Date: Fri, 07 Jan 2005 02:36:58 +0800
From: dirge  <dirge@operamail.com>
Subject: Deep Impact: The Island part 1

Disclaimer: This story contains graphic depictions of a man and a pre-
pubescent boy involved in a mutual relationship. I respect myself
enough not to hold back in my writing, and I respect the reader's right
not to continue reading this story. "Deep Impact" is an artistic work of
fiction and is thus awarded Constitutional protection under the First
Amendment of the United States of America.

"Congress shall make no law . . . abridging the freedom of speech." -- First
Amendment of the United States' Constitution.

Stanley v. Georgia, 394 U.S. 557, 566 (1969). The Court determined
that, "The right to think is the beginning of freedom, and speech must
be protected from the government because speech is the beginning of
thought."

The Supreme Court has stated the fundamental principle of the First
Amendment is that government "may not prohibit the expression of an
idea simply because society finds the idea itself offensive or
disagreeable." Texas v. Johnson, 491 U.S. 397, 414 (1989).

That said, what protects my writing and philosophy, and my very
person, from the tyrannical mob that would lynch me and watch with
loving eyes as I bleed dead on the ground is a few choice phrases by
the nine people appointed for life by the president of the United States.

Author's Note: the term "puersexual" was coined by a young thinker in
the boylover movement a few years ago. Where boylove is the
philosophical practice of our sexual desires, puersexuality is the
organic nature of the boylover -- just as homo and heterosexuality is
the organic nature of their respective kinds.

. . .

Other Works by dirge: Adult-Youth: "To make love"; "Andrew is
Beautiful"; "The Last Supper of Beer"; "The Hiders" (work in
progress); "Deep Impact" (work in progress)

. . .

DEEP IMPACT: The Island  (Part 1)

The island has fallen into an uncomfortable silence. We lost satellite
contact with the mainland about a month ago, but we still have our
transistor radios. There is no way to contact the outside after a surprise
move where the General Counsel imposed a no contact order, and
destroyed any unit that might broadcast. That means we can hear them,
but we are not allowed to respond.

Most of the population has chosen to listen to their radios today. Anna
McIntyre and her son Chas, and I, decided to spend the evening on the
beach. Chas is barely ten and full of energy. Unlike his mother his skin
tans easily, and after three months on the island his brown hair now
has strands of golden blond that remind me of corn silk floating in the
air after the harvest in one of my father's fields.

Chas is small for his age but very athletic. His skin has changed from
the New England cream to not a dark brown, but a deep copper brown,
brown like those Anglo-Saxon missionary boys you sometimes come
across in the pages of National Geographic, let to bask in the tribal sun
and who, like their heathen friends, seem to have adopted the very sin
that their parents wished to eradicate--the boys are inevitably erotic.

I watch him run into the waves -- and maybe I am mistaken; in this
evening light his skin is a chimera, reflecting the violet and orange of
the sun's last hours. His skin, like the feathers of a raven, appears to
shimmer and change from every angle, from every bend and curve of
his body. Dark honey, save for his rump which is also tan, but a lighter
hue, less exposed for we, if not by law then by heart, are still
Americans and pure nakedness would feel guilty to some of the more
conservative "colonists" -- though he has gone naked, I've made sure
of that, to get such a color down there. He is dressed in cutoff sweat
pants that are a size or so too small. They are cut a bit too short--my
doing--and now and then a cheek of his ass is revealed if a wave
happens to toss him around a bit, or if he does a handstand like he is
doing now! And now his genitals are showing to me, and from his
topsy-turvy position he throws me a grin of perfect teeth.

When we first arrived I found a small shark carcass washed up on the
other side of the island. I sliced out its jaws and using some fabric
from an old hemp jacket I made him a shark tooth necklace. Over time
he has added a few items for charms. The front is adorned with seven
or eight teeth filed smooth, the largest one is king at the center, that
tender line that starts at a boy's  collar bone and runs down between his
young chest to the valley of his navel. After about every third tooth is
a metal ring that he somewhere pilfered, there is a small Statue of
Liberty totem that no doubt was on another necklace at one time and
there is my old fraternity right, a simple metal band of copper that has
PKA and my name around the outside, Mathew.

Anne is safely out of reach from the little hellion. She is going over
various logs in her journal. Two days ago she told me that she was
one-third of the way through the medical records of everyone on the
island. She is a beautiful woman with black hair that shares the same
freedom as her son's, though on him it is wild, savage, exotic -- on her
it gives an air of sophistication, of not really having the time to be
bothered. Chas also shares her large brown eyes. When he first looked
at me that day on the boat, afraid, tears brimming over onto the pale of
his cheeks, all I could think was how beautiful they were, like a fawn
in the forest. Then as we crashed across the ocean I did not know him,
had never seen him before, but I knew his fear and in the moment of
my weakness and my own fear I picked him up and hugged him to me,
and we both cried for our exile from those we loved.

Anne looks up from time to time and waves at Chas. He would love to
splash her and she knows it. She gives me a look like I encourage him.
I do, but that is ok. The regular rules do not seem to matter here, today
at least. This not a day when regular things happen. It is a very
irregular day.

My first impression of Anne was that she was a genius, and she is. My
second was that she is too efficient and overworked, and she is. My
third was that she would give up the first two for her son. I am right
about that. But the only reason I have grown so close to the boy is
because she did not have the time for him, because of circumstance.
She is one of three surgeons on the island, which means she does any
little cutting to the repair of a broken arm that came in last week. Also,
she has taken it upon her self to redo the medical records. They were
placed in the computers before our arrival, but she does not trust the
stability of electricity, so she had printouts made and now she is
organizing them in watertight folders -- I suspect doing a good bit of
memorizing in the process.

Me, no great skill. I'm a machinist by trade and a book worm by
hobby. I was a literature major as an undergraduate. I guess the fact
that I can make almost anything given metal and a harder substance
makes me useful. But for today I have put myself in charge of dinner; I
love to cook. The sun is low on the horizon, just to where the saucer
dips its sizzling edge into the sea -- the boy dancing against it in
silhouette.

I have spread out the blanket and arranged the wine and sandwiches.
There are fresh bananas from the forest, and a large bar of French
chocolate. I was able to pilfer a bag of potato chips from the
communal kitchens, Chas's favorites. He sees me beckon and comes
running. Anne folds up her work at her chosen spot of sand, rises and
comes over. Chas thinks she is racing him so he dives in the deep,
white sand and almost gets it on the blanket. I pick him up, swinging
him around in a circle before gently landing him on the blanket, my
hands all over his warm tummy and back. In the kneeling position he
grins before falling back with his legs spread. I see his flaccid penis
and testicles and a little of his butt. He knows I'm looking at him, but I
don't think he is aware that I am looking at him like he would be
something delicious to nibble on.

"Shall we have a toast then?" Anne asks. We are all now seated in
comfort if not yet at ease about what it is that brings us together. We
are at once calm and restless, grateful and afraid.

"Very well." I say raising my glass. Chas raises his glass, as well. He
too has wine, and no doubt will get a little drunk, I will make sure of
it. Anne does not care, she is a woman cognizant of time and place and
the reason things happen the way they do. The idea of the boy a bit
tipsy and "loose" has a certain allure that stirs the butterflies in my
stomach. The sun is almost set, just a lava-red sliver of it remains,
hissing deafly into the horizon of ocean that itself has become living
shimmering crimson. Chas holds his glass of wine up so that it looks
like he has caught the last of it in the burgundy crystal.

"Here,. . ." she pauses looking from man to boy in turn, "here, is to the
last day of the world."

"Cheers." I say, and sip. Anne sips, drinks all her wine in one gulp.
Chas sips -- it looks like he is drinking the last of the sun like some
boy god guzzling a fiery alcohol. I don't think from her angle his
mother can see the supernatural effect he has produced.

On the island it gets dark very quickly after the sun has gone down. In
the east there is the ever slightest crescent moon and the stars are
already breaking through the ozone sheet of sky. Such a clear night. I
light seven candles and place them around us in the sand. Then I light
a big one set it at the center of the blanket.

We feast.

We do not eat slowly. We eat in haste. The sandwiches are turkey and
mayonnaise and still warm. I've made plenty. Three bottles of wine
are opened. Chas is on his second glass. I am guilty, I encourage him. I
can tell he does not like the flavor; there is apple juice if he wants it,
but he senses the gravity of the evening so he drinks with us. I'm
eating my third sandwich. Anne is crunching on the chips and every
now and then sipping wine. Watching her son consume she takes a big
bite of her sandwich.

For dessert I have made a sweet custard with thick brown-sugar syrup.
It is in a large glass bowl; we do not bother to portion it out. I dip my
fingers into it and cup it in my hand. Chas's eyes are like stars in the
night. I bring my hand to his lips and he sips and slurps the gooey
substance. He licks my fingers--I feel his tongue lap my palm--and
then reaches into the bowl with his small hand and brings the contents
to my mouth. I eat from him like an animal. Anne watches this oddly. I
offer her some; she eats from my hand as did her son. Then we feed
ourselves. By now were are stuffed to exploding, and drunk so that we
giggle at the falling stars. We have discarded the leftover food and
dishes into the sand away from us; they will be taken care of later.

We wrap ourselves in the large blanket. We do not speak. Anne leans
into me and Chas is between my legs, his back to my front. I touch
every part of his body above his waist. I rub a gentle thumb over his
nipples. He is very drunk and his otherwise muscular tummy is a little
distended from the effort of containing the meal. Anne stands up. I tell
her to sit, but she is crying. She picks up her work and says that she
needs to take it back incase it should rain. I say it won't, but she is
sobbing now and walking away. She says something about me
watching Chas for the night and about seeing us in the morning. Then
she is gone into the darkness.

Some candles still burn. Chas murmurs something and I no longer
have inhibitions. I pull his shorts off and toss them out somewhere.
Soon I am naked and my own garments are lost somewhere out there. I
wrap us in the large, warm blanket, naked man and boy, and we sleep.

Sometime when we were eating, probably during Chas's second glass
of wine, but maybe it was when he drank the last of the sun, the first
asteroid of four impacted the earth close to Paris, France with a force
of millions of atomic bombs. According to scientists it is doubtful that
anyone in a thousand-mile radius would have survived more than
minutes after impact. Two hours after the first, a space rock
conglomerated with ice and metallic alloys struck the ocean seventy
miles off the cost of New York City. Another, a few minutes later, was
projected to hit near Hong Kong. One in India, one in the Rocky
Mountains of Colorado, and then countless other debris were to scatter
across the globe for the next five days.

. . .

The morning came like it was the evening. I woke in a daylight that
was red like the night before, only this red was the filtered morning
sun through the cloud of dust that circumnavigated the globe during
the darkness and invisibility of night. I had read in a paper before
departing for the island of what to expect the next day, but I was still
taken by the force of what I saw. The air was fresh, but it was as if the
sun was trying to burn through a dense haze of smoke -- similar to
what I had once witnessed in Montana during a forest fire. As I looked
straight up I could make out a little blue of the sky, but as my gaze fell
toward the horizon there was a thick, perfectly straight gray-brown
line that seemed to wrap the earth like a ribbon, like someone had
taken a crayon and colored in a smog. Over the next few days as the
dust continued to rise, this ribbon of darkness would get thicker and
thicker, and morning would come later and later until the dust particles
reached an equilibrium in the atmosphere. Reports varied, some
scientists had claimed the cloud would last only a matter of weeks,
others said months, still others said years. One magazine  headlined "A
Century of Darkness".

Chas was snuggled up facing me, one leg draped over my hip. He
snored in a boyish manner. I softly touched his thigh and ran my hand
over his smooth rump, stopping to grope a small, firm buttock,
slipping my thumb through his sweaty crevice that separated the two
mounds, up the small of his back. I was firmly erect. I thought about
masturbating there, but was afraid he would wake up. Tenderly I
separated from the boy and ran down to the beach. The water was
cold. The gulls were squawking, though not as loud as usual, perhaps
thinking that it was evening. I splashed in to my waist and relieved my
sexual need into the foam of the ocean. I swam out to the breakers and
back in and flopped panting on the sand. I drifted into a troubled doze,
waking when Chas's shadow covered my eyes. He was naked and
erect and looked at me like I was lost baggage. I watched him walk to
the water, his little ass pert and toned. Instead of masturbating he peed
in the water and washed himself, getting his hair wet. When he
returned to where I was he looked like a shivering little puppy.

"I have a headache." He whispered.

I laughed. "It's called a hangover." He looked at me like he should
give a damn; all he knew is that he felt like shit. I picked him up and
carried him to our clothes. He put his shorts on and stood there more
immodestly than in his previous nudity.

"Did you take these off me?" he asked. I nodded. "Oh." He looked out
to the darkness on the horizon. "What's that?" he said.

"It's called a nuclear winter." I said. I wasn't sure if my terminology
was correct, but sooner or later we would feel the effects even if we
did not go by that term. Chas seemed to accept what I said.

"Did they hit?" he asked.

I nodded. "Let's go find your mom."

Chas walked by me up the dunes that bluffed the long white sand
beach that, despite its beauty, not many of the colonists used save
sometimes the children, and quite often me and Chas. At the top of the
bluff I was panting from my own headache. My stomach rumbled with
the contents of last night. The boy looked up at me. I figured he felt
awful so I picked him up and he wrapped his legs around my waist and
laid his head on my shoulder. I enjoyed his way of just melting into
me. I put a hand on his butt to support him and as we walked the fabric
slipped aside of its own accord and I was pretty much holding on to his
nakedness. I don't think he cared.

The colony is a conglomeration of futuristic looking buildings that are
grouped towards the rocky side of the island. There are around three-
thousand inhabitants for whom the government made sure there was
enough space for each person to have his own quarters if they should
want them. This actually produces much unused space since about
eight hundred people live in larger family units, like Chas and his
mother. It was planned that way for a number of psychological and
physical reasons -- taking into to consideration that naturally, if this
stay turned out to be long, the population should augment, but also
there was the fact that under such circumstances as we would be
living, the end of the world, etc., there was a chance a natural sort of
divorce could occur. If this was the case, a member of a family could
simply move out and be self-sufficient until he or she came to terms
with whatever the agitation was.

The family domiciles were well lit with skylights and reinforced
windows in the thick walls that were built to stand the force of a
nuclear explosion. Metal shades could be pulled down and locked to
create an airtight seal in which case the central environmental unit
would kick on to regulate the temperature and circulate a fresh air
solution. Chas's particular family unit had a living room that pulled
natural light from an overhead window. Attached to this chamber were
three bedrooms of equal size, a kitchen, and a bathroom with a walk-in
shower that dropped down to a bathtub. Simple but useful. My unit, on
the other hand, was a single living arrangement. There is my bedroom
that has a simple queen bed, a desk, a lamp, a closet, and a dresser.
The bathroom is attached to my bedroom with a similar shower modal,
and the kitchen and the living are stuck together. I live on the third
floor of a three story building that is built into the rock face where just
beyond lies the short jungle, and further along the little-used shipyard.

The habitat units are on the outside of a three-tiered circle, like three
circles within each other. The second layer is the work areas. The
clinic, my shop, and other necessary departments that aid the
functioning of the community are all here. At the very center is the
administration complex, a circular building that has a courtyard where
the community can gather for any number of reasons. It is here where
most of the colony passed its evening last night. The General Council
also is located here.

The council is composed of seven members who were chosen by the
United States' government before we came to the island. It is set up
that beginning in six months the community will vote for a new
governing body, the goal being to preserve democracy at all costs. The
Elect, is the mayor of the colony. He or she--currently a she, Mrs.
Jacobs--is elected by a vote among the seven. For our second day on
the island electing her was the first order of business. The entire
colony was encouraged to attend so that we could see we had a voice
no matter the conditions under which we lived.

As we enter the town I let Chas slide off, my hand not wanting to pull
away from the little butt it had been cupping. In fact, boldly, when he
was on his feet my hand still was under the leg of his shorts. He looked
up at me, quizzically and groggily, so I pulled it out.

Everyone was a zombie. A woman sat on a bench crying. A couple of
teenagers played hacky-sac, but other than a dull hum of a few
electronics and every now and then an overheard conversation, the
silence that had fallen the day before still remained. First we stopped
by Chas's house. Anne was not there. I made the boy go to his room
and put on some fresh clothes. He was moody about it, and I did not
mind him the way he was. Something deep down in me felt like
getting properly dressed to fit the occasion. Maybe it was a way to
fend off the sensation of impending oblivion. He came out with a
white t-shirt and a pair of denims and some sandals. He also had
donned his Chicago cap, that looked very warn and made him seem a
little like a tourist. His unkempt hair strained out the sides. My place
was on the other side of the circle so I would have to wait to change.

We found Anne at her little office in the back of the clinic. She looked
bedraggled. She was dressed sensibly in a blouse and jeans. Her hair
was pulled back and she was intently reading someone's records. Chas
climbed into her lap and hugged her. She kissed his cheek. "I'm
bored." He stated while fingering the material.

"Isn't Matt keeping you entertained?" she asked.

The boy looked at me and said mischievously, "He's no fun anymore."

I stuck my tongue out at him, "Anne, your kid is hung over."

She rubbed the back of his neck and asked him if he wanted an aspirin.
He nodded yes. She put him down and left the room. When she
returned she had a tray with six aspirin and three little packs of apple
juice. She gave us each two, and we sipped the juice which was warm.
Officially it was a Saturday so Anne did not need to be working. The
bylaws of the colony requested that the work week be only four days
long, leaving Friday, Saturday and Sunday as personal time.

When they started planning "The Ark", as it came to be called, a team
of psychiatrists had all mapped out the emotions of the community. It
was important for us to keep active and feel worthwhile, but at the
same time not to feel over-stressed. The bylaws also stated that we
were to see one of the six psychiatrists twice a month. I never went,
nor did Anne, nor did she really care about a pre-ordained work
schedule, she just always worked. Chas went over to her computer and
booted up a video game. I sat down at her desk in the cushy chair that I
had never seen her use.

"Now what?" I asked. She looked at me and shrugged.

"There's a meeting tonight at seven in the center circle thing. I guess
we'll get more information there, or they'll tell us whatever it is they
think we ought to know."

"But, I mean, what now? We just sit and wait for the weather to get
colder?"

She nodded. "I think that's about the gist of it." Chas had kicked off
his shoes and his smooth feet were dangling a few inches above the
floor. The game he was playing was some sort of war simulation.
Anne added, "I don't think the population was really prepared for this.
I mean, they informed us. Hell we knew for a year, but now that
they've hit, here we are. We are on an island in the middle of the
Pacific and we don't even know where we are. We don't know who
the survivors are. We are just a bunch of people in the middle of
nowhere." She looked out the window.

"What are you getting at Anne?"

She looked at me, then at Chas, then at the pile of work in front of her.
"What I'm saying is that in theory this little experiment was noble, but
in practice it is very unstable."

"You mean we might just all go nuts and start killing each other?" I
asked

"Well, yes. No not exactly,. . .I mean. For example, are you familiar
with the economic theory of externalities?"

"You mean, like when Bill Gates builds a new road through the desert
to his million-dollar home and says other people can use it? It's sort of
a good thing, right?" I had taken a college class in econ back in the
day, but mostly I skipped it to play in the machine lab.

"Yes, like that. But that is called a positive externality -- in actuality
they are very rare. What I'm getting at is what are called negative
externalities. It means, well, take the ocean for example. It is so large
that nobody can really own all of it, so there are international waters
where fishing laws don't apply,. . .Or didn't apply," she corrected
herself in regard to the downfall of civilization, "because of this
nobody had claim to say, the blue whale, and since nobody had claim
to it, we hunted until there were none left."

"Sort of like how big factories pollute the air. Nobody can own the air"

"Right," she said, "but we all breathe the air, so we all suffer because
we take it for granted."

"Are you talking about anarchy?" I asked, starting to see her point.

"Yeah, in a way. Look at last night -- we stole rationed food and
feasted on the beach, we got a young boy drunk, and." She stopped
short of saying what came next. I think I knew what she was thinking,
about how I had fondled Chas, touched his body all over and slept
naked with him.

"And that was just the first day." I finished for her.

She nodded. "Matt, there are a lot of strong personalities on this island.
Most of the people here were chosen on academic and social merit.
I'm not sure that's the best way to select a population to weather a
catastrophe."

"So we sit back and see who in the population tries to take over?" I
looked out as a man walked past her window. I suddenly saw the long-
range consequences  and illusions of our little project.

"I don't know about you, but I've read the laws and bylaws of our
colony, and in an effort to preserve democracy they have given us
carte blanche to rewrite the constitution with a simple majority vote on
the council."

A shiver went up my spine. Suddenly I was looking at our population,
not as a thing of hope for humanity, but a thing that was unstable. "But
maybe it won't happen." I said with unease. I wanted her to confirm
my optimism but even with my limited knowledge of history I knew
that things always got worse before they got better, then "better" was
subjective. After 9/11 the rightwing reaction had changed the face of
the U.S. Constitution. It felt like everyone was suspected guilty of
being a threat to the state, until proven otherwise. Then the far right
branch of the social-religious movement consolidated power in the
wake of the election in 2004. Everything was "moral values", from
Hollywood to Wall Street, the neo-conservative movement demonized
anyone who objected to their totalitarian philosophies.

Then the results from the Iraqi war came in. Thousands of United
States soldiers were killed and the Iraqi society was in anarchy. The
doctrine of "preemptive war" became the ridicule of the Western world
and the fear of Eastern dictatorships. But the American people were
already mind numb to the suffering overseas.  Media journals only
supported the politically correct disinformation, and the Patriot Act II
was voted in under a new draft that merged the separate branches of
government into the Executive branch. The Supreme Court ruled the
act unconstitutional, but then the neo-conservative administration
declared a state of martial law and halted all federal elections until
terrorism could be conquered. The Supreme Justices were a laughing
stock of rightwing media, nine old fogies who had no authority. Under
military rule the neo-conservatives dissolved the authority of the
Constitution. In short: Americans woke up one morning and
discovered they had no rights.

As a boylover I laughed to myself over coffee and donuts when I read
this in the New York Times. All my life I never had a right to be who I
was, and now every American, if for that one day, felt the terror at not
knowing what the future held.

In the years that followed a tribunal controlled by Washington ran the
United States. Only they did not count on doomsday to do what the
terrorists could not. They did not count on Mother Nature dropping a
rock on them. Now a majority of the East Coast was destroyed, the
West Coast devastated, and the breadbasket of America looking at an
ice age. Maybe they could grow crops next year, but the year after
most of the states would have a temperature average of 15 degrees F
below normal. Terrorism was never the real threat, not compared to
what would face those living on the mainland: starvation, true anarchy
-- and when the food was gone they would start to eat each other.
There was no hope in that dark cloud that continued to thicken on the
horizon. I became aware of the game Chas was playing, a war
simulation based on the Middle Ages, feudalism.

Evening seemed to come early. The sun was low on the horizon, a red
ball that could barely cut through the density of the dust. As I walked
toward what was called the "Center", the communitarian meeting
zone, I thought I felt a chill wind, the first since coming to the island.
Earlier in the day I left Chas and his mother to their devices and went
to shower at my quarters and change clothes. I fell  asleep and when I
woke the meeting bell was chiming. I was annoyed at this because it
was just another distraction that was meant to make us feel like the
world order had not collapsed with the impact and death of over half
the people on the planet.

In the Center I saw Anne across the crowd talking to another doctor.
Chas was no doubt off playing with one of the other boys. I was
starting to recognize the faces of our little citizenry. Walking towards
me with a right leg-short limp was a small, wiry man with ears that
stuck out. His name was Allen Batros, a very gifted electrician. I
enjoyed his harebrain ideas in spite of his eccentricities.

"Matt, damn, you're the man I need to see!" he said with exuberance,
taking me by the hand and leading us a bit off to one side. "Look," he
whispered in my ear. I inclined my head. "I'm working on something
here--" he stopped his sentence, gave a nervous glance to all sides and
whispered, "Can you work with magnetic materials."

"I suppose." I said.

"Good, I need a magnetic coil of say, twenty feet wrapped in a pot of
say, a foot, a foot and a half square."

I was hesitant to humor him, the material was not easy to come by. It
sounded like he was working on some sort of antenna. "I don't know,"
I said, "I don't know where I can get the wire."

"Don't worry about the wire. I'll take care of that, but can you wrap it
by Wednesday?" He gave another nervous look.

"I suppose, but, you know I don't like to be left out of the loop."

He smiled at me knowing that I would be a willing conspirator. "Ok,
listen. I'm building a high powered radio to catch the atmospheric skip
of short wave--"

"You know having a receiver that powerful is against the bylaws." I
said, remembering Anne's theory on moral chaos.

"Psst, what they don't know can't hurt them. And I think it's a basic
human right to know what's going on back home." He wiggled his
nose a little bit like an overgrown mouse. He continued, "Shortly after
the big one hit Paris, say twenty minutes, we lost most radio signals.
What does that tell you?" I shrugged my shoulders. "It means
something knocked out repeaters around the globe. Now I have two
theories and neither one makes me feel any better." He pulled me over
to the wall and pretended like we were just shooting the breeze.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I was sincerely interested at this point.

"Ok, here it is. Somehow, after the crash something knocked out
international communications. The only thing that can do that is a very
powerful electro magnetic pulse, or an EMP. An EMP--ok, is a--"

"I know about EMPs." I cut him off before he could go into his
technical explanation, something he enjoyed I think just to see the
confusion on peoples' faces. He grinned at me.

 "Great, I knew you weren't one of them morons. OK, the question
then posed is where in the fucking hell did that EMP come from? One,
the asteroid's impact was so powerful as to generate an extreme static
charge in the atmosphere. Now that can happen, but what confuses me
is the delay in the EMP. If it was the asteroid, then we would have lost
communication almost instantly. But twenty minutes. The only
explanation I can figure is that a nuclear device of some magnitude
was detonated by someone."

I was a little shocked, and a little annoyed at myself for not caring
much about the events of the last two days. "Who--"

Now it was Al who cut me off. "Intriguing isn't it? Ok we know that
France couldn't have done it as it was a ground zero country. Also
England would have been fairly obliterated, and Germany. Not to
mention most of western Europe has, or had, no interest in using a
nuclear device. We probably can rule out third-world countries in
including North Korea. That leaves China, Russia, Israel, and Pakistan
or India." His silence possessed a bleak humor.

"And the United States." I whispered. He nodded. The bell chimed
again and a man in a simple white shirt walked out of the General
Council hall.

"Listen, it's all just speculation. But it's worth working on. Besides,
we have nothing but time."

We walked closer to the center to listen to what would be said. Al's
theory was troubling but very plausible. Not only had billions of
people been destroyed, but also out under that haze of dust there might
be a nuclear war taking place. And because of some sort of idealistic
laws we were forbidden from knowing exactly what was happening in
the outside world.

Anne caught my eye. I turned to Al and whispered, "Let's put some
distance between us, ok."

"Gotcha." He said giving me a conspiratorial wink.

I made my way to Anne. The man who approached the center was
maybe fifty-five, tall with a muscular build. His snow-white hair was
neatly trimmed, giving him a regal look. He must have been a
politician, or a public person of some sort in the other world. He
wasn't one of the seven council members. I wondered what office he
held. I made it next to Anne and she whispered to me to keep an eye
out for Chas; he had wandered off with another boy.

"Colonists," said the man in a loud voice that carried across the
courtyard. He lifted his hands in a symbolic embrace of the crowd. I
immediately did not like him. It was pretentious to address us like we
were a chosen bunch of people when our friends and family were dead
or dying on the mainland. "Colonists. The General Council has asked
me to be their spokesperson. For those of you who don't know me, I
am Dr. Victor Reed and I am head of the psychology department. His
eyes seemed to scan the crowd, making eye contact with everyone at
once. There was something calming about his presence, something
powerful, like a strict schoolmaster. "As of impact yesterday we are
now functioning on the official colony calendar. This day will forever
be noted as The First Day, and in future years we will celebrate it as a
sort of new year celebration. Day One 'NW', for New World. The first
day of a new epoch, a new era, a new beginning. The General Council
finds it important that we not fixate on the past, that instead we worry
about the future. The time for mourning is over, the time for living has
begun." He paused and a murmur went through the crowd.

"How pretentious." Anne whispered. I nodded, but said nothing. Dr.
Reed seemed to eye everyone with pleasure. He seemed to be basking
in what he was saying. I felt something brush up against my leg and
looked down to see Chas looking up at me.

"I can't see." He said. In one swoop I hefted him to my shoulders. I
could instantly feel his warm crotch squishing into the back of my
neck. I held on to his ankles to support him, and with his soft hands he
twiddled my ears and tickled my two days' growth of whiskers.

When the crowd quieted Reed spoke again. "I need to let you know
what to expect over the next few months. I don't need to tell you that
you all have your duties and professions. I don't need to tell you that it
is of the utmost importance that each individual respect the laws and
bylaws of the community. We are well stocked with food, but at the
same time we must not be wasteful. The hydroponics gardens are
doing well and the botanists tell me that we should have the first crop
harvested by the end of the month. Of course that will be at the time of
what was once Thanksgiving, and the traditional harvest festival. I
think a festival of our own will be in order, so think of what you will
prepare and how you will celebrate. I have suggested that we set up
here at the center for common potluck, so please see one the
secretaries if you are willing to help out."

Anne nudged me with her elbow, indicating that since I liked to cook. .
. I wrinkled my nose at her. Chas was fidgeting on my shoulders. I
moved his ankles which caused his crotch to rub up and down, I
wasn't sure but I thought I could feel a little more firmness now and
figured that he was slightly erect. I moved his ankles again and he let
out an almost inaudible moan. I felt his warm moist breath next to my
ear. Again I moved him and again he moaned. He was definitely
stimulated. I ran my hands up the legs of his pants and gently
massaged his calf muscles. He humped ever so gently up against me
and I pulled down on him firmly causing his penis, in whatever
position it was in, to rub along my neck. His hand dropped and rubbed
my cheek.  I felt what I thought was his groin muscle spasm, and he
whispered, "Let me down, please." I reluctantly let him slide off and
he came around and leaned against my front. He seemed tired. My
own rigid penis was poking him in his back but he did not care, or
notice, as he rested against me. I circled him with my hands and
rubbed his tummy.

During all this another man had come out of the building. He was
carrying a folder of papers. Reed introduced him as a meteorologist,
Mark Hastings, but I didn't catch it as I was a seeing if Chas would
object to me brushing his nipples. He didn't when I finally got the
courage to touch the semi-erogenous zone.

The man named Mark started to speak, "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm
just letting you know the update of weather conditions. The Earth
suffered an impact that no doubt is going to directly affect us. To tell
you the truth, we are not at all sure what will happen, but we have run
simulation models that predict a few things. It is actually pretty
obvious, the dust cloud right now is blocking about ten percent of the
sun's power, in the short term, say a couple weeks, three at the most,
that means very little to us, but on a grand scale it means a lot. Today
is three degrees cooler than yesterday with a slight wind out of the
northwest. We suspect the dust cloud will thicken over the period of a
few months and then stabilize for an undefined duration of time. At its
equilibrium point we can expect to feel only about thirty-five percent
of the sun's heat. This is an extremely rapid climate change. For the
northern hemisphere that means long winters of extreme conditions.
Here, closer to the equator, I doubt we will see snow. Our biggest fear
is cyclones, hurricanes, and storms that can strike at a moment's
notice. We are installing an emergency siren that when sounded will
be heard all over the island. When you hear this, it means that we have
spotted a storm on the horizon. It would be wise to seek immediate
cover. You know where the emergency bunkers are in case you are
away from your homes. Go to these immediately and notify the
weather center by phone link so that everyone is accounted for, you
may also call to other residents as communications has just been
integrated. There are rations inside for five days for two people. The
goal is for everyone to be safe at all times."

I felt Chas's heart beating beneath my hand. I felt the need to protect
him from whatever the future had in store for this little community. He
looked up at me with those large eyes and I knew that my life of
solitude was over. I had found at the end of the world a purpose to
live. Anne put her hand over mine that was resting on the boy's chest.
I looked at her. She gave me a meek smile. A smile that said she was
as worried as I was. But it was also a smile that cemented her, me, and
Chas together. He was our common cause, and in so being we had to
work together. After a long time I think I understood what it was to
have a family.

Dr. Reed stepped up again and thanked the meteorologist. I made a
mental note to talk to him if I ever bumped into him. "Colonists,
remember, in six months time we will be holding elections. It is
imperative that above all we hold democracy sacred. Those who would
like to run for General Council must apply and state their purpose. But
for now let us not be troubled by any more administrative issues.
There will be a weekly meeting every Saturday. All are welcome and
encouraged to participate."

The crowd started to disperse. Anne wanted to get some work done so
I volunteered to look after Chas for the evening. He wanted to go back
to the beach, but it was getting late. I convinced him that we could
spend the evening at my place and watch DVDs on my computer. I
had a vast library stored on my hard drive as I had purchased the best
equipment when the market dropped.

It was over two years ago now since the general populace first learned
about their impending doom. It wasn't taken seriously until the
government started freezing prices of perishable items. Milk was the
first to be frozen at ten dollars a gallon, gas at fifty, bread at four
dollars per loaf. Anyone caught spiking prices was put in jail. After
that the stock market crashed. I remember watching Microsoft and
Wal*Mart fall to pennies on the dollar. For a joke I bought a hundred
thousand shares of each on E-trade. They weren't worth the paper they
were printed on. What was worth money was food, guns, and gasoline.
Candy bars sold on the black market for hundreds. Anything with a
shelf life was worth its weight in gold. I bought my computer
equipment from a friend who was in research at IBM. Normally a
small country would not have been able to afford it, but he practically
gave it to me for a case of Ramen noodles. I spent the next months
downloading everything I could from the internet. I backed up NYU's
digital library. The Smithsonian digital library.  This friend also gave
me access to the FBI and CIA search engines, super-tech stuff that
hacked at the speed of light the toughest encryptions -- I was able to
save thousands of gigs of data from universities, corporations,
newsgroups. . . By the time I was to leave for the island I still hadn't
finished sorting the A listing of the DVDs I downloaded. The only
thing that hindered me was when communications started to fail
because people no longer bothered showing up for work at ISPs.
Slowly the American phone system crashed. Power grids were
abandoned despite federal orders to keep the lights on.

Eventually the military, defacto government, imposed a curfew of 6
p.m. Late at night I would hear machinegun fire, but I didn't want to
think what or who was being fired at. Before the phones went dead I
called my father from a New York phone booth that still worked. He
lived in a small valley town in northwest Montana. Normally a
peaceful man, he had joined a militia, one I hadn't heard of, and had
managed to squirrel away quite a bit of ammo and guns. "Dad," I
remember saying, "You always hated those militia bastards."

"I know, he said. But when this shit hits all hell is gonna break loose.
It's not the impact I'm worried about, it's whatever will happen after
it. Remember that Mad Max movie? It's safety in numbers. We are
already getting city-folk coming through here every day, but they
won't stay, they want to get to Canada."

The impact was supposed to be in Colorado, but I was still worried for
my father. There were hundreds of thousands of smaller asteroid
debris that are supposed to hit at random locations for the next ten
years. Some would burn up, others would crash silently in the ocean,
in deserted areas, but there was still a chance. . . I mentioned that he
should go to Alaska, but he seemed to think it would get cold faster
than the reports on TV or in the news papers. My father was an
interesting man. He held an engineering degree from MIT and was an
amateur scientist as well as a political anarchist. So when he told me
about the militia thing I knew he was only using them. I guess he was
the poster boy for the American survivalist.

As Chas and I walked I teared up remembering the old man. We had a
rocky relationship for a long time. When I was a teenager I was prone
to fits of depression. I think everyone but me noticed that I never had a
girlfriend. And since it was a small town, rumors started to float. I
couldn't get out of there soon enough. My brother had joined the army,
and I went off to grad school in machining, even though my undergrad
degree was in literature. Once on a trip home my father must have
sensed I was close to rock bottom. He talked me into a fishing trip. We
hadn't done that since I was a boy. Somewhere on one of Montana's
beautiful rivers he turned to me and said that he loved me no matter
who I was. It was night and the Big Sky was glittering with stars. I can
still smell the cedar logs burning on that campfire, and smell cooked
trout. I looked at him and was a little scared at first. Then he handed
me a beer and said, "Listen, we only have this one life, and that's it.
Don't worry if you don't think you're living it right. There ain't no
wrong way." I nodded my agreement. He was a rugged man, silent,
smelling always of outdoors. I always pictured him as a powerhouse of
wisdom and manliness, but that day he looked old, almost weak. "You
know, son. I'll tell you something that no one knows about me. When I
was in the army I was in Vietnam, it was a run to go look for POWs.
We didn't find any so the unit went back to base. The war was over
and so was my tour, but I stayed in the country after that." I knew he
had lived for a short spell in the Orient, but I never really thought to
ask why. He continued: "Whatever keeps a man in a place like that is
either sex or money. I ain't rich so you can bet it wasn't money." He
got quiet and turned his eyes up to the star field as it alone held his
memories. It was one of those early autumn nights when you can't
decide if it's warm or cool out. "Her name was Mei-Lo." He paused
and shifted uncomfortably. I didn't care, it was years before he met my
mother. But he seemed like he needed to tell me. "Mei-Lo was
beautiful," he said, a lump forming in his throat, "but she was also only
twelve years old when we had our affair. I won't go into details
because they are my memories and no one else's, but I just want you to
know something. Don't listen to what anyone says, when you find
love, even if it's lust or you can't tell the difference, you take it. If it's
something you shouldn't talk about, then don't. But don't you ever let
it get away." And then between a crackle of fire and spark and a
falling star he added, "Love is always above the law." It was my
father's confession that told me he knew of my sexuality and that he
understood what I had gone through over the years.

I scooped up Chas in my arms and tossed the giggling boy over my
shoulders as I entered my apartment. My space was small compared to
his and his mother's, but I had gone out of the way to make it cozy. I
carried the wiggling boy to the couch and practically dropped him. He
giggled and look up at me with expecting eyes. His gaze held only
intelligence. And at that moment I wandered what he was thinking. If
somewhere in his prepubescent body he had any sexual stirrings.
Abruptly he turned over with his back to me and stretched out on the
couch. This had the result of revealing his little ass that had just the
right shape to it, the kind that reminded me of Greco-Roman
sculptures I had seen once in France, like the god Apollo, only boyish,
sculptures that were now destroyed. His jeans were old and worn, just
the right fit for him so that they did not sag, nor did they look like they
were constraining. I sat down on the couch by his feet and wondered
what I could plan to occupy him and myself for the evening. Soon
after arriving on the island it became evident that boredom was to be a
fact of life. I was just about to go make a snack when I heard him
whimper.

"Chas, are you ok?" I asked. He nodded. He was crying. "It's ok
buddy, is something wrong?" Something was obviously wrong, but he
had always been so positive.

"It's n-nothing," he sniffed.

"Well, I tell you what, why don't you tell me and maybe I can help."
He turned to look at me causing his t-shirt to expose his tanned tummy
and the hollow area just above his hip, leaving a skinny-boy gap
between the waist of his pants and his body.

"I think my mom is working too much." He confided. "I'm scared for
her, sometimes she forgets to eat even." His voice was a beautiful
tone, the sound of it was like listening to music, I thought guiltily,
even when he was distressed. I reached my hand over, pulled him into
my lap. He was light and easy to handle, but at the same time I could
feel his healthy muscular structure. After an awkward adjusting we
settled in a position where he was straddling my lap, looking me in the
eye.

"I know, Chas buddy, she does work a lot. But you know what, your
mom is a very smart person, and she is only working to make sure
everyone on this island is healthy." I tried to sound upbeat, but it felt
fake, and I had learned shortly after meeting Chas that he shared an
honesty trait with his mother. Both he and she did not like to play the
little games that people so often play with each other just to humor
themselves. And now he looked at me like he was lost and had never
really heard the words I said. Slowly, I removed his hat and let his hair
fall where it may. I was mesmerized by his pure beauty. I ran my hand
over his forehead and through the silk of his hair, down to the back of
his neck and, across his shoulder, and finally let it rest right above his
heart which I could feel steadily thump, thump, thumping.

"Why do you touch me all the time?" the boy asked with a hint of
curiosity, but not rebuke.

"What do you mean?" I was a taken aback by the question, but then he
did have reason. I found it very difficult to keep my hands off of him.

"Well, today at the meeting. And now, and well, all the time." he bit
his bottom lip in such an adorable way that I could not possibly make
up a story to explain my physical attraction to him. And, again,
thinking about Anne's anarchy theory, I figured that why not just be
honest with the boy.

"Do you want the complicated answer or the short one?" I asked,
rubbing a hand across where his left nipple should be under his shirt.
Pressing on that spot.

"The short one." He said with a grin on his face.
"I touch you because I like you." I responded matter-of-factly. He
frowned, obviously not content with such an answer.

"Ok, then tell me the long one?" he said. I thought about ending the
subject but didn't really see a reason to. I was extremely attracted to
him, and sooner or later I would end up doing something that would
reveal my emotions to their fullest.

"Ok," I said, "but if I tell you, you have to promise that it will stay a
secret. Ok?"

 He looked bemused.

"Can I tell my mom?" he asked. I shrugged, there was really no reason
why he couldn't. Somehow I thought of all people Anne would
understand.

I nodded. "Yeah, you can tell her if you want."

"Well. . .?" he implored.

"Ok buddy. You know how some guys get married and have
families?" he nodded. "Well, I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because, squirt,. . ." I halted, a little nervous, "because, well, I'm the
kind of guy who falls in love with boys." There was a long silence.

Finally he whispered as if finding gold: "Like, you're gay, you mean?"
His large brown eyes pierced me.

"Not exactly." I said. "I like boys, like you, not grown men."

"Really?" he squeaked.

"Really."

"Wow."

" 'Wow', that's all you got to say?" I bugged, feigning
disappointment.

"So how do you have sex?" he asked bluntly. Obviously Anne was not
a conservative when it came to these things.

"Don't you think that is a little personal?" I chided. And tickled his
armpits. He shrieked and tried to tickle me back.

"No, now answer me. It's just sex. Gees!"

"Ok, well. When men and boys have sex they can do tons of things."

"Like what?"

"Kiss."

"Is that all?"

"No."

"Well?"

"They touch each other."

"How?" said my little interrogator, annoyed that I would not be more
blunt with him.

"They give each other blowjobs."

"Oh."

"And," I added, "sometimes they really like to have anal sex. So the
man puts his penis in the boy's butt." Chas thought for a minute after
hearing this.

"That makes sense." He said simply. I couldn't help but laugh. At this
I decided to change the subject.

"How about we make dinner for your mom, and we can take it to her?"
His eyes brightened even more.

"OK!" he jumped up and turned toward the kitchen. I looked at his ass
and thought about how it would feel to make love to such a boy.

Suddenly I felt lonely. I felt like crying. I quickly wiped a tear away
and started busying my self with dinner.

. . .

We selected a simple cuisine of fried vegetables, turkey (or what was
said to be turkey) breaded in some sort of batter, and white rice. I
made enough for all of us, picked a table wine (something I had
brought from the States), and a loaf of bread symbolizing a baguette
that I had made a week before. As I cooked, Chas played on my
computer. We had planned on watching DVDs but the meal was more
of a distraction. I was worried about Anne as well. Chas was right that
she worked too much. I decided to mention it to her, though I doubted
it would do any good.

I sat down to read a magazine as the smell of food filled the room.
Finally Chas came over and started jumping on me, so I was forced to
quit reading and begin fondling the boy. My earlier confession had not
seemed to change the fact that he enjoyed that I touched him so much.
In a coup-de-force I pinned him beneath me, lifted up his shirt and
made a farting noise by blowing on to his belly. He laughed aloud. My
lips, I think, had never touched anything quite so soft. I did not move
them when suddenly he became still and quiet. In an effort to plant in
my memory for life this living boy, I kissed him, I lifted the t-shirt and
kissed between his pecs, on the hollow of his sternum, I kissed down
the fine tanned center of his torso, across boy hairs so light that they
almost didn't exist, to his navel where I kissed, and a little lower to an
exposed hip bone, I kissed. Then I sat up and he looked at me and
smiled. Bringing himself up, he gently leaned forward and kissed me
ever so lightly on my lips and then stood and straightened his clothing.
The food was finished by now. In silence we packed it up and walked
in the dark evening to his own home.

Something had changed between Chas and myself. He must have
known, as we walked side by side, that I loved him. Or he must know
at least that he was an object of my sexual desire. I had confided to
him that I am a boylover, a puersexual. That I preferred boys as
partners and as lovers. But did he really know what that meant? Did he
know what it meant that I wanted to stop right there in the dark and
kiss him with all the passion with which under any other
circumstances a man would kiss a woman? How could he, he is only a
boy just turned ten? How could he know how two bodies make love,
let alone when one body is a grown man and the other is a just a lad, a
boy, a sprite? But then, I guess, that has been the role of boylovers
from time eternal, to awaken the sexual knowledge in a boy, to bring
him into a world of wisdom and love, at least to try. To make him
know that on another level his body is not just a novelty of childhood,
but an actual sexual organ of which he is the sole proprietor -- that if a
ten-year-old boy wishes, he can do with his body as he pleases.

We walk in silence listening to the ocean breaking on the beach. Some
sort of bird calls in the jungle. The wind has picked up quite a bit since
this morning. I think of what the meteorologist said about bad weather.
I think about my father in Montana and my brother in the army. I don't
know if either one is alive, but I pray they are. Finally I think about
Colt. He is surely dead if he did not leave New York. His birthday
would be next week, he'd be just turning fourteen. I see in my mind's
eye his lovely face, not beautiful like Chas's, but lovely in its own
street-wise way. His fine features, his short blond hair with the red
highlights. His eyes so blue I can only think of the sky, the old sky, not
the sky now covered in a brown cloud.  I remember the last night
before I was to leave for the island, I fucked him so slowly, so gently,
taking my time to remember his every curve, so boyish, but on the
cusp of that frontier that heralds manhood, just when his limbs are
starting to get gangly. In the last six months before the impact he grew
three inches. But still that night in my arms he was my young lover,
his anus sucking me deep into him, no longer the tight anus of a boy,
but the strong and accepting anus of a youth who for the last three
years and some months had been consistently screwed by the same
man. Yet he was a boy that night, weeping when he entered my
apartment by the fire escape to avoid the curfew. Like an angel coming
in to cry for one whom he knows he can no longer protect. And he was
my angel, my first and only boy. It was he who was the seducer, who
forced me to confront my own nature. But that night --  it was raining,
I remember--he was again a small child, fearful of the big world. As he
came in wet, I removed his clothes and not waiting for his approval
pulled him to the bedroom and kissed him so lightly on the lips that I
thought time had stopped, and then he turned and fell on the bed and I
after him in one motion parting his ass and bringing my mouth to his
hole. His anus lipping my tongue until I had to gently nip its edge to
get it to go slack. And he growled low under his breath like a
perturbed cat. And he was all boy. His ass still small, still tight, but
coming into its own, an ass that knew what it wanted and how to get it.
He cumm'd then, with my tongue where my dick should have been. He
shot runny liquid into the mattress, but it was no matter, he stayed hard
and turned over all slickery and I rose and licked his cum into my
mouth, lifted his legs, and returned his juice to his anus for lubrication,
and parting him by the knees entered him slowly, and then he had me
and we kissed. I fucked him with short strokes, then finally with long
ones and when I blasted him and he shot again his cum onto our
chests. We did not rest, only we rutted as I re-hardened after a spell,
never leaving his hole, then fucked him the same way. The night was
too precious to waste on sleep. I covered his neck with hickies and he
mine--something Chas would ask me about three days later on the
boat--then we changed directions and he sat on top of me and bounced
on my cock, dribbling piss onto us out of his limp dick. And when our
eyes met we were weeping like a cave wall, and he leaned over me and
I drank his tears as they fell; after, we kissed a salty kiss his boyish
tongue lapping at my mouth as I fed him my saliva. If we could have
eaten each other we would have, such was our fear of being alone.
Somewhere around midnight we smoked pot and fucked again. Pot
was his new thing. He got it somewhere from one of his skater
buddies. That night it was a love drug, it made me see the perfect
beauty of the young teen, his nipples that I had known when they were
little pimples of peachy flesh were larger now on his pecs. His feet
were bigger, indicating that he would indeed be a man someday, his
hands larger, rougher, his tummy that once was just a flat plane on
which I shot my cum--I know not how many times--now a youthful six
pack, but yet not man, still boy. His legs long and made for running. I
cried again in my stoned vision, telling him as I kissed his thighs to
run fast, Colt, run fast and don't stop until you know you are safe. Go
to Montana, find my dad. How, he whispered drawing in the hypnotic
smoke from his little crystal pipe. The money I gave you, use it all if
you must, hitchhike. Use this if you must, I said, shoving two fingers
deep into his ass. He moaned. Sell your ass, Colt, just get there and
find him. But my mom, he whispered. His mother was his life beyond
me, she was chair bound with MS, and he took such good care of her. I
wanted to shake him and tell him that life was in HIM not in her, but I
knew it would do no good. Three fingers now plowing the ass I had
known when it was ten and eleven and even then so willing to played
with. He grunted and arched his back and I saw that he was crying,
tears across his cheeks. He had wept sometimes when we had sex, but
these were tears of loss. His dick lay limp. It had grown too, now quite
noble for a stud of almost-fourteen, wispy blond hairs at the base,
uncut and unmolested save by me and maybe a girl or two, but that
was his secret and it gave me joy to know he was a lover. The cock I
had sucked and felt jerk to a dry cum time and time again. The thing
that he really prided, even when it was a worm, but so very tasty, now
a beautiful creature, and still growing. But with me he wanted it up the
ass, always so hard up the ass. My fingers finding the familiar spot
inside him and when he whimpered. . . I took another hit of the weed,
and fucked him good. It was rough now because it was about our
animal desires, I bottomed out on him and he ground onto me, had an
anal orgasm, his cock unbothered, now our love was in his ass, and I
clawed his body, his back. I lifted him and using my strength bounced
him on my dick, I shoved him against the wall and fucked him there.
We fell to the floor and fucked there. His bladder let loose and his piss
filled the room. I took it in my hands and wiped his face with it. I
tasted it, fed it to him while fucking him all the harder. Suddenly he
pulled away from me. Pulled off of me and was crying so hard that he
couldn't catch his breath. He went to the fire escape and walked out
naked into the pouring rain and wept, and I followed him and cried
also for in the rain our naked bodies were bathed in tears. I spread a
blanket on the steel grating and while he was looking out over the
dismal city I came up behind him and drove my cock home, and bit his
neck in the rain, and fucked his bubbly ass, and we dropped to the
blanket and made love in the warm, humid storm. And he thrust his
pelvis in time with the music from indoors and in time with my own
rhythm and in time with the rhythm we both knew we needed, the
same that we had used as a young boy, the same now and his rectum
spilled my cum and quivered and I orgasmed with him and we lay in
the storm and kissed. And with the early morning we had not slept,
and we were tired with the world. I was to leave in an hour, and he was
still naked, and so was I. There were no words between us, because
there was nothing to say. My chest had red welts from his fingernails.
His neck was marked with my bites as was the inside of this thighs.
After no sleep and so much energy let loose, he dressed like a runner
after a race, put on his shoes, grabbed his skate board. He was crying
as the sun broke the horizon of buildings and the leftover clouds and
filled my apartment with a fresh light. He walked to the fire escape,
and I went to him and kissed him deep for I wanted to taste him, and
my lust was the lust of love when one believes he shall never love
again. Eagerly I unsnapped his pants and dropped them to his ankles
and bent him over the desk where the sun was shining and fucked into
him hard until I had managed to get in deep. It was a very
uncomfortable position, but his ass bobbed back and I took it slow and
Colt had to bite his wrist to keep from weeping, but still he cried, and I
cried one last time onto him. Our hips slapped in the quiet morning,
our little grunts filled the room, and the smell of sex and of residue
hashish. His anus was warm and slick from the long night, I scratched
his prostate like he needed it and he came across the table and I came
in him. And he stood up and re-dressed. I wrapped in a blanket and he
looked at me like a lost puppy. And then he was gone, down the fire
escape onto the streets. I heard the sound of his skateboard on un-
mended sidewalks as it carried him somewhere into the city.

Chas looked up at me in the dark. He was carrying the turkey and rice.
I smiled down at him and did not think he could see my tears.

Anne was working at her desk in their apartment when we found her.
She barely heard us come in. When she looked up she smiled. "What's
this?" Chas put the food on the table and went to hug her.

"It's an intervention." I said.

. . .

Al held the plastic container that made the casing for the wrapped
metal wire. "It's not as heavy as I thought it would be." He said,
tossing it up in the air and catching it.

"I know. Normally ceramic is used for the center. That is a very heavy
material that fortunately we don't have around here. Instead I used a
chunk of cork I found washed up on the beach when I first arrived. It's
lighter, and it won't shatter like ceramic will if you drop it."

"Ingenious." He said with a twinkle in his eye. Al was one who liked
ingenuity. He reminded me a lot of my father, a survivalist type who
thrived in adverse conditions. "Are you ready for the fun part?" he
asked, holding the electrical cord that was wired to the metal filament.

"Ok, but let me unplug everything else." I unplugged all the electrical
components in my apartment and got ready to switch off the light. "Do
you think they'll notice?" I asked. Al grinned.

"How can they not?" And directly plugged the device into the wall.
The light in the apartment dimmed and I switched it off while Al
counted backward from twenty. I looked out my window and saw
lights in other buildings also dimming.

"Shit, Al!" I barked. He smiled and kept counting, now at 10, 9, 8, 7,
at 1 he yanked the cord out of the wall. The lights in the area returned
to normal and I flipped on the switch.

"No harm done." He said. "You got a fork?" I gave him one from the
counter. "The moment of truth." He  held the fork near the plastic
casing, it jumped out of his hand and held fast. He gave an excited
whoop and did a little jig.

"There you go." I said. "When will you have this contraption up and
running?"

"It should be a few days. There are some small gadgets and gizmos
I'm working on. Then I get to spend my nights listening to static."

"You know, I might just have something that will make your life a
little easier." I went to the closet and started searching for a box I new
was there. "Here I said." handing him a fairly heavy, brown UPS
carton.

"What is it?"

"I got it from a friend at IBM. He was sort of into monitoring police
and government frequencies. It's basically a very large hard drive with
a program that will allow you to scan various signals. And I'm sure it
should have a short-wave setting. You just need to rig a basic
connection between your stuff and this device, and this will plug right
into your computer. It will record depending on the sensitivity. But
you'll have to play around with it, I'm not really too familiar. I saw
him use it once, but wasn't very interested."

"Matt, I feel like it's Christmas."

"Don't mention it. Just keep me updated on whatever you learn."

"That's a promise, old buddy." He said. I had grown to like Al more
and more. His harebrained ideas, but also his ability to work magic
with electronics. The other people in the engineering department
treated him as an oddball. I wandered if they knew how adept he was,
or if part of his personality was designed to disguise what he really
could do.

"What do you think of this Dr. Reed character?" I ventured. Al was
inspecting the recording device very closely.

"I don't like him," he said plainly. "He's a politician."

"That's the impression I got from him," I said.

After Al had left I was reading a book when a little knock came at the
door. I slipped on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and answered. It was
Chas. He was wearing the old cut-off sweats that he wore that night on
the beach. His dark feet were in a pair of flip-flops and he had on a
ragged old t-shirt that said CHICAGO in bold letters. His hair was wet
from the shower and I think I smelled apple shampoo. My first instinct
was to kiss him, but I figured that might be a bit much.

"Whatever you're selling I don't want any." I said. He giggled.

"I'm not selling anything." He said. I gazed at the perfect taper of his
legs, and wondered if he could sense my thoughts. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, I guess." I said and stepped aside while he bounded  in and
landed on the couch.

"Mom is working late so she said I could sleep over tonight." He
grinned at me. Then his smile faded, and he added, "If that's ok with
you."

"Sure, Champ." It was more than ok with me. In fact, without
underwear on, my delight at seeing him was quickly becoming
obvious. I sat down next to him. "I was just about to watch a movie, do
you want to pick it out?" He nodded and bounded over to my
computer and went through the DVD file. We ended up watching
some horror flick that was quite fake, but Chas, nonetheless, got
scared. We were lying on the couch, me behind him, his small frame
snuggled close against me. Somewhere between a zombie eating a
lady and the romantic kiss between the hero and the damsel in distress
my hand had started small circles on Chas's tummy. He, in turn, was
rolled on to his back displaying his slight body and coltish legs. My
powers of control were lost. My dick was raging and pulsed into his
thigh. I took my hand and felt his soft skin from ankle to knee, then up
with one finger just to where his shorts started. Watching the movie, or
so he would have liked me to think, he opened his legs, but I did not
take the invitation. If that's what it was.

After the movie ended and the credits rolled, he looked up at me.
"That was dumb," he said. And then a pause. My hand was on his firm
tummy. "You know," he said. And stretched like a cat before me. I
spread my hand across his rib cage.

"What?" I asked. It was dark in the room and I could not see his
expression.

"You know that I am ten years old?" he said proudly.

"I know that. You're my favorite ten-year-old." I could feel him smile
and he turned towards me ever so slightly so that my dick was now
pushing against his legs right below his own small package.

"Well,. . ." He seemed almost exasperated.

"Well, what?" I asked. Suddenly, he sat up and put his lips to mine and
just held them there. Then pulled away. I licked where they had been,
my heart racing.

"Do stuff to me!" he almost shouted.

"Chas--" I started to protest but he cut in.

"You like boys, and I AM A BOY! But you don't even try!"

I was shocked. I had not really expected an advance like this. I knew
that sooner or later the tension would build up to the point where we
would have an encounter, either sexual or confrontational, one
bringing us together, the other rending us apart. But I was willing to
give it all the time it needed.

"Chas?" he had turned away sort of pouty, staring at the credits on my
computer screen. "Chas, yes, I like boys. And I like you. I need to be
honest, you are the most beautiful boy I've ever seen, ever! If you only
knew how you made me feel."

He turned his head to me and at that instant I dropped my lips to his
and ran my tongue across his teeth. He swooned as his little chicken
chest filled with heated gasps. I ran my hands down his body, across
his cocklet that I now knew to be hard as steel, down his legs to his
feet which I tickled. He laughed and brought his knees to his chest
which, in his shorts, only had the effect of revealing the perfect shape
of his boyish arse. My hands were not modest. I kneaded his cheeks.
He was so small It felt like I could hold all of him at once. And then
his knees parted and my hand went to his groin. I heard him moan and
sort of hump into my efforts to feel him up. "Does your mom know
about this ?" I said.

"No." He whispered huskily.

"Is this a problem for you?" I asked, fingering his sex through his
shorts. He nodded. He looked toward the bedroom. "You want to go in
there?" I asked. He nodded again. And so seductively, in the way only
a boy can be who knows he is in the presence of a man who desires
him, he walked on trembling legs to the bedroom. I followed. When I
entered he was lying on the soft covers watching me. Part of the
honesty for him would be my nakedness. I pulled off my shirt and
flexed my body. I was in good shape. Recently I had let my chest hair
grow, but Colt had demanded I shave it. He liked me smooth. I let my
shorts fall and stood naked, allowing Chas the opportunity to know
what he was getting into. He bit his bottom lip.

"It's so big." He said.

I laid my body next to him. In one motion I pulled his shorts off,
fumbling them over his knees and his ankles. His sex was hard, maybe
four inches, thinner than Colt was, just right for his age. Uncut. His
small testicles in the cold room almost level with his perineum.

I take my time touching his body. I take his shirt off and we are both
naked. I think of Anne's theory on anarchy and wonder if he will be
the first boy to be fucked by a man on this island. Surely not, surely in
the past some island boy was a lover to some man, a sailor maybe. Or
now there are many boys and many men on this island. Maybe at this
very moment a boy in another apartment is being touched by some
man. I reach for Chas's cock, and with two fingers begin to masturbate
him. He moans and tries to hump into me. I hold his narrow hips down
with my free hand and increase the motion. How far should I go with
him this first time. At that he cums and utters a high-pitch shriek as his
penis jumps out of my hand. Quickly while he is cuming, I palm his
entire crotch area, he moans the louder and pushes my hand away--a
look of fear and distrust on his face--and jumps out of bed and runs to
the living room. I follow and he has curled into a ball on the couch
wrapped protectively in the blanket I left there.

"Chas." I whispered.

"Go away." He whimpered.

"Chas, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I sat down next to the little lump.

"What did you do to me?" He said, almost angry, his voice shaking. "I
feel funny, I feel funny." He repeated timidly.

"I know, buddy." What happened to you in there is called an orgasm.
It's part of what happens during sex. It was very intense for you,
kiddo. . .Was it your first one?" He nodded under the covers. I could
tell as the blanket moved.

"I've read about them, b-but I,. . .I didn't know, I didn't know."
Having a mother who was a doctor, it seemed that Chas was up on the
theory of orgasms but not the practice of them. I smiled in spite of the
situation.

"Yes, they are very powerful." I said. "More powerful for you because
you stay excited after one because you don't ejaculate semen." He
sniffed and lowered the blanked so just his head poked out.

"Really?"

"Yeah, in fact, right now you're having all sorts of emotions that you
didn't know existed because you are all sexed up. I bet if I touched
you, you would orgasm again very easily, probably as many times as
you wanted."

"Really?" He sniffled. "I don't know if I want to again. It was so. . ."
He didn't have the vocabulary to describe it.

"Part of what men and boys do is this. Part of what makes me really
want to touch you is knowing that I can give you pleasure like that. I
like to see you moan and go all crazy when you cum, and I like it that
you can cum again and again."

He let the blanket fall so that his torso was revealed. "I'm sorry," he
whispered. "I just freaked a little I guess. I thought maybe you broke
something in me."

"No, my little man, nothing is broke. You are perfect and you had a
perfect cum. Now that you think about it, you liked it, didn't you?" He
nodded. "And if I take you back into the room, you know we are going
to do it again?" Again he nodded. He held out his hands to be picked
up, and I plucked him like a rose, and carried him back into the
bedroom and laid him down. His cock was engorged and beating in
time with his pulse.

Ever so gently I put my palm on his sex, he holds his breath thinking
that all I have to do is touch him for the orgasm to come. I carefully
pull down and retract his foreskin. His dick head is a shiny pink that I
am tempted to kiss, but know that would be far too much on this night.
Instead I jack him and he stiffens like a board. I move my hand away
and he looks at me funny, maybe a little confused as to why I would
stop.

"Chas." I whisper. "You can do it all by yourself if you want." He
looks from me to his penis. "Grab it with your hand and move it up
and down." He does. Just with two fingers I watch as his legs stretch
and tense and his toes curl. He jacks slowly. "Do it with your whole
hand." I say, and show him how to wrap his dick.

"Oh God!" he whimpers and then makes a squeak sound as he goes
rigid and jerks his hand away from his dick. "OH! Ungh, unnnngh!"
He is quite loud, and I am glad the walls are thick. Strong enough to
stand a nuclear explosion, hopefully strong enough to contain the
sexual whimpering of a young boy learning for the first time what his
body can do.

Chas, I muse, is a squealer. Colt made love silently, except for rare
occasions when he would moan in a way that made him sound like he
was growling. The prospect of Chas being noisy made me smile.

"Mmmm, yeah," he whispers, touching his cock again, then instantly
pulls it away like it is hot, "Oh, ungh!" I see his orgasm wrack his
body. It starts at his head and moves down like a ripple going through
all his muscles, his cock jerks like it is trying to spit, his balls have
gone up somewhere inside him. He kicks his legs out, lifts his small,
pert ass off the bed and curls his toes hard, stretches them out, and
curls them in again. Finally he slacks, his cock still rock hard, and
looks at me through the slits of his eyelashes. "I did it," he whispers,
full of heavy breath.

I lean down and kiss him lightly on his lips. He slips me his tongue
and I take it. "Yes, you did. You did it. You were so sexy." I say and
rub his tummy. "Lets get some sleep." And I pull the covers over us.
We spoon, my hand going to his groin, over his ass, down his legs. He
purrs. His child-cock is still hard. I rub it. He stretches out and I rub
harder. He cums again and shortly after falls asleep. I grab a towel and
hold it to my own cock. Without touching myself I shoot into it, then I
melt around the naked boy of ten and fall asleep.

. . .

Gone are the mornings when we will be awakened by the sun
streaming through the curtains to blind our tired eyes. Morning comes
gray and cool, like in the middle of a fog in the city. Even shadows
have turned into dull, gray phantoms as the light does not have the
strength to make them crisp and alive. Gone are the mornings when we
wake for the day. Now we wake because it is a simple fact of biology.

I think that if we could have slept through the day we would have. I
wake feeling empty. I am alone again. How many mornings has it been
that I've been alone on waking? I reach my hand out and feel warm
flesh. I think for a moment that Colt has stayed over, sometimes he
leaves in the night because he likes to prowl the city, but sometimes he
stays and I wake to the welcome presence of his body. I often think
that this is how a man who is married must feel, when on entering the
realm of day he knows that his life partner is next to him still in
slumber. I am satisfied, but just for a moment. It is not Colt next to me.
I am no longer in New York. New York is dead. Millions of people
dead, not just three thousand in a sky scraper or two, but the whole city
is now under water.

Colt! Am I dreaming? COLT! I scream. He is on me, his boyish body
pressing me. Colt, no, I moan his name, I love you, Colt, I say and
there is no peace for me. I want to tell him to go to Montana, that my
father will protect him, that my brother might be there, but I know he
will stay with his mother. The water will take him. He cannot run
faster than the ocean. His hands are on me. No, they are not his hands.
But they are the hands of boy shaking me. Distantly. Saying my name.
"Matt, Matt wake up! You're dreaming." I open my eyes, it is not a
dream waking, no. Now I am really awake. The boy, how lovely, but
he is not Colt. "Matt." He whispers. He is naked. His flesh pressed up
against me. And the evening before comes back, and all the evenings
before that. I am on the island. It is Chas. Sweet Chas like a little satyr
has saved me from a nightmare. He looks at me with is little boy
wonder, his eyes so large.

"G'mornin," I yawn.

"Hi," he says. A simple 'hi' will do for him.

"Hello," I say, "you hungry?" He nods. There is that look on his face
that I've seen on another boy. The look expresses knowledge into the
carnal realm. How many times did I make him come the night before?
Three, four. His orgasms were strong. The first one scared him. Then I
gave him more. It was too much for the boy, too much too fast. I made
him cum again and again. I got off on seeing his ten-year-old body
twist in a sexual throw over which he had no power. I got off on
knowing that I was the first with whom he had felt such feelings, that
each orgasm for the rest of his life will remind him of me, a man, and
he as boy. But that is the way it is with me, is it not? A pedophile, a
puersexual, a boylover. The power is in the memory. That is why they,
those who make the laws, do not want boys and men to mate, because
forever in the memory of the boy will be a man. His first fuck, a man.
And his first woman, when he fucks her, he will always compare that
to his man and him, when he was young. Memory. That's what it is.
They want the first fuck-memory to be of some benign god-like force,
but it will never be. If the boy's first fuck is in the back seat of a
Volkswagen then forever his memory will be of that, or of getting off
on garden fruit, or some farm animal, or his sister, or his neighbor. But
the memory will never be of God. Stupid bastards. And here is one
who will always think of me. When he is grown and sees another boy,
he will think of me. When he has sons and they come of age, he will
think of me. Always the memory.

Chas is sitting puppy style in the mix of covers and sheets. He looks at
me funny. "You were having a bad dream." He says obviously. Like
he had read in a medical book on bad dreams and knew about them.
But did he? If he knew about them the way he knew about orgasms,
then he was well-read on the theory, but the real thing would kick his
ass.

"Yeah." I say. "Bad dream. That's all."

"Who's Colt?" he asks bluntly. "Is he a boy like me?" There is a
wisdom behind his eyes, something that he tries to hide but that I am
starting to see. He knows a lot more than he lets on, to me, to his
mother. But I am starting to decode him.

"Maybe." I say. "Yeah, a boy like you." I add.

"Oh." He does not want to pursue the issue. Does he wonder if Colt
was my lover? He must. It is only natural. He knows that I am a
boylover, ergo every boy that I know or who knows me will be a
potential lover of mine. Suddenly I am made wise on an aspect of the
man/boy relationship I had till then not thought of, the jealousy that
can fill a boy. Maybe jealousy is not always the best word. For
example, a man has initiated a boy into the world of sex. The boy can
take a man cock with little effort. He even enjoys it, wants it. Yes, he
even needs the cock. Then to the man, every other man is a threat to
his particular relationship with the boy. You must satisfy him with the
cock, or it is just a matter of time until he realizes finding an adult who
would gladly fuck a young boy is not hard at all. The same for boys,
now Colt sees me, in a way, and in a way it is understandable, even
natural, he sees me as the one who can give him pleasure, and only to
him. Other boys are just potential thieves of this, something that he
wants to keep to his own self, his own wisdom. The metamorphosis of
man/boy sex and love is now more evident. From the morning after the
very first night of lust all is new. To me it was a waking into a dismal
day, a nightmare, but to Chas it was an awakening into a new world.
This is his first day when he is no longer the lovely cherub untouched
by desire. Yes, I know, he is still virgin, but his mind is not. He has
crossed over into a world of shades of gray. Even now he must be
thinking back to the various orgasms he had the night before. He must
be comparing them. Sizing them up on the boy-scale of orgasmic
magnitude. One was larger, so what was it that made it larger? One
made him bite his lip, so what was that?

No, today is the first day of Chas's sexual life. Sexual in terms that
from here on out, if he wants a cum he will always have a partner.
Today I must make special for him, and him alone. But how? I think
back to the day after Colt and I had first "made love." Like Chas, I
brought Colt to a dozen masturbatory orgasms. The day after we went
for a long drive into the country. Colt wore the lightest of shorts and
no underwear. He demanded orgasms like a spoilt rich boy demands
sweets. We stopped at a gas station for fuel and he made me make him
come in the restroom, greedily taking his dry cum like it was due to
him. We drove on, and somewhere on a dirt road in the middle of
nowhere I sat him on the car and sucked him off. It was his first
blowjob, and after that he wanted one at every stop. Finally we found a
campground where we decided to stay just for one night. In the two-
man tent he fucked my mouth again and again, and there we learned to
kiss. But that for me was also a first time. I was a virgin, too. A
puersexual cognizant of his identity from fourteen does not really lose
his virginity unless he is very lucky. I was not. Colt was my guide as
much as I was his.

From this I knew that Chas wanted more sex. That he might even need
it. But I decided not to push it on him. That I would stay close to him
all day and when his desire became more than he could contain he
would let me know, and then I would not hold back. I could not, for I,
too, was just human, just a man who happens to be in the presence of
his beloved, his sexual demographic:  young and lovely boy.

"Breakfast?" I asked. He smiled wide and large. At that moment he
might have wanted me to make a move, but absence makes the boy
more horny. We should see. Naked I got up and searched for some
sweats. I found a pair of cut-off sweats instead, like Chas's. I could tell
he watched my semi-erect cock swing as I dressed then walked into
the kitchen and started a batch of Norwegian pancakes. Moments later
Chas emerged in just his shorts. I about gasped. He was so beautiful
exiting the bedroom in an afterglow from the night before. I realized I
was doing what straight men have done forever, I was making
breakfast for my lover, only my lover was ten! "Coffee?" I asked. He
nodded. I silently hoped it would stunt his growth, keep him pre-
adolescent.

"What are we having?" he asked. I looked at him and my cock
instantly sprung to its full length, tenting out the weak fabric of my
shorts. He was standing in such a position, he too erect, but the soft
fabric of his shorts was pulled down low enough that I could see his
bald pubis at the base of his boy-V, and the cleave of his leg and hip.
God if he only knew what kind of fire he was playing with! Or did he?
I realized that he had come to me the night before to have sex, or get
sexed, or at least learn what would indeed happen if he appeared in all
his boy-glory to the self-confessed boylover.

"Norwegian pancakes, little man." I said. Norwegian pancakes are a
secret recipe of my family that I will here relate. My grandmother,
cantankerous old bat, would roll in her grave if she knew I related it to
you, but considering the world has ended, I will take my chances.
They are very similar to crepes, but yet different. Our batch, enough
for two, calls for three cups of flour, five eggs (I had to use fake eggs
from a jug) and four cups of milk. Three cups of sugar, and a half cup
of vegetable oil. One must beat the batter adding milk until it is thin
enough that it pours like a heavy cream. Grease up a cast iron pan with
margarine and pour in just enough batter to cover the bottom when you
rotate the pan in your hand. The first three or four will not work, but
after that when bubbles appear all over flip the cake with a long,
flexible metal spatula, and wait until the other side browns a bit. Each
side of the cake should take on the pattern of the moon's surface.

This was a fairly long process, but Chas watched me, intent through
the whole thing. I set out jam, peanut butter, and maple syrup, butter,
and some bananas I had picked the day before. I showed him how I
liked to fill about six with different fillings and roll them up then
dribble syrup all over them. He ate like a tiger and sipped his coffee
like a little gentleman. I ate like a tiger and gulped my coffee like a
savage.

We did not talk much, but our relationship was always like that: there
was no need to say anything. Besides, what do you say to the boy who
the night before you brought to multiple orgasms?

The day was Thursday, I should have been working; I had a lot to do,
but I took it off, thinking of societal responsibility and anarchy. It was
fairly warm, so we decided to spend our time on the beach. I sat in the
sand while Chas chased the waves, looking at me now and then with a
twinkle of mischief in his eye. He wanted it bad but he didn't know
how to ask. I joined him in the water, first slipping out of my shorts
after assuring that we were alone. My cock was engorged but not erect,
though this was only by force of will.

Chas gasped when I picked him up, flapping my member of flesh
against him in the process and tossed him in to an incoming wave. He
tumbled in the surf and burst from the ocean like a water elemental,
wet and ready. His shorts clung to his narrow body, threatening to fall
below the equatorial line of modesty, his hair plastered to his face and
neck. He splashed me for revenge and tried to tackle me. I feigned a
fall, and he was instantly pressing the full length of his frame against
me. I plucked him again, this time allowing my hands to slide into his
shorts, across his ass and his now rigid little penis. And swoosh! I
tossed him through the air into another wave. He stood and looked
angry at me. His chest huffing and puffing, his cock visible. His legs
trembling. He rushed me! I stepped aside and he fell into the sand, and
gave a wonderful little grunt and moan and growl combination that let
me know he was quite frustrated, though, by what exactly, I was not
sure. He pranced to knee depth and stood still in the swirling foam and
did not rush me again. Had I gone too far?

"Why?" he shouted, his little hands balled into ready fists.

"Why, what?" I shouted back over the sound of the ocean.

"Why did you do that?" he cried desperately, turned, and walked to
where we had spread out the blanket. And sat, and hugged his knees. I
went to him. And dropped panting next to him, my shorts all but
forgotten. I tried to touch him, he jerked away like my hand was a hot
iron.

"Chas. I'm sorry." I said quietly.

"Don't you know?!" he asked.

"Know what?"

"Don't you know that I need it?" he looked at me tearing up.

"Need what?" I asked gently.

"This!" He stood up and yanked down his shorts and started jacking
his little spike with savage jerks I thought would rip it from his crotch.

"Oh, Chas," I whispered. I sat up, bringing him down to me and
kissing him softly, forcing his lips apart and my tongue between. He
tried to jack himself in my arms but I brushed his hands away. "All
you had to do was ask." I said, and my mouth fell around his prick. He
tasted of the ocean, and of sand, and of his own flavor. It might have
been far too much. I think he really had no idea that what he felt was
for real. I filled my hands with his ass, and he grunted loud and
squeaked his trademark boyish pleasure.

"You're sucking me!" He groaned.

"I love you." Was all I could say. I felt his penis throb, expand, and try
to expel a fluid that was not yet there. He dropped to the blanket. I lost
him from my mouth but found him while he was still orgasming and
sucked him back in. Finally I pulled away, and he had little tears in his
eyes. He rolled towards me and started placing little pecks on my
body, my chest, my arms. My cock was throbbing. I grabbed it and
pushed Chas onto his back. I positioned over him and began rubbing
my phallus all up and down his front, poking his own rigid dick under
his balls that had come out because of the heat of my suck. He touched
my dick then wrapped his hands around me in a possessive vise.
"Squeeze! Oh, God! Ungh!" I said, grunting. He did, and while both
his hands tried to accommodate me, my semen squirted onto his
tummy, onto his hands, his arms, onto his chest, up to his chin, back
onto his tummy. I roared and shouted his name, "Oh, Chas! Chas!"

"You did it." He said. We lay in the foggy heat, the foggy sun, and let
the cum dry on us. Chas and I both slept. He was on top of me, I held
his ass, small perfect ass. Boy ass. I parted his cheeks and held each
one in a hand. When I woke some time later he was gazing at my face.
I still had his little butt clasped in each of my hands. I squeezed, he
squinted and parted his lips just barely, so I leaned up and kissed him.
My fingers made spider movements here and there. I felt along his
crack, felt the ridge of his little pucker and was so tempted, but it was
not the time. Slowly I began to move him by just pushing and pulling
on his butt cheeks. This caused his cock to grind and rub across my
abs, the sweat from both of us, mainly me, re-liquefying my cum,
creating slick sheen to pleasure my boy.

"Oh God!" he moaned, and put his hands on the ground next to my
head so that he was in a position like he was about to do a push-up, or
screw someone. His rump was the perfect handle. I could feel his dick
sliding up and down, his foreskin retracting as I pushed him up so that
as I looked down between us his little pink head would come out then
go back in as I helped him rub down. "I can't," he whispered, biting
his lips, "yeah, there, like that, oh SHIT. Ungh!" I had to kiss him after
the dirty word slipped out of his mouth. I had never heard him swear.
His vocabulary was polished, his manners impeccable, one of the
consequences, I suppose, of being a doctor's son. Without realizing it,
because I had done it to Colt so many times it was second nature in our
relationship, I was--with two fingers--gentling tantalizing Chas's
sphincter. I suddenly stopped and clinched his ass, pulled it wide apart
and drove him down onto me. He whimpered, collapsed and went
rigid. By just my hands on his two perfect smooth mounds I started
vibrating him so that his dick was now doing short fast strokes. I felt
his mouth go to my nipple. Oh yes, I almost moaned, he was sucking
at my nipple as his orgasm was about to take him. He played with it,
nipped it, then just sucked on it. God I wanted his ass so bad. I knew
he would not object. But instead I just continued to vibrate him. And
that was all it took. "Matt," he whispered.

"Yes, Chas."

"Matt, I'm. . . I'm. . . oh, ungh, mmm. . . yeah. OH GOD, OH FU--!"
and his orgasm exploded on me, I felt his dick click into my stomach,
his ass became rock, his cheeks clenching tightly together.

"Ouch! Shit" I yelped. Chas had taken a nip of my chest. Not my
nipple, thank God, but right next to it on my pectoral there was a
purple hickey, and out of that a little dot of blood where his teeth had
nipped the skin. Slowly, he relaxed until he was draped over me like
the skin of some exotic animal. He melted onto me, his breathing
starting to match mine. I did not let his ass go unmolested, rubbing it
with my hands, tracing his crack from balls to lower back, rubbing
over the clinched eye of his hole.

In the aftermath I wondered about how much of Chas was now mine,
or rather, how much of him needed me for sexual gratification versus
the benign friendship of before. I knew that I was all his. On this
lonely island I think I can survive as long as this beautiful boy favors
me. "We should get going." I whisper. I plant a kiss on his forehead
and one on the top of his head. He clings on me and wiggles his body.
My hand rub over him; I knead the flesh down to his crack. I play
inside his crack with curious fingers.

"But," he paused and looked at me then looked away, "but you didn't
come."

"I came earlier." I said.

"But I've done it lots." He whispered. I smiled. He had the incorrigible
sense of justice that Colt had at his age. Boys, when they are getting it
off regularly, soon note the discrepancy between the number of cums
they have and the number of cums the man has. To Chas, it just wasn't
fair. In his philosophy there needed to be an equality, a quid-pro-quo
so to speak. And I could not argue with him as my cock was fully
enraged and pushing into the crevice made by the flesh of his two legs
pressed together. Slowly I started to hump into him, his legs opened
just lightly and let me enter a little deeper.

"God, Chas." Now it was my turn to moan. "Oh shit!" I said, matching
his swearing from earlier. God I needed him. Twenty-eight years
celibate, then Colt for three years, and so much sex with him, and now
Chas. I needed the boy as much as he needed me. But did he know?
No, the other world was gone, and with it its morals. "Chas, I love
your little body." He smiled at this and started squeezing my rod
between his smooth, muscular thighs. "Oh. Ungh!" And out of pure
lust, I rolled him over so I was on top. I lifted his knees to his chest
exposing his little anus, pink amidst the brown skin of his tanned ass. I
took my cock and ran it the length of his crack and then let it flop
heavily between his legs, over this own rigid little cocklet. My balls
and girth covered him, and I began to hump, no "fuck". There was no
doubt even if there was no penetration proper, I was fucking him. He
moaned as his own tool was again being stimulated, however harshly.
My balls pulled tight over his balls, the underside of my dick stroked
the underside of his.

God, I was so much bigger than him. On the up-stroke my cock head
flared up like a pulsing cobra. Chas was watching all of this with erotic
interest, his hands behind his knees. I was so close, I couldn't tell if he
was, but he was stimulated. Chas! Chas! And I shoved on to him,
ground down into him, my cum rising in my balls a few more strokes.
He whispered my name, or did he? It almost sounded like Colt's voice.
No it was Chas. His eyes fixed on my sex ramming over his sex. And
then I was jerking, and Chas was too, another orgasm! My semen shot
him on his belly, on his chest, and then shot twice on his face, the
second shooting directly into his agape mouth, and he for the first
time, while he came with me, tasted the salty cum of a man. I watched
him swallow it, lick his lips. Our cum-stressed bodies slowly came to
Earth. I kissed him, tasting myself. I ravaged his lips. I sucked them
into my mouth. And then I pulled away and our eyes met.

We went back to the ocean naked and washed the salt off our bodies
away with the salt of the water. Salt on salt. No wonder humans were
called the salt of the Earth. We are such earthy elements. Salty like
everything else.

. . .


Because of my tryst with Chas on the beach the day before, I was
occupied all of Friday. It was tedious work, mostly welding and
creating brackets for windows and doors. I felt sort of like a
blacksmith from the Middle Ages. My arms bulged from the exertion
when I broke for lunch. Usually such work was not a problem. Back
before the impact I did a lot of metal work in my studio that
strengthened my upper body.  Since coming to the island there was not
much opportunity to be artistic or to throw myself into a project.

I removed my shirt and opened the window to the shop. I was alone
today, the others having completed their work on Thursday. I smiled. I
would gladly work hard on Friday if I knew I could spend every
Thursday on the beach with Chas. I regarded my self in the large
mirror on one of the walls. My hair had grown unkempt to the point
where I was tying it in a small ponytail when I worked. I was
unshaven for three days which gave me a rugged look. Though I am
not an athlete, from my work my chest is hard, my arms strong if not
muscular. My waist is trim, but I don't have chiseled abs. My legs are
strong because one pastime I enjoyed was hiking and camping.
Though I lived in NY, I could not get the Montana boy out of me.
Every weekend I tried to escape  the city -- and after I met Colt,
weekends in the woods were a whole new experience.

In the mirror a man looked back at me. I wondered where the boy I
had been had gone. All men invariably imagine themselves as boys.
There is no true "manhood", only more civilized states of boyhood.
Whether philosophers or auto mechanics, our work is marked by the
nostalgia of youth, vitality, sexuality.

When did I turn into a man? When did I start to look like my father?
Light, Nordic skin, now a little darker from the island, but still pale
compared to Chas's bronzed body. Thinking of the boy caused my
cock to grow. I watched it bulge against my jeans and willed it to go
away. I was surprised that Chas had not come by today. I could barely
get him off the beach yesterday, and finally walking him to his house
he insisted on holding my hand. I felt like I was coming back from the
prom, bringing my date home to be inspected for chastity. But poor
Chas was anything but chaste. In front of his house we saw his mom
working inside at her desk. It was getting dark and he wanted me to
stay for dinner. I explained that I needed to get to bed early because I
had so much work in the morning. He pouted a bit, and then said that
he could stay at my house again. I explained that if that happened I
knew I wouldn't get any sleep, that maybe he could stay over the
weekend if Anne said it was ok. He looked perturbed, like I was
denying him his own toy. I guess I was in a way.

"Ok," he had murmured and sulked towards the door. As I told him
good night and was walking away, he called me back. He was standing
around the corner of the building where no one could see him. When I
approached he pulled my hand in an effort to get me to his level, he
kissed me, shyly using his tongue. "I want you to suck my dick right
now." He said in a husky whisper. He fumbled with his shorts and
tried to pull the front over his cock and balls. I squeezed his small
hand which made him squeeze himself.

"I can't." I said, "Not here." Right then I was so weak to share sex
with him I would have done him right there. I thought about taking
him home with me, then changed my mind. "Not now Chas, you can
stop by the shop tomorrow, if you want." I ran a hand under his worn
t-shirt and tweaked a miniature nipple. He scowled at me. I pecked
him on the lips. He tried a French kiss but I pulled away.

"Night." He said shortly and turned and walked into his house. On the
way home I shook my head in wonder at how such a young boy could
hold so much desire.

I looked out the window. There were no people in sight, no Chas. I felt
a little sad and thought maybe I had denied him too harshly, that
maybe he would be through with me. The clock said half past noon. I
had an hour lunch and good three hours of work sat on my table.
"Fuck it." I said. I decided not to eat, just to work. If Chas came I
would take a break.

. . .

In my dream I am back in the city. Colt and I are lying on my bed, he
is watching TV. I've just finished screwing him and I ask him if he's
ok, if I didn't go too hard. He slips a finger in and swooshes it around
his butt-hole. He looks at me than asks me if I hear water running. I go
and check the tap in the kitchen and in the bathroom. "No water." I
call. When I return to the bedroom he is gone and the TV is all fuzzy.
Frantically I call for him, but I can't find him. Finally I go out on the
fire escape and he is standing there naked. The water has risen to just a
foot or so below us. It is muddy and un-survivable. "I gotta go, Matt."
He says without turning to look at me.

"No," I say. "I can't swim."

"I gotta go." He insists and he steps over the rail and lowers himself
into the water. He swims out a ways and then looks at me, and then
dives. I see his butt, then his feet, and he is gone. "Colt!" I shout. I
can't move, and I can't swim, and the water is now around my ankles.

"Wake up, Colt!" I shout out into the drowned city. "Wake up."

"Wake up, Matt! Wake up!" I start. I'm in my apartment. Chas is
shaking me, looking down at me with his curiously large eyes behind
strands of silky, wild hair. "It's just a bad dream." He says. I am lying
on my couch in just my jeans. Outside it is dark. I remember finishing
work and then coming home to read a book. I fell asleep and the
nightmare came again. Chas looks frightened.

"Hey, Chas buddy." I say through a dry mouth, trying to rend myself
from the vision of that watery hell.

"Hi." He says. It is almost funny the way he says it, like it is
preprogrammed into him to just say 'hi'. He is wearing the same sweats
and a wife-beater tank-top.

"I thought you were gonna come by and see me today?" I ask. He
gives me a shy look as if he has done something wrong. "It's ok.  They
had a lot of work for me."

"I was going to, but. . ." he trails off and fidgets with an invisible thing
on his tank-top. I think I understand his problem. To him our sexual
parting the night before must have seemed abrupt.

"Come here" I say and practically pull him down so that he is laying
stretched out in front of me, his back to my stomach. I drape an arm
over him and we both look at the blank computer screen and the
undecorated wall. "Is it raining?" I ask. He is slightly damp.

He nods. "It really started once I got here. Now it's pouring."

"Does your mom know where you are?"

"Yeah." He said.

"I better give her a call. It sounds like a bad storm." I reach for the
phone that is on the table by my head. I dial: Ring. Ring. Ring. "Hi,
Anne?" her voice is garbled by interference. "Yeah, he's here with
me." She asked if all is well and says something about how hard it is
pouring outside. "I know. Listen, I'm just going to keep him here
tonight, ok?" She agrees and admits to having worked all day and now
was relaxing with a bottle of wine. "Good for you." I say. She tells me
to come by in the morning but not too early, she has something she
needs my help with. I say ok. Chas shouts a jovial 'G'Night!' and that
he loves her. I hang up.

"Am I staying here?" he asks quietly.

"Do you want to? It's really pouring."

"Yeah. I'm cold." He says and snuggles into me. It is cold tonight.
Unusual for the island. He's damp and shivering.

"Lets make some cocoa and go cover up." I get up to move but he
presses into me.

"Matt?" his voice has a timid tremble to it.

"Yeah?" I ask. My voice is timid also.

"I'm scared."

I hug him. "I know. We all are." I say.

"Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"Touch me, please." It is the most pitiful and most erotic thing I have
ever heard. My hand that has been caressing his hair moves down the
side of his face. He turns quickly and kisses it. I feel for his nipple
through the damp fabric of his tank. There it is. I lower my head and
nip at it. I actually bite it and he moans. My slobber soaks his t-shirt.
Down my hand travels quickly dipping under his tank to feel up the
satin-sex of his tummy. He has lifted a knee and gives me access to his
genitals or his ass, whatever direction I choose. I take both, my work-
dirty hands digging into his clothes and clean flesh. I massage his cock
and balls under my palm. I give him no relief, squeeze his little
gonads, jack his cock once and move hungrily  to slice my hand like a
bread knife into the split loaves of his ass.

The pressure on my cock is too much. I need to unsnap my jeans to
release pressure and give myself room to grow. In one graceful
movement Chas lifts his leg so that his knee is behind his head, this
exposes his ass and only his ass. It is his signal, his way of telling me
the part of his body that is being offered. God, does he know the fire
he is approaching?

I stretch the thin fabric back and there is his anus. In my lust my face
dives down, and my only point of contact is his bud. I am conscious of
placing a kiss on it and then biting down with my lips the way a
thirsty, starving man might bite a juicy apple.. "AHHH!" he shouts.
My next move, after the initial assault, is to suck. "Fuuuuu--!" he
hisses through clenched teeth. I stand up by climbing over him. I look
down on him. His leg is still raised and his tight little ten-year-old ass
is exposed to me. I pull off my pants. His leg is up during all of this.
He wants me back down there. My cock has fallen through the fly of
my worn boxer briefs. Chas stares in awe at what I possess. I grab the
fabric at the base of my cock and rip. They tear away easily, and I am
naked and raging.

"Stand up," I say. He does but his knees wobble. I stoop and French
him hard -- I pull away -- he bites his lips that were just sucked the
way his nether mouth was sucked. He is tasting his own ass on his
breath. I run my hands over the fabric of his tank. He is so small
compared to me, so light, so un-muscular. The sound of his shirt
ripping fills the room. I tear it off his small body like it is made of
paper. I grab his shorts and prepare to rip, but think better of it, I like
them so I nudge them, and they drop in a little pile at his feet. We are
both naked. There will be no cocoa tonight.

He holds up his arms and I hoist him so he can wrap his legs around
my waist. We walk through the apartment like this, switching off
lights. In the bedroom I toss him on the bed. I light the candles in the
darkness. I sit down on the bed and he pulls my hand to his cock. I pull
it away. "I want your ass." I say. Chas lies back, pulls his legs to his
chest. His hands come around and part his cheeks for me, making a
target of his bud. I kiss each globe and then descend to his center. It is
tight, and with my tongue I can feel the ridges of his pucker, and then
the slight dip of his center. Chas is built this way: he has a dewdrop
ass.

Some boys have a firm ass, some have a bubble butt, some barely have
an ass. I think I could write a dissertation on the asses of boys and their
aesthetic significance. Some boys you simply cannot manage to part
their butt cheeks they are so muscular. On others it is as if their butts
are in a constant state of parting, these boys are often seen with a
wedgie, and there is nothing they can do about their rumps that gobble
their pants and underwear.

Chas is a dewdrop-boy, and therefore has, I think, the best of all
worlds. A "dewdrop" is often mistaken for a "pert", but on close
inspection a fine line must be drawn between the pert (which, don't get
me wrong, is very ideal. Colt had a pert ass.) and dewdrop.

Boys with "thin" asses, are usually assessed on their frontal beauty by
anyone straight, gay, or puersexual. A sub-category of the thin ass is
the small ass which can be misconstrued for a thin until on close
inspection when a boy can properly display his tiny but well formed
cargo.

Pert-assed boys are tricky little devils, and can--until they are stripped
naked and admired--pass for almost any kind of derriere.

Dewdrops, the rarest of the lot, are noticed particularly, as I noticed
Chas for the first time on the boat. I had just left the cabin when I saw
the slight form of the gamin leaning over the gunwale. He was wearing
a sweatshirt and a pair of white Capri pants that hinted at the honey
color of his skin where they fell about eight inches short of covering
his calves. Without seeing his face I fell in love with the graceful curve
of his back as it arched down and then made the ever so slight hump
over his butt and then the S of his body as it curved inward to follow
the natural path of his legs. Their asses are the second thing you notice
on dewdrop boys. Sort of like: "what a lovely boy, the whole package,
and,. . .oh, my! I want him naked, I need that ass!" And naked and
fondled is the only way a dewdrop should have it or should otherwise
want it, be he a little fairy or a homophobic little proto-Nazi. You
know a dewdrop, if not by sight--for the amateur--then when you have
him in your hands.

On a "hard-assed" boy, if you run your palms over the back of his
thighs, his rump is just a sensation, and then before you know it you
are rubbing his back. "Bubble butts" are the opposite. Boys with
bubbles are always noticed from the ass end first and from the moment
you seduce him your hands are full of ass, overflowing with ass.

'Behold I have come to the land of boy-ass, I will fear no evil.'

On the dewdrops, the journey from back to thigh is climaxed at the
juncture of buttocks and legs. Your hands should slightly flare out as
they are delicately and proportionately filled with very sensitive boy-
ass. And when they are filled, your fingers should barely enter his
crack by applying the lightest of pressures, parting him gently like you
are motioning a puppy to come towards you. At this point the tips of
your fingers, usually the ring finger of each hand, will make electric
contact with his bud, or his hole, depending on if he is well-fucked or
like Chas, still a virgin.

Chas's "bud" forms the ever slightest volcano at his center. My tongue
can literally trace up the slope and then lick the small crater that
puckers inward. I find this intriguing, and wonder if after sex it will
disappear and be replaced by the little "slit" that most boys gain. It is
almost as if his anus lips come out and then dive back in, like when
you lightly blow air out your lips then try to suck it back in right away.
The slit is often called, by less tactful connoisseurs, a "boy cunt" or
"boy pussy" or some other derivative of the female anatomy. This slit,
when it became obvious on Colt, I always referred to as his anus, or
his hole, or his butt. Really we didn't talk about it no matter how
obvious it was why, in fact, he had developed it. Sometimes he would
say to "slip it in", but the actual spot where the slipping in was done
had no definitive definition. And such is the particularity of this
serious boylover, that the lexicon should stay originally boyish.

I lean exotically over his up-offered rump. He tastes distantly of the
sea and I suspect he was out swimming sometime today and then did
not shower. I kiss each butt cheek in turn before really going to work
on him. With my tongue I lap at his center like he is a candy treat to be
licked. From this attention I hear him let out a long breath.

He is so new to all of this. I really am going fast with him. Just
recently he was scared of his own orgasm, now my mouth is eagerly at
work on the part of him that shits. I wonder, dropping little kisses in
this region, if he thinks about that, about the seemingly ironic
opposition of bodily orifices: the part that consumes mating with the
part that disposes. I can feel him shivering, but to my touch he is
warm. This shaking comes from a very primal urge and in young boys
is a direct by-product of being overtly sexually stimulated. The shakes,
I once read, were described only in the female orgasm. How wrong!
How vile! Let the wenches have their pinches, and leave the boys to
the likes of me and my brothers! Here is to the prolonged state of bliss
only a little boy will know with a man! Here's to little boys having sex!
Hark! Hark! Hark!

One must note that with boys there is sex and then there is Sex. The
little "s" sex  is the kind where all that is done is a quick British wank.
"There, sexy boy. Was that good, did I wank you good?" I have often
read stories like that on the Internet and wondered just what kind
culture constructs a puersexual to write like that. "Yes sir, you made
my willy feel really sexy." Cheeky boy!

As if the Brits between marmalade and tea couldn't find a better way
to get boys off. Do these boylovers not know they represent an entire
sexuality, controversial or not? Better yet, do they not know that the
only weapon we have is the fiction we write, from which someday
someone will critique professionally, giving us our due? Nay, hold thy
pen. Of that boy-sex about which we cannot speak aesthetically, then
we must be silent.

Then there is Sex with a big, fucking "S", the kind of stuff you only
read about in Ganymede stories where the boy's rectum is directly
connected to every erogenous zone on his body. Fuck yeah! Though
hyperbolized, I firmly believe this is what must transpire: the entire
body becomes a sexual organ, and the entire rhetoric surrounding the
sexual experience must carry the prospect of multiple anal orgasms
shaking the ten-year-old like a mulberry bush in March. Then, if one
falls short, as often happens in reality, at the very least one can say,
"There, wasn't that a sexy wank?" while the boy is lost in his own
thoughts concerning his yawning anus that is now dripping mucus, or
if he will ever think of his nipples or armpits the same way again.

I spear my tongue rigid and press solidly down into the volcano.
Nothing happens, at first. The dormant organ soon responds by
pushing back. Chas is doing this. Opening for me. When my tongue
slips I,  maybe a half inch, I suction my lips around the hill of the
volcano and suck and stab at once. The boy growls, not a little puppy
growl, but a big, dog growl. And then I flick up and tweak his bud on
the outstroke. I look to inspect my handy work. Not at the hole, but
into Chas's eyes. They are half moons lost in the oasis of our
seduction; his mouth is partially open, and a thin trickle of drool runs
down his chin. Very nice. When he sees I'm inspecting him and not
his "you know what," he takes one finger (this I get to see close up)
and rubs it over the surface of his pucker. With his little fingernail he
scratches the area and ever so timidly and worm-like wiggles the digit
in just until the fingernail has vanished.

My cock is aching against the confines of its own skin. It's as if I need
another inch of the loose stuff for me to fill out the erotic feelings I'm
having for Chas, a feeling the uncut need not worry about. I jack
myself once and milk a large ooze of pre-cum onto my fingers. This I
bring up and let dribble around his delicate little submerged digit. I
doubt he even knows what the substance is, but he takes it and smears
it over his hole. It is all slick there now. He traces the fingernail around
the base of the very small volcano, then up the ridge and scratches it
all the way around. My transparent fluid has puddled in the center like
a pond (remember he is on his back with knees at his cheeks). This
soon drains into him as he goes deeper with his bony index finger. His
'fuck you' finger stretches the bud back and up as he worms very, very
carefully in with the worker finger. First just until the fingernail is
inside, then slowly up to the first knuckle. This he moves unhurriedly
back and forth, then faster, and faster, and faster like he's sending a
Morse code inside his body.

The effect is immediate: he feels he needs to be deeper in, so he
advances to the second bony knuckle. At this point he realizes two
things -- 1) his ass will never be the same to him, and 2) he can go in
deeper or bend and poke up into his body. He first chooses the latter.
Experimenting as he fingers his anal muscle, a very pleasurable
sensation. Finally he ventures deeper and most of his finger vanishes,
the volcano sucking around the outside like it is a mouth and his finger
is a tit. My face is very close and I blow my warm breath across him.
He stops his exploration for an instant before the rotation begins. Chas
stirs his ass like one stirs chocolate and vanilla pudding together.
Around and around, jabbing it down, little circles then a bigger circle,
then hard and fast! Harder than I though possible, he drives his finger
down and up, in and out, hitting close to his prostate, or maybe directly
touching it. How am I to know? This he repeats a dozen or so times,
then continues stirring himself, then at a snail's pace withdraws a moist
little finger that he rests next to his hole, unmoving. Preliminary
exploration complete.

I take his finger and suck it off and taste the inner flavor of his ass.
The little volcano winks at me then closes and is dormant.

I lose control and go down on him. The only way to describe the next
five minutes is that I chew him. I eat Chas out. All the time the same
little grunts coming from him. I use both my hands now. I pinch his
little ass cheeks and pull them apart. Then I fumble his butt, recover, I
pick him back up and go back down. With my thumbs I rub over his
bud, push hard around the outside, then carefully, like I am looking for
a chip of diamond, I open him. From the inner flesh of his buttocks the
mouth of the volcano opens no larger than the width of the boy's
finger, suggesting that a boy's digit  is all that has ever been in there
and that it has no desire to go bigger. We will see about that.

I grab my cock and milk a drool of silver pre-cum onto my fingers
which I suck into my mouth. This is a trick I learned with Colt,
something he suggested I try. Being careful not to dilute it too much, I
add just enough saliva. Again, by pulling on the outer flesh, the boy-
ass mouth opens. Narrowing my lips I let the lubricant string down
into him. It goes in, all down and does not bubble back up. This action
I would like to see in a picture. Chas hisses a little bit. Can he feel it, I
wonder? Colt claimed he could, he said it felt like I was adding oil to
him, that it reminded him of an engine. Not a bad analogy for what
goes on down there during man-boy intercourse. I rub my thumbs into
his bud. The lubricant is working. He is slick on the inside. Now the
ultimate test.

"Chas." I whisper huskily.

"Mmmmm. . ." he moans.

"Hold your ass apart for me." His little hands come back and grip his
own ass. Instinctively, I think, he tries to finger himself while he's in
the region. I brush his little invaders away.

"That's for me." I say. With a bit more of my fluid I slick my finger
and place it over the hole with the lightest of  touches, as if the button I
am about to push will have grave consequences.

"Aaahhh!" Chas mutters. I push in. Just the tip of my finger. His little
hooded cock is tempered steel. It ticks every two seconds or so. He's
right there, I could just grab him and jack maybe twice, three times
and he'd cum. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, it jumps. One
one-thousand, two one-thousand, jump. Again and again. I notice he is
looking at me. Those large eyes. . .

What do you see, Chas? Do you see my love? Surely not, surely you
only see my lust right now. Do you think you're being molested? Am I
the demon they wanted to hang, that they said would steal your soul?
This, what we're doing now is supposed to be Evil, more evil than
murdering people. Would you believe that? That's what they said in all
their laws and all their newspapers, that is what they said. Not because
they were afraid. No, never such a noble purpose. Rather, I suspect
they were simply victims of the fundamental human ailment, greed.
Look at you Chas, you're only fucking ten and you cum with such bliss
such joy -- that is what they wanted; their greed, no matter the words
they used to hide it, was simply the greed for love. Here now, in our
rut is Love. Man. Boy. Love. That is what they feared, and in the end
when each of them was dying, they could only confront the fact that
they were wrong, that THEY were the bad people. . .

 . . .Or maybe somewhere in your little-boy reasoning you under stand
the verb "to lust", that is what this is at this very exact moment, with
my finger inside just where the nail meets the cuticle, the power
between us is lust. You are being lusted by me. Me-lusted not
molested.  But at a second beyond now I love you. Do you love me? I
control the future, or we do together. Do you know what it is we do?
How old it is? The world is dead, destroyed by giant rocks from outer
space. All the ancient art, literature, philosophy, all gone, gone forever.
But here, on an island somewhere in the middle of the ocean are you
and I. A man and a boy. We can't even procreate. Biologically, we are
useless, neuter, sterile. But we are older than time, that is how old the
act of man fucking boy is. Plato, older than him, older than the fucking
caves, my love. Older than the stars, I suspect.

Chas's mouth is slack and I can see his pink tongue, a tongue I've held
in my own mouth. By the force of my suction I have sucked his tongue
into my mouth, held it with my lips and tasted him. And he did the
same to me, only mine was much bigger. Those lips of his, full, but oh
so boyish. Goddamnit, I've kissed them until they near bled, until they
were puffy and swollen and red! I've nipped them with my teeth,
touched them with my hands.

Ten years old. Ten fucking years old.  A decade. That is all. Those
eyes see me as no one on the green Earth has seen me. The pedophile.
The evil that all nations once tried to destroy. Me. Matt. I survived the
end of the world. Me. I am not dead. Among my pedophile brothers I
alone have survived. Cockroaches and a lonely pedophile. Boylover. A
man who loves boys. Puersexual. A man who has sex with boys. Matt.
A man who makes love to boys. Chas sees me as only a boy can see
me. Chas with the wide eyes, so brown, so full. So wise. He says so
little. He does not need to. Mobile within the mobile element, his own
beauty. And now I know. Wisdom is like a flickering light. So
momentary. How many poems commenced with the words, 'lovely
boy'?

Ten years old. Ten fucking years old. Not a hair on him save for on his
head. And the light down on his skin, bleached by the sun on skin like
dark, dark honey, save his ass, a lighter sugar, but still honey.

Ten years old. Ten young, tender years. But in ten years he has lived to
the end of time. Sweet Jesus Christ who never fucking came back.
Fuck you, behold in all his beauty, the boy. Jesus Christ the boylover.
The angel of boylovers if one admits to such fancies. Saved the fuck-
boy of the Roman soldier. Healed him from death. Blessed the two and
sent them on their way. You better fucking believe they fucked the
holy night away after that one.

Ten years old. Doesn't even know long division, but lifts his ass and
knows how to cum.

So intense. My finger on his anus. His end is his beginning. I push so
gently that there is no movement but the movement of my heart that
fears I might cause him pain. I know I will cause him pain. Short pain,
and then it all goes away, Chas, my love. It all goes away, and after.
And after my only guilt will be that I love you as a boy, and that my
finger is the beginning of the drug, the sweet drug of life. Sex, nothing
more than the friction of skin on skin. But If you will believe me now,
now before you are fucked, before my man sized finger goes any
deeper; if you would believe if I were tell you that you are going to
love it. No, you would laugh. How can a boy of only ten love like that?
How can a boy whose, up until now, greatest pleasure has been
chasing the waves of the ocean, how can this boy in all his body hold
one sexual grudge? Chas, our eyes locked, you see me in my element.
If the greatest thing on earth for a human is the perfect love for
another, Chas, you see me when I am most perfect.

Slight framed boy. Of all the stories in the world you would not
believe, I beg you not to listen to your own body. It is the most vile of
lies. Run and believe some other story, some fancy religion. Believe
that some angry god would strike you dead, but do not believe that
there be love, and it is here and now. If I were to tell you now that I
know the future, you would laugh and go and play. Boy of ten; Chas, I
am lost in your eyes. Can you know my thoughts? Such deep eyes you
have. Such large windows to your soul. Do you see me as a man? Do
you see how hard I lust? Can you have any idea, why it is that a man,
grown, muscled, educated, is a lover of boys? If not, I understand, nor
can most of the world ever know the heart of me. But you and me.
Here and now. Naked and in a position of intercourse, we exist, we are
real. And we are so close to fucking. Just like we are so close to
crying. Yet I do not know which would be the shorter journey. Chas,
here and now I could remove my finger, I could drop your legs. I could
dress, and send you off home to your mother's. But that would be the
easy way out. The coupling of man and boy is an act of courage as
much as it is an act of love, or lust. Sweet sin, I am a man who loves
boys.

Ten years old. Chas, what brought you to me on a stormy night? Had
you any idea that moments after your arrival my finger would be
breaching your ass, would you have come? Were you able to feel my
loneliness, hold it and heft it in your hand, feel its density, would you
still come near me? If I were able to tell you now, that the drug is too
strong for me that I am giving to you, would you run away? Your
dewdrop of an ass, split melon and slick with my spit and secretions.
You, boy of ten, barely grown, small in every way except for in your
heart. Small nipples with no defenses, a throwback to prenatal
evolution when we were unsure of our sex. Your small nipples that I
raped with my lips and my teeth. The little nubs, not even that, that I
sucked on knowing I would get no milk, but made you moan so hard
and pushed my face away and cover them, and rubbed them, and then
looked to me to suckle them again.

Your navel, the omphalos of your youth, if there was an indication of
my attraction to you, it would be here. Not Man, nor woman, nor girl,
but all fucking boy. Flat tummy with just the hint of muscle, yet so
soft. I kiss you here, for it is here that all your brother boys show men
there wears. On a game of football in the park, reaching up to catch a
Hail Mary and showing us just a ribbon of your flesh. Or in the mall
your yawn and stretch, it is the tummies of boys that really matter.
Could you ever have known to be kissed here? And how many ten-
year-old boys' stomachs have taken cum of rough and randy men? To
count them would be a folly. Better to spend our time counting the
stars.

At ten years old, your voice is the voice of David singing to his lover
king. When the king's own son, your other lover, listens in the
antechamber. Chas, when you make the sounds you make during what
we do, I could cry. Have you any idea how close you are, where my
finger is, to moaning low and long? Your eyes so large look to me in
expectation. You must partly be in awe of my desire that is rampant
between my legs and the I way shake when you touch me. Now your
ass to you is a simple curiosity, feeling strangely good. But if you
knew that in the morning after being fucked, you would wake to a
hunger like no other, you would run. You would clench your butt and
walk backwards away from me. If you would believe me if I told you
that in two days time you will come to me in the night and beg me to
do your ass, you would be wise to go home even in the storm.

This is far enough for now. This far in, my first knuckle. My turn to
push up and down, to send the Morse code.

"Munghhh. . ." he cries. I stop dead. He never looks away from my
eyes. We are locked by the gaze we share. As if he is saying that if I
hurt him, I will see it in his eyes first. And I answer in my silent gaze,
that if I give him pleasure, I will see it in his eyes first. Faster, I tap the
code. It seems silly. But it is only a step to more. Faster, faster. And
the response comes in return, Chas tightens his sphincter on my finger.
I stop. He grips once and stops. I push, and stop. He grips again, and
stops. I push, and stop. He grips. I push twice. He grips twice. I push
five time and he grips me five times. Our gaze is solid.

The next step, like he did with his small finger, is to go deeper. I push
and there is only the resistance of his tube as it gives way. I stop. I
must break our gaze. I must see how it looks to have a finger in him.

It is beautiful. The little volcano makes a perfect seal around the girth
of my finger. I wiggle it up and down once. In response I feel two hard
butt-sucks from Chas, and the ring of his anus quivers just a bit. I poke
straight down into him, and in one motion Chas has all I can possible
give him of my finger. I look into his eyes again. A strand of hair has
fallen across his face. Here is where it is at. I know exactly where his
prostate is, all that needs to be done is to make the move. He's hot
inside, and wet. I flick my finger up. Not contact, but close. His eyes
narrow. He liked that. God did he like that!

"Chas." I say his name. "Do you like it?" I ask. He nods.

"Matt." He says my name. "Matt, ummm, I,. . .I like it, Matt." He says
as if he's not sure if he should like it or not. I take the chance. After
all, Rome was not built in day, but neither did the builders tarry. I
pulled my finger until it was almost all the way out and held it just at
the opening of his pucker. "Ohhhhh. . ." He sighed, and when I did not
push directly back he bucked his hips up so my finger sunk to the first
knuckle. "Matt." His voice was so tender.

"Yes?"

"I think." Pause. "I think I like it a lot."

"Oh, Chas." I say, knowing so well what he needed, knowing that it
was already too late for him. That from now on, when he wanted it, I
would have to give it. And right now he wanted it very badly.

In one fluid, graceful move I hilted my finger in him. His little-boy
hips tried to move his butt away, then they tried to move it forward.
The finger fucking of Chas had begun. His prostate was a little nut on
his inside, and when I first made contact with it he froze. I pulled
away, but he followed my fingertip with his ass, and so I touched it
again, and he froze again. Right there! I began rubbing over it gently.

"Stop." He said. I did. "No, no, go! Do it!" I did it. I touched him and
he squeaked. "Again!" Again I did it and again he made a noise, this
time a grunt. "Matt, I'm gonna cum. I know it!" After that there was no
holding back. I fingered him savagely. Out and in. Deep, making sure
the main purpose of each move was to excite his gland. His little toes
curled. His legs straightened and stretched and made a large V around
me, like I was the rock at the core of Chas's eddy. When I pulled out
he tried to nibble me back down with the reddening volcano. Finally I
stopped at his prostate and began an uninterrupted assault that
consisted of jabs and circles. "Matt! Hard! Yeah! Do it! Oh God!"  His
little cock strained, his back arched, his rectum undulated, clamped,
gasped and ever so slightly farted. I screwed him with my finger. His
cuming causing him to stiffen and hiss -- and finally it was over!.

I could have probably gone on and he'd have cum again, but we
proceeded softly at first. I removed my finger and looked, for the first
time, down into him. By the candle light all I saw was a small dark
hole. That was enough for now. I licked off my finger and settled next
to him and kissed him. No, he kissed me, tasting his own musk on my
lips. His tired legs draped over me. In the night the storm raged.
Lighting, and rain -- how it rained.

Chas and I did not sleep. He felt my body with his small body. Pressed
it up against me. He roamed his little hands from my calves to my
thigh, to my stomach, to my chest, across my nipples, his small fingers
in my light chest hair. He pulled it a bit. I wanted to ask him what he
thought of it but decided just to let him be. Let him explore. My
nipples were his next target, he tweaked first one until it perked up,
then the other which was slow to rise. Then he licked and blew on it,
something I had done to him. I giggled and he looked at me and smiled
knowingly -- yes, he seemed to say, I know. He poked my belly,
testing it's firmness to his own boyish tummy, pressing his hand into
me then into himself; then to satisfy some odd experiment, he lined up
our belly buttons and smashed our navels together.

Sitting up he pulled on me. I rolled until he had me in the desired
position -- on my stomach. His hands traced from my ankle all the way
to my butt, which he climbed, I could feel, because he did that walking
thing with his fingers, like they were a camel and my ass was a dune in
the Sahara. It tickled so I laughed into the pillow, but I also thought it
was the cutest thing in the world. After reaching the summit of my
right dune, he flattened his little palms out and dreadfully slowly went
from my lower back, up my spinal cord, between my shoulder blades,
to the very nape of my neck.

Next he mounted me like I was his pony. I could feel the cushion of
his dewdrop shaped rump on the saddle of my back, and when he
leaned forward his balls and penis squashed onto me. He must have
found this extremely comfortable, for he kissed the place between my
shoulders and rested his head there, the front of his torso making full
and complimenting contact with the curve of my body and his little
feet, his perfect little feet, he kicked back and hooked on my ass, his
toes digging into and between my cheeks. I squealed into the sheets
and got a harsh "Shhh!" from him as if I were being bad during a very
serious moment, like laughing in church.

He was still. His slight weight pressed into me making each breath an
exotic burden. From this angle I could feel his own breathing. His
lungs filling and emptying, his moist breath across my skin causing
delightful Goosebumps just in that area. And then our breathing started
to match, like we were one organism. Except for the warmth of him
and his weight, I could have sworn he had sunk into me to become part
of my body. What wonder! Was this his way of controlling me? His
way of dominating the man who just brought him to an anal orgasm?
Or was it just Chas. Wonderful, elusive Chas. We stayed in the
position that I thought of as the frog on the lily pad position. For he
was froglike with his legs bent, and me the lily pad. It was hypnotic
and by and by sleep or a light trance took me.

And then there was movement. Chas  reversed himself so that his feet
tickled and kicked the back of my neck and his head used my ass for a
pillow. With his hands he played with my butt cheeks. Squeezed them,
scratched them, and, yes, opened them and exposed himself to my own
hole. I'm sure I could not have smelled as sweet as the boy did back
there. In fact, I was a little nervous that he would be grossed out by
me. But this too was his ownership of me; and if I were to have him,
he was to have free access to me. But for some reason or another he
did not venture in; he rested his head back down and was content to
just run his hands over me. Again our breathing hypnotized me. I
slipped into a gentle sleep, and was shortly awaken by the boy getting
off going to the bathroom. I heard him pissing, a hard stream into the
toilette water, then the flush, then a long silence. He came back to the
bed and got under the covers and turned his back to me.

Outside the storm raged. Would it ever let up? I was chilled to be
alone outside of the blankets. I got up and pissed. I went out and shut
the windows and locked the door. Coming back I blew out the candles
and crawled under the blankets with Chas. I was hesitant to touch him,
though I ached to. I could not have him so near me and not touch him.
As if he was reading my thoughts his voice piped up, "Matt?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Is the storm still going?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Do you think my mom will be ok?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine."

"Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"Hold me."

My heart melted. I moved the two feet or so that was like a canyon
between us. He was in the fetus position so I spooned around him. He
adjusted his body so that it we were touching as much as possible. My
arm draped over him. I kissed the back of his head, then his cheek. He
turned his head to look back at me and I kissed his lips. I kissed his
eyes and his chin. He moved closer into me. Now and then lightning
illuminated the room.

"Chas. . ." I whispered his name. He did not answer right away. I
hugged him to me harder. He murmured his response to me. "Chas." I
said. "Chas, I love you." With those words he took hold of my hand
and wove his small fingers between mine. "Chas," I paused long and
kissed his ear, and then whispered into it, "More than life itself, I love
you." Can a boy of ten know such a love? He can know pleasure, and
pain. He can even come to lust. But can he know of the thing we all
understand the least.

"She was right." He whispered to me.

"Who?" I asked.

"My mom. She was right about you."

"How's that?"

"Well, last night I asked her if she thought you liked me. Because I
wanted you to like me. And she told me that she thought you loved
me." At that instant I wanted to cry. Growing up as a boy and feeling
odd. And then as an adolescent and knowing I was not like my friends.
And as a young man realizing that I would never marry, not even have
an adult companion. I was not even allowed to be gay. How alone I
was! Surrounded by so many people in New York, but so alone. And
then blessedly, like a shock, Colt. For three years I was so happy. Then
he was taken way. And now Chas. Lucky, yes. How many of my
brother boylovers would ever know such love?

"She was right, Chas. This might sound funny because you're a boy
and I'm a man, but I love you so much I want to cry?"

"I know that now." He said simply. Such wisdom from one so young.
A clap of thunder slammed outside, the lighting followed. Chas
burrowed into me. I wrapped myself around him as much as possible.
After a bit when we just heard the rain, Chas said, "Matt? You
awake?"

"Yeah. I'm awake."

"You know, I love you the same way." He stopped, maybe to gather
his words. Or the courage to say what came next. "I love you so much
it hurts me on the inside when I think about you dying." He was still,
and smelled so fresh, so like him.

"Why would I die?"

"I don't know. I don't want you to. But. . ."

"But what?"

"Well, you said you loved me more than life. And that must mean you
would die for me. And  when I think about that I start to hurt on my
heart. And I cry." He said it simply, so honestly, without a lifetime of
fear he was able to find the truth of his complicated feelings. What a
gorgeous little thinker. Such pure logic. And he was right, more right
than God.

"I'm sorry. I whispered. I didn't mean to make you sad."

"I know. It's ok. Umm,. . . Matt?"

"Yes?"

"Will you protect me?"

"Always." I whispered, my lips brushing that place of love behind his
ear, that spot of tender sensation on his neck. "Always." I repeated.
Always, I whispered to my soul.

"Will you protect my mom, too? I know she's big and smart, but
maybe she might need it."

"Yes, Chas. I will protect her too." It suddenly occurred to me what
was happening in this moment, during the raging storm that was
foreboding of the raging instability of our little island that in turn
predicted the chaos of the outer world. Chas and I were exchanging
our vows. "Chas?"

"Huhumm?" he murmured drowsily.

"Will you protect me?" He looked back at me in the dark room. There
was a silence. What was he thinking? How can a boy possibly protect
a grown man? Had I asked too much of him?

Softly just above the patter of the rain he whispered for only me to
hear. "Yes. I will protect you." And at that he kissed me, he kissed me
hard with his tongue. He bit my lip. He rolled over and kissed my eyes
like I had done to him earlier. He kissed my neck, then bit it very
tenderly where his lips had planted.  My hands roamed down to his ass
and squeezed. He pushed back and I grazed his hole, but did not linger
there. There would be a time for that. Time for a hundred of those.

Under the covers I pushed him on his back and went down on his little
cock. I sucked the four inch tool into my mouth, then opened wider
and sucked the little hanging balls, my hands going up and rubbing his
nipples. He was saying things I could not make out, and making noises
that were not meant to be deciphered, the noises of a boy in the
process of having sex. With my mouth I forced his cock head out of
it's hood and licked the tenderness of his glans -- he shoved his hips up
at me. I brought my hands down his sides, wide spread so I could feel
his rib cage and the taper of his hips, then helping him, guiding him,
he fucked my mouth and came, jerking and stretching and screaming
into the bedding.

Still in the throws of his aftermath, in his lust, he sat up and pushed me
down. My cock screamed for release. Delicately he placed it flat on
my stomach and lined up his petite dewdrop ass with the underside of
my manhood, then with the tenderness only a boy can have, he spread
his cheeks and sat astride the length of my dick. Still for a moment, but
not long he began to move back and forth. I was close, not long. Chas
himself groaned, for the rigid bottom of my cock rubbed boldly against
his bud. And then I was coming, the sperm soaking my stomach and
chest.

"Chas!" I screamed as the last jerk passed through my body. He lay
atop me, the semen wetting both of us. My cock half hard and
shrinking, the head touching the outer flesh of the anus that was still
virginal. I wrapped us in blankets and there we slept. Sometime during
the night we rolled over and Chas lay lengthwise against me, his small
head on my arm, his breath feathering across my neck, one of his legs
draped over mine. My free arm holding him close to me, our cocks
kissing. And the storm raged. And we both slept, but sometimes we
were both awake, but still in the night. And then we slept. And
morning came gray and dreadful with a pounding dark, the day so
early was dark, and it would be dark for a long, long time.



End,

Deep Impact: The Island (Part 1)

To be continued. . .