Date: Sun, 05 Oct 2003 21:58:28 +0000
From: Lewis Oldenburg <suntop100@graffiti.net>
Subject: Alex-3

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction which contains descriptions
of sexual acts between an adult and a minor child.  Any similarity to
actual events or resemblance to persons living or dead is purely
coincidental.

ALEX
Part 3

	I woke up at around 2AM with Alex's nude body lithely draped over
mine.  I had been sleeping fitfully since we'd climbed into bed, despite
the drain on my energies caused by our recent activities.  I couldn't stop
thinking about what had happened to Alex earlier when he'd gone home to his
father.  I didn't know for sure, but I had some ideas, none of which were
pretty.
	Carefully, so as not to wake him, I moved Alex's arm and slid out
from under him.  He stirred slightly and murmured something unintelligible.
"Shhh," I whispered, "I'll be right back."  He grunted and fell back into a
deep sleep.
	I threw on my bathrobe and walked downstairs to the kitchen for a
drink of water.  Standing over the kitchen sink with the water running I
found my thoughts were a spinning maelstrom of mixed emotions.  "What the
Hell am I doing," I thought, "This kid is only eleven years old!  What am I
thinking?"  Visions of myself arrested, on trial, in prison, pushed
themselves unwelcome into my head.  "Jesus Christ, if I ever got caught..."
I couldn't let myself finish that thought.
	But then I thought of him lying upstairs asleep.  God, he was
beautiful.  And I had to admit to myself that I had never felt so happy as
when we had been together.  No, not just happy -- complete.  It was like he
was the part of me I'd been missing.  Not hat I'd even known anything had
BEEN missing.  Christ, I was drifting into some sappy weirdness.
	And it's not like I'd made him, right?  I mean, he initiated
everything that happened.  But isn't that what every child molester said?
Something told me that, true as it was, these realities would not impress
the authorities.
	But I realized that it really didn't matter, I was in too deep.  I
wanted to be with Alex more than anything, and as long as he wanted to be
with me I'd do everything in my power to make sure it happened.
	I snapped out of my reverie, filled up a glass, and turned off the
water.  Quaffing down the contents, I set the glass back on the counter and
trudged back up the stairs.  I had a pretty good idea of what I'd have to
do.

*****

	The first thing I saw as I quietly opened the bedroom door was that
the bedside lamp was on and Alex was sitting up in bed.
	"Hey," I said, "What are you doing awake?"
	"I dunno.  I just woke up and you weren't here.  I was gonna come
and look for you but then I thought maybe I shouldn't."
	I sat down beside him and rubbed his back.  "How come?"
	He shrugged.  "I dunno," he said meekly.  "I guess I thought maybe
you were, you know, mad at me or something."
	"Why would you think that?"
	"Just `cuz."
	I pulled in closer and looked at him seriously.  "'Cuz why?  It's
OK to tell me."
	He shrugged again.  When he answered it was almost a whisper.
"'Cuz maybe you decided I was just a little faggot or something."
	It was as if someone had reached into my chest and squashed my
heart like a grape.  "Alex, babe, that's just not true.  I would never
think that."  I hugged him tightly.  "I just went downstairs for a second."
I stroked his back soothingly.  "You don't need to worry that I'm going to
leave you, because it's just not going to happen.  Not ever."
	"For real?" he sniffed.
	"Absolutely."  I felt his entire body relax as I continued to hold
him and rock him gently.  No, I thought, there was no turning back, and I
knew what had to be done.
	After a moment I felt Alex's hands fumbling at the belt-tie of my
robe.  "Hey," I whispered, "I don't want you thinking that you have to do
that every time..."
	"I know," he cut me off.  "I just wanna again is all."
	How could I resist.  I let him untie my robe and I slipped it off.
My dick was already hard when Alex started playing with my pubic hair.
	"I like how your hair feels," he said.
	I was still caressing his smooth back, slowly moving down to the
buttocks.  "Well, I like how you feel, too, cutie."
	He let out a little giggle and pulled away a bit.  "You can hump me
if you want."
	I stroked his cheek with one hand and slid the other up and down
his side, feeling the ripples and contours of his rib cage.  "I would like
to," I said, "I really would, but I'm afraid that my dick is just too big
and that I'd hurt you."
	He started stroking my cock.  "It ain't THAT big," he said
teasingly.
	"Ha ha," I said.  Jeez, what he was doing felt good.  "Seriously,
though, I don't want to risk it."
	He looked a little let down.  "I seen bigger," he said, "I can take
it."
	This was a little troubling, but somehow not surprising.  I leaned
forward and kissed him.  "I'm sure you can, but I'm not comfortable with
it.  Maybe we can work our way up to it someday.  For now I'm very happy
with what we've been doing."
	"OK," he said.  "Lay back."
	He sort of pushed me back on the bed and slid on top of me.  I
loved the feel of his smooth, firm, hairless little body pressed against
me.  I let my hands find their way to his butt and caressed the hard little
orbs of his cheeks.
	"You know you really are the cutest kid I've ever seen," I
muttered.
	Alex just grinned, leaned in close, and said, "I'm gonna make you
cum."  With that, he slid down to my throbbing cock.  Taking it in his
hand, he caressed the shaft like he was milking a cow, then started licking
the head.  It was amazing.  As much as we had done it in the past 24 hours,
I felt myself almost immediately ready to explode again.
	After a minute or two of this, Alex opened his mouth and took in as
much of me as he could.  At the same time he took my balls in his hand and
started massaging them in time with his head bobbing up and down on my
pounding shaft.  Once again I could feel the spit dribbling down my crotch
as his hot, wet lips did their work, his tongue flicking under my cockhead
with each upward motion.  I could see his cheeks puckering in with the
suction, and stroked his hair lovingly.  In a few seconds I had eached
critical mass, and just as he was sliding down for another pass I fired off
my orgasm into his eager mouth with a moan of pleasure.
	He took a few seconds, drinking in all I had given him, before
releasing my aching member from his grip.  I pulled him up so that we were
face to face again.
	"Wow, that was amazing," I said.  "You're amazing."
	"I love you," he said.
	"I love you, too"
	He smiled at this and turned over so that we were lying in a spoon
position.  I slipped my hands under his arms and started stroking his
abdomed.  I kissed his neck and said, "It's your turn."
	"Mmmm," he said, "Do it by hand, OK?"
	"Okee dokee," I said, and slid my hand down over his hairless
crotch to his rigid little shaft.  Taking it in my grasp, I started
stroking upward from the base, doing a little twist at the end as I passed
over the head.  "Like this?" I asked.
	The little twitching motions he made as I stroked him answered
before he did.  "Oh, yeah, that's awesome," he groaned.
	"It's going to get even better," I answered.  Reaching over to the
bedside table, I opened the drawer and pulled out a small tube of lubricant
jelly.  Putting a dollop in my palm, I smeared it around and then took hold
of his dick again.
	The reaction was instantaneous.  His entire body tensed as my now
slick hand slid up and down on his boycock.  Automatically his breathing
became faster and shallower and he started thrusting with his hips.  "Oh,
oh, oh, yeah, that's so awesome," he stammered.  "Keep going, keep going."
	With a smile, I squeezed just a little tighter, increasing the
friction against his throbbing little dick.  I also started rubbing the
head with my thumb as I moved down.  I could feel his heart beating faster
and faster, and within seconds the muscles of his body tighted as he arched
his back in orgasm.
	"I'm cumming, I'm cumming," he jabbered as the clear liquid shot
from his boyhood.  When he was spent, he collapsed back into my embrace and
let his head fall back against my chest.
	Pulling sme tissues off the bedside table I cleaned us up and
pulled up the covers.
	"That was so awesome," he said tiredly.  "So awesome." I could tell
by his breathing that he was already falling asleep."
	I kissed the back of his neck and turned off the light.  As we
snuggled down into the pillows I whispered "Goodnight."
	"G'night," I heard him say as consciousness slipped away.  "I love
y..."  And he was out.
	I love you too, I thought.  Yes, I thought, I knew exactly what I
had to do.

*****

	The house wasn't hard to find.  Alex had given me directions, but
they were hardly necessary -- there wasn't another house around for at
least a mile in each direction.  It looked pretty much like I figured it
would: brown clapboard, run down, a lot of tools and assorted junk in the
yard.  There was a dilapitated old doghouse in the yard that had clearly
been vacant for some time; Alex had told me that the former occupant had
run away years before.  The dark green Chevy pickup parked half-in,
half-out of the garage told me that the man of the house was home.
	Glancing back at my Lexus parked in the driveway, I couldn't help
but think that it looked as out of place in this yard as a steaming mound
of dogshit would on a silver platter.  I climbed the porch stairs, stepping
gingerly over a bucket of rust-colored water, and rapped on the screen
door.
	A few seconds later a man appeared.  For just a second I was taken
off-guard -- for some reason, I had pictured Alex's father as large and
fat, but the man before me was anything but.  Standing about 5'5" or 5'6",
he couldn't have weighed much more than 130 with a bowling ball in each
hand.  He had sandy brownish hair and what appeared to be a poor attempt at
a David Crosby mustache.  He was wearing grey-green work pants, boots, and
a "Whitesnake" T-shirt that looked like it hadn't seen the inside of a
washing machine since the band it advertised had been in the top ten.
	"Yeah?" he snorted.
	"Mr. Parma?" I asked.
	"Yeah, I'm Al Parma.  Whaddaya want?"
	Al.  So Alex was named after his father.  He hadn't told me that.
I couldn't say that I blamed him.  "My name is John Schellenberger.  I
wanted to talk to you about your son, Alex.  Have you got a minute?"
	I could see Parma glance quickly at my car then back at me
suspiciously.  "Yeah, I guess so," he muttered, "Come on in."
	I stepped through the door as Parma ambled off toward what I
guessed would be the kitchen, gesturing for me to follow.  The inside of
the house, I wasn't surprised to see, complemented the outside perfectly
with its threadbare, mismatched furniture, assorted domestic debris, and
general air of indifferent neglect.  And, of course, there were the beer
cans.  Everywhere I looked there were beer cans scattered about -- on
tables, on shelves, on the floor.  Enough beer cans, I thought, for Al
Parma to seriously threaten the world supply of aluminum if he so chose.
Something told me that humor of that would have been lost on him.
	"Schellenberger, huh?" Parma said over his shoulder.  "You a Jew?"
	"No," I answered, wondering why that mattered. "Lutheran."
	"Hmmph," he grunted, but seemed satisfied.
	We came into the kitchen, whose squalor made what I'd seen so far
look like Windsor Castle, and Parma gestured for me to sit.  "You want a
beer? he asked.
	Are you sure you can afford to part with one, I wanted to ask.
Instead I just said, "Yeah, thanks."
	He ducked into the refridgerator, tossed me a can of Coors, and
planted himself across from me at the table.  Popping open his own can with
a loud hiss, he asked, "So what'd that little shithead do this time?  He
key your Mercedes or somethin'?"  There was more than a hint of hostility
in this question.
	"No, nothing like that."  It suddenly dawned on me that I wasn't
entirely sure what I was going to say.  As much as I'd pictured this scene
in my mind, I had never considered how to actually begin.
	Parma solved my dilemma by saying, "You're new around here,
ain'tcha?  I know I never seen a rig like that in this town before."  He
gestured toward the driveway with his head as he said this.
	Again with the car.  Clearly this man was impressed with material
things.  Maybe I could use that to my advantage.  "No," I said, "I'm new
here.  I just bought the house at 12 Kimball Road."
	"That place, huh?" he grunted.  "Gonna need a lot of work."
	"Well," I said, affecting an air of casual disinterest, "That's
what contractors are for."
	Parma just snorted.  "I guess.  So what's any of this got to do
with that no-good kid of mine?"
	Suppressing a shudder of rage, I said, "He's been doing some work
for me.  Quite a bit, actually.  He's a really good worker, you know.
Worth every penny"
	Parma sat up a little at this.  "Why?" he said, "How much you pay
him?"
	"Oh, just 25 dollars an hour," I exaggerrated.  "Nothing special."
I was doing my best to sound casual.
	Parma slammed his fist on the table, sending an empty beer can
flying.  "That Goddam little piece of SHIT!  He didn't tell me nothing
`bout making no money!"
	I did my best to look surprised.  "Oh, I'm very sorry about that.
I just thought he told you."
	"That lyin' little bastard didn't tell me shit," he replied, his
face darkening with each breath.  "But I'll tell you one thing, I'm gonna
get my money and more out of his lousy little hide."
	I had been trying to goad Parma, but this was too much.  "Yeah," I
said, "I'm sure a big tough man like you can really show an eleven-year-old
who's boss."
	Parma looked momentarily confused, as if he didn't quite
understand.  But even if the words were beyond him, he caught the tone of
sarcasm in my voice.  "What's you just say?" he asked menacingly.  "You
questioning the way I raise my son?"
	"No, no, not at all," I replied condescendingly.  "It's clear
you've done a real bang-up job.  Why, I bet you've banged him up against
every surface in this house."
	Parma threw back his chair and stood up in what I assumed he
thought was a threatening manner.  It might very well have been, too, if he
hadn't looked quite so much like an angry rat hissing over a piece of
cheese.
	"Now you listen, you son of a bitch," he said, "I'm gonna give you
five second s to get the Hell out of my house!"
	Continuing to sit and trying to look as unconcerned as possible I
replied, "No, no, I don't think so.  I think I'll stay."
	Parma's face turned almost purple with rage as he drew himself up
to his full five-and-half-feet.  "You get the fuck out or I'll throw your
ass out myself!"
	Casually I stood up and pushed in my chair.  "You're welcome to
try.  But," I added, "I should warn you that I'm not a little kid.  I hit
back."
	I have to admit that I was not expecting what happened next.
Anticipating that Parma would throw a punch, I had been bracing myself for
the blow.  Instead, he charged me head first, slamming into my stomach and
pushing me back against the counter.  Momentarily winded, I lost my footing
and was almost immediately struck by a sucker punch to the face.
	Reeling over from the blow, I tensed myself and struck back with a
backhand that sent Parma reeling back into the table.  As he stood back up
I swung and struck him square in the nose, hearing the satisfying crunch as
my fist made contact.  He made as if to lunge at me again, but this time I
sidestepped him before he got the chance.  Catching himself before he fell
over, he swung the beer still grasped in his left hand and splattered me in
the face.
	Momentarily blinded, I was completely unprepared when Parma struck
again, hitting me in the kidney.  Before I could recover he had kicked me
in the groin, sending a blinding white pain exploding through me.  I fell
over and just managed to catch myself on the counter before hitting the
floor.
	My eyes had cleared just enough to see Parma preparing to rain down
another blow, and at the very last second I rolled out of the way and heard
his fist strike the countertop with a loud smack.  Still unsteady from the
blow to the groin, I looked around quickly for something -- anything -- I
could use as a weapon.  As Parma stood to face me again, I spotted the
handle to a frying pan beneath a stack of dishes.  In a flash I grabbed it
and swung.  The heavy metal pan connected with the side of Parma's head
with a muffled bong, and Parma fell to a heap at my feet.
	I stood, panting, over his limp form for several seconds before I
realized that it was over.  Tossing the pan aside, I bent down gingerly,
wincing at the pain in my throbbing crotch.  "Parma?" I said, shaking him a
little.  No response.  "Parma?" I repeated louder.  Still nothing.
	Rolling him onto his back, I could see that the side of his head
where the pan had struck was a grisly meatte of hair, blood, and days-old
scrambled eggs.  Robotically, I placed my fingers on the side of his neck
to confirm what I already knew.  He was dead.
	Slowly I lowered myself into a chair and sat, staring, at Parma's
body.  As I looked I noticed with a sort of morbid irony the resemblence to
his son.  Not overt, to be sure, but something in the curve of the nose,
the shape of the forehead, reminded me of Alex.  I had to look away.
	What had I done?  How could it have come to this?  I had come here
to talk to this man, maybe try to buy him off, but I never intended for
THIS to happen.
	Or hadn't I?
	As much as I hated to admit it, there was something in me that said
maybe, just maybe, this is EXACTLY what I'd wanted.  After all, did I
seriously think that this man would just let me pay him and then step out
of Alex's life?  He would have known there was something more to my
interest than simple charity.  He would have remained in the background, on
the fringes, lurking at the boundaries of our lives and never giving us any
real peace.  Alex -- and I -- would never have been truly free of him.
Maybe this was the only way.
	I sat absorbed in these thoughts for some time, lost in dark
contemplation.  Finally, after I don't know how long, I stood up and walked
outside toward the garage.

*****

TO THE READER: I apologize for the length of time since there was a new
installment to this story.  Sometimes life just runs away with you.
Anyway, I hope it was worth the wait.  There will be one final chapter,
hopefully by the end of the month.  I promise I won't make anyone wait any
more than is absolutely necessary!  Please send any comments to
suntop100@graffiti.net