- Harry AnderS -
Dutch psychotherapist and alternative writer

'Born to be a King'
- by Harry AnderS -

An inspirational fantasy



    A retired psychotherapist meets a severely burnt little Gypsy boy, and takes him into his house.
The boy turns out to be the Heir to the Throne.

This emotional rollercoaster hints at past lives, spirit helpers, karma, the Power of Love, and contains several practical psychological concepts.
The story is written by a retired Dutch psychotherapist, living in The Netherlands, and specialized in supporting troubled children.


Chapter 8 ended with:

    "You are allowed to call me 'Dad' as long as you are with us; but, please, don't tell this to your father. Okay?"

    "He isn't my father!" John answered with bitterness in his voice,
    "And I wish I had known that before. That's why I was always feeling so at ease with Jack. HE was my father. Fortunately, now YOU are here to let me feel at ease!"

    John threw his arms around my neck, and smothered my face with kisses.
He had tears in his eyes and looked at me with his deep brown orbs, both of them radiating pure love.
I felt Jack around us, and he blessed us from where he was looking at us, having tears in his own eyes...

    Ten seconds later, little Harry claimed his share and joined our cuddle.


Chapter 9. Surfing the Internet for adoption; and an honest talk with John.

    After a while, John and little Harry went to the kitchen to wash their faces and drink some water.
They offered me a kiss and a quick hug, and went outside to have some more fun with their skateboards.
I went to my writing desk in the living room, and tried to set up my computer...

    All the cable modem lights were blinking, and I checked and double-checked all the connections, but I couldn't establish a working Internet connection.
After a lot of desperate trying, I phoned the company, where a nice helpdesk operator patiently guided me through a new setup.
Suddenly, the homepages appeared, and lots of emails started to stream in.
I thanked the nice technician for his valuable help, and tried to sort my emails...
Spam, spam, spam, another spam, and one email from my oldest daughter, congratulating me with my new home.
I thanked her for emailing me, wrote her a couple of details, and invited her for a future visit.

    I surfed to a well-known search engine, and typed in 'burn injuries'...
Soon, I was looking at thousands of pictures of burnt people, skin graft operations, and all sorts of bandages.
The amount of burn treatment information overwhelmed me; and, at first, I even felt a little bit nauseous at the terrible sights...
I discovered there are three degrees of burning: The first degree causes blisters, the second degree causes loss of skin, and the third degree causes dead flesh and open wounds.
I suspected that little Harry had suffered a lot of third degree burns. Probably, he had gone through a lengthy and painful recovery, just like my own little brother had.
Fortunately, little Harry had healed quite well, unlike my poor little brother...

    Next, I looked for 'healing procedures' and the possibilities of 'plastic surgery'...
This time, only a hundred of sites were popping up.
Most sites told me that surgeons couldn't do very much to improve the look of severely burnt victims.
A few sites hinted at the possibility of skin transplantations, but they didn't give me any details.
At last, I found a couple of transplantation clinics, but all of them were looking rather expensive, and they didn’t give me much information either.
I downloaded their addresses, to call or write them one day and ask them for some more information...

    Now, I looked for 'adoption'; and, within seconds, hundreds of sites showed up containing at least some adoption information.
I started to find my way through them; and, now and then, read an article that looked interesting.
Soon, two things became clear: it would be very difficult to adopt little Harry, because I was a single parent; and it would be nearly impossible to adopt a little boy, because I was too old...
Guardianship might be granted in certain cases, but only when either parents or relatives yielded their consent.
However, nobody told me what to do when a boy doesn't have any known relatives and both parents are dead...

    The door opened, and two happy boys with sweaty faces stumbled into the living room:

    "Hi, Dad. When are we going to eat?"

    "Are we going to eat again? So soon?"

    "We are still growing boys, you know..."

    I looked at the clock, and was shocked. I had no idea that I had been surfing through those Internet sites for more than three hours!
We went to the kitchen, and started to prepare a healthy lunch.
I buttered a pile of slices of toast, while little Harry boiled a couple of eggs, and John sliced some tomatoes, lettuce, and herbs.
We had simple sandwiches this time, but they were healthy and quite tasty.
We ended the meal with an orange and a cup of tea, to wash our meals down.
Suddenly, Thomas yelled from the doorway; and both boys hugged me and disappeared outside...

    I spent the rest of the afternoon in front of my computer, looking for a solution that would allow me to legally become little Harry's father.
The only way to accomplish that seemed to be: to marry a wife who is a lot younger, and then adopt little Harry... but that wasn't really to my liking.
Why was it so difficult for a divorced man to adopt a little boy? Couldn't there be any other ways?
I kept on searching; and, now and then, I stumbled upon a success story, giving me some hope that there had to be other options as well...

    The door opened, and three happy boys with sweaty faces stumbled into the living room:

    "Can Thomas eat with us, Dad? His parents aren't home, and his sister is eating with her friend..."

    "Of course, Thomas MAY eat with us! However, all of you have to wash your sweaty faces and dirty hands first!"

    "Can... err... may we have a quick shower? I am feeling sweaty all over..."

    "Yes, of course you may. Do you know where I've put the clean towels?"

    They raced upstairs, happily giggling and pushing each other.

    After twenty minutes of waiting, I went upstairs, being curious about what they were doing in the shower for such a long time.
I opened the door... and started to laugh, surprised by their inventiveness, and feeling proud at the same time.
John had built a cleverly constructed fort of plastic cups and paperclips. He defended it with his life, jumping up and down to intercept the powerful water streams.
Thomas and little Harry worked together to blow the fort down, using water guns they cleverly fabricated with a balloon attached to a couple of drinking straws.
They saw me, standing in the doorway, and immediately pointed their water guns at me...
Suddenly, I was drenched through to my skin, and the three rascals roared with laughter!

    I retreated, but returned a moment later carrying a bucket of ice-cold water.
Now I had my turn to roar with laughter...
Sweet revenge!

    I went to my bedroom to change out of my wet clothes, closely followed by three soaked boys:

    "Don't you have any more dry towels, Dad? They are all wet..."

    Good heavens... Is this what a household with growing boys looks like?
The three rascals had to share the only dry towel I could find, and I used the kitchen towel from downstairs to dry myself.
They promised me to mend their ways, and not make such a mess the next time they were playing in the shower...
I made a mental note, to purchase a couple of extra towels the next time we went shopping.
What would be the next surprise?

    "Can we... Sorry... May we have pizza tonight, Dad? We do like all kinds of them, except for those with salty anchovy fishes..."

    I ordered pizzas for all of us, and the vendor told us they would be delivered within twenty minutes.
After nineteen minutes, the boys huddled together outside the front door, impatiently waiting for the delivery man to show up...
It was a wonder the poor man didn't lose his fingers in between their grabbing hands. They all seemed to be totally starved again!
Soon, even the table was licked clean, and the boys rushed out of the door again, with their inseparable skateboards under their arms.

    I restarted my Internet search, and discovered a small country where adoption was nearly always granted.
The only requirement was that I had to be their resident for at least three months...
Well, that didn’t seem to be an insurmountable problem! I decided to contact a lawyer one of these days, and ask for his advice.
Perhaps this could offer us a workable solution... having a three-month's vacation in that country; and, at the end of it, adopt my son...

    At nine o'clock, Thomas had to go home; and my boys entered the living room, looking tired but happy.
Enthusiastically, they told me about their adventures with a nice thirteen-year-old boy, who lived a couple of streets away and had never seen little Harry before.
At first, he was rather timid; and now and then furtively looked at little Harry's burnt face.
After a while, he taught little Harry how to do double flips on his skateboard, and the ice was broken.
They sat down to have a rest, and the boy cautiously asked little Harry how he had got such a burnt face...
Little Harry trustingly told him everything about the fire, his operations, and the mask his new Dad had ordered for him.
The new boy got tears in his eyes, and both of them felt they had found a new friend.

    "I never knew it would be so easy to make new friends, Dad, even with my freaky face!"

    "That's because now you are really proud of yourself!" John told him,
    "Come on; let's see what's on TV..."

    The boys started to zap the channels, and I went back to my computer and tried to find some more valuable information about adoptions.
After a while, two boys comfortably leaned over my shoulders, to have a look at what I was doing...
    Suddenly, little Harry gasped and threw his arms around my neck:

    "Are you going to ADOPT me, Dad?"

    "Well... I'm looking at the possibilities, but it will not be easy."

    "Please, Dad, I WANT you to adopt me! I want to be your REAL son..."

    John leaned into me, looking at me with yearning eyes:

    "Will you adopt me too, Dad? I want to be your real son too!"

    "That will be even more difficult, John, because you already have a real Dad..."

    "I NEVER had a real Dad!" John answered with venom in his voice,
    "That man never was my father! I didn’t know what a real Dad was, until I met Jack two years ago. Jack let me feel what a real father is. He accepted me, he listened to me, he taught me things, he teased me, and he comforted me. HE was my real Dad. Now Jack is dead, so I don’t have a real Dad any more. Now YOU can adopt me, because I am free! I want YOU to be my real father..."

    John crawled onto my lap, and melted into me.
Little Harry crawled onto my lap from the other side, and put his arms around John and me:

    "I want John to be my real brother..."


    Bedtime approached, and I threw a couple of soaked wet towels into the electric dryer.
John's plastic cup fort was still intact, and soon little Harry and I were working together in the shower stall.
Again, John defended the cup wall with his life, desperately trying to block our attacks...
The boys were right: it WAS fun! To be more correct: it was LOTS of fun.
We filled our balloons with water, attached a couple of drinking straws, pointed the straws at the wall of cups, and forcefully strangled the balloon...

    At last, little Harry and I worked together, both of us pointing at the same spot and shooting at the same time...
We blew a breach into the wall, and the pile of cups collapsed. Plastic cups and paperclips scattered everywhere.
We cheered, high-fived, and I felt like a little boy again.
I could get used to that...

    We tidied the mess, dried each other with the by now dry towels, and went to my bedroom.
John leaned into me, looking at me with his best puppy dog eyes:

    "Dad, please, may I join you and Harry in your waterbed tonight? I don't want to sleep alone..."

    "Yes, Dad, that's no problem. Our bed is big enough for the three of us!" little Harry pleaded.

    "Well.... I don't know... if you really want to sleep here..." I answered with some hesitancy. How would Eric react, in case he ever heard about it?

    "Yippee! You are the best Dad in the world! Thank you, and I love you!"

    Both boys dived under the blankets, and invitingly kept them open to me...
I joined them, and little Harry immediately nestled against my side, threw an arm around my chest, closed his eyes, and fell asleep with a content smile on his face.
    John nestled against my other side, resting his head on my shoulder:

    "Sir? Err... Sorry; I mean, Dad?"

    "Yes, son?"

    "I like that, you calling me 'son'. I wish I could be your son for real!"

    "I can't promise you anything, but I will give it a try. Okay?"

    "Yes, Dad, please! I want to be your real son too!"

    He melted into me even further, and kissed my cheek.
After a while, he resumed, sounding a bit nervous:

    "Dad, can I... I mean, may I ask you a question?"

    "Of course you may! You may always ask me anything."

    "Thank you, Dad! I like that. Now I would ask you a difficult question. I wanted to know, if you... err, I mean, when you were a boy yourself, did you... you know, did you get... sort of a stiffy, sometimes? And perhaps, when you were still a small boy, did you now and then, err... sort of play with it?"

    I could feel him hold his breath. Obviously, he wasn't at ease with his daring question...
I decided to trust him and answer his questions honestly:

    "Yes, John, when I was at the start of puberty, like you are now, I used to play with myself a lot. Every boy plays with himself now and then."

    He breathed out with a hissing sound, and I could feel him breeding on the next question:

    "Thomas' father told him it's a sin to play with your thing; and God will punish you with aids for touching it..."

    "Good Lord! No, John, the God they are talking about has created you the way you are, and the Bible tells us He saw it was good! He created sex to have fun, to enjoy the feelings, and aids has nothing to do with it. You are allowed to play with yourself every time it makes you feel good; and never listen to people who are trying to make you a sinner because you are enjoying yourself."

    I could feel him gather some courage to ask me the next question:

    "Thank you, Dad, I am glad to hear that. But... when you... I mean... err... you are playing with somebody else? I mean, when both of you are playing with each other?"

    "There's no difference. Enjoy the feelings, have fun with each other, but always be aware of one restriction: it has to be mutual. Never abuse anybody else, or push another person to do things he or she doesn't want to do, and you will be fine. That also has to do with respecting each other."

    "Thank you, Dad, and I love you. You've lifted a heavy burden off my shoulders!"

    "You are welcome, son."

    John draped himself along my side, trying to have as much bodily contact as he could.
After a moment, he sighed, and resumed:

    "Dad? Did you ever do it? I mean, did you ever play with somebody else when you were a boy?"

    "Yes, John. When I was about your age, I used to play with a friend in a barn behind our school, and he played with me. It was a wonderful feeling, and both of us enjoyed it very much."

    Again, I could feel him hold his breath:

    "Dad? If I'm telling you a secret, will you promise me never to relay it to anybody else?"

    "Don’t you trust me, John?"

    "Sorry, Dad... Of course, I know I can trust you! But, I am a bit ashamed about it...
    "Thomas and I, when we were sleeping together a few months ago... well... we started to compare our things, and both of us had a stiffy. That's when Thomas told me about his father's warnings...
    "I laughed at him and touched him; and, after a moment, he touched me. We started to feel each other's balls and play with each other's things; and, after a while, both of us had a marvelous feeling, like exploding inside and shaking all over. After that first time, we played with each other many more times, and I started to play with myself as well...
    "Every time when I'm doing it, it's feeling really good, and I can't imagine God would punish you for something that's feeling so wonderful..."

    "Every boy starts to play with himself before he has reached puberty. Some boys are starting at a very young age, and other boys are starting a bit later, but in puberty, every boy is doing it.
    "It IS a wonderful feeling, and it's absolutely normal to do it! Never be ashamed of yourself, because you are acting by your nature. Every normal and healthy boy is playing with himself from time to time."

    John heaved a deep sigh, and I could feel his hesitation:

    "Dad? Are you still playing with yourself? I mean, now you're no longer a boy? I hope you will not be angry at me, for asking such a private question..."

    "Yes, John. I am still playing with myself from time to time. Only, my sex-drive has diminished a lot, due to my age. In puberty and thereafter, most boys are doing it at least once a day or more, but at the age of sixty-five, I am restricted to about once a week. It's still a wonderful feeling, and I'm still loving it!"

    John pushed himself up, crawled onto my stomach, and put his arms around my neck.
I could clearly feel his rigid member, trying to poke a hole into my belly...
    He spread out as far as he could, melting into me even more, and trembling:

    "Dad? Please, will you play with my stiffy? Will you help me to feel good? Please, Dad, I'm nearly exploding. I think I need it..."

    I threw my arms around his trembling body, and tenderly hugged him:

    "You know, son, nowadays we are living in a world that doesn't approve any more of men doing sexual things with boys. If I would do those things you're asking me for, they could send me to prison for a very long time, because they will think I've abused you, even if you wanted it yourself and did ask me for the favor. That's how our modern law works..."

    "I know, Dad, they have told us about that law in school, and I've read about it on the Internet. You could get into a lot of trouble...
    "However, nobody will ever know! I will never tell our private things to anybody else. I promise, cross my heart and hope to die! You can absolutely trust me!"

    "I know, son, I know..."


    The next morning, I woke up with two beaming boys crawling onto my stomach, both grinning and competing for the best place.

    "Hi, sleepyhead," little Harry teased me, showing little fun lights in his beautiful blue eyes,
    "I thought you would never wake up!"

    "Hi, Dad, I love you," John tried to melt into me, showing affection in his deep brown doe-eyes,
    "And I think I'm in love with you as well!"

    I put my arms around my boys, kissed their foreheads, and felt on cloud nine...

    We washed, donned some neat clothes, and went downstairs, all three of us giggling and pushing each other like little children.

    John seemed to have a strong need to touch me whenever he could.
At the table, while slicing the tomatoes, he sat as close to me as possible; and, every so often, he bumped into me or leaned against me.
When the tomatoes were ready, he put his arms around me and melted into me, until I asked him to get the plates and the cutlery.
Reluctantly, he let go and headed for the cupboards.
In no time, he was back, and again he leaned into me with his head against my shoulder.
What was the problem? Did he have something on his mind? Or, was he just happy to see me and show me his love?
I ruffled his hair, and he looked up at me with... did I see relief in his eyes?

    We savored our tasty scrambled eggs and tomatoes in silence.
Little Harry sat at the other side of the table, softly humming, and now and then looking at us with curiosity.
Again, John shoved his chair against mine, and leaned against me with his head on my shoulder.
I put my arm around him, and he heaved what sounded like a sigh of relief. Or, was he just very cuddly?
I asked John and little Harry to squeeze a couple of oranges, and all three of us drank a healthy glass of freshly squeezed juice.
The boys cleared the table, while I brewed my first cup of coffee and took it to the living room.

    We had a few minutes left before visiting Peter's shop, so I settled down on the couch.
Little Harry took his usual place next to me, again softly humming, and John tried to melt into me on my other side...

    "Dad..." John suddenly asked me, with a worried look in his eyes,
    "Are you very mad at me?"

    "What?" I responded with amazement, turning around to face him,
    "Why would you think such a thing? What is bothering you?"

    "Well... Last night, you told me that playing with each other always should be mutual, and you shouldn't push the other... But I didn't really listen, and I pushed you to do things to me..."

    He looked up at me, desperately, with tears in his brown eyes...
I was flabbergasted, and didn't know what to do. This was the very last thing I had expected...
Again, I felt the enormous responsibility I had for my boys, nearly crushing my shoulders.
I, the grown-up, had to be utmost careful with those vulnerabilities of growing up children!
    I took John into my arms, and slowly cradled him:

    "No, John, you were doing exactly the right thing. You did ASK me, didn't you? You didn't force me, and you didn't push me. The word 'mutual' only means that you have reached an agreement, and nothing else! And we DID reach an agreement! Do you understand what I mean?"

    John let his breath go; and, slowly, the lights returned into his eyes:

    "Yes, Dad, I think I understand now. Thank you, and I love you for so patiently explaining all those things to me... This morning, I was thinking about what happened, and then I started to be afraid you would be disappointed in me. I wouldn't be able to bear your rejection, after Eric's disapproval and Jack's sudden death...

    He started to sob, and I took my handkerchief to let him blow his nose.
Two seconds later, little Harry was at his other side, trying to comfort him:

    "Let it go, big brother, don't bottle it up! In a few minutes you will feel better..."

    John let himself go; and he cried.
He cried for Eric, for Jack, for his little brother Harry, and for himself.
He also cried for being the oldest child, and for always being blamed about everything that ever went wrong.
He cried for all his sorrows and disappointments about a father who wasn't his real father.
He cried for missing Jack, and for everything else he had bottled up in his heart and in his mind...

    Finally, little Harry got him another packet of tissues and a glass of water, and helped him dry his eyes.
John bashfully grinned at us; and his sun inside started to shine again:

    "I am such a crybaby..."

    "We will buy you a couple of diapers..."

    "You better buy me a couple of extra tissues..."

    I tickled his ribs, and now his sun broke through completely.
He squealed, and tried to tickle me back, immediately helped by little Harry.
    Both boys working together were too much for me, and I fell off my chair, panting:

    "Stop, boys, I am almost wetting my pants..."

    "We will buy YOU a couple of diapers!"

    They let me go, with the promise to get me back later on.
Little Harry looked at the clock, and jumped up:

    "What time do we have to go to Peter's shop, to pick up my mask?"

    Suddenly, we were in a tremendous hurry.
We rushed to our car and drove off, while little Harry and John buckled up in the rear seat.
Fortunately, we were just in time, assuming there wouldn't be a traffic jam.

    After a while, little Harry started to hum again.
Suddenly, he asked John, with a naughty smile on his face:

    "Did you and Dad do the same things you and Thomas were doing?"

    "How the hell do YOU know what Thomas and I did..."

    "You always keep telling me that I am very good at spying..."

    "Yes, but you were asleep; and we tried not to make too much noise."

    "You TRIED... but Thomas was wheezing like crazy, and you sounded like a wounded elephant!"

    "Oh... well... sorry we woke you up!"

    "No need for sorry. I enjoyed the show. But, did you and Dad..."

    "That's none of your business. Dad explained a couple of private things to me. Did I really make a noise like an elephant with Thomas?"

    "Of course not, silly. I'm only teasing you."

    "Oh... You're such a dork!"

    "Next time, I want to join the fun!"

    I listened to their conversation, red-faced and trying to keep my eyes on the road...
Again, I was amazed by how easily both boys were talking about those things, that often are so difficult to discuss between grown-ups.
'Be like a child', the Bible tries to tell us in its Wisdom, and perhaps the Bible is right!
Life seems to be so much easier, when you are not restricted by conventions and all sorts of crazy beliefs...



Thank you for reading the next chapter of my emotional rollercoaster 'Born to be a King'.
Enjoy the reading, and help us make our world to be a better place!

Have a look at my OTHER story, about the same little Gypsy boy growing up in a secluded place in the Rumanian mountains; this time seen from his own point of view. You may click this link.
The other story is on Nifty in 'young-friends', and is callled: 'Born as a Prince'...

All my stories are on my own homepage as well: http://www.harryanders.com

I would LOVE to receive your comments.
Please, write me an email now and then...
Harry AnderS, Dutch psychotherapist and alternative writer.