The Archangel

	The Chickenhawk had prowled the dirty street for three days
seeking out his prey.  He'd been close several times but he always
managed to strike out.  The kids today were so smart--not like
he'd been at that age.  It had taken the Hawk a long time to work
up the nerve to do this thing he had in mind, and now he was
depressed and close to giving up.  Then he saw a young boy
coming down the street.

	The kid was nine or ten years old, dirty shirt and jeans,
uncombed blond hair, bright blue eyes.  The Hawk watched him
approach an elderly lady and ask if she had any spare change.  The
woman walked on as if he didn't exist.

	Hawk pretended to study a shop window while the kid
approached.  This street-child was perfect and Hawk didn't want to
spook him--not this close to the pay-off.  This beautiful boy wasn't
his for the taking, yet.

	"Mister," the kid asked in a squeaky voice.  "Do you have any
spare change?"  It was the voice of a fawn.  Oh yeah, he was
perfect all right.

	The Hawk turned and looked down.  "Does your mother know
where you are?" he asked a little sternly.

	The boy took it as a "no" and disappointedly walked away.
The Hawk pulled out the five dollar bill he had put there this
morning specifically to use as bait.  He held it out.

	"Hey kid," he called.  The kid turned and the Hawk waved the
bill.  "Do you want this?"

	The boy's face brightened and he ran back to get the money.

	"You want to make some more money?" the Hawk asked as he
handed the five over.  "You want to make fifty dollars?"

	Suspicion.  "How?"

	The Hawk put on his most comforting face.  "I want to take
your picture.  It won't take long."

	Still suspicious.  "What do I have to do?"

	"I need pictures of a kid playing, watching TV, sleeping in
bed.  That kind of every day stuff."

	"Uh huh," the boy said.  Hawk could see he still wasn't
convinced.  It was too strange.  He figured he'd better mention
the money again.

	"Look, it's fifty dollars.  I just thought I'd ask because you
looked like you could use fifty dollars and because I need to find a
kid."

	"What are the pictures for?"

	"It's for a magazine called Boy's Life," Hawk replied.  "You
ever see it?"

	The boy shook his head.  Hawk looked around to see if
anyone had noticed them.  This was taking too long.  He was light-
headed with the fear of discovery.

	"Well, it's a big magazine and lots of people read it.  Look,
I've got to go.  Do you want the money or not?"

	The kid hesitated, not sure whether he should trust Hawk or
not.  He was a smart kid.  Hawk turned to walk away.  It was now
or never.

	"Wait!" the kid called.

	Gotcha!

	"What?" Hawk said, turning back.

	"Will I be home for dinner?"

	"If we get started right now."

	"Okay," the boy sighed, trotting up to Hawk.  "Can I have the
money now?"

	Like I said, Hawk thought to himself.  Smart kid.

	"You can have it when we're finished.  It'll keep your mind
on what you're doing."

	Hawk put his arm on the boy's shoulder to guide him down
the street towards his car.  Just to touch him!  It was as if there
were sparks shooting between his fingers and the boy.  It was a
good thing he'd worn his long coat.  It covered the tent in his
pants.

	Soon they were driving home.  Hawk could barely concentrate
on the traffic.  He'd really done it.  He was really bringing this
beautiful boy home.  Still, he had to find out more.  He lied and
told the kid his name was Mike and found out the boy's name was
Michael, as well.  It was a good omen, Hawk choosing the same
name as the kid's.  To Hawk it was as if God suddenly wanted this
thing to happen.

	"Well, Mike," Hawk asked.  "Doesn't your mother give you
enough allowance?"

	"Huh?" Michael answered, obviously trying to avoid answering.

	"You must not get enough allowance if you have to go begging
for money in the street."

	"Yeah, well," the boy paused for a moment.  "I don't get any
allowance.  My mom doesn't have a lot of money."

	"I see.  Well, this fifty dollars should help a lot, then."  Hawk
wondered what the Hell he was doing.  He had to talk the kid out
of telling his parents about the money.  He was fucking it up!

	"Yeah, well I need the money, too," the kid said a little
guiltily.  He looked at the Hawk as if Hawk was going to yell at
him.

	Hawk sighed inwardly.  It was going to work after all.  He
smiled.

	"That's okay.  You work for this money, we'll keep it a
secret.  Just between you and me.  We don't have to tell mom
anything about it, okay?"

	Michael looked relieved.  "Okay, Mike."

	He pulled into the garage, using the automatic opener and
closing the door so no one would see the boy going into the
house.  No one would even know the boy had ever been there--and
that was important.  They got out of the car and went into the
house.

	Hawk had carefully set the stage at his house for what was
coming next.  Actually, when he was finally finished it seemed to
him he'd been planning this event unconsciously for a long time.
Even to buy a house, when he didn't even have a family, when an
apartment would make so much more sense.  There was also the
two-meter high fence and the trees he'd put in so no one could see
into the back yard.  It was as if he'd always known he'd need
privacy.  Even the video camera had gone more or less unused,
seemingly waiting for today.

	When he'd consciously decided what he was going to do he
started buying props and toys, planning out exactly how he could
manipulate a child to do what he wanted.  Always there was the
fear of being caught, being put in the spot-light and prodded like
some deviant lab experiment.  So he was very careful, planning
every step, researching child-abuse at the library and finding out
exactly what kind of kid was the most likely to keep quiet.  It had
consumed his life for a year, and now it was all coming together.

	Here, inside his own home, Hawk almost decided to forget the
plan and just take the kid, right there in the living room.  But he
talked himself out of it.  If he didn't follow the plan he'd just
fuck it all up and then he'd get caught.

	Just calm down, he told himself.  It'll all happen in time.

	Hawk took Michael into the kitchen and got him some Pepsi
and made a show of filling out the fake employment form he'd
made on his computer.  He found out Michael's last name was
Engel, he was ten, and his birthday was July eighteenth.  Mike
said his mother died when he was little and now he lived with his
father and he didn't know his father's first name.

	"You won't call my father, will you?" Michael asked, suddenly
worried.

	"Nope.  It's our secret.  Okay, sport?"

	The boy nodded and Hawk handed him the form.  "My father
is a wrathful..." the boy started to say, but he let his voice trail
off.  The Hawk was delighted.  The kid would never talk if he
thought he'd get in shit.

	"Sign here," he said, pointing to the line at the bottom.  Mike
printed his name in squiggly little-kid letters.

	"Well then," Hawk said as he stood up.  "We'd better get to
work."  Jesus, was it ever time!  He wondered if he'd soaked
through his jeans, yet.

	Hawk took him into the living room and picked up the
camcorder.  The kid never noticed that Hawk had a video camera
to take magazine pictures, but Hawk had an excuse all ready if he
did.

	He took pictures of the boy watching TV, kicking a ball
outside, eating a chocolate-chip cookie, swinging on the garden
swing, laying on the floor with a comic book, and a bunch of other
every day things.  Finally, it was time for the first trick.

	"Now I need some pictures of you getting ready for bed and
getting up in the morning.  First, let's get you getting ready for
bed," he told the boy, leading him upstairs and into the bathroom.

	He filmed the boy brushing his teeth and washing his face and
now it was time for the bombshell.

	"Now I need pictures of you taking a bath."

	"I don't want to take a bath," the boy complained.

	"Do you want your fifty dollars?"

	After some coercion, Hawk got the kid to agree to the bath
and he started to undress.  Hawk ran the bath water, struggling
with the taps to get the water temperature just right.  Now the
boy stood there in his stained white underwear, looking uneasily
at Hawk.  He was as thin as a Greek statue, his skin pale and
smooth as marble.  Even his nipples were mere pale pink points on
his chest.

	"Underwear too," the hawk insisted.  His voice was quivering
at the sight of the boy's pale back, the chiseled lines of his ribs.
This was the moment he'd been waiting for.

	"I don't want to," the kid whined.  The hawk could barely
contain himself.  The picture in the viewfinder was shaking now.

	"Look, we're both guys.  There's nothing to be embarrassed
about and since when do you take a bath in your underwear?"

	The boy shook his head.

	"Okay fine," the hawk growled.  "Get dressed and forget the
whole thing.  Forget your fifty dollars and I'll drive you home.  I
can't waste my time here with you."

	"Wait..."

	The kid had a pained look on his face as he slowly pulled
down his underwear.

	The hawk's knees gave out and he sat down on the toilet
seat.  He was barely able to keep the camera up as he focused in
on the boy's small white penis.  He was uncircumcised and his cock
was like a tender succulent shoot, waiting to blossom.

	"Now get into the bath," he whispered.

	The hawk got some good shots of the kid naked in the bath.
The warm water brought a flush to his skin.  The hawk soaped the
boy's back, caressing him.  Hawk compared how worn and wrinkled
his hand seemed against the smooth perfection of the boy.  He
moved his hand around and felt the boy's nipples with his fingers,
making the both shiver.  Then, concentration fully focused, he
reached down and gently stroked the boy's penis.  The boy
hunched over, but he kept his hands at his sides.  Soon his cock
was engorged and the small head slid out from beneath the
foreskin like a delicate bud.  The boy let out a small sigh, and
grabbed on to the hawk's arm, not to push it away, but to cling to
it.

	Still gently rubbing, Hawk put down the camcorder to get his
other hand into the action.  He slid it down the boy's back,
pushing a finger between the boy's buttocks until he felt the
warmth of his rectum yield.  The boy shivered and let out a high
moan as the hawk slid his finger in.

	He looked down at the kid's clothes.  "Look, these clothes are
too dirty for these pictures.  You finish your bath and I'll go down
stairs and put these in the washer."  He scooped up the clothes
and left the room before the kid could say anything.

	He almost jacked-off right there in the laundry room, but
after a few moments of silent struggle, he held off.  When he came
back upstairs the kid was sitting on the edge of the tub wrapped
in a towel.  The boy looked small and frightened--like a rabbit.
His cheeks were flushed bright red and he was shivering.

	The hawk led the boy downstairs for some more pictures.

	"Let's lay the towel out and get some more shots of you
watching TV."

	"I don't have any clothes on," the kid complained.

	"Don't you ever walk around the house without clothes on?
There's nothing wrong with it.  We all do it."

	After a while the kid relented and the hawk got some more
good shots of his ass.  It was a beautiful and warm sunny day out
and now he wanted to get the kid outside.

	"Now I want to take some pictures of us playing a game."

	"What game?" the kid was shivering and trying to cover his
lovely cock.  The hawk pulled the boy's hands away and put them
at his sides.  A tear slid down the boy's face.

	"We need pictures of you pretending to be a horse."

	The hawk went into the kitchen and got the grease paint he'd
bought along with the horse's tail he'd made.  The tail consisted of
brown yarn glued to an enema nozzle.  When he came back into
the living room the kid had the towel back around him.

	Hawk had the kid get down on his hands and knees and put
the towel aside.  With the grease paint he made up the kid's face
to look like a horse (well, more or less) and then painted big
brown patches on his back, buttocks, and shoulders.

	Then he reached under the boy and rubbed his cock with red
paint.  The kid gasped and tried to crawl away.

	"Come on," he said, holding the boy in place.  "Horses have
red cocks, so we have to paint your cock red."

	"I don't want to play any more."

	"No fifty dollars!"

	"I don't care!"

	The hawk pawed him and pushed his hands away.

	"Just play along, okay?"

	The kid started to bawl and the hawk lost it.  He struggled to
hold on to the boy while trying to get his own pants undone.  The
boy's skin was so soft and warm and smooth and his cock ached
so much and he needed it so much and why couldn't he just play
along like he had played along and why couldn't he just...

	Suddenly the boy was out of his grasp and something knocked
him down hard and he was stunned.  Where was he?  Where was
the boy?

	"My name is Michael."

	He looked up and the boy was gone and there was a man
standing there, still streaked with grease paint and he was naked
and he had a sword and he had great white feathery wings.

	"Your name is Donald Quentin.  I know who you are and I
know what you've done."

	The sound of his name hit Donald like clap of thunder.  What
had he done?  Oh God!  He was caught!