From: FCPHAW@news.delphi.com (FCPHAW@DELPHI.COM) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: FCP: FINAL Chicago to Chyenne (m/m,minors) Date: 25 Nov 1995 20:48:10 -0500 Organization: Delphi Internet Services Corporation Lines: 304 Message-ID: <498h0q$h2i@news2.delphi.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: news2.delphi.com ************************** W A R N I N G ! ! ! ! ! ! ************************** THIS FILE CONTAINS ADULT-ORIENTED MATERIAL. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY ADULT SEXUAL FICTION, EXIT THIS FILE NOW. IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN (IN THE UNITED STATES) OR ARE UNDER THE LEGAL AGE IN YOUR COUNTRY TO READ SEXUALLY EXPLICIT MATERIALS, EXIT THIS FILE NOW AND DO NOT CONTINUE READING. This file contains adult sexual fiction. Within can be found sexual activities and/or sexual situations involving adult males and/or females along with children, boys and/or girls, and sexual activities between children, boys and/or girls, and other children. Some files may contain sex and/or sexual situations between humans adults and/or children and animals. If you or your community standards are offended by such material, exit now. If you do not wish to view files of this type, it is up to you to exit now. All characters in these files, unless otherwise noted in individual story lines, are fictional. They do not exist. Any resemblances between these actors and real people are purely coincidental. FAN CHA PHAW is a small, Boston-based, publisher specializing in sexual freedom and amateur fiction zines. Stories are posted, from time to time, to the Internet as a service to readers who enjoy them. Fan Cha Phaw does not condone the activities of the actors in any of these stories. The stories are totally fiction. Fan Cha Phaw does not advocate breaking any laws known to mankind. Fan Cha Phaw does not e-mail stories to individual readers, so please do not ask. Stories are posted again about three to four weeks after they initially appear in the group for those who missed them. Fan Cha Phaw does not respond to questions or comments posted on alt.sex.stories. We do respond to questions or comments posted to the discussion group, alt.sex.stories.d. Lastly, we do not respond to flames. We have more important things to do with our time. Ishmael Wilkins FAN CHA PHAW FAN CHA PHAW PRESENTS: CHICAGO TO CHEYENNE He was standing in line a few spaces behind us at the Chicago Bus Station, waiting for the West bound bus. A young blond boy, 11 or 12, with a small bandage on his forehead. He had a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder, and a small flowery suitcase in his hand, presumably belonging to the old woman with him. Most likely his grandmother. Since it appeared we would be on the same bus for the next thousand miles, I was pretty confident I would have the opportunity to meet him. Dan, the friend I was with, who knows of and is tolerant of my boy-passion, although he doesn't share it, noticed my enthralled gaze. Jokingly, he nodded towards the grandmother and said "Yeah, she is pretty hot. TOO bad were up front, so we can't position ourselves strategically." "Oh don't worry," I answered, referring to the boy, "I'll meet him. " Everyone climbed on the bus. He ended up sitting a few rows ahead of us, but by himself, stretching across two seats. The old women did take his things, though, so he wasn't alone. All I could see was the back of his baseball cap. Very frustrating. We drove for about two hours before stopping for a break somewhere on the west end of Illinois. My Chance! The boy jumped off the bus and trotted to a Coke machine. I followed close behind, catching up to him, purchasing a Sprite, and trying to appear nonchalant. He looked towards me, so I casually nodded to his forehead bandage and asked, "Get shot?" He looked puzzled at first, and then realizing it was a joke, started to smile. "Nope." "Got hit by an Indian Tomahawk then, right?" He laughed and shook his head. I raised my eyebrows, perplexed. "Fight with a dragon?" "Actually, I was fishing on some rocks and fell down, but I kind of wish those other things had happened instead." "Oh no you don't! I've fought some dragons and it really sucks." I paused to let him laugh again and continued, "So you lived?" "NO" He said, his eyes widening, "Got knocked out and drowned! " He was playing along! I feigned irritation. "Great, so I'm talking to another ghost. I hate it when I 'm having a perfectly normal conversation with someone and they turn out to be a ghost. That's the third time that this happened this week!" I reached out and touched his arm. "You feel real though." "That's cause I'm a special ghost. I go around haunting Greyhounds." "Really? That's strange 'cause I seem to remember seeing a No Ghost policy or something..." Just then, his grandmother came up and I immediately switched to my respectful, patronizing persona that always seems to fool mothers and the like, if no one else. She seemed very tired, and not completely there. We discussed destinations and then the boy heard I was going by Las Vegas, he asked If I would gamble. I told him I wouldn't be 21 for a few months yet. He argued that I look it, so I might as well be. A good philosophy, I think. The boys grandmother mumbled "C'mon Justin," (Justin!) and we filed back to our seats. Before disappearing Justin piped "See you at the next stop 'Twenty-One.' A nickname? Very cute. Every once in a while, during the next couple of hours, Justin would turn around in his seat and smile or wave. My friend Dan elbowed me in the side. "You really scored. What the hell did you say to him?" "I don't know," I shrugged. "Just my usual silliness. " "Well he must really want a friend or something. " "It's okay with me. I've got 18 hours." The next stop was a dinner break at a very sleazy truck stop. Sometimes I suspect the bus company of getting some kind of kickback because they always manage to choose the worst places. Dan and I sat at a table set for four. Justin dragged his grandmother over and asked "Can we sit with you Twenty-one?" Absolutely! Positively! Undeniably! Indubitably! "Um.. .sure." During dinner Grandma zoned out over her tomato soup, while Dan and I went into this little smart ass Monty-Python type comedy routine we do, geared mainly toward an adolescent or a drunk collegian audience. Justin seemed to think It was the funniest thing he had ever seen. He laughed hard, eyes bright with tears rolling down his beautiful face. His appreciation was inspiring. Our next stop was Omaha, where we had a layover of about three hours. It was starting to get late, but Justin was still wide awake and wanted to talk. Amidst the squalor of the bus station, we spill a Coke and discussed movies, video games, music, cars, all those wonderful simple things you talk to boys about. I told him about an Alfa Romeo I used to have, and he just about ejaculated. I'm not sure if he knew what It was, or if he just liked the name. Either way it made me happy. It's wonderful being with any boy, wherever he's from, but his Mid-Western accent and mannerisms came of somewhat different and exotic to a San Diego suburbanite like me. When we got back on the bus, Justin insisted I sit next to him (as if I wouldn't pay for the chance). Most everyone fell asleep but we stayed up. We shared my Walkman, each with an earphone listening to Morris Bey. We played portable checkers (he kicked my ass), he showed me a card trick, and we joked about street signs. He told me about him crazy teacher last year at school, getting flipped off by a Mennonite (I didn't know they could do' that), and a kid he knows who can play the piano with his penis. I got the feeling that people didn't often listen to him, and that he us just elated by this opportunity for conversation. I would have talked like this forever, he was so enchanting But with the good comes the bad, and eventually the mood changed I had asked If he lived with his grandmother. At first he We quiet, and then evasive. I became incredibly curious because I was really starting to like this kid, and yet I had somehow hit sensitive spot. He finally told me. "Yeah, I've lived with her for a few weeks." "Why so short?" "Why do you want to know?" "Well, we're friends. I just do." "Well...I was just taken away from my Mom." "What?" " See... she was beating me." "WHAT?" "Again." Oh my fucking God someone intentionally hurt my boy my beautiful boy she hurt him please tell me he didn't say beating him God! He looked at me solemnly. "Now are you sorry you asked?" I ignored his question and appeared to remain calm. "What about your Dad?" "He's been In jail. He said when he gets out he's gonna kill her or something, but I don't think he's getting out." My boy my poor boy they're hurting my boy! "So you live with your grandma?" "For now. She can't really take care of me though. I just know I'm not going back to my mom." "You're Sure?" His pretty blue eyes were starting to water up. He was speaking haltingly. "I'm Sure... 'cause I..." "Cause you what?" "Cause I told the social worker ... if she sent me back... I would do it." "Wou would do what?" "I would kill myself." "What! " "And I will." It is rare for someone as loquacious as me to be rendered speechless, but It happened. I reached over and wiped away a teal from his face. He was turning red, strangling himself to keep from sobbing. I couldn't believe he was telling me all this. He wag quiet then and shut his eyes. After about thirty seconds he turned, put his head on my chest and his arms around me in a gentle embrace, falling asleep that way. He had just bared his soul, and It had exhausted him so much that he had to just lay on me and absorb the warmth. I held him for hours, not being able to sleep with 12 years worth of boy In my arms, and his tragic problems in my soul. I looked outside at the August moon reflecting off the Nebraska corn fields so eerie, yet so peaceful. Justin was asleep on me. I could hear his rhythmical breathing, feel the cool nylon of his shorts contrasting with the warm push of his leg against mine, smell his sweet hair and know his divine beauty. Here was someone who needed safety. I could give it to him. He needed attention. I could give it to him. He needed someone to listen and someone to care, someone to smile and someone to make him laugh and feel good, to feel wanted and important. I could deliver. And more than anything, he needed love. So Simple, so easy. I could love him so much! I could always be there with a hug. Love him, and love him, and make him my world. He was neglected so long, why not let him be worshipped awhile? But it's not going to happen. Not now, maybe never. They would rather he go to an abusive mother than a man who loves boys. And so, the next morning, in that hell-town Cheyenne, we exchanged addresses and a hug. He went towards Idaho, and I towards California. I sent him a letter and a Christmas card, but never got a response. I hope he's just lazy. Boys so often are. The End THIS IS A FINAL POSTING OF THIS STORY