Marcus Shepard

This part of the story contains no sex. There will be sex in later parts, but for now if you are only looking for sexual content, this is not something you are going to like. If on the other hand you are interested in a story depicting a relationship between a man and a teen boy, read on. Oh ya, this never happened...

We play dangerous games, you and I

As we dance on the brink of oblivion.

Breakfast at Tiffany's

Part 1

Marcus Shepard walked into the small diner accompanied by the tinkle of bells above the door. A beautiful young woman with long red hair looked up, smiled and started placing food on the counter in front of her.

"Good morning love. How are you today?" Marc asked.

"You're late," she said accusingly. "Had you taken much longer your food would have been cold. And you know I would have made you eat it like that. Anyway, why are you all dressed up today? Got a hot date?"

"I'm going to meet Joey today. I was getting ready, that's why I'm late." Marc said as he sat down.

"Well you look very nice, except for that spot you forgot to shave right there," she leaned forward and brushed his chin. Marc jumped up and rubbed the spot. Feeling nothing he glared at her and sat back down to eat. "Joey," she said, "that's that guy you've been talking to online right? The math student you're so smitten with?"

Marc nodded his head enthusiastically and continued to eat.

"That's great" Tiffany said smiling, "I'll get my cards and do a spread on it!"

With that she ran off to get the tarot deck, leaving Marc to shake his head and laugh silently to himself. Tiffany always wanted to do a spread when something happened... `Course she was almost always right, though he for one would never tell her so.

When she had returned, Marc said "you know Tiffany; if you are going to do spreads on people you could at least use a standard deck..."

"But I like the Buddhist deck, and this way smart asses that think they know better then me can't argue. Besides, it's your own damn fault. You sold me the deck."

"And I, like almost everyone else that knows you, regret it every day of my life," he said and went back to eating. She shuffled the deck and started to place the cards. A few minutes later she picked all but one up and put them back in the black cloth bag.

"Do I want to know?"

Tiffany looked at him seriously. "He's hiding something about himself form you. Something he thinks you will reject him for. Be prepared for a surprise when you meet him."

"Is that everything?" He asked with an arched eyebrow.

She picked up that last card and showed it to him. "Hope" she said, placing it In the bag with the other cards. "There is always hope."


After finishing his meal, Marc went over and opened up his shop. Marcus Shepard was the proud owner of Celestial Ponderings, a primarily Wiccan bookstore; in which he had a small section on most of the major world religions. Over the last few years since he had purchased the store from its previous owner, Marc had developed a reputation for being able to get people the book they wanted. He either had it, knew who had it, or could order it for the person.

The pastor of the local Lutheran church even got most of his books through Marc, much to the chagrin of some members of his congregation.

Marc was busy the rest of the day, and had little time to think about Tiffany's warning. Before he knew it, it was time for him to leave and meet Joey. He left the shop with his assistant, and headed for the local mall. The plan was for them to meet at the food court, have lunch, and see a movie. From there, who knew...?



Marc arrived at the food court, excited to finally be meeting the man he had fallen in love with online. They hadn't given each other much in the way of a physical description, so as a way to find each other, Joey had told him he had long red hair, would be wearing a jacket from his school, and would be seated by the windows.

Marc looked over the various people. An elderly couple having lunch, a young mother nursing her child, some teens goofing off, an old man playing chess with himself, and a young teenage boy sitting in the far corner. No Joey. Marc checked his watch thinking he might be early. No, he wasn't early; he was a good 15 minutes late. Perhaps Joey had gotten tired of waiting and had left. Franticly, Marc again surveyed the assembled people by the window. Old couple, young mother, group of teens, old man, and the boy, who was now watching him. One more time he looked down the line; old couple, women, teens, old man, boy.

The boy was standing now, looking at the man, and started to raise his hand. The man stopped and for the first time looked at the boy. The boy... with long red hair... wearing a school jacket... and waiting by the window. The boy finished his gesture; it was the small, scared wave. The wave of someone not sure they were waving to the right person, scared that they had made a mistake, and scared that they had not. And Marc knew, knew that this scarred little boy was the person he had come here to meet. "Isis" the man whispered under his breath as he stated slowly walking towards the boy. Joey sat back down, folded his hands on the table, and waited for the man he had fallen in love with to pass judgment on him.

The man stood next to the boy. "Joey?" The boy looked up and said "Marc."

Marc slumped into the chair opposite the boy. "By all the gods and goddesses ever conceived in mortal pondering, why? Why a child? This can't be happening."

He looked up into the boy's tear stained face as the boy sat, quietly sobbing. "Everyday. Everyday for the last six months we have talked online. You said you were going to University. You said you worked at a grocery store. You told me, I thought, everything. In all that time did it never occur to you to, ho `hey by the way, I'm a little kid'? By the goddess, how old are you?" The man demanded.

"Thirteen," came Joey's timid reply.

"Thirteen! I've been deceived by a thirteen-year-old! I must be some kind of a fucking moron. Convinced I was talking to an adult, and it's a little boy. Everything you've told me; everything for the last six months has been a lie! I... I can't do this." Shaking his head, Marc rose from his seat, and reaching into his pocked drew out his wallet. He took out the money he had brought along for the day, nearly $200, and threw the wad of cash onto the table saying, "Here go down to the tow store and get yourself an action figure, or whatever it is kids play with now a days."

With that Marc stormed out of the food court, and back to his car without even a backwards glance.

Joey sat, watching the man he had grown to love storm away, shattering all of his hopes and delusions. He sobbed bitterly to himself.


Marc sat in his car for a few minutes, trying to sort the thoughts and emotions surging through his psyche. He was lost, confused, and torn. He was angry, both with the boy, and with himself. He was ashamed that he had fallen in love with someone only to find out it was a child. He was hurt he'd been lied to by someone he thought that he could trust only to find out that it was a thirteen-year-old boy. And there were countless other emotions swirling within him. All he knew for sure was that he needed to get back, needed talk to Tiffany.

So that is where he went. Speeding down the freeway, weaving through traffic. As he waked through the door and the bells chimed, Tiffany looked over at him and said, "hi love, you're back early. How was..." she cut off when she saw the man's face. Quickly she walked to the door, locked it, and flipped the sign to say `closed'.

She went into the kitchen and soon returned with a cup of tea for Marc and coffee for herself, leaving instructions for the cook to fix them dinner.

She placed the tea before him, and sat across from him, patiently waiting for Marc to start and explain what had gone so horribly awry for him to be in this state. The food came before he started, and they ate in silence. When they had finished, Tiffany cleared the plates away and brought Marc more tea. Finely he began to talk.

He told her everything that had happened, everything that he had said, and attempted to articulate everything he felt. When he was finished he sat there, head bowed, crying; much as the boy had been.

Tiffany reached out her hand and stroked the man's cheek. "Marc, you know I love you to death, but sometimes you are a bloody fool. You fell in love with someone without even seeing the person. Marc, you fell in love with a soul; what should it matter what the physical form the soul resides in. Bodies are transitory, souls eternal. You loved him before you knew him, why let his body blind you to that love?"

"He's a child Tiffany, a child. I can't get over that."

"Give him a few years and he'll `get over it' for you."

"I know Tiffany, I know. I just can't... Oh Isis, why is this happening, what did I do to deserve this?"

"Marc, you have been a good kind man, and for that your goddess has granted you love. Why can't you accept that? Why aren't your saying `Thank you Isis, thank you'?"

"I need to go home Tiffany, I need to think."

"Will you be here for breakfast?"

"Yes Tiffany, I'll be here for breakfast."



Marc went t home and sat in his temple room, being soothed by the familiar energies and lingering scents of incense. Slowly he sank into a state of deep meditation. He knew that he had been unnecessarily mean to the boy, cruel even. Joey had obviously wanted to come clean, and this meeting was how he had hoped to do it. Joey had shown considerable trust in him, and had clearly held onto the hope that Marc would accept him, despite his age. But Marc could not.

Later that night, out of pure habit, Marc checked his e-mail. There where 2 letter from Joey. Opening the one from that afternoon, Marc read the note. In it, Joey apologized for lying to him, and pleaded with him to still be his friend. The other sent just a few minutes before hand was only an MP3. This was nothing uncommon as they often sent each other songs, so Marc opened it and started listening.

"I got your e-mail. Disgruntled female. Every detail, before my eyes. So I responded, I think we bonded. We corresponded, and watched the sunrise. Then you came through the screen and you taught me the meaning of happiness. And the words that you write came and filled up my night with your tenderness. And if you're ever so inclined here's where you can find me. www. I won't believe it. www. Until I read it. My heart is tied up in a knot. You know it's true. www.nevergetoveryou. You made it clear to me, described your fear to me, of getting near to me, and risking our friendship. I stayed up all night, constructing web-site. Just click on our fight, and watch me crying. `Cause you said you were scared and should probably stick to the internet. And it hurts because deep down inside I believe we are more than friends..." At this point, Marc closed the media player, and shut down his computer without responding.

For the next week Joey wrote him, and occasionally sent him songs. The new letters where more like thoughts from a child; telling Marc about his day, and how he felt, and how he wished Marc would respond. The songs where all sad. Marc read them all, listened to all the songs, but never replied. After that, the boy stopped writing...

To be continued

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