Date: Fri, 15 Jun 2018 10:00:47 -0500
From: MC VT
Subject: Gay Adult-youth Adrift Mcvt2017

Adrift
 © 2018 MCVT March 28, 2018


Riding waves of horrific incidents a man charts an unfamiliar course to a
completely different life than he could have imagined.

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Adult content:  100% fiction, Mb, Mt, MM, inc, rape, anal, ped, humil,
suggested violence.

===============================================================

Something strange happened in my life.  In my awe and confusion during
these peculiar changes, I was reduced to almost complete helplessness.
Addressing it in a conventional way would only cause more problems; drugs
and alcohol wouldn't help.

Salty waves pushed and pulled through me leaving mysterious minerals on the
shores of my awareness.  Precious, rare molecules of trace minerals I
didn't know I needed.

***

After I'd finished high school, I took a year off to pursue surfing, and
saved enough to fly to Hawaii, through a few islands, and then Australia.

Got a little "chemically diverted" down under on the beaches and the lax
lifestyle during the season and found myself having to pick up some odd
jobs for a while and renewed my visa, and sold my ticket back home.

Odd jobs petered out as the seasons changed and found myself in a
less-than-stable position in the most ancient of professions to survive
after I tearfully sold my board.

Lived like that for three years.  Came out of that short career feeling
twenty years older and looking like I was forty years older.  Alcohol and
drugs make people open their wallets more easily...

Damn tough labor laws down there, but I couldn't call my parents - they'd
wanted me to go to college after I graduated.

So I chose a dirty, hard life of one-nighters with rough guys wanting a
small, submissive nineteen-year-old foreigner.  Easier with some
middle-class pseudo-straights wanting to experiment or "let off some steam"
away from the wife and kiddies.  Best with some of the seniors with odd
fetishes...

Some of my johns appeared to only want a few moments of fantasy where they
could feel loved.  Always wondered about those guys, but what does a
desperate, inexperienced and thoroughly stoned whore know?  I'd been in
lust several times; love had eluded me.

So, I lied and smiled as I grabbed their butts; they lied and smiled and
grabbed my groin night after night.

After a few series of antibiotics and major weight loss, I saved enough to
get back home and the teen cunt retired - and vowed never to get myself
into that position again.

Though I'd known for quite a while that I preferred men, it remained my
unspoken truth.  For some reason, I wasn't libido or ego driven; perhaps I
was afraid.  Staying on the sidelines of the constant parade of skin
passing in front of me on the beaches and in the bars was more than
sufficient after my Australian escapade.

Now I had to put the pedal to the metal and get some kind of real career
going.

All my high school buds were in college, and I couldn't ask my parents to
let me back in - I couldn't take all that finely-honed Midwestern guilt
aimed at me everyday.  Though we moved to Oregon during an economic
downturn, they brought all their baggage - including their very
conventional and often painfully rigid attitudes from Ohio.

So, like millions before me, I went to California to find work.  San Diego
looked good - I could move northward if it didn't work out.

***


Dodging the oppressive regimentation of the homeless shelters and all their
problem demographics, I rented a short moving van on weekends, parked in a
hotel lot, and slept in the back, using their pool facilities.

During the week, I showered at the beach, ate in a church fellowship hall
and slept in the weeded lots or near some wooded park.  Seldom rains in
Southern California and I woke ready enough get to the day labor office.

Then, I got wise and found a bit of nirvana.

One weekend I rented the van and waited outside a marina then I followed a
family inside.  Landscaped, quiet, and I found showers, and a very nice
crew of folks who didn't ask me for any kind of permit or sticker showing I
belonged there.

Inside the gates, everything was unsecured - no passkeys or cards and it
looked like a country club with sloops and yachts moored near the
restaurant and bar - and an outside snack bar and patio.  There was a club
with a bar with a band and a big dance floor...

Yeah, I noticed the lots of almost naked bodies strutting around in open
shirts sporting bikinis, tight trunks and smooth tans, but I had to avoid
that - too close to my old profession.  I needed steady work with some
benefits and enough stability to fill out more than my name and the date on
a rental application.

The marina looked like a park, and I sat on a clean bench and caught whiffs
of mota as the sun slid below the Pacific and thought about my sad life.
As the slender trunks of the palms stood tall against the light, and the
seagull's cries quieted, I pulled out the last half of a granola bar and
felt very alone.

"I'm young, I can pull this together."  I thought and considered finding a
gay bar and possibly a daddy bear, but I wanted to do this on my own.  If I
got a "gay sponsor" I'd be cycling through the sex for money or goods
again.  Didn't want to get near any more drugs or alcohol or go back to the
glitzy lifestyle.  I wanted to work - build myself into something better
than a short, blonde ass-for-hire.

Before I went back to my van that night, I noticed a small, hand-lettered
sign, "Help Wanted Ask for Len in the shop."

Well, that could be a start.

I made a note to clean up and come back Monday.

***


Early Monday morning, in a gas station restroom, I cleaned up with some
kind of cherry-smelling hand soap and trimmed my beard and moustache.
Pulled my hair back in a tail and dampened a pair of long shorts to stretch
out the wrinkles out on the front, and then I brushed some of the spots off
my shoes the best I could.

My lucky blue tee shirt was in the bottom of my bag, I pulled it out and
told it to get to work as I slipped it on.

I sneaked in the marina behind a produce delivery truck and went into
office and asked for Len.  They told me he was in his shop and pointed to a
building at the edge of the lot.

"Len's Marine Services."  A discrete sign read over the door of a tall
metallic building.

Entering the shop I heard a lot of noise - radio blaring pop music and I
smelled the stink of a welder working nearby.  Then, I heard a wrench
hitting the concrete floor and a string of curses.

Despite being in a somewhat fancy marina, this was just another garage.

Bodywork, motors and interior details - similar to my dad's shop.  Same
cussing, same slinging tools, same smells of oil and graphite - I felt at
home but for the smell of the sea so close and a nice, strong breeze.

"No women working here."  I thought as I approached the short counter in a
cluttered office.  Behind a short, paneled wall were several yachts and two
on cribs under the high, metal roof.

No one saw me come in so I wandered around the side of the short wall
filled with calendars and advertisements with photos of boats, ships,
yachts with fancy interiors.  I knew the skin pics would be out of public
view.

A man sat in an equally cluttered office to the side of the shop.  I noted
the bird crap underneath the rafters in neat rows.

Yep, same as Dad's garage.

"Len?"  I said, not wanting to startle the man who was absorbed in computer
work.

"Yeah?  Whacha want?"  He didn't even look up.

"About the sign posted out front - needing help..."  I began, keeping a
humble presentation.

"You know how to use a computer?"  He asked, still staring at the screen.

"Been a short while, but yeah."  I entered the office and stood behind him.
"What are you looking for?"

"Here."  He stood up and looked me over.  "Consider this an interview.  You
aren't on drugs are you?"

Holding my forearms out so he could scan for needle marks, "Nope.  Test me
anytime.  Not into that, just looking for work.  Honest labor.  Name's
Randal, Randal Wyatt.  Call me Wyatt."

"Got a history?"  He asked as I sat down and assessed the screen - there
were a row of screens opened, looked like thirty of them.

"Maybe a colorful biography, but no trails.  I'd rather work."  I said,
though distracted.  Seemed he was searching for some gaskets, and a
propeller replacement.

"What are you looking for?"  I asked again and pointed to the screen.

"Some of these engines are from the last century - bane of my existence!
Owners want restoration, not replacement.  Follow me."  He said.

Well, that must be Len, and I must have a chance at the job, so I followed
behind him toward a corner where pop music blared from a grimy radio.

I could see there were only two other guys in the shop, and nodded at them.
Then we stopped in behind a thirty-foot boat, wooden and wide.  Beautiful
smooth hull and small enough to be cozy, I suspected.  The engine was
hoisted - we looked it over.

"Name a problem."  Len said.  "The owner wants it restored, and ready in
three months."

"Check the electrical system."  I suggested.  "Looks like there's some
corrosion on the connections.  These wooden boats, they have a little
slack, roll with the waves?"

"Sure.  They're more flexible, but this one didn't see much wear on open
seas.  English professor brought his grad students here for weekends, if
you know what I mean...  Grades are scholarships and scholarships are
untaxed money.  Smart gals."

Len walked me around the beauty, commenting on the work that it needed.  I
didn't ask when he used the nautical terms for things; I just nodded and
hoped I could figure it out later.

We passed a sleek fiberglass speedboat with a damaged hull.  Another worker
was standing, mixing epoxy.  Couldn't help but stop and look at the damage.
One of my odd jobs in Perth was in a surf shop repairing boards.

"You know, I got a little experience with fiberglass, I'd like to do some
more of it till I could repair holes like this."  My fingers examined the
exposed layers of mesh and flaking chips.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."  I made a point to look at Len's face and smile.  "Nothing
like the smell of acetone in the morning."

Long story short, I was hired and immediately was set to work in front of
the computer chasing parts.  Not what I imagined, but easier than mechanic
work.

Closing all the opened sites, I noticed some of them had odd names -
obviously adult content.  Len gave me a stack of paperwork to fill out, and
told me I had to pass a background check.

"Fine by me."  I smiled again, grateful I had good teeth.

As he shuffled through scraps of paper with his notes, I noticed his skin
was leathery and tanned - no tattoos.  He had a full head of salt and
pepper hair, cut short and almost comically sticking out from his head in
odd places.

He looked like a lot of mechanics and garage owners - slender, wiry and not
concerned with his appearance as much as the detail of the business.

He looked up and smiled at me.  "What you looking at?"

"You." I smiled.  "My dad's a mechanic with his own shop - you kinda remind
me of him."  He just nodded and went back to digging through the scattered
papers; obvious he was more comfortable around wrenches than a right click.

Taking the situation in hand, "Look, Len - if you stack up the notes on
what you need - with the priority stuff on the top, I'll come in tomorrow
and start ordering - cut a lot of time that way and get you back in the
grease."

"Good idea."  He mumbled and kept shuffling paperwork, now with a plan.
"Check my email and see if any of the parts dealers sent a message."

We found a small wealth of information sent from the dealers who suggested
other parts and different ways to deal some of his problems and we ordered
two parts immediately.  Len was pleased about that.

I stayed in the office the rest of the day, Len next to me ordering parts
and reviewing some products he needed and I left at five with employment
paperwork in hand.

After work, I grabbed my bag out of the weeds as I walked toward the local
library to fill out my forms, I held my shoulders back and grinned.

Employed.  What a relief!

***


The next day went the same.  I was on the computer all day chasing parts -
Len had organized all the scraps of paper and numbered them for me.

At lunch, I figured I'd walk around for a while and considered panhandling
along the boardwalk for enough for bus fare to the church for some dinner.
Damn, I was hungry, but I couldn't ask for an advance on my paycheck, not
yet.

Like manna from heaven, Len ordered two large pizzas for lunch.  Yeah, I
took the leftovers with me that night.

We had two parts deliveries on Wednesday, and I signed for them and stacked
them on Len's office chair.  To my surprise, he was delighted and they
disappeared into the garage immediately.

The Latino working on the wide wooden boat seemed pleased as well.  His
name was Pascal, but Len called him "Mexi-boy."  Nice guy, kinda quiet, but
amiable enough.

I made it till Friday and got my check - that felt incredibly good.  That
evening, I went to the bank to open an account and saw a local beauty
college was open.

Got a good cut for five bucks.  Trust me, looking like a homeless person
draws harassment by business owners, security and cops.  I had to make a
transformation back to legitimacy and quick.  No more "High Dunes Drifter"
for me.

Off to rent a van and get some sleep.  Maybe I needed a new sleeping bag
until I saved enough for new digs...  Nah - holding on and holding out for
a real bed.

In the morning I went to a local fast food restaurant to clean up and get
some coffee.  Before I went in, I grabbed a few of the local rags to check
the classifieds.

I'd need some space, maybe a mattress, clothes, and a cell phone to start
with - was thinking I could live out of a storage shed or someone's
unfinished garage.  Any small, covered space I could lock.

As I sat there reading, an older guy sat down at the table with me.  I
didn't look up, this was a busy place - most of the seats were taken.

"Hey - didn't I see you down on Silver Beach several weeks ago?"  He said.

Although I didn't recognize him, he seemed okay as he opened his boxed
breakfast sandwich.  He was clean, relatively nicely dressed man, but gave
me a small case of the creeps.

My antennae went up for what a guy like him would want from me.  Maybe it
was my paranoia from the vagabondhood.

"Whadda want?"  I snarled.

"Hey, don't bite!  I just noticed the people who were around me - you know
surviving' the streets."  He took a sip of coffee.

"That lifeguard, the tall one with black hair - what a little bitch, always
checking the restrooms - he said the junkies were shooting up in there...
Probably right.  But it cramped my style."  He sipped more coffee, "I
finally got into the program."

This guy knew my favorite beach.

"Yeah, that guy was a real jerk - you'd think Silver Beach was his private
beach or something.  I'm surprised he didn't give everyone a pat down...
But you were on the street?"

"For three years."  We ate for a few minutes while I perused the classified
ads.

I asked casually, "You know anyone with a granny house or a room to rent on
the south side of the bay?  I got work last week."

We ate and drank our coffee for a while.

"I'm thinking...  You may do better on the north side."  He looked around.
"I got a sweet deal - a room in a sober house, had to put down all the
crap.  You sober?"

"Yeah.  Could I fake it to get into a sober house?"

"Probably not.  They're pretty sharp over there, lots of rules and
requirements.  But I need the structure now."  He retorted.  "Start
checking the bulletin boards, if you speak Spanish, they sometimes some of
them have a room to rent."

We continued eating and got more coffee.

"I have an idea."  He looked me in the eyes.  "Come down to the club
tonight, they've got a big bulletin board with lots of people looking to
get back on their feet - maybe someone looking for a roomie.  I have to go
to a meeting a day.  I'll meet you there, and show you around."

"I don't have an addiction."

"No one's going to ask.  Coffee and a donut at seven - that'll fill your
gut for the night."  He winked at me.

"Yeah."  The guy read my mind before I could.

***


That's how I met Bud.

Sure enough, he met me outside the door to a support meeting for recovering
addicts and alcoholics - just a room over a drugstore, but the coffee
smelled good.  I ate two donuts and stuffed one inside my backpack inside a
napkin.

About thirty people stood around before the meeting, chatting and most
seemed mellow enough.  There were a few "beach bum" types like me; mixed
group.

Bud and I scoured the scraps of paper tacked on the bulletin board and I
wrote down some phone numbers.

While the meeting started, we went to the stairwell and I made a few calls
on his phone.  Bud listened carefully and shook his head at several as I
spoke.  The code words had changed since I returned to the states.

We went back to the meeting and afterward, he put his arm around my
shoulder and told me he could have an overnight guest at his sober house.

"You can clean up and stay with me tonight."

"That's a kind offer, but..."  The sleeping arrangements might be too close
to my prior profession.  I didn't want to "pay" for an overnighter with
this big lug.

"We have a couch in the basement.  C'mon - we'll get some real food in
you."  He motioned when we got to the sidewalk.

I went figuring I could simply jump in the van and leave if I didn't like
it.

That weekend I slept, showered, shaved and got myself into decent order.
Some of the grime of my homeless existence swirled down the drain; a few
moments reprieve.

Bud and his housemates had their girlfriends over.  Noisy, but the basement
was only a few small partitioned and luckily, empty rooms.  Sweet!

Bud's computer allowed me access to ads for people seeking roommates.  He
lay on his bed and explained where the rooms were located.  Then he helped
me find the neighborhoods.

As the evening came, I asked if I could exchange some cleaning for his
generosity.

"Yeah, let's go clean the patio.  I'm scheduled to do that next week."

Bud and I started raking and sweeping - the house had a long, deep lot and
tall trees.  People sat outside and smoked, drank high-octane caffeine
drinks and ate on the patio.

We hosed all the furniture down and as I was bagging up all the litter, I
saw an old bike leaning against the house.  It was covered with dirt and
had a flat tire.

"Anyone using this?"  It looked like transportation to me.

"Been sitting there since I got came."  He tossed me his car keys, "Go slip
it in the trunk and lose a memory chip."

Later that evening, he took me to the garage where there were several boxes
filled with clothes past residents had left behind.

"Find some pants.  You're going to need some to extras if you're in a
garage."  Bud started digging for shoes that might fit me and found several
good pair of tube socks.

For dinner, Bud made an elaborate marinara sauce for spaghetti.  The house
filled with the metallic smell of toasting garlic bread and warm, golden
light.  Pop music played in the background of the old rambling ranch style
house and the sounds of guys readying for a meeting or a date or both.

It felt good to relax - no one was going to bother me here.  They all
seemed to have busy lives of their own.

"I gotta wonder why you're being so generous - you don't even know me."  I
asked while we found the parmesan cheese and drained the pasta.

"Because I've been a self-indulgent ass all my life and it took me to the
streets.  When I was young, like you, I had it all.  I knew better than to
get involved with the stuff, but when I faced my demons, I danced with them
instead of fighting them off.  If I can help you stay off the dance floor -
let me do it.  Consider it part of my recovery."

We heaped the pasta and covered it with sauce, and sat to eat.

"What say we pull each other up?  I'll help you out, and if I need
something, I'll get hold of you - don't have too many friends these days
except in the groups.  More spaghetti?"

Nodding was the only response with my mouth full of hot, spicy goodness.

I ate till my stomach hurt, then I showered again and went to bed, tired
but at least I didn't have to wake up with every noise I heard, like on the
streets.

Sunday, Bud took me to a discount store and we bought new tires and a
padded seat cover for the bike and stopped at a car wash and cleaned it
off.

"Could I stay one more night?"  I asked on Sunday afternoon.

"Let's get up early and you can return the van and I'll drop you near work.
You say you're a mechanic?  Maybe you can get that bike into usable
condition during lunch."

He grinned.  "This helping thing feels good.  Besides, I need to make some
clean-`n-sober friends so if you don't mind, maybe we could watch the games
together, and have some iced tea."

As I got out, Bud asked me to call him.

"No phone."  I grunted, lifting the bike out of the trunk.  "Look for Len's
Marine Services - I answer the phone."

***


From the streets to a bed, finally there was a glimmer of hope on my
horizon.  With that smile on my face, I walked the bike into the garage to
the snickers of Pascal and Len.

"Trying to build my thighs."  I told them.

At lunch I began working with the back wheel of the bike.

Len and Pascal sat behind me, eating lunch and kibitzing me through the
intricacies of a five speed.  Some of their barbs were a sharp, but I kept
my head down and focused.

When Pascal had eaten enough, he came beside me and we had the bike
standing and working within moments - he handed me an apple and grabbed the
handlebars!

So the two old grease monkeys decided to take turns riding it around for a
while, returning with some bumps and bruises - but they laughed and helped
me get things squared away quickly.

Back to work too soon.

I met people at the front desk when the bell on the door jangled - seldom
went to the back of the shop unless I was delivering parts or phone
messages.  No grime under my nails!

Within a few weeks without workflow interruption, I was standing behind the
shop watching a yacht lifted, scooted along the rails and lowered gently
into the water.

Another one the next day!  My computer skills and the mechanics' talent got
things moving along through the entire shop.

Sleeping in an alleyway that night, I had more hope.

Yeah, I became Len's "office boy."  That nickname assured me of their
acceptance and more work, though it was somewhat demeaning name.

After a month of sleeping at Bud's on the weekend while I searched for
housing, I was gaining weight and feeling more confident.


Maybe it was my confidence, or just eating regularly again - I felt
something good was coming into my life soon.  It was just a feeling, but a
strong feeling that I felt like something was coming - a changed that was
way bigger than me - wide as the sky, and as mysterious as the Neap tide's
pull.

***


One of the guys in at Bud's place gave me an old cell phone, and Bud put me
on his plan.  Seemed every week I was closer to a better life.

While Bud was at his meetings, I continued searching the board looking for
housing of some kind.

I shaved in the garage bathroom in the mornings and even hosed it down.
That surprised Len and Pascal, and they said they weren't sure if they
could use it anymore - it was too clean.  But that next week, I got a
raise!  Not much, but it kept me more than punctual.

Six weeks later on payday, Len handed me my envelope and shook my hand, he
pressed a key into my palm.

"Widow of one of the old sailor's doesn't use the Lenora.  She wants to
clean it up and sell it.  Stay there, and keep a low profile when you use
the showers.  Wipe everything down and you'll have a place for a month or
so."

So he knew I was homeless.  I blushed while I grinned and accepted the key.

Len, Pascal and I went out for lunch that Friday, and while the guys
guzzled beer, I chowed down on an incredibly rich plate of tamales, rice
and beans.  The darling young Latina waitress grinned and brought me more
tamales and rice - to the surprise of the guys.  She didn't bring them any
extra.

I had to chuckle.  My masculine magic was back though I had no plans on
using it any time soon.

"Want a beer?"  Pascal asked as I sipped my tea.

I'd been to too many AA meetings with Len, but didn't admit that, "Empty
calories, you know how skinny I am."

They laughed, but it looked like I was in, and it felt very good.

***


After work, Len showed me my new digs - the Lenora.  Not the biggest yacht
or the newest, but plenty comfortable.  It had everything, but in
miniature, except the bed, it was up in the front hull.  There was a nice
sway as it rocked on the water.

"Spiff it up and make sure everything works.  Let me know if you need some
help, but I think you'll figure it out soon enough."  Len handed me the
security pass to get in and out the gate and left.

I called Bud immediately.

"Gonna be late for the meeting tonight - I got a place to stay, private.
Living on a yacht!"  I told him as I checked the lights and water.

"I'll bring dinner!"  He said, "After the meeting, okay?"

"Great!"

Bud showed up late with several bags of groceries.

"Aw, man.  You're too generous!"  I took out a box of crackers, cheese,
grapes, and kinds of things that don't need any heating.  Then, in the
bottom of one of the bags I saw a box of hot fried chicken!

From his bag, he took out a small electric coffee pot and a jar of instant
mocha cappuccino.  He left me in the galley to put dinner together, while
he looked around.

From the bedroom, "Give this bed a workout, bubba - while you're still
young.  You're in high cotton now."  He winked at me and looked around some
more, noting the brass and wood fittings.  He was impressed - I was
incredibly grateful.

Work, food, shelter and a friend!

As we sat in the dark, listening to the country-club noises from the
marina's restaurant, Bud told me that the members of this arena were "old
money" and I ought to learn to crew and pick up some extra money on the
weekends working the yachts for the weekend sailors and their friends.

"Yeah, why don't you?"  I suggested.  "You're in good shape - and plenty of
seniors around here - you could score big time with some of the gals."

"I could do that; my Dad had a sailboat when I was young."  He chuckled,
"But dating?  Probably not..."  His voice trailed off and he paused.  "I
have to be careful."  He answered.  "I guess you should know, I've served
time - sexual battery, and a few other things."

Bud looked away from me.  "People are very unforgiving about some
offences...  Hence the reason I don't have many friends.  I have to stay
out of, well - I have to stay on the straight and narrow."

"So we're both in the `abstinence club?'"  I quipped, but considered my own
past.

"Well, I'm there permanently."  He just sipped his tea and didn't say
anything more.

***


That was my last sane weekend of my life.


Part 2


As summer came, so did the work.  The boat owners were getting things in
shape for their trips up and down the coast - vacations, fishing trips.
Len, Pascal and I went into overtime which allowed me to get a small
apartment above a garage near the beach, not that I was there much.

Sundays were the only day off I had, and I tried to enjoy it.

The guy that ran the little canteen/snack bar in the marina was a wind
surfer - Milo.  He sold me his old board and bought a bigger one, but all
the tourists and kids on the water along with the yachts, kayakers, canoers
and smaller boats cut our fun short.

Dang!  It seemed like there was more fiberglass and humans than water in
the bay every Sunday.

Then, to add to that traffic jam, the marina started renting wind surfing
boards to the members and their friends.

***


Milo and I finished work on Saturdays late, and Bud came by with Chinese
food or barbeque.  The three of us sat near the walkway to the piers,
eating and watching the captains and crews return as the sun set.

"Hey Milo.  Got some stuff for me?"  A kid stopped in front of us, dragging
a cart behind him filled with several bags of empty beer cans and wine
bottles.  I couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl - the kid stood in
front of us with a huge, red Pacific sun silhouetting the small figure.

Had to be a boy.  Though he was only in a long tee shirt, there must have
been shorts on underneath - he kept tugging at them and adjusting his
equipment in front, and pulling them out of his butt crack.

As Milo and the boy walked away, "Do we need to go to the shower?"  Milo
asked as he stood.  The kid only nodded.

Milo took the handle of the cart and they walked away quickly toward the
marina dumpster and slung the bottles and bags of trash in with a crash.
Then they disappeared inside the building.

Bud and I sat there for almost an hour, and Bud left, then I went back to
the garage for my bike when I saw Milo and the kid walking back with the
cart both with wet hair.

"Your granddad's gonna be looking for you."  Milo took the cart and patted
the kid on the butt, urging him to get back to the boat.

"He's probably asleep - he's drunk."  The kid looked at him, then me.

"You're the office boy for Len?"  The kid's voice was soft, like a girl's
voice - high and sweet.

I nodded, "I'm actually a full-grown man - name's Wyatt."

"I'm the cabin boy for my grandpa."  The kid said.  "I saw you riding your
bike.  You don't have a car?"

"Nah, I live close enough to ride."

He wandered down the pier, digging in his butt almost the whole way.

Boys!

***


As soon as the kid left, Milo stood close and whispered, "Off limits - the
kid's weird.  In case Len didn't tell you - don't ever, I mean ever, go
fishing off the company pier.  If you get lucky `round here, take your
water rat to your place."

"What?"

"That's the owner's grandson, Savas Ashton - try to avoid the kid.  He's,
uh, well he's precocious..."

"What does that mean?  Aren't all rich kids smart with all the great
schools and everything?"

"Sexually precocious, like hyper-sexualized.  Dysfunctional family...  Just
keep away from him."

"You obviously showered with the kid, aren't you afraid you'll be fired?"
I gave Milo a mean glance.

"He, well - he scuffed his butt and I, um, gave him some first aid.  Don't
ask me anything else.  Savas is not your business."

I kept my mouth shut and biked home wondering what all that was about.

Cute kid, olive skin, dark hair and hazel eyes - too bad the family had
problems.

***


Couldn't sleep all night thinking about that boy - Savas.  He didn't seem
so sexualized to me.  How the hell does some one "scuff their butt?  What
was that about?"

Early, Monday morning I was at the snack bar looking for Milo, but he
wasn't there yet.

I went back and opened the garage doors and turned the radio on to get the
weather report and readied myself for another day chasing parts and
straightening tools when I heard a whooshing sound behind me.

There was Savas, grinning, one foot on his skateboard, one on the ground.
Beautiful curly hair framed his face and stuck to the sweat on his
forehead.  He wore a tee shirt with a sailing logo on the front, deck shoes
without socks and a small, satiny pair of bathing trunks.

Small and satiny wasn't enough to describe it.  This was a bright green
stretchy suit - looked European.  Not much to it and enough to profile a
tiny penis and small scrotum.

Had to take a deep breath - he could as well have been naked.

His thighs and calves had muscles, still covered with a thin layer of fat
to smooth them beautifully and delicate ankles that seemed too small to
keep him on the skateboard.

"No kids in the garage."  I told him, remembering Milo's warning.

"Len lets me come in sometimes."  He moved closer and tipped his
skateboard, picking up the nose, and moved to the side of my chair until
his smooth, hot skin touched my calf.

"What's this?"  He asked.

"What?"  It was hard to take my eyes off his thin neck and smooth, round
face.  His chin had a soft point and his lips were red - yeah, like the
soft pink and red colors inside a fresh pomegranate.  For a split second,
the sweetness of pomegranates burned on my tongue.

His slender finger pointed to the computer screen.  "This.  Are you getting
a hamster?"

I looked over to bar on the screen to see the first few words of Pascal's
favorite porn site.

"That's all propellers and shafts and stuff.  Do you need to research
something on the computer?"  I tried to distract him.

He looked at me and grinned, "Yeah!  Boys!"

"You mean sports and things like that?"  I asked.

I could swear the kid was flirting with me when he put his hand on my thigh
and asked to see some pictures of boys' junk.  He wanted to see naked boys!

"How big their penis is when they're ten."  He gave an innocent enough
explanation.

Footsteps came from the garage.

"Ask your mom or dad to help you with that.  Don't you have any, um
Personal Hygiene classes at your school?"

"They just say everyone's different...  I want to see all the different
ones."

Len was standing at the door of the office watching us.

"Be careful with those questions, and who you ask.  For now, go ask your
mom."  With that, I turned his shoulders and headed him toward the door.

"You're no fun!"  He said, and left, grabbing his skateboard to glide out
of the garage.

After we heard the skateboard leave the garage, Len lifted an eyebrow, "Kid
put the hit on ya'?"

The softest breath of a shiver ran up my spine and I felt a twinge between
my balls.  I could only shake my head and get my fingers on the keyboard
looking like I was at work.

A surge of sweat followed that shiver.

***


I kept my word with Len.

Several nights a week I'd been studying online about the different kinds of
fiberglass repair, good thing.  The new wind surfing boards that the marina
was renting out to the noobs started coming into the shop for repairs.

Pascal and I improvised a section of the garage with an old metal cabinet
for my supplies.  I'd have to borrow some of his tools, but the space was
secure enough to keep the smell and the dust from causing the guys any
problems.

"Office-boy Wyatt" was now on the computer in the mornings and in my small
bay in the afternoon - now I had plenty of money and no time to spend it.

Since the management had tacked the new wind surfing rentals onto Milo's
job, he usually had one or two on Monday morning, and brought them by with
pastries and stayed to shoot the breeze for a few minutes.  Mostly, he
gossiped about who was sleeping with whom among the marina members - I
ignored it.

Most repairs on the rental boards were small, I could patch them the same
as a surfboard, and things went well enough in the shop.

My fiberglass repair work lasted into the night sometimes, but I finished
up quickly so the rental repair monies would keep coming.

The shop kept the work moving through - still in overtime in July.

***


Two weeks later, Savas showed up while I was in my bay, working late on a
badly gouged board.

That same strange feeling of being flirted with came over me again as he
approached, this time on a pair of shoe skates.

He was grinning, and looking around at my new work area.

"Where you been, Savas?  Haven't seen you for a while."  His tan was so
dark; and the whites of his eyes were so clear, his eyes looked like he was
illuminated from inside his head.

"Southern France.  Granddad says it's the only place to take a boy.  "Then
he took me to Greece and around the islands...  Nude beaches...  Ever been
there?"  He sidled alongside me, a little taller for his skates, but at
least he wasn't wearing the bathing trunks like before.  Still, I broke out
in a small sweat.

"Nope.  I'd rather go somewhere like South Africa, maybe Peru or Mexico -
some place with good surfing - nice beaches and few people."  I sputtered.

For some reason, my throat felt like it might close as I spoke with him.

"Time for you to get back to your parents, they'll be looking for you."  I
told him, hoping to relieve the anxiety I felt when he was around.

"Granddad's in the bar with his friends, he won't be ready for me till
later."

I only nodded.  "Where's your grandmother, and your parents?"

The kid couldn't be wandering around alone as beautiful as he was.  Even
his still-narrow shoulders and lithe slip of a body were in perfect
child-proportion - and those delicate ankles and wrists!  With his curls
and cherubic face, he could almost pass as a girl, but his body language
and his stance was definitely all boy.

One of his small hands approached the gouge I was repairing feeling along
the rough mesh that resembled a bleached-white, gaping wound.

"You don't want me around?"  He was angelically smiling with his head at an
angle - I noted that his dark, thick lashes were pale on the tips from the
salt water and sun.

"Not safe here in the garage - time to scoot along rascal."

He smiled and looked around, and I began to sweat profusely.  I felt a drip
of perspiration underneath my tee shirt.

He just grinned as I lifted my arm to wipe my forehead with the sleeve of
my shirt.

"Yeah, I better go see Milo."

With that he glided out of the garage, and I swear he flinched the muscles
in his butt as he did.  Those were beautiful boy-butt flinches and I
thought, maybe - perhaps he was teasing me.  My cock twitched.

This was getting too strange, and I really couldn't control my physical
responses when he was around.

After I had the gouge halfway repaired, I turned on the fan and left it -
went straight to the computer and stayed there almost an hour researching
my peculiar somatic changes.

Then I called Bud and made an appointment to meet him for lunch at the
snack bar.

***


Milo was too harried at work to give me any more information about Savas.

Bud was older and had probably been around the block so many times he had a
plaque with his name on the curb.  And he was the only guy that I knew who
might have an idea what was going on with this kid and me.

I took Bud out to one of the boats whose owner was out of the country and
we sat near the wheel and ate.

"Bud, I'm not asking you what happened to you, but something strange is
going on...  There's that kid - that boy, remember?  I think he's flirting
with me, and he has some kind of strange relationship with Milo...  "But I
get this feeling - it's kinda bizarre...  I can't tell you what I'm
thinking because I can't think when this kid's around."

"Stop.  I don't want to hear it."  Bud whispered and shook his head.  "The
sexual assault I was jailed for was with a girl.  She was eleven."

Staring at him, I tried to imagine his six-foot frame with a tiny girl.

Bud was nice-looking with a touch of white at his temples and a full head
of wavy hair, neatly styled - but with a little girl almost the same age as
Savas?

Bud just stared at his sandwich, blushing.

"You must think a lot less of me now."  He mumbled.

"Did your time, right?  What can I say?  You've always been a good friend
to me - helping me off the streets and all."

"Let's talk later.  For now, the boy may just need a friend - a little
affection.  Keep it out in the open and ask for consent first.  He may be a
very young gay man coming into twinkhood."  Bud paused and looked into my
eyes.

"If he's not a virgin, he'll probably be confused about the difference
between love and sex.  Since he's can't fully understand adult love yet
he'll default into the pleasures of sex for affection."  He leaned closer.
"But my god, I hate to say this - repress the urges.  Find something else
to jerk off to, think about anything else.  Trust me; it's heaven for a
moment, then the worst heartache you can imagine...  If you have a
conscience, it'll rip your guts out and you'll crave more - then the real
problems start.  That's when I started the blow."

"You mean you think I'm..."  Really didn't have the vocabulary to finish
the statement.

"We've already said enough here."  He looked around.  "This is a topic for
a more private discussion."

How did Bud know I masturbated thinking of Savas' lips on the tip of my
anxious, hot cock?  How did he know my tongue ached for the slick part of
the boy's erection on my tongue?

"How about Friday night after your meeting?"  I needed to know more.

"Your place?"  Bud asked, taking a long sip of tea.

I nodded and noticed beads of sweat on his brow.

***


Every day Savas came by the garage and the guys chased him into the office
to get him out of their hair.  He continued with subtle little flirts and
touches, though I was careful not to do anything other than shove him out
the door with a smile.

"Thanks for coming by!" But I couldn't help watching him leave, getting
another glimpse of his butt and fluid body.

As I lined up the boards that needed repair every night, I almost dreaded
beginning my work.  Savas would sneak in and appear like a will `o the wisp
and startle me.

He'd stand there grinning, seemingly enjoying my surprise, then he'd ask me
what I was doing as he moved closer, appearing to be interested in my work.

A definite pattern was forming.

"Savas, don't your parents wonder where you are?  Aren't they worried about
you?  If I was your dad, I'd be concerned."

"Mom had to go to the doctor again."  He pressed his flat hands against the
sides of his face and pulled them toward his ears, stretching his eyes
almost shut.  "Cosmetic surgery and Dad's back in Asia.  He always stays
several months - maybe longer this time..."

"What about your grandparents?  You're a little too young to be in a crowd
of people alone."

"I'm ten, and I'm old enough - Granddad says I have to stay inside the
gate, but he doesn't mind - he's always talking business or schmoozing up
to some people who want to be members.  Most of the time, he doesn't want
me around."

"Well, where's your grandmother?"

"Granddad says not to talk about her anymore.  They had big fights and got
a divorce."  Savas looked away - something in that last sentence must have
stung to have said aloud.

"Okay.  Give me a few minutes to finish this and we'll go talk to Milo,
okay?  You want a soda?"

The kid hugged me around my waist - top of his head was at my sternum and I
choked a breath and pushed him away, turning back to my work.  Couldn't let
the kid know my dick was reaching the bursting point, and I was grateful in
that moment for being short - my tee shirts covered my delinquent
erections.

"Go get my bike.  I'm almost finished here."

He came out of his funk with that and ran to bring my too-big bike, but he
found a way to lean it over enough to push it to the office while I closed
the shop for the night.

Wedging the front tire between two crates, I carefully lifted Savas'
slender body, grasping him at his ribs and he slung his leg over the bar
settling on the seat.  Today, he had long, baggy shorts on and a tank top.

As the fabric stretched across his groin, legs separated, I could make out
a small tenting.  He took his hand from my shoulder and readjusted himself
under the tiny canopy of cotton, watching my face.

Yeah, I blushed, and started to sweat, but pushed forward quickly to the
snack bar, lights, and Milo.

***


The snack bar was still packed with members and their kids as the late
summer sun set.  Milo was smiling and stuffing the cash into his
under-counter safe.  High prices and prime location, he was doing very
well.

"I'm going to have to go home for the evening, Milo.  Can this little scamp
stay with you?  Doesn't seem safe for him to be wandering around alone."

Milo continued at the register, and said, "Closing in about an hour, but if
you take the trash from the patio to the dumpster, I'll keep him here till
I close."

Savas made a face.

"I've got what you need, honey."  He told Savas.  "I'm won't be here later
to help you, but I got your stuff."  He winked at the boy.

I didn't ask - I knew that Milo didn't use drugs to keep up the pace of
business at the snack bar - didn't seem the type, still I had to wonder
what the "stuff" was.

So, I went outside and began pulling bags out of the trashcans and took
them to the dumpster, sending the gulls scattering, and went back for more
while Savas put the clean bags in and followed my every step.

"Do you have to go already?"  He asked.

"Got a long day tomorrow."

As I said bye to Milo, he mentioned he'd be down at the Firehouse later if
I wanted to join him.  The Firehouse was a small gay bar near the beach
with a hot reputation for beach hook-ups.

I shook my head, "Maybe later."

But I looked at Savas; he leaned on the counter with his head in his palms
looking bored and exasperated with the adults in his life.

"Don't you have a friend?  There's plenty of kids around here to play
with."

"Granddad says I shouldn't get chummy with the members' kids.  He doesn't
want any more trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"  I couldn't imagine this cherub causing a
disastrous problem with the other kids.

"They call me `sissy-boy' and other stuff.  You know..."

Milo, the eavesdropper: "Enough of this chit-chat, Wyatt.  See you later."

***


Couldn't force myself to go back to my place, too many questions swirled
through my brain about Milo and Savas.  I biked down to the Firehouse and
took a place along the wall to nurse an overpriced ginger ale and waited
for Milo.

Milo came in later, on the arm of an incredibly dignified older man
grinning as if he'd won the lottery and walked directly to me.  They were
sporting Hawaiian shirts, long shorts and sandals.

"Changed your mind, huh?"  He lifted his hand to call a waiter while we
walked to an empty table.  "This is my friend, Donald - this is Wyatt."  He
made an exaggerated flourish with his hand toward me.  "My wind-surfing
friend."

I shook Donald's hand and smiled briefly, feeling a little uncomfortable.
Milo could give me some information about Savas, but I wasn't sure if we
could speak privately.

Looking into my lap as they ordered drinks, I thought about how to broach
the subject with his date close by.  We exchanged pleasantries till their
drinks came and I leaned toward Milo:

"Could we speak privately?"

He laughed, "Savas, right?"

I gave a small nod.

The upshot of that conversation was simply that Milo felt Savas was a gay
prince, and he'd showed him how to take care of his butt, helping him clean
up and use the medicated towelettes and ointment to calm the burn after
servicing his "old man."

"That's rape!  Incest!  Granddad is hurting the kid, and even the kid says
he's drunk - this isn't right.  He's just a kid!"  I shook my head.  "Gay
or not, that doesn't matter - the kid's getting hurt."

"Well, look around this bar Mr. Right-From-Wrong, how many of these guys
were introduced to pleasure the same way when they were kids?  Lots of `em.
"The incest part - all that legal stuff isn't my business - I'm not
required to report and I'll keep my mouth shut.  Look, I got a sweet deal
on my lease at the marina and I'm not going to jeopardize my income."  He
leaned close.

"He's a beauty, that little fella.  But he was going to get it sooner or
later - be glad it was with family, they love him.  Someone else might have
been worse.  And about the family and their alcohol, well that means that
the old man's probably only good for one shot a night."

The expression on my face reflected my shock that Milo was talking about a
ten-year-old child that way.

But Milo continued, "If you're looking for a shot at his candy ass, get in
line.  He's got half the men at the marina in a spin.  If you're looking
for girl pussy, I'll point them out to you next weekend."

I stood, as nauseated as I was appalled, and left as Donald came back to
the table with several other guys negotiating a four-way for the evening.

With every pump of my thighs on the way home, my mind could see Savas body
being shoved hard.  I imagined his cries as his grandfather pounded into
his tender cleft.  He probably bled...  Did Savas cry himself to sleep
beside a drunk?

Wasn't hard for me to remember the pain and the burn following some of my
larger clients when I worked the streets, and then learning how to take
care of it.

After knowing all this, why did the kid still arouse me?  Why wouldn't the
thoughts stop?

I'd planned on getting up on my feet financially before venturing into the
dating arena.  Find myself a nice guy, get a little house, settle down and
vacation once a year - a few friends and enjoy my life.  That was, if I
found the right guy.  Otherwise, I'd get a little place of my own and
simply enjoy my life alone - dashing my parents hopes for grandchildren,
but making my own life like so many men before me.

Conniving thoughts filled my mind about how to get next to the boy - and my
conscience told me it would only wind up in trouble.  That trouble may
cause more problems for Savas than for me.

My mind played both sides of a tennis game - back and forth; desire versus
concern.  Endless volleys.

***


Savas came by everyday until Friday.  Len and Pascal ran interference for
me, taking him back outside, or to the snack bar.  I wanted to close the
bay doors, but that would make the garage a sauna in the heat of summer.

Dinner with the only expert I knew on this problem didn't come soon enough.

I offered Bud my lawn chair as I pulled a crate up to the low bar in the
kitchen of my studio apartment.  He spread out roasted chicken, salad and
fresh, hot tortillas and I iced down two sodas and we talked.

After twelve years of "reeducation" in weekly group sessions while he
served time, he had a lot of information about emotional development of
kids, and the kinds of people with the proclivity for children.

He openly admitted that when his young lovers hit puberty, he was gone.

"Damned sticky situation - you'll never know what they say or do when you
tell them you will have to go to New York or Hong Kong with your work."

Most of the evening, Bud reminisced about the children, boys and girls,
that he'd addicted to his attention and touch, until they'd offered
themselves or outright asked him for deflowering.  When keen for the rush
of endorphins and dopamine from Bud's ministrations, he kept them coming
back until the signs of their maturity started.

His admissions painted a dismal future for my life.

"What can I do to stop this?  What do I do with Savas?  He's coming by
everyday and it's getting harder not to think about him - to touch him."

He thought for a long time.

"Transference.  Isn't it about time you find a fuck bud, or maybe a lover?"

"Not ready for that."  I responded curtly, still wondering what Savas was
doing with his granddad.

"Get a dog.  Do you like cats?  One of the guys at the house has an
Abyssinian - short hair and very affectionate.  He's got two weeks to get
rid of it - one of the guys in the house has an allergy, but the rest of us
love him."

Actually, I liked cats and considered the offer.

"How about a dog, like that guy down at the beach - remember the guy with
the big yellow lab with the blue bandana?  That dog was so mellow - he had
more friends than his owner."

"Bud, I think about sex with the kid.  Don't really think any animal's
gonna help.  The thoughts keep coming and don't stop."

"Been there, and know the pain, Wyatt.  Maybe you need a monkey - we could
style his hair and put him in bathing trunks..."  He joked.  "But get into
something to distract yourself - join a club or something like a second
job.  Otherwise you're going down a sad path to jail - you'll want more,
and start twisting your life around to get it.  Time to get a life while
you're still young."

We ate in silence for a while.

"Couldn't I go in for help and get some medication to stop the urge?"  I
asked

"Sure, go into the health clinic and tell them you're lusting after a
ten-year-old boy?  Then tell them you need some dope to deal with it?
You'll hear the "drug-seeking perv" alarms ringing.  It's better not to
tell anyone else, and don't go and find the places on the dark net...  But
you haven't acted on it yet, right?"

"Just suffering so far.  He's so vulnerable and young - such a tender
age..."

"Well how you gonna feel about him when he's as tall as you, with stubble
and all the hair?  "How you gonna feel when his balls drop and his erection
is as big as yours?  What happens when his face changes from angelic to
devilish - covered with acne or scars?  His hormones are gonna surge, going
through all the phases, backtalk and all that.  You still gonna feel the
same about him when he's more your equal and won't be your sub anymore?
"Look, here's what you've got coming.  They told us that kids who are
introduced into sexuality early get traumatized, and it screws their head
up.  Some of them avoid for the rest of their lives, and some can't ever
have any kind of decent relationship as adults.  They showed us photos of
the self-mutilation and some do worse...  And some of them become pervs,
like us.  Are you ready to handle that?"

At that moment, I needed a beer, at least.

"Let's go back to the dog idea."  I told him after several long moments.

"Okay.  If you can't wait for eight years when the kid is legal, maybe you
could be a friend to him, but be careful.  It never worked for me, but his
granddad is your ultimate boss at work, right?  Think about keeping your
job."

I nodded and considered waiting eight years.

***


The garage was chaotic the next day - boat owners wanted their repairs and
I handled them the best I could, suggesting a few hours at the pool.

"Incredible piña coladas at the bar.  Why not sip a few and watch
the kids at the pool?"

Len heard me struggling to keep our customers happy and left.  He came back
with coupons for a free drink while people waited and it made my job
easier, and as the owners walked away, they thanked me!

After all the customer service that continued past sunset, I was exhausted.
And, like a good friend, Bud was at my door at seven AM on Sunday in bright
sunlight, ringing the doorbell repeatedly until I got up, bleary-eyed and
in my boxers.

"What the hell do you want?"  I was in a bad mood - this was my only day
off this week as I peeked through partially opened door.

"Brought you a friendy-pouf."  He grinned, but there wasn't any one else
around.

Mumbling curses under my breath, I opened the door and let him in.

While I was at the john, a tiny dog came in and sniffed around my ankles,
tags jingling on a rhinestone collar.  He looked up at me through pale blue
eyes - and from underneath tiny overhanging wisps of hair.

What a weird looking dog - it looked like a plush toy.

The audacity!  He jumped up with his front feet on my calf and watched me
pee.

Then he put his paws on the ground in front of him with his butt in the air
and his scrappy tail twitching madly - then he barked!  It sounded like a
cough.

"Let me pee!"  I told him, but I had to reach down and I took the small
body of the dog in my hand and lifted him to my face.

He licked my chin.

"You wanna play?  Do you have a ball, or do you have a favorite twig to
toss?"

Bud was at the bathroom door, so I handed him the dog.

"Let me finish my business."

Bud grinned, petting the dog gently and kissing his head.  "He likes you
already!"

After I cleaned up, I found Bud making coffee with the dog sitting on the
counter watching him.

Over coffee and toast, Bud told me that this dog was only a year old and
named Fritz, but he wasn't a gift.

"One of the guys at the house got married, left on his honeymoon.  Fritz,
here needed a place to stay, so I volunteered you.  They'll be back in a
week."

He leaned over and picked up a canvas rucksack with air vents and brought
out some food and two small bowls.

"Look."  He showed me the inside of the bag, "He rides in here, and likes
it.  You can take him to work with you, but even if he shits, how big can
it be?"

He lifted the pup and inspected the dog's butt, "Maybe half an inch
diameter at tops..."

I grabbed the dog, "Give him some dignity, Bud.  Got you no couth?"

Scratching the dog's ears I thought about how delighted Savas would be, and
remembered growing up with my collie that slept on my bed during cold
nights.  My collie was an excellent watchdog and my best friend when I was
young.

"Okay, Fritz - can you stay with me for a week and not run off?"  I sat him
gently on the floor, then got up and filled his bowls while he wandered
around my apartment, sniffing everything.

"If you decide you want a dog to get your mind off things...  I'll take you
to the shelter, and we can look around - anything but a Chihuahua."

"Let's see what happens this week."  My mind saw Savas picking up the Fritz
with his delicate hands and petting him.

***


The pup was good company.  As I walked him that morning, almost every
passerby approached us - charmed by the little beast.  They were smiling
and reaching to pet Fritz and I felt a little stupid with such a small dog
named Fritz, so I renamed him Wolf for the week.

He rode on my back in his bag all the way to work, but I could hear him
sniffing all the different scents as I maneuvered through the traffic.

I got in the garage early and started a pot of coffee, the hosed down the
bird poop.  When the guys came in and got their coffee, they wandered to
the office with their parts lists and to shoot the breeze before the
onslaught of business.  Neither one of them was upset about the tiny
watchdog I brought.  Instead they started dialogues, long stories about
their childhood pups and all the crazy things they did.

Wolf licked them and let them pet him and check for his dog nuts.  Lots of
colorful comments on their size; they seemed in proportion to me.

"One week, that's all.  Okay Len?"  I asked when they were chuckling.

"Keep him in the office with you.  No dog shit on the floor."

When irate customers came in, impatient with our backlog of work, most of
them without hesitation petted Wolf, who liked sitting on the counter
watching me fill out paperwork and handing out free drink coupons.

At lunch, Wolf ate along with us - bits of turkey from Pascal's sandwich,
and Len feeding him corn chips.

Savas came in on his skateboard while Pascal was getting Wolf to stand on
his hind legs for a bit of his sandwich.

"Cool!"  Savas said, watching the dog.  "Is this your dog?"  He looked at
Pascal.

Pascal just pointed at me and continued playing with Wolf, making him do a
little dance before getting his reward.

Savas grinned and looked at me while the other guys left to get back to
work.

I made a kissing sound and Wolf jumped on my lap.

"I call him Wolf, his real name is Fritz."  Savas was already at my side
petting the little imp.  I noticed Savas' eyes were red-rimmed and a little
swollen.

"Have you been crying?"  I asked softly while the boy patted the dog.

"No."  He lied to me, but I considered it his way of telling me to butt out
of his business.

"Okay."  I didn't press further but noticed there weren't any bandages on
his elbows or knees.  "I'm dog sitting for the week - this isn't my dog.
Have to keep an eye on this little bugger so he doesn't run away.  I'm `Dog
Protective Services' till his owner gets back on Saturday."

Savas stared at me, appearing almost fearful.  "Like Child Protective
Services?"

It surprised me that he knew the correct bureaucratic name, but I didn't
question him further, "No, more like a fancy babysitter for Wolf."

"Can I show him to Milo?"

"Get his leash."  I tucked a plastic bag into Savas' pocket and explained
how to pick up poop.  "Come straight back, Wolf has to get back to work."

With that, I opened the front office again and watched Savas walking toward
the snack bar, digging in his butt and walking funny...  Quickly, I called
Milo and told him that Savas might need a little first aid, and turned to
serve our next customer.  Scuffed butt...

After an hour with no sign of Savas and Wolf, I walked over to the snack
bar to find them.

Wolf's leash was tied to one of the poles holding the catering tent shading
the picnic area, so I scooped him up in my arm and went inside.  Milo's
worker told me he was in the showers.

I went into the showers and heard soft voices in the last dressing room.

Standing outside, I tapped, "Savas - are you alright?"

The latch flipped open and I went in the cubicle.  There was Savas on
Milo's lap with a tube of the ointment next to him and a pile of wadded
paper towels on the floor.

Milo was holding the boy, with his arm around him.  Savas had been crying
again.

"Just a few rough spots this weekend..."  Milo looked at me, then back at
Savas.  "It's all okay now, right sweetheart?"

"I'm tired."  He said drowsily.

Milo picked him up in his arms.

"Clean up that for me?"  Milo glanced at the towels on the floor, and then
he headed out the door taking Savas out to his grandfather's boat for a
nap.

Picking up all the paper towels, I saw a few spots of blood.  Clearly there
was physical harm.

I wondered how much damage was occurring in Savas mind - would he turn to
drugs to numb his memories, or self-abuse to get the rush that accompanied
the pain he was enduring...  Would a tall, slender eighteen-year-old even
want any kind of sexual relationship after this kind of childhood - how
would a handsome, dark young man survive on a campus with naive, fawning
guys?

Didn't see too much of Savas that week.  Whatever happened must have been
difficult - maybe he was embarrassed that I'd seen him with Milo.

Saturday, I didn't see Savas and figured he was out with his grandfather on
the yacht for the weekend, and I shuddered.

***


Monday morning, though Savas was in my office as soon as Len opened the bay
doors.

"Where's Wolf?"

"Back with his owners."

Savas looked around then came and stood beside me.  "I liked him."

"Yeah, why?"  I watched his full, tender lips as they moved making the
words.

"He didn't boss me."

"I know what you mean."  I answered and opened Len's emails to check for
any parts delays.

"You do?"

"Sure.  Believe it or not, I used to be a boy and had to do chores and
clean my room...  Kids get a lot of bossing - don't do this, do that...  "I
always got in trouble for exploring around in the woods and bringing back
bugs and worms then, I had to take them back outside.  One time I found a
baby bird."

"A baby bird?  What did your mom say?"

"Well, my mom was okay - she likes animals.  We found a shoebox and put the
bird in it on some clean rags and took it to a shelter.  The shelter had
baby squirrels and birds - kind of like a wild animal hospital.  "When I
got older, I volunteered there.  Mostly I cleaned up the cages and talked
to the animals - learned a lot about nature.  "The staff would take them
back out to the woods and let them go after they were strong enough to live
on their own.  I got to watch."

"Your mom let you do that?"  He seemed puzzled.

"Sure - she wanted me to know about all kinds of animals and plants.  You
ever had a pet?"  I asked.

"Mom says they ruin the furniture, and the maids don't want to take care of
them."

"Not even a fish?"  I joked.

"Mom says they stink - and my granddad pees in the koi pond."

Making a fast decision, "Do you think your mom would let you come with me
to the animal shelter tomorrow?  I think we need more security in the
garage with all the expensive stuff here - probably need a guard dog."

He turned to run to the marina office to ask his mom, but I pulled him
back.

"Let me write her a note with my phone number."  I suggested and hoped Bud
could get off work to take us.

Len gave me the morning off the next day, so I called Bud.  He was
amenable, but I felt he was more curious about Savas.

"Bud, tell them you're my step-father.  Okay?  Make it look like a family
thing, you know."

"Oh, god!  The lies are starting already, but if you want a dog for the boy
what can I say?  Is 9:30 good?"

***


After lunch, Savas came by with his grandfather.  This was the first time
I'd met him personally and I was impressed - but not in a good way.  He was
six feet, heavy and wide-shouldered but what irritated me was his booming
voice.  Mr. Ashton was intentionally loud, and I considered him the height
of obnoxiousness.

Approaching Len, Ashton had a few words with him, then a lot of
backslapping and the usual `atta boys' and bullshit as if granddad was
constantly on the sell.

I noticed Len nodding his head and smiling continuously while Savas looked
at me in the office.

All three walked over to the office, Savas holding his grandfather's hand.

"Hear you're doing all the good in here with my pal Len."  His voice echoed
through the garage and filled the office.

"Name's Randall Wyatt.  Call me Wyatt."  I stuck out my hand to find a
fleshy, moist grip that almost crushed my bones while it was too vigorously
shaken.

"You want to take my Savas to an animal shelter?"  He lifted one eyebrow.
"His mother doesn't want him to get rabies or fleas or what's that thing
called - mange.  She's worried about him getting sick or getting scarred by
some disease."

"All the pets we'll be around are healthy and ready to go home with people
- lots of health codes to meet down there.  But we won't bring back a dog.
We're looking to see what's available."  I looked him in the eye.

"My step father's taking us; he's something of an expert on dogs." I began
with my first lie.

"Really?  A breeder?"  Mr. Ashton chuckled.

"No.  Retired now, but he used to work with trainers and agility courses."
I lied again.

"Humph."  Ashton said and looked down at Savas.

"Please, Granddad.  I promise to be good, and we won't be gone long."

"Have him back before noon."  Granddad said and looked across the grounds.

Savas jumped around slapping his rubber-soled sandals against the concrete
floor grinning, then hugged his grandfather around his ample belly and
looked up at him, smiling.

"I'm gonna send you some pictures on your phone."  Savas said.

"I'm gonna look for `em."  Ashton shot me a look.

With that, they left and I was momentarily satisfied with a small triumph.

My heart warmed thinking of being beside Savas looking at mutts - a good,
healthy boy experience.

***


The next day, Savas showed up early and found me in the restroom combing my
hair back, looking good.  Little splash of cologne from a sample bottle
someone left years ago.

"Phew!"  Savas was standing in the doorway, big grin on his face.

"That's cat repellant.  You ready to pet a mutt today?"  I asked as my
phone beeped with a text.

"How many do they have?  Can I pet all of them?"

"Yep.  Bud's almost at the gate.  Let's go!"

We went to the snack bar and told Milo to open the gate for our ride.  He
gave me a sly smile.

Bud pulled up and we got in the back seat.

"Do you work with my step-son?"  Bud asked Savas.

"No.  I'm a kid."  Savas gave a little giggle.  "You're his dad - did you
raise him?"

"Oh, yes - funny kid but he's an okay guy, turned out well.  Have you two
talked about the kind of dog you want?"  He glanced in the rearview mirror
as Savas found my hand to hold.

His soft hand was moist and warm in mine, sending sparks all over my body.
Yeah, that part too, but I'd planned.  I wore my lucky blue tee shirt that
covered my groin, though my jeans were straining.

With that, Savas gave us a list of what he wanted in a dog.  Seemed like he
had dreams of a big dog, something like maybe a greyhound or a German
shepherd but white with long hair like an Afghan.

"Wait!  Savas, they have mostly mixed breeds, but don't you think a
mid-sized model would be better?  They don't eat so much."  I hoped to
avoid a big disappointment.

He looked frustrated, but Bud jumped in the conversation.

"The only thing you can really decide before we get there is the color -
and I love brindle dogs."

Before we went into the shelter, Bud made sure that Savas knew to only
offer a dog the back of his hand first, "That way you can pull your hand
back fast if the dog looks scared or upset."

I took my phone out and took a video of Bud showing Savas how to hold his
hand for a dog sniff in front of the shelter and sent it to Savas for his
grandfather.

***


The young people volunteering in the shelter for the summer were delighted
with Savas and gave him a tour with me taking photos all along the way.
Bud was enthralled with the boy and kept winking at me.

A teenaged girl led us through the open hallway lined with chain link
cages.  Each cage was labeled with the photo of the dog and all the
pertinent information.  Some were very interesting combinations of
different breeds - difficult to imagine how those couplings could happen.

The din of barks was incredibly loud, but Savas looked at each dog and
stuck his slender hand through the wire to pet a few of them.  He wanted to
pet every dog and give it a slow review.  I shot more photos.

"There's a few more out back," the one of the young volunteers said,
pointing to a door.  "They're still in quarantine and won't be available
until later, but all these guys are ready to go!"

I got a great photo of Savas rubbing noses with a dog that must have been
part wolfhound.

"Why do some of the dogs stay over in the corners of the cages?  Some of
them won't even look at us."  Savas asked Bud.

Bud squatted down to scratch a poodle's nose with his finger, "Maybe
they're tired, or old, but you know dogs get sad and depressed just like
people do.  We don't know what kind of life they've had before they came
here - some may be missing their families and friends.  "Someone may have
hurt them.  We don't know.  But with all these friends around, I bet they
pick up their spirits later on.  What do you think?"

"I hope so, some look so sad..."  Savas had a worried look on his face.

We went up one side and down the other and couldn't find a dog that we
could agree on, and Bud turned to leave.

"We didn't go outside yet.  The lady said there were more out there."
Savas pulled his hand toward the door.  "Maybe he's out there."

Out back, the wire cages were open to the sky with a small doghouse in each
pen.  As we walked along, I spotted a funny little dog in the last pen.
His ears flew up as he jumped, then folded into neat black triangles near
his eyes.  He stood about sixteen inches at his withers, but looked
spring-loaded, jumping as high as he could and barking at us.

I left Bud and Savas and walked to the end to look closer.  The mutt had a
shiny dark black coat and almost rust-red colored eyes.  He licked my hand
and smiled.  Yes, dogs smile and some laugh - usually at humans' stupidity.

Bud and Savas were talking about dog's nails and ear cleaning, as if he had
any experience with dogs, but maybe he did.  I knew he had experience with
boys.

"Hey, guys.  Come look at this one."  This dog didn't have a name posted
but he looked happy and healthy.  "Whatdya think about this little black
pup?"

Savas went down on one knee, and Bud squatted.  The little black pup was so
excited he peed a little, and Bud explained that while Savas giggled.

"Looks like almost a year old.  Not going to get a whole lot bigger."  Bud
looked up at me.

"What do you think, Savas?"  I asked.

"I like him."  The dog was furiously licking Savas' fingers through the
wire.  "I think he likes me, too."

I wanted to reach down and kiss Savas, but I took a photo instead, "Okay,
he's the dog in cage number twelve.  Let's go inside and ask about him."

Inside I told Savas to send the photos I'd taken to his grandfather while I
got the details of the dog.

A military family was stationed abroad and couldn't take the dog with them,
but he'd been with the family for almost a year - since he was a puppy, and
was house trained, and used to small children.  No bite history and had all
his shots.

"Does he have a name?"  I asked.

"Duh!"  One of the teen volunteers said, "Blackie the dog."

The responsible adult behind the counter explained the adoption contract
and a spay/neuter certificate that came with the costs.

"What's the spray and noodle thing about?"  Savas asked.

The woman explained that a doctor would operate on Blackie so he couldn't
make more puppies.

"We have so many without homes now.  It's just a big help in a lot of
ways..."

Bud butted in, "They're going to take his balls out so he can't make sperm
any more.  No sperm, no humping everything and no puppies."

Savas had a look of horror on his face.  He understood.

"What do they do with them after they cut them off?"  He asked.

"Well, we dispose of them in the usual approved manner."  The woman stated.

Bud clarified the issue saying that they sent all the dog testicles to "dog
ball heaven."

"Yep, all of `em up there making friends and having a good ol' time.  Great
place to go if you're a dog nut."

Savas caught onto that absurdity, but looked at me - almost asking me if I
was going to really have Blackie fixed.

I winked.

"When will he be out of quarantine?"  I asked.

After a few moments of checking records and charts, "Eight more days to
make sure he's clean and worm-free."

"Could you put a hold on Blackie for us?"  I asked and pulled out my
wallet.

Before we went left, we went back out to tell Blackie to wait for eight
more days.  I took a photo of Bud and Savas with the little black mutt
between them - all of them were smiling.

***


Bud took us to pick up Blackie with granddad's blessing - he was in a
business meeting and Savas' mom didn't seem to be in the marina.

With a borrowed a video camera Bud recorded the bouncing Blackie with Savas
running out the gate of the shelter and getting in the car.  Later, he got
Savas running across the grass at the marina with Blackie beside him.

Then, the fun was over abruptly.

Milo came into the garage.  "Your granddad wants you on the boat."  He led
Savas away.

I almost cried when I saw Savas turn to me and wave before they took off to
the pier.  God, I loved Savas; seemed like Blackie did, too.  I had to put
Blackie in the office and shut the door till he calmed down.

The next day I went to Milo's for coffee when Granddad came out of the
marina office and tucked a hundred dollar bill in the pocket of my jeans.
That surprised me, but why?

"Thanks for watching the boy.  He was talking about your Blackie all
night."  He said, "You know I don't have time for things like that."

I pulled it out and put it in his pocket.  "Some things don't have a
price."

I looked over to see Savas rubbing Blackie's upturned belly.  The dog
quickly turned and licked Savas' face and the boy tilted his head back and
laughed.

The sound of Savas' laughter was music to me.  That was the first time I'd
heard him laugh without any restraint - but laugh with joy.

***


Savas and I started a new habit.  Every day at lunch, we watched short dog
training videos and tried them out on Blackie.

Using hand signals to teach rolling over, sitting up and get in my rucksack
was easy.  Blackie and Savas seemed to have an understanding, as if they
knew what the other wanted.  Heeling wasn't a problem.  Blackie stayed with
Savas as he skated or skateboarded through the marina.

Blackie was with Savas during the days, and mine at night, but our pup
accepted that without a problem - he was getting plenty of attention
wherever he was.

It was hard not to spend my days watching them, but I knew someone would
tell me if there was a problem inside the marina, but there wasn't any.
Blackie was a charmer.

Savas' smiles and attention to his new friend warmed my aching heart - they
brought the sparkle and joy of the freedom only boys and dogs can make.  In
my heart, I hoped that joy would soothe some of the problems he faced from
his family.

***


Labor Day neared - the marina held their annual barbeque on Saturday.
There would be a crowd of over five hundred members and guests and
employees.  Most of them came to sit outside to enjoy the last days of
summer and drink.  A bar was set up at the edge of the patio for drinking
and dancing to the music of a small local band.

A caterering crew hustled food from vans to the long buffet tables and
grills and filled coolers.  This was one day when the employees and their
families could come and enjoy the evening in the marina as well as members
and guests.  The event would last all afternoon and into the evening.

I called my new stepfather, Bud, to join me.

With such a large crowd, I wanted Savas and Blackie to stay nearby so I
could make sure neither one got lost.  I suspected most of the adults
planned blasting their brains on some kind of drink or drug and there would
be a lot of non-members in the mix.

I'd be back at work on Tuesday without Savas - he was readying for sixth
grade at a very ritzy private school in La Jolla.  So this was my last
night with him during his summer vacation.  Maybe I'd see him on
Saturdays...

Bud was right - my lies had already started and impending heartaches were
only hours away.  I never suspected he was so right.

Sure I thought about Savas' grandfather, the alcohol and remembered the
first night I'd met Savas.  I began thinking like Savas - maybe granddad
would be too drunk to do anything.

"Maybe not tonight."  I hoped.

***


As the crowd gathered, I lost track of Savas - I saw him pulling a cart of
wine and food down to his grandfather's boat earlier, but hadn't seen him
since, and I wondered why he didn't come by to pet Blackie.

As the afternoon wore on, Bud and I went to look for Savas - couldn't find
him.

I saw Milo had brought his gentleman friend with him, and I asked Milo if
he'd seen Savas.

"Well, of course I wanted to introduce my daddy here to Savas...  I think I
saw him going to the boat with his granddad earlier - probably having a
party down there."  He winked.  "If you know what I mean..."  My face must
have reflected my contempt, I turned to go to the pier, but Milo grabbed my
arm.

"He's with his family.  They don't like being disturbed when they're
partying.  Savas knows what's going on - he's seen it all before."

Milo came closer to my ear.  "Let it go.  I'm staying late tonight.  If you
go down there you're going to jeopardize Len's lease and get yourself
fired.  Then where are you going to be with your little sprite?"

I jerked my arm away from him and gave him a hard stare, though he was
right.  This wasn't my battle yet I'd come to feel protective, maybe
possessive about the boy.

Had to wonder whose battle it was.  But it didn't matter - Savas was on the
losing side.

Bud called it my errant emotional investment.  "Last stop before the big
rush, and then the heartbreak."

***


Blackie was crying in the garage, and I brought him out and sat beside Bud,
almost in tears knowing what was sure to happen to Savas.  We watched the
boats, then the kids in the pool, and I continued scanning the pier for
Savas.

Glancing across the marina, I could only hear the music blasting from
different boats and the laughter of the partiers.  Couldn't see Savas on
the deck of his grandfather's yacht.

Something shook me inside, and I couldn't control myself.  Bud took me home
as tears ran down my face.  So, I lied yet again, telling Bud I had
allergies.

As if I was a child, my loyal pal Bud took me home and tucked me in bed as
I tried to hold back my sobs thinking about Savas.

"You're just now hitting the outskirts of the City of Sorrows, boy.  It
never gets better."

He let himself out, and Blackie snuggled next to me with a forlorn look on
his face.

***


The next day, the last Sunday of summer, I went in to clean up my
fiberglass repair area - though most of the employees had the day off, the
restaurant, snack bar were open and the cleaning crew was there every day.
This time I lied to myself.  I didn't need to clean up my work area, I was
looking for Savas.

Blackie and I walked the entire marina.  No Savas, few kids and fewer
adults on the grounds.  Taking a chance, I walked down the pier to Savas'
grandfather's yacht to find it locked tight.  A few empty wine bottles on
the deck rolled around as the boat swayed.  The boat was empty - it
appeared Savas and his family had left in a rush.

A group of retirees were sunning on the next boat, over watching me.

"Have you seen Savas and his granddad this morning?"  I asked the group.

They all looked away, but the oldest woman told me they left last night and
turned away.

Finally, Blackie and I went to the shop.  The poor dog was as sad as I was
without our Savas.  After straightening up the tools and trying to distract
myself I couldn't hold myself back from finding out what happened to Savas,
maybe he went home with his mom or granddad.

Becoming impatient, and worried about why the grandfather had left at
night, I called Milo - though I really didn't like his attitude about gay
boys and their sexual indoctrination.

"Milo.  Where's Savas?"

Glad I was sitting down when Milo explained that as Saturday evening wound
down, the music quieted and people sat in the dark watching the lights
across the bay and the late boaters come in.

"You remember that yacht you first lived on - the Lenore?  You cleaned it
up for sale."  He asked.

"Yeah, what does that have to do with Savas?  That boat sold."

"Well, the widow who owned the boat came to visit friends and she was on
the next boat over.  Seems like your little Savas got loud in the throes of
his `familial passion' and...  Well, you're not going to like hearing this
- the widow called the police and reported a child being hurt, something
like that.  "A couple of black and whites came into the marina and went to
big daddy's yacht.  Hauled him out handcuffed and drunk - the kid's mom,
too.  Should have seen the crowd.  Coulda heard a pin drop watching grandpa
leave and ooo-eee, Savas' mother!  She was cussing and hollering the whole
way to the police car.  But I think a lot of the members were glad the old
man's gone."

"What happened to Savas?"

"A policewoman in an unmarked came out and took him somewhere - probably to
an ER for a rape kit and an exam.  Took him to an unmarked car in one of
his granddad's tee shirts and a pair of sandals..."  Milo paused.  "We're
all going to get new management soon.  Get ready for a bumpy transition all
over the marina."

Blackie was lying on the floor, looking up at me as I hung up.  I was
nauseated and felt a cold, white streak of pain through my chest.

"My Savas."  I thought.

When the initial shock wore off I remembered I had Savas phone number.  I
sent him a photo of Blackie, captioned "I love you" and hoped he had his
phone with him.

Then, I called Bud and asked if he could come over for a while - I needed a
shoulder to cry on.

"Just don't say `I told you so.'"



Part 3



Bud brought his laptop and searched the news for any information on any
kind of arrest for a sex crime, or any kind of booking of a sexual assault
in the county.  He was sure Savas grandfather and mom had been held
somewhere in the county pending the medical charges.

"Where is he?  He never mentioned any other relatives - where's Savas' dad?
I don't want Savas in the foster care system."  My hands shook.

"He's a minor; most records about him are sealed.  Gonna be really hard to
get them, but I'll keep searching."  With that, Bud continued his research
for several hours and came up empty handed.

"Look, he's probably in a safe house now, and the suits have already called
their lawyers - I'm sure the family made plans for him.  Did the kid ever
mention the names of any lawyers?  How about any family friends or
something like that?"

"No."

"Do you know his Dad's first name or where he was in Asia?"  Bud asked.

"No.  Try Savas Ashton Sr. or Savas Ashton II, something like that."

I considered calling Milo, but didn't.  I'd probably just become more upset
with his rationalizations.  I had to wonder why he was so callous about my
Savas, but I figured he was just spouting his own past.  That, or he some
of his own proclivities he didn't want to admit.

Blackie held his leash in his mouth, the law said he had to be on a leash
but didn't specify who had to hold the leash, so he ran off to find a bush.
As I watched him, I saw his tiny ball sac swinging and swaying as he
sniffed along the alleyway and remembered "dog ball heaven."

I had to smile at that thinking that Savas' balls must be just a smidge
bigger, maybe longer but probably not yet.

But where was he?  Was he all right?  I knew gay youth could take the
ultimate "cure."  My god, why didn't I tell him I loved him?  Why hadn't I
ever told him that I was gay, but I wondered about what kind of "gay" I was
- and I wondered if Savas was really gay - did he ever have the time to
find out?

***

Blackie and I left Bud to his research and walked down to the bodega for
fresh tortillas and eggs and headed back home.  Yeah, I tore off bits of
the tortillas for Blackie thinking how damned lucky that dog was - how
Savas and Blackie played so easily and naturally together.  Not all dogs
and owners are so well suited for each other...

Easing through my memories prompted by the images on my phone, I saw
Blackie was an explosion of funny little sounds as he pretended to maul
Savas - sniffing and licking all over the boy while I worked, thinking
about doing the same to the boy and barely being able to hold my feelings
inside.

Savas and the dog had rolled on the grass and roughhoused, I remembered the
sound of his laughter - I never tickled him to hear that...

My attitude toward Savas was as sick as it could be.  I adored him,
worshipped his body all the while my protective, more parental feelings
grew stronger.  Hadn't done anything physical, but my convoluted mental
thoughts were creating a perverted kind of relationship in my mind - and
all of it was based on possessing him.

I came to the video I'd taken out the office window - Savas on his back
with Blackie standing on his chest, tail wagging furiously.  Then, Savas
reached in his pocket and brought out something and put it in his lips.
Cautiously and gently, still standing on Savas chest the dog sniffed and
put his muzzle to Savas lips.  Nose to nose, quickly the dog pulled his
head back, eating the morsel of a snack Savas' held delicately for him.
The ever-popular "Hollywood Kiss" trick!

One photo showed Blackie and Savas singing.  I remembered when fire trucks
would drive past the marina, sirens screaming.  Blackie put his head back
and put his lips together and made a low, loud howl.  When he did that, all
the Len and Pascal joined in with Blackie and Savas.  What a racket till
the siren sounds had passed!

The only photo I had of that showed Savas tender, pink lips made circular
shape when he howled with Blackie, and I imagined my hot, red glans pushing
past them into his warm, wet mouth...  Savas was delighted that Blackie
could sing!  I could only imagine my satisfaction in Savas' mouth, then
kissing him to taste my cum on his tongue.

My strongest memory was the boy and dog standing in front of the big, open
doors with the sun behind them, both long-legged and smooth with delicate
ankles and wrists wiggling and excited about their summer - ready to run
toward their next adventure.

There was a photo of Savas dressing Blackie, tying a neon green bandana
around the dog's neck, making him look something of a very chic bandit
thanks to Pascal.  Savas took him through the marina showing everyone.

The reason that week was so memorable was that on Friday, Blackie and Savas
followed me into the office.  Had no photo of it, but recalled it clearly.

Savas came into the office and stared at me for a while, hesitating.

"What do you want, rascal?"  I asked, studying the smooth skin of his face,
and those big, deep rich brown eyes.

"Are you my friend?"  He asked in a small voice.

"Is this a riddle?  You know I'm your friend.  Probably always will.
You're a great kid."

"You'll always be my friend?"  He sounded like he didn't believe me.

"You bet'cha."  Without thinking, I pulled him between my legs and against
my chest and held him, rocking.  "Yeah, I'm your friend forever."

"That means I'm your friend?"

"I hope so."  My heart quivered.

"Okay."  He whispered into my ear.

Len was standing in the doorway watching.

I immediately pushed the boy back and straightened his hair but he leaned
forward and kissed my cheek.

"We're friends now."  Savas said.

Then, boy and dog were off to check the catches of huge silvery tuna that
the deep-sea fishermen had brought back.

What my brain couldn't remember, my heart filled with my fantasies, but I
do remember we spoke our friendship and stated we were friends.

That short, cherished exchange was etched deeply into my soul.

Then, a kiss...

***


Bud was still working on the computer when I returned and the water was
heating for more coffee.  We made scrambled eggs and wrapped them in the
tortillas with cheese and chili powder.

As we ate, Bud said he'd sent the father's name to a friend who lived in
Thailand.

"He said he'd research the name on the Southeast Asian news for us.  Maybe
the dad's involved with some kind of start-up business.  Couldn't find any
records on him.  But I went to the county records and found the name of the
legal firm involved with the marina - probably the same one that takes care
of the family paperwork."

I stared at Bud, thinking I could contact the lawyers.

Bud read my mind.  "Don't call.  You'll raise red flags - sex crimes with
minors take you straight to jail - they'll think you're the grandfather's
chum - maybe you're in on the sex play.  Guilt by association."

I remembered my only kiss from Savas.

***


Bud was getting too generous with his breakfast.  So I told him that I had
to keep the dog a lightweight.  "I'm not lugging a fifty pound dog in my
back pack.  Gimme a break, Bud."

"Well, go taste that kibble that's been sitting there for a month, see what
you think.  He's no snooty little pedigreed fluff ball, he's a scrapper.
Like us."

I did go and pick up a piece of kibble and chewed.  It was crunchy, but had
more the taste of cardboard than anything else - unsalted and I couldn't
detect any "meat essences."

"You're right."  I leaned over and fed Blackie the scraps of my breakfast.

"Wyatt, just calm down and wait.  You're getting new management now that
Grandpa's out of the picture.  They won't say anything about the family,
but I imagine you won't see the boy again - it's for his own good and
yours.  If I was Savas, I'd be too embarrassed to show up at the marina
again - all the employees would be staring and gossiping.  Give it up."

That hit my heart like a boxer's hardest jab.

I couldn't answer Bud and I couldn't give up my Savas.

***


Work at the shop slowed as the weather cooled, thankfully and I was able to
move into more of the fiberglass hull repairs, though my heart wasn't in my
work.

Bud was right - the heartache only got worse.  I fretted, worried and
fussed about Savas and kept it all hidden inside me at work.  Len and
Pascal were more quiet than usual as well.  Didn't ask, but wondered.

A management company came to the marina and we got the usual employee
trainings, and completed new paperwork.  New logo, new colors, everything
changed to more of a commercial marina with amenities instead of the
country club atmosphere.

No.  The new managers didn't say a word about Savas' family or what
happened.  They only gave nerf answers about anything related to the prior
management.  No information about any return of the Ashton family's return
- not Savas' father or anyone else.

"We don't have anything to do with the family.  Their attorneys hired us to
manage the facility, and we're going to assess the income flows and
expenditures.  Then, make any necessary adjustments.  We thank you for your
cooperation."

I thought I heard a raspberry being blown from the maintenance crew, but
everyone in that corner had an innocent look on their face.

***


Savas' birthday, Halloween, Thanksgiving all passed - if it hadn't been for
Bud and Blackie, I would have been painfully alone.  Sure, Bud and I made
the holiday circuits.  The celebrations were all alcohol-free, but plenty
of good food and a lot of other lonely people.

Couldn't help but wonder if these solo souls with concerned expressions
were traumatized as kids.  Were these the people who grew up to use drugs
and alcohol to salve their pasts?  Were these the folks who couldn't form
any normal relationships?

That brought me to a strange thought.  Had I been traumatized?  My
childhood problems were a response to my parent's strict beliefs - but
they'd been good parents.  Definitely I had been trauma from Savas abrupt
departure and the incidents leading up to and surrounding his removal from
my life.

As Bud predicted, I was living in the City of Sorrows - the only recourse I
had was drugging, alcohol, promiscuity, screwed romantic relationships or
none at all.  That understanding brought compassion for the lonely souls at
the celebrations we attended.  I was them.

Or would I turn to finding a replacement for Savas and continue to
traumatize myself repeatedly until I found myself incarcerated?

Hell of a holiday filled with those thoughts.

***


At the end of December, I was pumping home with Blackie in his rucksack,
when I got a text message.

"Probably Bud wanting to go to some New Year's party or another open
house..."  I thought.  He was trying to help me pick up my spirits -
holiday music, dances, dinners - always following a meeting, but that
didn't bother me, meetings kept my only friend healthy.

Checking the message while I walked Blackie, I saw it was from Milo.  There
was only a wink followed by a phone number with an out of state area code.

I called the number, and almost fainted.  Savas!

"Wyatt - are you still my friend?"  The voice was soft and low.

"Forever."  Tears stung my eyes - Savas finally called.  "Blackie, too.  We
miss you so much."

"They said I couldn't come back to the marina - ever."

"That's a good idea.  Things are changing down there.  But - but are you
all right?  How are you doing?"

"I'm with my great aunt now.  I'm in home school until next fall."

"You like it?"

"It's okay, but I think she doesn't like me."  His whisper was slow,
without any sparkle or emotion.

"Can I send you a gift?"  I asked.

"I have to go to bed - the medicine makes me sleepy."

"I love you Savas, you're a brave boy.  I'll send some pics.  Call me
anytime - day or night, call me.  I'll be here."

He hung up.

***


The next day I went around the marina and took photos of Milo, Len, Pascal
and a few of the workers who'd shown Savas kindness.  They were all holding
Blackie and all of them grinning and then I forwarded them on to Savas via
text.

I got a message back that they couldn't transfer the photos to a landline.
Calling the number back several times I only got an answering machine,
"Please leave your name and number after the tone."

Now, I had to wait for him to call again, if he would, and I could get an
email address.

Two weeks later, he called - the phone number he was calling from was
blocked.

"How are you doing?  Are you tired again?"  I asked.

"More pills...  My aunt sent me to a hospital."

"Why are you sick?  What's wrong?"

"My shrink says I have to take my pills."  His words were slurred.

"Okay, give me your email address - I'll send you some videos and photos."

"JSwan.pt@SWHI.org" I smiled, but puzzled by the address.

I kept sending emails, and I noticed they were opened - yet I got no
response.

My notes included Len moving our shop off the Marina and into a cove to the
south, closer to the border but close enough to Coronado to get plenty of
work.

***


Fiberglass repairs became a bigger part of our work in our new shop.  Now I
had my own portable shed to keep the fumes and dust off the luxury boats
that just kept coming through as if our shop were the Panama Canal.  Len
had built a great reputation at the marina, so we had a good base of
moneyed clientele and their families.

Managing my own repairs, I hired a part-timer remembering Len's past
kindness - and fed him lunch everyday till he got back on his feet.  From
what I could tell, he slept behind the shop and cleaned up at the local
fast food place.

Len hired a water-wise gal to handle the front desk and chase parts.

"I'm not his office girl!" she'd say and roll her eyes, but she brought in
kayak and canoe business.  Her name was Cara, a new graduate from the local
community college.

We took in almost anything that would float.  Some yachts were ancient
queens from years ago - vintage restoration is lucrative.  Surfboards,
windsurfing boards, kayaks, canoes, and inflatable craft - Cara would
accept anything she thought we could manage.  Business boomed, and we were
working late with a six full-time employees.

Bud and I bought a condo together in Imperial Beach and I sent pictures to
Savas, wondering where he was.  My emails were always opened - I began
wondering if he opened them or someone else.

Still, I asked him to call, with every message.

"Call collect anytime."  I left my phone, Bud's and the number at work.

Each email was signed, "Love, Blackie and friends."

***


As I unpinned all the photos I'd taken of Savas off my bedroom wall before
our move, Bud came in.

"It's time to give it up.  He's in some kind of institution now.  No
telling what happened after the fiasco at the marina.  Some kids carry the
shame of their families as if it's their fault.  He'll never be the same."

"Bud, I know he's out there and thinking about us.  I just know it."

Savas' body was probably was barreling toward the hormonal rush of puberty,
but for now he was in the strange time of before puberty - his body was
waking up from childhood and readying to move toward manhood - a rocky
time.  He needed me.  Though my middle and high school years were spent in
self-imposed isolation from the shame of homosexuality with no place to
turn - I knew I could give Savas some help through his changes.

True to Bud's prediction, I became obsessed with giving every young teen in
the area a visual examination wondering the whole time if Savas would look
like him - it had been nine months since the Labor Day incident when Savas
was taken.

I reprinted the photos I took of Savas and framed them and hung them facing
my bed in my new place - nothing but Savas in my mind and my bedroom.

Fortunately, Bud acquired some great furniture through his connections, and
we had a home.  Somewhat mismatched furnishings; somewhat mismatched
inhabitants, but maybe we weren't...

***


Blackie and I slept together and I rubbed him along the same places that
Savas liked to touch, the fine hair along the sides of his belly, the soft
places behind his ears and I massaged his delicate ankles and remembered
the beautiful, graceful boy standing in front of me with the sunlight
behind him.

Smooth skin, delicate ankles - and Savas was growing, surely.  I wondered
about how tall he was, if he was at a gangly stage or if his feet, hands
and head were temporarily out of proportion - did he still keep his hair
cut short so it drew into curls around his face?

Why was he seeing a shrink and taking such strong medications?

The sound of his voice was becoming vague and I depended on the photos I'd
taken to remember his smile.  I fell asleep every night wondering if I
would ever hold him in my arms again.

***


Researching the facility from Savas' last email, I only found out it was a
very expensive place, secured and gated.  It was some kind of hospital for
children and featured a school and acres of landscaped desert.

It was outside of Tempe - dry and dusty.

Tried mailing Savas, but all my letters came back "Return to Sender."

My thoughts wandered to why he was there so long - had he been so badly
hurt that he couldn't heal?

I went into a deep denial about him not contacting me.  Just couldn't
accept the thought that he might not want me in his life anymore.


Part 4


Bud, acting more like a mother, brought home a parade of men for me to
meet, hoping I'd find romance or a quickie.

"Wyatt, gay men get married now.  You can adopt.  Make a home and a family
- maybe you'll get some boys of your own.  Let Savas go - he'll never spend
all the family money in his lifetime, so he's set - he's probably met
another friend by now."

"Not wired that way and wasn't it the money that got him into all this?
Think about it - the family felt as if they could buy their way out of
anything...  The kid never had a chance."

Several weeks later, Bud brought home another one.  I didn't want to come
out of my bedroom.

Like a stubborn child.  "I'm sleeping!"

"Get your sorry, depressed butt down here now.  It's about Savas."

Well, I barreled down the stairs to find a short, slender African-American
woman with Bud, she carried a small attaché.

I winced.  Was this some kind of a dirty trick?

"Wyatt, meet Twila.  Twila, this is the guy that's been mooning over a kid
that, well - came from a difficult home."

Of course, I shook her hand and pushed my hair back, trying to look decent.

"This is Blackie."  I lifted Blackie to my chest, "Savas' best friend - or
he was for a while..."  Tears welled in my eyes, just saying that.

Bud took us to the kitchen and started making real coffee in a real coffee
pot, "Twila is a social worker - met her in the rooms.  She works with
children's rights."  He told me to sit down and listen.

"Now, shut up and stop with the self-pity."

Bud explained how he met Twila.

"I thought she might be nuts when she brought in a kid, what -
twelve-years-old into a recovery meeting?  Kid had drug problems - she was
showing him the recovery ropes until they found a teen meeting for him.
"You know I had to check that out, but I found out she'd helped the kid
with emancipation - kind of like divorcing your parents - it gives the kid
the rights of an adult in the eyes of the law.  She agreed to come over and
talk.  Maybe we can help you out of your on-going funk."

"She works with the county, but she's also working with a group of lawyers
that deals with human rights - kid's rights.  Seems to me like Savas is
being held incognito - like he's being hidden for some reason.  "Even when
I was serving time I had visitors occasionally, phone calls and daily mail.
I could refuse their meds - kids like Savas should have the same rights."

We talked all night, and Twila asked me questions, a lot I couldn't answer,
but I tried.  Savas didn't speak much about his family and I'd never
pressed.

The phone calls and emails I explained, "But I haven't heard from him since
he was at his great aunt's place." I showed her the emails, and the
returned letters.

The next night she came over, I cooked dinner.  She asked me a lot of
personal questions about my life, and I was honest, even about my stint on
the streets getting out of Australia.

"Do you want sex with the boy?  Do you have pedophilic tendencies?  She
asked, staring straight at me.

I stopped, and thought.

"He's a beautiful boy.  When I first met him, yeah - he aroused me and I
had sexual thoughts.  Then, I started to find out what was happening...
First, I felt pity - but I started feeling more protective toward him.  I
couldn't hurt him, and now - after what happened I'm worried sick.  He
needs a home, a real home.  He needs to be in a safe home now."

That was difficult to describe, and now I knew how Bud felt explaining
himself.  "We got Blackie, and for the first time since I met him he was
happy - I'll show you the photos."

"You have photos?"  Twila asked.

"Lots.  Even got Bud in some of them at the animal shelter...  Him playing
with the dog at the marina..."  Like some doting parent, I showed her the
photos and videos of Savas.

I showed her my phone and told her I'd send them to Savas.

"One day, I even heard him laughing - not a care in the world.  And," I
halted.  "Then, that night when he was taken away...  Just haven't been
able to pull myself together for worrying about him.  Now, I just miss him
and it's driving me crazy knowing he could be - well, I don't know...  He's
not the same boy..."

Nothing I'd said seemed to disturb her.

"Do you date?"  She asked.

"Mostly work.  But Bud and I go out during the holidays."  I tried not
sounding like a basement-dwelling freak.

She just nodded.  "What's your full name?"

"Randall Andrew Wyatt - why?"

"Just curious."  She thought for a moment, sipping her coffee.  "Give me
the boy's email address again."

I explained what I found out about the SWHI and told her that's where I'd
tried sending him a letter.

"What is it you want with this boy?  Think about it, why is this of such
concern to you?"  She stared at me, waiting for an answer.

Looking to the side, I had to imagine what I wanted for Savas.  A hundred
things came to mind...

Bud and Twila were talking softly and went to the kitchen, making bowls of
ice cream and cookies for us and came back.

"Okay.  I can't say for sure, but may be gay, and from what I've seen, he's
been exploited and abused.  The only thing I want for him is at least one
parent who can accept him and love him the way he is.  He's a good kid - or
he's trying to be.  Now, Bud told me that abused kids have problems...  But
what do I want, ultimately?  I want him to be happy and safe - give the kid
a chance."

"Where are his parents again?"  She asked.

I had to get up and leave the table while Bud explained about the night
Savas' mother and granddad were taken, and the incidents he'd seen happen
with Milo and me.  Then, he explained that we'd never seen the father, and
couldn't locate him.

After several hours of conversation, Twila seemed upset with the situation
and asked to come back next week, she wanted to do her own research, and
asked me for my social security number and birth date.

"Why?"  This was getting too personal.

"Background check, if you don't mind."

That made me nervous, "I'm clean.  But, why do you want to check my
background?"

"Can you trust me on this?  Don't think I'm looking for any dirt - I'm
seeing how squeaky clean you are."

"Everything he's said is true as far as I know, and I can vouch for him
being home every night.  The only part I didn't witness was the night the
boy was taken away, but that will be in the police reports."  Bud paused
and looked at her.

"Would a background check on him really help the boy?"  I asked.

"It could.  You'll have to be patient and let me consult with several of
the lawyers my partner works with.  Can you do that?"

"What have I got to lose?"  I told them and gave Twila my information.

***


It took over a month before I heard from Twila, but she did do a background
check, and an extensive one.  Len told me he'd gotten a call from an agency
that reviews people for government security clearances.

"You going into the FBI or something?"  Len asked.

"No, I'll tell you later, but don't worry - it's all okay.  It's for a
friend."  I smiled thinking of maybe seeing Savas again.

There was a different car parked in front of our condo, and I thought Bud
had brought home another potential boyfriend for me.

It was Twila.  She and Bud were sitting at the dining table with coffee and
cookies.  I sat down and immediately started a barrage of questions.

"Did you find Savas?  Is he all right?  What happened?"

"Have you ever had a girlfriend?"  She grinned and sipped her coffee.

I fumbled for an answer, "Well, no..."

Twila stood up and came by my chair and kissed my forehead, "Now you do,
and start acting like one - we're going to Tempe."

I stared at Bud.  "You do me good, Bud.  How can I ever repay you?"

"Buy me out of the condo.  You can't have a conv- a man like me in your
home.  Thinking of retiring in Las Playas, maybe Ensenada - almost time for
me to get out of the city."

Things were happening so fast, my head spun.  It spun in a gyre around
Savas.

***


With Bud leaving, I made a proposal to Len.

"Let's start board sales and rental.  We can set up a place on the beach
with an instructor and advertise in the tourist sites in Australia and the
surfer sites.  We'll ride high during the summer, repair in the winter, and
we could hire an instructor for the wind surfing..."

"You set it up, and we'll do it.  The space here is expensive, so do
everything on wheels so we can store it in the garage at night."  Was his
response.

Days, I worked on pulling all that together.  Len and I found a truck and
had it repainted with "Len's Board Rental & Classes."  Nights, I worked the
books and continued with the fiberglass repairs - double shifting but I
needed the money.

Now my days began at five with Blackie at my side and I went home to fall
on the bed to sleep until the next day.

"Office girl Cara" wasn't pleased with having increased duties but she
helped us find two incredibly hot female instructors and advertised classes
and rentals in some interesting places.  Even got her mug on the cover of a
magazine touting the entrepreneurial spirit of our business.

That's when she wasn't miffed anymore about the extra work.  She wanted to
manage the rental, sales and classes herself, and suggested we get a
part-timer to help in the shop during the summer season.

That small sideline didn't hurt business when we carried a line of wetsuits
and accessories on our website for sale.  We started buying old boards to
repair and took trade-ins.  Len hired a bookkeeper and another guy in the
shop.  We were upping our business profile with all the new expansion and
the shop income showed it.  I saved every penny I could.

Everyone at the shop was riding high - I rode high on the thought of seeing
Savas.

***


Once a week for the next month, I met with Twila and her partner.

Twila's partner Monika gave me "boyfriend lessons."  That was awkward at
first, but holding hands and smiling were important, she said.  Twila's
lover was a tall, stocky Latina with an irritating, demanding nature.  She
used her courtroom-voice with me.

"Listen!  When you go into this place, put your arm around her waist at the
back and smile.  Touch lightly, you're not giving her a bear hug - you want
to look modest and respectable.  You're glad to be there, and concerned
about the child.  When you meet Savas, stay in character!

"You can shake Savas' hand; you can give him a one-second hug but not more!
You hear me?  Look like `straight and narrow' personified!  Keep the
conversation on Savas' health and happiness - be supportive and act like a
saint.  Tell him to do his best to get well.  "We're researching his
treatments now, so don't get him upset or encourage any rebelliousness -
remember he's at their mercy after you leave so don't make it hard on him."

She didn't let up!

"Stop with this `I' thing.  Say `we.'  You have a girlfriend, remember,
planning to get engaged.  Watch some sappy chick flicks if you need some
help understanding what that looks like."

Then she said something very odd.

"Don't ever use my name.  Don't even mention it.  I have a reputation."

***


Twila worked through a network of other social workers.  After a series of
letters and emails to the facility with first, the supervisor of social
workers, then the director of the facility, and keeping Savas' guardian
informed, I was ready - I mean we were ready.

My nights were now filled with what I would say first to Savas during our
brief hug.  Would he be a changed boy?  That thought haunted me.

Bud bought me an outfit, uncomfortable, but I could wear a button down
collar and a tie.  I balked at the loafers, but I had to do this for Savas.
He took me to his stylist and had my hair cut much shorter than I was used
to, but I endured it.

Blackie thought I'd gone nuts, but wanted to play with the tie like he did
with my socks.

Seemed nothing was getting in the way of Twila and me visiting the
facility.  She'd requested that we be able to take Savas on an outing to a
famous old creamery for ice cream; one visit on premises, and one outside
the hospital.

Len let me have two days off during the week and I met Twila at the airport
with a small bag.

We were both quiet during the trip, thinking.  I reached over and squeezed
her hand.

"You know he may not look well..."  She said.

"Yeah.  I thought about that.  It's okay."

"Don't look shocked."

"I know - I'll smile."

***


In Tempe, we got a cheap rental car and left for the hospital immediately.
We passed through their security gate without problem.  They were expecting
us.

My stomach became queasy as we entered the building.  The front desk was
secured behind a thick sheet of plastic with small holes drilled in it like
the cashier's booth in a liquor store.  Were they expecting armed robbery?

Piped music played subdued recreations of very old music.  It seemed
strange.  I didn't hear any children.

Noticing the cameras, I placed my arm around Twila's waist, lightly and
gave a weak smile to the receptionist.

A worker with a security card opened the doors and we were led through a
maze of hallways until we were taken to an office and told to wait outside
the door.  "SWHI Director, Dr. Carlos Menendez."

I squeezed Twila's hand, my anxiety or maybe excitement was building.

Though I'd not held any rancor against women, I had a sudden and deep
respect for this underpaid social worker who took two days off for Savas
and me.  She may have felt as awkward beside me being lesbian and touting
we were planning to be engaged.  Stranger things have happened, I'm sure
but she was helping me to see Savas...

Twila and Monika had their own agenda, and I would return her favor
somehow.

***


Dr. Menendez opened the door a few moments later, welcoming us with a soft
voice.

Without thinking, "How is Savas?  Is he all right?"

Twila jumped in, "My fiancé has worried since the boy's parents were
taken.  We are aware of the trauma you're treating for, and we're
concerned.  A little support from an old friend might help you and the
boy."  She held up her phone with a picture of Blackie and Savas.

"The dog - that's the dog he's always talking about.  We thought he was
delusional."

The doctor glanced at me, "And you - you're Savas' friend?  How did you
meet him?"

I smiled, "Well, he met me really.  You know how boys are - he came into
the shop where I worked on the marina because I had a bike he wanted to
ride.  He started coming over everyday to talk to the mechanics.  He knew
everyone on the grounds - seemed like his parents didn't watch over him too
closely - so the employees took that role most of the time."

"Very unfortunate - lost most of his family though his mother might be out
in - what?  Six or eight years?  But that's the past, and we're trying to
help him forward.  He's tried to escape several times and we had to up his
meds.  But the hours he's awake, he's trying, I think.  That's a lot to get
over, and well, there was another incident."

"Medical?"  Twila asked.

"Yes.  That's the reason his guardian and his great aunt sent him here.
He's all right now and we're still working with him; physical therapy, art
therapy, treatments and counseling.  He's been in something of a blue mood
for a while.  But we hold hope for him."

The doctor paused, "You know he thinks he's homosexual, don't you?"

With the most thoughtful expression I could muster, I glanced at Twila.
"We suspected as much, and it doesn't make him less a child who needs a
friend."

"We have to keep him isolated much of the day so he doesn't disturb the
other boys while he's in being treated for his issues."

My stomach tensed as I recalled some of the "gay cures."

"Well, we try to keep a calm atmosphere, so I ask you to keep your
conversation positive with him."

With that he picked up the phone, "Send a nurse from C-7 unit for a
visitation with Mr. Ashton."

"Our facility may seem extreme to you, but know that some of our patients
need to be safe.  It may be disturbing, but our children are at risk for
self-abuse and suicide.  Some will be institutionalized all their lives."

"Thank you for keeping him safe."  I mumbled.

Twila nodded and we left.  A nurse dressed in slacks and a sports coat
accompanied us back through the maze as Twila asked about the medical
incident.

"Self-abuse, I'm sure you understand that most of our clientele is prone to
that."

We were left alone in a small, bare room with only four metal chairs bolted
to the floor.  A few moments later, the door opened, and a tall
African-American man stuck his head in the door.

"You here to see Mr. Ashton?"  He asked.

Twila nodded and I steeled myself.

"You have a supervised visit.  I'm gonna stay with you."  The man said, and
then turned to the hallways.  "C'mon Savas, you only got thirty minutes."

My heart was pounding out every other noise around me as a bundled body
entered the room.  I could recognize a few curls sticking out from under
his hood, but he kept his head down and shuffled into the room in plastic
sandals.  Savas wore a pair of baggy, new jeans, and he was the opposite of
the capricious, sparklingly brave boy I once knew.

He stopped inside the door, and I couldn't help myself.  I went to him and
held him against me.

Savas didn't respond.

"You're gonna be alright - Blackie says so."  I felt his body jerk and
heard him crying.

"Hey, little man, don't cry.  I'll have to take you back to your room."
The orderly said.

I lifted his face with my finger and saw those beautiful dark eyes
fluttering as his tears streaked his face.

"This is Twila - you'll like her."  I remembered my role.

He looked at Twila and then me.  With as small a motion as I could make
happen, I gave Savas a half-wink.

"Are you still my friend?"  He choked out.

"I told you I'd always be your friend - can't get rid of me."

"Can I go home with you?"  No preliminaries here, he wanted to leave.

"Come here.  Tell me what happened.  You tried to escape?"

"Yeah.  My physical therapist, Ms. Swan let me see your emails but she
can't write back - she's monitored.  I know you don't work on the marina
anymore and you moved, but I thought I could find you if I got out."

I moved my chair close to Twila's and brought Savas to my side between us
while the African American watched.

"Are you trying to get well, to get strong again?  Are you helping the
doctors?"

"They make me go to sleep, then they talk and talk and talk, but sometimes
I go to the gym."  He snuggled closer.  "Would you still be my friend if I
was fat?"

Twila took his hand, but I put my head close to Savas', "I'll be your
friend what ever way you are.  I don't care about that, I care about you."
I tapped the front of his jacket.

We continued what I felt was a very shallow conversation with our chaperone
smiling when Savas spoke up.  Savas went through the pictures on my phone
of Blackie and Bud, almost smiling.

"I remember Bud, that's your step-dad!"  Then, "Oh, yeah, the animal
shelter - does Blackie still have his...  You know."  His small, pale hand
went to his groin.

"Yep.  But he's always trying to find a girlfriend so I have to keep him on
a leash in the neighborhood."  I put my other arm around Twila.  "Have you
made any friends in here?"

He shook his head, looking at me.

His face!  It was full and round almost like a baby's face.  I smiled and
touched his nose.  "Think you can make a friend sometime soon?"

He only glanced at me with an odd expression.  "Probably not in here."

As the tall man stood to escort Savas back to his room, "The kid hasn't
said that much since he got here."

***


On our way out, I held Twila's hand.  The nurse politely showed us the gym,
the music room and the cafeteria.  Everything was pastel green and pasty
white colored.

We didn't see any children in the hallways or hear any voices.  Strange -
the website stated they had around sixty children in residence.

When we got in the car, I started the engine and turned the air conditioner
on.  Feeling somewhat empty and rather peculiar about seeing Savas act so
differently - I needed some clarification.  Savas didn't appear healthy to
me - not at all.

I turned to Twila, "What's going on in there - doesn't seem like a hospital
to me.  It's been almost a year and he's not looking healthy at all for
living in a hospital."

She just dug around inside her jacket and pulled out a small tape recorder
and pulled the wire out of the arm of her jacket.  Twila recorded
everything!

"Get a clue Wyatt.  This hospital recruits the rich kids and makes them
more unbalanced to keep their profit margin juicy.  This isn't a place to
get well; this is a place to bend little minds for corporate profits and
keep the family name clean."  She shook her head.

"Looks like they're using the meds as a form of chemical restraint...
Verboten!"

Stunned.  I was stunned, "How can we get him out?"

"We're allowed one visit tomorrow, probably with a group of kids - to the
ice cream place.  Let's do that.  Ask Savas if you can bring Blackie.  Tell
him that if he smiles three times a day for a week and doesn't cause any
problems, we'll bring the dog and let them run on the grounds.  "I'll see
if we can get all that arranged through the social workers.  Don't say
anything to Savas about anything else."

She winked at me, "You were good today.  Been a long time since a man held
my hand, but you looked the part of my fiancé and played it very
well."

"Do you think I could get him - you know, like adopt him?"

"Probably not adopt, but there are other ways.  Maybe `next friend' or some
kind of guardianship - how are your parenting skills?"

"Well - I think I can do it."  My mind saw Savas and me surfing and running
on the wet sand with Blackie yipping and jumping alongside us.

"I'd sure like to try."

***


We stopped for take-out and went on to the hotel.  Twila turned out to be a
good roommate, though I thought she wouldn't be.

She told me she'd grown up in a house full of brothers and didn't mind my
lack of manners and smelly socks.

Twila stayed on the phone a long time with Monika, and downloaded the audio
tape, then turned to me.

"You're going to have to stay with us on this one.  Monika's getting the
strategy in place now.  It may take a while, but I think we can get him out
- part of a larger plan.  "That's when your problems will start - undoing
all the damage while his hormones peak.  It may be a rough road - sure you
want to go down there?"

I nodded.  "I've thought about that.  I can only try."

"You know he may not be gay, but bisexual - or have some unhealthy
perspective about his sexuality and himself."  She said.

"Okay."  I'd considered that, though I knew he was a gay boy.

"He may have developed some bad habits to survive - like lying and
manipulating.  You'll have to deal with all that."

"I can only do my best.  You'll be in my corner - right?"

"I'll be there."

In my heart, I knew that Savas had enough love for a timid surfer to help
me work things out.

"He may need special counseling."

"What kind?"

"Maybe find a specialized counselor who can help him rebuild his self
esteem - his integrity and clear out some of the lies he's been told.  Help
put his past behind him, and then there's the medical issue - whatever that
means.  He could have gotten into cutting or something, we won't know for a
while."

"I have health insurance, so I'll do all I can."

Did I sleep that night?

No.

From assistant manager of a marine repair shop to a single, working dad
would be an incredible leap.

***


Twila and I went back the next day and waited in the lobby until the tall,
slender African American orderly met us with three children wearing coats,
long pants and sneakers.  We were loaded in a white, unmarked van and the
orderly drove us to the ice cream place near a tourist spot.  Tempe is a
super-heated town in the summer, and the quiet children slowly shuffled
into the parlor at the marketplace looking somewhat peculiar so heavily
dressed.

"Anything you want."  I encouraged them.  "My treat."

Though the kids were polite enough there was no expression on their faces.
They walked up to the counter and ordered small cups of yoghurt or sherbet.

 "They said we have to watch our weight - the nurse said one scoop only."
The girl offered.

Though the kids were dressed well, they smelled like they needed a bath or
maybe it was their clothes - they reminded me of the homeless people who
slept in their clothes and didn't take them off until they found some
cleaner ones.

Oddly, all the kids were bundled as if they expected a snowstorm.  All had
chubby faces, and all were very quiet - moving slowly toward the African
American man with their cups, and sitting quietly at a his table.

Savas' eyes were a little brighter today.  He hadn't washed his face, but I
overlooked it.

Twila and I sat with the rest of the group and I asked if they'd seen
Savas' dog, Blackie, and I showed them the photos on my phone.  Then I
showed them the pictures from the animal shelter.

"You got to pick out your own dog?"  The girl asked.

Savas turned to me as if he'd forgotten for a moment, then he looked back
at my phone.

"Remember?  That's my step-dad, Bud, and that's Blackie."  I pointed to the
picture of Bud and Savas.  "Here's my favorite picture..."

I showed them the pictures of Blackie standing on Savas chest.

"Have you ever seen a Hollywood Kiss?"  I asked the kids.  Bad idea.  The
two kids' faces blanched and their eyes widened.  Luckily, Savas smiled and
explained how he used popcorn in his lips to get Blackie to kiss him as he
took the treat.

That seemed to earn Savas a few points among his peers.

Twila asked the kids about their favorite activities.  That seemed to take
a lot of concentration by the kids before they answered.  One kid said he
liked the music groups, and the other one liked when her parents visited.
They didn't say anything more.  The kids were mini-zombies but kept eating
and watching the tall African-American escort.

As we walked toward the van, several local children flew past on bikes and
skateboards - none of the children with Savas stopped walking or turned to
look.  I knew enough to know that kids are usually interested or attracted
to other kids and what they're doing.  Not this group - it was as if they
were almost ashamed, or completely unaware of the others around them.

Before we got out of the van at the hospital, the orderly asked for my
phone number.  I gave it to him, but wondered why.

"If you want to send Savas something, send it through me.  Otherwise he
won't get it."

I nodded and kept my mouth shut, unsure about the man's intentions, but the
kids weren't upset around him, and he was always respectful to them.

Before we left, Twila and I hugged Savas and told him to stay strong.

"Be brave, my sweet friend - I'll be back."

We left him standing behind a locked glass door, crying.

***


Every two weeks, Twila and I visited the hospital, driving so Blackie could
join us.  Every two weeks, Savas and any other children we saw were heavily
dressed in the heat and all still needed baths it seemed.

It was all so strange to me, like we were in a different world when we
visited Savas.  Twila just bit her lip as we continued encouraging Savas
and the other children.

Twila told me to keep reassuring Savas he would get well and leave.

So every two weeks we brought books, markers, comic books, to the
slow-moving group that seemed to be more interested in becoming friends
with Savas.  Maybe I was bribing them with sugar-free gum and small treats
that I handed out while they played with a very patient Blackie.

Every two weeks, I told my Savas to be brave and stay strong.

***


Twila and I became close friends - she gave me information about parenting
sites and encouraged me to become involved with some of the local foster
parent support groups.  She explained parenting styles; authoritative,
indulgent, uninvolved and so forth.  The attachment parenting interested
me.  When she brought up equality in parent-child relationships, she had a
lot to say - lots of good ideas that altered the way I thought about Savas
and children in general.

Intergenerational equity was a new term for me, but I understood that
Savas' childhood included few, if any other children.  He'd survived in an
adult world.  My parenting would, by necessity, have to take a different
tack than most other parents.

She gave me a lot of information about working with traumatized children
and I realized that Savas had such a long road to wholeness ahead of him.
After all that information, I wasn't daunted.

Did I still love him?  More than ever, and now I respected his courage, his
perseverance and I knew he loved me.  Though our relationship seemed barely
a thread, his heart and mine were tightly bound together with a love that
was thin but holding.

Strange being at the institute with the children, but what was coming would
be stranger than I could imagine.

Part 5



Twila told me we weren't going to visit Savas for a month.

"Prepping for our day in court."  She said curtly, "Practice.  Your
proceedings are going to have an impact on a lot of other children."

Monika, Twila and I met often for legal updates - she sent news articles
every day about the gay and lesbian attorneys across the nation taking a
stand against "conversion therapy," and procedures forced on gay children
and transgender youth.

All the treatments seemed so barbaric - like doctors and mental health
experts dredged up tortures from centuries ago to use on children.  Then
these places had the gall to charge incredible sums of money to excise the
children's "abnormalities."

The battle lines were drawn.  Groups of attorneys were meeting in Arizona,
California and across the US.  There were several issues - the first was
closing the institute for what seemed like an incredible list of
violations, the second was about Savas' guardianship then further changes
to state and federal laws.

Monica's troupe didn't stop there.  Savas' guardian in the law office was
investigated for neglect and abuse - he hadn't even seen Savas, only
received emailed updates from the administration of the institute.

Monika and a group of attorneys involved with children's' rights and LGBTQ
attorneys would be present to represent the Savas and the children who were
receiving ECT treatments at the institute.  That bombshell would probably
cause parents and guardians to empty the institute or face similar charges
of abuse and neglect - though there were plenty other parents on the
institute's waiting list.

Yeah, electro-convulsive shock treatments to cure their homosexuality!
Unfortunately for the children, it erased memories and addled them for a
while.  The length of the treatments was long, and would eventually cripple
the children so they would never leave the expensive institutions from
long-term brain damage.

After Twila explained that to me, I shuddered.

"Did Savas get shocked?"  I asked.  "His brain is still developing, right?"

"We won't know how many until we get all his records...  But I think that's
why he has memory slips."

"How can they get away with disabling my boy?"

"That's why we're going to court - to ask them.  We have to make them prove
it works, and they can't.  It simply doesn't do anything but damage the
kids and has no consistent results on people with depression and other
issues - the equipment is seldom calibrated or checked - they have no idea
what they're doing with the ECT.  "You have to remain very calm in the
courtroom, whatever happens, do not raise your voice and only answer
questions that you're asked.  Be brief and don't give them any extra
information."

I sent boxes of goodies to the orderly who made sure the kids got a treat,
and pictures of Blackie.  Twila guided me - no scissors or anything sharp
or pointed.  Anything possibly edible had to be non-toxic.  Glass and metal
items would be problematic.  So I sent small plush toys, expanding sponge
creatures, crayons, markers, coloring books about sea creatures and popular
action figures, bubbles, sugar-free gum and candies.  These little gifts
were stuffed into the brown boxes and shipped to the orderly every other
day.

Every time I packed a box, I ran my fingers along Blackie and put a few of
his hairs into the box and included a note on the back of a picture of
Blackie and Savas.

"I love you!" and signed it, "Blackie and friends."  Maybe Savas could see
though that.

Sure, I missed seeing Savas.  Every night I concentrated on him and
imagined holding him against me.  I'd concentrate on his face and mentally
tell him to hold on.

"Soon, my sweet boy.  Soon..."

Never could pinpoint when I changed, but my sexual proclivities waned
through all these trips - I was more possessive now that I knew there was a
good chance of holding him again.

***


Then the day came we went to court in Tempe.  Twila bought me a zippered
leather binder for my paperwork and told me what to bring to court.  I was
prepared, but nervous as I dropped off Blackie at work.

Pascal came to hug me when he saw me in slacks and a sport coat.

"Heard through the grapevine you're trying for Savas.  Man, that's ballsy,
but you got my prayers.  The kid needs a dad."

That surprised me.  I suspected he and Len knew what was going on, not all
the details but enough of them.  I hugged him back.

"Thanks.  Thanks for everything - all the time away from the shop and
all..."

"We're all behind you.  Call if we can help."

***


Twila and I went into family court - arguments about Savas' guardianship
transfer would be presented to the judge only - all based on the records
and specific documents from Savas institutionalization.  More importantly,
in family court Savas' name would be kept off public records.  The public
and press weren't permitted in chambers.  Only the officers of the court,
lawyers, the judge and few others offering information were allowed.

Monika and another lawyer from a national LGBTQ organization came into
courtroom and placed a stack of files on their table from the suit they'd
filed against the SWHI along with records they'd obtained about the
employees of the hospital where Savas was treated.

Before Twila and I entered the court, I reviewed some of the complaints
against the institute.  Seems the coats and jackets the kids wore were a
way to hide their bodies - and the lack of bathing was because they didn't
want to be naked - they were vulnerable when they were naked, in a group of
adults that changed every eight hours.

I didn't know this was mental hospital culture, yet it was common enough to
be documented.  It also signaled further problems at the institute - past
and present.

A cadre of five attorneys came in with Savas' guardian.  Savas' guardian
was simply an attorney who worked for the firm who handled the Ashton
family business.

Two attorneys escorted Dr. Menendez as part of the group - I wondered why
but figured he was going to try to promote his treatments and the
reputation of SWHI.

It didn't take long before the wrangling started between the opposing
groups.  Monika cut it short by placing the files from the lawsuit against
the institute on the judge's desk.

The attorneys placed a stack of files on the judge's desk as well.

I was impressed, though I knew there was a lot of bluster and blow in
courtrooms.  This was just the attorneys trying to gain high ground in
front of the judge.  These were the prelims; warm-ups for the coming verbal
brawl.

Twila and I sat behind the Monica and her lawyers, listening and I was in
awe of how Monika and her cohort spoke about children - so different from
my youth.  I was proud that they spoke about my Savas as the bright, smart
boy he was.

I came in to the proceedings as "next friend" for Savas.  Simply put,
Monika wanted the judge to transfer guardianship to me, rather "us."

Monica was like a rabid dog up against Savas' family attorney and guardian
when things got going.

In a red suit and tie, Monica broke through the solemn air of the
courtroom, "We're asking for an audit of Savas' expenses, and after that,
I'm going to prove dereliction of your duties as a guardian.  We've got
more evidence than we need."

She looked at the Ashton family attorneys and Dr. Menendez, "We've already
started a class action suit against the institute, and I'll be more than
happy to give your name to the press as the person who made all this
happen.  We're going to shut the place down and take you along with them."

That caused an immediate huddle among the attorneys for the Ashton family
and the institute.

The judge watched patiently without expression.

Monika didn't let them huddle for long, "You're going to give guardianship
of this child to Mr. Wyatt.  He seems to be the only one on the planet who
honestly cares about this boy."  She stepped near the judge and explained
the lack of contact between the guardian and Savas.  "He never saw the boy
- he paid a nurse and a driver to take him to the institute and completed
the intake online with Dr. Mendez.  He hasn't followed up on anything the
institute has done - he accepted the documents from the staff without
question.  That, in itself shows neglect.  He would have noticed a dramatic
decline in young Mr. Ashton if he'd only visited with him on a regular
basis."

She handed the judge a file folder with copies of Savas' medical records -
I hadn't seen any of that, but Monica felt it was the most substantial
evidence to prove neglect.

There was a lengthy discussion among the lawyers again, and I suspected
they had something more to hide regarding the funds they managed.

Monika charged at the gaggle of attorneys again, "We're asking for a
transfer of guardianship today.  No foster care and no second chances.  The
child has been damaged in the care of the institute that you approved."

The judged leaned back and took all this in, saying nothing as she opened
the folder.

Monika asked that Savas be emancipated to get him out of the hospital
immediately - emancipated in Arizona and under my guardianship in
California if an transfer couldn't be accomplished soon.

I agreed to take a form of guardianship, though the judge seemed leery
until Monika told her that in California I would be subject to the same
laws and reviews that other guardians were required.  She shot a hard look
at Savas' guardian.

"And I'm sure Mr. Wyatt and his fiancé will do fine, I'll personally
make sure of that!"

Savas' former guardian made a point to remind me that he wouldn't be able
to access his trust fund until Savas was twenty-five.  He may have hoped to
see me flinch or respond in some way.

I only nodded.

***


Then, the moment came to bring Savas into the courtroom.  Everyone went
silent as the tall orderly and a young woman escorted him down the aisle.

"Come up here, young man."  The judge said softly.

Savas approached her.

"Come here, beside me so we can talk for a moment."

Savas wended his way through to the judge.

"Do you know these people?"  He asked Savas.

Savas turned and looked around slowly.

"Only the people who brought me...  And Wyatt and Twila."

"Do you know why we're here?"

"You're deciding where I'm going next?"  He asked weakly.

"Well, that's right.  But I'd like to know where you want to go - I don't
mean an amusement park, but where you want to live until you're an adult.
Would you like to go back to your great aunt's house?  She seems like a
nice lady."

"She said I was bad."  Savas said, almost in a whisper.

"Why did she say that?"  The judge asked.

Savas leaned over and whispered to the judge who nodded.

"I see."  The judge told him and thought for a moment.  "Mr. Wyatt is
asking to be your guardian.  Have you told him that?"

"No.  But he doesn't care.  He's my friend, and he loves me."

"He loves you?  How do you know?"

"He brought Twila - when they found me, they visited me..."  He thought for
a moment.  "Before that he took me to get a dog - he has my dog now.  He
was always nice to me..."  Savas stopped to think again.  "He sends me
emails and stuff and told me to be good and try to get well.  But he shows
me he loves me...  We get boxes of goodies almost every day with pictures
of Blackie.  He's my friend."

The judged nodded his head.  "Okay.  That's good to know.  You can go back
outside and wait till we're done here."

Before he left, Savas leaned over to the judge and whispered something to
him.

"Yes.  Yes.  I understand."  The judge said and Savas left, smiling as he
walked away.

Damn good job for an eleven-year-old.

***


After the door closed behind Savas, the judge began.

"Savas has what, seven years before he becomes an adult?  He's already lost
eleven in some very difficult situations that he should never have faced."
She stared at the guardian and his attorneys, "Sir, homosexuality isn't a
medical condition in case you haven't checked the DMS lately.  No need for
treatment."  She paused.  "That makes your decisions about this child
suspect..."

She looked at Twila and me.

"That young man told me he wanted a family.  To be specific, he wants a
father, and I assume that includes a mother as well.  I feel it's time the
child has a home and family for the few years before he comes of age."

The judge looked at Twila and me.  "I'm inclined to transfer
guardianship..."

The knot of attorneys representing Savas' family immediately began another
hushed conversation, but it seemed like the tides were turning in my favor.
I kept a straight face and remained calm and squeezed Twila's hand - she
squeezed back.

But the attorneys with the guardian objected saying that "we" couldn't
afford to keep Savas in the manner to which he was accustomed - they were
saying that I was too poor to be a guardian.

The judge told them to calm down, and reviewed some of the materials Monika
had given her.  Then she looked at Twila and me.

She asked if I was able to afford to keep Savas.

I was proud to say that I was a co-owner of a business and had the
resources that most families had and pulled out my zippered briefcase.  It
was filled with my tax returns and copies of my business paperwork,
mortgage, credit report, background check results organized and tabbed
inside a folder.  Twila passed a similar package to the judge along with
mine.

There was a long pause in the proceedings while the judge reviewed our
paperwork.

No, I didn't have millions, but I had steady income and stability.

It was in that moment I could feel the judge weighing out her decision.
She put our folders down and picked up the information from the suit filed
against the hospital and reviewed the information, then closed them all.

"Mr. Wyatt, proper guardianship involves a lot of time and attention to
detail as well as taking care of Mr. Ashton's schooling and his medical
care.  Are you two aware of what you're getting into?"

Twila squeezed my hand and told the judge that she was experienced in
dealing with guardianship.  She dealt with alternative family structures as
part of her job.

"Maybe we're new at making a home for a child, and that doesn't mean we
can't do a good job.  If every child is important, let us try to help
Savas."

Then the judge asked if I knew Savas was homosexual.

This time, I spoke up.

"He's a child first, with a child's needs that we can manage, I'm sure.
We'll handle any issues about his sexuality as they come up - but we
already planned to find a counselor for him."  Then I spoke the truth,
"Savas' differences - his homosexuality is only one part of him - and one
we cherish as part of the whole child he is."

I surprised myself with being so outspoken about homosexuality, though I
was presenting myself as a pseudo-straight for the court.  All the
information Twila and Monika had given me paid off in that moment.

Through all time, queer folk had conformed to societal constraints long
enough to move forward; I'd just joined their ranks.  In my heart, it felt
like an obtuse lie and I silently vowed not to put myself in this position
again.  Had to wonder if our success would make it easier for other
children in the hospital to find homes with other families.  Then it hit
me, I understood Monika's strategies and timing...

Another strategy came from the Ashton family attorney.  This was an anemic
attempt.

"The paperwork could take years to process - transfer of guardianship is a
precise, detailed process..."

The judge saw through that and rolled her eyes, "You know better than that!
I'll have my staff process the transfer this afternoon."

In a last-ditch effort, the former guardian asked if I was gay, scratching
for a way to retain his control over Savas' funds.

Monika stepped in.

"What?  Are you asking Mr. Wyatt for a date?  That question is completely
irrelevant..."

Then she went on to cite cases where gay parents adopted and fostered
children while I smiled inside, thinking of Savas in my arms.

***


Savas looked great that day, hair trimmed and with a suit and tie - looking
the little businessman.  He waited for us in the hallway with the tall
orderly who'd befriended my boy and "JSwan.pt@swhi.org," the young woman
who came with Savas.

Janice Swan, Physical Therapist at the institute was the one who'd shown my
emails to Savas.  She was beaming with the outcome.  "I prayed every night
that this would happen.  Savas is a bright boy - and so lonely.  I couldn't
withhold a little joy from him.  Sure, I printed out all the photos for him
- he had to know someone cared for him."

Ms. Swan, Twila, Savas, the orderly and I were engaged in a tearful
hug-fest in the hallway, and I glanced at Dr. Menendez as he walked past.

He'd be back in court soon for violations at the institute.

Then, I kept my eyes on Savas as the gaggle of attorneys and Savas' former
guardian left.

Soon enough, another social worker came for Savas - he'd be in a small
group home until we had his paperwork completed within forty-eight hours.

Still a little drowsy, Savas was smiling and glad to leave.  One more stop
before his home with me.

He'd made it!  I leaned down to whisper to him that I loved him more than
he knew.

He gave me a kiss on my cheek.  "I love you, too."

***


Within the week, I was driving the company van to pick up Savas with Twila
and Blackie.  He was coming home with me.  Finally!

At the group home we found him asleep on the couch, with his head on his
bag, dressed in jeans and long tee shirt and sneakers.

"He was so excited last night, he was packed after dinner.  So, I let him
sleep on the couch.  He wanted to wait for you here."  The supervisor of
the group home told us.  "Wake him gently."

Before we left, we had to sign more paperwork.  Then, the group home
manager handed me a plastic bag full of medicine bottles.

"He has to take these, even if they make him drowsy.  These aren't the kind
of medications you can stop cold - he'll get sick if you do."  Twila took
the bag and thanked her.

My boy slept with his head on my lap and Blackie at his feet as we left the
desert and wound through the hills toward California.

Part 6



Unfortunately we didn't make it home that night.

We had to take him to a children's hospital outside El Cajon before he
could come home.  Monika had insisted we get a check up, a second opinion,
and there was the issue of the drug withdrawals.

Twila accompanied us as we went through the intake, then preliminary
checks.  Before Savas undressed, he asked me to wait outside.

A pediatrician admitted him and had several hours of assessments, and then
I got the news in private.

A tall, thin nurse brusquely ushered me to a private alcove and told me
that Savas had injuries on his body - yes his anal area, then she told me
the worst.  Savas had self-mutilated at his aunt's house, but the grand
aunt found him before he could complete his own castration.

Dazed, I choked back tears.  "Castration?"

"The boy said he was the problem in his family.  There were some
name-calling incidents and insults he took to heart.  A plastic surgeon
replaced the testicle that was so damaged it had to be removed.  "He has a
small plastic implant and the area is completely closed now - healed
smoothly."

"Savas needs to stay about ten to twelve days in order to reduce the
medications without withdrawal symptoms, and before a complete psychiatric
assessment is made."

"How much weight has he gained?"  I knew that bothered him.

"About twenty pounds, but reducing the meds will help."  She answered, now
she had tears in her eyes - her hard facade crumbled.

"...and god, I'm glad they're shutting that place down - none of this
needed to happen."

"Is there anything I can do for him now that would help?"

"Getting him out of the institute was the best thing you could do, now,
we'll just have to go moment by moment.  He has a hard few years ahead, but
children are resilient.  Build hope, and reassure him all that's in his
past - building a bigger and better life now."

***


My first day back at work I called my first and only employee meeting and
told them that I wasn't going to take any parental leave, but I would be
bringing a young man with me to work.

"I'm taking guardianship, and I want to ask you to be gentle with my boy."

Len and Pascal were grinning.

"He's been out of the loop for a while, so if you'd go easy on him till
he's back to himself, I'd appreciate it.  For being so young, he's been
through a lot of things, and - well, don't ask about that.  Okay?  Keep it
all in the present or the future."

I pulled out my phone and showed everyone a picture of Savas and Blackie.

"I've been keeping Blackie for him..."

Lots of smiles and congratulations as they looked at the photo, "Now, back
to work.  We've all got kids to feed."  Yep, that felt good to say.

I pulled Len to the side and told him that was what all the background
questions were about.

"Good for you.  Being a dad made me who I am.  I'm glad you got the boy -
Pascal and I are proud of you."

For the first time in my life, an older man told me he was proud of me.

***


Nightly, I visited Savas at the hospital and he did seem to perk up.  He
wasn't the boy I knew, yet there was a tiny glimmer inside him that wanted
to shine brightly again.  The staff at the hospital, especially the brusque
nurse that I met with doted on Savas.  There were stuffed animals and craft
projects all over his room.

He told me he went to the sunroom every day with other kids and played
games.  "But the food here is awful!"  He told me and made a face.  "The
night nurse brings me ice cream sometimes."  That comment heartened me - he
was asserting his thoughts and opinions easily.

Then, the day came I walked Savas into my home.  What a journey, but he was
safe and protected now.

Savas wandered around the house for a while and went to his room, while I
went into the kitchen and made sandwiches.  When he came in he had on one
of my tee shirts over his jeans.  Of course, my shirt hung to his thighs.

"Can we get some clothes?"  He said in a small voice.

"Sure."  I'd already thought this out.  "We're going to get your
measurements and go online, would you like that?"

Then, he hugged me.  I turned and held him against me, a little awkward,
but so relieved.

We stood in front of the sink crying and holding each other like there was
nothing else in the world.

***


Twila and I went online and found a small group of parents who home
schooled their children together three days a week, and the other two days
the children took their classes online in their homes.  Since Savas missed
so much, I encouraged him to work ahead in my office, alongside me as I
continued to work late.

Sure, I was still shaky with the parenting thing, so I kept him with me
when he wasn't in school with the other kids.  He was with me on Saturdays
at the office as well.

Sundays were ours, and we started surfing together.  The exercise helped,
and his skin started changing from pale to a warmer color as we enjoyed
ourselves at the beach.  The pounds, I figured would fall off when health
came back.

That seemed to work, and I loved coating him with sunscreen, even on his
little belly and thicker thighs.

"You're going to have to go to public school to graduate.  I want you to
get all the sports and the clubs."  I told him when he asked when he was
going back to his old school in La Jolla.

He just looked at me.  He'd never been to a public school.  I knew I'd have
to prepare him for the worse, but that didn't happen.

Twila researched the right school for him - she had all kinds of odd
connections to find the best for Savas.

***


Monika and Twila urged me to attend a parent's support group at the LGBTQ
center, "Bring Savas."

With a lot of trepidations, I went and found out that while parents met,
all their children went to an outside area where they played.  I'd always
kept Savas close unless he was in or with an adult I trusted.

A young and very foolish Child Development major was hired to supervise the
children, providing activities and keep things to a roar.  He tried to herd
the kids into relay races, then jumping rope while spouting something about
aerobic exercise - to no avail.  The kids had their own noisy games of
bump, tag and teaching each other the finer points of an underarm fart.

Some of the kids were thumb wrestling while the others joined in a loud
game of dodge ball and they all stopped for fruit and crackers later.  That
became a crumbly mess on top of the strangely worm-like hopscotch squares
one of the kids drew.

Savas had a blast!  I didn't ask if the kids were gay or not, they played
together easily.  Didn't seem to matter for the few moments of remembering
what joy felt like.

Well, that fun kept us coming back, though I didn't have much to contribute
to the other parents - mostly I just listened with the background noise of
children playing.  Beautiful music!

In the parent's group, I did come away with one thing - let Savas bring up
the difficult personal topics when he was ready.  It would help if I used
his words until later when I could bring in the correct terms.

On the way out of the building, I grabbed several business cards from the
front desk - therapists and counselors.

"Maybe one of these guys understands gay boys..."  I figured I'd better
check it out with Twila first, though - no way was I going to put Savas
into another difficult situation of any kind after the therapists at the
institute.

Twila was familiar one of the counselors, and told me how to interview him.
So, for the first time in my life, I interviewed a therapist.

***


Mike seemed very calm and reassuring to me.  He had a very positive
attitude about children's sexuality and I felt comfortable with him.
Although he worked with psychologists who could prescribe medications, he
didn't want to use meds if he could help it.  That was the comment that
sold me on him.

Before I left that day, he handed me an envelope.

"What's this?"  More paperwork probably...

"Homework.  Savas will bring you exercises every week, and I'll be sending
you parenting information to help you with the issues he brings up.  I
can't counsel him alone - you're his primary partner in recovery.  "Trauma
runs deep, and you need to establish a strong relationship with him -
you'll need to be sensitive to his needs when he can't express them, and
respond creatively.  Stay close enough to sense his changes then lead
subtly by showing, not telling."

Savas started going to a shrink.

Never thought I'd have a boy, much less one going to a shrink every week!
But it seemed to help; Savas began to relax a little more - he wasn't so
apathetic about some things and distracted by what seemed like meaningless
details to me.  Mike was very discrete, and I didn't ask Savas what they
discussed.

Savas was in charge of the homework Mike sent for us to complete.  The
first one we had to complete was about relationships.  We had to prioritize
a list of what we needed in our relationship - what we felt the most
important.  The list we were given included honesty, communication,
affection, respect, privacy...

I had to explain some of them, and I put my numbers in the spaces with love
at the top of my list followed by affection and honesty.

Savas wasn't so proper.  He wrote "Blackie" on the top of his list and
grinned.

Not wanting to correct him, I nodded and smiled.  Not sure what Mike would
think of that, but I learned a lot from that exercise about what Savas
needed from me.

***


Sure, I was afraid Savas might cut again or worse, so I had a rule to keep
all the doors in the house open, "It's a man cave thing."  I told him.

For the first few months after he came home with me, he slept on the couch.
Though I thought it was unusual, I didn't say anything.  He and Blackie
owned the couch every night and slept soundly - both snoring softly.

After a session with Mike, Savas showered and came into the living room
where I was on my computer, reading a parenting site that Mike had sent me
on social constructs.  Very interesting way of looking at how I saw Savas
and myself in our world - a lot to think about...  It also freed me to be
more creative in how I parented and talked to my boy.

Savas came behind my chair and put his arm around me and kissed my temple.
Odd for a twelve year old, but highly unusual for Savas - he'd been rather
guarded.

"I love you."  He whispered so softly I could barely hear it.

Turning slowly, I kissed his cheek.  "I love you Savas.  I'm glad we're
together."

"Mike said I could ask you for affection..."  He was something at a loss
for what to say next.  "Would that be okay?"

My heart thumped madly - this was what I wanted, and now I had to guard
myself against doing anything that could trigger a bad memory - boy-lust
wasn't coming back.

"What would you like?"

He led me by the hand and took me to the couch.  "Hold me."

Gathering him in my arms and holding him against me, kissing his hair and
stroking his back I remembered hearing that touch was healing.  I felt
stronger by the moment and unsure of the source of the strength.

From that night on, every evening we sat together with me stroking his hair
or his arm.  Sometimes he leaned into me, and sometimes he laid his head on
my lap while I rubbed his back and we watched music videos with Blackie.

Looking back, I remembered that I'd only held him closely one time - except
in my dreams.


Part 7



Several weeks later, Bud called - he wanted to visit.

I put his call on speakerphone and Savas was polite but didn't say too
much.

"Sure, come on by - we'll grill burgers."  I told him.

Savas was quiet all evening after the phone call, so when it came time for
our evening snuggle, I asked him if he was upset with Bud.

"He's gonna ask me about it, like why I'm not with my family or at the
marina."

"You'll meet people like that.  You can tell them it's not their business,
or tell them you don't want to discuss it.  But you have to say something
or they'll keep asking."

He looked at me, thinking.

"Let's practice."  I said, and screwed my face into a fussy expression and
used a funny voice.  "Well, Savas, why aren't you at the marina anymore?"

He opened his mouth, but didn't say anything.

I went to his ribs and started tickling.

"Hey, kid where's your grandfather?"  I kept tickling him until he couldn't
help laughing.  "Didn't you used to be at the marina all the time?"

Finally, he caught on and began yelling, "None of your business!"  Then,
"Shut up - butt out."

"You tell `em, Savas.  Tell `em and walk away!"  I pulled him up against my
chest.

When Savas caught his breath, I took my index finger and drew a line in the
air beside him.

"On that side is the past.  Won't happen again.  "On this side," I touched
his heart; "this is your life now.  No one knows what you don't say.  So
keep all the hurt from the past on the other side of the line.  It'll
always be there, but it can't come over here again."  With that, I kissed
his hair and pressed my palm against his chest.

He stared at me for a moment, and then nuzzled his face in my neck.  I
could feel his tears.  I could also feel his tense muscles; I pulled him
onto my lap.  I kissed his hair and stroked him gently.

"I love you."  We stayed embraced for a long time - my skin was thirsty for
his warmth through a bittersweet moment.

***


When Bud pulled in the driveway, I went out to meet him with Savas.  Bud
looked great, trim and incredibly tan.  That's why the show-off wanted to
visit.

The first thing Bud asked Savas was about Blackie and the "spray and
noodle" business.

"Still got his nuts, right?"  He squatted down and lifted Blackie's tail,
inspecting.

Savas grinned and hugged Bud around the neck - seemed all his anxiety
evaporated with the inspection of Blackie's reproductive system.

"Good to see my guys together and doing well - all three of you."  Bud
kissed my cheek and handed me his duffle bag, and reached into the trunk.
He brought food!  Fruits and cheeses, fresh tortillas, tomatoes and
avocados - dinner, his tradition.

The next day, Bud took Savas shopping for new clothes and shoes - then they
cleaned out all the old clothes from his bedroom, taking them to the
donation center.  Savas eyes were now at my shoulders, his legs longer, and
we were still working on his weight, but that became suddenly easier.

The Bud and Savas also brought a big bag of vegetables from their shopping
trip.

"Wyatt, we're eating junk - our food pyramid only has three sections,
sugar, carbs and oil.  "Gotta get cracking and eat better."  Savas told me
as he and Bud washed the produce.

I noticed that a box of very dry Nordic-type crackers that I felt like
tasted like Blackie's kibble.  We made salad and "kibble" for dinner.  Not
much to my liking, but I tolerated it without comment.

Bud must have had something to do with that, and I felt a twinge of guilt
for the way we ate - being a single parent and responsible for almost
everything caused me to cut a lot of corners.  Like home-cooked meals.  A
home-cooked meal meant more than a sandwich or something out of a box or
the freezer.

The next day, Savas took Bud and Blackie to the beach with Cara to rent
surfboards.  They stayed all day on the sands - I heard they did well at
the volleyball area.

When they came back exhausted after a lucrative day for the business - they
carried bags of low-cal submarine sandwiches on whole-wheat cardboard bread
without chips.

Smiling, I ate "lite" and enjoyed it somewhat.

The next night, after nutritional negotiations, I was allowed to cook the
hamburgers and even eat one under Savas' guilt-inducing watch.  He made a
point of slicing his burger in half and wrapping part for the next day.
This new diet thing was cramping my old ways but I could adapt - at least
till Bud left.

The best part of that visit was Savas coming into my room to sleep with me.
Bud slept in Savas' room.

I knew that beds were a place a lot of Savas' pain had occurred, and I kept
my touch light, but I held him and smelled the boy I loved.  His hair was
suffused with the aromas of grilled burgers and the sea.

The scents of my happy, tired boy.

Part 8


Summer came, and the tourists and students kept Cara busy with rentals -
boaters called asking for instant repairs.  We did our best working through
the backlog and letting my staff off a day here, and a day there...

I knew Independence Day and Labor Day were anniversaries of traumatic
events for Savas, so, I planned for them.

On Independence Day weekend, our staff came to the beach to help handout
sunscreen packets and we made snow cones all day.  This was a business
promotion for Cara's board rentals and classes as well as a picnic at the
beach for all the staff.

Savas now sported a rather ragged, but charming "surfer boy" look.  His
dark, full locks were almost down to his shoulders; he refused to pull it
into a ponytail as I'd done.  Instead he opted for a shaggier look with
dark waves falling over his forehead to his eyes.  Yes, there was the
constant head swinging to keep it out of his face.  I'd been through that
same phase.

Savas staffed the snow cone equipment, grinding the ice and filling the
cups with mounded ice chips and covered them with the sticky red syrup in
his plastic gloves.

He smiled and handed out the cups with our logo stamped on the front,
giving special attention to the other boys who came for a treat.  Their
lips were deep red from the fructified scarlet syrup.  We raffled off
several gift certificates to the crowds and kept the pop music blaring by
the company van through the entire weekend.

As crowds milled around the snow cone machine and I took a lot of photos of
Blackie and Savas.  Mostly, I wanted to remember how well Savas got along
with my employees and working with the public like a champ.  He smiled and
sang along with the music, swaying to his favorite tunes and joked with the
younger children.  Every trace of that sad boy in the hospital completely
vanished the behind the stack of cones and gallons of syrup.  God, we'd
both come a long way, and it was working out so far.

I may have enjoyed myself for a few moments as well.  That worried new
parent from my past completely vanished for a time.

Labor Day was another affair all together, but I made surreptitious plans
to take Savas to visit Bud in Mexico.  Savas wasn't supposed to be out of
the country but this was in the days before people needed passports to
cross the border for a day so no one would know.

We left early and crossed at Tecate, stopping along the way for pastries
and coffee.  Yes, I gave the kid coffee laced heavily with cream and honey.

He liked that and wanted more.  I pointed to the bottles of water in my
backpack.

"Diet!"

"I lost all the weight!"  He pulled his shirt up to show me his tanned lean
torso.

"My diet!  Remember?"  I teased him, but pulled over and bought cups full
of fresh melon chunks and pineapple.

We picked up Bud at his small stucco bungalow painted a bright aqua and
covered in bougainvillea.  It was nestled in a small cluster of houses and
trailer homes - something of an informal retirement village for a small
group of internationals.  He was only a few blocks from the ocean, on a
small rise facing the west.

He strode out to the car in shorts, sandals and a tank top, looking good
for a geezer, and then we headed south to La Bufadora.  The closer we got
to the "blow hole," where the waves sent water crashing and flying, the
more quiet Savas became.

I pulled over at a small town and asked Bud to pump gas while I took Savas
down the street under the pretense of looking for fresh papaya.

"Are you okay?"  I asked, hoping I could fix whatever upset him.  Maybe it
was the coffee...

"Granddad used to bring me here."  He had a worried look on his face.

"Where's you line that keeps the past in the past?"

He made a feeble attempt at redrawing the line I'd showed him.

"Where is he?"  Savas asked, "And my mom - where are they?"

"Well, they're somewhere in California and they're in jail.  We can ask
Twila.  I didn't keep track of them, only you."  Then, I said something I
knew would hurt, "They're in for a long time...  You'll be about to start
college by the time your mom gets out."

"Yeah, I know."  He whispered as I hugged him against me.  "I want to tell
her something."

Nodding, "Okay, we'll ask Twila and Monika where they are."  I let him
watch me send a text message to Twila.

Of course, I knew where they were, yet this was Savas decision - his
relationships.  Wasn't sure how his mother would respond but I figured he
would be able to take whatever she said.  If he couldn't, I'd be beside him
with Mike and Twila as my back ups.

Twila had already informed me that Savas' dad was serving time for some
kind of shady business deal gone sour in the Orient.  He probably wouldn't
survive his sentence.  I kept that to myself since Savas never asked or
talked about his dad.

The rest of the day went well enough, filled with Ranchera music, bright
colors and street kids selling all kinds of gum and candies on every
corner.

Bud and I watched on the sidelines of a vacant lot used as a soccer field
by the local children.  Savas joined the kids.  They kicked the ball here
and there, not so much practicing goals as sneaking it away from the other
boys.  Bud had a blast encouraging the boys in Spanish.

Snapping more pictures of Savas, I wondered if I should let him have more
independence - more space to explore his world alone, like I'd done.  Was I
hovering over him like a two year old?  I wasn't ready to lengthen the
leash, though it seemed like Savas was perfectly capable of handling
himself well.

Bud and Savas cornered me again.  Not about food this time, but about a
stud.  Protesting for about twenty minutes, I caved in and let Savas get an
earring at a local salon.  Bud spoke to the lady with the piercing gun, and
I cringed, but Savas was grinning.

Gold stud in his left earlobe, and I fretted about an infection all the way
home, imaging he might wind up looking like Van Gogh.  I loved his small,
pink seashell ears.

***


The school semester was starting, I had to take Savas to the school for
registration and complete the paperwork, then wait while he took
assessments to determine his class levels along with several other
children.  He finished early, beaming and placed well in his subjects.

On the way home, he asked if he could call me Dad.  "It's easier front of
the other kids."  He explained.

"I'd be proud if you'd call me your dad."  That brought up a storm of mixed
feelings.  Sure, it felt good.  In the corner of my mind I wanted him to
call me something more intimate.

"Does that mean I can call you my son?"  I asked, tentatively.

"In the right place, like at school."

"I love you, son."  I whispered.

That fall, he started at a specific junior high school.  Twila suggested
that it might make the transition easier and I sent an application to the
school.

The school was half special education - disabled students.  They had
classes together, and activities everyone could join in - I have to admit I
liked that part.  My son was classified as disabled due to visiting with
Mike for almost a year, though I wasn't upset about that.  The school had
counselors available if something happened.  More importantly, it was a
small school with a secured campus.

Surprisingly, Savas found a friend from the group that had met during my
parent support group meeting.  The boy had a disability of some sort that
wasn't visible and didn't seem to interfere with his activities.  Meeting
and making a friend was a milestone - the damaged parts inside him were
mending.  Boys need their friends.

Things were going well, and Savas buckled down after a few weeks when I
told him he would have to go to college - no "playboy" lifestyle when he
graduated from high school.  There was some grumbling.  Later, some of the
guys at school who had older brothers clued him in on the fun he would find
on a college campus "without parents hanging around all the time."

Through all the therapy, for all the meetings and leaving work, and all the
delicate places in him that I'd tried to protect, things were going well.

***


At dinner one night I asked him if any of the kids teased him for being
gay.  Savas blushed with my statement.  I'd said it out loud.

"That kind of bullying made me avoid other kids - I missed a lot because I
was ashamed, but that was a different time..."  I offered.

"I say what Monika said when my old guardian asked if you were gay."

"I forgot - what did she say?"  Felt like ages since we'd been in court.

"She asked if the guy was asking you for a date.  So, I just ask them if
they are asking me out."

I had to laugh.  "Clever!  Very clever!  But you weren't in the courtroom
when she said that!"

"That guy that helped me - remember the tall guy?  He let me listen at the
door."  He grinned.

***


Between work and school, and now Len trying to retire, I was stretched
thin, but things were easier now that I knew I had support from my
employees and Savas was in school part of the day.

At the shop, we worked day-to-day managing everyone's schedules, keeping
the work moving along and all the workers' kids in their activities.
Pascal's children came sometimes when their mother couldn't pick them up -
and the bookkeeper's girls came and brought and old toy chest that we
filled with skates and used skateboards - balls and gloves, kind of a
shared equipment box.

Bud sent two mechanics he knew to interview for Len's position.  Twila and
Monika referred several people.  Pascal brought in his brother, another
machinist who I thought had great potential.  Len was doing the interviews
and would help with the training.

Taking a big step, Pascal and I secured a loan to buy the business.  That
worried me - meeting payroll was dependant on the boat owners picking up
their yachts as soon as possible and it wasn't always easy to predict.
"Mechanics Lien" became an important concept to me - but Len had taught me
well.

Lotta stress with that - but I doubted if I would have stayed with this so
long if it weren't for Savas - I was an example to him on how adults act
responsibly in their careers and dealings.

Internally, I was a becoming more deviant again; I still wanted Savas as a
lover and more so as his health returned.  My shaft ached for the slippery,
tight band of his ass binding me as I plunged into his heat.  All still off
limits, though my body trembled as I showered and pictured his face while I
stroked...

Part 9


"Dad" was used in increasing frequency after he'd written a letter to his
mother.  Maybe he was building some kind of protection for himself with
that name as he awaited a reply.  Neither of us brought up the topic.

As the holidays neared, we planned our calendar.

Cara and Savas planned a holiday party for the crew - our first year
without Len.  Blackie had to have a collar with bells on it, but refused
any kind of elf hat.

Most of workers had children, so Cara and Savas packed gift bags for them
and ordered all kinds of sandwiches and treats.  Music shook the rafters
through the shop as the kids had a limbo contest and then broke a
piñata with a large pipe wrench.

Pascal and I raffled off some gag gifts for the adults and we all cleaned
up together before we left.  Casual event slipped in between work schedules
and we all had plenty of other events to attend.

The LGBTQ teen group held a party, and we left halfway through -
celebration exhaustion!  School events, then the shop party plus our work
and Savas' finals made that week tiring.  We left the center early.

Near the shop, we found a place to watch the parade of lights.  We
straddled a bench where Savas could lean back onto my chest; my arms
enwrapped his body and I could smell my boy's scent while we watched the
yachts with colored lights strung along their masts.  This was much better
than Bud's open houses, dances and events - my boy and I were alone, in the
dark quietly enjoying just the motion and colors passing in front of us.

***


Attending a religious service with the choruses was something I hadn't
considered, but Twila and Monika had invited us and I felt obliged.

Savas had never been to a church I knew of and I hadn't even seen inside
one in years.

When we entered the sanctuary, tiny lights nestled in evergreen boughs
adorned the entire room, hundreds of candles flickered on the altar, and
people filled the pews.  Savas was in awe.  He looked around and smiled at
me.

"Cool.  This is a gay church?"  He whispered.  "Looks like fairy-land."

"Yep, sure looks that way."  I'd never heard about this kind of church
before, but I was sure it had its share of fairies at times.  The program
said it was inclusive, so I imagined it was a mixed church of neighbors and
others - seemed friendly enough to be comfortable.

"Do gay people get married here?"

"Probably.  Nice, huh?"  I winked at him.

"Are all the men in the men's chorus gay men?"  He was studying the program
intensely.

"Ask one of them after the service - it could be a community chorus that
accepts any singer."  I pointed to the bottom of the program.  "We'll stay
for the reception - coffee and cookies in the fellowship hall."

He beamed, and it occurred to me that church was about his spirit -
something I had neglected.  Not sure if I was ready to give up one moment
of our Sundays together.

There was a brief sermon and prayer, but mostly music from both the women
and men's choruses, and then they combined and led everyone in singing some
of the old favorites.  Savas and I enjoyed the whole presentation and felt
surprisingly uplifted afterward.

In the fellowship hall I found Twila and Monika and stood chatting with
them for a while.  Monika and Twila both hugged Savas and introduced him to
their new family.  They'd adopted three girls; siblings.  I didn't ask if
any of them were from the institute, I just smiled - beautiful family.

Beautiful children; the youngest was only a year old, sleeping on Monika's
shoulder.

Monika was not using her courtroom voice, but a soft, gentle voice with the
little girl, kissing her neck and calming her in the din of the reception.

***


Savas wouldn't wait for me - he approached one of the chorus members and
asked who their boss was.  The man took Savas by the hand and led him to a
portly gentleman with a white flattop haircut.  Very distinguished man
seemed to me, with a deep voice.

I watched, waiting to see what would unfold as Savas' excitement was clear.
Soon enough, Savas was bringing Mr. Flattop over to me.

"Your son sings?"  He asked.

"I know he likes music..."  Hell, I didn't know - I'd inadvertently left
all the arts out of our lives as well as any religiosity.

"Savas, do you sing?"  I asked, feeling an A-1 jackass and being called
"dad."

"Sure!"  He grinned.

"Bring him by the center at five on Saturday afternoon - we'll give him a
try."

For some reason, Savas wasn't the slightest bit disturbed about an
audition.  That week he was a perfect thirteen-year-old.  Did his homework,
bathed Blackie, folded the laundry and grinned often.  Yeah, he was proud
of himself.

He took Blackie out twice every evening.  Savas waited till he was at the
end of the driveway to practice - from the brief notes I could hear, it
sounded like a melancholy tune in a foreign language.

I was told I couldn't hear him sing, but other people could because he
didn't live with them.  A thirteen-year-old boy's logic - can't beat it!

***


At work, I rearranged schedules to leave early on Saturday.

Arriving home early I found something new happening.  Clothes lay scattered
all over his room like a tornado hit a thrift store.  For the first time
since I'd know Savas, he was committed to finding the right thing to wear.
I'll admit we'd slacked on our shopping - he wore beach attire; nothing
formal at all.  Now he had to look somewhat "cool."  We dug through his
clothes, then mine.

There it was - my lucky blue tee shirt.  The one I'd worn to get the job
with Len; the shirt that led me to Savas.

"This one.  Put it on.  It's my lucky blue shirt."

"Why is it lucky?"  He looked at the shirt and slipped it on.

"Tell you in the car.  Get your jeans on, and I'll try to brush some of the
crud off your sneakers.  Hurry up, or we'll be late."

I changed out of my work shirt and slapped on some cologne while Savas
brushed his long, shaggy hair.

***


As we pulled on the freeway and got stuck in traffic, I looked over at
Savas and smiled.  He was doing well - looking into his future, trying new
things.  His joy was returning and it warmed me, but the warming stirred my
deeper longings.

Delicate, thin wrists, and now the slender teen standing proud and smiling
- facing his future and exploring opportunities.  Should I tell him that
vocal auditions were daunting for adults?  Nah.

But he asked about the shirt, and I decided just to say that it was the
shirt that got me the job with Len and met you.  "Now I own the business.
So you go in there tonight - work the notes and make your own the music in
our lucky shirt."

We went in to find an old upright pulled out to the side of the meeting
room, and folding chairs scattered everywhere.  I didn't see Mr. Flattop,
who I found out was named Charles Sveren, and was known as "Seven."  I
didn't ask about that moniker.

But Seven eventually emerged from the hallway and walked straight to Savas.

"Alright guys!  Settle down.  Let's get started on the three pieces for the
retrospective.  Start with the first piece - you guys aren't staying
together on that one.  And baritones - I'm going to ask you to go through
your parts separately later, so get squared away!  Warm ups!  Chop!  Chop!"

With that, the groups broke up and moved the chairs in to sections by vocal
range.  I was amazed they were so organized so quickly.

"Savas, my dear, let's go into another room, I have my keyboard set up."  I
shot Seven a serious look, but Savas shot me one as well.

"I'll be okay, Dad."  He said.

They left the room; I took a chair by the door at the back of the room.

Behind the basses, altos, baritones and several other questionable voices,
I heard a soft, clear voice hitting notes from down the hall.  It was only
the whisper of a sound, but I heard the strange song that Savas sang as he
walked Blackie - very distinct melody, still the words were strange -
couldn't make them out.

The piano player had been leading the different groups through their
warm-ups then, leaned to find more of the sheet music.  When he did, hush
fell in the room and we heard Savas' voice louder and clearer - sounding
like an angel.

Goosebumps came to my skin.  I stood to go to the hallway and a hand
stopped me.

"Let the kid finish."  The tone-deaf bass stopped me.  "His try-out, not
yours."

The room was silent, only the soft strains from down the hall.  Then, it
stopped.

"Back to work, guys."  The piano player said.  "Baritones first, start at
the chorus on page three..."

A few moments later, the door swung open and Savas came in followed by
Seven, both grinning.  The entire chorus sat their music down and
applauded!

Savas blushed, and Seven asked to speak with me.

"You go sit by the piano player, turn the sheet music when he nods his
head."  Seven told Savas and he went to the piano player and the rehearsals
started again.

On the patio, "Kid's got perfect pitch.  The only songs he knows are Greek
folk songs - said his grandmother taught him years ago.  Loves to sing.
Why are you hiding this talent?  It needs to be nurtured - cultivated!"

Not wanting to disclose too much information, "Well, he's uh, well, I
didn't know.  I'm actually his guardian and he's never told me anything
about his grandmother or singing."

Seven stopped for a moment and stared at me.

"Whatever."  He looked at me for a while longer - I was intimidated.
"Here's my business card, call me at the end of the week.  Let's see what
we can do for this young star before his voice changes."

On the way home, Savas was grinning.

"Are you going to tell me what happened so I can be as proud as you?"

"Mr. Seven had an electronic keyboard and he started touching the keys and
asking me to sing the note, and I did.  Then he asked me to sing for him.
That's all."

"Well you made an impression on him, for sure - and the chorus."

"Yeah?  All those guys heard me?"

"Sorry, I did, too."

"I'm glad you did."  He was grinning.

Savas jumped into the house, and I followed and reached into the mailbox -
bills and junk, and an odd envelope with hand-written lettering.

His mother had answered his letter.

With the letter in hand, I knew this could destroy his moment of excitement
and decided to let him have a while to glow for taking a big step into the
world.

We ate a quick dinner of cereal, no sugar and skim milk.

After I showered, somewhat tired, I told Savas I was going to bed early.  I
heard him shut the television off and putter around in the kitchen, then
the bathroom.  He went to his room, but came back to my room with the lucky
blue tee shirt in hand.

He sat on the side of my bed, and turned the lamp off.

"Can we cuddle for a while, I want some affection."  He said softly.  There
was a slight fatigue in his voice, but a definite need.

"I need some cuddling, too.  I was a little anxious tonight, too."

"Dad, I wasn't anxious."

"Well, I was.  I don't know too much about music and all that - but I know
how to turn the radio on..."

He laughed, "Must have been hard to ask a guy on a date if you're that
anxious."

"Never did that - never really had a date - lots of guys around, but not a
real date."  Johns don't count as a date, that's more in the escort
territory, but I didn't admit that.

"You never had a boyfriend?"  He asked.

"When I was young, I was ashamed of myself, but things were different back
then.  Small town with a strict church...  I thought everyone could tell I
was different, so I stayed by myself.  But I'd like to ask you on a date
sometime."

He laughed again.  "We have lots of dates."

"Well, a `daddy date' counts, I guess.  But you'll have to meet my parents
first."  I snuggled into him when his arms wrapped around my waist.

We were quiet for a moment.  I didn't mention my parents any more than he
did.

"Would you like to meet my parents?  They'd probably like you."

"Do they know about me?"  His voice was soft.

"No.  I tell them I'm helping a kid get through school or something like
that if you want."

"I don't know..."  Now Savas was doubtful.

"I'd like to ask them to visit.  We can make a list of things to do; we'll
invite Bud and get Blackie a new bandana.  Or, you can go to Twila's house
till they leave."

He didn't say anything, but lay down next to me and snuggled against my
body.

"I better go to Twila's."

***


The next morning, I laid the envelope from his mother by his breakfast
plate.  I watched him look the envelope over.

"Are you going to open it?"  I asked.

He just looked at me.  We knew it might toxify our lives with more
confusion, more guilt.

"You don't have to - you can wait, or take it to Mike and let him read it
with you.  I don't know what you wrote her, and I won't interfere with your
family.  You have choices - I respect your decision."

He took the envelope and left, came back in a few moments and we finished
breakfast, grabbed Blackie and we left for school and work as usual.  For
the next few days, Savas was quiet, but he went on with his studies,
Blackie and I went to work.  He didn't mention the letter.

When Friday night came I called Seven, using the speakerphone with Savas
sitting beside me and we discussed their upcoming concert.

"We're putting a retrospective of music by each decade...  We needed some
fun music after the forties, so we put together a `doo-wop' group, and I
think you'll fit right in.  Have you ever heard the song, `Why Do Fools
Fall in Love'?"

"Why do birds sing so gay?  Da-da-da-da..."  I asked, "That one?"

"That's the one.  A kid named Lymon made the song famous on national
television way back in the fifties.  Give it a listen, and if you like it,
come to practice on Saturday at three.  Okay, Savas?"

Savas was already off to the computer looking for the song.

"He's already checking it out."  I told Seven and chuckled.

Savas loved the snappy melody, and researched `doo-wop' music.  I
downloaded the lyrics for him and he hummed.  I still wasn't allowed to
hear him practice.

Now I wound up walking Blackie in the evenings, alone while my newly
emerging vocalist practiced.

"Blackie needs to walk for forty-five minutes, at least."  Not a subtle
hint, but clear enough.  He needed space and privacy and I wasn't ready to
hire a recording studio or soundproof his bedroom.

I'm sure his voice was good, though I was no judge.  He'd get plenty of
attention for sure.  Kids always steal the spotlight.  Actually, all he had
to do was stand on stage.  He was a beautiful boy - full of promise and
potential with a big smile.  Twinkling eyes and smooth skin with a
beautiful flush of crimson on his cheeks when he blushed.  Savas sported
his crown of child-like innocence and wonder very well.

Funny how he'd changed - I saw him take the small knocks and bumps of life
more easily now.  That was a symbol of success in some ways.

Still, I noticed his impending upsetness - like people yelling and drunks
disturbed him.  He didn't go berserk, but moved away from it quickly.  When
he asked me if he could leave the beach or a cafe, I didn't ask - we just
left.

When we watched movies I let him handle the remote - if something began to
distress him, he could change channels or turn it off.  I never asked about
it, but let him control as much of his own environment as he could.

***


We lived within a modest budget and Savas liked school lunches!  The food
looked okay to me.  Low-fat pizza, salads, fruit - no longer the swill I
faced at noon everyday in public school.

Though he could have whatever he wanted, he seldom asked for things -
mostly school related fees for outings and events.  One rule I established
early was that we couldn't afford anything we wanted - we didn't have room
to keep much in our home.  That kept the sports equipment and junk to a
minimum.

We got him a bike from the police auction, but he kept that at the shop and
rode around the neighborhood near of Coronado.  Savas called it his
"gangsta" bike.  To counter that, I ordered bumper stickers and it became
"Len's Marine Services" bike after I pressed them onto the fenders.

He took the school bus that picked him up and dropped him off in front of
the shop.  From what I saw there was some pride at being let off in front
of a "hot" surf shop that had ten surfboards leaning against the front
window and a black dog jumping around to greet him.

Part 11


At chorus practice, Seven coordinated a group of five young men between
thirteen and sixteen, and gave them their music.  Doo-wop practice was held
before the adult chorus rehearsals so the kids could have more room and I
suspect fewer distractions.

Another dad and I sat on the patio, read the local gay paper and waited
together.  We had two months of practice sessions ahead of us and decided
we would get dinner while we waited.  Dave was in the same boat with his
son as I was with Savas.  Watching them possibly make a mistake during
practice prohibited!

That first evening, we split a foot-long and a bag of chips and talked
parenting.  Seems Dave's son, Jerry, was in the performing arts high school
and loved it.

"He wants to be a dancer, and he's adamant about it.  After he gets his
first injury, maybe I can direct him toward an MBA.  He can become a talent
agent or go into the financing end of the theatre.  "Dance is like big
league sports - lotsa talent but few are chosen."

We heard a lot of noise inside the practice area, but the harmonies were
starting to form, and it was often difficult to pick out Savas' voice.

After the first practice, we were on our way home when Savas told me some
of the young men thought I was "hot."

"In case you haven't noticed, a lot of the guys think you're hot."

"Yeah, I guess."  Savas mumbled.

"Is it uncomfortable for you?  Makes me nervous when guys look at me - you
know."  I told him.

He didn't say much else.

"Did you like practice?  I saw one of the guys grabbing your ass - that guy
Jerry."  I said.

He laughed - "Jerry's so funny, he grabs everyone's butt.  One time he
stood behind Seven and made like he was going to grab his butt.  He almost
got caught!"

"Yeah, well you don't get in any trouble with Seven - he's the director!"

"I know, I know."  He paused, "Jerry and I are gonna do something called a
jitterbug."

The last time I heard about that dance, was from my mother.  She used to
jitterbug when she was a teen...

"Can I watch you practice?"

"You have to wait till it's all together."

Foiled again!

After a long time thinking about it, I printed off a color copy of Blackie
and Savas at the beach.  On the back, I asked Dad to text me his phone
number, that I'd like him to meet my boy and dog.

Signed, "Love, Wyatt."

***


Though we'd shared a bed for a while, Blackie and Savas had their own space
- almost all of the bed.

We slept in our briefs, and I only cuddled and snuggled with Savas when he
wanted.  He'd come alongside me and put his head on my shoulder, and rub my
chest while I kissed his head and held him close.

Sure, I was rock hard in a few seconds.  Savas didn't say anything or touch
me.  I kept my hands to caresses, thinking I could not in anyway touch him
the way his grandfather had.  Never occurred to me that his grandfather had
never caressed Savas lovingly - that there weren't kisses and tender
touches.

After a very late dinner that week, I took Blackie to bed while Savas
showered for what seemed like a long time.

When he came to my bedroom, he shut the blinds, and turned the light off,
and closed the door.

"What's going on?"  I asked.  "Blackout drill?  Fault line shift under San
Onofre?"

"Dad, turn on your left side and move Blackie, I want that place."

I turned to him and saw he was still wrapped in a towel with his hair wet.

"Close your eyes."  He ordered me - I obeyed and wondered why I always did
what he said, but I figured that was equity - I asked him to do a lot of
things he didn't like - checkups at the doctors, eye exams, waiting for me
to finish work...

Then, I felt him on the bed.  He sat, then lay down with his back to me
then scooted his back against me closely.

"Just don't say anything."  He told me and grabbed my hand, gripping my
index finger.  "You promise not to say anything?"

"Okay."  This was curious, and my dick swelled in response to the smooth
rear rubbing against it.

He grabbed my wrist and put my hand on his groin.  "When I was with my
grand aunt, I hurt myself.  They took me to a hospital to fix it."

He directed my finger around his scrotum.  There were patches of slick skin
on his groin, and a testicle - the right side of his scrotum contained a
small almond-sized knot - soft, like a tiny water balloon.

His penis, though, was surprising.  Full, thick three inches of boy cock
with a sweet, loose foreskin that almost covered his glans, but my fingers
went back to his scrotum.

"The doctors put one in me - because I..." He tried to begin again.

I felt him gasp, and knew he had begun to cry.  "Shhh, my heart."  My
fingertips rubbed the scars lightly.

"It's where I hurt myself.  I thought if I was a girl, maybe it wouldn't be
so bad - they always called me things - sissy names...  They went to jail
because of me..."  He started soft whines, crying.

"No.  No.  They went to jail because of their own problems that spilled
over on you.  This is a sign," I rubbed the slick scar tissue.  "That we'll
always be together.  It's like a badge of our love and your courage."

I backed away and turned him to me.  His arm went around me and our bellies
rubbed together.

"I need another surgery so it matches the other one.  The guys have to get
dressed together for our performance."  Savas whispered.

"We'll find the best doctor and see how soon you can get in.  Okay?"

"I love you."  He told me and looked into my eyes.

"I've always loved you...  Since the first moment I saw you."

He let me hold him for a long time, each of us relieved that this
conversation was in the past, but I felt his erection poking into my belly.

"Nice equipment."  I reached between us and found a bit of moisture on the
tip of his glans, and fondled his foreskin.

"I'm always getting hard - it's embarrassing."

"Well, get ready for a lifetime of woodies that happen at the wrong time.
Dicks have a weird sense of humor."

Savas scooted near my face and kissed my lips, very lightly.

I started to kiss him more deeply but pulled away.

"Why did you stop?"  He asked.

"I'm afraid I'll hurt you, or you'll hate me."  Didn't want to suggest that
the pain of remembering, then cutting might start again.  "I don't want you
hurt again.  Never."

"If you're talking about my granddad and all the stuff he did..."  Savas
thought for a moment, "He made poison - but he never kissed me much...  Put
him on the other side of the line you drew for me."

"He made poison?"  What was that about?

"Mike says love with sex is like rain - it makes more love-flowers grow,
and mean sex is like poison - it ruins people's hearts and kills the love."

Considering Savas' past, Mike's explanation had worked well enough.

"Did he poison your heart?"  I asked Savas, wondering.

"When Granddad was hurting me, I closed my eyes and thought of your face.
I knew you'd never hurt me - I just kept thinking about you so he couldn't
hurt my heart anymore."

Didn't wait, but kissed Savas back and held him against me till we both
fell asleep.

The next morning I woke him with kisses all over his face.

"Stop it!  Stop!"  He complained, pushing me away.

"I'm planting love-flower seeds on my favorite boy."

Then, Blackie came up and planted his own sloppy love-seeds on Savas' face.

***


After we showered and dressed I showed Savas my text to Twila asking her to
help us find a plastic surgeon.  A text message had just arrived from my
dad.

"Call when you have a moment. Love, Dad and Mom."

With some hesitancy, I got my parents on speakerphone.

Savas was embarrassed, but I pressed him to tell them about his up-coming
performance.  Of course they were delighted with the selection of Frankie
Lymon.  The excitement in their voices hit a higher pitch when Savas spoke
with them - that was clear.

"We want you to come for the weekend.  Dad, you'll love the shop, looks
like the old one you used to have but this one smells like the ocean.
We'll have a little party on Sunday, invite our friends - I want you to
meet my crew."

Of course, that prompted Mom to ask what she could bring.

"Well, don't bring anything, but could you help with hot dish?  I'll be
inviting everyone from the shop.  We'll need food for around twenty to
thirty and I'm sure Savas'll help host - he's been working with me.  "We'll
need some dessert, something low cal - beach people are body-conscious.
That means vain - so keep it lite, okay?"

My mom was the kind that handled crisis through food, and calmed herself by
cooking.  Sweet, artificial white fluff blended into gelatin deserts were
her specialty.

Major life events among our neighbors always started a cleaning spree when
I was a kid,

"Just in case we need to help the families handle the overflow..."  It
wasn't uncommon for our basement to become the "Wyatt Motel" for several
days until after the church rituals marking the life events of neighbors
and friends.

Mom was delighted to help me, and maybe get back into a little mothering -
I could hear her muttering and getting out her Pyrex ® already.

They agreed to come.

I knew I'd better prepare Dad.  At work, I shut my office door and called
him while he was at work.

"Dad, you must know by now I'm gay."  Didn't want to be so abrupt, but I
knew he was busy at the end of the month with state inspections.

"And Savas is a gay boy."  I paused to let that sink in.

"I'd appreciate if you and Mom didn't harp on it.  We're going to take you
to my boy's first on-stage appearance with a chorus.  "If you could be
supportive, it would help - I'm not asking you to love us, just tolerate it
with a smile while you're here.  We've been through enough grief - and
don't ask about the details of how Savas got here."

He didn't say anything for a long time.

"We figured you were gay, but we hoped it would pass - some kind of teen
phase, you know, trying on different personalities.  "When you didn't
contact us for so long, things changed - we thought we'd lost our only
child.  Sure we wanted grandkids - all that.  Like the other people around
here..."

"Dad, you got a grandkid now.  I'm his guardian - close enough.  He's a
good kid.  Just keep the conversation in the present, don't question him
about his family."

"It was that bad?"  He said and thought for a long time.

"It was that bad.  If you could love him that would be great, but if you
could appreciate him while you're here - that's all I ask."

He thought for a moment.

"I'll bring the slide projector - show him the highlights of your
childhood.  How about that?  Remember the church camp?  How about that one
of your Uncle Jay flipping off the governor?  Oh, yeah - the one with your
Mom's skirt blowing around on the beach and her garters were showing?"

"Not the slides!"  Then, I thought about it.  "Bring the slides if you have
to, Dad, but please be gentle with us.  I'm trying to be a good father, and
I need your help."

Things between Dad and me mellowed after that - the tension vanished when
I'd spoken the truth.

Mom was constantly sending me recipes and photos of hot dishes and salads
for review and approval.  I replied with photos of Savas and Blackie.

Showing Savas all the photos of casseroles, he was puzzled.

"What's `Free-holy Surprise - does she mean beans?  Beans aren't a
surprise!"

"That's how Mom shows her love.  Just tell her it looks delicious and that
the chef is the decider...  "It's Mom's code - by asking you, she's saying
she wants the best for you because she loves you.  You hand her your love
by saying, `anything you want.'  "My family isn't so clear about emotional
things.  They hide the ways they tell you they love you behind words and
food."

"You tell me you love me all the time."  Savas said.

"I hope I'm showing you as well..."

He grinned.

***


We found a plastic surgeon, but the reconstructive work would have to wait
until June.  Our first visit to the surgeon proved to be very enlightening.
Savas allowed me to accompany him.

Under the light of the exam table, the doctor carefully touched and
prodded.  Savas refused to look at his groin; it was badly scarred on the
right side of his deep pink scrotum.  I looked into his eyes most of the
time feeling queasy.

"Gonna be all right."  My eyes burned thinking he had caused so much damage
to himself.  My god, it must have hurt, but not nearly as bad as the pain
in his heart with no one to turn to for help.  He must have done that
between his first two calls to me from his great aunt's house.

The surgeon was very good - gave us a lot of information.

"The previous surgery was done in a hurry.  I can understand what the
doctor did and why...  Good work.  But it's going to look very odd in a few
years with the scar tissue leaving these streaks through his pubic hair.
I'd rather wait and do some scar reduction and transplant hair to the area
before I give him a permanent implant.  More natural look, fewer
questions."

"Can you wait?"  I asked Savas.

"We're wearing tight jeans for the show."  He almost whispered.  "We get
dressed together."

Savas was disappointed, but the doctor who dealt with these problems
everyday came to the rescue.

"I have something that will fill out your briefs.  Let me get one."  The
doctor left for a while and returned with a small box of "fillers."

We left the office with an appointment for surgery in June, a small lump of
silicone and a bottle of skin glue and then went straight to a department
store to look at the briefs that would help hold it in place during his
dance with Jerry.

In the dressing room of the store, I glued his prosthetic in the right
place and carefully held it until it was fairly well stuck to the smaller
side of his scrotum.  Though it didn't match his skin color, it would give
the appearance of normalcy and some symmetry under his briefs if anyone
glanced.  I found white, cotton Y-fronts and a tiny jock strap for his
approval.

No.  Savas didn't like them.

Savas brought a satiny pair of low-cut blue briefs - the briefest brief I'd
ever seen him wear.

"You're getting these for yourself or the other guys in the changing room?"
I was surprised.

"They make me feel good."  He looked at me as if I was an idiot for asking.

Of course, my tiny teenager needed to fit in with the guys and feel good
doing it.

How stupid can a dad be?

Part 12


We planned a few other things for Mom and Dad; picnic at the beach, going
to the beach with Cara to rent boards, church, zoo trip or maybe the
Scripps Marine place to pet starfish - or nothing but sitting at the beach
or in the living room watching those embarrassing slides.

Those were back-up plans if something went wrong.  I could always take
Savas to Twila's house if he became upset for any reason.

The big event would begin at seven on Saturday night for Savas' four
minutes of fame.  Just maybe I'd show Savas some idea of how a family can
get along.  Wasn't sure if Savas had ever felt like he was in a family - if
I could give him one short, loving memory, I'd be satisfied.

***


Visiting the plastic surgeon seemed to have helped Savas, or maybe it was
Seven.  Seemed like things were going well and the rehearsals got louder -
the harmonies sweeter.

When we went to bed together, I'd play the "rib piano" and try to sing
doo-wop till Blackie started to sing along with me while Savas laughed.

The last weekend of regular rehearsals, I sat with Dave on the patio,
splitting fish and chips while our teens practiced.  Savas was the youngest
of his troupe, his Jerry was two years older - we could hear the
choreographer working with them, and smiled.

"You know, they got costumes fitted last week?"  Dave told me.  "All black
- that thing with the rolled up tee shirt sleeves, tight stovepipe jeans
and they're all going to ducktail hair styles - even using some hair goop.
Jerry thinks he's some kind of little rock star.  He's playing fifties
music all over the house and dancing around - driving me crazy.  He can
jitterbug like a pro - loves dancing with Savas."

"Yeah.  Wish I had Savas' gumption when I was his age..."

Dave nodded, and we heard the door to the area open and one of the men from
the chorus stepped into the patio.

He was one of the most attractive men I'd ever seen!  Hair styled
perfectly, falling onto his forehead in a casual sweep, wearing white
slacks with a Madras plaid shirt.  Lean and rather demure, he approached us
with a file folder and pen.

Dave's jaw fell open as he sat down with the "banned dad brigade."  Then we
found out why.

Nothing foolish about the chorus!  The guy hit us up for donations while we
were still admiring him.

He opened his folder, and began his spiel.  Sure, he was smiling genially
and putting the soft sell on us to buy advertisement in the program for the
concert.  I took his card and told him I'd email him, but I wanted a
half-page on the top of the back of the program.

"If I send you my logo and the copy, would you make it work in the space?"

"I'll make you shine!"  The man said and winked and took my check which was
more than the price.

"Just don't put it next to the funeral home ad."  I added.  "Or any
catering services."

He made a note.

Dave bought a business card size ad thanking the board of the chorus for a
great contribution to young vocalists and the community.

I'd keep it a secret until the night of the show, but this was a subtle and
rather backhanded "coming out" for me - I'd bought advertising that would
go out to the gay community.  Though it was only a black and white ad, I'd
be able to use the logo with my boy when he was twelve, riding the waves
with his dog on his board.

Before he left he asked if we would be interested in supporting the Gay
Pride Parade and festival in June.  He was eyeing my business card.

"This would be fun in the parade...  Aren't you guys at Silver Beach?"

I nodded.  "I'll think about it."  I told him but considered Cara driving
the truck.  But we'd lose a day of business at the beach.

At home, some corners of my condo hadn't seen a vacuum in ages.  Savas and
I did our best but it was almost, almost a man cave and I didn't have
enough time for anything more than a cursory cleaning.  Seemed like
Blackie's hair had been silently reproducing, forming small mats under some
of the furniture while I wasn't looking.

Oh well!

***


The night of my family reunion came, and I was uneasy but hoping for the
best.

Friday night late, I heard a honk outside and Blackie set up a roar
downstairs.  Jumping up, Savas peeked through the blinds as I went to meet
Mom and Dad.

Why did they seem so short and pale?

Their smiles and hugs lasted a long time with Blackie jumping around
barking and needing his attention as well.  I was surprised when I turned
around to help Dad with his suitcases - Savas was beside me.

"This is Savas, Dad."  Dad promptly stopped what he was doing and shook
Savas' hand.

Mom wasn't so formal; she turned Savas to her and exclaimed, "Oh, Randal,
he's beautiful!  He looks just like a movie star.  Merciful heavens get
another boy like this for me!"  She hugged him while Savas stood
immobilized with his arms pinned to his sides and eyes wide open as she
planted big, loud kisses on his face.  I just nodded and grinned and helped
Dad with the bags.

Well, that was new for Savas!  Like a brave soldier, he stood and took it
without comment.

Of course, Mom brought the old tan, metal ice chest with several frozen
dishes wrapped in foil and labeled.

"Savas, help Mom in the kitchen, I'm taking Dad and Blackie down the block
to park the car."

Savas froze but looked at Mom.

She smiled, "That would be wonderful!  Now, where do you keep your
silverware and table linens?"

We only used paper towels and plastic utensils, but I let them work it out
together and left with Dad, grinning.

***


Mom had to establish her authority in the kitchen immediately.

We had the infamous tuna-cheese casserole with shoestring potatoes adorning
the top like a sad haystack.  Savas ate hesitantly, but smiled and helped
clean the kitchen - a Wyatt-house ritual which included the amounts of food
each diner ate, their preferences and the quality of the food all reviewed
before the dishwasher was started.

Dad got out the slide projector and I cleared a wall for him.

Wouldn't you know Mom brought her famous Crazy Corn.  We sat politely, each
with a bowl of caramel coated popcorn with nuts and raisins and all kinds
of things we seldom enjoyed - must have used a pound of butter in it...

Blackie was playing the affectionate angel-puppy trying to get into
everyone's bowls and sneak treats.  He was very successful smiling and
dancing on his hind legs - doing very well for himself.

Dad always made a big deal about the slides and had to introduce his
presentation as if he was some kind of emcee.  He explained how he picked
out all the best of my childhood, and Savas was smiling, but sat close
beside me, and then he held my hand as the show began.

There were my baby pictures, Mom holding me in a blue blanket wearing
something of a fluffy bonnet.  Then me in a droopy cloth diaper standing in
the back yard with my collie.  Yep, there was a naked toddler sitting in
the kitchen sink taking a quick rinse on a hot afternoon, delighted with
the impromptu bath.

Mom kept a running commentary on my food preferences, favorite clothes and
the names of my elementary school teachers.  She recited the comments
they'd written on my report cards!

That was when I realized that I was the center of a young woman's life.
The very center of her first years as a young adult and wife - she loved me
in so many small, comforting ways.  Looking back, I realized how many hours
she spent hosting parties, and encouraging me forward through my timidity -
when I didn't have the words to tell her that I wasn't as timid as I felt
so shamefully different.

Dad handed Savas the clicker to move the slides forward so his narrative
could include gestures and detailed explanations.  With that power in hand,
Savas was emboldened to start asking questions about my friends and school
and what I was doing in one picture then the next.

That opened the silos of Midwestern corn.  Good thing I have a sense of
humor.

Dad stood up and pointed at the slides explaining different things; the
swing he'd made for me...  a tree house and me then, me sitting in a
soapbox car we'd scrapped together.  Then he came to my Halloween costumes.

The one that I was proudest of was the one I wore when I was ten.  I went
as a boxer.

Mom sewed black padded cushions onto her evening gloves, and rolled them up
to my wrists with rubber bands.  Dad let me wear his blue robe, and I had a
towel around my neck and my baggy swim trunks that tied in the front.  Mom
even drew a black eye on me with her makeup pencil.  I remembered dancing
around on my toes, jumping, shuffling and bobbing - spouting poetry about
insects like a very popular fighter of the time.

Still, I went trick-or-treating with only my collie beside me, but my
excitement about free candy overrode any loneliness I felt.  I was
motivated by bringing home goodies and sharing with my parents - making
them happy.  Food always makes a statement with Mom.

Somehow, through all the mixed feelings and memories the slides brought up
I saw Mom and Dad as young lovers with a tiny son to love and protect.
They'd tried and hadn't ever directly insulted me - they'd pushed me to do
my best in school and in the church.

In that moment, I knew how they felt, and my eyes burned as I swallowed
hard.  Being gay was something I couldn't help and they couldn't fix.  They
were as helpless as I felt sometimes about Savas and his past.

Mom and Dad only wanted to insure me a life in their community.  Seemed all
that had changed; here they were with my gay son, laughing at our old
hairstyles and clothes with their own gay son.

Then, there was me in my baggy jeans and a tee shirt holding a shoebox very
carefully in front of me.

"Isn't that just precious!"  Mom said, "Randy found a baby bird - we had a
big bird feeder at the corner of the lot, and he brought the poor little
thing home in his hand, under his shirt."

"See - I told you about that.  But I don't know if she'll appreciate our
seagulls..."

Savas grinned.  "They're probably pooping all over their car right now."

When the chortles about my scout campout died down - I'd lost most of my
eyebrows in a marshmallow mishap around the fire, I set up my computer and
went through a series of photos featuring Blackie the dog and Savas.

Savas explained how Bud helped him at the shelter, and told them about
dog-ball heaven where the little testicles made friends.  Mom blanched, but
Dad laughed so hard he cried, and had to check Blackie to make sure things
were in place.

At around ten o'clock, I explained that I was going in to work in the
morning and told Dad that Savas needed to be at rehearsals at two.

"Dress rehearsal tomorrow, Dad so be prompt - his director runs the
rehearsals like a drill sergeant.  Savas will show you how to get there,
and look for Dave on the patio.  He's another parent that waits with me."

With that, I went to bed and left them to put all their memories away.

That moment felt good.

Felt better when Savas and Blackie shoved me over to hog the bed yet again.

Part 13


At work, I invited the crew to come by my condo after two PM on Sunday
including Cara and her crew renting boards and instructing.  They asked if
they had to change clothes.

"Not for me.  But come in shifts so we have coverage.  Those board rentals
and classes are your paychecks."

But by the time I realized that that the rental crew might come in their
bikinis, and clingy bathing trunks, I was walking in the door to
rehearsals, and found Mom and Dad with Dave, actually sitting in the front
row of the an empty theatre watching the lights being adjusted and getting
the sound at the right level.  Had the daddy-ban been lifted?

Seven was giving the boys their entrance instructions on the stage, and
there stood my Savas - hair slicked back with one big, chunky wave over his
forehead.  Someone put mascara on him, and eyeliner!

His tight black tee shirt sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders.  Luckily
no one put a pack of unfiltereds inside the roll.Looking more closely I saw
there was an incredibly large, black tattoo someone had drawn on his
slender bicep.

But I had to grin.  It said "Dad" in curvy writing.

I knew Savas could dismiss me if he saw me so I crept along the wall,
staying in the shadows to watch.

Seven cued the music and I saw the troupe stepping into the spotlights
along with the beat of the music.  They had very serious expressions,
crooning the smooth notes with Savas in the lead.  The other young men
snapped their fingers in unison and harmonized smoothly behind him.

Then there was a hot saxophone riff when Jerry and Savas grasped hands and
did a few steps, grinning and spinning in their dance.  I was spellbound -
for those few moments, my Savas was a completely different boy than I'd
ever seen, and he was good at being this new boy!

His voice was stronger, and high.  Though the other kids were older and
more experienced, Savas did very well.  Didn't miss a note or a step!  When
it was over, Mom, Dad and Dave stood and applauded.

I sneaked out the back and came in again, "What happened?"

Savas jumped down off the stage in front of me.  He put his arms around my
waist and wiped half a pound of makeup on our lucky blue shirt.  We hugged
for a long time.

"I love you."  I told him.  "Is everything okay?"  I patted his pocket,
meaning was the prosthetic in place.

"When I sweat it gets loose."  He whispered.

"We'll glue it again before you go on, okay?"  I whispered back

"Can we go to the party after the show?"  He asked.

"We'll see how tired I am.  Are you hungry?"

"No.  They have a lot of food back stage - your mom told them they didn't
do it right."

Mom was grinning, "Great spread back there.  Not one deviled egg, no cheese
puffs or stuffed celery, but they did their best - I'm sure."  Dad rolled
his eyes at that and things felt very normal.  Mom had appointed herself as
the catering critic years ago - a habit we couldn't break.

"Dave, see you guys later, at 6:00, right?"  They were heading off with
their knot of friends.

"Yep.  Coming to the cast party with us?"

I looked at Mom.  "Can you control yourself around the crudités
tonight?"

She just turned her nose up tossing her hair back and nodded.

Savas went to the back to put his street clothes on but I knew it was a
hopeless battle with Mom and catered food - I'd have to keep an eye on her.

We went to Balboa Park to the Spanish Village Art Center and walked around
for a while, then to the gardens until it was time to get Savas back and
ready to be made-up and dressed again.

Blowing a roll on the tickets, I got us front row seats while the cast was
readying.  Then, I slipped backstage and asked for Savas.

***


A bevy of artsy types from the Royal Court were touching up his makeup and
tattoo.  I waited, but I wanted to tell the guy to go light on the mascara
and makeup but kept my mouth shut - what did I know about eyeliner?

"Where's your bag?"  I asked.  Savas pointed his foot touching his toe to
his bag and held his head back for the artist to touch up his lipstick.

As soon as possible, we hustled to the restroom and dampened a paper towel
and grabbed a dry one.

"Last stall.  Hurry up!"  I said.  He scooted along and unzipped his tight
black jeans and pulled his jeans and new briefs down on the way.

I shut the door quickly and squatted down in front of him.  I wiped his
scars and dried it off, then blew on it gently while I unscrewed the cap on
the glue.

"Ha!  Is that a blow job, Dad?"  He was tickled and his mini-erection stood
out proudly.

"Not by a long shot.  Be still."  I shook the glue and heard someone walk
in, so I hurried.

I peeled the dried glue off the prosthetic, and applied a coating to Savas,
then to the silicone, and waited till they were both tacky, concentrating
on getting a snug attachment.

"Dad, someone's watching us."  Savas' voice was strained.

"Whadda want?"  I asked whoever was outside the stall, and looked over my
shoulder.  I could barely see, but there was an eye in the little slit
between the door and the partition.

No more to be said - Seven entered the restroom and his voice filled the
room, causing Savas to tense.

"What are you doing?  That stall is in use.  What's wrong with the others?
Plumbing backed up?  Or are you getting your jollies watching my performers
take their pants down?"

"I..."  The man answered as Seven stepped closer.

Quickly, I stood to block Savas from any other eyes and held the prosthetic
in place.

"If you need to pee, do it now."  I whispered to Savas and turned him
toward the toilet while I kept the silicone lump secured in place until it
was tightly affixed.

I felt Savas' hand on mine as he peed, and felt strangely excited but I was
in protection mode as he finished and tucked himself carefully into his new
briefs and pulled up his jeans.

There were footsteps outside the stall - soft scuffling.  More harsh words
from Seven, and when I opened the door to see my dad and Seven staring each
other down.

Dad's mouth was open, but nothing was coming out.

"Dad?  What are you doing?"  Dad went into a deep blush.

"Your mom told me you might want some of this."  He held out a tube of
anti-fungal ointment.  Mom carried a first aid kit in her huge pastel
quilted bag.

"Can't have our grandson scratching on stage.  She said it looks like he
has an itch."

Seven looked at us and picked up the tube, reading the label with one
eyebrow raised.

"This is my dad, Randal Wyatt Senior." I explained to Seven.  "He's okay,
trust me."

Seven shook Dad's hand and shot him a mean look to make sure Dad understood
who was in charge of this affair.

Then Seven told me he'd come looking for us, "The principal of the
performing arts high school is here, he wants to talk to you and Savas.
I'll meet you two in the dressing room."  Seven handed me the ointment and
left.

"Thanks.  You had me upset there for a moment standing outside the stall."
I told Dad.

"Didn't have time to ask.  Your mom's always getting me into some kind of
scrap.  I should have told her to bring it herself.  You know how she
is..."

"Dad, I have my own tube." I patted the bottle of glue in my pocket.

As I walked Savas back to the dressing area, I explained jock itch and
sweat rashes to his relief.  His secret was still safe.

***


Wouldn't you know Mom saw my ad in the program.  The sales guy did a great
job getting it laid out and the text.  "LGBTQ families welcome!  Ask for
Blackie at Silver Beach."

She had to show it to everyone around us saying, "See, that's my son's
business - and that's his son and their dog on the board.  Isn't it just
darling?"

People, mostly men, nodded and smiled and glanced at me - checking me
out...  I kept my eyes forward and spoke softly with Dad.  Maybe I blushed
a little from their stares, but I was proud of myself as well.

Dad videotaped the entire concert, even had a tripod.  I saw several more
people brought their cameras as well.  The entire auditorium filled with
more people standing along the wall in the back.  Then, the lights went
down and the music started.

The chorus took us through the years with lots of good songs and
arrangements - very well done retrospective of American pop music.

When the chorus cascaded their voices smoothly through "The White Cliffs of
Dover," my stomach tensed, readying for the next decade - the fifties and
Savas.

When the young men came on stage snapping their fingers and harmonizing,
the audience was abuzz with comments.  My heart almost burst seeing my boy
singing and dancing.  Definitely an exotic, sexy little beast with all the
makeup and then, dancing with Jerry!

Stunning!  Savas was stunning!

Members of the audience came forward to snap pictures of the group before
they left the stage.  Mom was holding her breath and nodding her head
through the entire song, mesmerized; Dad could only stare and grin.

Mom and Dad smiled and enjoyed all the old songs - they knew a lot of the
lyrics by heart.  I enjoyed the harmonies and the ballads.

At the end, the performers asked the audience to join in on the song about
a sandman, bringing a dream... and they took their bows.  Of course, the
younger members of the group got several standing ovations.

Savas was grinning, and perfectly in place in the center of the line,
grinning and enjoying the adulation.

Then, the lights went out on stage and the magic was over - too soon!

***


The cast party turned out to be a very loud, raucous affair, though Seven
tried to keep the trolling and butt-baiting down while the kids were there.

Several men approached me, and I took their numbers and cards, but didn't
have time to respond - I was trying not to be obtrusive but so many
strangers were approaching Savas.  I had to keep an eye on Mom, as well.
She was already reviewing the buffet for errant garnishes.

Dave and his son found us and a furious photo exchange ensued between my
parents and Dave and Jerry.  Mom got some great photos of Savas backstage
with the other singers.  Dad and Dave were exchanging email addresses to
share their videos.

All kinds of men encircled the boys flirting and grinning, so I took Savas
with Mom and Dad to a small table near the windows.  That's when the
principal of the performing arts high school approached us with a glass of
white wine and a plate full of brie, caviar and toast tips.

"We'd be glad to have him - excellent music department at the HSPA."  He
flipped out a business card.

"I'm not sure.  I was thinking about the International Baccalaureate
program - but it depends on Savas..."

"He would love our jazz dance classes, maybe some acting classes -
gymnastics...  Beautiful voice - beautiful boy.  Does he play an instrument
by chance?"

I couldn't hear much more than that over the hubbub, but I saw Mom's eyes
espying the canapés and readying for a rapid-fire verbal analysis.
Her eyes scanned the racket of the room for the caterer.  She was about to
step over my line.

Feeling a tug on my shirt, I saw Savas' face.  He wanted to leave - I
figured it was all the alcohol and the raised voices disturbing him - or
maybe he was tired.

"I'll get back with you."  I told the principal and smiled, stood and asked
Dad to bring the car to the front of the cafe.

***


We went outside to the cool air - not much quieter, but Dad pulled up and
we jumped in.

"I wanna go home."  Was all Savas said, and leaned against me, falling
asleep within a few moments.

"I love you."  I whispered while Dad explained to Mom how he looked like a
perv in a gay bathroom.

Mom laughed and Dad bitched about it all the way home.

***


Undressing Savas quietly, I lay him on the bed and pulled his briefs down,
pulling off the prosthetic and peeling off the glue.  He kicked his new
briefs down around his ankles so I pulled them off.  Blackie jumped up
beside him and I left them sleeping.

Mom and Dad were watching the video of the concert - oohing and ahhing
about Savas and replaying it several times.  The music wafted upstairs
reminding me of how proud I was of my boy.

Downstairs, I noticed Mom had unpacked all the hastily wrapped samples from
her purse - each napkin was notated with any comment about the contents,
"too much garlic" and, "needs capers."

Kissing them on the forehead, "We've got our own party tomorrow - I'm going
to bed. Thanks for the thought about the ointment, Mom - you're a gem."
With that, I winked at Dad and snickered as I left.

As I walked up the stairs, Mom told Dad she was so proud of me.

That felt good.  In my craziest, acid-induced hallucinations I never
thought I'd make it to this place in my life.

Part 14


Carefully, I got into bed with Savas, and he turned to me, putting his hand
on my chest,

"Cuddle me."

Pulling him to me, I kissed his hair, feeling the stiff gel holding his
curls straight, and I stroked his cheek.

In the dim glow of the streetlight streaming into the room, I watched his
eyes move, and slowly open.  He moved close to my face and kissed my jaw,
and whispered.

"I'm so tired."  He said almost too softly to hear.  "Would you rub me?"
He whispered and snuggled close so I could feel his short stake poking into
my side.

"You mean rub your penis?"  My heart stopped.  He asked me!

He nodded, eyes closed.

Licking my fingers, I found his small, stiff penis and lightly stroked
while he sighed.

"Thanks Dad - my ball gets kinda sore.  Too many people around..."

Rolling him on his back, I moved to his chest, kissing his belly and
smelling the faint hint of boy sweat with a tinge of musk.

Then I felt his hand on my face.  I moved downward.

Ever so gently, I licked his tiny slit and took his foreskin in my lips,
and then slipped my tongue onto his glans for my first taste of my boy.
This was every dream I'd held since I met him and it was shadowed by guilt
- but I couldn't stop myself - it felt natural and easy.

As quietly as I could, I pressed his smooth, hard cock with my tongue - his
frenulum between my tongue and the roof of my mouth.  Rubbing with my
tongue while I sucked - I sensed a taste of boy pee and smelled his musk
more strongly.  Moving faster, I put the head of his short shaft as far as
I could toward my throat and sucked deeply.

No deep-throating possible, but the incredibly exciting rush of smells,
tastes and feel of his short, thick erection was more than I could have
imagined.  Silky smooth, hard and his little glans was so hot and
sensitive!

Within a few more strokes, his hips jerked and I kept him in my mouth until
his precious penis relaxed and fell on his scarred groin.  The boy was
asleep as I savored the taste of a drop of liquid from some wonderful,
mysterious place inside him.

That's when I felt Blackie's nose on my face and his whiskers tickling
along my cheek.

Could life get any better?

***


Though I'd wanted to take Mom and Dad to church, Savas was still sleeping
at nine, so I gave Dad my credit card and my shopping list which my Mom
grabbed and quickly reviewed, "We can do better than this!"

"Mom, people will start coming at two, and Bud may be over before then."

"Don't worry; I'll take care of it.  Get Savas up - he can help."

Back in the bedroom, I saw my boy with Blackie.  There were dots and smears
of mascara on the pillowcase and a fuzzy gray tattoo saying "Dad" on his
arm.

What a show!  What a nightcap!

I sat on the bed beside him and stroked along his chest, admiring his
strength - not his muscles - they weren't there yet.

Actually, I was amazed.  I knew and loved another person well enough to
know their sensitivities - their intimate needs.  It surprised me that it
came so easily.  That was new for me.

I couldn't predict everything Savas would do, but I knew he was trying to
heal in a lot of places at the same time.  He was succeeding - and I had
the privilege to help him and watch triumphs that he wasn't aware of
creating for himself.  I was stronger simply staying alongside him, holding
my lust at bay and loving him in the best way I could piece together in the
moment.

Maybe I was healing along with him.  Savas pushed me to be more than I
imagined I could be.  Remembering the warnings Bud gave me years ago, I had
to wonder if Savas' healing would be enough to bring him into healthy,
happy adulthood without proclivities or problems.

He stretched slowly and fell back into a relaxed position.

I sneaked my hand under the sheet and found his morning erection, rigid and
hot.

"Time to shower, sweetheart.  Mom wants you to help downstairs."

He turned to me, with sleepy eyes and smiled, "I love you."

"I love you," I pulled his foreskin and gave his penis a tug.  "I bet you
need a shower."

He grinned and got up.

"If you hurry up, I'll glue."

He ran to the shower and started scrubbing and rubbing while I found his
clean briefs, the glue and the prosthetic.  Then, I found his favorite
Hawaiian print shorts and went into the bathroom before he finished.

I got him dried, glued and helped him get his briefs and shorts on.  Before
I pulled them up, I kissed the tip foreskin.

"Thank you for last night, I like putting you to sleep like that."

He only blushed and pulled his pants up and slipped into his sandals,
grinning.

"That's a blow job, right?"

"Yep, and it's a kind of secret gift between men."

"I know."  He grinned and blushed, and opened his mouth to say something
but didn't.

***


Bud arrived with his new friend, a Hispanic boy about Savas age.  The boys
disappeared while Mom instructed Bud on carving a watermelon and making
cantaloupe balls.

My man cave was transformed into something of a cornucopia of food by the
time people started arriving; it smelled great!

At two, my staff turned into a pack of ravenous wolves at the doorstep.  At
least they had brought shirts to wear, but left their shirts open -
sporting incredible tans on more than incredible bodies.

Mom said nothing - she was too busy refilling the tables with all kinds of
fare - seemed most of it had a coating of bright orange artificial cheese
dripped over the top, and that didn't stop Pascal and his family or the
others.

My home overflowed with music, laughter and all the people I loved - and
they brought more people who were happy and healthy.  For those few hours
there was plenty of everything that makes life great - friends, food, drink
and children.

Savas turned out to be a sort of a gang leader, taking the younger people
in the group down the street to the park, then to the driveway for chalking
it with art and some soccer moves on the in the cul-de-sac.

Bud, like my ever-loyal friend, staffed the beer and wine cooler and
managed the microwave for Mom, salving her anxiety about a "skin" forming
on the top of the dip.

At three, Dad had the slide projector out again and took it to the corner
of the room.  He was inspired by all the attention and his jokes became a
little risqué as he went through the slides.  All my staff was
screaming with laughter at his wisecracks.

Yep, there was the picture of my uncle flipping off the governor to his
face, and then, when Mom frantically trying to hold her skirt in a high
wind.  That slide of her skirt blowing up and revealing her shapely legs
with garters flashed quickly on the wall.  For a nanosecond, it appeared
she wasn't wearing panties!

Dad was grinning.  "Oops!"

My staff started responding to the slides of me with their own quips, and I
believe some of them made me the rear end of their jokes, but I just smiled
and shot a few looks with a raised eyebrow.

That brought more laughter - seems my employees felt like I was too
serious, too often.  I had to agree with them - then a business owner has a
different perspective.

Mike and his boyfriend came, then Twila and Monika.  Yeah, I was very proud
to introduce them to my parents as more like "god parents" than friends.

Blackie had kept the floors clean throughout the day - not a crumb of
cheese or dot of sour cream spotted our genuine linoleum!  The best part of
the day was when we all pitched in together and cleaned up after the best
party of my life.

Yeah, Savas was calling my parents "Mom and Dad" and smiling.  My parents
took to him quickly, and with a smooth grace that amazed me.

***


That next school break, I sent Savas to my parent's house.  There was a
three-day camp in their school district that helped young people make
career decisions.  Complained as if he was tortured, but after the first
night he'd found a friend and Dad took them fishing, then water skiing.

Indoctrination occurred while he visited: "Dad, do you know you can make a
casserole and freeze it then it only takes a few minutes in the microwave?
How come we don't do that?"

"Yeah, we'll try that."  I said, and chuckled.  "Get Mom and Dad and decide
what we want to do for the holidays and I'll work things out.  Okay?"

They spoiled him without mercy - new clothes and shoes, a hat with the name
of Dad's garage, home-cooked meals - the works!  Mom doted and wanted him
to stay longer.  Since Savas was smiling; I agreed to two more days and
suffered until I could meet him at the airport.

Seems like I had my own family back though I was disgruntled with Savas
being gone so long.  Even Blackie was in a strange mood while our boy was
gone.

***


Savas went in for reconstructive treatments every several months.  His
groin began to look more normal through a series of minor surgeries - each
treatment leaving him with bright pink patches that needed a special
soothing ointment.  To Savas' relief, the surgeon gave him another implant
that could be inject with saline as he grew.

Savas was a healthy, strong boy, and his recuperations were quick.  With
every surgery, I wondered if the healing of his spirit ran parallel with
the healing of his skin.

My mind continued replaying what he'd told me.  Couldn't help being amazed
that he'd pictured my face during the worst of his abuse.  He knew I'd
never hurt him.

If I'd only known...

***


Savas decided to study biology with an eye on moving into marine biology or
oceanography.  Good choice, but I had to find transportation for him to get
to his additional jazz dance and gymnastics classes during the coming
semester.  Still can't figure how he wrangled me into that situation - it
was something of a trade off.

In exchange for his extra classes, he had to keep his grades high and work
on Saturdays and half a day on Sundays with Cara renting boards.  It wasn't
so much learning the value of a dollar, but dealing with the public and
handling new situations.  He was comfortable with his job and it seemed to
build his confidence.  That and the crew needed their vacations with their
families.

Maybe my protective nature simply didn't want him home alone and Cara was
something of a mother hen to him.

I'm sure he hated toddling to the beach in the company van with the logo of
a little surfer boy with a black dog on the front of the surfboard,
silhouetted against a huge California sun.  Then, handing out samples of
sunscreen to the surfers - what a demanding job!

Sure, he hated that, with Blackie alongside him all day on the beach
playing frizbee, swimming and surfing.  But Cara enjoyed him, and he was a
help loading and unloading, and rounding up the classes for the
instructors.  Cara gave him a whistle to wear around his neck to bring the
groups together for instructions, I found out as he walked in the shop
after work!

Nights, he came to bed exhausted.  Sometimes he'd tell me the funny things
he'd encountered during the day.  One night, he asked me to take him to
Blacks Beach.

"No.  Never.  Not!  That's a nude beach - are you ready for that?"

"I just wanna look."

"Gonna have you phone out, snapping pics?  You know they don't like it -
probably tell you to leave."

"How about a video?"

I remembered he wanted to see boy dicks several years ago, and his
grandfather had taken him to nude beaches.  So, we went to some porn sites
and looked at naked men.  I went to some medical sights and found a few
drawings of naked boys.

That seemed to be enough for the time being.


Part 15



He'd just turned fourteen, and that was a memorable year for both of us.

During August of that year, he came to bed, still wet from a shower, hair
slicked back.  He was two inches shorter than me, and a very nice looking
teen.

We'd endured a few skin eruptions, but not many.  Savas bought make up to
cover the red spots and small outbreaks, to my consternation but I didn't
comment.

I couldn't help but notice, though, he was becoming thinner.  His knees
were knobby, and his collarbones were pronounced.  Of course, my thoughts
went to drugs or some kind of body dysmorphia first, but he didn't seem
sneaky or depressed about anything.

"My love, are you on a new diet?  Are you feeling alright?"

He got into bed and snuggled up beside me, facing away.  That was his
position when he had to say something difficult, so I waited.

"Having a problem going in the bathroom."  He said softly, "I think it's
getting worse, and I know you'll take me to the doctor but I don't want
anyone messing around my butt.  Okay?"

"How long has this been happening?"

"Several months.  I don't want to eat because I'll have to shit."

"Will you let me give you an enema?"

"Is it gonna help?"

With that I got up and pulled on my jeans and tee shirt, and headed to the
drug store.  Reading each label I decided on an herbal stool softener,
glycerin suppositories and bought an enema bag.

When I came back home, I found Savas in the bathroom on the john grunting.

"Don't force - it won't help."  I remembered him sitting on Milo's lap
crying several years ago and wondered how much damage he'd endured when he
was young.  Didn't bring that up.

Well, the upshot of our time in the bathroom was we had a minor struggle.
Sure, I understood about the sensitivity around his past so I gave the
package instructions to Savas to read out loud while I began his
treatments.

I sat on the side of the tub with his precious butt on my thighs and looked
- his tiny sphincter was irregular - some of the thin, hairline scars
showed how far his skin had been torn.  It was years ago, and I wondered,
but carefully applied petroleum jelly to his small hole and inserted a
suppository.

"No, Dad.  Don't do that!"

He wasn't struggling so hard, he must have needed some relief.

"We're gonna do this, and you're going to take the stool softener until I
can get you an appointment."

After the first suppository, Savas was in a snit, but I persisted.

That helped, but very little.  So I gave him a warm enema, then a rinse.
That worked, and I knew this was more than I could treat with
over-the-counter remedies every day.  In bed, I asked him to get on his
stomach, and stop complaining.  I reached over for my phone and told him to
hold his butt open.

"No.  Please Dad."  He was still humiliated.  I would have been, too.

"Have you ever looked at your ass?"

"Don't make jokes - you just want a picture of my ass."

"I think you'll want to go to the doctor if you could see - you'd
understand why I'm upset."

With a sharp, close photo on my phone, I showed him the scars.

"Now, take a picture of my ass."  I told him.

Comparing the photos, I didn't have to explain my alarm.

"This means more surgery?"  He asked.

"Not sure about that, but it does mean going to another doctor.  I'll go
with you and we'll try to make it as easy as we can.  Do you think you can
do this or maybe you could talk to Mike about it first?"

He didn't say anything.

"Sweetheart, one day you're going to meet a man and fall in love.  Even if
you look like a skeleton, and spend half the day on the toilet.  If you're
lucky enough to find the right guy, you gonna say, `I love you but don't
you dare touch my butt?'  You're going to tell that to another gay man?
Really?  "When you love each other, and share your bodies, your sweet ass
is part of the pleasure."

Thinking for a moment, "But, going to the john shouldn't hurt.  Since you
have to go everyday, we better get this fixed."

He smiled a little.

"Let's try something, get an idea how difficult this is going to be."  I
brought out a very old, dusty bottle of lube and lay Savas on my torso with
his head at my neck.

"Put your thighs along my hips and relax, I'm going to give you a short
massage and find out where the problem is.  Tell me if it hurts."

Reaching around him, I pulled his butt apart and let the lube drip down his
cleft.  His hips jerked.

"Relax; I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know."  His heart was beating rapidly and his breath quickened - this
was a fine line I walked.  Would I trigger past trauma?  His proud
four-incher was pressing against my belly so I went ahead.

So lightly, and so slowly, I pushed some of the lube just inside his anus.

With the tip of my ring finger, I pressed against his anus and whispered
that I wanted him to push against me.

"Don't push hard - just enough to let me feel how - how even the muscles
are around your hole."

I pressed and could immediately feel the small areas drawn tightly by the
scar tissue.  That made me wonder about his colonic sphincter, but I wasn't
about to digitally examine so deeply inside him.

My past career taught me a lot about my colon and rectum issues - though
I'd never been hurt severely, I understood the constipation, impactions,
and irritation that needed analgesic cream.

"Feels good."  He whispered into my neck.

I pressed a little deeper, slowly.  His anxious erection was rigid and
twitching against me.

Kissing his hair, I probed further until I could find the glands I knew
would help relax the situation.  Without saying anything, I rubbed inside
him very gently.

After a few short moans, and his moist skin slapping against me, I felt a
puddle of liquid between us, and smelled boy juice.

"Now, are you going to tell your lover not to touch your butt?"

I felt him grin, "No."

As Blackie came over to give the lube a good sniff and a lick, Savas
chuckled at Blackie's curiosity and asked if I really thought he'd have a
lover.

"Yes, with your personality, smarts and looks, you'll have the guys chasing
after you.  Probably do already."

"I don't want to be on the bottom anymore."  He stated.

"You don't ever have to be the bottom - don't let anyone force you.  Get up
and leave - love doesn't force."

***


The next morning at breakfast, I gave Savas a dose of the stool softener
and we left a message together for Mike.  We needed the name of a
proctologist who worked with teens - I knew I didn't have to say anymore to
Mike.

Savas, my brave boy took his capsules and that helped him keep his class
schedule until we got to the doctor's office.

The proctologist was a woman, and very welcoming, she smiled often and was
reassuring.  Oddly, there were pictures of babies and younger children
along the hallways of her office.  I blanched thinking of their problems,
but she said she performed reconstructive surgery for children with
congenital problems.  What a relief!

We left the office after an initial interview and came back several hours
later for a colonoscopy.

Fortunately, the technician gave Savas a little medication to reduce his
anxiety and his anus was numbed topically.  I stayed but couldn't watch.
When the results came back we were escorted into the doctor's office.

Of course, I was anxious about any permanent internal damage and asked.

"We can see some internal damage, and it has healed in a way that shouldn't
be a problem if he's careful, but let's keep an eye on it."  The doctor
began.  "If there's any bleeding, call me immediately."

"The muscles in his anal sphincter are damaged, and we can treat that to
some extent."  Then she turned to Savas.  "Are you sexually active?"

Savas blushed furiously.  "Dad, could you leave?"  Like his humble slave, I
left yet again.

Twenty minutes later, the doctor called me back, sat at her desk and turned
her computer around where we could see the screen.

"Go online and get a set of dilators.  This is the kind to use - or
something close to it."  She pointed to an advertisement showing five
dildo-type dilators in graduating sizes.

"Follow the directions on the insert and use plenty of lube.  Start slowly;
use a size larger when the smaller one is comfortable.  You have to hold it
in his anus for twenty to thirty minutes twice a day.  Keep using the stool
softener, or call me and I'll prescribe something else, but lots of fruits,
vegetables and water.  Call me if there's a problem."

"Doesn't seem like that's going to fix much."  I said, "Will Savas need
surgery?"

"Start with the smallest.  Stop if you have any pain as you move up to the
larger sizes.  You may want to use a pad in your briefs afterward when the
anal muscles are relaxed - could get a little messy back there.  When you
get to the third one without any problem, call me and we'll check on how
things are going."

"What about surgery?"  Savas asked, frustrated.

"Only if we have to - for now, let's see if we can get your muscles to help
you go to the bathroom by stretching them.  Surgery may not help, so let's
try this first."

We were both smiling as we left - no surgery!

In the car, I got on my phone and ordered the dilators.

"Savas, when you told me to leave, did the doctor ask you about me?"  I
knew the doctor had to report child abuse.

"Yeah.  I told her you loved me - but I gave her Mike's phone number and
told her to call him if she didn't believe me.  She wanted to know who
caused my problem."

Then, in typical teenage fashion he rolled his eyes and told me she'd given
him a lecture on his diet, and a few comments on anal play that wouldn't
hurt him.

Smart, for a chick dealing with a teen.

That went smoothly, and we stopped by the store.  I checked out the women's
sanitary products for a thin "panty" liner and let Savas pick out his own
lube.  Surprisingly, he got the cocoanut-flavored kind.

"Blackie'll like this!"

***


We worked out a routine with a timer, and Savas was much more energetic
after the first week.  I trimmed the panty liners and found an old pair of
baggy swim trunks of mine for him to wear to dance and gymnastics classes.

Nights, though, I held the dilator in place while we talked about sex -
infections, foreplay, and negotiating sexual positions, consent and the
traditions around gay bars and spas.  One night, he asked me how I knew so
much about gay men's asses if I never dated.

"It's not something I like to admit, but when I was young I left for
Australia - got myself into a bad situation at about the same time you were
in your bad situation..."  Carefully, but with candor, I explained that I'd
sold my board, then my body in the gay bars and on the beaches.

Savas was quiet for a long time.  Wasn't sure why.

"Is that why you don't date now?"  He asked.

"Well..."  Hard question.  "Remember, my past wasn't so gentle, being gay
was sinful - most of my life I thought I was weird, so I was ashamed and
hid myself.  I guess I didn't get any social skills.  "Then, when I got
back to the states, I met you, and everything changed."

As I explained myself, I wondered if my parent's dismissal of my
differences wasn't as much abuse as the physical abuse Savas endured.

"Do you want me to find a guy - get a partner?"  I asked.

"Only if he loves you."  Savas whispered, "And me, and Blackie."

***


The holidays came - Mom packed half her house and Dad, poor soul, pulled a
trailer full of "things we needed," in Mom's opinion.

This was somewhat disconcerting, so I left for work the next day knowing I
would return to Mom's mid-western decor, but it would be better than mine.

"Mom, you're doing too much!"  I stated when I came in the door.  There
were end tables and a coffee table, lamps and I looked around to see a
dining table set with china plates and real flatware.  There were candles
and evergreen boughs.  In the corner was a box with an artificial tree...

"Well, are you going to hold the office party at the shop?  Your dad tried
that one year, and all the grease and the stink made the clam dip taste
like putty!"

"Okay, Mom."  She'd roped me into an open house.

"I brought the holiday slides for this one!"  Dad chimed in, grinning and
clearing the wall for some more of his shtick.

Savas was resolute about not wearing an elf hat, but Blackie agreed to
anything, especially guarding the kitchen floor when Mom cooked.  He wore a
goofy collar with red and white fluff.

"Look, Mom, Dad - the only thing I really want is for us to go to the
services on the twenty-fourth.  It's a night service so don't plan anything
for that afternoon."

"Hmmm.  Twenty-fourth.  Okay."  Mom said as she adjusted the new drapes and
inspected Savas, "Needs a hair cut before then."

"He'll tell us when he needs one."  I said.  "It's his hair."

She didn't say anything more - I had to keep some boundaries in place - Mom
could be a bulldozer at times.

***


I'd only taken Savas out to eat on his birthday; any holiday we celebrated
was at the shop or the beach with Cara.

For the first time, he helped with decorating a holiday tree - and he loved
it.  Took over the whole job and wouldn't let anyone touch the tinsel.  As
we stood to admire it, he told me he wanted to put the tiny lights around
the bedroom after Mom and Dad left.

Mom brought an idea with her.  No gifts under the tree this year!

She brought a box of old cards from years ago and said we were going to
recycle them into gifts for each other and explained the process.

On the inside of each card, we had to glue a piece of paper over the old
greeting, signature and notes.  Then we would decorate the glued paper and
write our own greeting along with a list of the things we'd like to give
the person who would receive the card - the things money couldn't buy.  The
next list would contain the things we'd like to take from the recipient, or
a symbol of it.  "Like take away their overtime, or their grease under
their fingernails."  Mom looked at Dad.

Mom explained that she and Dad donated to a health clinic in Nairobi, and
the church suggested families use the gift lists as way to use the season
in a more meaningful way.

Savas was digging through the cards immediately then brought out his
markers and crayons.  Mom cleared the table, and we sat down.  Mom had glue
and glitter, a box of snips of used wrapping and stickers, bows and rolls
of ribbon.

"Get to it, we're making all our gifts this year, and money or size is no
object!  So be as generous as you want.  Somewhere a beautiful mother is
taking her child for her vaccines!"

Dad and I went through the cards and we sat around making lists, gluing and
writing feeling like first graders until we had to stop and think about the
lists.

Savas finished his cards early and refused to help me draw angels or dogs
on my card inserts.

Mom had to have her own catering business and my love and I asked to
relieve her of compulsive critiques about other people's food - I thought
those would be great.  I wanted to take some of her generosity of spirit
for my own.

I gave Dad a slide conversion on a CD so he could take his presentations on
the road.  Time, I gave him - I wanted more time with him and Savas
together.

Things I could take from him were difficult, but I wrote down "All things
unspoken," alluding to the moments when I needed a champion when I was
young and he hadn't stepped forward.  Maybe I was offering forgiveness.

Savas, the little artist, finished quickly and took charge of tying all the
cards shut with ribbons, making the bows just right and curling the ends to
make spirally poufs, then dotting them with glitter and placing them under
his tree.

Mom was proud when we'd finished - the bright cards and bows looked like
presents - she took photos and sent them to her friends.  I took photos of
Savas and Blackie and told Savas to move the lights up - if Blackie decided
to pee on the tree we could have a "third rail" incident.

The highlight of the season was when Savas and I took Mom and Dad to visit
Bud in Mexico.  Bud's boy couldn't speak much English, but he and Savas
took Mom to a big open-air market and they came back loaded down with all
manner of Oaxacan cheeses and some unusual kitchen gadgets, fruit and
fabrics...

Dad and I got a little sloshed on Bud's holiday sangria while they were
gone.  Mom had to drive home.  We were stuffed full of treats, and singing
along with the radio - that was fun.

Part 16


The next day was the twenty-fourth.  We invited Twila, Monika and their new
family for dinner before we left for services.  They were a beautiful
family, and I got to see Monika and Twila as loving parents again.

Dad held the youngest girl on his lap, teaching her some finger games while
and Savas had taken the oldest girl down to the park with Twila.

Monika was in the kitchen with the other girl who was clinging to her,
perhaps upset about something.  I noticed the girl had on a pair of jeans,
two skirts and several shirts with a sweatshirt topping her mismatched
outfit.  My mind went back to seeing Savas in the institute - all the
clothing the children wore in the heat.

"Why don't you take her upstairs and take some of those clothes off - look
your best for church."  Mom suggested.  She shouldn't have said that.

In her courtroom voice, "We worship a loving god who accepts any child in
whatever they wear.  Your social constructs don't work in our lives."

Mom was somewhat taken aback, and I'm not sure if she understood what a
social construct was, but I did.  Monika and Mom continued making the salad
and moved on with the meal.

I needed to hear that exchange as embarrassing as it had been for Mom.

Taking the girl by the hand I asked if she wanted to go to the park and
walk Blackie with me, "Your sister and Savas are probably on the swings..."

Then, we all went to services at the church together.  During those moments
- the lights, the music and peaceful words, I felt like a full part of my
community.  I was with people I loved and needed - people who loved and
needed me.

That night, Mom made hot chocolate and I put on soft seasonal music and we
opened our "gifts."

***

Dad gave me a jet to visit him anytime I wanted.

Mom gave me clothes that didn't need washing and carpets that consumed dog
hair and integrated it into the nap.  Clever gift!

My Savas gave me a rainbow-colored heart among some other things he said he
would explain later - but they meant he loved me then he kissed my cheek.
One of his drawings was a smiley face with an odd contraption on top of it.
Maybe that was some kind of crown.  That sketch had a big, black X over it!

All in all, it was a great holiday season, and the gifts were more
consequential - more so than underwear or cologne.

Once again, my parents said they loved me, and it was hidden behind their
words - they weren't hidden with Savas.

Part 17


After the commotion of the holidays passed, Savas told me the most
remarkable thing when we were in bed.  He said that while they were moving
the furniture in his bedroom vacuuming, Mom found the unopened letter from
Savas' mother.

"I told her I wasn't ready to open it - I was afraid.  She snatched it out
away from me and read it - then took it to the kitchen and lit it on fire
in the sink!  Then she said that I deserved better and started hugging and
kissing me."

"You can write your Mom again if you want..."  I suggested somewhat
surprised at my Mom's response - but she had her own management style.

"Can we make sure my mom doesn't bother me anymore?  I told her to leave me
alone."

"We'll ask Monika how that's done and do it ourselves."

Savas' mom would be in jail several more years, and we could get a
restraining order served upon her release.  Still wasn't sure about his
dad, but granddad would be about eighty-nine when he was released.

I brought my gift card from him - curious about his sketches.

"Now tell me about my face with the big black X on it and a crown - what
was that about?  You want me to grow antenna and get a brainectomy?  Heck
of a gift!"

He leaned over to kiss me on my lips.  Then he explained that my boundaries
were uncomfortable for him.

"That stuff on your head is a fence - like a boundary, and the X means -
well - I want to take it away from you.  I'm not ten years old anymore -
you need to get rid of your boundaries."

"Which boundaries?"

He pushed me over to my left side and got in front of me, snuggling close -
his "hard conversation" position again.

"Sometimes I feel like you expect me to be sick forever, like I'm still
eleven...  I want to be...  I want...  I don't want you to be afraid of me
anymore."

He stopped and didn't say anything else.

I turned him over to face me.

"Do you think I'm afraid of you?"

No answer.

"I know you're not eleven.  You're almost in high school, and taller
everyday.  Tell me what you think I'm afraid of..."

He came close to my face and whispered to me.

"When I met you, we were friends - then after all the hospitals and
pills...  I needed a Dad.  I really did need a dad - that was hard."

"The judge told us you asked for a father..."

"That was a long time ago - I'm past that now."  He said.

"What do you need?"

No answer, but this time he turned me away from him and snuggled behind me.

"I need to show you I love you."  He whispered and I felt his hand lightly
moving across my chest, like I'd done to him so many nights.

From me holding a tearful boy to now, my man-child holding me and kissing
my neck felt not only strange but incredibly exciting; tinged heavily with
shame as my erection filled, hot and strong.  In my fantasies, I'd been the
one initiating gently and slowly...

His arm wrapped over me, and I felt his hot, rigid erection at my buttocks.
His hips bumped into me lightly as his hand went under my briefs and pushed
them down.

I froze, not really knowing what to do - was this the beginning of a
promiscuous lifestyle?

"No, love.  No..."  I told him.

Slowly, he put his hand on my chest and pulled me hard into him.

"Yes, Dad.  I love you...  Don't be afraid anymore."

Sighing deeply was my only response - I had been afraid of loving him the
way I wanted - I didn't know that was what he needed.  Without words, he
kissed my neck and stroked my shoulder and arm.

Then, I smelled the cocoanut lube - and his hand went to my butt, very
slippery and parting my cleft.  It had been so long - every touch was
electric, like the first time...

His finger found my hole and he rubbed the lube and whispered, "Do you want
me?"

All this felt familiar and so very extraordinary at the same time.  I was
hesitant for a moment, and I couldn't deny him this; I couldn't deny myself
his love.

Pushing back against his glans, "Yes."

He pushed against my ass gently, at first.  This was clearly his first time
- he felt uncertain.

Leaning forward, I pushed my tight muscles against him, "Take me.  Show
me."

With every prod he became more assertive; with every nudge tears streamed
from my eyes.  He made short humming sounds with every thrust, arousing me
further.

What tenderness!  I'd never experienced this before - our musk, sweat and
so much love filled the small warm spaces between us.  The pain was bliss
as I continued to shove against him, needing more.

He gasped when the head of his erection was completely enveloped inside me.
We both stayed very still - examining the newness of the sensations and the
unexpected, profound intimacy it brought.

When I felt him move inside me, a sudden relief filled my chest.  Like all
the tension I'd held about my boy's life, his health, everything
disappeared and I felt like a complete man in complete acceptance.

My pounding heart and his thick shaft was all I could feel.

He trembled and pulled me against his chest, "So hot..."  I heard him
breathe deeply and rapidly, shaking.

Suddenly he plunged deeply into me and I was comp letely filled for several
hard shoves and felt the heat of his semen filling me.  Frantically, I
pumped my erection and pictured his slit spurting out his boy-cum so deep
inside me like an intense, private blessing.

We stayed very still enjoying the sensation of two men's bodies in complete
satisfaction - our love finally in equilibrium.  I felt so complete, so
very whole and satisfied beyond anything I could have imagined.

The shadow of guilt darkened my thoughts as I considered what I'd just
done.  Thoughts of perversion, depravity and jail filled my mind.

"Social constructs..."  I remembered.  "Your social constructs don't work
in our lives..."

A flood of other thoughts flooded back to me - children's rights,
intergenerational equity...

My boy wanted to show me he loved me, and he chose this way.  Who was I to
tell him he was wrong?  He courageously offered me the best he had - his
tender body and a brave heart.  Had he known I'd wanted this all along and
erected so many mental barriers to keep myself in check?

Turning to him, I kissed and held him.

"Thank you for showing me you love me.  I needed...  I need you."  I
whispered and took him to the shower.

In the dark, the steamy water and the smell of our bodies - no soap, only
water and kisses, long, slow strokes rinsing a man and a boy's lovemaking
from us.

We went back to the bedroom and I dug under the bed to find the dilators.

"I'm not going to be on the bottom."  Savas reminded me.

"I know."  Picking up the third largest dilator, "Turn over on your
stomach."

 Between his legs, I stroked along his back and legs, beautiful boy.
Gently, I opened his buttocks and began the most tender, lightest kisses
until I felt him lift his hips - pressing his cleft against my face.  He
shuddered as I licked and probed.

My tongue felt the scar tissue and the irregularities on his tight hole - I
kissed them.  Slipping my finger alongside my tongue, I prodded his muscles
and felt him flinch.

Quickly, I grabbed the lube and squirted a bit inside his anus, then I
brought the dilator and began pushing against his sweet ass - it was tight
but he pushed against it.

"I'm gonna cum."  He whispered and within a few seconds, our bed smelled
like the ocean, the beach...  Inhaling deeply, I kept the dilator inside
him and twirled it a little.

"Let me hold you."  Turning him to his side, I reached between his legs and
held the dilator inside him.

"Do you want me?"  I asked and kissed him.

His eyes were dreamy - half closed.

"When you're ready, I'm going to lie down and I want you to take me inside
you - as much or as little as you want.  You're in control - I'd need to
show you my love..."

He waited a few moments then pressed against my shoulder, pushing me to my
back.

My erection, was average - never got any compliments on it, but it earned
me enough to get back to the states.  It was rock hard and twitching, I was
glad that I wasn't as big as some men were.

Savas sat on his knees beside me and lubed my shaft while I watched under
the soft glow of the string of holiday lights.  He was smiling.

"I'm glad you're not afraid anymore."

"Inside our home, with the door locked, we can show our love to each other
anyway we want.  But our love has to stay in a private place, here between
us."

"I know."  His fingers massaged my balls, and he leaned over to kiss them.
"Wish one of your sperm made half of me."

"Wouldn't be the same.  I love you the way you are."  I was getting ready
to explode under his gentle touches.  "Stop.  I don't want to cum yet."

He grinned.  "Okay."

Tenderly, he dripped the lube along my shaft, and lifted his leg as he
straddled my waist.

My eyes were drawn to a glimpse of that smooth, pink place behind his balls
- I made a note to inspect that with my tongue later.  The thin ridge of
skin from his ass to the base of his penis was no longer off limits - I
wanted to taste every bit of him.

He leaned over and kissed me.

The physics of our situation wasn't perfect, but I reached around him and
held my glans at his warm, slippery hole, guiding it.

"Easy.  Real easy..."  I watched his face as he relaxed his ass, pushing
against me.

He pushed and slowly I entered, then with a quick jolt, I was inside him.
Lifting himself from my chest, he was smiling.

"Hurt?"

"A little, but it feels good."  He clinched his ass around me in an
incredible kiss around my aching pole.

"Slowly - find the place where it feels the best."  Pressure was building
in my balls, and I began to sweat.  Had to hold back, but this was
everything I'd wanted and more.

That came to an abrupt halt when Savas hands began pinching my nipples.

He moved his hips, and my rod explored inside him - hot velvety folds
parting against my sensitive rod.  Through that, he took more of me.  Half
way.

Lifting himself, I felt a pull on my glans - that moment was ecstasy - a
pure, white shot of electric ecstasy rocked through me.

"You don't have to take it all..."  I lied, but I couldn't to hurt him.

"Feels good now."  He looked down at me from under his eyelashes, cheeks
flushed with lust.  Grabbing the lube, I filled my palm and grabbed his
short, hard erection and smiled.  One hand held his scrotum, the other
tugged and squeezed.

He moved his right leg, and he scooted his butt around with an unfocused
stare, then he began moving me in and out of him.

No.  He couldn't take all of me, and I wanted to grab his hips and feel
completely surrounded by his small rectum.

"Dad!"  I felt several drops of his hot, teen cum hit my face and smiled,
but that kicked my release.

"Ahhh!"  My body tensed, and searing rushes of semen rushed up through my
shaft and into my boy.  Five, six, seven, eight - I felt empty in only a
few seconds.  My brain blanked during an incredible release.

We held each other, sailing on a smooth, strong current of endorphins and
dopamine for a few more moments of unbelievable closeness.

***

We were late the next morning and I didn't care, my thoughts flew through
joy and soared into the clouds - dreams realized.

Life went on...  Savas gave up the gymnastics and dance classes and took up
the Cyr wheel the next semester - a simple, odd form of gymnastics, but he
was as graceful as a sea breeze as he spun and danced through the silvery
circle in the middle of the garage.  Sure, I sent a lot of videos of that
to Mom and Dad.

One night, he was particularly quiet.  I knew what that meant, so I turned
on my left side and pulled him close to me with Blackie taking his place
beside us.  Had to wonder what he wanted - we'd worked hard with the
dilators, and it seemed like that was enough.  He only needed them
occasionally.

The plastic surgeon inserted a plastic testicle that he could simply inject
with more gel to make it larger as Savas grew.

We made love as often and for as long as we wanted, trying new things and
learning from each other.  Things were all right, it seemed to me.

"Dad, I want to change my name."

That surprised me.

"Well, as long as it's not something goofy, like Thunder or Gaylord -
Richard would be as bad as Randal - Randy isn't good."

"Dad!  I want your name and my family name.  Savas Wyatt Alexopoulos."

"That's not your name - where's the Ashton?"

"Alexopoulos is my grandmother's name - she loved me.  She's the one my
granddad told us not to talk about - the one who taught me to sing.  I
don't want the name Ashton, people can find out about my family.  That's
not my family - it's kind of as if they never were.  I want names of the
people who love me."

He turned in my arms and kissed my lips; a very passionate and very male
kiss.

"You're my family now - you and Blackie and your mom and dad."

"We'll call Monika and Twila and see how we can make that happen."  I may
have been trembling as I tried to collect myself at that point.

Yeah, that was a rich moment - took my breath away.  We'd have the same
name.

***


Since I'd become Savas' guardian, I made annual reports to the state,
always attaching the financial reports from the law firm handling his trust
fund and the family's estate.  Savas never asked to see them.

I forwarded a copy to Twila and Monika, and they reviewed them for me.
Looked like Savas would be worth at least several million when he became
twenty-five.

I wanted him to know about all the things his money couldn't buy - how two
people build a home and family together - it wasn't about money at all, but
about twining our lives together with love.

The money didn't matter to me, it was his.  We'd done fine on my income.

I hoped I'd given him an example of good sense to avoid the pitfalls that
so much money can bring - fast life, drugs and moochers could bring a lot
of problems I couldn't even imagine.

***


I'd worked through the holiday season with Mom and Dad's help during Savas'
junior year in high school - Pascal took his family back to Mexico for the
season.  Dad didn't mind rebuilding parts or helping at the front desk with
Blackie dealing with customers.

Savas even rode the bus to school every day so we could save money for the
trip of a lifetime - he took on Cara's duties on weekends and we were both
exhausted every night as we built up an account for our tickets.  We were
going to Greece to meet his grandmother!

Yeah, passports with Savas' new name, and the lawyer had given us the phone
number of his grandmother - our plan was in action.

Savas' grandmother lived outside of Athens and welcomed us, sending
pictures of her home, and her other grandchildren, their families.

Of course, Mom and Dad had to come along, and I was proud to paying for
their plane tickets - we'd meet in New York and fly together.

"No slides, Dad!  Mom, Greek food is different - hold the reviews till we
get home!"

The week before we left, we spent the evenings packing and readying.  I
noticed Savas was becoming anxious and quiet.

"You all right?  Are you worried about meeting a lot of strangers speaking
Greek?"

"Just feeling a little strange.  This is the first time I'm going to meet
anyone from my family...  I wonder if she'll remember me.  They're going to
talk about Granddad and my mom and dad...  Are they going to let me sleep
with you like we always do?"

"No idea about where we'll sleep - we could get a hotel room if you want.
If they start talking about your family, you can leave the room if you
want.  But I'll tell Mom to change the subject - we've got some help now.
You know how Mom is, she'll start talking food."

He didn't answer me.

In bed that night, Blackie was standing on my chest sniffing my breath and
kissing me when Savas came in.  We lay together and told Blackie to behave
at Cara's house while we were gone.

Savas got up on one elbow and told me to roll over.  He wanted to show me
his love.  He liked me on my side, where he could suck me while his fingers
penetrated deep inside, encouraging me to cum as hard as I could.  My hands
felt along the sides of his face, and I fell in love with him again - every
time his sucking kisses teased me until my ejaculation was incredibly
emptying.  Then, he moved to kiss me, and I'd wrap him as close to my chest
as I could, and feel his erection rubbing my belly with his pre-cum.  He
made a trail to my lips and straddle my face while returned his fingering
and sucked until there wasn't any more to take.

"You're my family now.  I don't want anyone else, but people who love me."

That one moment made all the work and worry worth it.

"You're all I need and want."

***


The next morning we woke as more than father and son - overlaid with a
deeper ease our honesty brought.

When the notice came to change his name, I bought rings for us - just
simple bands.

No label could encompass the love we'd built between us, despite my
half-neurotic parenting and his missing so much of a childhood, but we had
more .

Calm came to our lives with our love and filled our home.

No longer were we adrift, seeking the leeward side for shelter - we faced
windward with the salt breezes in our faces with the confidence of knowing
we had more than most people, more than most lovers and more love than we
ever could have imagined.



Greece was wonderful - such welcoming, warm people everywhere we went.
Food, wine and sunshine it was great!  Beautiful people, ancient temples
and history and everyone

Savas' grandmother was incredible - she worked with the waves of refugees
that were fleeing war.  Mom went directly to the kitchen in the refugee
shelter and I didn't say anything, just hoped the language barrier would
keep her comments in check.

The young men in the refugee shelter touched Savas with their stories and
we went back every day to visit with them.  Dad and I helped with unloading
trucks and moving boxes in the cramped warehouse.

Every night more relatives invaded the house bringing food and wine - we
partied every night.


***

Savas' high school and college years went smoothly, he studied Marine
Biology.  We remained close - our small, older condo was his home such as
it was.

Through all my fears about what might happen from his family's problems, I
only worried about losing him to a problem.  For some reason, I hadn't
noticed the boy who'd been tossed about most of his life - a nanny, a maid,
any of the employees at the marina, then a series of people who cared even
less about him.  I'd only seen a boy in pain.

Those early years with him next to me I'd tried to build his confidence
while I fought my almost uncontainable desires to ravage his tender body.
Maybe my mid-western guilt had served me well.

He'd needed a stable, solid pillar to attach himself to - a place to find
context for himself and his life - a secure place to ground himself.
Somehow, he found it with me though I felt adrift at times as a parent.

Nor had I noticed that I needed more than an "office boy" job - I needed
someone to love and the miracle of being responsible for Savas stabilized
me.  I needed something to attach myself to as well.  Not the kind of love
I fantasized about when I first met Savas, the kind Bud had experienced a
number of times - it was a love that grew deeper as Savas became a young
man with a thick, dark beard and the most incredible scents between his
legs and under his arms.  That smell was like heaven to me.  His deep, rich
voice singing around the house was Gabriel's finest hymn.

Savas went to the La Jolla campus with his new name, coming home every
weekend, bringing friends often, and always sleeping with Blackie and me.
We were intimate, more often than not when he was home and we stayed close.

Surprisingly, Seven, Mr. Flattop returned through out lives, recruiting us
to help with several more concerts.  Yep, I was selling ads in the programs
and ushering - Savas was in the chorus and enjoying all the attention with
a big smile.

The day he turned twenty-five he bought a ticket and flew his grandmother
to California to visit us.

Mom and Dad came down and we celebrated with a house full of people again.

I was proud to introduce Seven, as my new friend.  The drill sergeant of
the men's chorus appreciated a quiet man without any ham about him.  Well,
that's what he said, and he loved me fiercely and I enjoyed his creativity
and quick mind.

"Seven" was an understatement, and that was okay with Savas and me as well.
He loved Savas and Blackie, even our funky little home - though he had to
make some major decorating happen and we added a sunroom and a hot tub.

Savas' grandmother doted on me when she visited - it was almost as
embarrassing as Mom's catering critiques - she kept saying I'd saved her
grandson.

But in an odd way I felt it was Savas who saved me.


Fin.