boy to support the political machinations of some ultra-conservatives," the 
woman interrupts.

"Besides, to an artist, the age of the model is of no real 
consequence. What is more," I add, "is that I would not call 'Neil Nude' 
sexually explicit. The boy is not aroused, and there is no indication of 
anything sexual. Yes, he is nude, and yes you can see his genitals, but that 
is only the way God made him."

She smiles and appears pleased that I have become more aggressive in 
defending my position. I continue to press the attack.

"I expect that there may be many pictures where a child has suffered 
through the indignity of exposing himself or herself. I've heard that the 
Internet has plenty of pictures like that. However, it is likely that those 
pictures were intended to be pornographic from the outset. I imagine that in 
this case, Neil's father saw the photograph as an opportunity to preserve 
his son's beauty."

"If not his innocence," quips Carley.

"I'm not interested in disputing questions of morality with you," I 
answer impatiently. "In any case, its been my experience that most boys are 
very willing to model nude and, what's more, their parents are generally happy 
to let them. It's people like you who argue that a naked body is obscene."

"I happen to agree," Andersen states. "I'm sure that my own son would 
have little or no hesitation in having a picture taken of him like 'Neil 
Nude', just so long as his friends at school didn't see him, of course. And as 
his mother, I wouldn't be overly opposed to the idea either."

She smiles and I finally recognize her. She is no longer twelve years 
old, no longer the pretty girl with the flaxen braids reaching to her 
buttocks. She is my neighbor of more than twenty-five years earlier.

Carley snorts. "Well, no parents I know would let that sort of thing 
happen to their sons and daughters. It's too disgusting for words!"

There is nothing I can say to change his mind. He is ignorant and 
blind to the beauty around him, too caught up in his coalition of conservative 
do-gooders to see that art and pornography are merely different ways of 
looking at the human body. Fuck him! I shrug and step back from the podium. 
I want to escape from the dimly lit room into the brilliant sunshine that lies 
beyond the brocaded curtains.



She stops me in the foyer with a hail. "Chris Browning!"

I turn to meet her as she approaches quickly. Part of me wants to keep 
walking and leave my past behind me. She knows me for what I am, or more 
accurately, what I was. Memories fill my head. I have not forgotten much in 
twenty-five years.

"Hi Liz," I answer fondly. "Long time no see. I thought you were still 
in Canada."

"I moved back about July. I had to get away. I guess I got tired of 
the cold weather."

"Baltimore gets cold this time of year too," I reply.

"Yes, I remember. However, I wanted to come back here. After my 
boyfriend walked out there didn't seem to be any reason to stay in Canada. The 
whole thing was pretty bad for my son, maybe even worse for him than me 
because he father stopped visiting."

"You have a son?" I ask.

"Adam. He's almost eleven. Not that he was close to his father, 
but,... well it's a long story. His father went off with the girl who was 
Adam's babysitter. He'd been screwing her for the three years she was 
sitting Adam. And Adam knew all the time, only he was too scared to tell me."

"Poor kid! Poor you!" I say sympathetically.

"That's life! So I packed up and came back here. Enough about me. How 
have you been, anyway?"

I shrug and smile. "Fine! My work keeps me very busy."

Liz nods. "I've seen some of your sculptures. There was an exhibit in 
Toronto called, hmmmm let me think,.... "Carved", wasn't it?"

I meet her eyes. She is still a very beautiful woman. The years have 
been good to her. The only make-up is lipstick and a trace of eye-shadow. 
"What did you think?"

"They were,... well I guess the word is 'thoughtful',.... There was 
one that was very interesting. It was the one with the paint. Very different 
to the others I thought."

I laugh. "Colon-2! It's hard to make a sculpture of the inside of a 
rectum."

There is a momentary silence. "The reviewer raved about your work," 
Liz says. "He called it 'sensual symbolism' and he talked a lot about your 
unusual interpretation of the body."

I step back and study her with an artist's eye for form. A thought comes 
to me and I feel my heart quicken. I am surprised I did not notice it 
sooner. There are very strong similarities between her and the beautiful boy 
who came to my studio. Could it possibly be? How many ten-nearly-eleven-year-
old Adams could there be in Baltimore with Canadian accents. My Adam has the 
same lips, full and passionate, the same eyes, pale blue, the same golden 
blond wavy hair that she had as a child, a similar skin tone--very 
Scandinavian. I need to know with a passion that is disconcerting.

"Well, tell me what you've been doing. Where are you living?" I begin 
obliquely.

Liz starts. Like me, she has been thinking. "Huh? Oh, I went back to 
school a few years ago. I'm a lawyer now, in case you wondered. I've taken a 
job with Feldstein and Hatfield. "

"I know them! They're very good. F and H do my trust work. They're the 
best in the city! Tell me more"

"Well, I've bought a condominium in Hillsdale so Adam can go to the 
Academy."

I grin. "Poor kid! I hope he survives. They'll turn him into a Bible- 
touting Christian you know."

"He'll do fine. Adam's a bright boy."

"I'm sure he is," I say. "There are some condos on the other side of 
Greally that are nice without costing a fortune," I suggest.

Liz nods. "I wanted to be close to the old neighborhood. I couldn't 
afford a house after the divorce."

I glance around, no longer able to look at her. I know the answer to the 
question I have not asked. Liz is Adam's mother! I touched her son's penis! 
I very nearly did something else with him. I swallow, feeling growing guilt at 
how close I had come to doing much more. Although she is more liberal than 
most people, what I had done already was too much. She would undoubtedly 
consider it to be sexual abuse of her son. She would kill me if she knew 
what I had done. I consider excusing myself. And yet I linger, wanting to 
reestablish an acquaintance in the vain hope that it will lead to spending 
more time with Adam, of filling in a missing part of my life. Lunch offers 
interesting possibilities, at the least of getting to know more about the 
beautiful boy who holds my interest. There is even a chance of seeing him 
one more time, at best of developing a permanent relationship with him.

"Let's get some lunch," I suggest. "We can talk about old times."

Liz shrugs and glances at her watch. "I do have to get back for a 
staff meeting, but it won't hurt if I'm a few minutes late." She smiles. 
"You know, Chris, you were the last person I wanted to see again when I left 
here, and when I saw you name listed as the speaker for today, well, I just 
had to come to see you how the years had affected you."

I smile back at her. "Do you hate me that much?"

"I never hated you," Liz says flatly. "My mother would have hated you 
had she known about you."

I wince inside. "I'm surprised you never told her."

"I guess I saw how happy my father was," Liz replies. "You were good for 
him, Chris."

"He was good for me, too," I admit. "God only knows I needed someone 
in my life like him. How's he doing, anyway?"

"Dad? Honestly, I have no idea. I haven't spoken to him for years. Not 
since,... well it doesn't matter. Let's go get a bite to eat."



Chapter 3.       7.30 p.m.     December 8th



Adam romps on the carpet with me while his mother is cooking dinner in 
the kitchen. He is almost eleven, only two weeks to go until his birthday. 
He loves to wrestle, even though he always loses. I pin him down, lying half 
over him as I try to get my fingers under his struggling arms to tickle him. 
He laughs, a high-pitched sound that is almost a girlish shriek. He 
endeavors to wriggle free, twisting and turning with surprising strength for 
his slender body. My weight is too much for him and I hold him down, 
grabbing both of his hands in my left hand and jerking them behind his head so 
that he is exposed. Only a thin tee-shirt protects his closest armpit from 
attack. He might as well be naked for all the protection his clothes offer 
him. I grin down at him. Adam is confidently supreme as he smirks back at 
me, then rudely sticks his tongue out to challenge me. Without warning he 
writhes valiantly and with all his strength in an attempt to toss me off. He 
ends his contortions by positioning himself so that he can bring his knee up 
to strike my groin with carefully aimed precision. Instead, I sense his 
intention and place my leg over both of his legs.

"Oh! So you want to fight dirty huh?"

Adam smirks again and tries again to move his legs. Now, there is 
nothing he can do, his body is immobile. He is a prisoner beneath me. My 
fingers flick at the hem of his tee-shirt, lifting it slightly up his waist so 
that I can see a narrow strip of bare boy-flesh before his cotton pants start. 
His waist is narrow, almost feminine except for the firmness of his stomach 
muscles. He is clearly very-much a boy despite the smallness of the bulge in 
his crotch. His beautiful belly is highlighted by a tiny belly-button that 
peaks out from under his pants. Casually my fingertips touch his silky-
smooth skin. I cannot believe how soft and warm he is. It is not unlike 
touching a new-born baby.

Adam giggles and relaxes, sending a clear and unambiguous signal. I 
caress his belly from one side to the other. He flexes his belly muscles, 
tightening them under my gliding fingers. He arches his back as far as he is 
able so that he pushes up against me. We say nothing as our eyes meet. He 
gazes at me, half-smiling, radiating both innocence and lust at the same time. 
There is no need to ask his permission. He submits in silence, a Mona-Lisa 
smile of knowing and wanting what I offer. We both want the same thing, but 
I am to afraid to admit it with his mother only fifteen feet away.

I slide my hand under his tee-shirt and slowly follow the gentle contour 
of his slim torso until I reach his ribs. One by one the bony mounds pass 
under my fingers until I reach the slight, firm flesh that forms his right 
breast. His nipple is very small, and for several seconds I search for it. 
It is only the gradual stiffening of a minute point that identifies it. 
Using my thumb I circle over it, teasing and squeezing the tiny sensitive 
nub against my finger until Adam winces in growing delight. My fingers back 
away in retreat, looking for other places to torment. I stroke his hairless 
armpits under the loose tee-shirt, luxuriating in the moist heat that is not 
unlike that of his compact crotch.

He raises one eyebrow, challenging me not to tickle him and interrupt 
his sybaritic pleasure. I wink, not giving him reason to distrust me, still 
keeping him prepared for a surprise attack in his most ticklish place. Adam 
quivers under me, and then he smiles suggestively. I watch his chest rise 
and fall with each strong deep breath. His eyelids flicker, his blue eyes gaze 
openly and trustingly into mine. He is a very beautiful boy. His passionate 
mouth opens, he licks his upper lip, and he mouths silent words to me.

I smile down at him and mouth the same words back to him for the 
millionth time. 'I love you'.

He is content, his eyes half-close, a trace of a smile on his lips as my 
fingers commence their downward journey. By the time I reach the waistband 
of his pants there is a visibly larger bulge. It is not as big as most boys 
his age, but it is prominent against the furrow between his slender thighs. 
His eyes open and flicker with interest when my hand stops, my fingertips just 
underneath the waist of his pants. Silently he dares me to go further, 
abandoning all caution as his desire is ignited. I slide one outstretched 
finger towards his private place, like the advance scout of an invading army 
of three other very eager fingers and a thumb.

"Who's fighting dirty now?" he demands in a breathy whisper.

I grin down at him. "Dirty? Who me? I washed my hands before dinner," 
I say pretending innocence.

My finger brushes the heated tip of his penis. Without underpants, he is 
exposed to my touch. His juvenile penis is fully erect and still does not 
reach halfway to his navel. So small, so hot, so absolutely perfect, so 
wonderfully 'boy'. He quivers slightly as I tug gently on his puckered 
nozzle and then lightly trace the swelling of the bulbous glans completely 
contained within his foreskin. All too soon his penis will lengthen until 
the head is partially uncovered, but for now the skin of his penis is 
stretched tightly for the narrow opening valiantly resists the passage of 
his rounded helmet-shaped head. He is so hard and still so soft, emanating a 
moist warmth from his throbbing, alive flesh. My fingers stroke along his 
manhood, still very much that of a boy as I encounter his hairless groin and 
tiny testicles. "Balls" do not describe the precious bean-sized contents of 
his delicate scrotum. They are like two jewels containing his very essence, 
his manly future not even realized as a single milky droplet.

Adam wriggles slightly, repositioning himself under me so that his 
legs can move apart. He gives me unfettered access to his maleness, lying 
silent with nearly closed eyes in contented bliss. Under my fingers, his 
eggs dart away and hide in the loose folds of his silken pouch. He smiles 
happily as I press down and squeeze him lovingly. The palm of my hand contains 
all of him that is important. I rub him with a firm but gentle pressure, 
kneading his already excited genitals until his hips lift up expectantly.

"Feels nice huh?" I ask teasingly. "You're a horny little faggot, aren't 
you?"

Adam shrugs and looks up at me arrogantly. He speaks in a muted voice 
that is both urgent and conspiratorial. "I'm not the only one, am I? You're 
the one who's playing with my dick!"

"You could always tell me to stop if you didn't want me to," I reply 
softly.

"I know that!" Adam replies confidently.

I ease my fingers into the start of his crack, lifting him slightly in 
order to place a fingertip directly onto his anus. It is heated as if there is 
a fire burning just inside him. "Do you want me to stop?" I add.

Adam shakes his head slightly. He feels my finger wriggling under him, 
pressing into the moistness of his opening. Without the benefit of 
lubrication, it will not enter easily, even if Adam assists by relaxing his 
sphincter muscle, or better, pushes down against me. I feel the tension in his 
young body slacken and his hips ease down in preparation. He squeezes 
deliberately. The resistance fades. Even though he has said nothing, I know 
exactly what he wants me to do. My finger slowly pushes deeper into the hot 
orifice as Adam sighs with happiness and tries to relax even more. His 
little anus is so tight it is difficult for me to accept that he is no 
longer a virgin. Fortunately, his only experience has been with a boy his 
own age.

"I know what you want," I whisper in his hear.

There is a hint of a smile as Adam nods. "The same thing you want, I 
s'pose. It's a pity Mom's here."

His buttocks squeeze slightly and he squirms, then pushes back to take 
my finger deeper into his rectum. With little effort he forces my finger 
past his sphincter until it protrudes beyond the second joint. He is quiet for 
a moment while he becomes accustomed to having it inside him. His breathing 
slows, hot and moist against my cheek. Gently I curl my finger, probing for 
the highly sensitive node within him. I pass over his immature prostate, his 
juice-gland still pea-sized and barely felt through the slick wall of his 
rectum. With little pressure I penetrate his bowel until my knuckle is against 
his crack and I can go no further.

"What if she comes in?" Adam asks anxiously.

"Shhh!" I reply.

I pull back until only half of my finger remains inside him. I begin 
to massage, rubbing back and forth over his sensitive spot. His breathing 
quickens immediately. As the contractions in his sphincter become stronger 
he squeezes tightly on my finger, binding his anus around my digit and 
stopping its movement temporarily.

"Dinner is ready," Liz calls from the doorway to the kitchen.

I look up, startled, hoping that she cannot see what I am doing to her 
son. In an instant, my finger is free of his hot, tight canal. I give his 
sex a playful squeeze and a moment latter my hand is safely outside his 
pants again. She has not seen what I was doing.

"Thank God! I'm starving!" I exclaim in nervous relief.

"Are you two wrestling again? That's all you seem to do!"

I grin. "You had better say uncle, Adam," I taunt, "or you'll get 
another wedgie."

Adam shakes his head furiously, writhing under me in a valiant effort to 
escape. I slide to one side, grasping his thin ankle and jerking his right leg 
into the air until his knee is close to his chest. Except for the thin 
cotton of his pants his buttocks are unprotected. He exhales, clenches his 
fists impotently as I hold him down, smirks back at me in a silent dare.

"Say uncle," I command again.

"No way!" Adam laughs.

I bring my hand into the cleft between his firm buttocks, fingers 
first like a stiff wedge driven into rubber. I go further than I expected, 
passing between his thighs until my fingers collide with the small 
hemisphere of his scrotal pouch. He shrieks, twists, tries to inflict injury 
with his flailing arms, laughing uncontrollably. Satisfied, I lift away, no 
longer pinning him down. Adam scrambles to the side, indignant and 
pretending anger.

"He grabbed my balls, Mom!" he chortles. "He's a dirty old man."

"Well, I always suspected he was a pervert, Adam. You had better be 
careful around him or he'll grab more than you balls," Liz laughs. "Come on, 
let's have dinner before it gets cold."

"Who me? You think I'm a pervert?" I ask innocently as I follow her.

Liz smiles and shrugs. "If the shoe fits, I guess you should ought to 
put it on and wear it."

We follow her into the dining room. She has laid out a feast of 
grilled chicken and corn, a large Caesar salad, and a tomato and eggplant 
dish. It is during dessert that Liz breaks the news to Adam.

"Can Chris stay after we finish dinner and watch a movie with me? 
Raiders of the Lost Ark in on the Movie Channel, Mom." Adam looks 
expectantly towards his mother. "Please Mom, can he stay?"

"Adam, he's going to stay all night," Liz says slowly. She glances at me 
meaningfully, cautioning silence until Adam understands.

"All night? Huh? I don't understand. Where's he going to sleep?"

I try to hide my smile. If I have any choice in the matter I would be 
sleeping in Adam's bed. Instantly I feel the start of an erection at the 
mere thought of curling up to his naked body, absorbing his warmth, 
listening to the quiet whisper of his voice in the darkness until he falls 
asleep, exhausted from hours of passionate sex.

"He's sleeping in my room of course, Honey," Liz answers after a long 
pause. "He can hardly sleep on the couch now can he?"

From the look on Adam's face I see that he is surprised and really 
doesn't understand the reason why I would sleep in his mother's room, even 
though he is familiar with the biological process of reproduction. His lips 
compress when the realization dawns on him. His reaction is extreme, yet 
understandable.

"I hate you," he screams in sudden anger. 

He gropes for words as his revulsion builds. He tries to stand, but 
the carpet holds the legs of the chair under him. It totters when he comes 
to his feet, then crashes loudly to the floor. I know his anger is focused 
on me. His disgust is palatable. 

"How could you? You're,... you're supposed to love ME!" he blurts out in 
uncontrolled fury.

"Adam!" Liz says loudly, "For God's sake!"

"I hate you!" he shouts. He runs, stops at the doorway, and turns 
angrily to confront me. He is sobbing. "Fuck you! Why don't you fuck my 
mother! See if I care! I hate you!"

I close my eyes in shame. When I open them again, Liz is slowly 
shaking her head in despair. Unknown to his mother, Adam's reaction is 
entirely predictable. She does not know the extent of the affection between 
us, nor could she be expected to accept that we have fallen in love.

"God," she says miserably, "I never expected him to react like that! 
He's never been like this! I didn't think he'd be so angry. And the f-word, 
he's never used it before. I didn't even know that he knew it. I,... I don't 
know what to say, Chris."

I nod my understanding, too shaken to respond. Adam's hatred is directed 
entirely at me. I have hurt him deeply. I cannot expect him to understand 
the complex world of adult relationships.

"I suppose I had better talk with him," she mutters. "I don't know 
what I can say. I guess he's been without a father for too long. He's just 
jealous of you, you know that don't you? He's used to being the only 'man' 
in my life."

I nod again. She would be disillusioned if she knew the truth of it. "He 
doesn't like the competition I expect," I add in feeble agreement. "I don't 
know what you can say to help him understand."

She sighs deeply. "In some ways I think Adam needs you even more than 
I do."

I take a quick breath. That is the truth of it. Her words disturb me and 
for a few seconds I suspect that she has fathomed the reason behind Adam's 
reaction.

"Huh?" I ask with pretended ignorance.

"A boy needs a father. Adam hasn't had a real male role model since he 
was five. I've tried my best. I guess I should count my blessings that he 
isn't effeminate like some boys who grow up without a father around."

I smile. "Maybe I should be the one to talk with him, Liz," I volunteer. 
"If he knows enough to realize we're going to have sex if we sleep together, 
then he might feel more comfortable talking to me instead of you. Most boys 
get pretty uptight about sex when they're about Adam's age."

Liz scratches her temple and pushes away an unruly lock of blond hair. 
"Would you? God, this is so difficult for me. I've never really talked about 
sex with him. He didn't seem to be very interested the time when I tried to 
tell him how babies were made."

I smile inwardly, having no doubts as to why Adam would be disinterested 
in that subject. I stand and follow Adam up to his bedroom. The door is closed 
and I knock gently before I try the handle. It turns as Adam's muted voice 
reaches me.

"Go away, Mom!"

"Adam, it's me!" I say. "I want to talk!"

"Go away! I hate you!"

I glance over my shoulder, hoping that I am out of his mother's hearing. 
"I love you," I say as loudly as I dare.

There is silence. "Yeah, right! Why don't you go fuck my mom?" Adam says 
querulously.

I open the door until I can see Adam lying on the bed. His back is to 
me. His head is forced into his pillow as he tries to hide.

"I love you, Adam," I say gently.

"No you don't," Adam counters. "Don't try to pretend!"

I step through the open doorway, thinking quickly while I close the door 
behind me and close the gap between us. The physical distance is one thing, 
the emotional chasm is quite another. I try to find the words I need to say to 
him. His hunched up body looks very small to me. He is exposed and hurt, and 
instinctively I want to comfort him and take away his pain. I stop by the side 
of his bed. He is silent, rejecting me and the feelings of closeness that we 
have shared since the day we met. I have known all along that he is an 
extremely sensitive boy.

I look down at him, feeling overwhelming guilt that I could abandon this 
beautiful slender boy for his mother. I cannot expect him to understand that 
it is the only way I can continue to be close to him and not arouse her 
suspicions. Also, Adam does not comprehend that part of my attraction to 
boys like him because it is not entirely fulfilled by women. From his 
perspective, I have deceived him and taken advantage of his innocence and 
willing friendship. He is right to think our relationship is fraudulent.

"Adam, I understand how you feel," I begin anxiously. I want 
deparately for him to understand my situation. Like Adam, I cannot change 
the way I am.

"No you don't," Adam murmurs. He sounds sad. He is sad. I have injured 
him deeply.

"I really do love you," I attempt again. "I think you love me too," I 
venture.

"I hate you!" Another lonely murmur.

"I don't know if you will understand this," I try again. "I know we've 
talked a lot about you're being gay. You also know there are men who love 
boys, I'm one of them,... but you have to realize that they aren't always gay. 
In fact a lot of them probably aren't gay. For instance, there are some men, 
like me for example, who are able to love both boys and women. It doesn't mean 
that I love you any less."

"Maybe it means you don't love me at all," Adam suggests angrily. "Maybe 
it means that you lied to me. I don't care if you do it with my mom. You can 
fuck her all you want! See if I care! I hate you!"

"Don't be like this, Adam?" I plead. "Please try to understand," I 
implore. "Your mother and I don't want to hurt you. God, the last thing I want 
to do is hurt you. If I knew I was hurting you I'd leave and never see you 
again."

Adam glares sideways at me, wiping tears away before he looks away 
quickly. "I don't want you to leave," he says adamantly.

"I don't want to leave either, but you have to know that I think your 
mother and I are falling in love. It's very different love compared to the way 
I love you."

"Are you going to marry her?" he demands. His head lifts up, no longer 
buried in his pillow.

"Maybe Adam. I don't know. Anything like that is still a long time away, 
believe me." I take a deep breath. "What would you think if I did marry her?"

Adam shrugs, his beautiful face reddened with angry tears. "If you 
married her you'd kind of be like my dad then, wouldn't you?"

I nod. "You'd be the son I always wanted, Adam," I answer honestly. "But 
you'd always be much more than a son to me," I add hesitantly.

"You mean,..." Adam asks awkwardly.

I grin. "I said I loved you, didn't I? I wasn't joking."

"You mean,..." Adam's voice is nervous and he trembles as he begins to 
realize what my words mean. "You mean,..." he tries again. I nod slightly 
and he starts to smile shyly. "I thought,...." His face brightens visibly. 
"But what about her? My Mom, what if she finds out about us?"

"I don't plan on telling her that I'm in love with her son," I admit. 
"If we're careful, she'll never know," I add confidentially.

"Oh! So,.... Chris,.... if you live here with me, then,..." Adam 
suddenly seems happier than I have ever seen him.

"You and I will always be close," I finish ambiguously. "I don't want to 
hurt you, Adam. I love you too much for that. I'd do just about anything to be 
with you.  I know it worries you that I have feelings for your mom. However, 
you must believe me that I love you as well. The thing is, my feelings for you 
are a lot different."

"The first time,..." Adam says slowly, "when you said that you weren't 
really gay,.... this is what you meant, wasn't it?" His eyes meet mine and 
we look at each other. It is the moment of truth.

"What do you mean, Adam?" I ask.

"You said that you loved boys, remember?" he continues slowly. I nod 
in agreement. "You love me because I'm a boy, right? And you love my mom,... 
but you don't love men,... because you aren't gay?"

Again I nod. I sense where he was leading, yet there is no way to stop 
the inevitable conclusion. He has to hear the truth from me. "It's the way I 
am. Maybe I'll fall in love with your mom, Adam. However, I also love boys, 
and the last time I looked I think you were still a boy. At least I didn't see 
any hair around Junior," I joke.

"Chris, what happens when I grow up?" Adam asks awkwardly. "I won't be a 
kid forever. Will you stop loving me then?"

I sigh loudly. The trouble with telling the truth is that it tends to 
hurt more than it helps. It would be so easy to lie to Adam, to shrug off 
his conclusion as irrelevant, unlikely, even impossible. For a moment I 
consider giving the tried and true line that I will always love him, 
although my physical desire will be tempered as he grows up. I cannot find 
it in me to mislead him. Once he is a year or two past puberty I doubt whether 
there will be much attraction for me in his adolescent body. I swallow 
guiltily.

"Yes, in a way I will, Adam," I acknowledge. "I can't help that I love 
boys. The key word is 'boys'.  When you're older, I'll feel different 
towards you. I'll still love you, I'll always love you,... but it probably 
won't be sexual."

"You mean,... you won't want to do stuff with me? That's what you 
mean, isn't it?"

I watch his happiness crumble as the truth sinks in. "That's still 
several years away, Adam," I add quickly. "The next few years can be wonderful 
years that you will never forget. We will always be able to remember what we 
shared together when you were a boy."

"But,... I,... " Adam begins. He falls silent, unable to find the 
words to express himself. His bottom lip quivers the way it does when he's 
worried. "Why can't you be gay?" he demands. "I want you to love me always, 
not just for a few lousy years."

I shrug and shake my head. I don't know why I am the way I am. "You're 
almost eleven now, Adam so there's at least three, maybe even four years 
before we have to worry about it. That's a long time for most gays to be in 
love, you know."

"What do you mean? I don't understand," Adam trembles.

"Most gays don't have long term relationships. I don't know why that is, 
but it's true. Maybe it's because gays don't have to worry about having babies 
so they have no reason not to have sex with anyone who comes along. In fact, 
some of gay guys are just plain promiscuous," I reply.

"Huh? What does prom-mis-cuous mean?"

I smile. "It means you have sex a lot," I answer. "And not with the same 
person. If you had sex with the same person you'd just be plain horny. To be 
promiscuous you'd have to do it with other men whenever you had the chance."

Adam smiles shyly. "Then I'm not that way, uh,... prom-mis-cuous, am 
I? I wouldn't want to do it with just anyone. Other than you, that is."

"Well, neither would I. But when you're older you might want to try it 
with other men to see what it's like."

"I guess I should be happy for you and my mom," Adam says hesitantly. "I 
never was very good at sharing. It's probably because I'm an only child," he 
jokes.

I grin at Adam, pleased that the fight is over and he is beginning to 
understand. "In a way I have to share you with your mother too," I reply. 
"This way I'll see a lot more of you, you realize."

Adam nods slightly. His eyes meet mine. His is a sly look, full of the 
high spirits and devilish humor that I admire in him so much. "How much is a 
lot more?"

"Huh?"

"You said you'd see a lot more of me, so I asked how much more." He 
grins cheekily. "Did you mean you'd see me more often or just more of me?"

"Both!"

"Hmmmm! I like that idea. Can we start tonight?"

"Your mom is downstairs," I answer conspiratorially. "So what do you 
have in mind?"

"She's doing the dishes."

"It'll take her at least ten minutes to clean up from dinner." I wink 
with suggestive innocence

"Ten minutes is a long time."

Adam smirks cheekily, very aware of the opportunity inherent in a period 
of ten minutes. He is also aware of the excitement he is causing me with his 
veiled eroticism. My arousal is evident in the swelling bulge in my crotch. He 
grins and raises his eyebrows. My heart rate accelerates, bringing my penis 
into full erection in a matter of a few seconds.

"What do you have in mind?" I ask teasingly.

With exaggerated disinterest Adam shrugs. I am not perturbed by his 
pretended boredom. Perhaps it is his way of avoiding the guilt that attend a 
desire that is condemned by his peers. Homosexuality is an abomination in 
the eyes of boysfrom the fifth-grade onwards. He is just beginning to 
realize that his sexual orientation makes him the brunt of frequent jokes. 
Perhaps he is also testing me, to see what I want before he exposes his own 
yearning.

"Whatever you want to do is okay by me," Adam says obliquely.

"What if I want you to take your pants off?" I suggest nonchalantly.

He stifles a giggle. "Why don't you ask and see what I say?"

I meet his eyes. He is playing a game with me, learning the art of 
seduction, tempting me, a man old enough to be his own father. Already he 
has acquired the innuendo skills of an accomplished lover. It is time to exert 
my authority, at least in jest.

"Take off your pants," I command brusquely, as if my patience has gone 
at last, but smiling nonetheless to let him know that I am not seriously 
demanding compliance against his will.

Silently, too quickly to be at all reluctant, his eager hands move to 
his waist and his thin fingers deftly unfasten the bright-blue cord that 
sits several inches below his navel. Perhaps caution is order, but the wide- 
open bedroom door is out of my sight and for now, out of my mind. My only 
thoughts, like my eyes, are focused on the slim child who now lifts his hips 
and slowly eases his pants along his slender thighs. Before dinner, when we 
wrested on the floor I wondered at what point he became sexually aroused, 
now there is no question. Even the merest hint of sexual activity is enough to 
promote an erection. His boyhood is between soft and hard, delightfully, 
magically lengthening as I gaze down at his naked groin. His scrotum is 
relaxed, hot folds of delicate skin stretch down to contain his two small 
orbs. In a way, his immature testicles are almost hidden from sight, yet their 
slight presence is revealed sufficiently to contribute to the overall 
mystery of his almost androgenous gender. 

His penis flinches and lifts up, still hardening until it becomes 
fully erect and draws his silky skin taut. His pants have reached his knees 
and pause there. Without Adam's approval, for none is needed, I pull them 
all the down to his ankles, exposing smooth bare legs, slender yet firmly 
muscled. His bony knees bear pale scars from long-healed injuries.

"From the look of him I'd say someone's feeling pretty good right 
now," I muse.

"Mmmmm," Adam sighs. His penis jumps, responding to muscles he has 
control over. He demonstrates his willingness again, instinctively moving 
his legs further apart. "He's happy," he adds softly. "We both are."

"I can't imagine why," I tease.

Adam smirks. "Hmmmm," he muses. "Maybe he likes being rubbed?" he 
suggests. 

Innuendo is finished for now. He is way beyond hinting that he wants 
sexual contact. So much for warnings given during the sex education classes 
that he is taking. Lectures on health and hygiene provide little preparation 
for real life and human desires like Adam is feeling. He struggles for 
identity in a heterosexual world, discovering what it means to be a taunted 
minority among his friends, experiencing true contentment only when he is with 
me. In a class of ten fifth-grade boys, statistically only one of them will be 
gay. He is part of an unfortunate minority.

Adam nods once, signaling encouragement and urgency, and gently I 
begin to caress him. Lessons on the complications of approaching puberty do 
not prepare him for his feelings and emotions, and the disturbing thoughts 
that plague him with socially unacceptable demands. Now, he hungers to be 
touched and I satisfy that urge immediately. My two fingers and thumb 
embrace his boyhood, stroking slowly up and down the throbbing spike between 
his outstretched legs. He lies back, blond hair dishevelled on his brilliant-
white pillow, eyes half-closed and absorbing every precious second as if it 
will go away and never return. He is a physical child, engaged in sybaritic 
joy that is infinitely better than self-pleasuring.

He trusts me implicitly, I realize. He gives everything, baring his soul 
as he expresses his delight with muted whispers, soft sighs of growing 
arousal. His thighs tense, lifting his buttocks off the bed and the thrill 
intensifies. My hand moves faster, endlessly pursuing his satisfaction, 
aware of his mood and demanding need. He quivers, breathing faster, not yet 
gasping for each breath. That will come later. His body responds with its 
own erratic rhythm, his eyelids flutter, opening wide as he smiles effusively. 
His pelvis begins to jerk of its own accord, obeying a primal urge to fuck.

I glance down and wonder at when his scrotum became so taut. Now dark 
and wrinkled, it is knotted like a walnut-half beneath his rigid boyhood. 
His testicles are retracted, sucked into inguinal cavities until they are 
barely visible and barely felt within his flattened pouch. His back arches, 
his feet tangled in his cotton pants, scraping the sheets and seeking purchase 
so that he can ram more of himself into my enclosing fist. His head tilts 
back, eyes close almost in pain, breathless as he strains upward seeking 
more stimulation. My hand vibrates, dragging flexible, nearly translucent skin 
over an engorged crimson glans.

"Faster!" Adam demands. 

He bucks, teeth gritted when he arrives at the very peak of ecstasy. 
Although I am only titillating sensitive nerves, his body reacts as if it 
actually hurts him. At the end there is always a burst of energy that sends 
his hips into wild gyrations. Each time I am dumbfounded that his ecstasy 
can achieve such heights. He orgasms like a teenager, grunting while his 
feverish body contorts. After only two minutes he gasps for air, shuddering as 
waves of pleasure come with each climaxing pulse.

Old enough to orgasm, still too young to ejaculate, Adam writhes in 
erratic rhapsody, his eyes close in bliss while my hand continues to torment 
his still erect member. It is not impossible for him to climax two or even 
three times in quick succession. However, I have other plans--plans that 
will show Adam how much I love him. Again without seeking his consent, I 
lean over his crotch. His penis is reddened from my vigorous rubbing, and 
still very hard. Oh, to be young again. I kiss his swollen glans. So hot, so 
soft, so sensitive. The molten bulb trembles before me, piss-slit opening 
and closing as my fingers continue to work his thin shaft. Between my lips 
it feels like a sun-warmed cherry, sweet fruit of his loins, tasty morsel of 
boyhood. I lick him, poking my tongue at his meatus, swirling around the 
corona, slurping wet saliva across the helmet-shaped head. He is 
transported, intoxicated by the acute sensations of my soft wetness abrading 
against his tenderness.

I sense that Adam is disturbed by oral sex. It is our first time and 
he has not confided to me whether it is the only time his penis has been 
sucked. His suggestions to the contrary, I suspect that he is still a mouth 
virgin. In one quick swoop he loses his innocence. His reaction is enough to 
make me laugh, and my laughter is prevented only by the forceful reinsertion 
of his demanding penis most of the way into my mouth. He wants me to suck 
him and I oblige willingly. I take all of him, letting his small sex go to the 
back of my throat. I hear his sudden intake of breath as he gasps in surprise. 
My fingers squeeze his testicles within his wrinkled pouch, massaging his boy-
eggs gently as I begin to apply suction. I ease back, using my tongue to bathe 
his shaft with saliva as I drool over him. He is sweet, warm, soft, smooth, 
alive. A potpourri of smells and tastes invades my senses, captivating me 
until I am unable to quench my desire for him. I lick, slurp, suck, devour his 
boyhood as he moans, elevated to his seventh heaven. Another realm of his 
mind, barely experienced with masturbation, has been exposed. He is silent 
while I perform my self-appointed task between his wide-spread thighs. I am 
captivated by the shared act of making him happy. He twitches and starts to 
writhe.

"Yeahhhhhh!" he sighs. "Mmmmmmmmm! I like this."

He humps his pelvis into my face. My tongue snakes out and I lick his 
delectable pouch, prodding his testicles before pushing them into my mouth. 
Adam lifts up, grinding his hairless crotch into my lips. I apply all the 
suction I can muster, hollowing my cheeks as I gulp his boy-sized boner. He 
shudders involuntarily, pulls back, then jerks forward swiftly as he 
instinctively begins to hump harder. He catches his breath, stopping quickly 
when the stimulation becomes too much for his overexcited organ. With 
difficulty I look up, a strange perspective of the boy I love so deeply that 
it hurts. His eyes are narrow slits, his mouth open as he breathes with 
difficulty. There is a trace of smile when he realizes I am watching him. He 
is on the brink of another orgasm and we both know it. Again I change the 
rules of the game.

I drool copious saliva from my mouth, oozing it through the imperfect 
seal of my lips, wetting my forefinger as I manipulate his delicate testes. 
His expression slowly changes, becoming placid as my soothing touch pleases 
him and calms his fervent lust. The immediacy of Adam's sexual release 
fades. Lubricity and my gentle massaging makes his scrotum start to relax 
again. Without pausing in my careful ministrations, I ease my hand under him 
following the faint ripple from scrotum to anus.

The tip of my forefinger brushes his puckered opening. Every time I 
touch him there I feel the same, a peculiar sense of deju vu, of belonging. 
I remember the first time I touched him there, and the specialness of the 
moment still is not lost on me. I am touching his most private place. 
Momentarily, I wish that it was still his first time. My mind reels as I 
stroke his anus. Through this one opening he both defecates and makes love. 
One act is so exquisite, the other the repugnant expelling of his excrement. 
He seems so inncocent that it is hard for me to accept than another boy's 
penis has penetrated his small orifice. His pucker is pronounced, like lips 
closed around a straw, very hot and slightly damp.

My fingertip circles while my other fingers stretch out and prise a 
narrow gap between his buttocks. From my awkward position his cleft seems 
deep, as if hiding his precious treasure between his firm warm cheeks where no 
man could find it without his consent. I glance up quickly, suddenly very 
aware that Adam has been quiet for almost a minute. Now, his eyes are wide 
open and his head is lifted up as if to acknowledge my trespass. Still, I have 
not breached him so the violation is incomplete. He is thinking, and for a 
second I consider terminating my incursion into his privacy. I realize that 
Adam, like me, is remembering the boy who stole his innocence. Guiltily I 
realize that I am jealous, despite the fact that friendship with a boy his own 
age should naturally come with far-greater familiarity and opportunity for 
curious exploration. However, Adam and I are already closer friends than I had 
ever hoped for. I have no reason to be envious of another boy. 

He breathes out, not sighing, merely signalling his self-questioning 
is over for the moment. His anus has become the source of his pleasure. It 
is an inseparable part of his sexual orientation, and he fully grasps the role 
it will play. I feel the tiny opening squeeze impatiently agaianst my 
fingertip like a welcoming embrace. What he wants done, cannot be done, I want 
to say. Be glad that we are together. I say nothing. My forefinger presses 
slightly inward to test his resistance. His anus is so small that it is nearly 
impossible to believe that another boy's phallus, substantially larger than 
his own, has passed through it, not once, not twice, but no less than on three 
separate occasions. However, those times were months ago I remember. It is 
enough to mitigate the envy that I am not his first lover.

I ease my finger back at the same time as I lift my mouth away from 
his bobbing red-hued stalk. I slaver onto my finger, instinctively realizing 
that my spittle is essential to proceeding further. Without needing any 
instruction, Adam's knees lift up and stretch wide apart, all but assuming the 
position for intercourse with me. I grin at him with grateful 
acknowledgement of his willingness to go further.

"So what do you want?" I tease.

He grins back shamelessly, beaming with boyish bravado. "The same 
thing you want,... I want him there!"

"We can't," I counter. "You know why already."

He smiles shyly. "Yeah, I know.  I'll settle for anything right now."

"Hmmmm,.... I'm not sure what it is you want me to do," I say. "Maybe 
you should explain."

Adam smirks, and raises his eyebrows lewdly before he suggestively looks 
downward. My eyes follow his. His boyhood lurches, still at the apogee of 
its juvenile stiffness, tempting me to devour it once again.

"I love you," Adam murmurs. "I really do, you know. That's why I want 
you inside of me. You said that's why guys did it,... because they love each 
other enough to join together."

"I know that," I whisper back. I smile gently at him. "Is a finger okay, 
instead of a bolt?"

Adam nods slightly. He has not forgotten our first talk, the teasing 
play on harmless words that made us friends. It is a magical moment, the first 
time we have explored that part of him beyond mere penetration. His penis 
quivers before my eyes, expressing his urgent desire. My moistened finger 
finds his entry again and probes carefully into the small crinkle, minute 
corrugating folds of flesh rippling as I stroke the indentation. I brush the 
other center of him, aligning my finger as I press forward. A soft sigh of 
happiness penetrates my raging excitement and encourages a greater depth. I 
feel Adam shifting under me, his legs tensing, straining down to greet me. His 
fissure opens and accepts me, whether because of his own volition or my 
persistent pressure. I feel his heat on my fingertip. Strong muscular spasms 
bite down as he wriggles eagerly. I am content to let Adam do the work this 
first time. Within a matter of seconds I realize that my finger has already 
pierced his sphincter.

"Spit isn't very slippery," Adam mutters anxiously.

"Does it hurt?"

"No! It just feels funny that's all!"

"I can't believe how hot you are," I say. "You feel like a little oven 
in here."

Adam giggles. "Ninety-eight point something! You feel really nice, 
Chris!"

I smile happily. "So do you, Adam! It's spongy and hard at the same 
time."

I speculate whether it is possible for me to be any closer to this 
wonderful boy. Although I share only an inch of flesh with Adam, I feel as 
if I am joined to him. It is a different feeling to taking his penis into my 
mouth. It seems more intense, if that is possible. Perhaps it is because I 
am physically inside a place that is essential to his sexuality and the unique  
expression of gay love. I am touching the very core of his beautiful young 
body. Silently I muse what I would feel if it was the tip of my penis inside 
him instead of my finger.

"Put some more inside me. You can easily go a bit further," Adam 
instructs boldly. "It isn't hurting at all."

He squirms as I push at him, cleaving my other fingers between his 
buttocks to split his crack wide apart and ease the way. His sphincter 
tightens momentarily to slow my progress and then he relaxes. He sighs loudly, 
pulling his knees closer to his chest as my finger surges forward on a film of 
rapidly drying saliva. My intuition guides me, makes me aware of Adam's 
longing, positions my finger over his immature prostrate. I begin to rub 
gently, listening for his muted groans. He exhales deeply and trembles as a 
previously-familiar sensation returns with a vengeance exacerbated by its 
absence.

"Do it gently! Okay!" Adam whimpers.

"Does it hurt?"

"A bit!"

"We need something to make it slippery inside."

"God, I wish we had some vaseline."

I swallow and regret his prior experience. How many boys of Adam's age 
would know about using vaseline for this? Very few, I expect. Adam not only 
knows what he needs, but he knows how to get it. The matter weighs heavily 
on me, but I cannot communicate my disappointment to Adam. I say nothing. I 
will not countenance his guilt about something which comes naturally to a 
homosexual boy. He is who and what he is. Not for the first time I wonder 
who claimed Adam's virginity. All I know is that he is in Adam's class.

"I could go down and ask your mom for something," I suggest playfully. 
"How about some Crisco? You'd melt it pretty fast in here."

Adam does not answer. Suddenly, he is not in the mood for jokes. He 
shudders as my finger rubs mercilessly against his tiny gland, experiencing 
a twinge of pain that is immediately overwhelmed by much greater joy. He gasps 
and shakes his head, suddenly wide-eyed as his body contorts. My mouth settles 
over his squat erection, licking the bulging little head while he groans 
loudly. I slide down its length with my lips compressed around his shaft until 
I can go no further. With my thumb, I guide his boy-sized testicles forward 
and I open my mouth to engulf all of him. His rectum quakes, pulsing with 
frenzied jerks on my gently pumping finger while I suction his member 
furiously.

"Faster!" Adam grunts from between gritted teeth. "Pleassseeee," he 
implores. "I feel like I'm going to explode."

I grin, as much as I am able to with my lips around his throbbing boy- 
sausage. He is mine to do with as I wish. I possess him, totally abandoned 
to the precious treasure he has elected to share with me. His distended 
boyhood reaches nearly to my throat, his tiny eggs squeezed between my 
teeth, slathered with my spittle. In another year or two his penis will 
swell when he approaches ejaculation, but for now his body arches toward me, 
feverish with orgiastic fervor. I grind my finger into his kernel, oblivious 
to the risk of injuring him. He grunts loudly. His pleasure is so great that 
he is unable to move, unable to prolong or terminate my assault on his senses. 
I begin to believe that his tiny prostrate must be his nucleus, the source 
of his sexual energy, of life itself. His anus dilates suddenly as if 
something has broken inside him, now allowing the virtually unrestricted 
movement of my finger.

I am barely cognizant that his mother is calling to me from the bottom 
of the stairs. I regret that we must stop now that we have our first real 
sexual encounter, but I reason that it will be the first of many. It is what 
we both want, and need. Strangely, I am curious as to Adam's reaction as I 
abruptly extricate my finger from its hot and surprisingly succulent abode. 
I lift my mouth away, still fascinated by the fact that his boy-member has 
no taste, and yet its sweetness lingers in my mouth. It is the memory of his 
small but very rigid member, its resilient hardness contradicted by skin of 
unbelievable softness. I sit up, rolling my tongue around my mouth, silently 
wondering what he will taste like when he is able to emit his seed.

For a few seconds Adam looks cheated and then he also hears his mother's 
voice. He stares at me, breathing heavily with the remnants of continuing 
passion. His eyes seem to focus on my finger, remembering where it has been 
lodged for the last few minutes. We share a visceral need. I have no doubt 
that if his mother was not in the house we would have sex. It would be 
spontaneous and the natural outcome of being in love. My raging penis longs to 
probe between his cheeks, poke into his cleft and cautiously test his anus. My 
thoughts are truncated.

"Is it better with a woman?" he asks tentatively.

I grasp his cotton pants, bunched at his ankles and partially pulled 
over his feet, dressing him while I think what I should say in response. I 
counter with a question.

"You mean is it better than with a boy?" I ask. Adam nods. "Hmmmmm,... 
It's a lot different, Adam."

"How?"

"It just is. You really can't compare the two."

"Oh!" he says as he lifts his buttocks and thighs up to assist me. He 
waits until I cover his nudity, playfully tickling on his continuing 
erection as if my teasing will actually help it to wilt. "Are you still 
going to sleep with my mom?"

I study Adam as I tie the knot at his narrow waist. I can hear the 
tremor of jealousy in his voice even while he tries to convey boredom in my 
interest in the opposite sex, let alone his mother.

"Are you going to have sex with her,.... tonight?" Adam demands 
petulantly.

"Maybe,..." I reply. "You know it's probably none of your business." 
He nods, but his eyes remain critical.

"I thought you loved me," Adam says flatly.

His lips quiver as his voice falters. I wonder whether the flickering of 
his translucent eyelids means that he is ready to cry.

"I do love you, Adam." I smile reassuringly. "I love your mother too. 
I know it hurts you to think of your mother and me making love together. It 
doesn't mean that I love you any less. And you know something else? It doesn't 
mean that I don't want to make love to you someday."

"Yeah, I know!" Adam retorts. "When I'm older! Because you don't want to 
take advantage of a kid! Well fuck you, Chris!"

"Such language," I tease. "And I thought you were a nice boy. One day, 
Adam! Not tonight, and probably not tomorrow, but one day."

"One day, what?"

I lean forward until my head is close to his. "One day I will fuck you," 
I whisper. "I promise,... if that's what you want."

"Promise?" Adam says sadly.

"I promise," I reply as I come to my feet.

I bend down and lean over him. His eyes sparkle, so full of life that 
I am jealous of his youth. His smile is fleeting and slowly, teasingly, his 
head lifts up. For an instant I see his tongue lick his dry lips, then his 
eyes close and as our lips brush, I taste his moistness. We kiss gently for 
a few seconds, then knowing that the time is short, immediately increase the 
urgency. Despite the passion of his kiss, his lips are so soft and his mouth 
is so small that it is impossible to forget the difference in our ages. It 
does not stop his tongue from pushing forward into my mouth. I suck, keeping 
my teeth well out of the way while his wriggling wetness engages my tongue. 
Finally I ease back and place my hands on his slim shoulders.

"I love you, Adam," I sigh as I breath in, and then exhale deeply.

Adam's eyes meet mine with a penetrating gaze, asking a silent 
question and receiving no answer. He knows that I cannot stay with him.

"I guess I'll see you in the morning," he says deliberately.



Downstairs, Liz waits for me with two glasses of chilled wine. They 
are coated with condensation and the beads of water sparkle in the 
lamplight. She smiles and without asking the obvious question, waits for my 
answer. I still feel Adam's lingering kiss, the gentle touch of his lips, 
the smoothness of his body, his short rampart penis that seems always to be 
stiff. I long to be upstairs with him.

"He's okay!" I reply. I breathe out and try to find the words to 
communicate what he is feeling, what I am feeling. "It's hard for him, Liz. 
He's been the man of the house until now. It's only normal for him to be 
jealous. I don't think he has an Oedipus Complex," I joke half-heartedly.

Liz's eyes are alive and her entire body radiates with passion. Her 
effect on me is very different to her son's. Adam arouses something deep 
within me, a profound and persistent desire that is anything but 
superficial. With Liz, I cannot help that feel that sex is a superficial 
need I could do without if I had to.

"Is he getting ready for bed?" Liz asks.

Her voice is husky with excitement and I am reminded of Adam's nervous 
anticipation when he is aroused. Mother and son have a lot in common. I nod. 
Her nipples, small like her son's, although very much bigger, push out into 
her thin cotton tee shirt. The fact that she is not wearing a bra both 
tantalizes and amuses me. Adam's disenchantment with underwear is yet 
another similarity. I try to imagine what she would say if she knew that 
Adam had been all but naked less than a minute earlier. My penis is still 
throbbing with the continuing image of him, fully erect and hungering for more 
as he lay on his bed. However, the fact that she finds me sexually exciting 
also piques my interest. Her eyes, a darker blue than Adam's, lure me closer 
until I press into her bosom. My thighs brush hers and she rubs her lower 
belly over my stiffness.

"Hm,..." she sighs, "Someone's ready to stay the night."

I smile and glance down at her head. Her hair, considerably more brown 
than blond at the roots, is much darker than Adam's despite her efforts to 
lighten it. I flex my organ against her belly, knowing that my pre-seminal 
juice is continually being excreted into a growing wet spot in my briefs. I 
reason I should feel guilty, but I do not as my hands encircle her buttocks. 
There my comparison with Adam ends, for there is nothing to compare to the 
rear-end of a pre-teen boy. Adam's bottom is small and firm and slightly 
pinched, a sublime study in fleshy muscle and sculpted form that is divine 
in origin and profound in its inspiration. Her bottom is full and rounded with 
a sensuous shape designed to excite the opposite sex by its very 
voluptuousness.

My desire, normally quiescent with women, begins to build. It is a 
latent urge, content to find an outlet when true gratification is 
impossible. I draw Liz closer to me, tilting my head down as hers lifts up 
to kiss me. Unlike kissing Adam, even familiar platonic pecks on his head, her 
kiss does not enthuse me. Still, she kisses like her son, with wet hard 
smooches that quickly open the way to an exchange of tongues.

"He asked if we were going to get married," I say as we part.

Liz smiles. "What did you tell him?"

"I said it was too soon to be certain, but we might get married one day. 
I think that bothered him a bit, Liz."

"In case you haven't realized, Adam really likes you, Chris."

"I said I'd be like his Dad," I admit. "It's an interesting idea. I 
always wanted a son."

"So did my dad," Liz murmurs. "He got you instead." I shrug. "I was 
jealous of you, you know Chris. Of course, once I knew about the two of you, 
about what you were to him, it was different. He always talked about you. He 
told me once, after we moved to Canada, that you were the best thing in his 
life. I was jealous of you, however I have to say that I was also glad he 
was happy."

I sigh and shake my head. The passing years have dimmed my memory of 
him, but not my love. "He was the best thing in my life too," I say. "I can 
understand why you were jealous. We spent a lot of time together."

Liz smiles. "After all the time you spent with my father I'm surprised 
you even like women," she says frankly.

"Some women are okay," I joke. I do not tell her that Adam is the real 
reason I am with her. "Most people wouldn't understand, but the fact is that 
he taught me how to love, Liz."

My hands slide up, leaving her buttocks to follow the contour of her 
back. Her small firm breasts, still like a young teenage girl's, so unlike the 
flat chest of a young boy, press into me. We kiss again, embracing tongues. 
Her son is a better kisser, I decide quickly. Her body swirls against me and 
titillates her nipples into little points. I am reminded that for the first 
year of his life Adam sucked on her breasts. Those nipples, darkened and 
swollen, gave him nourishment as his little cheeks pulled in with the 
effort. I suppress a smile, thinking of how much Adam seems to like having his 
penis sucked. I think of it swelling, becoming slightly thicker than normal 
for his nearly three-inch erection. It is only a matter of time until he is 
fully capable of reciprocating the pleasure. Already he kisses my maleness and 
rubs his tongue across the tip while he slurps wetly and relishes the salty 
taste. With his mouth opened wide, practically unhinging his jaws, he still 
scrapes his teeth on my glans before he backs off. All he needs is practice to 
perfect his technique.

"I expect he did," Liz says. "You certainly had enough practice," she 
adds as if she reads my mind.

"Sex is like anything else. It takes practice to be any good at it," I 
reply. "It also takes a good teacher. You know, the really dumb thing is 
that adults have to teach kids just about everything they do, like how to ride 
a bike or tie their shoes, or drive a car. But when it comes to sex, it's 
hands off. Kids end up teaching each other. It's a mixed up society that would 
do something like that."

Liz shrugs dismissively. My hands slide between us as I respond to her 
unspoken challenge to prove myself. Her nipples protrude into her cotton 
blouse, firm points of delectable pleasure. I caress them lightly with my 
thumbs as I cup my hands under her pert breasts, cradling them as I begin my 
self-appointed task of examining her erogenous zones. In some ways at least, a 
woman is like a boy. Foreplay is an important ritual. I bend over her, kissing 
her slender neck, tracing a wet trail to her ear, sucking on the soft lobe the 
same way I do with Adam. She shivers, as he shivers. I squeeze her right 
nipple, abrading it with far more pressure than I have ever used with Adam. 
Her response is no different. I feel her breathing slow, inhaling sharply 
and sighing as she exhales. Her nipple forms a nub of nerves that elevates her 
desire as I massage expertly. My other hand drops away into the warmth between 
her thighs. Her pudenda is a prominent mound and feels not unlike her son's 
sex when it is covered by his clothes. However, there is a big difference. She 
lacks the squat stiffness that quickly grows outward from Adam's lean body, 
and is without the soft roundness of his scrotal pouch underneath. In all, 
despite her exquisite physical beauty, she lacks the essentials of boyhood. My 
fingers squeeze, seeking the cleft, so much smaller than her son's other 
crevice that captivates my desire.

"What about Adam?" Liz asks urgently.

"What about him?" I reply.

"I don't want him seeing us."

"He knows we're going to have sex. He won't bother us."



I can never forget being discovered by Liz. I remember standing in the 
back corner of the Andersen's garage, my jeans and underpants at my ankles, my 
thirteen-year-old cock standing to attention before its admirer. His hand 
encloses me, his thumb caressing my still-dry slit, fondling my delicate glans 
while I shiver with the thrill of being touched so intimately. My scrotum is 
contracted, but it still forms a fair-sized bulge. He begins to rub my rigid 
member, going full length from base to tip with just two fingers and his thumb 
on the underside. He knows how I like to be masturbated. My thighs shake as 
I push forward, bowing my body to give him more. His hand begins to stroke 
with experienced motion, understanding my pleasure as he works on my penis. 
His other hand reaches behind me, one finger poking at my crack to find the 
entry into me.

She sees us from the doorway, silently witnessing our love, watching as 
I lounge against the work bench intent on enjoying her father's expert 
ministrations. In all things he is a perfectionist. His finger locates my hole 
and enters with a slow demanding pressure that I cannot resist. Within seconds 
it is precisely positioned on my prostate. His hand moves faster, gripping 
me tightly in his fist and threatening to tear my penis off with its 
repetitive jerking. Suddenly, I am close to the edge. His finger stabs into my 
rectum, lifting my body up even as my knees weaken. I groan as the explosion 
happens, torturing my barely mature body with a small release of boy-semen. 
I crumple to my knees and gasp.



Liz groans with orgasm and slumps against me, not caring that Adam could 
be watching from the stairs if he was so inclined. Her legs draw 
protectively upwards, binding my hand against her clammy skin, fingers 
contained in her slick, hot vagina. She breathes heavily, trying to regain 
control of her pounding heart.



He smiles triuphantly, still stroking my throbbing boyhood slowly as 
if to expel the juice that is no longer a mystery to me. He exacts a 
diminished pleasure until my hardness fades, soothing my tender flesh and 
calming my agitation with expressions of affection. It is only after my 
breathing returns to normal do I look around the garage and become aware of 
her presence in the doorway. She is a silent witness who has watched all 
that transpired, from the time he unfastened my belt until the dying throes of 
my climax.

She orgasms again, gasping like a boy who is either too young to 
ejaculate, or who still does not experience the let-down after his emission. 
Like Adam, she approaches the precipice slowly until it is close enough to 
touch. Like Adam, she lingers at the edge, fighting the crescendo until she 
can no longer stand the heightened stimulation. Like Adam, there is terror 
in her eyes until she groans in ecstasy and peaks quickly. Although she does 
not tremble half as much, like Adam, she smiles with sublime joy as the 
sensations slowly diminish.

"Oh God!" Liz breathes. "You're good, Browning. Damn you're good!"

I smile inwardly, recognizing a cruel pleasure in what I am doing to 
her. Her father taught me how to do this. The human body is a machine for sex. 
A young boy, like a woman, can climax again and again, each successive 
orgasm as good or better than the preceding one, until he is exhausted. He 
trained me well, I think silently.

My fingers dig into her crotch, seeking her moist heat. I am oblivious 
to the cloth that separates us. Already it is spotted with her copious 
fluid, the wet musky slime of a vagina that is eager to be mated with my 
penis. I imagine Adam in a similar situation except that his anus is the 
target. His scent will be earthy and fecal, and without natural secretion, 
he will need a good lubricant to ease the way inside him. His time will come 
soon enough, I think silently as I lead Liz by the hand toward the darkness of 
her bedroom. We make love like familiar lovers, copulating amid the twisted 
tangle of sheets as we writhe over her king-sized bed.



Her father was able to delay his orgasm until I was almost insane. He 
would pump slowly at my small behind until I was enraptured, then vigorously 
with deep hard thrusts that hurt when he bottomed out in my rectum. When I 
could stand no more and I teetered on the brink he would go even faster, 
timing his thrusts to my shuddering spasms. Then slowly, barely moving his 
hard male organ in my juvenile body until the madness left my mind, whispering 
his love in my ear. Again and again he would repeat the process, each time 
bringing the excitement back until I was intoxicated and he was unable to 
avoid his own looming conclusion. Then, with a desparate longing, I would 
become his possession as his fluids spurted into my young body.



More than an hour later I slowly withdraw my deflated sex and lay beside 
her. A slippery stickiness coats my groin, a fertile mixture of our loins, and 
for a moment I wonder whether I should have used a condom. I dismiss the 
concern as I reason that Liz needs pregnancy even less than I need a wife. She 
will have taken the necessary precautions with undue regularity.

"That may be the best one yet," Liz murmurs appreciatively.

"Only may be?" I challenge tiredly. "You must have cum a dozen times and 
all I rank is a maybe?"

"Okay," she smirks. "That was THE ABSOLUTE BEST! I take it back. You 
do like women, Browning."

"That's better!" I laugh. "I've had a lot of practice,... and practice 
makes perfect."

"Maybe my dad taught you something after all."

"See, there is an advantage to a boy learning how to make love from a 
man," I taunt. "Most guys don't know what it's like to be on the receiving 
end."



Chapter 4.         11.15 a.m.    December 16th



His mother wastes few words. "Adam's a goddamn faggot," she snarls. "I 
used to wonder if he was, of course. Now I know for certain!"

"What?" I ask quickly. "For God's sake, Adam's only just turned 
eleven. How can you possibly know that he's gay?"

She snorts and I hear the sounds of cars in the background. She is on 
the car phone on her way to the airport. "What does it matter how I know, 
Chris? However, if you must know, my cleaner found a stash of his queer shit 
in his bedroom. I've been wondering what he sees in you. I think I know now."

"What on earth are you talking about?" I demand in building panic. 
Even for a mother who does not take the time to know her son, she must realize 
how unlikely it would be for a eleven-year-old boy to have 'queer-shit' in his 
bedroom. I suspect I know what she is talking about. Adam's 'queer-shit' is 
something we have not talked about, but I am not surprised he had something of 
the kind to fulfill his private fantasies.

"He's got a stack of dirty pictures. He must have twenty or thirty 
pictures of men he's cut out of magazines. He's obviously been getting his 
thrills from them. I would say that's prima facie evidence that he's gay. 
Wouldn't you agree?"

"If he is gay, so what! It isn't his fault, Liz." I answer 
condescendingly while I worry about the meaning of his collection of pictures.

From what I know of Adam it is entirely possible that he is collecting 
pictures. At his age he needs an outlet, and fantasies, even juvenile ones, 
are better with visual stimuli.

"I didn't say it was HIS fault," she denies hotly.

The emphasis makes the implication obvious. If Adam is gay it is as much 
because of his mother as anything I have done with him. Believing that a 
best defense is a good offense, I become aggressive.

"You know Liz, I would hardly call his home life something that is 
supportive of a normal sexual orientation."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demands. "I've done everything I can 
for that boy, and now he pulls this crap on me. God, I can only imagine what 
you've been doing to him."

I choke as uncertainty and doubt becomes outright panic. The fabric that 
conceals our relationship has always been transparent to anyone who takes 
the time to watch us together.

"I,... I've done nothing Liz," I say awkwardly. I can hear fear and 
dishonesty in my voice and I know that she hears it too. "Adam and I are 
good friends, that's all."

"It isn't normal for a man to chase after a boy," she retorts angrily. 
"Don't tell you aren't chasing after him. Chris, you're one sick bastard if 
you have to get it off with a boy!"

"Liz, please,..." I begin.

"I know Adam's got a crush on you, Chris. It's certainly no secret! He's 
got puppy love written all over him. I've known it for weeks. You only have to 
look at him when he's around you to know it."

Her words are intended to torment me. It is nothing I don't already 
know. I have no answer, no way of avoiding her barbs.

"I like Adam a lot," I say hesitantly. "He's a great kid."

"What you really mean is that you're in love with him. God, he's young 
enough to be your own son! You're in love with a fucking eleven-year-old boy!"

"Is that so bad, Liz? I can't help loving him. In fact, I wish he was my 
son. Do you think I don't worry about him just like you do? Do you think I 
don't care for him? Because I do! I do love him, but it doesn't necessarily 
mean that I want to have sex with him."

"This is turning out to be a great day. My son is a faggot and I'm 
pretty sure my boyfriend is too."

"You're afraid I love him more than I love you. That's what you mean, 
isn't it, Liz?" I say arrogantly.

"I didn't say that."

I hear her anger and understand that I have gone too far. I try to 
mediate, realizing that there is no point in antagonizing her. I want to her 
understand Adam's situation. Now, he needs her love as well as mine more 
than at any time in his life. Being gay is difficult enough, but Adam is 
experiencing the most difficult stage at a time when he is easily hurt. I take 
a deep breath.

"If he is, he can't help being gay," I counter gently. "He needs you 
to understand him. He needs your support. Liz."

"The hell he does! He's got you!"

"Liz,..." I sigh. "Listen to me. Don't be like this. He's a lonely 
fightened boy. If he is gay, he needs you to help him through it."

"God! So now it's my fault?"

"I didn't say that. Look, do you realize that more than half of the 
teenage boys who try to kill themselves are gay? It's true, Liz. They hate 
themselves so much they'll try to take their own lives rather than live with 
people hating them."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"Hell, he's probably not even gay," I offer gratuitiously. "It's 
probably just a stage Adam's going through. A lot of boys have crushes on 
older guys as they grow up. I think it's pretty normal."

"It's not some stage he's going through, as you put it. I'm talking 
about pictures of MEN, Chris. We both know that some boys are like THAT."

I am silent as I simmer. Her reference is direct and very personal, 
and it touches on a subject that has existed between us for more than twenty 
years. Her present reaction is very different to when she found her own father 
with his boyfriend. She was my junior by one year, yet she knew enough to 
comprehend the mechanics of intimate contact between a man and boy to 
understand what we were doing. Unlike now, it did not bother her that I was 
thirteen years old and perfectly capable of making my own decisions 
regarding sex. I was experimenting, not like most kids do at one time or 
another to satisfy their curiosity, but like Adam, with a sexual orientation 
was no longer in question. Finding her father playing with the very stiff 
penis of a thirteen-year-old boy was bad enough, but she was more than smart 
enough to quickly discover the nature of our real relationship. Only the two 
of us knew that I was being screwed on a regular basis from the time I was 
twelve. Her father sought me out and seduced me as much as I seduced him. We 
did it every Wednesday after school and sometimes on the weekends. For three 
years, he was my closest friend as well as the person who took my virginity. 
Fortunately for both of us, Liz kept our secret from her mother.

"Don't forget it runs in your family," I counter. "Anyway, his having 
a few pictures doesn't mean anything. It certainly doesn't mean that Adam's 
gay," I retort. "At least not the way you apparently think it does."

"If the shoe fits, he might as well put it on and start wearing it. 
I'm not blind! There are spots all over the damned pictures. Adam's been 
jerking off when he looks at them."

Unless Adam has changed drastically in the two days since I have last 
seen his penis, her last comment is entirely inaccurate. I know that there 
is no way that Adam is going to leave wet spots on his 'queer shit' for one or 
two years to come. I veer away from what should be obvious to his mother if 
she spent even a few minutes with her son, or just opened her eyes to 
appreciate him for what he is. Adam is a wonderful boy for whom puberty is 
still a distant adventure. The spots come from the hand lotion I encourage him 
to use.

"It's more than a few pictures, Chris," she adds abruptly. "I happen 
to know for a fact exactly what he likes!"

"Huh?" I ask nervously.

"I found him with Kyle a week ago, okay? So I have absolutely no 
doubts at all that Adam is gay."

"Kyle?" I ask quickly.

"His cousin? My sister's boy. You remember? He stayed over for the 
weekend while his mother was in labor."

"Found them doing what?" I ask with pretended innocence.

"For God's sake, Chris! Adam was giving Kyle a lesson in masturbation. 
Kyle's not even ten! He was very upset about it afterwards."

I stifle my laughter. Though outside the range of my experience, a ten-
year-old boy is just as capable as enjoying a good hand job as any teenager. 
But I am surprised, less by Adam's sexual needs than by his mother's frank 
discussion.

"I hardly think two boys jerking off together is a federal crime, Liz. 
Every boy does it sooner or later. It's part of growing up and finding out 
that it's there for more than peeing through. Kyle's lucky. Adam's probably 
a good teacher."

"That's not funny, Chris. I don't wanting him polluting his cousin 
again. If Susan finds out, she'll be furious," Liz says angrily.

"Why are you telling me all this? What do you expect me to do about it?" 
I ask calmly.

There is silence on the other end of the phone. A horn beeps in the 
distance. I breath out. It is not hard to imagine Adam being attracted to boys 
as well as men, in fact it is very easy. Adam is an exceedingly handsome 
boy, others besides myself might even say exceptionally beautiful with his 
finely sculpted features and curly blond hair. I think back to the last time 
that I have seen him, a soccer game that I watched at his school the day 
before. In my eyes, Adam is the star of the game, not because of his 
performance, which is certainly outstanding, but because of his sheer physical 
presence and head-turning good looks. Nor am I the only adult who notices 
the attractive, slender boy as he darts across the field. I overhear many 
comments from other parents on his performance and several mothers exclaim 
that he is the 'best-looking kid on the team'. But while he is nimble 
enough, he still lacks the aggressive quality that makes for star 
performers. There are several times when he should score himself instead of 
making wide passes out to other boys, mostly to his best friend, tim.

His mother's distant voice interrupts my fond memories.

"I want you to talk to him, Chris,... uh,... about it. I know I can't! 
Not about this! I'd like you to tell him what he needs to know about the birds 
and the bees,.... well just the bees I expect. The birds won't be of much 
interest to him now that he's like you."

"Meaning?"

"He knows about you now."

"What do you mean, he knows about me?"

"I told him you were sexually involved with my father."

"You did WHAT?" I interrupt.

"You heard me. I told him how I came to know you were,... well, bi. He 
might as well know the truth,... that my own father went chasing after some 
twelve-year-old boy he met at the country club."

"Well thanks a lot! I really appreciate that!"

"Maybe I was wrong to tell him, Chris. But now he's queer, I don't 
imagine it will bother him all that much. You two have a LOT in common. You're 
wrong when you said he needs me. He needs YOU!"

"For God's sake, Liz! Be rational about this! Adam needs YOU, not me! 
You're his mother, and now that he knows all about me, he's going to be even 
more confused about sex. His own father doesn't give a shit about him, and his 
grandfather screws boys not much older than him. You're all he's got left. 
Don't you know how hard this is going to be for him, if he is gay?"

"Stop saying it like there's still some question he's normal. He's 
not! Adam's being gay is hard for me too, not just for Adam," she says with 
barely controlled anger. "Do you know how worried I am about all this?"

I think about slamming the telephone down, but I do not. Intuition tells 
me that I need to keep the communication going. Adam needs me now more than 
ever. He does not deserve rejection from those who are supposed to love him. I 
have to support him while he struggles to find himself, just as I struggled 
twenty-five years earlier. In a way, Adam is my only link with my past. It was 
my guilt-ridden decision to break off my relationship with Liz's father. He 
was heartbroken when we parted. It was only then that I finally realized the 
extent of his love for me. It took four lonely years for me to get over it. 
Upon reflection, it was the biggest mistake of my life.

"I'm sorry," I say with as much conciliation as I can manage. "I'll have 
a talk with him about sex. I'll do whatever I can to help him. You know 
that, Liz."

"Thank you! I just can't deal with another one of his damned problems."

"You're very welcome. You do know Adam can't help being what he is, 
don't you?" I add. "It's not something that he has any say in. And if he is 
gay, then there's nothing you or I, or anyone else can do to change him."

I wonder whether she is aware of the recent studies on male 
homosexuality. The preponderance of the research seems to suggest that a boy's 
sexual orientation is determined by his mother, either by environmental 
factors or as a result of genetic predisposition. If blame is to be 
attached, then if anything, Adam's 'problem' may well be her fault.

"I realize I can't stop him from being gay, Chris. I don't want him 
being promiscuous. I don't want him to turn out like most of them. And if he 
is queer, then he better be damned discreet about it. I can't have him pulling 
Kyle into it, or any other boy for that matter."

There is a long silence as I wait for her to finish. "It's not only Kyle 
that I'm worried about. Heaven only knows! Susan will kill Adam if Kyle 
tells her what happened." She pauses. "This is not official, okay? I only 
heard today. I'm very likely to be made a partner in the firm in a few months. 
I don't want Adam screwing it up."

"I doubt that even Adam could do that," I say bitterly. "He's just a 
kid. He's barely eleven. He might have a stash of dirty pictures, but he's 
hardly likely to do anything more than look at them while he plays with 
himself. As for Kyle, he'll get over it. Most kids go through that stuff 
sooner or later. They even have a name for it. It's called 'latent 
homosexuality'. And Kyle might as well find out about it from a boy like 
Adam than some other little pervert at that snotty private school you and your 
sister send the two of them to."

"Hillsdale was good enough for you, Chris."

"Hillsdale-fucking-Christian-Academy is just that. It's full of virtuous 
bastards who are too busy trying to sermonize that they don't realize that 
normal boys have libidos and will act on them if they're given half a 
chance. I hated it there! It's more than sexuality that's stifled there."

"Maybe. Look, I realize I am asking a favor from you."

"What exactly do you want from me?" I demand.

"I know I owe you for taking care of Adam when I'm away. And I 
appreciate you spending a lot of time with him, but that's what you wanted, 
remember?"

"I remember, Liz," I answer.

"I want you to make sure it doesn't go any further, Chris. I'm really 
worried about this. I'm afraid he'll do something stupid, especially with 
Kyle, or someone else. I need your help."

"Huh? And just how do you propose that I make sure of that? You can't 
stop him from playing with himself. Lord, people have been trying to stop boys 
from jerking off for as long as it's been there to play with."

I wonder what she was trying to tell me and in disbelief I begin to 
think that she is actually suggesting that I provide some sort of personal 
instruction to Adam so that he will not become an embarrassment to her 
important career, or attempt to screw her nephew in the ass. It is the 
ultimate insult, both to Adam and myself. It is also very exciting as an 
idea because ever since Adam and I were in the garage, I have been 
infatuated with him. Merely saying that I love him does not even begin to 
consider the true depth of my feelings for him.

"I'd like you to keep Adam busy over the Christmas holidays."

"Do you want me to have sex with him?" I blurt out.

Liz is silent for what seems like ages. There is a faint buzzing sound 
on the telephone and I begin to wonder if we have been disconnected. 
"Maybe," she answers tentatively. "God, I can't believe I'm saying this. 
Yes, Chris. If that's what it takes for him to understand, yes, I suppose so."

I swallow, nearly choking in disbelief. "Uh? Well, Liz. I'd like to, but 
Adam's sex life is not my responsibility. As you well know, in any court in 
this country, I'd be breaking the law," I stumble. "I can't! He can stay 
with me for a day or two like we planned if you have to go away on business. A 
day or two is okay, but not the whole time. Maybe even for a few more days. 
And I'll even have a long talk to him about sex while he's with me, okay? 
But that's all!"

"I asking you for a favor, Chris. You owe me something for shutting up 
about you and my father. I wasn't blind then and I'm not blind now. I knew how 
often you were with him. It was just about every day, wasn't it? You spend a 
lot of time with Adam as well. What am I supposed to think? You're just good 
friends?"

"What do you want me to do?" I ask in growing disbelief.

"Go figure it out for yourself. I certainly don't know what to say to 
him and I know you do."

"What do you want for Adam?"

"I just want him to be discreet about who he sleeps with." She pauses 
and I wait for her to continue.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask again, cautiously. 

"You figure it out! Maybe it's just curiosity. Hell, I don't know. I 
can't get inside his head. I want him to get with the program!"

"I really don't know what anyone can say or do to make sure Adam is 
discreet about his sex life. Of course I can tell him to be careful, steer 
clear of men in public toilets, always use a rubber, and keep off his 
cousin, but other than that,...."

"That will do for a start," she says with exasperation.

"When you think about it, Liz, we both know there's not much I can say 
or do that's going to make him discreet about his friends is there?"

Her voice is calm and controlled, yet her words are cruelly chosen to 
respond to the taunt I have directed at her.

"Probably not, at least not by just talking about it. No, probably not! 
Not now that Adam knows that his primary male role model used to get his ass 
fucked non-stop by my father,.... his grandfather....."

It is intended to cause me pain and she knows it. She knows that her 
father is still important to me. I close my eyes and try to avoid the images 
that spring up in my mind. Other than Adam, he is the only person I have truly 
loved. I have only happy memories of the years we spent together. We lived our 
dreams together back then. However, not all dreams have happy endings. As I 
grew further into adolescence I discovered that he was still attracted to  
boys, boys who were younger than I was. He was unable to commit himself only 
to me. I rejected him, and in a moment of anger I threatened to tell all. I 
went my own way and he headed off to Canada with his family.

I heard from him a couple times during the next year or two. They were 
painful memories as I struggled through high school, of longing for him to 
hold me close and make love to me. Slowly, my real self emerged. For no reason 
that I could understand, I became interested in young boys myself. However, 
until Adam came along I have managed to steer clear of any situation where 
fantasy could become reality. As the years passed, I thought less and less 
about the man who taught me how to love until I received a phone call. He 
exposed his soul to me. He had been discovered by his wife in the company a 
barely teenaged boy-prostitute in Toronto. It was at that moment I realized 
that even after all the years, I truly loved him. I realized that I had been 
followed by other boys he met in Canada, but none of them captured his heart 
in quite the same way as I had managed to do. He had been cast aside by his 
family who could not deal with the fact that he was homosexual. He had not 
communicated with his family in ten years.

"I know my father was able to help you," Liz admonishes angrily. "Why 
can't you help Adam? At least you can talk to him about what it means to be 
gay."

I don't reply. The emphasis on 'talk' clearly means more than just 
talking with him. I wait for her to calm down before I dispute it. The fact is 
that I have already been helping Adam, as she refers to it. Our relationship 
is intimate, but it is far more than just sexual in nature. We are very close, 
as close as best friends can be.  My ability to communicate with her son in 
ways that she cannot grasp is suddenly a source of contention between us. 
Our dissension quickly descends from debate to polemic, with no winners.

"I guess you take the time to talk with your other BOY-friends about 
what it's like to be gay."

My 'affliction' is a closely guarded secret. I have been careful to 
conceal my true desires, even to the extent of avoiding contact with boys. 
Except for playful touching and a few intermittent but invasive intimacies 
with Adam, my desires exist only in my imagination. I content myself with 
dreams of spending nights with Adam in the privacy of a tent in a distant 
forest. He is sufficiently uninhibited that I have no doubts what would occur.

"Well, we all have our special needs don't we? Different though they may 
be, Liz." I bite my lip and regret the sarcasm immediately. "I want you to 
know that I have no other BOY-friends as you insist on putting it." I take a 
quick breath. "And as far as Adam is concerned, right now he is no more than a 
very close friend," I add.

My dishonest cynicism is not unnoticed by the woman who harbors 
delusions of becoming my wife. I do not have to mention her own string of male 
friends who paraded through Adam's home every weekend before she met me. Her 
silence is enough to tell me that we have both gone too far. She equivocates 
as the full import of her suggestion sinks in. She undertakes a hasty retreat.

"Chris, I don't want him hurt. God, I don't know how to put this... I 
want him to be happy, okay. That's all I want. I know you can make him happy."

"He's happy just being around me."

"I'm not giving you carte blanche, Chris. And don't think for one moment 
that it's open season on Adam's butt. All I want you to do is to take him 
for the holidays and help him deal with it. If you can convince him to keep 
his sex life to jacking off over a few dirty pictures so much the better. If 
he needs another outlet for it, well,... at least he's safe with you. What I 
don't want is for him to mess around with Kyle. Susan will kill him if his 
dirty little secret gets out."

It sounds like something from the religious right. Since when is sex 
play between two boys a 'dirty little secret'? She is abandoning her son at 
the one time that he truly needs her. Adam is not the chaste, little boy she 
wants. Instead she has found her son to be a living, breathing time-bomb of 
boy-lust. He sounds a lot like I was at the same age. I smile as I remember 
how much Adam likes to be tickled. I was no different.  I secretly longed 
for a man's touch. Adam is a sensual child with a sexual preference that 
alienates him from most of society and I was exactly the same way. However, 
I managed to conceal my real self behind a screen of athletic prowess until 
I was fourteen, until Adam's grandfather began to lose interest in my 
increasingly hair-covered genitals. Maturity left me in a quandary. For 
several years I was uncertain about my sexual preference. I believed that I 
was gay, yet I sought no outlet for my desires. In time, I discovered that I 
was much less interested in other men than I was in boys who were several 
years younger than I was. Gradually I lost interest in adult males. During 
my college years I dated women and began to think of myself as exclusively 
heterosexual. My passion for boys was so socially unacceptable that I knew I 
would never be able to satisfy my desires. I repressed that part of me with 
cautious success.

I have been as honest with Adam's mother as I can be and still protect 
him, revealing my own determination to never take advantage of Adam's youth 
and naivete, not telling that he is already experienced. I have come too close 
to that irrevocable step often enough and each time I silently vow to myself 
that I will never place him in the position of having sex without love. If and 
when we have sex, it will have to be on the same grounds as my relationship 
with Liz's father. We will have to be truly in love and the physical act of 
making love will be the result of a mutual desire to join our bodies together. 
Merely having sex with Adam to gratify my animal lust makes me no different to 
a predator who takes advantage of him. However, I sigh as I realize the 
inevitability of it. Because I love him, because he loves me, we will soon 
have sex.

"Yeah, right, Liz! You must have a very low opinion of me if you 
really think I'd try something like that on with Adam. He's a very close 
friend,.... and believe it or not, I really love him. Which by the way, is a 
lot more than you seem to do."

"Fuck you!" Liz retorts angrily. "Where do you get off pretending to 
know how much I love my own son."

"He needs both of us. You say you're not blind and neither is Adam! He 
can see how you feel about him. He can't help the way he is any more than I 
could at his age. I'm sure he'll grow out of it, just the same as I did," I 
add hesitatingly.

I hear the doubt in my voice. I did not 'grow'out of it. I learned to 
control my needs and to channel my desire for young boys into socially 
acceptable outlets. I was doing admirably until Adam came along. Adam is going 
to be gay and I cannot deny it. I nearly go too far but I stop myself at the 
last moment. There is absolutely no point in antagonizing her further. 
However, there is one thing that I can say to add fuel to the fire and still 
get away with it. Before I start, like the well-trained lawyer that she is, 
Adam's mother comes back to the attack.

"I realize I can't change that. But it's about time he started acting 
his age," she snaps, her anger increasing again.

"Adam is barely eleven years old, Liz. He's still a little boy even if 
he is a lot brighter than you sometimes give him credit for. He knows 
exactly what he is and it's tearing him up inside. He knows he's gay. In fact, 
he's known for some time. He can't help being gay," I pause and think quickly, 
not wanting to cause her pain, but to gain her understanding of how deeply I 
love her son. "Anyway, if what you say is true and he has no interest in 
girls, Liz, I guess he's better off with me."

"Better off? Yes, I suppose he is," Liz says with quiet resignation.

"I do love him, Liz, I really do. I don't expect you to understand, 
but I'd like you to know anyway."

I hear his mother's restrained laughter. "God, I can only hope so. If 
I had any choice in who Adam has sex with, I'd honestly have to say that my 
first choice would be you, Chris. It might sound strange, but I know I can 
trust you to do the right thing by him."

"I love him, more than you realize, Liz," I say plaintively. "I'd 
never hurt him."

"If, and I do mean if,... if Adam is gay,..." She pauses for several 
seconds. "Well you definitely are the man I'd pick for him to learn about 
sex with. You and Adam, wouldn't that be something for my father? I never 
thought about it quite like that. Talk about poetic justice. He fucks you, and 
you fuck his grandson."

"You're wrong, Liz." My voice is flat and emotionless. I have to correct 
her impressions of her father. "Your father truly loved me, Liz. You may never 
understand what we felt for each other, or why he wanted to have sex with 
me, but the fact is that we loved each other. He was good to me, Liz."

"He loved you? You make it sound so sweet. Christ! He was thirty-five 
years old and you were thirteen, and he fucked your ass every chance he got."

I smile as I remember. The difference in our ages was unimportant. He 
was much more of a father to me than my real father. I try to find the words 
to express what I feel.

"My age at the time doesn't matter a damn. I knew what I wanted, Liz. 
I needed him. I needed him to love me," I add fondly. "That's the real issue 
that most people don't understand."

"What do you mean?" she demands.

I think back and remember myself as an insecure and lonely boy. I was 
desperate for attention, with parents who were too busy with their own 
social lives to see the unhappy boy they had raised. Into my gloomy and 
confused existence came radiant light as Liz's father offered affection and 
the support I needed. Our friendship began with lessons to improve my tennis 
game, my own father being too interested in playing golf with his business 
associates to give a moment's thought to developing the skills of his only 
son. That first summer I developed skills that very few boys my age possessed. 
At the same time that I became an accomplished cock-sucker, I learned to fly-
fish, sail, and play an outstanding game of tennis. The physical attraction 
between us was there from the start and he taught me everything that I 
needed to know to make love to a grown man. I was an eager pupil and he was an 
excellent teacher. It was a mutually beneficial relationship that blossomed 
almost overnight from puerile hero worship into true love. I try to explain 
that itwas a mutually beneficial relationship.

"I loved him and I needed him, just as much as he needed me. Everyone 
thinks that the man is at fault when boy-love is concerned. It simply isn't 
true. When two people love each other, their ages don't matter at all."

"You're saying my father didn't take advantage of you?" Liz demands.

"I'm saying exactly that. I'm also saying that what he did with me was 
only what I wanted him to do. Sure he fucked me, Liz, but only because I 
wanted him to!"

My answer is the absolute truth. Certainly, he guided me and helped me 
to understand the capacity of my body to both give and receive more pleasure 
than I ever imagined possible, however he did nothing without my full consent. 
Those people who wish to deny a boy's natural inclination towards his own 
sex and reason that an eleven- or twelve-year-old boy is incapable of 
understanding and giving consent, are in a one word--WRONG!

"Have you taken advantage of Adam?" she asks immediately. "Or is it a 
simply matter of you doing only what my son wants? Have you fucked him in 
the ass yet?" she asks querulously.

"Do you really want me to answer that question, Liz?" I respond 
cautiously. "If you do then you may not want to hear what I have to say."

There is a long silence. "Tell me!"

"If you must know I haven't done anything Adam didn't want. It's no 
secret that I've touched his penis because you've seen me doing it when we 
wrestle. What's more, he's done the same to mine. We've done more than that in 
my studio when he's been posing for me or when I've tucked him into bed at 
night. I haven't fucked him in the ass as you put it." I take a deep breath. 
"However, even the very first time I met him, he wanted me to. I want you to 
know that I refused."

"But you wanted to," Liz replies swiftly. "I can hear it in your 
voice. It proves he's gay, doesn't it?"

"Maybe it means Adam is gay." I take a deep breath. "I was appalled, 
Liz. He was so confused. I talked with him for hours. He didn't understand 
what love was about. He actually thought that anal sex was something he had to 
do because he was gay. Someone, another boy in fact, told him that."

"Who?" Liz asks immediately.

"I won't identify him even if I could. Adam told me what happened in 
confidence. He trusts me and I'm not about to abuse that trust."

Liz fumes silently for a few seconds. "So it's okay with you if 
someone else abuses him?"

"I didn't say that. Adam needs the same thing now that he needed then. 
He needs a man's affection. He needs support and understanding. He needs 
someone he can trust and believe in. He has feelings that he can't even 
begin to deal with. He's alone in this. All of his friends despise homosexuals 
and he's certain that's what he is."

"Adam being gay isn't easy on me either," Liz says selfishly.

I smile to myself. She must have stopped the car because the static that 
occasionally interrupts our discussion has stopped. I assume she had reached 
the parking area at the airport.

"Liz I realize that,... but you have to realize how much harder it is 
for Adam," I say gently. "Both of us have to help him through this. A bit of 
sex play with his cousin is only his way of trying to find outlets for desires 
that he can't control. That's just the way he is."

"Did this other boy,...?" Liz asks awkwardly.

"Adam told me a bit about him, but I still don't know who he is." I 
lie quickly, hopefully convincingly. "As far as I know Adam isn't friends with 
him any longer, okay?"

That a boy had anal sex with Adam is something that cannot be changed. 
There is no point in her knowing about it. That her son lost his virginity 
to another boy is probably the best thing that could have happened to him.

"Thank God!"

"I'm not worried about it, Liz. You shouldn't be either. You have to 
understand that Adam is just trying to find out who he is, Liz. It's normal 
for a boy to experiment sexually. What he did with Kyle is fairly normal 
between two boys. Liz, he isn't a bad kid.  He's confused and he's frightened. 
No boy wants to be gay, believe me."

"I suppose not," Liz says thoughtfully. "It's hard to understand, that's 
all!"

"You have to try. He can't help the way he is. However, I think you 
should know that Adam also told me that he did have anal sex with the boy," 
I add awkwardly.

"What? God! He's done that already!"

"It's also not that unusual for two boys, Liz."

"You want me to believe that it's not unusual for Adam to have another 
boy's cock in his ass?"

Her presumption that Adam was the passive partner is remarkably 
accurate. I came to the same conclusion based only on my limited knowledge 
of less than one hour's acquaintance with Adam.

"Don't make it sound so dirty, Liz. If he's gay, it's only natural for 
him to try it. It only happened a few times," I add placatingly.

That it would have been very different if Adam had not become 
attracted to me, I also decide to keep secret. I wait for Liz to say 
something, anything.

"I would have expected,..."

"What Liz?"

"Nothing!" A long pause as she thinks. "Chris, okay if you must know! 
I was just thinking that you would be his first, that's all. Does it bother 
you that another boy did it with Adam?"

"Honestly, I worry less about another boy than I do about the men he 
might meet. With AIDS and everything, growing up is really a nightmare for a 
gay kid. However, it's water under the bridge, Liz. I can't undo the past. 
It really doesn't matter, and I certainly don't want Adam feeling guilty about 
what happened."

"I know he loves you, Chris. I guess the big question is how much do you 
love him?"

I breath deeply. The words are so simple and easy to say. 'I love him 
much more than I love you', I want to say. The words stick in my throat. "I 
think we both know the answer to that question," I reply.

Liz hesitates. "He's a lucky boy, Chris. It seems we're both lucky, 
aren't we?"

"Uh huh! Liz, if we love each other,... what happens to us?" I ask. I 
hear the urgency in my voice. We both know what I want to say next. The 
silence persists. What Liz says next takes my breath away.

"Why don't you keep Adam with you for the holidays? He'll be happier 
with you. Won't you do that for me, for Adam,... Chris?" Liz asks.

I shiver with a thrill that leaves gooseflesh on my bare arms. It 
sounds as though she is handing Adam to me with the expectation that he will 
not be untouched when he returns home. Not only that, but she makes it sound 
as if I end up sleeping with him, I will be doing her a favor. For some 
strange reason I am afraid.

"Liz, you know I was planning to go to Colorado for the break. That's 
nearly three weeks."

"Of course I know that, Chris. Adam can go with you if you want."

"I suppose I could take Adam with me. Don't you think you're asking a 
bit much of me?"

I reason again that she must know that she is placing her son in 
jeopardy if he goes with me. He is a hazard to himself as well as to me. He is 
in peril if we spend even a single night alone together. I know that I will be 
hard pressed to resist even the slightest opportunity to have sex with him. It 
is something that we both want, have wanted since the first day we met. It has 
taken all of my self-control not to take that irrevocable step. I love him too 
much to take advantage of him. Everything that has happened during the last 
two months has been moving inexorably to the same conclusion. And now, even 
his mother is pushing us together.

"I know I can trust you to do the right thing by Adam," she answers 
ambiguously.

I sigh loudly. Without saying it directly, Liz is telling me that she 
not only understands the risk to Adam, but she also accepts the 
consequences. "Why don't you just pack him off to stay with your mother for 
the holidays?" I ask.

"Because I don't want to. For obvious reasons I think Adam will be 
better off with you. Besides, it's too late. I'm sure she has other plans. 
If you're not interested, maybe I should sent him to stay with Dad."

I laugh half-heartedly. "Adam could do worse, Liz. Of course, he might 
give your dad a stroke!" I become serious as I say. "We really loved each 
other, you know. Your father was good for me. "

"I know he was, Chris. I know you'll be good for Adam in the same way."

She waits for me to say something. I don't speak for nearly a minute 
while I think about the implications. I know what will happen, probably during 
the first night we are together. It is unavoidable. Adam has already let me 
know that he is willing. He knows about sex. He wants only what I want. His 
mother is patient.

"It's a deal, Liz. I'll take Adam with me, if that's what you want. I'll 
bring him back before school starts in January. He can spend the time on the 
slopes learning how to ski. I want you to understand that if anything does 
happen, it will be only because Adam wants it to happen."

She laughs. "I expect he can learn about sex in some chalet in 
Colorado just as well as he can right here in Baltimore. I'll just have to 
learn to share you with him, won't I?"

"I expect so," I answer. I feel my heart jump as the meaning of her 
words sinks in. I have carte blanche!

She hangs up without saying anything more beyond 'I love you', 'good- 
bye', and 'thank you', ignores my request to 'say hello to Adam for me' and to 
'tell him that I love him'. She is moody, but I know that she will arrange 
to get Adam on the same flight as mine from Baltimore to Colorado on Friday 
morning even if it means sending him first-class. Finally, my relationship 
with Adam is accepted, more graciously than I would have expected. I reason 
that it has nothing to do with her love for me, however I understand why she 
is willing to share me with her son. We both know that it is the only way 
she will keep either of us.



Chapter 5.            11.00 p.m.     December 19th



By the time we finally arrive at the condominium Adam is nearly sleep 
walking. It has been a long day, from the time I picked Adam up from school 
until now, he has talked endlessly, bumbling with excitement and sheer joy 
from being with me. A long flight from Baltimore to Denver, then delayed 
flights because of a snow storm in the Rockies mean a two hour wait before 
we board the commuter plane for the short flight to Vail. Adam tests my 
patience, but he is also showing off. I am glad his mother is not there to see 
her son when he openly flaunts his affection to complete strangers. A rented 
Jeep Grand Cherokee Ltd is waiting at the airport and I carry most of the bags 
while Adam wanders behind me. Although he is beginning to tire, he is also 
hungry, this despite the several airline snacks he has consumed. We stop at de 
Giorgio's in the Village for a late dinner. It is not the first time Adam 
and I have been in a restaurant together, but other than frequent fast food 
expeditions we have always been accompanied by his mother. After a substantial 
insalda verte and spaghetti pomodori we drive on to Beaver Creek.

Adam is agape as he stands beside the stone fireplace and faces the two- 
story window looking out over the creek towards the looming mountains, 
phosphorescent with gleaming snow and moonlight. His tiredness seems to vanish 
in an instant. He grins at me, forever endearing when he beams with boyish 
enthusiasm that defines his age and immaturity.

"Man, will you look at that!" he says in awe. "It's so beautiful!"

I nod, unable to imagine a more beautiful scene--Adam standing before 
the window. His tousled blond head, brilliant teeth, pale pellucid eyes, 
finely sculptured features, hold me entraced. I smile.

"I thought we'd never get here," Adam yawns. "I'm really lucky, you know 
that. I didn't think Mom would let me come with you." He smiles slightly, then 
turning back to the window, he adds quietly, "I never thought I could be 
this happy."

"Are you? I'm glad, Adam. I want you to be happy."

I breath deeply, imagining what will happen, if not tonight, then in the 
early hours of the morning, or any time during the next day. I have a sudden 
sense of deja vu, of rushing towards an inevitable conclusion that causes me 
to wonder whether I am doing the right thing. I have managed to avoid this 
moment since I realized I was attracted to boys. Now, when there seems to be 
nothing holding me back, I am reluctant to take the initiative. I know that it 
has to be Adam's decision, a decision made of his own choosing and without any 
pressure from me. I want to make love to him so much that I can barely look at 
him and continue to control my rising lust.

"This place is so cool. You have a jacuzzi too," Adam says as he glances 
away from the window again.

I nod again. My mind is made up. All my self restraint is needed to stop 
myself from doing what my body desires. "Are you sleepy?" I ask.

He shakes his head, and then smiles when he tries but fails to 
suppress another yawn. "Yeah! It's been a real long day, hasn't it?"

My thoughts wander, remembering the first time I met him, dressed as a 
virgin on All Hallow's Eve. And the second time in my garage. I cannot 
forget my own words of advice, immediately becoming words of regret as soon as 
I had uttered them. I had cautioned him to wait until he was in love. I 
squat down beside the fireplace and strike a match to ignite the broken sticks 
and paper in the fireplace. 'We might as well have the mood appropriate for 
seduction', I think to myself.

"Can we use the jacuzzi?"

"Huh?" I look up. Adam is grinning from ear to ear. "I don't think you 
packed your swim shorts."

"Who needs them? There's just us!"

The fire crackles as the paper and sticks ignite into a steady blaze. 
I say nothing, gazing at Adam in silent appreciation of his splendid body, 
undeniable elegance of familiar muscle, sinew, and bone. Although concelaed 
beneath his clothing, I have seen him naked often enough to memorize every 
detail of his perfect anatomy.

"Hmmm,... and you don't mind being in the nude?" I tease.

He raises his eyebrows in mock exasperation. "Jesus! You've seen me in 
the buff all the time in the studio, Chris. Besides, it's not like we 
haven't done stuff together. So what's new?"

I smile, remembering the last few weeks. The plaster-cast for the 
final sculpture of 'Adam Damned' is nearly complete. In the final version, 
after several models, he is completely nude, eventually to be made in 
bronze. I intend the finished statue to polished to high gloss before it is 
crated in a slatted box of rusted crude steel that constrasts with the 
smoothly burnished gazelle-form contained within it. His pained expression, 
his physical contortion, his muscles tearing in a fearful frenzy, convey a 
fearful horror of damnation. At the same time, he is sexually aroused with his 
little penis erect and his scrotum contracted. From all angles, a steel slat 
covers most of genitals and conveniently hides the shaft of his penis except 
for the exposed tip, still several inches below his navel. Already, two art 
critics have offered favorable impressions of the sketches and the plaster 
cast, quickly uncovering the symbolic meaning of the cage as the moral 
standards that deny a child's sexuality. Even Adam's mother has followed my 
progress with growing awe and an appreciation of my skill at capturing her 
son's form, even with his apparent sexuality. In more ways than the obvious 
attention to detail, I have done him justice.

I lift a large log onto the fire and settle it on the irons before I 
stand up. Still silent, I walk towards the jacuzzi to remove the cover. I 
sense the acceleration of forces no longer under my control, like a creative 
surge of inspiration that produces a brilliant work of art. The outcome is 
inescapable, predestined from the moment we met and simultaneously 
recognized the attraction between us. He wants me just as much as I want 
him. In my mind it is not only in the natural order of things, but it is 
also morally right. Perhaps that is why his mother wants us to be together.

When I turn around again, Adam has removed his sweater and is 
unbuttoning his shirt. He smiles, his eyes watching mine as he continues to 
strip. I stand still, waiting, my heart pounding. His arms bend back as he 
peels his shirt off to reveal his perfect torso, leaving him naked from the 
top of his faded jeans. He has undressed so many times before me that he is 
shameless, his inhibitions discarded like the clothes he drops unhurriedly 
on the floor. After so many times I should not feel the thrill of 
adrenaline, the anticipation of seeing him stripped bare, but I do. It is 
the same every time, a voyeur's pleasure of observing something so perfect 
that it nearly defies description. His sexuality seems irrelevant despite 
the power it has exerts over both of us. One of the reasons why I love him 
is because he is so beautiful, another because he is still a boy.

His hands fumble, no longer quite so confident when he unfastens his 
belt. He feels it too, the inescapable chasm that we have always managed to 
avoid no matter how close we come to the precipice. The most important 
decision of his life has suddenly loomed before him. I swallow, my eyes 
never leaving him. As his fingers tug his zipper downward, I breath out 
longingly, exhausting long days and nights of frustration. Finally, we will 
experience our love as sensory pleasure.

At the last moment he turns away from me, preserving the last vestiges 
of his modesty while he exposes his sex organs. This is unusual for him and 
I suspect that he is sexually aroused. I watch, tempted by his firm small 
bottom, two perfect rounded globes above smooth, slender, lightly tanned 
thighs. His backbone is very visible, present in the knobs of his spine like 
little bumps on the road from the nape of his neck all the way to the start of 
his crack. He glances back at me, looking over his shoulder with a cheeky 
smirk that lets me know that he has denied me what I really want. I grin 
back at him, content to see his buttocks and imagine the precious treasure 
hidden between his pale cheeks.

He steps away, three paces until he reaches the side of the jacuzzi 
where the steps are. He lowers himself, feet first into the steaming water, 
sighing loudly as the 104 degree heat envelops him. I am reminded of a seal, 
not black and glossy but creamy white and silky smooth. Adam is equally at 
home in the water as on land.

He turns onto his back, covering his crotch with both hands as he 
spreads his legs wide apart like a swimming frog.

"It feels great," Adam says. "Come on in, Chris," he adds with a 
tempting smile.

He watches as I undress, his eyes following each piece of clothing as it 
falls away. Unlike him, I do not turn away when I expose my genitals. His 
smile broadens as my huge erection appears. I cannot remember the last time it 
is so hard. It seems to be throbbing with the blood pounding through me. A 
glance down confirms the extent of my bloated stiffness, a reddened shaft that 
is long and thick, and very hairy. My manhood dwarfs Adam's small boyhood, 
still devoid of hair, still pale and smooth. His penis is so small that even 
erect, it still looks like a little squat thumb against his lower belly. It 
points upward from between his thighs, causing him to cup his hands in order 
to hide it from me. He smiles shyly as I begin to approach the steaming tub, 
my penis proudly pointing the way like a primitive man's club. I step over the 
side onto the seat, my hungry cock bobbing like a lever only a short few 
feet from Adam.

"He's so big," Adam says huskily.

He sounds as if his voice is beginning to break as it crackles with a 
lusty thrill. From what I know of him it is merely excitement. When his 
interest is piqued he often becomes nervous. I grin at him as I slowly sink 
into the water opposite him. Our legs brush and stay side by side, barely 
touching. I watch his eyes, so nervous yet full of boyish enthusiasm and 
curiosity. He is tired, but not that tired.

"Of course he's big," I reply. "You know why, don't you?"

Adam smirks. "'cause he wants to have sex?"

"Something like that," I smirk back.

My toes press into Adam's arm, scrabbling against his belly only 
inches from his groin as I try to push his hands away from the protected area. 
He giggles and lifts one hand away to shove my foot back.

"I don't want you to see me," he giggles again.

"Why? I thought you said I saw you all the time in the buff in the 
studio. What are you trying to hide down there?"

"Um,... nothing! Nothing at all, Chris!" Adam giggles as I try again 
to push his foot away one more time.

Unable to dislodge his hands, I do the next best thing. Grabbing one 
thin ankle, I pull him towards me. He flails as his head starts to go under 
the surface. The water splashes and he recovers, twisting and turning as he 
puts up a valiant fight to escape, all the time laughing hysterically while he 
tries to protect his boyhood from my forthcoming assault. I drag him closer, 
ignoring his cry that he is drowning, until he is beside me and I wrap one arm 
around his narrow waist and squeeze him tightly. With my free hand I reach 
to the other side and punch at the control knobs. Instantly the water 
surges. A half-dozen jets squirt high pressure water at us. A moment later a 
volcano of bubbles explodes beneath us. "Wheeee!" Adam shrieks.

"Now," I laugh, demanding loudly so as to be heard over the water 
pump, "just what are you hiding from me?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing! You've seen it before!"

"Let me see," I continue unabated. "I know you're hiding something."

I grab his right arm and toss him over me so that his groin is out of 
the water. His small penis sticks up in the air, his scrotum forming a 
wrinkled walnut-sized hemisphere beneath. I grin. Although his translucent 
foreskin is still in place it is easy to see that his tiny glans is much 
darker than it usually is when he is erect. Adam struggles feebly in a 
continuing attempt to get away, but stops when he realizes the futility of it. 
I take the short hard shaft of his penis between two fingers and thumb and 
press down firmly. As his foreskin retracts past the tip I start to laugh.

"You little devil! What on earth did you do to him?"

"I used the markers you gave me!" Adam giggles. "Do you like it?"

His glans is colored in shades of purple and crimson, getting darker 
at his meatus. It is remarkably precise, an attempt at artistic creation if 
ever there was one. Although it looks slightly ridiculous, it is also very 
erotic.

"Cool dick, Adam," I admire. "Those markers don't wash off, you know."

"I know. That's why I used them," he says lewdly. He holds his hand up 
so that I can see the palm. "I tested some first on my hand, see. I didn't 
want it to wash off before you saw it. I washed it for ten minutes with hot 
water and soap," he says proudly. "I did it last night before I went to bed."

"It'll probably last a few weeks," I tease.

Adam shrugs, knowing full well that I am the only person who will see 
him naked during the next few weeks. "I hope so! It took forever to do it."

"When we're out in public, you'll have to be careful going to the 
toilet. You better use a cubicle when you have to pee," I add.

"I thought of that," Adam grins proudly as he pushes my hand away and 
then pulls his foreskin up to cover his small glans. "You really can't see 
it like this. I checked to make sure."

"That's another reason why I'm glad your mother showed the good sense 
not to have you circumcised," I laugh. "Plus it's a lot of fun trying to stick 
my tongue in there."

I breath deeply and glance at Adam. The last few seconds have provided a 
momentary respite, but no more than that. I need to be inside him, and from 
the radiant look on his face I know he needs me as well. Without warning, I 
lift him around in the swirling water and hold him back against the jacuzzi.

"Yeeeeehoowwww," Adam bellows.

He struggles to get away as the blast of 104 degree water strikes his 
rump. I hold him tightly, pushing him back and centering his bottom directly 
over the jet. It squirts between the smooth small globes of his buttocks, 
spread wide apart by my hand,  blasting hard against his exposed anus.

"Jesus! Chris, what are you doing to me?" Adam demands fiercely. "It's 
going right up inside my butt!"

I suspect that no water is actually going inside him, but it would not 
matter if some did. What he really feels is the pressure. I would not be 
surprised if he felt a little violated, but it is nothing compared to what 
will shortly follow if I have my way with him.

"It's called a jacuzzi enema," I laugh as I lift him away. "At least I 
know your butt is clean for once," I taunt.

Adam gives me a dour look, but is unable to stop a smile from breaking 
at the corners of his mouth. "I always wipe properly. Anyway, you could have 
warned me first," he says ruefully. "It felt gross."

I lean towards him and kiss his head. "Sorry," I say apologetically. 
"I didn't mean to hurt you. All I wanted to do was get your butt nice and 
clean."

"It didn't hurt," Adam counters. "Why did you do that? You said you 
weren't going to do anything in my butt."

"Me? Did I say that? You must be mistaken, Adam. I would never ever 
say something like that," I laugh.

Adam giggles. "Yes you did, Chris. The first time I met you, well the 
second time if you count Halloween, remember?"

"Hmmm, well I think what I said was you shouldn't do anything back there 
unless you were in love with the guy, and you were certain that he loved you 
back."

"Same thing!" Adam counters.

"It would be, Adam,... except that now I love you."

"And I love you too, Chris. So,....." Adam finishes with a cheeky smirk.

"So,....?"

"So what are you waiting for?" he demands gleefully. "Let's do IT!"

Years of lifting the tools and moving the finished works of my trade 
ease the task of lifting Adam. His eighty-four pounds of living hot flesh is 
nothing compared to his facsimile in bronze. The first statue that I made of 
him is my best work, capturing the full perfection of human form. It resides 
in my garden, hidden among the bushes like a young savage who peers at the 
bubbling fountain while he cups one hand over his groin as if trying to hide 
his masturbation. As far as I know, his mother has not seen it.

His legs wrap around my waist when I lift him up from the water. He is a 
giggling, dripping-wet boy who has only one thing on his mind. He gazes at 
me with liquid cerulean-blue eyes that are sparkling and full of passion. I 
see his love as I feel his heated embrace. His arms lock around my neck, 
unwilling to let go until I place him on the sheepskin in front of the 
fireplace. I kneel over him, afraid to say anything that might spoil the 
wonder of the moment. He smiles slightly, still hugging me to him with 
possessive strength.

"I need to get something," I whisper.

"Okay," Adam purrs contentedly. "I'm not going anywhere."

I am back within seconds, placing the jar of vaseline on the hearth 
before kneeling down beside him. Already his body feels hotter, basking in the 
radiant heat of the blazing fire. His skin is reddened, glowing with a 
lustrous sheen as it dries. His tousled hair is damp and on the verge of 
tangling. I gently run my fingers though it.

"I love you so much," I say slowly. "You're the most beautiful boy in 
the whole world."

"I love you too, Chris."

Adam's eyes are nearly closed as he offers his mouth to me. We kiss, 
softly, gently, almost chastely with our heads close togehter. My fingers 
stroke his cheek. So smooth. He quivers. His hand touches mine, easing me away 
until he brings his lips to mine again. This kiss is anything but chaste. 
Adam's tongue protrudes even before our lips meet. Soft, wet, wriggling, 
twisting. I feel his tongue squashing against mine, pushing into my palate, 
behind my teeth, into my cheek. My hand grips his rigid boy-sex, his short 
boner as hard as it has ever been. His ball-sac is very tight and wrinkled, 
concealing the form of his eggs. There is an urgency that drives us onward. We 
are making up for lost time. I push him back onto the floor, shielding his 
nudity with my body, bringing my groin against his thigh as I feel his small 
hardness poking in my belly.

"I want you to do it so much I can't stand it," Adam gasps.

"I know! I want to be inside you," I groan with longing desperation.

He complies silently and I lift away. Even if past experience is 
discounted, Adam knows instinctively what to do. The submissive role is part 
of his psyche. I wonder if he'll grow out of it as he matures. His knees 
draw up, well past his shoulders as he offers himself submissively. His arms 
are behind his knees, assuming a natural position for anal intercourse. Still, 
his choice is one that reflects his prior experience with another boy. I 
look at him, lingering at the moment of truth. His eyes plead his desire.

"Put him in."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I'll tell you to stop if it gets too bad."

"I love you, Adam."

My hand guides my penis as I come forward. He nods. I push slightly. 
He nods again. I feel my glans bury into his crack, prodding a small 
indentation that is closed for the moment. I smile and settle back on my 
haunches.

"Do you know what to do with this?" I ask as I hand over the jar of 
amber lubricant.

He smirks. "You do it!"

"Oh! I always thought it was part of the boy's job! But I guess I'll 
do it if you want me to," I tease.

I flip the lid off, not caring where it goes. With two fingers I scoop 
out a large yellow lump, probably much more than I need, but I am cautious 
by nature. I share it with him, rubbing enough on my penis to make it slippery 
before I turn my attention to Adam. He waits, visibly aroused yet silent 
with nervous anticipation. My fingers find his anus, transferring the grease 
to where it is needed most. He shivers, reflexively contracting with my 
touch on his most private place. He smiles shyly when he feels my finger 
rubbing it in, probing the tight orifice. He tries to relax and admit it 
into him. I hesitate. The sanctity of his boy's body is still safe, his 
tightness restricting my entry. I rotate my fingertip, tracing the 
circumference of his sensitive puckered opening, seeking a way in. With very 
little pressure my finger advances beyond the first joint. His soft heat melts 
over my finger and I push harder.

All my experience tells me to be patient and wait until his anus dilates 
before going deeper. I let his body expand, feeling his sphincter quiver 
with waves of joy, each time becoming a fraction bigger. Then I push forward 
again, watching his face. His expression changes every second. He smiles 
contentedly, slightly painful.  He bites his lower lip, instinctively 
resisting by tightening his muscle to stop me, breathing out as the 
momentary panic fades. Somewhere deep within him is a magic place and his eyes 
open wide when I reach it. I feel his rectum swelling when he displaces his 
intestines to increase the pressure in the region of his prostate. I rub 
upwards, hoping that my finger is in the right place to give him pleasure. 
He sighs.

"I want you, Chris," Adam murmurs absently.

My penis glistens under an oily sheen, bulging red and hard and more 
than ready to do what is being demanded of it. I lean over him, dominating the 
curly-headed boy. His eyes close as he waits, feels my penis lodged between 
his buttocks. His passage is no longer dry and unresisting, but slippery and 
alive. He squirms underneath me, wriggling his anus against my glans as I 
try to squeeze inside. Suddenly his opening contains my glans, his flesh 
stretched wide like a mouth, lips compressing behind my flared tip.

"More," he begs urgently.

"Sure?"

"Slowly! Okay!"

"You're tight, Adam."

"I know it. You feel so big, Chris."

"I'm not hurting am I?"

"I'll tell you, okay."

"Try to relax."

"God, what do you think I'm trying to do."

"I love you."

"How,... how,... far?"

"'bout halfway I think."

"Oh!"

I feel between us. Not halfway yet. It feels as if my penis is rammed in 
until it can go no further without tearing his anus. His trembling make me 
think I am hurting him and I ease back.

"No! Keep him there! It's far enough for a bit. Let me get used to it."

"Okay."

I lean down to him, bringing my lips to his. His lips are dry, still 
softer than anything I have kissed, except perhaps his scrotum. I force my 
tongue between his lips, stabbing into the wet hot cavity behind his teeth. 
The kiss is symbolic. Like my penis, my tongue possesses him. Like my saliva 
in his mouth, my semen will enter his rectum. I ease away, knowing what I must 
do to achieve my goal. With the discomfort he feels, he is not in the mood 
to be kissed. I feel the powerful grip of Adam's sphincter on my shaft slacken 
as his muscle expands to accommodate me. I draw back, pulling away easily as 
the lubricant does its job. Then in again, and he gasps loudly as my penis 
fills his rectum. I begin to move, humping gently. He groans, feeling his 
bowels buffeted even as I continue carefully. There is no rush and I 
concentrate on trying to give him pleasure instead of pain.

"You doing okay?"

"Uh huh."

"I think its starting to get looser."

"Uh huh."

"Is it hurting?"

"Uh Uh."

He lies. I know it hurts. I know the feeling all too well. A man's 
cock is far too big for a boy for it not to hurt him. However, it is a nice 
pain as well. It is a feeling of being forced beyond mere fullness, gorged 
to the point of exploding until he contains my manhood within his boy's 
body. He does not want to talk. No boy wants to talk about it because 
talking would be to admit what he is doing. How well I remember my own 
youth. Shame, guilt, pain, torment. Never wanting to talk about it, lying 
silent when he took my innocence and ignited my lust. Afterwards, there is 
no going back. Adam will be like me, he can never be the same again. He grunts 
each breath.

"I love you, Adam."

He hesitates. "I love you back, Chris."

"You're doing great."

"How far?"

More than halfway, four inches at least. I lift one arm away from behind 
his leg and draw it downwards so that he can appreciate that the distance 
between us is just short of the breadth of his hand. I feel his fingers 
brush along the engorged slick shaft of my sex. He tentatively explores the 
stretched fleshy rod as it exits from his anus and closes his hand around 
it. When he masturbates me, he often uses two hands.

"Man! He's big!" Adam whispers. "No wonder my butt-hole hurts."

"Bad?"

"No! It's okay. Just don't move too fast."

"Don't worry! I won't."

"Chris,...?" he asks worriedly.

"Yes?"

"I love you,...."

"I know, Adam. I love you too."

"I feel like I'm joined to you."

"You are. I want you so much. Like this, I'm part of you. It feels good, 
doesn't it?"

"Uh huh."

"Do you know what I want to do?"

"Hmmmm,.... I think so. What are you doing? Hey! Don't take him out 
yet!"

I ease away from Adam even as his anus squeezes down to keep me 
inside. I know the emptiness he feels, the sudden void created within while 
the longing continues. No boy is prepared for the craving that follows anal 
sex, a hungering itch in his crack that needs to be scratched almost 
constantly and never goes away. I roll onto my side and then turn onto my back 
so that I am lying beside Adam.

"What are you waiting for?" I laugh as Adam looks at me quizzically. "Go 
on, get on top."

"Me on top of you?"

I nod and pull Adam over me. There is a momentary struggle until he is 
properly seated astride my hips, his knees next to my flanks. Already the 
stiffness has faded from his penis, leaving it limp and impotently resigned to 
a lesser role. His erection is unnecessary.

"Can you feel it?" I ask as I place the head of my penis against his 
anus again. Adam nods. "Push back," I instruct.

He smiles and I feel his body push down while I hold my hardness in 
alignment. I feel his anus slip around my glans. He is still tight, but not 
enough to stop the inevitable penetration. Another inch of slippery cock 
slides into him before he knows what has happened. He grins with satisfied 
pride.

"It's in! I can feel him in me. He feels nice."

"Now lean forward," I say.

He lowers his chest onto mine, stretching up until I can bring my 
mouth to his. We kiss again, now taking his extended tongue while I lift my 
pelvis and he accepts my erection deeper into his bowels. I feel his 
shudder, unable to stop the progress of my penis until it possesses him again. 
It is remarkably easy.

"Better?"

"Much!"

With my hands on his hips I press down, forcing him to take another 
inch. Adam groans, his anus is stretched so tightly around the thick mass 
now lodged deep within him that he can barely breath. I hold him there, 
anticipating that he will instinctively want to escape. I hold him tightly 
until his body is accustomed to my presence. I feel the struggling spasms of 
his sphincter, losing in the fight to prevent its violation. The pressure 
fades as he becomes more dilated. We kiss. Soft, wet, tongues gently exploring 
each other's mouths, increasingly passionate, then urgently slurping. As the 
minutes pass I feel Adam become looser, the grip of his anus diminishing until 
he feels comfortably firm, not tight-assed like a virgin. Carefully I begin to 
guide his pelvis, pivoting his buttocks with slight rhythmic oscillations that 
massage my throbbing penis. He swallows, eyes wide open, disbelieving that the 
pain has vanished. My stiff member begins to move faster and deeper, in and 
out of his unrestrained passage. Slowly lust consumes us.

How well I remember that gradual escalation, the pounding stiffness of a 
man's penis deep within me, faster, deeper, harder until it swells 
momentarily, then his flood of white hot seed into my bowels. Until that 
moment, the pleasure has no boundary. It builds until a peak is reached. There 
it seems insurmountable, a point where nothing else has importance. Now, a man 
myself, I relish the task of making love to a boy. My impending climax is 
unimportant as I bring Adam ever closer to his orgasm. I do not need to look 
to know that his penis has shrivelled. It has become a vestigial sign of his 
maleness as it draws into his groin. His anus is completely relaxed, a tight 
fitting glove unclosing my organ. His sphincter is like a thick band that 
restricts my blood flow and makes my erection even stiffer, if that is 
possible.

Adam groans. A shuddering tremor from deep within him as he gasps for 
air. His face is frenzied, eyes closed, lips compressed, hair sweaty. He is no 
longer the sweet pure boy. Selfishly intent on achieving relief, his body's 
motions pursue an elusive orgasm. He forces down, squeezing on my penis as 
hard as he can so that it grinds against his prostate. Suddenly another peak 
comes, bursting upon him and threatening his consciousness. His rectum grips 
me, contracting fearfully with all his strength. Spasm follows spasm, 
ripping through his body without mercy. I pump him, jerking savagely, each 
time shoving his hips down to force my sex in as far as it can go. Another 
spasm, less intense. He breathes frenetically, laboring each lung-full, unable 
to stop. Both of us move relentlessly, like well-oiled machinery yet not 
mechanical as nerves and brains interact.

A throaty whisper. "I,... I,... did,... it."

"I know. You okay?"

"Yes!"

"Do you want me to stop."

"Don't stop!"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Feels okay,... good,..."

"You feel good too,"

"So nice."

"Bring the house down, huh?"

"Yeah!" Breathless. "Could,... say,... that."

"You're really loose, Adam."

"It sounds,....yucky. I feel so wet back there."

"It is wet. Some might even say sloppy."

"Very funny. Did you do it?" Giggling.

"Not yet. I'm close."

"Go for it, Chris! I want to feel your cum in me."

I summon my flagging energy and take control as the exhausted boy lies 
limp, his perspiring body draped over me and abandoned to my will. My 
thrusts are erratic, taking possession as I spear him deeply. Each stab 
elicits a whimper. Again he peaks, a tumultuous wave that makes him cry out 
and rake my neck and shoulders with his fingernails. I slam him downwards as 
the semen begins to spurt. He quakes, another thrust, squirting my sperm 
into the depths of his rectum. He smiles radiantly, satisfied as he feels my 
heat flowing into him. Like his mother, his eyelids flutter when he feels my 
seed become part of him. But unlike his mother, my sperm cannot produce 
children. I slow to a rocking motion, barely moving my penis more than an inch 
at a time.  My copious ejaculation is now a warm fluid deep inside Adam's 
body. Suddenly the hot wetness that coats my softening penis frightens me. 
With good reason, I suspect that I have injured him. Still dribbling, I pull 
free, hoping that I do not see blood.

"Do you feel okay?" I ask as I glance down.

"Yeah, I think so."

"It doesn't hurt?"

"Just a little bit." Uncertain. "I'm okay."

"We did it, Adam, and you didn't bleed," I say with mounting relief.

He smiles shyly. "I know. It doesn't feel bad at all, just a whole lot 
bigger inside me."

"I wonder why?" I tease.

"And you're so much bigger than Jordie," Adam muses.

So, it was Jordan. I have met him several times. IT is easy to see why 
the two boys were attracted to each other. Jordan is handsome in a more 
rugged, many way than Adam, yet he also exudes the same characteristics that 
leave little room for doubt about his lack of interest in the opposite sex. 
Adam could have done a lot worse.

"It's all the practice the last few weeks," I answer. "Every time my 
finger was inside your butt, it stretched you so your insides just a little 
bit bigger."

"I wonder if that's why?... Is that why it went so easily?"

"Uh huh! I think you're getting used to having something inside you."

"I felt your sperm going inside me. I really felt it. I did it again, 
too."

"I know," I say as I hug him lovingly.

Adam is no stranger to this. Even his few experiences with another boy 
have prepared him to accept the consequences of sex with another male. His 
climax, even though it is dry, is a point of pride. I suspect his pride 
comes from knowing what he has accomplished with me is nothing short of a 
miracle. I sigh inwardly. It is impossible not to be jealous of the boy who 
first gave him the ability to appreciate his body's orgasm, but it is not 
something I can change. I smile, meeting his eyes with equal pride while I 
lovingly hug him. This is a time that we will treasure for the rest of our 
lives and I try to make every second special, not caring that my wetness 
will drain onto the rug while he lies above me. I have satisfied a need that 
has existed in me since I was Adam's age. There is a wonderful sense of 
fulfillment. At least for the present, Adam is content. His eyes are happy. 
There is another feeling, a strange feeling. For the first time since I was 
a boy I am complete. I will always remember his grin as he straddles me, the 
look of power and triumph on his face, of knowing we have loved. It was no 
different for me when I was his age. I also remember wanting his penis back 
inside as soon as he took it out. From his squirming attempts to reposition 
himself, I realize that Adam is no different.

"What are you trying to do?"

"I want you!"

"You want me?"

"No,... I want him!" Petulantly.

"Oh that! I want what you want too, but he's too tired.

"Oh!" Sadly.

"He's gone to sleep for a while."

"I can easily wake him up, Chris." Laughing.

"I bet you can't. He's exhausted."

"Wanna bet?" Giggling.

"Hm,.... after what we just did? No,... I don't think so."

"Was I good?" Hopefully.

"What do you think?"

"Better than Mom?" Cautiously.

I give him a wet lick on the end of his nose and he giggles. I will 
not play that game. He knows the answer to his question as well as I do.

"It's about time you went to bed."

"Already?" 

"At least you won't have to do anything to get ready for bed."

"Huh?"

"You won't need to put your pajamas on tonight."

"I'm going to sleep with you, aren't I?"

I nod. "Only not on the floor."

Without saying more, Adam slowly comes to his knees. He moves 
uncomfortably, as if his buttocks are still spread apart by a penis that is 
contained within them. He looks unsure of himself as he clambers off. I glance 
down guiltily inspecting my sex organ. It glistens with a wet slippery 
sheen, but in the flickering firelight it is too dark to see whether it is 
bloodied. I follow him up, taking his hand. We stand face to face. His head is 
at my chest and I am very aware of how small he is compared to me. He walks 
unsteadily while I lead him to the bed, waits until I throw the down comforter 
back, climbs hesitantly onto the bed. He is very tired. Again, I am left 
with a distinct impression that I have hurt him.

"Turn onto you belly, Adam."

"Why?"

"I want to make sure you're okay back there."

He twists, rolling from his side to his front so his buttocks are in the 
air. I sit next to him. In the dim light I can see my wetness on the inside of 
his thighs. I press his firm small cheeks apart and glimpse his anus, still 
open, cream-colored ooze drooling from a gaping mouth. No blood, at least 
not more than a slight red-tint around his recently impaled rim. His 
puckered opening is gone, his ring is an inward depression of loose flesh. 
Later it will be dark and swollen from the bruising I have given him. For now, 
I am without reprehension, yet later I know I will be sad that I have 
inflicted damage to his perfect body.

"Chris?" he asks nervously. "Was I as good as Mom?"

"It's different, Adam," I try to explain.

"Different? How?"

I smile as I playfully swat his bare bottom with a light smack. "You 
don't have a pussy."

"So you have to put him in my butt instead. Do you think it's dirty or 
something?" Adam retorts defensively after he turns uncomfortably onto his 
back.

I grin at him, aware that my penis is beginning to stiffen again. I feel 
like a teenager, perpetually horny. "It's not dirty," I answer placatingly. 
"It's beautiful,... and I love you."

"Would you rather I was a girl and not a boy?"

"NO!" I laugh. "It's not a matter of being better at sex than your 
mother. There's no comparison. A boy is a boy is a boy."

"I don't understand."

"When we were doing it, how did you feel?" I ask.

Adam regards me curiously. "How did I feel? Um,... I felt nice all over. 
I was so happy I thought I was going to cry."

"I was happy too. I felt like I was part of you. Not like I was just 
inside you, but that I actually belonged to you, a bit like your finger, or 
better still, like this little guy," I say gently as I tweak the soft 
appendage between his thighs.

He smiles shyly. "Really?" I nod. "I liked having you inside me, even 
though it hurt a bit at first. I wanted you to keep doing it."

"So did I," I admit. I pause. "It's not like that with your mom, okay."

I reach down, my fingers casually examining the extent of my half-
erection. It is still some distance from being fully hard, but it is 
probably stiff enough to do what is required of it if I do not delay. Adam 
watches silently while I lay down, wriggling across to the center of the bed 
to make room for me beside him.

"Do we really have to go to sleep now?"

I laugh. "Do you have something else in mind?"

Adam smirks as he lifts his knees up to his chest. It is a crude gesture 
whose meaning is obvious.

"Are you sure?" I tease. "You're going to be really sore in the 
morning."

Adam is quiet, thoughtful. 

"I waited a long time for this,... and I want to do it again, okay?" 

He waits, watching expectantly as I move closer, until my hip is under 
his feet. My penis touches his anus, squashing into his opening. He sighs 
softly, immediately content as it slides back in his slippery hot flesh. His 
legs unbend, straightening out. My penis surges upward. There is a look of 
surprise on his face.

"It didn't hurt," he whispers.

I smile, flexing my penis within the living boy-sheath. Nearly three 
quarters, five familiar thick inches, are inside him. I ease away, giving 
him a momentary respite before pushing forward again. He is ready for more. 
There is a wet squelch as another inch penetrates. He is full, his semen-
coated bowels already gorged on man-cock even as I continue to grow harder.

"You feel so big," Adam sighs. "It feels like he's in all the way."

"He's not all there yet," I answer. "But it's close."

"Chris,... I want to try all of him, okay?"

My belly rubs Adam's flank, yet my hips are still several inches from 
making contact with his buttocks. At least two more inches to go and I 
wonder whether it is possible for his slender boy's body to hold all of me. 
Although he is certainly not a fragile child, at his age I was bigger and 
stronger. What Adam lacks in size he makes up for with eagerness. His lithe 
leg and stomach muscles lift his buttocks while his feet seek a purchase on 
the sheet. He braces himself and I continue to increase the pressure. I feel 
his anus holding me back, his sphincter instinctively knotting even as he 
tries to relax. Perhaps another half inch but no more.

"Try again." Gasping.

"You sure?"

"Yes! I want all of him." With difficulty.

As a boy I was no different. Who knows whether it is bravery, or 
unadulterated lust. After the first time, I realized the existence of a 
longing that was an unavoidable part of me. I had a need to be impaled, to 
feel him all the way inside me, a hard, throbbing cock, his manhood shared 
with me.

I slowly increase the pressure, cautiously seeking to test Adam's 
physical limits. He groans as my fleshy stake is relentlessly driven deeper. I 
test the constriction of his fully expanded anus, penetrating another inch 
until I reach the resilient barrier where his rectum curves into his 
intestine. I can go no further. Any greater force will cause his bowel to 
rupture. I stop and breath out.

"How are you doing?" I ask.

"Man he's big!" Adam quivers. His voice is stressed as much as his body. 
"Just don't move too fast. I think I'll explode."

"Move him? Man, you must be joking. You have a tight butt. I think 
he's stuck in there," I tease. "Don't squeeze or you'll pull him off."

Adam laughs weakly. "I won't! I love him too much to do that."

We wait, holding hands and cuddling. We kiss, gently touching lips and 
sharing tongues. I am infatuated with the beautiful boy. He yields slowly, his 
sphincter losing all strength and slackening around my stiffness until is 
seems that intercourse is possible without hurting him in the process. He 
repositions himself, moving his legs further apart and he lifts his head to 
watch. I carefully withdraw, not all the way, but far enough to make the 
return journey worthwhile. His contented smile is gratifying. His eyes open 
wide as I sink back into him.

"God! He feels so good." A puppy-dog whimper.

"So do you."

"Do it slowly, Chris." Groaning softly.

"Like this?"

"Uh huh! It feels good.... It sure sounds gross." Amused.

"It sounds nice. You feel slushy, and you're so hot inside."

We laugh. It feels good, a hot mushy wetness that sucks while I pump 
slowly back and forth. The frenzied passion is gone and we concentrate on 
enjoying the sensations of love making. His warm body fits against mine, his 
buttocks nestling against my hips as though nature had always intended a man 
to mate with a boy. Unlike his mother, his body is lithe and firm. There are 
no feminine curves, only strong young muscles under his smooth soft skin. I 
caress his belly, his chest, his neck. I fondle his navel, marvelling that the 
umbilical cord that had once connected him to his mother is now a delightful 
plaything. It is remarkably small, slightly indented, partially covered by a 
fold of skin. His nipples are tiny, yet they quickly form minute points as I 
tease them with pinches, then rub them. Adam lies back in silent sybaritic 
enjoyment. His eyelids are heavy and ready to close for the night.

Minutes pass, yet time is irrelevant. I am making love to the boy I 
love. His eyes finally close and he sighs sleepily. His rectum has become even 
looser, but I do not care to increase the pace of my thrusts. I use long 
powerful strokes, withdrawing until only my glans joins us together, then 
returning all the way in a single stroke. Each time I elicit a soft sigh of 
pleasure when I slide my long thickness into him.

"Chris?"

"Yes, Adam."

"I love you."

"I love you back."

"I'm so happy."

"So am I."

"I love your cock." Sleepily.

"I love your butt."

"I love having him in me."

"I love fucking you."

"He feels so nice."

He yawns tiredly, his recent passion and frenzied efforts finally 
catching up with him. He is exhausted. His eyelids flutter, a last attempt 
to stay awake. He smiles contentedly and drifts off to sleep. I smile while 
I watch his chest rise and fall with each breath, until I lift the comforter 
over his nakedness to keep him warm. His rectum is hot and oozing wetness 
and gradually my penis begins to feel uncomfortable. I withdraw slowly, 
suspecting that it will only be a matter of hours before I am back inside him. 
I lift his legs slightly and slide from underneath, then reposition him. My 
penis is covered with a creamy slime. Only near the base is there any blood 
and even then it is very little. I breath out in relief as I carefully get 
up from the bed.

Momentarily, Adam stirs when my absence leaves a vacuum. He breathes 
erratically and he twists onto his side under the covers, not waking as he 
settles down again. I smile, imagining the mess he will leave on the sheets 
when my fluid drains out of him. I walk into the bathroom to clean my soiled 
member, wiping away the greasy film that tangles my pubic hair before going to 
the kitchen for a drink. There, true to my promise, I telephone his mother. 
She answers on the second ring.

"Hi!"

"Hi Liz! I'm sorry to be calling you so late," I say apologetically.

"I wasn't asleep. There was something about a snow storm over the 
Rockies on the news. I was worried you'd be flying through that. I expected 
you to arrive late."

"We got in about two hours ago."

"How is Adam?"

"He's asleep. He's,... he's a good boy, Liz."

"Is he,... Is he okay? Did everything go okay?"

"He's happy, Liz. That's all I can say."

"Chris,... I know I was wrong,... what I said before about him, and 
about you and my father. I want you to know I,... This isn't easy to say.... 
I'm glad he's with you. I only want him to be happy."

"I want him to be happy too, Liz."

"I know that. Is he okay, Chris?"

"He's a wonderful boy, Liz."

"You did it, didn't you? I know you did it, just the sound of your voice 
is enough to tell me that. He's not hurt, is he?"

"No! He's not hurt, Liz. Adam's tired, that's all, and probably a bit 
sore, but he's not hurt. Other than a little bleeding, and that's normal."

"Normal?"

"It's normal for a boy to bleed a bit until he gets used to it. It takes 
a few times before it stops."

"Oh!" A long pause. "Chris,...."

"Yes liz?"

"This changes things between us, doesn't it?"

"I guess. Yes, I suppose it does. I want you to know that I still love 
you, Liz."

"I love you too. The only problem is,... now my son loves you as much as 
I do."

"I love him too. And I love him as much as I love you. I'm not going 
to lie to you, Liz."

"I,... Chris, I'm worried I'll lose you, maybe both of you. I want 
you. I want you back here with me."

"Liz, I tried to tell you when you asked me to bring him here with me. 
It will be different for all of us now. I love him. He's part of me and I'm 
part of him. It won't end when we get back you know."

"I know that. I never expected it would end, not after a few weeks 
together in Colorado. I hoped it would, of course. But I knew it wouldn't. 
What happens now?"

"That's up to you."

"Me. You want me to say it's all right? It's okay for you to fuck 
Adam, is that what you want me to say?"

"Not really. You can look the other way again, like you did for your 
father and me."

"I don't want that. I want you as my husband, not my son's boyfriend. 
I want us to be married. I want to be your wife. You the first man I've met in 
five years who I can honestly say that to."

"Liz, I'll say yes and I'll marry you, but you know the reason why, 
don't you? You know I'll marry you just to be near Adam, you know that."

"If we do get married, you'll have to promise you won't continue to have 
sex with him?"

"I can't say that. I'll try my best, but after tonight,..."

"God, Chris! I'm pregnant and you're asking me to share you with my 
son."

"What do you mean you're pregnant, Liz?"

"That night, the first night we slept together, remember Chris? I wasn't 
on the pill and you didn't use a rubber. God, what did you expect to happen?"

"When did you find this out?"

"I knew the day I called you about Adam and Kyle. Ironic isn't it. The 
same day I agreed to let you screw him, I find out I'm pregnant with your 
child."

"Are you sure about it? Some of those early tests show a positive result 
and they're wrong."

"I'm not making this up, Chris. I had more tests today. They did an 
amniocentesis. It's going to be a boy. You have a son of your own now."

"You're not joking about this, are you Liz?"

I close my eyes. We have talked about marriage in a vague way, but 
this is different. I breath out, frustrated and angry at my own stupidity. I 
see no solution but to propose. However, my motivation is wrong. I know my 
love is much greater for Adam. I will marry her to keep Adam close to me.

"I'm very serious. I understand you more than you realize, Chris."

"I love Adam a great deal, Liz. I could never live without him, or 
with him, but not loving him."

There is a long silence. I know what she is thinking. If I was in her 
position I would be thinking the same thoughts.

"I understand that, Chris. Let's just say I think I've already shown how 
open-minded I can be. You're in Colorado with him right now aren't you?"

"Well I don't understand! The three of us can't stand at the altar."

"The three of us,...? Oh! You want to marry Adam?" She laughs. "I 
don't think they would allow that in any church I know, maybe in California, 
but certainly not in Baltimore."

"I was talking figuratively, Liz. That's how I feel about him, that's 
all I'm saying."

"I said I'm open-minded. I wouldn't have allowed him to go with you 
otherwise, especially knowing what I know about the two of you. I guess the 
question I have for you, Chris, is how much do I have to share you with him?"

I hesitate and smile to myself. I look across the room to the bed 
where Adam is sleeping. "What do you mean?"

"How often would you want to do it with him?"

"How often?..."

"Yes! One day a week? two days a week?"

"If Adam and I didn't do anything on weekdays,... if we kept to the 
weekends, well,... I could live with that."

"Five nights with me and two nights with him? God, I can't believe I'm 
saying this. I know that son of mine is cute, but he really must be 
something else in bed."

"He is! I want Friday night too," I add quickly. I am very glad that Liz 
is not only open-minded, but has a sense of humor as well.

She groans. "No, Chris! I can't agree. I can't do this."

"Liz, I realize how difficult it is for you, but there's no other way. 
What I propose is this. It's really very simple. Hell, in a way you could even 
say it's in Adam's best interests. When he has school the next day, I sleep in 
your bed. Otherwise,..."

"He sleeps in our bed, or do you plan to sleep in his bed?"

"His bed is way too small to do anything," I joke. "I'll have to get him 
a queen-size."

"Yes!"

"Huh? Yes what?"

"Chris, damn it! I agree. You should have been a lawyer!"

Liz puts the telephone down and I gaze in disbelief at the receiver in 
my hand. I gaze back at Adam. He stirs, turning towards me. 

"What's up?" he asks between two long sleepy yawns.

"Nothing! I was just calling your mom to tell her we arrived safely."

"Oh!" He sighs contentedly. "Chris?" he asks as I walk back towards 
the bed.

"Yes?"

"Oh,... nothing,... I was just thinking,... we have two whole weeks 
together."

"I know."

"I'm so happy."

"I think I know why. Would it have anything to do with what happened a 
while ago?" I tease.

Adam smiles shyly. I gaze down at him, feeling so much affection for him 
that it is overpowering. His smile is radiant, striking a chord deep inside 
me. 

"I like having your cum in me," he whispers. 

"So do I," I admit. "Does it hurt behind?"

"It's sore," Adam admits with a rueful sigh.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know. I wanted to do it. It isn't like it hurts or anything. It 
just feels a bit sore."

"I'm not surprised. I really stretched your ass, I expect."

I ease onto the bed and lie behind him. He wriggles nearer and my arms 
embrace his lean body to close the gap between us. His buttocks settle 
naturally against my groin so that we are curled up together. My hand drapes 
over his prominent hip and I gently stroke his bare thigh. Adam feels 
unbelievably soft and warm. I smell his hair, lingering on fragrant traces 
of shampoo.

"It still feels funny," Adam purrs. 

"Funny how?"

"It feels so much bigger inside."

"That's something you'll have to get used to, I'm afraid."

"Will you put him back inside?"

"Now?"

"Uh huh!"

"I think twice is more than enough for our first time."

"I don't want you to fuck me. I just want him inside me again. I want to 
sleep with him in there."

Just lying beside Adam has excited me sufficiently. Clumsily I press 
my partially erect penis into his well-lubricated crack. He sighs, drawing his 
knees higher. A small hand reaches between us, guiding the bulbous end of my 
penis to his opening. His hand moves up and down, a conscious effort to 
produce more hardness. Within a few seconds I am able to comply with his 
request. With several inches embedded within him, he straightens out his 
legs again. 

"Okay?"

"Uh huh."

"Are you happy now?"

He giggles. "Uh huh. I like how it feels. I didn't realize how good it 
would feel, Chris."

"Better than Jordan?" I ask slyly.

"Uh huh. Much better!" He pauses. "Am I better than mom?"

"uh huh. Much better!"





Chapter 6.        4.15 p.m.  April 16th



Upstairs, Adam and Jordan are unusually quiet. Under normal conditions 
Adam will let off steam for at least half an hour after the school day 
before starting his homework, and when he has his best friend with him on 
Friday afternoon, it is usually bedlam for the entire afternoon. Of course, 
Thursday afternoon should be quiet, but the next day is a day off from 
school as their teachers prepare for teacher-parent conferences. For weekends, 
there is relatively little homework compared to the normal three hours per 
night a fifth-grade student at Hillsdale Academy has to endure. Under these 
conditions, the boys should be exuberant. Still dressed in their school 
uniforms, Jordan flops back onto Adaam's bed. He enjoys the sensation of 
movement under him. There is an undulating wave that pushes back at him a 
moment later, giving a sense of instability to the bed while at the same 
time very relaxing. He has never slept on a waterbed before and he envies Adam 
his new toy. There is a definite and undeniable pleasure in feeling the 
movement under him. It is as if the bed is alive. He could easily be rocked to 
sleep. He is jerked back to reality as Adam interrupts his thoughts.

"What's up Jordie?"

"Huh? Nothing. I was just enjoying your bed. This is way cool. And its 
so big. You could sleep six kids here and still have room," Jordan laughs.

Adam grins as he settles back into the bed next to his friend. It is 
fun, he decides. It is way better than 'way cool'. It is also a lot or 
comfortable than his previous bed--a twin box spring with a squeaky metal 
frame. It made a hell of a racket every time every time he masturbated. He 
grins again, unseen by his friend. He remembers the sounds even though he 
tried to be quiet. His mother gave him the water bed as a surprise and it took 
an entire Saturday afternoon to pick it out.

"Room for what?" Adam queries as he squirms his bottom into the 
accommodating fluidity beneath him. He knows what Jordan intends, but it is 
too good to pass up. He tries to suppress a giggle. It quickly bursts free 
as the thought blossoms in his mind.

"I'm not sure I'd want to do that with six other kids sleeping next to 
me," he adds.

"Four other kids,..." Jordan corrects. "Because if two of them were 
doing it...." He smirks cheekily. "Of course if you were just jerking off, 
then there would be five. But you really wouldn't be doing IT, would you?"

Adam breathes out deeply and wriggles his hips and shoulders so that the 
water moves under him. He wonders how doing IT would feel on the bed. He knows 
that it is only a matter of an hour or so until he finds out. Two hours at the 
most if they wait until after dinner. The water seems to push back at him at 
the same time as it absorbs his movement. It is very different to his old bed. 
For one thing there is no disturbing squeak, and for an other, there is more 
than enough room to do anything they want. Instinctively he realizes that they 
will have to do it in a very different way. The bed has a motion of its own.

"I wish I had one," Jordan continues. "Even if it's the same size as our 
old bed." He stops and then finishes, "You're really lucky. This is way cool."

"Maybe you can sleep over, Adam offers. Instantly he regrets the 
suggestion. Suddenly he wants Jordan gone. He wants to run downstairs and 
bring Chris back with him. They can test it out before dinner. He sighs 
quietly.

"You want to play with our dicks? Or do you know what?" Jordan asks 
awkwardly. Nearly three months have passed since the last time and it seems 
like an eternity. It was before Chris, in fact just before he met Chris for 
the very first time. For Adam, his life is interrupted at that point. Since 
the last time he has been sexually aroused with Jordan everything has changed. 
His entire life has changed. He has discovered such happiness that it is 
impossible to conceive of ever being alone again.

Adam shrugs. All things considered he has little interest in playing 
with Jordan's penis or participating in the act of anal intercourse that his 
friend alludes to. Not when the real thing, the part of Chris that he loves 
most of all, the thing that he wants to hold and have inside him more than 
anything else is just downstairs in the kitchen. The urge to tell comes out of 
nowhere. He needs to confide his secret to his best friend.

"Jordie, if I tell you something, will you promise never to tell a 
living soul. No one! Ever!" Adam says conspiratorially.

Jordan turns to his friend curiously. He wonders what Adam is going to 
tell him as he nods his agreement to absolute secrecy.

"Not even your brother! Promise?" Adam demands. "And especially not a 
grown-up," he adds.

"Okay. I promise."

"Okay," Adam says uncertainly. He takes a quick breath. "I'm the same as 
you."

Jordan's expression does not change. He continues to look at Adam with 
inquisitive eyes, wondering what lies within the pale blue liquid pools that 
gaze back at him. Adam has beautiful eyes that hold his attention until he has 
to force himself to look away. They are unlike Jordan's eyes. They are darker, 
sensuous and beguiling, while Adam's eyes remain gentle and innocent.

"I don't understand."

"I'm gay."

Nearly a minute passes before the long silence is broken. "You mean 
you think `you're gay. You can't be sure until you're older. Some guys go 
through a stage." Jordan says softly. 

Adam winces slightly. "It's not a stage I'm going through, okay."

"So? Being gay is no big deaL, Adam."

"I've done it with a man too," Adam admits in a voice that is barely 
heard. "Just like you do with your bro, Jordie."

"Who?" the other boy demands in disbelief. "What do you do with him?" he 
adds immediately.

"I do the same stuff you do with Jeff. I think you know what I mean. The 
same stuff we did together," Adam admits shyly.

"You do that? Everything?" Jordan demands. Adam nods again, so 
slightly that the movement of his head is barely discernible. Jordan swallows. 
"Everything, right?"

"Uh huh." Adam admits gleefully. Ev-ery-thing,.... Jordie."

"Even that?" Jordan clarifies. "You do it! He does it in your butt, 
right?"

"Especially that. That's what being gay means. You said so yourself," 
Adam rebounds. "It's the best part of being with a guy."

"You do IT with a man? I don't believe you. Tell me who."

Adam grins cheekily. "Other than Mr. Patrick, I only know  one other man 
well enough," he answers suggestively.

"I can't see you doing it with Balloon Butt." Jordan hesitates. "So 
who then?"

The movement of his hand just comes into the corner of Adam's peripheral 
vision. Jordan brushes his fingers through his hair, twirls one lock between 
his fingers, and waits. It is yet another of those 'queer' things that 
Jordan does that strangely bothers Adam. It is something that boys do not 
do. It is an effeminate gesture that is not unlike some of his own unconscious 
actions, actions that are becoming increasingly common. Adam grins as he 
enjoys his game. He wants Jordan to know that there are no longer any 
differences between them. They are equals, in every sense of the word.

"Not Bee-Bee?" Jordan asks curiously. Adam shakes his head quickly. 
All of a sudden Jordan's mouth opens. He mouths the word in shock. "Chris?" 
Adam nods. "No! Your step dad? I don't believe you."

"My mom knows about it too," Adam adds coolly, proudly, happily.

He lets the news sink in, watching tim's expression change from 
disbelief to envy, and waits. He wants to tell his best friend everything--
everything from the time of their first meeting, their vacation together, 
everything up to the present.

"You're making that up," Jordan protests. "Your mom's cool and all, 
but she wouldn't,... she would never let you do that."

"Actually, it was more or less her idea. Once Chris moved in with us 
it just worked out that way. Remember when I spent the Christmas holidays with 
him in Colorado?"

"Uh huh."

"We did more than just ski," Adam grins slyly. "In fact I was too sore 
to go outside some days."

"But they're married!"

"So? He loves me. After they got married he comes to my room on the 
weekends."

"What about your mom?"

Adam shrugs dismissively. "She knows how much I love him. It's weird. 
She knows we have sex 'cause we've talked about it. Sometimes she even makes 
jokes about what we do. Anyway, after about a week after we got back from 
Colorado, Mom just said it was okay if that's what I really wanted. She lets 
us sleep together whenever I want."

Jordan stares at his friend in total disbelief. "You sleep with him?"

"Of course I sleep with him you dodo. Your sleep with your bro 
afterwards, don't you?" Adam questions.

"Yeah, but only for a while.... You do it here?" Jordan asks as he 
glances around the room. His confidence is fast disappearing. "In here? On 
this bed?"

Adam smirks, suddenly feeling light-hearted and very playful. "Only when 
it's raining. Usually we do it outside on the front lawn. That's if it's dark. 
Otherwise we go round the back so the neighbors can't see us."

Jordan laughs. "Now I know I don't think I believe you. It's still too 
cold to take your clothes off outside. Not unless you want your balls to 
freeze off."

"Of course we do it in here," Adam relents. "It's my bedroom, isn't 
it? Only we haven't done it on this bed,... at least not yet. It only just 
arrived today."

"He's really good looking," Jordan muses.

He glances at his best friend. Even his own parents have said that 
Adam is a handsome boy. He feels a surge of jealousy. He considers his 
father's statement that 'blond boys are the best looking.' Fortunately they 
are both blond. Other than the fact that head has curly hair and the other has 
straight hair Adam and Jordan could be brothers.

"I really love him, Jordie," Adam adds. "We do it every weekend."

"I don't believe you. Prove it!" Jordan challenges.

For a moment Adam considers taking off his trousers. However, the 
evidence of minor bruising that has been so visible around his anus a month 
earlier, has all but vanished. His opening is significantly bigger than it was 
when he lost his virginity to Jordan. No longer is his opening surrounded by a 
small ring of puckered flesh. Unless one knows what to look for, he appears 
innocent. However, there is an easier solution and one that avoids the 
invasion of his privacy. He reaches to the side of the bed, opens the drawer 
of the new nightstand, and gropes inside it. He finds what he expects to 
find a moment later as his fingers close around the tube.

"See!" he announces as he holds the partially finished tube of K-Y out 
for tim's inspection.

"What is it?" Jordan asks from the other side of the bed.

"It's K-Y, you dummy. It's what we use to make his cock slippery." 
Adam explains as he guesses the reason behind tim's question. "Chris says it's 
way better than vaseline for a lubricant. K-Y is the best thing to use back 
there, especially for a boy my age," he adds knowingly.

Jordan nods glumly as he absorbs Adam's readily shared knowledge. 
However, Adam is not finished. He is going to prove it. "We used vaseline 
the first few times. It's okay, but I got pretty sore inside. I still wanted 
to do it even though it felt pretty bad for a few days."

"I know what K-Y is," Jordan says glumly.

Adam remembers the rawness of his bruised bowels. He smiles. It is 
hard for him to remember the pain now. It took a couple of weeks before it 
stopped hurting. He tightens his sphincter muscle proudly. Now, it is 
remarkable that his body can accommodate Chris's big penis and feel so 
wonderful. Every time, after a ferocious assault on his anus, he realizes that 
he is a very lucky boy.

"How often,... like,... you know,... do you do it?" Jordan asks 
awkwardly.

The curly haired boy shrugs as he places the tube back on top of the 
nightstand. "Most nights, we mess around,... We don't do it, you know go all 
the way with his dick in my butt except on the weekends or when Mom's away. 
Since Chris married Mom and we moved in with him, it's been kind of weird. 
Sometimes we do it when she's not around, like after I get home from school, 
that is if I don't have a ton of homework. And on the weekends, of course."

Jordan half closes his eyes, thoughtfully. He accepts the truth of it. 
"My brother does it to me all the time,... but only at night,..." he murmurs 
absently. "Sometimes we do it in the mornings,... before we go to school. I 
guess I wondered why you stopped coming around in the afternoon."

Adam shrugs. "Now you know why."

"And your mom knows you do it?" Jordan asks in awe.

"Uh huh. Mom is really strict about it. Chris calls it the 'no-sex 
before school rule'. I'm not supposed to be doing anything with him after 
nine-thirty on school nights. Actually Mom really doesn't want us to do 
anything during the week. That's her time with Chris, she says. At least she 
gave me an extra half-hour on my normal bedtime so we could mess around 
together," Adam adds with a triumphant smirk. "I think she expects us to do 
something, only she doesn't want me to stay up late so I'm tired the next 
day."

"I s'pose so," Jordan mumbles.

Adam muses softly. "I guess we make up for it on weekends."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Huh? Yeah?"

"Do you love him?" Jordan asks.

"That's a dumb question. Of course I do."

"Do you like it?"

"Having sex?" Adam asks. Jordan nods. "That's another dumb question. 
Boy, you're full of dumb questions today, Jordie."

"Do you?" Jordan prompts. "Even when it hurts?"

"It doesn't hurt that much," Adam replies.

"But it hurts when he first sticks it in, right?"

"Yeah, a little bit I guess. It only hurt bad for the first few days, 
and then he said that if it was too painful, then either he was trying to 
put it in too quickly or I shouldn't be doing it at all 'cause I'd been torn 
inside."

Jordan swallows and half-closes his eyes. Almost always there is pain 
for the first few minutes. Sometimes more than other times. Sometimes there is 
blood, usually only a red smear on the sheets. The blood frightens him even 
though his brother assures him that some bleeding is normal.

"Do you bleed a lot?" he blurts out.

Adam sits up in surprise. The first time that he saw the brilliant red 
smear on the white linen it frightened him. Chris called it 'virgin's 
blood'. Although there isn't much blood now, it's still more than he would 
like. However, boys sometimes bleed when a man puts his penis inside--that was 
a fact of life.

"Sometimes! Not that much any more," he answers.

The next question comes quickly. For a change it is Jordan who needs 
reassurance of his sexuality. "Do you like it afterwards?"

"Afterwards?" Adam asks.

"Do you mind having his sperm inside you?"

"Shit! Jordie, you're just full of dumb questions aren't you, dude? 
Anyway, it's called semen. Sperms are the little tadpole thingies that swim in 
it."

Adam tightens his sphincter again and squeezes on the small hole that 
holds Chris' penis captive. The feeling is a familiar one. He wants Chris' 
penis inside him. He wants the stretched sensation, of being so full of 
penis that it feels as though his body will burst open. Afterwards, when there 
is a warm glow in his weakened bowels, when Chris's semen is inside him, there 
is a wet sloppiness, a feeling inside him that is indescribable except that it 
is incredibly nice. It feels good to hold Chris's seed inside him. He 
wonders whether he is weird. Is it simply a part of being gay?

"Do you like it afterwards?" Jordan repeats. "After his takes his cock 
out?"

Adam giggles boyishly. "I'm usually asleep by then."

"You fall asleep right away?" Jordan asks absently.

"No way! We kiss and hug, and we talk a lot. He leaves it inside me, 
that's all. I like feeling it there. I don't mind having his cum in me."

"Jeff takes it out as soon as he cums," Jordan confides. "Then he cleans 
it off on a towel,... It makes me feel like I made him dirty or something."

"Don't you kiss and hug and stuff like that?" Adam queries. "Sometimes I 
think that's the best part."

The other boy shrugs. His brother often kisses and hugs him beforehand 
and sometimes afterwards, but more often than not, either masturbates him 
until his penis is red raw, or goes to sleep. No matter which way Jordan looks 
at it, something is missing. However, what really bothers Jordan is his 
brother's interest in other boys.

"It's okay," Jordan says. "Does it bother you about Chris and your mom?"

Adam looks up quickly, wondering how Jordan has managed to read his 
thoughts. "What about them?"

"Well they're married now, so,...." Jordan smiles and lifts his eyes 
up to the ceiling. "You know,...."

Adam shrugs and gives his friend a bland ambiguous look. "So?"

"They sleep together, don't they? So they do it, right?"

"Yeah! Mom's going to have a baby, so I guess they must do it."

"You're joking? You're not, are you? A baby? No shit!" Jordan chortles.

"No shit! It's a boy. I'm going to have a baby brother. Mom had some 
tests and they told her afterwards."

Adam looks around the room nonchalantly. It is familiar to him. He has 
spent all of his life in the room it seems, not just a matter of a few months. 
Those months have been the happiest period in his entire life. He wonders what 
will happen when the baby is born.

"Don't you care that he fucks her as well?" Jordan asks curiously.

"Yeah, I care. But I can't do anything about it," Adam says awkwardly.

"It would piss me right off. Aren't you jealous?"

"Of course I am. He's,... well,... he's bi, I guess."

"What do you think he would do if he knew you did it with another man?"

"He knows I wouldn't," Adam replies arrogantly. "He knows I did it 
with you!"

"You told him?"

"He knows all about it. It was before I met him so it doesn't bug him 
that much. Now, I guess it would be different."

Jordan glances at Adam. It is not a look of anger, but it clearly 
hints that he resents being rejected. Adam shrugs and comes to his feet.

"I like you a lot, Adam, I really, really do."

"I like you  a lot too, Jordie."

"I think your the cutest boy I've ever seen."

"Yeah, right!" Adam grins. "You just want to have sex with me."

"That too," Jordan grins.

"You're crazy, man."

"Crazy about you," Jordan adds.

"I better get out of my school clothes," Adam says.

He starts to undress as he ambles towards the bathroom. His once-
pressed, now-wrinkled shirt drops outside the door. As he turns around 
Jordan sees his friend's bare torso. Adam has a suntan, not lingering on 
from last summer, but bronzed from the seven days of Spring vacation/honeymoon 
he spent in the Caribbean. Jordan is envious, not only of the golden body, but 
because of a sudden realization that he desires Adam's body as much, perhaps 
even more than his brother's. Adam's firmly muscled physique is the same as 
his own, except that Adam has not started puberty. With a smile, Adam 
disappears into the bathroom.



Chapter 7.                  5.00 p.m. April 16th



It is very quiet upstairs. The complete absence of sound from two 
normally noisy boys is enough to make me suspicious. I stop slicing the carrot 
and listen. Nothing, no voices, no giggles, nothing penetrates the thick walls 
and floors of the house. For a moment I considered going upstairs. On tiptoes, 
of course, as I wonder what I will discover in Adam's bedroom. His room, 
once a guest bedroom, has quickly become my room, as much as the bedroom 
that I share with his mother. On the weekends, whenever we get the chance, 
we share his bed. Some of my clothes are in his closet and drawers, and I even 
have a spare toothbrush in his bathroom. But what makes his room even more our 
room is the new queen-sized waterbed that replaces his twin beds.

Still, I have a feeling of uncertainty despite the certain knowledge 
that Adam, for the present at least, is mine and mine alone. It is simply a 
matter of my suspicion that another man is still attracted to Adam and the 
feelings are reciprocated. I suspect Jordan is his connection to those 
experiences for no other reason than they have had sex together. It is not 
that I begrudge Adam his friendship with a boy of his own age. That he needs 
friends his own age is never something I question. Boys need other boys to 
play with. Even though we play together and I relive my own pre-teen years 
when I am with him, I understand that there are some things we cannot share by 
virtue of the difference in our ages. I possess him physically, if one 
person can possess another. His heart I share with others, never doubting that 
he loves me but knowing that he loves others equally. His mother for one. 
She has loved him longer, but in my mind, no one can not love him any 
greater than I do. However, try as I can, I can never compensate for the sheer 
exuberance of youth. I am a grown up and there are some things he will never 
share with me no matter how emotionally attached we become.

The floor creaks somewhere above my head and I smile. At least one of 
them is in the corridor on his way to the stairs. I hope it was Adam--by 
himself--coming down for a quick snack, or something more intimate. That 
thought alone begins to stir my penis into action.

Jordan is a good best friend for Adam. Still, I would probably pick 
someone else if the choice was up to me. I have no substantive complaints 
about his blond-headed companion, and they make a splendid pair together. 
Jordan is always polite and friendly to me. But he frightens me, arousing a 
desire that I do not care to share with anyone besides Adam, and jealousy that 
arises from sharing Adam with him. If anything sexual still happens between 
the two eleven-year-olds, I am unaware of it. It has happened in the past. For 
Adam, it was a playful exploration by two youngsters, for Jordan, the 
deliberate seduction of an inexperienced boy. I am worried given Adam's 
natural inclinations towards his own sex, but for present Adam's affections 
are directed entirely at me. Still, I am fascinated by the thought of Adam 
masturbating with  Jordan, if that is all they do together. The two boys are 
well matched. Although only one of them is sexually immature and the other 
is capable of ejaculation, it would be worth watching even if I could not 
participate.

I hear the sounds of boys coming down the stairs. But for the squeak 
of the old oak treads as they bear the weight of two eighty-plus-pound boys, 
it would be a silent approach. They come into the kitchen, passing through the 
doorway side by side. They are still so boyishly slender that a third boy 
could fit in the frame with them. They are both beautiful lads, although in my 
eyes Adam clearly outshines his companion. His eyebrows lift up and his big 
blue eyes flash an unspoken question in recognition of the love we share.

I smile lightly at Adam. It is a knowing glance as I observe that he has 
changed his clothes. He is dressed in a tee-shirt and sweat pants, his 
favorite clothes for bumming around the house. He is home from school until 
the following Monday and my heart soars. Even though he may have homework to 
do, he is mine for the weekend. I contemplate the evening's entertainment. 
We have a new waterbed to break in and his mother is away for the night in 
Boston.

Adam grins as he lounges back against the kitchen counter. He is several 
feet away, close enough to be mine, distant enough to have his own space. 
However that will change as soon as Jordan is out the door.

"The new bed came," he announces happily.

"Oh, I hadn't noticed," I tease. "Is it in your room?"

I have spent most of the afternoon setting our bed up. It is a gift from 
Adam's mother and it signals her acknowledgment that my love for her son is 
not only fully accepted, but something that she wants to encourage as well. 
I admire her.

"You put it there, didn't you?" Adam replies.

For a moment his eyes stray to the other side of the kitchen. It is a 
casual glance to his best friend, but at that moment I realize that Jordan 
knows about us. Perhaps it is a fair exchange because I know about Jordan 
and his brother. Only a few hours after I met Adam he opened up to me. Perhaps 
he told me the story to relieve his own guilt, perhaps to relive his 
seduction, but either way it had an effect on me. I came to understand their 
special friendship. In fact, as I study the two boys in the kitchen, I am 
surprised that Adam has not told Jordan sooner.

Jordan's shy smile widens and threatens to become a knowing leer had 
it been possible of the boy's character. "I always wanted a waterbed," he says 
coolly. "They're awesome to sleep on and do stuff."

'And do stuff'. Is that an understatement or what? On the surface it 
is an innocuous statement, but the look he gives Adam is anything but 
innocent. He holds Adam's eyes for several seconds before he glances down to 
the floor and focuses his attention on the joint between two marble squares.

"Do you guys have a lot of homework?" I ask.

Adam shakes his head. "They cut back because of the parent-teacher 
conferences. I only have about an hour of math. And I guess I gotta do some 
work on my book report. I can do it after dinner. Unless you'll let me do it 
during the weekend?" he adds hopefully.

I shake my head. Rules are rules. My first rule is that homework comes 
first. "Are you looking forward to the holiday, Jordan?" I ask.

Jordan shrugs and is ready to say something when Adam speaks instead. 
"When's Mom coming home?"

"Tomorrow! She'll call tonight and let us know when."

"We could go away for the weekend," Adam suggests hopefully.

"Where do you have in mind?"

"Um,... that lodge we saw last weekend?" he suddests hopefully.

"Beaver Creek? It's a long way to go for the weekend."

"It's not that far," Adam retorts. "You and I drove almost that far last 
weekend when we went for the picnic, remember?"

I smile as I wondered whether Adam has told anyone, his mother or  
Jordan, about the picnic. Mustard and boy-weiners make a great combination 
with an unusually warm afternoon and a private glade in the forest.

Adam's hands move back to the counter edge and he jumps back to sit on 
it. He smirks cheekily. His face is turned away from Jordan so that only I can 
see his expression. "Wouldn't you think there would be a lot to do at a 
place like that."

"Oh! I don't know. It's still too cold to go outside much so I don't 
think you'd see too many beavers," I answered playfully. "It could get 
pretty boring. We'll go up as soonas it gets a bit warmer."

"I guess Jordan could stay with us for a few days," Adam suggests 
hopefully. He has not considered the implications of his idea.

"I can't. My dad has already arranged for me to go to my grandparents 
for the weekend," Jordan announces.

His face seems to redden slightly, making his full red lips appear 
even more passionate. From the other side of the kitchen it appears as 
though he might be wearing lipstick. He swallows and his tiny Adam's apple 
bobs in his thin neck.

"I'm sorry," I reply gently as I hear the overtones of parental 
discipline being resisted. 

Jordan shrugs. By contrast, effervescent Adam is swinging his legs 
back and forth so that his sock-covered feet drum lightly against the 
kitchen cabinet doors. He is ready for Jordan to leave, best friend or not. We 
need privacy for what we both have in mind.

"I've got an idea," Adam suggests perkily. He grins at me, flashing 
his perfect white teeth. His eyes sparkle with amusement. I sense I am about 
to find out what the boys have been up to in the bedroom now that sex play 
is temporarily off their agenda. I wait.

"We could just stay for the night?" he suggests.

"I'm not saying no, Adam, but what about the celebration dinner we 
were going to have for your mother when she gets back from Boston?"

"Mom won't mind. Besides, she already said it was okay if you took me 
away for a few days, just as long as she knows where we are. Please?" he 
implores as he gazes at me with his big puppy-dog eyes.

I sigh inwardly. I will be a terrible step-father for Adam. He is 
impossible to resist. I am the adult yet he controls me more with the mere 
intonation of his voice, a shy smile, or a quick look than anyone would have 
believed possible. But such is the power of an eleven-year-old boy when a 
man truly loves him.

I nod agreeably. "Maybe we can go up and stay over Saturday night."

"Without mom, right?"

"Probably," I ventured.

"The weekend is supposed to be my time with you," Adam counters. "I want 
to do it all night long."

"Adam!"

"Sorry,.... Jordie?" Adam says apologetically. He waits until his best 
friend looks up. "Jordie,.... Chris knows about you and your brother, and 
now you know about us. You have to promise never to tell?"

"I'm your best friend in the whole world. I'm gay too,... so there's 
nothing to be worried about."

I nod understandingly. I am not happy for our secret to be told, even to 
Adam's 'best friend in the whole world'. However, Adam needs Jordan as much as 
Jordan needs him. What they have in common, that quality they share, needs the 
warmth and support that only a very close friendship can bring. Indeed, it 
is a crucial part of their friendship. Just as Jordan opened up to Adam and 
shared his sexual preference, so too has Adam sought acceptance by telling 
him. Suddenly I am glad that Jordan is Adam's best friend, even though he is 
responsible for the loss of the younger boy's virginity. Neither boy is 
innocent any more, and they are still eleven years old.

Like Adam, I am now impatient for Jordan to leave. Finally he saunters 
out the door, bubbling effusively. I watch as he ambles down the side path and 
disappears from sight.

"He's a good kid," I say as much to myself as to Adam.

Adam giggles. His high-pitched voice interrupts my thoughts and I turn 
back to look at him. "You're not falling in love with him are you?" he demands 
playfully. The look of surprise on my face easily convinces him otherwise. 
"Huh?" I murmurs. "What did you say, Adam?"

"I asked if you were interested in Jordie. You know like what we 
talked about."

"Huh? I don't understand."

"You sort of said that you were interested in other boys. Are you deaf 
or something?"

I chuckle. I have wondered the same thing on the few occasions I have 
seen Jordan.  "What makes you say that?"

"Because! I've noticed how you look at him? It's the same way you look 
at me. Like you want to tear my clothes off and do it to me."

"What sort of look is that?" I question playfully as I step towards 
the boy sitting on the kitchen counter.

"It's the same look you have right now," Adam chirps cheekily. "And 
you're getting a hard-on too to prove it." He hesitates and grins widely. 
"Haven't you ever noticed how you get an erection whenever I'm around?"

"Well, you're a beautiful boy. I think I show excellent taste," I 
acknowledge. I am not surprised that Adam has noticed my frequent erections. 
Adam pouts for a few seconds before I catch onto his game. "You're a beautiful 
boy, Adam Browning. And if I ever catch anyone looking at you like I do, 
I'll kill them on the spot."

Adam laughs and teases me. "Sometimes I wonder why I changed my name? 
Maybe I should have hyphenated it--Adam Anderson-Browning. What do you think?"

I stand before Adam with my lower belly brushing his knees. He has no 
where to escape to, even if he wants to. As Adam stops laughing he is suddenly 
awakened to my serious expression.

"What's wrong?" he asks nervously. "You're not mad at me are you? Are 
you angry because I told Jordan? I knew you'd be mad at me for that."

"No! It's not that, Adam."

"It is! It's because I told Jordan about us, isn't it?" Adam asks with 
visible worry. "I knew you'd be angry."

"Why? Adam, we've talked about it. You've even talked with your mom 
about it as well. What you and I have, the love we share, it's something 
that no one, and I do mean no one, can ever know about. You know it's 
against the law. Even your mother could be sent to prison for letting us sleep 
together. By the time I got out of jail I'd be an old man."

"But Jordan is different. He's like me. He's gay too. And he does it 
with a his own brother. He understands. He won't tell anyone. He's my best 
friend. I trust him. I want him to know that I'm the same as he is. I want him 
to know that we love each other, okay? Don't you trust me?" Adam says angrily.

I sigh and realize that I have stepped out of bounds. Silently I promise 
myself that I must never criticize his decisions again. "I trust you. 
Listen, Adam. You have to understand. This is very important. What if Jordan 
tells someone, like his parents for instance, or someone else like a teacher?"

"He won't," Adam denies adamantly. 

"What if he tells his brother?"

"Jeff? If he does, so what? His brother won't tell. Not when he's been 
fucking, sorry,... well you know, doing it to Jordan since he was ten. He's 
breaking the law himself."

I shake my head in despair. "It's okay to use the f-word when we're 
together, Adam. Just don't use it around your mom. I don't know of a better 
one to describe it. Having sex really doesn't cover it. What happens if his 
brother tells someone, like another boy he has sex with? What if Jordan gets 
jealous and decides to tell? That's why it has to be our secret, Adam."

"Oh! Shit! I guess,.... well I never thought about it like that."

"The whole world would find out if someone started talking."

"I don't want you to go to jail."

I sigh. "I like Jordan. I'm sure we can trust him, and we'll talk 
about it the next time he's here. But there's something else I don't 
understand."

"What's that?" Adam breathes out in relief.

"Well, it seems to me that you really like Jordan, correct?"

Adam nods slightly. "Sometimes I feel lonely. You know,... because of 
how I am."

I continue. "Okay, I like the idea as well. You need a friend like 
Jordan. But I'm also afraid that he's is attracted to you."

"You mean like sex?" Adam asks guiltily. "I,... I don't think so."

"Where there's smoke, there's usually fire, Adam. You're a beautiful 
boy. From what I've seen of Jordan I think he's still very interested in 
having sex you. From what you told me about Jordan, I'd say it was more than a 
remote possibility. If you don't want that to happen, and I certainly don't, 
then why set up a way for it to happen, Adam? Call me dumb, but it seems as if 
you're going about it the wrong way."

Adam grins and reaches out to place his hands on my hips. He surveys 
me with his innocent blue eyes. "'cause you're wrong. Because I don't think he 
really wants to have sex with me. He likes older guys, that's why. I mean, 
well,... he loves Jeff. I've seen them together. And besides, I think if,... 
well if he knew how much you loved me, then he definitely wouldn't be 
attracted to me. He'd be wasting his time."

"Then he's crazy! I'd drive across the country, I'd give anything for 
a single hour with you, Adam. You know that as well as I do."

"I hope so. I'd meet you halfway with my pants down," Adam says 
cheekily.

"You really think that Jordan realizes that we're in love by seeing us 
together for a few minutes?"

Adam shrugs. "Maybe not. I don't know. All I know is I want Jordan to be 
my best friend. I want people to know we love each other," he replies 
despondently. "You don't know what it's like. I need a friend I can talk to. 
Chris,... I'm afraid the guys at school will find out I'm gay if I hang out 
with them. It's hard to keep pretending when they start talking about girls."

"It's pretty bad, huh?" I query. "Now Jordan knows about us, at least 
he'll understand why you're not going to be interested in spending a lot of 
time with him."

"You mean having sex with him? Now that I have you, I'll never do 
anything with Jordan again, if you don't want me to," Adam says.

"It's not a matter of what I want. It's what you want, remember? How 
do you think Jordan feels about you?" I ask seriously.

"I think he likes me a lot. I like him a lot too." He looks up to meet 
my eyes. There is no shame or guilt, or even guile. He is honest to a fault. 

"What did he say?" I question patiently.

"He said something about me being the cutest boy he's ever seen!"

"You are! You're the sexiest boy alive and I love you so much. And you 
always want to do it when I want," I continue.

"Like right now, huh?" Adam teases.

"Uh huh, and so do you if I'm not mistaken."

For a moment he turns playful as he reaches forward and gently 
squeezes my erection under the palm of his hand. And then he is serious again.

"It's not wrong to want to have sex when you love someone," Adam states.

"Where did you learn that?"

"From you. Besides Mom and I talked about it before we moved in with 
you."

"Hmmmm... And what did she tell you?"

"She wanted me to know how important it was that we loved each other 
before we had sex. I remember her asking whether I thought you loved me enough 
to do it. I said 'yes', and then I asked her the same thing. Mom tried to 
avoid answering, but she finally said that she thought so."

"Your mom's usually right about most things," I say supportively. 
Raising Adam is a task we both share, and right from the start we agreed to 
work together. Jordan grins happily. "That's when she said I could do whatever 
I want with you, whenever I want to do it," he adds with deliberate emphasis.

"So what do you have in mind, Adam?" I suggest slyly. The question is 
ambiguous. He can decide what he wants to do.

For several seconds Adam is quiet. "I want people to know how much I 
love you. I want Jordan to know I love you, okay?"

"And how do you plan for that to happen?" I ask curiously.

"Uh,... well we could call back and ask if it's okay if Jordan sleeps 
over," Adam answers playfully. He pauses thoughtfully, trying his best to 
suppress his laughter. "And then we ask him if it is okay if we stayed in 
his room for the night."

I raise my eyebrows with an exaggerated gesture. "Be serious."

"I want for Jordan to see that we love each other."

I sigh. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, Adam. I don't mind Jordan 
knowing about us, but I think seeing us have sex is a very different matter."

"Then how?" Adam demands adamantly.

I take a deep breath as I evaluate the problem. "I don't know."

I grin at Adam as I pick up the carrot from the cutting board.

"You really aren't mad at me, are you?" Adam asks. "At first, when I 
told  Jordan, I just wanted him to know we were the same."

I smile. "You're not the same as him, Adam. That's why I love you. And 
I'm not the same as his brother, even though we're alike in one way."

"Because you like boys?" Adam inquires with a cheeky grin. "You are a 
lot like him, you know, but you never will be the same as Jeff."

I raise my eyebrows with the intention of asking him what he has in 
mind.  That Adam was once very close to another boy in a relationship that 
crossed the line into physical intimacy has bothered me from the start. I 
cannot change what happened before I met Adam, but I want to be the most 
important person in his life from now on. Sometimes, despite Adam's firm 
denials, I even wonder whether he has continued to have sex with other 
people after I came on the scene. Sex with Adam is important to me, but in the 
final count all that really matters is being with the boy I love.

I worry needlessly until Adam completes his thoughts. "What I was 
going to say was that,... well you're both gay, and I guess you both want to 
have sex with boys,... but  you're really different. We have sex because we 
love each other. I know that you love me the way I want to be loved."

"Meaning that you want to have sex?" I laugh. "What's new?"

Adam nods and casually brushes several golden curls of hair back from 
his forehead. "I started thinking about it while Jordan was here. I got a 
hard-on just thinking about you. I kept thinking about doing it on the bed 
with you."

"Now that your mom's gone we have the place to ourselves tonight," I add 
suggestively. "There's nobody here but the two of us."

"There's just you and me,... and a carrot," Adam grins.

I touch the carrot against Adam's hand. "Remember how you told me 
about trying to do it with a toy once," I smile lewdly at the boy I love.

"It was a diving stick. It didn't fit very good." Adam returns my smile, 
trying hard not to laugh.

A brief glance downward reassures me that Adam is as excited as I am. He 
probably has been that way since he jumped up onto the counter, maintaining 
the same erection that he got while he was talking with Jordan. His loose 
sweat pants conceal his genitals, but there is still enough of an erection 
to make a slight bulge in the burgundy fleece. Now that I am closer, the 
rounded end is easily distinguishable among the folds in the cloth. Around the 
house he seldom wears underpants, a situation that I imagine is in effect at 
this very moment.

"Maybe this will," I continue.

"Maybe." Adam's eyes dart to the carrot. "Vegetarian sex, huh? I think 
I'd rather have meat."

It is impossible not to laugh. "At least it's not fish."

"Or dairy products. Or fruit, except a banana ,aybe. Imagine an apple or 
a pear, if you could even get it in." His eyes meet mine. "I wanted Jordan 
to go home sooner," he whispers huskily.

"Yeah? And I thought it was just me. I was down here slicing up things 
for minestrone and all I could think of was you and the new water bed," I 
admit.

Adam leans to me and his lips brush mine. He comes back for a second 
round, stopping after his tongue has swiped wetly over my lips. "Mom won't 
be back until tommorrow. You realize we could be naked for a whole day."

"What about your mom? She's back tomorrow morning, remember?"

"I forget! I'm soooo duuuuumb," Adam admits as his head shakes in 
pretended foolish.

I place my hands on his shoulders and begin to massage him, marvelling 
as I do so at the thinness of his body, the firmness of muscle and bone, the 
resilient flexibility of smooth skin against the flat plates of his shoulder 
blades. My fingers work higher as they rub, digging in the furrows of his 
collarbone before scraping my fingertips into the nape of his neck just 
below the hairline.

"Hmmmm," Adam sighs. "You have to be my slave tonight, okay?"

I nod and kiss his satiny brow, smelling the traces of shampoo from 
his morning shower.

"Take my tee shirt off," he breathes out.

I comply as he lifts his arms above his head. "Is that all, Master?"

Adam smiles. "Take my pants off too, Slave."

"You'll have to help me, Master."

I drop the tee-shirt on the floor and he eases back onto the counter 
so that he is lying on his back with his feet draped over the edge.

"You want me to take all your clothes off, Master?" I ask demurrely. 
"You'll be totally naked, my lord?"

Adam giggles. "Take everything off." He pauses. "Except my socks, Slave. 
I don't want my feet getting cold. You can keep the rest of me warm."

I move quickly to my appointed task. With his feet dangling in mid 
air, he cannot lift his bottom high enough for me to remove his sweat pants. 
Instead, his back arches so that I can slide my hand underneath. With little 
effort, I raise his buttocks six inches and with my other hand I drag the 
elastic waist band down with a brusque jerk. I do not stop until the bunched 
up cloth reaches his knees, and by then it is a relatively simple matter to 
shove his sweatpants down his legs and past his feet. My boy is naked again. 
Only nine and a half hours have passed since the last time I had seen him 
nude, but this time, like every other time, his perfect young body is 
nothing short of a revelation.

He is startlingly beautiful, a boy-god. Beautifully proportioned, soft-
skinned, taut, lithe--a plethora of adjectives that fail miserably to describe 
the divine perfection that is a boy like Adam. A flawless body, still 
bearing the golden glow of the Caribbean sun. There is no hair to mar the 
absolute smoothness. A perky but deliciously small penis and a delicate 
pouch provide the only evidence of his maleness and the indisputable fact that 
he is still several years from manhood. I love him.

"Suck me, Slave," Adam says crudely.

Obediently, I lean over him and insert the tip of my tongue into his 
little navel. Then licking, kissing, drooling spit from my tongue on his warm, 
brown belly, I trace a vein in his lower abdomen all the way to his pale, 
hairless groin.

"Suck me," Adam orders again, increasingly impatient.

My tongue pauses at the junction of penis and pubis, touches sacred 
flesh, licks into the silky folds of his scrotum, feels his tiny testicles 
squirm away as my tongue reaches them. His hands come to my head and his 
fingers twist in my hair as he guides me to where he wants me. I kiss the 
pointed tip of his foreskin. Still too tight to retract of its own volition, I 
consider my options. There are three. One is to suck him with his glans 
sheathed, two is to skin the tight membrane back and work directly on his 
little cherry-shaped glans, and three is not to suck him at all. I am a 
disobedient slave.

I lift away after giving his rock-hard erection a parting kiss, albeit a 
long and very wet kiss.

"Slave, I ordered you to suck me. I'm waiting," Adam commands in his 
unbroken voice. He sounds a lot like JTT doing Simba impersonations.

He glares at me as he pretends to be angry. Instantly he recognizes my 
expression. And then Adam tries to sit up as he realizes that something is 
afoot. With my left hand placed on his chest he can struggle all he wants, but 
I have him pinned.

"What are you going to do?" he asks nervously.

"I already told you, Master. I'm going to fuck you with this carrot. No, 
not this one. It's way too small. I think I'll use this one instead," I say 
amid laughter as I pick up a thicker one. "This one is exactly the right 
size for my young Master."

It is the perfect carrot. A good eleven inches long, tapering like a 
spike to circumference of about seven inches about halfway along. Adam won't 
be able to take all of it, that would deny nature as well as risk the chance 
of injury, but he can take considerably more than half of it.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Wrong, Master!"

Adam swallows as he studies the carrot. "All of it? I don't think I 
could do it, Slave," he says uncertainly.

"Now you're kidding. Think of it as preparation for tonight. It's 
something to get you started. A carrot appetizer."

"Raw carrots are gross!" Adam chides. "Anyway you don't have any K-Y 
in the kitchen. And we're not supposed to use vaseline any more, remember," he 
adds confidently.

"Who needs K-Y?" I laughs. "Or vaseline for that matter, not when I've 
got something that's ideal for a brat like you, Adam. Sorry, I meant master."

Adam grins. Even though my hand has been off his chest since I picked up 
the larger carrot, Adam makes no effort to get away. He watches as I pour a 
liberal quantity of olive oil into the palm of my hand. It is extra-fine and 
one of the most expensive brands imported from southern Italy. Only the best 
for Adam. I swipe my hand over the length of the carrot, but I am careful to 
deposit most of the lubricant at the end that will penetrate him. For a moment 
I consider using my finger inside him first, but the thin end of the carrot is 
not a lot thicker than my finger. Still, I will need to be careful until it is 
safely inside him.

"Lift up," I order.

By now, Adam knows the routine as well as I do. Automatically his 
knees come to his shoulders, although it is with a little more difficulty than 
lying on his bed. His hands grasp the firm cheeks of his buttocks and he 
splits himself open to reveal the depth of his crack. His well-used, some 
would say abused, anus winks encouragement at me. There is an irregular oval 
of crimson flesh around his anus. His opening is a little smaller than a dime, 
but not for long. For a moment I think about putting the carrot down and 
taking him upstairs to his bedroom, even fucking him on the kitchen counter, 
but excitement and curiosity get the better of me.

"You ready?" I ask.

Adam nods gamely as I bring the pointed end to his anus. Getting the end 
into the fearless boy is not much harder than inserting my finger into him. 
Adam is the type of boy who is best described as 'spunky'. He grins and 
watches me approach, undaunted by the prospect of taking the root inside his 
body. I proceed cautiously. For some reason, he is always a bit tighter in the 
mornings than he is after school. However, at night, if we have done it 
earlier in the afternoon, getting my penis inside Adam is never that much of a 
problem.

About two inches I put the brakes on. Nine inches of bright orange 
carrot extend from below Adam's flattened scrotum. It seems to stay there by 
itself and I relax the pressure. His sphincter resists it, just as his anus 
initially retards the entry of my finger. Without my hand pushing forward, 
it begins to slide out. Adam's buttocks clench and his quickly softening penis 
jumps each time he tries to retain it inside him. I ease it back into his 
tight orifice. I know what the carrot is feeling. Inside Adam's anus it is 
wonderfully hot and tight, and just a little bit moist for the first few 
minutes. Beyond the firm muscular wall of his sphincter, his velvety-slick 
rectum is relaxed and waiting. By now the tip of my finger would be more 
than two inches into that glorious hot softness.

Adam nods again, increasingly urgently. He is ready for more and I am 
more than willing to oblige. He takes a quick breath and holds it as he 
tenses, then pushes back as he strains his bowels to open his passageway. 
Another inch vanishes into him. Now the carrot becomes thicker and his anus is 
stretched, not as wide as it will soon be, but far larger than one of my 
fingers can achieve by itself. He shifts slightly and releases his cheeks, 
no longer needing to help me locate his opening. He helps, eager to try for 
more, sliding his hands along his slender thighs until he grasps his legs 
behind his knees.

"Does it feel okay?" I ask.

"It's okay," Adam acknowledges. "It's way bigger than your finger."

"It's still not as big as my penis,.... yet," I tease.

He glances down, framing his face between his ankles as he studies my 
progress. Like me, Adam enjoys watching it go into him. With less than eight 
inches of carrot outside, he has a good idea of how far he has to go. But 
three inches is enough for the moment. From experience, I know that three 
inches puts my finger right under his prostate. Gently I lever the carrot 
downward until it is almost touching the counter. It is amazing how much of 
a hold his body has on it. The pointed end has to be hard against his immature 
prostate gland.

"Put it in further, Chris," Adam gasps.

"Does it hurt?"

"No! We both know the deal! Don't ask! If it hurts I'll tell you to 
stop."

Another quick breath, then closing his eyes he pushes against the 
carrot. It seems as if I only need to hold the end of it and Adam will do 
the rest. During the last week or two he has started to dilate quickly. 
Perhaps because he is more eager or maybe he is simply becoming used to 
accommodating my penis inside him, but he works hard at it. He has taken 
enough of the carrot that the width is now more than an inch. He gasps again 
as he feels the cold unresisting thickness of it. This time I keep the 
pressure on the carrot otherwise it will slide out when his sphincter 
contracts around it. His anus is stretched tightly around the vegetable dildo.

Adam's breathing has suddenly become rapid. It is on the verge of 
becoming painful for him. He needs time to adjust, for his sphincter to 
relax and accept the fullness that penetrates his body. Still keeping the 
carrot lodged inside him, I ease back. Adam nods in agreement. The stiffness 
has completely vanished from his penis. When no longer the center of 
attention, it softens quickly. It is thin, swelling where his glans is covered 
by his foreskin before tapering to a narrow tube at the end--in every way it 
is still a young boy's penis.

"Do you want to hold this for a few minutes while I cut some more 
stuff up for the soup?" I ask playfully.

He smiles weakly and without a word, he reaches down between his 
thighs and places his small hand next to mine to take control of the thick 
root. The remaining six inches provides an excellent handle, as good as than 
any dildo that is commercially available. He clasps it tightly and he wills 
himself to relax. I go back to slicing the rest of the carrots, then the 
celery before I stop to see how he was doing. Adam smirks at me.

"How is it going, Adam? I ask.

I am surprised to see there is more inside him than outside. He has been 
busy while I was slicing and dicing. The part of the carrot that can still 
be seen is as thick as my penis when I have six inches inside his rectum. It 
seems miraculous, not only that it can actually pass through his small anus, 
but that he can even fit it inside his narrow pelvis.

"I got it in a bit further by myself, Chris" Adam says proudly. "You 
know, I really think my hole is getting bigger now. It doesn't feel nearly 
as tight in there as it used to when we first started doing it."

I give him a loving look as I lean forward to inspect. "You're doing 
great, Adam."

While I have often examined his anus with my finger deep within him, I 
have never seen his opening with my cock all the way inside except with a 
mirror. This is exactly what it would look like. The rim of his anus is no 
longer visible as his body curves into the orange carrot. Even his buttocks 
are bulging around it. I carefully withdraw it, stretching the rim into a thin 
pale line that is stressed almost to the breaking point.

"Not so far, Adam. I don't want you to hurt yourself," I caution.

He keeps it there for the next five minutes, carefully testing himself 
with gentle pushes while his body continues to adjust. I finish cutting up the 
vegetables, put the soup on the stove, and turn back to see how he is 
getting on just as the phone rings. I suspected it is Jordan on the other end. 
They call each other daily as soon as one of them finishes his homework. Not 
wanting to disturb Adam, I pick up the phone. I also expect his mother to call 
before dinner.

"It's your mom," I say aloud. "She says hi."

Adam grins shamelessly. During the last few weeks he has become 
increasingly uninhibited before the two people in his life. Although we admire 
him for the same reasons, we love him equally yet for very different reasons.

"Adam says for me to say hi, Liz," I ad-lib. "Do you want to talk to 
your mom, Adam?" I tease.

He shakes his head vigorously, and jerks the object protruding from 
his buttocks in crude fucking motion several times before stopping.

"How's he doing?" she asks.

"Adam's doing great. You ought to see the little nudist right now. 
He's sitting on the kitchen counter without a stitch of clothing on."

I have always believed honesty is the best policy. Casually I switch 
on the speakerphone. Adam laughs and shouts loudly in order to reach the 
receiver in my hand.

"I'm not naked, Mom! I've got my socks on."

His mother's voice is loud and clear. "There's no need to shout, Adam. 
However, I'm glad you're wearing something around the house, even if it's 
socks. Is Chris taking good care of you?" she teases. "Of course I have to 
wonder why you're running around the house without clothes on at 5.30 in the 
afternoon."

"Aren't you wondering why I'm sitting on the kitchen counter, Mom?" Adam 
teases back.

"That's why I asked whether Chris was taking good care of you, Adam?" 
she laughs. "I assume you're helping him get dinner ready."

Curled up, with his knees close to his shoulders and lying on his back 
on the counter with between four and five inches of a thick, eleven-inch 
carrot protruding from his anus, Adam is lost for words. He changes the 
subject as he often does at such times.

"Hey Mom, the new bed came today. It's cool. Chris has set it up 
already."

"Well I expect the two of you will put it to the test tonight. Given 
tomorrow's not a school day, I guess you can stay up as late as you want, 
Adam."

"It's awesome, Mom. It feels weird when it moves underneath you."

"I'm surprised that you two haven't tried it out by now," Liz 
acknowledges crudely. "At least now I won't have to listen to the squeaking 
springs while I'm waiting for my husband to come back to my room."

Adam reddens at that. Again he changes the topic. "Mom, can Chris and me 
go away tomorrow and stay somewhere for the night?"

"That's Chris and I, Adam. Where do you want to go?" she replies.

Adam glances at me for support. I shrug, but he needs my help.

"I was thinking we might drive up to Beaver Creek State Park and stay at 
the lodge for the night. If that's okay with you," I answer quickly. "It's a 
way's north of here. We'll be back late Saturday afternoon."

There is a moment's silence. I can almost hear her thoughts. "I guess. I 
don't see why not. I'll be back first thing tomorrow. I only called to make 
sure you're both okay."

I give her my reassurance that her son will be as safe at a State Park 
as he is in his own house. Adam takes a few moments to say good night, and I 
replace the phone. We gaze at each other thoughtfully. In those few minutes we 
have become a lot closer, if that is possible given the intimacy we already 
share. The idea of his being friends with Jordan suddenly appeals to me. 
Adam needs a best friend and confidant, just as I need adult companionship 
as well. Ideally, I need the friendship of someone who understands what it 
is like to love a boy. 

"I love you, Chris," Adam mutters.

I take two steps across the kitchen to bring us face to face. "I love 
you, Adam."

Lovingly I brush the hair back from Adam's forehead and lean down to 
kiss his smooth brow. My fingers trace his smooth cheek, so hairless and 
soft that it seems impossible that he will be shaving eventually. However that 
time is still many years away. I reach under him, gently directing his hand 
away from the carrot stump with a push.

"Let's take this stupid thing out now and go up to your room. I think 
your mom's idea about testing the bed out before dinner is a good one."

Even as Adam mumbles something about finishing what he started, I pull 
it slowly outward. The olive oil provides a frictionless medium and it 
glides out in one easy movement. Adam sighs when the fullness fades and his 
little anus resumes more normal dimensions. He sighs again in relief, even 
if it is temporary. He has been impaled on the carrot for about fifteen 
minutes and I expect that it has done what I wanted. A quick glance confirms 
my expectations. His opening is nearly the size of a quarter. Beyond the 
distended orifice, his rectum is relaxed and his lower intestines are 
sufficiently displaced that my penis will cause him no discomfort if we go 
to his bedroom now.

I inspect the carrot. Its orange skin is glistening from the film of 
oil, shiny and hard. It looks clean and it surprises me. The number of times 
that has happened with Adam I can count on one hand. I touch the end that 
has been inside the boy and feel the warmth, his warmth. It is hot to touch, 
98.6 degrees of boy heat emanates from it. Longer inside him, it might have 
started to cook. I grin at Adam. He straightens his legs from his cramped 
position, wincing as his bowels feel the discomfort induced by the big 
vegetable. It has been like a wedge, pushed gradually into his rectum until no 
more could fit through his anus.

Adam giggles as my mouth makes an 'O' around the hot end of the 
carrot. Even as he says 'I dare you,' I close down and snap the woody end off. 
I chew as Adam's eyes are riveted on me. And then he reaches out and takes the 
carrot in his own hand. He takes a quick bite and we watch each other chew.

"Mom would be mad," Adam finally says. "We'd get a long lecture on 
hygiene."

"She's probably right," I admit. "But this is the reason why I had the 
doctor give us those hepatitis shots in January."

"So why did you tell me I shouldn't suck him after he's been in my 
butt?" Adam chides. He shrugs and grins at me cheekily. "I really don't mind 
once I clean the poop off."

I reach for Adam and clasp him to me as he comes into a sitting 
position. His arms and legs wrap around me and he holds on tightly as I step 
back from the counter. Eighty pounds of naked boy is going up the stairs in my 
arms.

"Lets go up to your room, Adam," I say. "Let's forget the minestrone. We 
can order pizza and test out the bed instead."



Chapter 8.     6.30 p.m.     April 16th 



I have carried Adam up the stairs several times during the last few 
months, usually after he has fallen asleep watching television in the den. 
On one or two occasions it has been like this, a symbolic act of carrying my 
boy 'bride' over the threshold to the nuptial chamber. He clings to me like 
a limpet, not frightened that I will drop him, merely seeking close physical 
contact. By the time we are halfway up, his penis has become erect.

Foreplay always precedes the intensely intimate experience that we 
will share in the privacy of his bedroom. He is a sensuous boy and I am just 
beginning to discover the extent of his natural passion. It begins even before 
I lay him down on the bed. Naked except for his school socks he looks both 
highly erotic and childishly innocent. The short projection between his 
slender thighs is responsible for the preponderance of the attraction I have 
towards him. Above all, he is hungry for sex. Dinner can wait. We gaze at each 
other in silence, mutually sending out signals of love and affection until 
we are both charged with excitement.

His breathing slows while he watches me undress. My clothes fall to 
the floor quickly as I strip. His eyes are fixed on my middle section, 
absorbing my sex like a bee is drawn to nectar. My penis flexes anxiously 
for him and his hand moves to his own genitals to relieve the tension he 
feels.

And then I am naked and I stand over him, my penis pulsing crudely in 
anticipation of plundering the beautiful child who reclines on the bed 
before me. Adam smiles and his arms lift up to welcome me in an outstretched 
embrace. His hands hold mine and we gaze into each other's eyes again. Love 
sparks between us, igniting emotions that have been suppressed since the 
morning. The small size of his hands fascinate me, just as the small size of 
the other parts of him are of vital interest. Perfectly proportioned, his thin 
fingers and palms are ideally sized to hold his little penis and give him 
pleasure. Wrapped around my massive organ, his hands are dwarfed and barely 
capable of the task demanded of them. In contrast, my own hands are too big 
for his diminutive organ. All I can do is to provide a clumsy and inept 
skill compared to his own rapid fluttering when he masturbates. I squeeze 
his fingers between mine. Tonight there will be no need for manual 
stimulation, not like other nights when he has school the next day, when I 
have to return to his mother's bedroom.

Adam jerks on my hands to give a clear sign that he wants me to lie down 
with him. He is eager, just as I am eager for him. I ease down and he shifts 
away, turning onto his side to face me. His face lifts up and his lips purse 
automatically. There is no hesitation in his kiss. His lips are soft and dry 
for the first few seconds, but they rapidly become wet. My tongue passes 
between his lips and strokes against the polished purity of his teeth. I 
push into him, curling my tongue into his upper lip to entice his own tongue 
forward. It is a hot, wet kiss that seems to go on and on forever. When he 
finally breaks away Adam's tongue swipes juicily over my cheek. He nibbles 
on my ear lobe as he licks and blows a gentle draft over the moist trail he 
has left from my mouth.

"Put him in,... before my hole get tights again," Adam whispers in my 
ear.

"Okay." I murmur.

I ease away from him and reach for the tube of K-Y next to the bed. I am 
not surprised to find it there although I am certain that I have placed in the 
top drawer of the new nightstand. It is only to be expected if the two eleven- 
year-old boys have been talking about sex. I flip the cap off and squeeze a 
long bead onto the palm of my left hand before transferring it to the shaft of 
my penis. The cool crystal-clear gel feels soothing on my throbbing member. 
The head flares out and it shines with a wet-tipped lustre. My penis 
glistens and jerks with a life of its own. Already my scrotum has contracted 
in anticipation of intercourse with the beautiful boy beside me.

In the fading light of the late afternoon Adam's tanned body appears 
even darker. His dark brown limbs and torso contrast sharply with the pale 
strip of his groin, buttocks and thighs that were covered by his swimming 
costume in the Caribbean. I resolve for the summer to either get him a new 
speedo, as revealing that the ones available for boys on a swim team, or 
convince him to sunbathe naked. I suspect that he would not take a lot of 
convincing.

Knowing that the time is near, Adam rolls onto his back and places the 
pillow under his head. His legs draw up until his knees are at his 
shoulders, his thighs all but concealing his chest.

"Do you think we need a towel?" he asks. "They're new sheets and all."

My answer comes impatiently. "It'll always wash off." I grin at him. 
"Besides, I plan on not making a mess."

"You made a heck of a mess last time," Adam chides playfully.

He watches me move forward until I am before his upraised buttocks. 
His feet are raised to either side of his face and seem large, although the 
sudden pubescent growth of his feet and hands is still a long way off.

"I made a mess? I thought it was your fault. There was nothing on the 
bed until I pulled it out of here," I laugh as I tenderly slap his right 
cheek. "It was like pulling the plug out, or popping the cork on champagne."

I place my right hand on his cheeks and part them further, guide the 
head of my penis into his deep crevice, and tease his still-partially open 
anus with the broad tip of my glans. Every time that I pass across the 
tender orifice Adam takes a quick breath. He waits for the sudden pressure 
that precedes the fullness when the glans enters into him. He knows it will be 
a gradual penetration with every intention not to hurt him. He signals his 
willingness with his eyes, wide awake and wanting me inside him. I cradle 
his shoulders and head with my left arm, guide my penis with my free hand, and 
push forward. There is a momentary resistance and the bulb pops through his 
anus. Adam gasps in surprise and I realize that the carrot has performed 
exactly what I wanted. My penis glides into him, its progress facilitated by 
the slippery film of K-Y and the looseness induced by the prolonged presence 
of the vegetable. With a solid three inches of my man-sized cock inside him, I 
back away. Adam groans and half-closes his eyes. The sensation is both 
agonizing and incredibly pleasurable at the same time.

No more than half of my penis goes inside him before I stop, give him no 
more than a second or two to become accustomed to the pressure in his 
rectum, and then ease back until only my swollen glans remains beyond the 
tight ring of his anus. This method is my favorite way. My penis works against 
his prostate, aided by the undulating motion of the water moving beneath us. 
His hips, his thighs, his entire body flow under me until the rhythm 
stabilizes. Like waves on the ocean, the movement of our bodies establishes 
a wave that washes back and forth, bringing out the most wonderful 
sensations possible. The water seems to absorb my inward thrusts and 
promptly responds by pushing him back onto my penis.

It drives him wild after a few minutes while I endeavor to prolong my 
enjoyment. Already excited, Adam climaxes quickly. As alawys, it is dry, 
without providing true relief to the highly aroused boy. It is nothing more 
than a brief respite from wanting more. Only seconds pass before he nods 
wildly, begging me to continue with a animal-like groans of joy. His anus is 
fully dilated and the tight tube of his rectum has faded to a comfortable 
embrace. My penis excretes copious pre-seminal fluid that mixes with the 
lubricant inside him. As he becomes looser, softer, and increasingly slippery, 
the thin walls of his bowel begin to suck on my shaft when I pump into him. My 
penis penetrates deeper and the resisting flesh melts before it. I sink in the 
wet heat inside him using long deep strokes. This way, the stimulation is 
far greater than that from movement in just the region of his prostate. The 
sensitive nerves surrounding his anus respond and send shudders through his 
body. At full depth, my groin squashes into his buttocks, parts his crevice, 
and displaces the internal organs of his lower abdomen. My testicles slap 
loudly against the isides of his thighs. My own orgasm begins to build despite 
my best efforts to postpone it.

I am fucking him slowly when the phone rings. I stop as the strident 
ring interrupts my rhythm.

"Don't answer it," Adam grunts. He is breathless. One hand is against 
his mouth to control his urge to cry out. His other arm is under his knees 
to pull his legs tightly into his chest.

"Maybe it's Jordan," I grumble.

I flex my penis and Adam squeezes down on it with all the strength 
left to him. Much more of that and I will orgasm in seconds. By willpower, I 
force myself not to release. I need more of him, to be inside forever. Each 
muscular squeeze makes my penis pulse and my testicles ache. Finally I drag my 
penis away from his clutching bowels until only the glans remains held captive 
within him.

"Fuck Jordie!" Adam curses loudly. "Don't stop!"

"I'm not fucking  Jordan," I say heatedly. "Maybe it's your mom about 
tomorrow morning."

With pretended anger I plunge back into him. It is the hardest thrust 
I have made into him to that time. My pubis crushes into his tailbone with 
such force that I lift his back off the bed. His shoulders take the impact 
until I grind to a halt. And then the water pushes back and forces him even 
harder down onto the raging penis that extends into his belly. He squeals.

His cry of agony makes me stop, not the ringing telephone. It is only 
a momentary pain with no real injury and he recovers even as my penis recedes.

"Don't stop! Don't take him out for God's sake. I want you, Chris."

I shake my head absently as I brake, still contained partially within 
the boy I love. "I better answer it. You never know, it might be important."

I lean away and pick up the phone. Like most of the things in the room 
it reflects the interests and values of an eleven-year-old boy. At least it is 
not a "Garfield" phone. I speak into the clear plastic, fascinated by the 
array of electronic components that makes it work. I identify the familiar 
voice of the caller immediately.

"Hi Liz," I said impatiently. "What's up?"

"Did I catch you at a bad time? I can easily call back after dinner?"

"What? No, it's okay," I lie as I stare down at her offspring. " I 
didn't expect you to call again so soon, that's all."

There is sweat on Adam's brow and his eyes are wide open. He breathes in 
quick gasps, his nostrils flaring. And then he sighs longingly and begins to 
use the muscles deep within his body to squeeze on my penis. He needs me to 
continue. Fortunately, the guilt of sodomizing him while his mother listens, 
has reduced the imminence of my orgasm. I shake my head and he pouts, denied 
pleasure so great that it borders on anger.

"Is Adam with you?" Liz ask.

"Yes, you could say he's right in front of me."

"Oh! This is a really bad time to call, huh?"

"Let's just say we were taking you advice about testing the new bed."

"Are you,... uh,... um,... are you busy right now?"

I hear the excitement in her voice. There is an unmistakable quaver. Liz 
lives vicariously, relieving her own boundless desire for sex through Adam's 
relationship with me. Perhaps it is her way of exacting a cruel retribution on 
her ex-husband by encouraging Adam to become homosexual. Either way, it 
works for me. Perhaps it is the frustration of her desire that evokes her 
crude response. Up to this point, she has aided and abetted, although on the 
surface she has done nothing more than support my taking an active role as his 
step-father. I take a risk. With luck, after she puts the telephone down she 
will be a co-conspirator and accomplice in my relationship with her son.

"Very busy," I reply. I bring the phone down to Adam's mouth. "Aren't we 
Adam?"

"Uh,.... hi,... Mom," Adam mutters with self-conscious difficulty.

In his three words there is an audible tension, an urgency that 
conveys far more about what we are doing than any words can say. There is a 
long pause as the meaning sinks in. I can hear nothing on Liz's end of the 
line. Adam whimpers faintly. That his body is full of my throbbing penis, 
his juvenile orgasm only moments away, will be clearly obvious to even the 
most naive person.

"Is it,... are you,... in him,... now?" Liz asks awkwardly. Her 
excitement is palpable.

Even though my ear is nearly a foot away from the phone, I hear the 
words. I bring my weight forward, rotating my pelvis until my hips press 
hard into Adam's thighs. He groans, squeezes back with a firm pressure. My 
groin presses forecefully into his small, firm buttocks as my penis returns to 
fill his lower abdomen. With seven hard inches of adult penis, Adam is 
stretched to the limit. It bottoms out where his rectum turns to join with his 
lower intestine. I elicit a small cry. It is not of pain, but from the 
overwhelming delight that comes from being fucked, so full of cock that he can 
barely breath.

"Yes," I purr into the telephone. I tense my shaft, making it jerk 
deep inside Liz's son. "It's all the way in. I'm all the way inside him, Liz." 
If she wants vicarious pleasure, I am prepared to help to the best of my 
ability. "He's so hot,... and so loose,... it's unbelievable, Liz."

I pull back, withdrawing slowly as Adam's body tries to come with me. 
I waste no time before I push forward again. He moans in ecstasy, a muffled 
groan when his bowel tightens with a brief spasm. He brings his hand back to 
his mouth.

"Jesus," I hear Liz whisper. "You're fucking him."

"Uh huh!" I smile obscenely at Adam. "I'm going to cum in him any 
second."

"Jesus,... I don't believe this. I,... my God! Does he,... like it?"

I pump again, slowly and deeply. The suction of my penis seems to echo 
around the bedroom. Liz would have to be deaf not to hear it if she was in the 
room next door.

"Yes, Liz," I say softly. "Adam loves it."

"Does he,... orgasm when you do it?" her voice asks hesitatingly, as 
if knowing the answer before the question is put.

Knowing that Adam is very close to the edge, I alternate the pace and 
depth for my next four thrusts. That is all that it takes to send the boy into 
the paroxysm of climax. He totters at the brink and then begins to tremble 
as his body looses control. His arms clutch me, pulling me against his 
trembling body.

"Ohhhh,... Oh God!" Adam pleads. "Ohhhhhh,....."

His rectum spasms frantically, clamping around my ejaculating penis. I 
thrust, matching Adam's jerks with shudders of my own. I feel his teeth 
rasping my shoulder when he bites, his finger nails scraping my back. I 
grunt frenetically and pound against his up-turned buttocks as hard as I 
can. His head tosses from side to side. I clasp the telephone between us, 
pumping out my fluid as I spurt into the hot depths of his writhing, twitching 
body. My own groans are loud as well.

"Is he,... doing it now?" Liz asks.

Her voice is full of desperation and I assume that she is masturbating 
feverishly. I would be in her position. It takes several seconds before I 
catch my breath.

"Yes,... he is, Liz,... We both are. God, he feels so good, Liz," I 
gasp.

"You,... you too? You did it in him,... didn't you?" Liz begs.

I can almost hear her hand rubbing faster than the eye can see. She 
needs the happiness that only a man's penis can provide. She needs the same 
intense joy that I am providing to her son. I decide to help out as best I 
can.

"Yes,... Liz, he feels so wet and hot,... God, he must be full of my 
cum. He's squeezing on it now,... getting the last of it out. He loves it."

"Jesus! Adam,... does it feel good?" She pleads. Her voice verges on 
hysteria.

Adam nods abruptly and then realizing that his mother can only hear him, 
he murmurs," Yeah,... Oh! God, it feels so wonderful. Mom,... he's all the way 
inside me."

I nod, grinning down at Adam. "It's still coming out, isn't it Adam?"

"Oh, Adam!"

"He's still so hard and big. He's still doing it,... only really 
gently," Adam purrs in the bliss of his fading orgasm. "I love him, Mom. I 
love you too."

"I love you, Adam. I want you to remember that always. I only want you 
to be happy."

"Mom,... I love him so much. And I'm so happy too."

"I'm glad, son. I want you to be happy,... and loved."

"And I love the bed, and I want Chris to live with us forever, 
and,..." Adam babbles incoherently as I lift the phone away.

"Liz,... I want to thank you," I say softly. "He's a wonderful boy." I 
pause.

"It sounds like he just had a wonderful time. You'd better keep his 
bottom well lubricated," Liz says crudely. "Or else he'll be too sore to sit 
down."

"I love you, Liz. I love both of you." 'Just understand that my love for 
him will always be greater than it is for you', I think to myself. I hear 
the phone click on the other end. Adam's mother has other business to take 
care of.

"You're beautiful, Adam. I love you so much," I say tenderly as I wipe 
tiny beads of perspiration from his forehead.

"Mom was jerking off, wasn't she?" Adam asks in a clear high-pitched 
voice. "Well not jerking off. I know women don't do it like guys do, but you 
know what I mean."

I nod. "I expect she was. It must have been pretty exciting to hear 
her own son cum over the phone," I tease. "Ohhhh,.... OH God!" I mimic. 
"It's a pity she couldn't see what you were doing with that cute ass of yours. 
You were squeezing the life out of me."

"I wanted you to cum bunches and bunches," Adam admits with a lewd grin. 
"I like having your cum in me."

I smile back at him and then lower my mouth over his. As we start to 
kiss, Adam squeezes on my penis as tightly as he can and we hug tightly. It is 
impossible to feel closer to him. We exchange saliva in the same way that we 
have exchanged other fluids, without any hesitation, with no consideration for 
the threat of Aids. After several long minutes we part and I extricate my limp 
penis from the living sheath of Adam's hot canal. He stretches out his very 
cramped legs and rolls onto his side to face me. His upper thigh and leg are 
draped possessively over my legs and his moist genitals press against my 
flank. He is one very exhausted boy. We go back to kissing, sharing deep wet 
kisses as I hug his naked body to mine.

"It feels so,... so gooey inside. It's all hot and icky," Adam says 
after several more minutes.

"Is it running out," I ask.

Only the night before we left a big stain on the sheet that penetrated 
into the mattress. Now, with new black bed linen, the crusty scum will be no 
less visible on the comforter. Absently, Adam's hand explores between his 
buttocks, drifting his fingers into the dampness of his crevice. His 
forefinger touches the puffy node of his anus and puddles in the slimy wetness 
that has already been expelled. Although only a few minutes have passed, his 
rectum has begun to assume a size and shape more appropriate for an eleven-
year-old boy.

"It's started to, Chris. I think there's still a whole lot in me," he 
observes. "Maybe we better put a towel under me."

I get up and start towards the bathroom. Halfway there I turn around and 
look back at the naked boy on the bed. "What did you think about your Mom 
hearing us?" I ask.

Adam twists onto his side, studies me thoughtfully, "'s okay, I guess. I 
mean she already knew we did it. So what if she hears us?"

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Not any more. You know, it wouldn't be any different if Jordan saw us," 
Adam insists.

I leave Adam pondering the question while I go into the bathroom. He is 
still thoughtful when I emerge and return to the bed and sit down beside 
him. Playfully, I slap his bare bottom after I roll him onto his belly. His 
rear end is as enticing as his front end. For a moment I consider using my 
tongue instead of the towel. He needs a good licking. Instead, I slap him 
again. It is a little harder than I intend and the sound resonates in the 
now darkened room.

"I love you Adam Browning," I say loudly. "You have the most wonderful 
rump in the world. But it's especially nice after you've had my penis in 
here."

"Chris,... My mom loves me too," Adam giggles, "and she even says I have 
a cute butt," he giggles again. "But she's never said that I have a 'wonderful 
butt'."

"Maybe that's because she's never seen my penis in here," I joke as I 
slap his other cheek lightly.

I poke the towel between his rubbery cheeks and wipe away the semen that 
has accumulated. There is very little. A lot more will undoubtedly come out 
when he lies on his back or gets up from the bed. I spread the towel out and 
flip him over, tickling him as I do so until he cries for mercy. He recovers 
from intercourse quickly, a fact that both amuses and impresses me. Within a 
few minutes of being physically exhausted, he is back to normal. It is not 
unusual on the weekends for him to demand a repeat performance within a matter 
of minutes.

"I'm hungry," Adam announces when I finally give him time to catch his 
breath.

I grin. "I've got something for you to eat," I say as I wave my 
partially stiff penis in his face.

He giggles. "I'm not in the mood for a big fat sausage. I want pizza, 
a big one too. With extra-thick crusting."

"You want sausage on it?" I tease. "I've got one here, but it's not 
Italian."

"Not him," Adam laughs. "I can't eat him when I need him to bugger later 
on. I want salami and black olives. They can put all the anchovies on your 
half."

'Bugger' has quickly become one of Adam's favorite words after he 
discovered it by himself while looking up 'buffoonery'. Proudly, he 
displayed his new word to me in the dictionary. 'Bugger' n, sodomite [Med Eng, 
sodomite; fr Med Lat, Bulgarus; lit Bulgarian]; bugger, vt; to commit sodomy 
with, vulgar intercourse, usually between a man and a boy.' That aroused his 
interest and from 'bugger' he went quickly to 'sodomy', which was defined as 
'anal copulation'. 'Anal' was a word he already knew, and 'copulation' was 
defined as 'the act of engaging in sexual intercourse'. Then end result was 
that the definition of 'bugger' left little to his fertile, albeit puerile 
imagination. He used the word every change he got. At least it was an 
improvement on 'butt-fuck'.

"Pizza it is, then," I laugh as I start to methodically slap each bare 
buttock in turn until Adam is laughing hysterically and doing his very best to 
escape. Had he not been hungry, I would have 'buggered' him again.

Early on I have learned that the way to Adam's heart is as much 
through his belly as from anything that we can do on the bed together. Pizza 
is a regular part of his diet, although the calories are consumed and 
converted to prepubescent energy before they have a chance to appear on his 
slender frame. We spend the rest of the evening on the bed, watching 
television and surrounded by the rich aroma and scraps of anchovy, salami, and 
olive pizza that has been gnawed down to the crust. It is Adam's favorite 
and provokes wisecracks from me every time we have pizza. We cuddle and kiss 
until the movie finishes and then we make love again.

Under the covers we are secure and released from inhibition. We try 
alternate positions, first one, then another. With Adam on his back and legs 
up, we can create a washing effect in the bed that moves both of us back and 
forth. On his belly, I push him down too far and even with both pillows 
under his tummy, he doesn't like the sensation as much as other ways. Side 
by side is okay, no better than on his old bed, but certainly no worse because 
the water adjusts for our different weights and aligns my penis exactly with 
his anus. The best position by far is the one we often use. Adam lies on his 
back with his legs lifted up over me. I lie on my side facing him with one arm 
under his neck and around his shoulders. Like that, we are equals. We return 
to that position twice during the night, but I will not bore the reader with a 
lengthy description of what transpires each time.

By the time we both fall fast asleep it is well past midnight. I 
clutch Adam's naked body against me and absorb the soft warmth he exudes as he 
sleeps curled up like a cat. My limp penis is sandwiched between his thighs 
and the moist folds of his little scrotum. It is impossible to get it stiff 
enough to reinsert it before we fall asleep. Like Adam, I am content at 
last, and I join him in welcome slumber, oblivious to my semen oozing from his 
well-stretched orifice.



Chapter 9.         8.30 a.m.       April 17th



When we awake, the sun is high enough to enter the room and welcome us 
to a new day. I come alert quickly while it usually takes Adam ten minutes 
or more to shrug off the drowsiness that keeps him inert beside me. He has not 
moved once during the night.

"Hi sleepy head," I say as I tenderly run my fingers through the tangled 
locks of hair. Adam's head is now on my shoulder, a pillow eminently suited to 
supporting him as I caress his back and side.

"Mmmmm," he sighs. His fingers stroke my chest and drift down to my 
navel. Two small thin fingers move to each side of my penis, already 
inflated and prepared for the day's adventures. "He's awake too," Adam 
announces softly as his fingers close on my glans. He squeezes with more 
gentleness than can be normally expected of a pre-teen boy.

"How do you feel?" I ask. "You were hurting pretty bad last night."

"Okay. It's a little bit sore. I still don't believe we did it four 
times, do you?" he asks sleepily.

I shake my head and kiss the top of his head. Morning breath is 
particularly unpleasant after pizza. "You're one incredibly sexy kid. You wore 
me out after the second one. I'm glad we put that towel under your butt. The 
sheets would be filthy by now otherwise."

"So it's okay if you make a mess inside me, but not on the bed, 
right?" Adam teases.

I shrug nonchalantly. "You were pretty sloppy back there by the time you 
went to sleep. Sometimes I don't believe its all mine. I think I'm only 
responsible for my share."

You must have put half the tube of K-Y in me last night," Adam retorts.

I laugh as I hug him. "Well your mom did say I should keep you well 
lubricated, didn't she? Neither of us want you to get a sore ass."

"Chris?... " Adam asks hesitantly. I smile gently at the boy I love so 
deeply that I cannot even begin to contemplate life without him. "Chris,... 
when Mom was on the phone last night and we were doing it, why did you tell 
her?"

Adam's fingers begin to trace feathery lines along the rigid shaft of my 
penis, He follows the veins and returns again and again to fondle the ridge of 
my glans with his fingertips. That I have been circumcised has fascinated 
him from the very first time he saw me naked. His fingernails scrape the 
surface and sends electric shivers through me. He snoozes for a few more 
minutes as he basks in our shared heat. He feels warm and alive although he is 
barely moving. His head turns to suck on my shoulder. I lie contentedly beside 
him.

After several minutes he pulls his mouth away from my shoulder and 
grins. Few Saturday and Sunday mornings have passed without his leaving his 
mark on me somewhere. Love bites are a fact of life with Adam. I carry the red 
splotch on me proudly. It is the symbol of his love, a temporary sign he has 
given me in return for the semen he carries proudly but secretly throughout 
the day.

"You want to do it again, don't you?" I ask eventually.

"Don't you? Besides there's no school today," he murmurs softly as if he 
can read my innermost thoughts. "I want you inside of me, Chris. I want you to 
bugger me," he smiles.

"Are you sure you're up to it, Adam?" I ask with concern. "You had a 
hard time last night. Maybe we should just take it easy today. Your mom will 
be angry if you get hurt. She's made that very clear to both of us.

"God! Chris, I told you I don't hurt! It's just a bit sore that's all. 
It feels just like it always does the next day."

"Tell the truth," I demand.

"Okay, it's a bit worse, but not that much considering what we did 
last night." Adam grins. "Anyway, all Mom wants is for me not to have a repeat 
of the problem I had when we first started doing it."

"You were very lucky your mom was so understanding," I say. "Anal 
fissures can get infected, you know."

"I'm okay, Chris," Adam retorts. "I'd tell you if I wasn't. I've already 
told you that I'm just a little bit sore inside, and I wasn't lying."

The sound of the kitchen door closing is unmistakable. Too often Adam 
and I have listened for its closing thud when his mother leaves for early 
morning appointments at her law firm. It is the noise we wait for because we 
will have the house to ourselves. During the weekdays we will eat breakfast 
nude or in dressing gowns, often with Adam sitting in my lap. On the weekends, 
breakfast is a more leisurely affair and we carry a tray back to the bedroom 
to satisfy our mutual hungers.

"Chris," Adam whispers as he twists over against me. "Someone's 
downstairs in the kitchen." I nod. "Do you think it's mom?"

I nod again. "It's just about nine o'clock I guess. Remember she told 
told us she'd be home about then."

"Shit!" Adam grumps. "Just when we're getting horny too. I wonder if 
she'll wait downstairs while we do it up here." He smiles at his own 
suggestion and slides his small hot hand towards my groin.

"Maybe, if we ask her nicely. I'm sure she'll understand. But you 
know, Adam, maybe this can work out for the best."

"What do you mean, Chris?" Adam asks. He smirks crudely. "You know 
what I want to do right now, don't you? And it isn't talking to MOm either."

"Well you said you wanted people to know how much you love me? I don't 
think it's any different for her. She needs to know what it means for us if 
she's going to understand." I suggest slowly.

Adam breathes out, signifying that he understands, but that it has 
little to do with the fact that his mother is now somewhere in the house and 
his morning fun is about to be postponed to a more appropriate and private 
venue.

"I was thinking that the best way for her to understand it to show her," 
I add slyly.

"You mean,... we should let Mom see us having sex?" Adam queries 
quickly. I nod again. "I don't see,..."

"You said something last night about how you want people to know about 
us. You want them to understand how much we love each other. This is your 
chance to show her. Besides, she's already heard us having sex."

He smiles broadly. "Ohhhh! She sees us making out and everything.... 
That's right, then she'll know well and truly. She'll know how good you are 
it," he adds proudly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.

"I guess my father didn't do much to get her in the mood. At least not 
like you do, Chris. She said you were really good in bed."

I grin, basking in his recognition of my prowess as a lover. In my mind, 
the preliminaries are as important as the act of intercourse itself. For 
what is really only a brief period of intense pleasure, anal sex takes a lot 
out of a boy like Adam, both physically and emotionally. It is important 
that he knows he is loved for more than his ass. I take great pride in getting 
Adam 'worked' up and drawing out the foreplay until neither of us can go one 
second longer.

"I'm not good. I'm great," I laugh.

Adam gives me a serious look. "It sounds gross, but the only time I 
saw her doing it was last summer. I don't even remember his name. I guess 
Mom would kill be if she knew I saw them. He just stuck it in. And afterwards, 
he took it out right away and cleaned it off like it was dirty or something 
from being inside her. Sex shouldn't be like that if you love some one."

From experience I know how that sort of behavior can make a person 
feel used and not loved. It doesn't have to be that way. What Adam shares with 
me, is the highest form of love. In my mind nothing we do together is dirty. 
My love encompasses all of Adam, body, mind, and soul.

"You have the right idea, Adam," I say. "And what's more we don't have 
to pretend. All we have to do is what we always do in the mornings."

"Only on the weekends," Adam giggles, "or when she isn't around, right?"

I nod agreeably. It is amusing how quickly we have settled into a 
routine, but then, sex with Adam is very habit forming.

"Just play along with anything I say, okay?" I add.

Adam nods as we hear the first muffled footsteps on the stairs. Liz will 
be outside our room in a matter of seconds. Quickly I roll Adam onto his back, 
although 'flip' would be a more accurate expression. I straddle him, 
kneeling on either side of his slender legs. I lean forward and bring my 
lips to his. Adam needs no instructions on what to do next. He kisses me 
wildly, abandoning himself to my oral ministrations while slurping on my 
tongue. After a few seconds he gives up sucking only on mine and he presents 
his tongue between my lips and pushes it as far into my mouth as it can reach.

I sense her presence at the doorway and I imagine that I can feel her 
eyes boring into my back as she watches me sitting astride his son. I wonder 
what she feels, imagining confusion before I remember that she has been in a 
similar position for most of her life. From what Adam has told me, his 
mother is certainly no stranger to promiscuous sex. Also realizing that he 
is now being watched, Adam's hand slides between us and reaches around my 
balls. From behind us, Liz watches her son's little fingers begin to massage 
and play with a man's testicles.

However, the fun has only just begun. I lean over Adam's head and 
whisper softly in his ear that he should start getting me ready. We both 
know what that entails. Being fresh in the morning with a demanding erection 
exacerbated by the small fingers rubbing on my balls, half of Adam's 
assigned task is already completed. My penis is as hard as steel and as big as 
it has ever been. The rest follows in our normal routine.  He pushes me away 
and we wrestle momentarily for the upper position. It is my way of letting 
Adam exert his maleness. As a boy in a homosexual relationship, he has very 
few opportunities to be an active partner. Allowing him to initiate sex at 
every opportunity, to prepare my penis for penetration, and even 
establishing the opening position are ways of maintaining equality with him. 
Once the length of my penis is safely ensconced inside his young body, the 
dominant role falls naturally to me and he quickly becomes passive.

Adam lubricates my shaft expertly and places the tube back on the 
night stand next to the bed. Already we have started to reduce the amount of 
K-Y we use. Still carrying the residue of my most recent ejaculations in his 
bowels and ample lubricant from our night-time coupling, he is content to 
use just enough to get my penis past his sphincter. He is ready for the 
heightened sensations of increased friction in his rectum and around his 
anus which bears the brunt of drier penetration. With my penis rigid and 
raring to go, only one thing remains; tim. Hidden almost entirely behind the 
wall, her eyes have not lost contact with us. It is time to bring it out 
into the open. As I ponder how best to do it and minimize tLiz's 
embarrassment, Adam takes the plunge.

"Hey  Mom, if you want to come in, it's okay, really it is." Adam says 
loudly.

We wait. Only Adam's right hand moves, sliding along the length of my 
sex in a timeless rhythm. He is quickly becoming an accomplished masturbator-- 
of my penis if not of his own, which he continues to enjoy in his puerile 
manner of with rapid short strokes using two fingers opposite his thumb. For 
me, he performs expertly. His hand is wrapped around my cock so tightly that 
his thumb can almost touch his fingertips if he squeezes. However, there is 
still an inch to go when he holds it comfortably.

There is a long silence from the woman standing at the doorway. She 
peeks into the room with such uncertainty that I am afraid she might run 
away if Adam or I move too quickly. I follow Adam into unknown territory.

"We don't mind, Liz. Like Adam said, if you want to watch us having sex, 
it's okay. There's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Now you know what 
Adam and I do, there's no reason to hide it. We have sex too,... we do 
almost the same things that you and I do."

Liz steps out from behind the wall like a frightened animal lured into a 
pool of light. she is poised to run, and I feel as if we have trapped her. I 
regard her silently, fully aware of her unflagging interest in Adam's slowly 
stroking fist. She can not take her eyes away, and Adam, the little devil that 
he is, exaggerates every stroke while he grins jubilantly. At the top of 
each stroke, he stops and squeezes even harder so that my glans swells and 
becomes crimson, now oozing pre-seminal fluid from my gaping slit. After a 
minute of awkward uncertainty, I finally stop Adam's movement.

"If you keep doing that I'm going to come on your hand any second. If 
that's what you want, it's okay by me, but I bet you have something else in 
mind."

Adam grins. He ignores his mother's presence as he squeezes the shaft as 
hard as he can. The glans flares out and begins to change to a color not 
unlike a plum. Silvery slime oozes out of my slit to form a glistening bead. 
Under normal situations, when we are alone, Adam will not hesitate in 
licking it off. He moves quickly and takes me by complete surprise. His soft 
pink tongue snakes across the swollen bulb presented to him. He giggles and 
smacks his lips with crude appreciation as much for my benefit as Liz's.

"He tastes extra salty this morning, Chris. It must have been all that 
pizza you ate last night. I can even taste the anchovies."

Playfully I grab him around the chest and drag him onto his side as I 
laugh. I have come to appreciate his sense of humor more than anything else 
about him. I tickle him furiously until he begs for mercy. The half of me 
lying over him is more than enough to restrain his feeble efforts to escape. 
As is my right of victory, and fulfilling my natural role, I take control of 
the situation. I grope between his struggling legs to find the part of him 
that I want.

"Maybe I ought to just fuck you now, Adam Browning," I suggest as I 
clutch his boy-sized sex organs. He struggles valiantly ,although any real 
effort to get away is hampered less by the knowledge that his cock and balls 
are imprisoned in my hand, than by his desire to make my threat real.

"Let me go," he screeches. "I'll do anything, I promise."

"What do you think Liz? Should I fuck him? Maybe he'll behave better 
afterwards?" I challenge as I gently squeeze on Adam's tiny testicles.

"Maybe I'll be even worse," Adam chortles as he continues to wriggle 
underneath me.

I hold both precious eggs securely between my fingers and pull his penis 
down at an uncomfortable angle so that it, and Adam's scrotum are nearly 
concealed between his thighs. "Better still," I laugh, "Maybe I should make 
him into a girl. I wonder whether that would that make a difference?... We 
couldn't call you Adam,... hmmm,.... maybe Eve instead?"

By now Liz has come into the bedroom. She stands several feet away 
from the bed, yet she can see everything we do. The situation is little 
different to twenty-five years earlier when she watched me copluating with her 
father. She inclines her head, still too shocked to say or do anything else. I 
can see the questions forming in her curious mind as she watches us 
wrestling naked on the new waterbed. However, her central question is the 
important one; is this any different to what she does with me? There is no 
doubt in her mind that Adam is enjoying it,

"Can I watch you fuck him?" Liz asks softly.

She needs to know what it is like for her son. So far, she can see 
that Adam enjoys everything. He is not resisting or holding back, every motion 
seems to be encouraging me to go further. Our kisses, wild and juicy exchanges 
of tongues and saliva are very different to when she is with me. What she 
enjoys most of all is having a thick penis deep inside her. Before, or even 
after that culmination of the love we share, there has been kissing, tickling, 
hugging, or fondling, but none of it has been like what she is watching. 
This is fun; teasing, playful, giggling fun that is so unlike our usually 
serious passion that it seems to be a different thing entirely.

Neither of us answer Liz's request. Indeed things move even quicker than 
I have hoped. I begin to kiss my eleven-year-old lover, taking quick glances 
at Liz to see how she responds. She is very interested, her eyes never leaving 
us. I continue to tickle and caress Adam's naked body with special emphasis on 
his crotch while covering him from head to toe. He responds as only a boy can, 
writhing with growling, shrieking ecstasy, and rewarding my efforts with a 
small tapered spike of boy-flesh that becomes so hard it seems that it might 
actually snap off if mistreated. Liz's envy is palpable as she watches her 
son's passion build. Adam is considerably more enthusiastic about a man's body 
than she has ever been. I resist the temptation to take my favorite less-than-
four inches of Adam's heated body into my mouth. That will come later, I 
decide.

Finally, unable to withstand my desire any longer, I roll onto my back 
and drag Adam over me. With his back against my front, the position is 
naturally taken advantage off for an easy penetration. I lift him higher up by 
placing my hands under his thighs. Like this, it is a simple matter to 
position his legs on either side of mine and wide apart. By looking over his 
shoulder I can see the length of his fabulous body. His youthful male organ 
stands proudly to attention, a proud little soldier that knows it is for 
frontal defense only. There is nothing he can do when he is about to be 
attacked from the rear.

Adam reaches down and guides me into his opening. Thin fingers brace the 
sides and head of my penis while I push upward. His hole is snug and 
radiates heat as I approach, push further between his parted cheeks, and 
connect with the target. My demand for entry makes him gasp. While he fights 
back against nature's resistant muscle, I increase the pressure steadily. I 
know better than to force my way into his anus. Better to leave brute strength 
to grown men. A boy's delicate rectum requires care and patience, and a lot of 
skill from his partner. Since his anal fissure healed, Adam has experienced 
nothing worse than a few bloody streaks and some residual soreness.

Liz is spellbound as he watches my penis sink slowly into her son. There 
is no pain, or at least if there is, Adam conceals it very well. He seldom 
cries out and for the last few weeks all I have done is elicit a slight 
complaint when the broad head of my penis finally passes into him. This 
time, when my glans traverses his tight ring and reaches into the start of his 
bowels, Adam groans loudly.

"God, he feels so big," Adam moans. "Chris,... I love you," he adds 
softly.

I pause and stroke his sides from armpit to hip. His weight is barely 
noticeable as he sinks into my embrace. I know this moment well. In a period 
of a minute or so he will want me all the way inside him. As soon as his 
nether opening is dilated, he needs me to possess him completely. I bide my 
time, conscious that Liz is now standing beside the bed, her eyes fixed on the 
length of my penis, poised to enter Adam's anus.

Seconds tick by. I feel Adam begin to move, a gradual increase in 
pressure against my glans as his anus strains to swallow the rest of my 
thick shaft. The bulbed head of my rampant organ slides deeper. He pushes down 
again with deliberate force and I hold my ground with unwavering stiffness. He 
groans loudly as it pierces him, grinding into his pea-sized prostate, 
displacing his internal organs, my penis slowly filling him.

"Oh God," Adam whimpers. "It's starting to go in, Chris! I want you so 
bad."

"Is this what you want?" I ask teasingly.

Adam nods rapidly, shamelessly abandoned to the explosion of 
sensations that fill his mind when my penis begins to fill his young body.

"Do it quickly, Chris! Put it in!" he commands urgently.

He shudders when my penis passes beyond his prostate and rams into his 
bladder. He groans, closing his eyes as the surge of pain overwhelms him.

"I want him all the way in me like last night, okay," he gasps

His voice is anxious the same way it is every time my penis disappears 
into him. There is no easy way. Faster hurts more, but slower hurts longer.

"Is it hurting a lot?" I ask with growing concern. I do not want him 
showing off to Liz and getting injured in the process.

Again he shakes his head. I finish the job that he has started. His 
energy always fades for a few minutes once I am deeply inside him, although he 
always recovers quickly when the real fun starts. I push forward steadily, 
grasping both of his bony hips to restrain his movement as I shove against 
him. His pelvis lifts. He tries with all his flagging strength to push back 
onto my rigid pole, and then drops down again when he feels my inward thrust 
stop. It is impossible to go any further for the present.

"It's in your ass, beautiful," I whisper in his ear. "God, you feel so 
good."

"So,... do,... you," Adam murmurs. "He's,... so,... big."

We wait, each thinking our own thoughts and sharing the intimacy of 
being joined as one. Adam trembles as his sphincter spasms. He begins to relax 
and accept what is now lodged deeply within his rectum. It is usually tight 
when my glans initially bursts through his anus, but already the tension is 
fading. In a minute, perhaps two, he will be ready to make love with me. I 
stroke his forehead and brush long silky strands of his tousled hair away from 
his eyes. He shifts slightly and settles back into my embrace again, 
pressing his golden mane under my chin. The incredible pressure and heat we 
share inside Adam's young body makes me think that my penis might well be 
melting. I cannot tell where Adam's sensitive bowel begins and my penis 
ends. It is as if we have truly become a single entity. In the wonder of it 
all we nearly forget that we have a silent onlooker.

"Adam?" Liz asks awkwardly.

Adam turns his head to the side and smiles shyly at his mother. He 
says nothing. His blue eyes meet those of the woman who bore him and 
recognition passes between them in a single glance. They are the same. From 
now on there will be no secrets between them.

"Adam, it's all the way inside you," Liz observes anxiously.

Her eyes drop down to between Adam's widespread legs. She watches my 
penis slowly withdraw, sliding on the film of lubricant as it comes back. My 
thick penis is dark and wrinkled with throbbing veins. It stretches Adam's 
tiny anus beyond its elastic limit until it becomes a pale thin line. I gently 
push back into him. It is time. He feels loose enough. I wonder what Liz 
will think when I begin to fuck her son in front of her?

I begin by lifting Adam's legs into the air, pulling his knees to his 
shoulders so that he is curled up. From where Liz is sitting, the view must be 
remarkable. Her eyes bulge as she stares down. My penis is fully within 
Adam, splitting his crack open like a fist pushed into a pillow. Only the 
broad base is visible. By comparison with Adam's tiny balls, still immature 
and hairless, my own eggs are massive and masculine. I do not need to see to 
know that Adam's penis has shrivelled until its length is even less than the 
thickness of mine.

"Doesn't it hurt?" Liz asks nervously.

She remembers how she feels when I impales her deeply. Adam does not 
seem to be feeling the same pain. In fact, Adam seems to be enjoying it much 
more than she does. She feels a wave of jealously. Whether it stems from 
wanting to be in Adam's position with a man's hard penis inside her, she 
cannot be sure. She watches in silence when my penis begins to move with a 
slow rhythm. Each time as it retreats Adam groans softly. It pauses before re-
entering. It is a slow, deliberate advance, taking its time to make its way 
and displace the boy's vital organs. Each thrust lifts Adam upward until it is 
firmly seated between his cheeks. Liz knows the feelings Adam has. They are 
wonderful feelings that compensate up for any pain a boy feels at first.

Nearly a minute passes before Liz realizes that Adam has not answered 
her question. However, the look of concentration and sheer bliss on her 
son's face is answer enough. If there is any pain at all, the intense pleasure 
he is receiving is more than adequate compensation. Adam's mouth is open as he 
breathes. His eyes are closed to block out any sensations other than those 
that begin in his bowels and spread through his body until he feels more alive 
than ever before. He groans sporadically when his body spasms, now in pre-
orgasmic throes and building towards an inevitable climax.

However, three of Liz's five senses are hard at work. She watches, she 
hears, and she smells her son making love to a man. She sees Adam's body 
shudder, beginning to strain down when I hump against him faster and harder. 
She hears Adam whimper as orgasm approaches, pleading for me to go even deeper 
and faster than seems humanly possible. She smells an unfamiliar odor, the 
rich musky smell of a young bowel. It is ver different to smell that comes 
from under the sheets after I have finally taken my penis out. With growing 
disbelief, she watches Adam's distended anus, pulverized by the thrusting 
adult penis, become slick with glistening juices and begin to suck. The motion 
becomes ever more frantic.

She watches with growing interest as my finger tips rub Adam's minute 
nipples into hard points, abrading highly sensitive flesh until they are 
reddened and ready to swell. What she witnesses is different to the way I fuck 
her. She does not understand why Adam's penis is still limp, why I do not 
masturbate him with frenzied jerks the way her father used to do to me. She 
does not know that Adam cannot tolerate additional stimulation when he already 
feels such overwhelming delight that insanity seems to be just around the 
corner. Liz knows what is coming and she waits in silence, remembering from 
twenty-fvie years ago the tremultulous orgasm that comes from anal 
intercourse. Thus, she is prepared for what happens when Adam reaches the 
pinnacle. Liz's own crescendo seems to take less time, often over almost as 
soon as it begins. She knows that the long build-up heightens every sensation, 
until every nerve and muscle in a boy's body is attuned to one purpose She 
knows that the rapture that Adam is experiencing has been denied to her. It is 
not that her lovers have always been uncaring and inept partners, it is merely 
a matter of style and anatomical differences. She hears Adam gasping, 
incoherently pleading for something that appears to be just out of reach.

"Faster!... Faster! Oh God! Ohhhhhh!" Adam shrieks. "Ohhh! Chris!"

His legs straighten out. His feet curl up and grip the sheets. His 
muscles strain in frantic effort and his feverish body lifts off mine as he 
reached the moment of ecstasy. Of course, nothing comes out of the world's 
limpest penis. However, that does not mean that every nerve and brain cell 
in Adam's shuddering body is not in a state of euphoria approaching madness. 
My fingers play a rhapsody on his twitching abdomen, twisting his nipples to 
the point of hurting them as I extract the residual joy from my blond-headed 
angel. At the same time, I focus my efforts on my own pleasure, pumping into 
Adam's tortured rectum with deliberate speed, rasping across his immature 
prostate and keeping him at the peak until he can stand it no longer.

And then my movement stops suddenly and Liz's eyes bulge as my huge 
penis swells ever greater, gives one last lunge to ram deeply into Adam's 
rectum, and begins to pulse. She feels the explosion of heat in her mind, 
remembering my seed spurting into her. I buck against the trembling boy as I 
ejaculate, jerking again and again until there seems to be no end to it. 
Adam's moan is long and loud and he gasps for air, breathlessly abandoned to 
the spurting, throbbing penis deep within him.

And then there is stunned silence. A naked, exhausted boy, his eyes 
closed to slits looks towards Liz. He is happy and content, and glowing with 
the knowledge that his lover's semen is contained deep within him. He feels 
wet and loose inside, and the heat flows out of him. He basks in my arms as he 
recovers. Adam's bashful and self-conscious smile is something that Liz will 
never forget.

Extracting my softened organ from the boy I love is something we 
normally delay as long as possible. At night, it is not unusual for us to 
remained joined when we fall asleep, sometimes even remaining that way until 
the next morning. However, mornings are different, not only because Liz is 
beside us, craning her neck to study the junction of our two bodies. We need 
to get up and get breakfast. I ease back gently, tugging my limp penis out 
of its very hot, very wet hole. It is like pulling a cork out of a bottle 
except that it involves comparatively little effort on my part. Milky fluid 
begins to dribble out as soon as my glans pops out into the light. With what I 
have put inside him during the night and from this morning's deposit, Adam's 
rectum feels like it is full of semen. Playfully I roll him off me and onto 
the bed so that he lies on his side facing away from me. It is time to move on 
to stage three.

I slide down behind him, nuzzling his shoulders and sides with wet, 
hungry kisses until I reach his firm buttocks. He has a beautiful ass with 
small, slightly dimpled cheeks that fill each of my hands like they have 
been shaped for that purpose. I part them and smile as I see his no-longer- 
puckered anus, wide open and running with oozing semen. The aroma of sex is 
overpowering. The musky smell of boy funk, a trace of feces, my own man-juice. 
It is an inspiration. I lick the length of his reddened crack and taste 
saltiness, as much my own as Adam's perspiration. It is not something that I 
would do with anyone else. Indeed, I have yet to give the same treatment to 
his mother's vagina. There is a risk, but I have taken precautions. 
Hepatitis shots are mandatory, and I enjoy that special intimacy with Adam 
secure in the knowledge that I will not become sick. I lick him again, this 
time lingering at his dilated anus to probe it with my tongue. If he is 
sore, he shows no sign of it. I hear a soft sigh as my tongue enters where 
my penis has just been. His anus offers no resistance and it is only the 
length of my tongue that prevents me from going further. I reach over him, 
grasp his still soft penis between my first finger and thumb and begin to 
stroke him back to erection. Usually it takes several minutes to overcome 
its dazed lethargy. This time it is only a matter of a few seconds before 
Adam's stubby organ is erect. It stiffens even further as I begin to rub, 
using expert caresses over his scrotum to stimulate his listless boyhood 
into action.

Just like the very first time I gave oral pleasure to Adam, I decide 
that there is nothing quite like the taste of a well-fucked boy. The taste and 
smell is unlike anything I have enjoyed, even saltier and more pungent than 
the salami and anchovies that Adam and I enjoy as a special treat on pizza. 
This is also a special treat that we often share when I masturbate him.

I sense Liz's distaste as I slurp loudly between Adam's cheeks. If she 
has not done it before it is easy to understand that she will be disturbed 
by it.

Finally I lift my face away and look at Liz over Adam's gently 
undulating body.

"I don't know how you can do that. It's truly gross," Liz says 
awkwardly.

Adam grins like the proverbial cat with cream. "It's mostly semen that 
he put in me, Mom. You suck him off, don't you? Would it be any different if 
he did it right in my mouth?"

"No, I guess not, but Jesus, Adam, it's where you poop from. It's 
dirty!"

"It's really not all that dirty," I explain patiently. "Adam keeps 
himself nice and clean back there for just that reason."

"Yes, maybe,... I think it looks gross," Liz disputes.

"Mom, it sure doesn't feel gross, that's for certain," Adam 
interjects. "Anyway nothing we do together is bad,... because we love each 
other."

Liz falls silent, watching in mesmerized fascination as I continue to 
masturbate Adam's now very-rigid penis. Held captive in a man's hand it 
appears even smaller than it is. It is powerless to do anything except enjoy 
the loving attention it is receiving. That part of his body, like that of 
any boy, is designed for pleasure. Slowly Liz's hand moves downward to 
absently fondle her own genitals through the thick denim of her jeans. It 
provides a mere fraction of the delight that Adam is getting.

I return to my self-appointed task between Adam's cheeks, licking and 
sucking his tender opening before re-engaging the full depth of my tongue to 
absorb the essence of the boy I love. Adam assists by working his hips back 
and forth, concentrating on the pleasure from front and rear in equal 
amounts until his penis is ready to burst. His little testicles have pulled up 
tightly, his scrotum contracting into a wrinkled lump that is barely visible 
between his thighs. With my nose squashed into his deep crevice and my lips 
sealed firmly against his wide-open anus, I blow air into him and breathe 
the moist, musty exhaust from his inner cavity. Sometimes he complains that 
I give him gas, but not this time.

Finally unable to control my curiosity, I lift Adam's upper leg higher 
and watch Liz playing with herself. It is a great view, not only seeing 
Liz's fingers clutching her clothed crotch, but also of Adam's rigid penis and 
tiny knotted testicles as they jerk up and down under my fingers. 

"You can take your jeans off, Liz if you want," I suggest.

Liz gives me a startled look and her hand darts away from the source 
of her pleasure. I shrug. "Everyone does it," I add reassuringly. "We're 
family now. I'm sure you don't have anything that going to bother either of 
us."

She smiles slightly and glances at Adam. Adam's head moves marginally as 
he nods encouragement. "You don't mind?" Liz ascertains.

"Of course not. There's no reason why you have to hide it when it 
doesn't have to be that way."

Adam nods again. "It's cool, Mom. You don't have to if you don't want 
to. Only no one is going to care if you do, that's all."

Liz glances suspiciously at me again, waiting for my approval. I grin 
and nod as well. I have become accustomed to Adam's open-mindedness about sex. 
He has no inhibitions about his body or what he can do with it. Being naked at 
home has become as natural for him as being clothed in public. I am 
beginning to discover that his mother is a very different person.

"Okay," Liz says uncertainly. "I guess I should take my jeans off or 
something."

She is the slowest person I have ever seen as she unfastens her button 
and zipper. She moves with sloth-like progress until her jeans are nearly at 
her knees and her visibly sex organs are displayed in the small mound of her 
black silk briefs. She stops, reluctant to expose herself.

"Geez,  Mom," Adam says impatiently, "Don't be a wooz!"

"Take your panties off as well. There's nothing to be ashamed about," I say lightly.

Liz tenses under the insult, however playfully it is intended. Her 
hand moves slowly back to her waist. She half-closes her eyes, takes a quick 
breath, and lies down on her back. I watch to see what emerges 
from under the elastic waist. Adam shows no interest whatsoever. He has
other things on his mind.

Liz's fingers drift over her mound before parting the lips. A single 
finger begins to circle around the fleshy morsel of her clitoris. She begins 
hesitantly, watching both of us uncertainly. I return to pleasuring Adam. 
Gradually Liz's pace picks up. Her hand moves unsteadily, her reluctance to 
perform before us eliminating the practiced fluidity that comes naturally to a 
person, and is only improved with time. Already she is losing her
inhibitions with us. I stand up, holding Adam against me. He grins, placing 
both thin arms around my neck to lift himself up. We kiss, pressing front
to front with our genitals displaced by nearly ten inches. Before the kiss 
ends Adam's legs embrace my hips, his tender buttocks hovering dangerously 
in the region of my penis. 

Smiling with barely restrained lust, he rubs his fleshy cheeks against my
penis. His arms lock around my neck, and with deliberate force, he pushes down. 
It is enough to cause my flaccid organ to respond. I stiffen quickly, 
repositioning Adam so that his cheeks are placed directly above my sex.
He grins cheekily as his anus brushes my glans, wriggling slightly and
pushing down to encourage my efforts to penetrate him. It sinks in
for an inch or two and his pelvis begins to rotate, working against my
hardness to gain increased depth. Adam's eyes half close and his lips purse, 
inviting my kiss. Our lips come together and seal in a wet warm union.

"Is that all you two do?" Liz asks cynically.

We are shamelessly naked before his mother, joined completely as only 
a man and boy. There is no longer anything to hide. Our love is 
completely accepted. For a moment our kiss is interrupted. Adam smiles
at me. I smile at Adam.

"Yes!" we both say at the same time.

Liz smiles slightly. "You know, Chris, I used to wonder what it was like
for you when you were with my dad. Now I know, I think I'm jealous,...
No, I am jealous. Even before I saw you with him in the garage that time,
I used to wish I was boy. For a long while I thought it was because I
wanted to be the son my father always wanted. But it's not that! After 
seeing you with Adam, I understand. Loving a boy is very special."

I nod and gaze at Adam. His eyes meet mine. He is the boy I love, just as 
I was the boy Liz's father loved. The closeness we share is something few
people would understand, yet his mother does. It brings me even closer to
both of them. I glow inside with a deep affection for her, accepting that
I will never be able to love her in the same way that I love Adam. 

"I love you, Adam Browning." I say softly with my lips pressed close to his
right ear.

He smiles happily. "I love you, Chris."

He pushes against me with increasing urgency. His body twitches, wriggles, 
trembles until my penis is all the way inside him again. His body heat flows
along the shaft of my penis and into me. I feel his anus tighten reflexively,
clamping around my shaft with amazing strength and pulling upward. My hands 
grasp his firm buttocks, parting them further as I grip him. His thigh muscles
begin to work, shamelssly lifting and lowering in order to move against the
part of me that we share. At the same time, I begin to lift his hips, a slow,
powerful rhythm that provokes immediate gasps. His eyes close, abandoned to
the pleasure he is receiving. We move together, in undulating waves that
consumate the love of a man and a boy.  His lips open, his tongue flicks out,
greets mine with a hot wet kiss. A sideways glance confirms what I expect. 
Liz's finger is simulating the motion of my penis.


"It seems to be a family affair," Liz says. She smiles shyly. "I'm glad 
you're in love because I love both of you." 

I carry Adam through the open doorway and into the bathroom, not needing 
to look back to know his mother has started to masturbate furiously. 

              
				  THE END