Date: Wed, 12 Sep 2018 14:36:37 -0500
From: MC VT
Subject: Dog Face

Dog Face
 ©MCVT2017 July 30, 2018 MCVT2017

Small treasures in an old burlap bag radically change two lives.

Note: I stand among thousands of other souls that have been encouraged with
gentle words and kind nudges by a dashing masked reader with a 37-volume
intergalactic English dictionary.  Nailing pixels to screen to form
coherent sentences isn't easy, yet by caring emails he's helped me find a
clearer voice.  May you be so fortunate to find this kind of treasure in
your life.

Now, a nudge to make a donation to Nifty: Send a donation now -- while
you're thinking about it.

100% Fiction: Mb, Mt, MM, gay, firsts, ped, inc, reluctance, rom,
self-awareness, slow.

==============================================================================

Small town life can be very limiting, but I'd grown up in a
micro-metropolis of seven-hundred in East Texas, and figured I'd die there
like my parents and several more generations before me.  Maybe my small
town felt like a nest more than a straightjacket, but I really didn't know
any other way of life. My brothers and sisters had moved away leaving me in
the old homestead with Mom and Dad.  It was falling apart, so we sold
everything for scrap and I put in a pre-fab to make life easier for my
parents in their last years.

We'd seen lots of changes happen, like the old man who planted the pecan
orchard years ago granting part of his orchard to the county for a park.
He was a neighbor and friends with my great-grandparents.  When he passed,
city made the park with the stipulation that the trees had to be maintained
and all the citizens could harvest the crop in the fall.  Great!  My parcel
of land butted up to the orchard, now the park.  I had no neighbors close
by and access to all the pecans I could eat.

***

When I had the pre-fab put on our land, my parents were older, and I was
responsible for making sure they were comfortable.  Along with a few
friends from the church, we kept them at home with twenty-four-hour care
until they passed.  Dad went first.  Mom, I believe, died of sorrow a year
later.

At that time, I was with the county road crew and had worked my way into
managing a crew of twelve guys and six trucks. Then, a small airbase came
to town and I got a position with the feds keeping the tarmac and their
streets in shape.  Good luck; great pay and I figured I was set until there
was a funding cut and we were all laid off at the base.  I had enough money
to retire early figuring along with my allotment, I'd get by fairly well.
Food, utilities, taxes and a few odd bills were all I owed.

***


In October, the annual Pecan Festival was slated for the park on Saturday.
An "oompah" band played in the gazebo and people brought food to fill the
picnic tables.  The church brought out the big pots for venison stew, kids
brought their carved pumpkins for judging.  Small town fun, and I usually
wound up on the cleaning crew to keep the trash from blowing into my yard.

My birthday was coming up, I remember because Israel and I always got the
birthday song and a cake at the festival; I was turning fifty-two that year
and feeling rather alone but resigned to my life -- I'd done alright and
sliding into my pre-golden years smoothly.  Israel was a good friend for
years -- I've got several years of photos of us at the festival cutting
cake and scooping ice cream for our neighbors.

Actually, my favorite part of the festival is a pecan gathering contest.
The prize was a fifty-dollar gift certificate from the general store.  That
money brought out almost every child in town under fifteen years old with a
bag. Before the kids started that Saturday, a couple of state troopers in
their uniforms inspected the bags and walked the park to make sure no one
hid a stash of nuts before the contest.  Adults stood on the sidelines
waiting to yell and cheer.  Of course, all the kids would win -- they got
to take whatever nuts they gathered home.

The day was overcast and a very cool breeze was blowing, but the kids
patiently waited through the mayor's corny jokes about nuts, squirrels and
"pee-cans" until he ran out of hot air.  There was a count down and the
mayor blew the whistle.  The kids zoomed a hundred yards into the trees.

Standing off to the side, I saw a slender, long-haired boy by himself but
obviously interested in the contest.  Sidling up to him, I handed him my
burlap bag - I'd brought several boxes of trash can liners and a big box of
plastic flatware.  Since it was empty, I handed it to him, "Get out there
and win that prize.  Take your shoes off and stay away from the trunks, the
pecans fall from the ends of the limbs -- feel for them with your feet."

The boy grabbed the bag and kicked his shoes off as he headed for the
orchard.  I laughed at his enthusiasm and picked up his shoes -- filthy
pair of sneakers; broken shoelaces and the toes needed to be re-glued.

The gangly kid was on his hands and knees on the far side of the park
shoving nuts into the bag.  I watched him carefully -- he'd picked a spot
near the old barbed wire fence and stayed there for quite a while -- prime
location!  He threw the nuts into piles, then scooped them in the bag, at
least a pound at a time; pecan-gathering machine!

The whistle blew again and the police used their bullhorns telling all the
kids to stand with their hands in the air, like they'd robbed a bank.  The
kids all stood up with their bags and walked back to the gazebo.  Here came
the skinny boy dragging the old burlap bag almost half full of nuts!
Standing in line barefoot, he had his bag weighed and came in alongside two
other contestants.  This would be a close call.

The sheriff was called in, and he carefully poured each bag into a trash
can liner to make it fair and weighed each carefully.  There was a tie, so
the sheriff called the owner of the general store up and they held a
confab.  Then, all three boys were called forward and received their gift
certificates.  The gangly boy that used my bag kept his head down but kept
nodding his thanks as he gave his name to the store owner.

"Hey!  You won!"  I patted his back when he came for his shoes.

He handed me the old burlap bag, "Thanks mister."

"Name's Gabe -- like the angel Gabriel."  I handed him his shoes and he
slipped them back on.  Noticing he didn't have a jacket, I asked if he was
cold, "I got an old work jacket if you want to wear it home."  He nodded,
not looking at me.

The crowd was breaking up as we left, and I asked his name as we walked.
He stopped, lifted his head and brushed his hair out of his face.  "Dog
Face."  There was a deep, curved indentation from inside his hairline,
across his forehead, through his eyebrow and down to his cheek.

"You must have a real name.  What does your mom call you?"  I grinned,
somewhat embarrassed I'd asked.

"Dog Face."  He mumbled.

"Hmmm.  I wasn't raised to insult people by name calling, so I'll just call
you Rafael -- another angel."  Walking in the back door, I continued
talking to him, explaining about the angel Raphael and went into my
parent's old bedroom and started digging in the closet for the jacket,
"Here's one that looks like it would..."  Turning around, I found myself
alone.  Raphael was still on the back porch, cracking the paper-shell
pecans in his fist, and picking out the bits of meat.

"Are you hungry?"  He didn't answer, just kept shelling nuts.  "Get in
here, I'm making some grilled cheese and soup -- let's get dinner."

He looked up from his bangs and gave me a slight nod.

"Wash your hands and help."  We proceeded to heat up some soup and I made
six grilled cheese sandwiches, cutting each in quarters.  He poured us two
glasses of milk.  The boy ate four sandwiches and two bowls of soup.  As I
loaded the dishwasher, he ate two ice cream sandwiches.

"C'mon, you need a jacket."  I motioned for him to follow me to my father's
closet.  We found an old denim jacket quilted and lined with flannel that
almost fit him.  Not in the best shape after years of wear, but it was
clean and without holes.

While he tried it on, "If you need to pick up some money odd-jobbing, I've
got work.  Just knock on the back door, okay?"

He nodded, smiling, turned the collar up and headed for the back door for
his bag of pecans.

"Do you want a ride home?"

"Nah.  I live on the other side of the park."

There weren't any houses on the other side of the park, but I nodded and
told him to come back any time.

***

My grandparents had sixty acres outside of town where they grew produce,
but that became a subdivision that was now in shambles, but I kept the five
twenty-foot rows of tomatoes and cucumbers on the side of the house.  It
was the time to turn over the cover the soil with compost to keep my
earthworms warm during the winter.  I was out raking and squaring things
away when I thought I saw Rafael on a bike way too small for him, but he
pumped away, standing on the pedals, gliding down the gentle slope, then
pumping furiously again.  He didn't wave or stop; I didn't respond.  I
figured he was still checking me out.  He wasn't -- he was gathering more
pecans at the park.

Since he had a book bag on his back, I figured he was coming and going from
school in my dad's old jacket.

The days grew colder and the winds stronger, I watched from the window to
see if he passed by, carefully making sure he couldn't see me spying on
him.

I didn't see him ride by again.

***

Thanksgiving neared, and I went to the church to help at the food pantry,
packing boxes and delivering frozen turkeys and the fixings to people in
the community.  The fellowship hall was busy with seniors labeling them
with addresses and checking lists.  Toward the end of the afternoon, Israel
and I were almost finished with our deliveries.  We searched the row of
shotgun houses on the south side of town for the next address.  On the
porch of the house was Rafael's bike.  I turned around and headed back to
the church.

"What are you doing?  We were right in front of the house."  Israel asked.
"Stop, go back."

"Deliver it yourself on the way home.  I don't want to embarrass the kid
who lives there.  Hard enough being poor but having everyone know isn't
necessary."  I pulled in beside his Israel's truck and we put the load of
groceries in his truck in the church parking lot.

Israel called me later to ask if the family still lived there.  "I left the
groceries and a note on the back porch, and another note on the front porch
but looks like the place is empty -- just a few chairs and things inside --
I peeked in the front window."

"I don't know.  Only met the kid once, but he goes to school, well I saw
him with his backpack.  I'll call Donna and see if he's still on the
rolls."  I said.  Had to look up her number it had been so long since I
spoke with Donna, but she knew all the kids -- been at the school secretary
for decades.

Donna knew the boy with the badly scarred face, "That's Douglas Landres,
poor kid -- that doctor really screwed him from the get-go.  Thank goodness
they don't use those damned forceps anymore.  But I think he's been in
trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Truancy for a while.  Now he's late almost every day -- and his mother's
no help.  She's working every day, and the other boy is disabled -- haven't
been able to get her on the phone.  What a mess in that home.  I'll pray
for them."

"They might need more than prayers."  I suggested.  "Are there other
problems, maybe drugs or domestic violence?"

"I don't think so.  No real problems from the kid, his biggest problem is
that scar and his self-esteem.  I've only spoken with him a few times in
passing.  He's incredibly shy, but he seems bright.  Carries an A or B in
most classes."

"Okay.  Have a good Thanksgiving."

It took a while to word an invitation, but I wrote a note asking
Ms. Landres and her family to visit me for a Thanksgiving meal.  I was
going to cook a big meal and freeze the extra for later, but I'd rather
have human company than listen to the football claptrap all day.
Flashlight in hand, I drove over to Douglas' house and saw his bike on the
porch, but no lights were on.

"Douglas!"  I banged on the front door.  It's Gabe from over by the park
where you won the contest."

I kept banging until I heard scuffling inside the house.  He cracked the
door open, wrapped in a blanket.  There wasn't a rush of heat -- did he
have electricity or gas?  He didn't invite me in but asked if I'd left the
groceries.

"The church wants your family to have a nice Thanksgiving."

"Can't use it.  Take it back."  He unlatched the door and shoved the box
out with his foot.  Seemed like he was the only one in the house.

"Where's your mom and your brother?  Are you alone in there?"

He didn't answer me, but put his head down, "Take this food to someone
else."

"If I take it home and cook it up, would you bring your family for dinner?"

He was quiet for a few moments then looked up.  "What time?"

"Early, you can help me cook.  Lot of food here."  I suspected he was
alone.  "How about Wednesday night?"

"Working on Wednesday night."  He mumbled.

"Come on over after work."  I suggested.

"Gonna be late."  He mumbled.

"Okay.  Back door's unlocked."

He shut the door and I went out to my heated truck and wondered if he was
going to be alright, but he had his pride and I respected that.

***


Wednesday, I puttered around the house pulling out all the old holiday
decorations we'd used through the years, getting ready to decorate -- get
into the spirit of the season.  I found the old ceramic turkey-shaped
tureen my grandmother filled with pecans and sat in the middle of the
coffee table.  Nuts were our appetizer.  I filled it with fresh pecans and
carried on the tradition.

Dozing during the late news, I heard someone bumping around on the back
porch.

"Mister Gabe!"  I heard the door open and got up to find Douglas in the
kitchen, damp from his bike ride from work and dressed in a long apron with
the "Bi-Rite Grocery" under the old denim jacket.  His hands were white,
and he was shaking.

"Already got your apron on -- ready to cook!"

"Yeah."  I saw a smile flicker on his lips.

"Why don't you go take a shower -- I'll put a robe on the doorknob while
you get cleaned up.  You can toss your things in the washer while I whip up
some dinner for us.  C'mon."

He followed me down the hall and I found some clothes for him -- even had a
new package of briefs.  I opened them and held them up -- way too big, but
I put a safety pin on the waist band and found some socks and an old
tee-shirt with a logo of a tractor company on the front.  That would
suffice.  Back in the kitchen, I popped several potatoes in the microwave
then thawed a big bag of roast beef and gravy, sliced up tomatoes and
stacked bread alongside a tub of margarine.

I heard him fiddling with the door knob and soon he was walking toward the
kitchen table in my dad's old red plaid robe, grinning with a ball of
laundry in his hand.  "Where's the washer?"  Motioning toward the laundry
room, he went out and started his load and came back to the table, looking
at all the food.  "Looks good."

Over dinner he asked if I had a computer.  "I may be a geezer, but I got a
computer.  Went to the senior center -- they gave us classes. There's a
great series on truck farms from the extension agency.  I can email my
brothers and sisters now - can you show me how to send pictures from my
phone to an email?"

He chuckled, "Sure.  I need to check my messages."

"Great!  Ready for another potato?"  He nodded and we had a good dinner,
but as we finished, he took our plates to the sink and loaded the
dishwasher, "You've been real nice to me, and I'm grateful -- but are you
one of those weird guys?  Don't you have a family?"

"Doug, I may be an odd old bachelor-bird, but I'm the last of my family
here.  It was my responsibility to take care of my parents -- I'm the
youngest of seven.  Dad was my age when my mom surprised him with me.  She
was younger, and well -- that's the hand I was dealt.  Maybe you think
that's weird that I took care of my parents instead of making my own
family, but I don't think I'm weird."

"No.  I mean do you want me for something, like sexual?  Are you gay?"

That was blunt.  "Gay people leave town or get run out.  You know how small
towns are, and about sex -- well, those days are in the past.  I'd like to
help you if I could -- you don't owe me anything.  If I want something from
you, I'll ask and we'll negotiate like most people do."

"What would you want from me?"

"Did you see that shed out back?  It's full of wood.  Bring in some in and
we'll start a fire after dinner tomorrow."

"Sure."

"Put your stuff in the dryer and I'll start up the computer."

***

We checked our email, and he showed me how to send a photo from my phone to
my computer -- easier than I thought, and I let him surf the web while I
gathered a pillow and a blanket and put them on the couch.  It was past
midnight when I heard him pull his clothes out of the dryer.

"You have to work tomorrow?"  I asked and pointed to the couch.  "It's
late."

"Just until noon.  Got to be there at six.  Payday!"

"How many hours have you been working?"  I remembered the truancy problem.

"Eight hours a night for the past ten days.  Rent's coming due."

"You must be in high cotton by now.  You're still in school, right?"

"Barely -- but got to keep the house."

"Yeah.  By the way, how much are you earning down there at Bi-Rite?"

"Mr. Bill gives me thirty dollars cash every shift."

"Not minimum wage?"  I figured he should be getting at least fifty dollars
for eight hours.

"I have to take what I can get -- I'm not sixteen yet so I'm paid
off-the-books with the other guys."

Nodding, I didn't tell him that he was getting royally rooked, but I could
fix that.

***


The next morning, I was up making coffee and breakfast; packed Doug a lunch
for his break.  "I'll start the turkey while you're at work and swing by at
11:30 to pick you up.  Need some milk and eggs for the pumpkin pies.  Do
you think your mom and brother will be coming by?"

"Probably not, I think they're visiting family up in Temple."

I let the comments about his family slide knowing it was probably a lie.
The kid was wolfing down scrambled egg sandwiches with bacon like he hadn't
eaten before.

We got in the truck and I noticed his shoes were falling off.  "Look behind
the seat when you get out, there's a roll of duct tape for your shoes.

"Oh, yeah."  He said and grabbed the roll of tape and ripped off several
feet to wrap around the toes of his shoes before he grabbed his lunch and
jumped on the loading dock of the store, lunch in hand.  "Thanks!"

I went to the corner of the parking lot and called Bill, the owner of
Bi-Rite.  I knew him well and didn't particularly like him, but he was a
member of the church.  "You know that kid you hired to stock, the one with
the scar on his face -- you've been shorting his pay.  I think he needs a
holiday bonus -- the kid's trying to pay the rent for his family."

We talked for a while and I asked him if he was shorting his migrant labor
as well -- Bill hired casual labor from the front of the convenience store
on his way to work every morning.  After hemming and hawing for a few
minutes, he came around saying something about supply and demand.  Maybe it
was the spirit of the season afflicting him or his conscience, he agreed to
give the guys a bonus.

"By the way how old is the kid?"  I asked just to toss some salt.

"Says he's thirteen.  I didn't know the family was needy -- I thought the
kid was wearing his old clothes because the back room's dirty.  I really
didn't mean to cheat the kid."

"You'd steal the nickels from a dead man's eyes.  I'm coming to pick him up
and I better see a big grin on his face and full pocket."  With that, I
hung up jumped on the interstate and headed to the next town over.  They
had a big discount store that was always open.

Shoes, shirts, jeans, well, I got what I thought the kid might need.
Hoodies were popular, I bought several heavy sweatshirts with hoods, and a
knit hat.  Tube sox, briefs -- had to guess the size.  He looked about the
size of a large ten-year-old he was so thin -- a store associate helped me
with that.  I found a travel kit with all the toiletries.  Then I went back
to Bi-Rite to get the eggs and milk; got some more ice cream, Doug seemed
to like that.

Doug came beside me as I checked out with my groceries.  Yep, he was
grinning, "I got a bonus!"

"Great!  I'm sure you deserve every penny."

***


We made a quick snack at home.  "Turkey won't be ready for a few more
hours."  As I sat his bowl of chili and a sleeve of crackers in front of
him, he began eating; I began talking:

"Doug, I worked for the county for years managing the road crew.  Potholes,
snow, washouts -- worked alongside the PD as well.  Saw a lot of things I
didn't want to see -- had to hose blood off the streets after the
ambulances left, saw a lot of kids, too.  Some were run-aways, others were
abandoned..."

Doug stopped eating and looked up at me.

"I don't think your mother's coming back - you've been living on your own.
Am I right?"

He stopped eating, "If I can keep earning enough to pay the rent, I can
finish this semester -- maybe she'll come back before June if things don't
work out with the guy.  I -- we...  well, I'm going to try to get enough
work till summer, then I can go to Texarkana. I'll be old enough to get
real work on the Arkansas side."

Nodding my head, I let him think.  He had a reasonable plan for a
thirteen-year-old.  Futile but reasonable.

"You're not going to call protective services?  I don't want another foster
family or a group home."  He asked after a few moments.

"No use calling anyone now.  County won't be open until Monday, and I
imagine they'd probably take you out of town and the you'd be shifted
around.  Stay here, I have friends all over town.  We'll work this out so
you can finish the semester."

He grinned, I guessed that meant he trusted that I wasn't too weird.

***


Cleaning the vegetables, I asked him to bring fifteen logs from the shed,
"Put a couple in the fireplace -- leave the rest on the back porch and
bring the bags from the truck."

He brought everything as told, and I suggested he try on the things in the
bags.  "These are for me?  I can't accept these -- too much!"

"Doug, they won't fit me and I refuse to take them back.  I know you're
proud, so let this old man make you super-proud.  Go to the back bedroom
and try them on."

He was thinking.

"Now!  Go try them on."  I said gruffly.

Thirty minutes later I hadn't heard or seen Doug and sneaked down the
hallway.  Only silence in the small bedroom.  Peeking in the door I saw him
asleep on the bed in his new briefs and a pair of clean, white socks.  I
shut the door and let him sleep.

***


Several hours and two pumpkin pies later, Doug tapped me on the shoulder as
I washed up at the sink.  I turned to see him smiling and wearing his new
jeans and shoes, a tee shirt and a hoodie over his head,

"These are cool!"

"Do the jeans fit?"  He pulled up his shirt and showed me they were a
little loose, but the length was good.  "How about the briefs?"

He handed me the safety pin.  "Perfect."

I nodded smiling.  "Great!"  He did look good, more importantly, he was
relaxed and smiling.  "Go put some music on, and we'll have a glass of
wine."

"Wine?"

"Old family tradition.  My parents always let the kids have a glass of wine
on Thanksgiving but only one -- I can't remember what they said about it,
but it's an old tradition.  Put some music on and start the fire."

He was off like a shot and soon holiday music filled the house and I hear a
few curse words as he tried lighting the logs in the fireplace.  I found
several old newspapers and a few brown paper bags and let him finish his
job.  With two glasses of wine in hand, I sat on the couch and lifted the
lid off the old tureen and began cracking pecans, watching Doug use the
poker and straighten the log.  He went out and brought two more setting
them nearby.

"You want to watch the specials tonight?  There's some movies coming on."

He laughed, "Never was much into TV, cable's expensive."

"What do you do at home?"

"Before, I took care of my brother and read -- I was in the library a lot.
Sometimes my mother and I played cards.  I know a lot of card games."

"Yeah, what kind?"  I handed him the small glass of very sweet blackberry
wine.

"No-Peekie, Stud, Canasta, Twenty-one, Rummy, Pitch, Bid Wisk, Spades,
Hearts -- lots of games."

"Let's play after dinner -- I haven't been in a good card game in years."
Couldn't help but lean over and press the toe of his shoe.

"What are you doing?"  He asked, pulling his foot away.

"Seeing if they fit.  You know, if you have more than a thumb's width at
the end of your toe, it's supposed to be too big."

"Oh."  He put his foot back and then felt for himself and grinned, "These
shoes feel good."

"Gonna throw the others away?"

"They're my myth-shoes now."  He sipped his wine but made a face.

"Myth-shoes?"

"I knew everyone was looking at my shoes at work, so I told them like
Mercury -- super fast.  Mercury is kinda silver like the tape.  Some people
caught my joke, most of the guys didn't."

"Good one, kid.  Imaginative."  I chuckled.

"Imaginative..."  He said softly and smiled.  "I guess so."

***


We ate and had plenty of left-overs for the week.  Then he beat me at
several games at the coffee table.  I heard him laugh several times, the
little pip-squeak actually enjoyed himself for a few moments.

"Tomorrow's Friday -- usually a holiday.  Do you have to work?"

"I'll call Mr. Bill."  He came back later and said he was going in to work
ten hours.  I nodded and asked how he was doing with his homework.

"If you let me use the computer I can finish pretty quick."

"Deal.  Sunday I'm going to Boykin after church.  Do you want to go?"

"Boykin Springs?"

"Yep.  How about early mass?  Or we could go on Saturday night if you're
not working too late."

"I'd rather not go to mass.  I'll wait outside."

***


While he worked on Friday, I got on the phone and started finding out if
there was a foster family in town.  There weren't, but an elderly widow had
kept children for the county a number of years.  Gerline was about my age
and lived a couple of miles away but only a few blocks from the school.

Since we'd gone to school and church together I called Gerline and asked
about what happens to abandoned children -- and she filled me in.  The
state becomes their parent through what seemed an intricate legal process.
Someone on the Child Protective Services is appointed to represent the
child in medical, legal and other important ways until family could be
found.  Most of what Gerline explained concerned legal issues of
responsibility, then there was a lengthy list of requirements and rules
about keeping foster children; medical, dental and vision checks,
vaccinations and verifications from various professionals.  "Better going
through an adoption agency.  They're expensive but not as irrational as the
state."

After explaining the situation with Doug and my suspicions, she said she'd
ask around.  "He's not on any drugs or alcohol, is he?"  She asked.  "Have
you counted the silver?  Be careful.  Let me check this out with Donna and
Bernice."

"The kid is working.  He used to take care of his disabled brother.  He
doesn't seem like he's gotten too street-wise, I think he's had a lot of
responsibility for being so young -- has a lot of shame about being poor,
but he wants his education, so that's in his favor."

"Yeah, yeah.  I'm gonna check this out.  Call ya later."

As much as I hated Black Friday shopping, I went back to the discount store
and bought a new bike for Doug and a new book bag.  Not sure where he'd be,
but the things he owned were frayed and worn.  As I walked through the mob
of shoppers, I dedicated myself to helping this kid stay in school and stay
healthy.  I could do that little bit.

My heart softened and I approached a teen in the boy's department.  "What
kind of jackets are kids wearing in school these days?  I got to buy a gift
-- a jacket for a thirteen-year-old."  His mother came over and I explained
that a friend's son was about the size of the teen, and I needed to buy a
jacket.

The mom was great, "Make sure it's washable, waterproof and get it one size
larger -- so he can wear a sweater underneath."  They went to a rack and
picked out several for me with logos I didn't recognize.  Mom told the boy
to try one on and I watched carefully.

"Is he stout?  Don't get one with a cheesy zipper!"  She warned me.

"No, he's quite thin."

"Then go with the zipper or maybe one with these wooden buttons and cord
loops -- stylish but they don't keep the jacket closed."  Then she quickly
reviewed the entire rack for three black jackets that looked good.  We went
with the black zippered jacket and they helped me find several long-sleeved
shirts and I got another pair of jeans and a belt.

My truck was filled with bags and I felt satisfied.  Wasn't sure what would
happen to Doug, but whatever his next step in life would be, he'd look
decent doing it.

***


Gerline called me back that afternoon while Doug was in the shower; I took
the call in my room.  She went through a list of names of the people she'd
contacted, and the information she'd gotten.

"Look, I'm willing to take the kid until they can find a relative.  He can
stay with me until June as long as he picks up after himself.  I'll call
Fay and get a social worker over to your house after school on Monday --
we'll be there at three-thirty.  She'll do an interview..."  I could only
agree to everything.

After finishing with Gerline, I called Doug into my room, "Get your books
-- time to get your homework done.  I'll make turkey sandwiches --
Dagwoods, okay?

"Dagwoods?"

"Dagwood sandwiches have a little of everything on them -- piled high.
From the old comic strip in printed newspapers...  Never mind, big
sandwiches!"

Doug started on his homework.

I left the bike in the bed of the truck -- it was still in the box and
needed assembly, but I brought the clothes and jacket into the kitchen and
cut the tags off, then took them to the small bedroom and hung them neatly,
then emptied several drawers.  Why did I keep underwear with holes and
elastic that looked like ruffles?

Doug called me into my room and asked me to see something on the internet.
On the screen were two faces of a child; before and after.  The child had
been badly burned, and a non-profit group had arranged for plastic surgery
to correct the little face.  She was beautiful after the surgery -- only a
few light scars were left.  He scrolled down and showed me several more
children's faces.  "Can I do this?"

I sat beside him, "Go to the information page.  See what they want first."
He showed me the charity group -- plastic surgeons and doctors who offered
free services for needy children with cleft palates and other facial
malformations -- seemed legit.  The group had been around for a number of
years.  He'd need a parent or guardian to complete an application, "Looks
like you might qualify if we can find your mom. "

Looking at his face.  "I called an old friend today -- she was a foster
parent for years.  I told her you wanted to finish the school year.  I'll
make a deal with you -- if you'll cooperate while we get things in order,
I'll find someone who can make this application for you."

"Really?"

"I don't see why not.  Have you finished your homework?  That's part of the
deal."

"Oh, yeah.  I'll bookmark this for us."

"Bookmark?"  He had to explain that, but I told him to finish up before we
could play cards during dinner.  "Men always eat during their card games."

***

He brought his homework to the dinner table, "Is this all of it?"  I asked,
looking over the pages -- a book report on the Adventures of Tom Sawyer and
two pages on the Tennessee Valley Authority.  Impressive!

"I missed some math -- I need help catching up so I can get into the
Algebra class."  He blushed.

"Okay, I'll ask Donna if they can help with that.  You're going to have to
quit your job if you want those good grades."

"Yeah, I know."  He was wiggling around a little nervous, "Can I stay here
with you?"

"Not sure -- I haven't had the foster parent training.  There's a lot of
bureaucracy to deal with.  Gerline's coming by on Monday at three-thirty to
meet you.  But whatever happens, I'll be here and we'll get through this."

After a few hands of cards during dinner, Doug wanted me to take a picture
on my phone and pulled me to the bathroom where the light was bright.  He
wet his hands and pushed his hair away from his face and stood in front of
the shower curtain.  "Straight on.  Just my face."

After I took the photo, he grabbed my phone and took a picture of my face,
touched the screen a number of times.  "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to see what I'll look like after surgery."  He got back on the
computer and I lay down on the bed as his fingers flew over the keyboard.
What was he up to?

"You're not going to give me some kind of computer virus, are you?"

"No.  You've got security.  I'm going to make my scar go away.  Look!"  On
the screen were his before and after pictures.  The second one showed him
without the scar, the indentations were smooth and his hairline and eyebrow
straightened.  He was angelic -- he looked perfect!  "How did you do that?"

"I downloaded a program that lets me alter photos.  I think the girls use
it for makeup and stuff."

"I'll take your word for that."  Looking closely, "We better hurry up and
get this surgery application done."

"Why?"  He asked, adjusting the color.

"When you hit puberty, your face will change -- probably get a little sharp
-- your bones get bigger, you know -- you'll grow up.  Do you have hair
down there yet?"

He blushed, staring with his mouth open.

"I'm not asking to see, but do you have hair on your chest or under your
arms?"  I felt his neck for any of his coming Adam's apple.

"Does that mean I can't get the surgery?"

"I don't think so, I'm saying that you may not look like that photo you
made.  You may look more -- uh, manly."

He grinned, "Yeah.  I'd like that."  He fiddled around a little longer,
"Remember when you called me Rafael, like the angel?  I like that name.  I
don't want to be Dog Face Doug anymore."

"I like Rafael better myself."  I looked at him, "Did your mom really call
you Dog Face?"

"That's what she called my dad, she called me Dog Face junior.  He left
when I was seven."

"Rafael."  I whispered, "God has healed -- that's what it means."

The boy came to the bed beside me and wrapped his arms around my neck.
"Thanks all the stuff -- I don't know what to say.  It makes me feel funny
when people, well when men are friendly and buy me things."

"That's your intuition protecting you.  Be careful -- guard yourself.  I
want to see you grow up into a fine young man with a wife and a family --
you'll have beautiful children."

"Mom told me a little about perverts.  That's why I asked you about being
weird."

Wrapping my arms around his thin body, "Not sure what that kind of weird
looks like, but I won't hurt you, and if you're uncomfortable, you can
leave. We'll find you safe place.  Okay?"

He kissed my neck, "Thanks."

His hair smelled like herbal shampoo, and I detected a little soap, that
drew my lips to his hair.  "You are a beautiful kid.  Let's keep you safe
and strong.  Print out that surgery information for Gerline.  I want to
make sure she finds someone to help with that as soon as possible."  My
fingers went to his scar, and I touched carefully along the line; his
eyelashes fluttered against my skin when my fingertips were on his eyebrow.
He had beautiful smooth, pale skin.

Doug jumped up and printed out the instructions, "We have to apply
online..."  The printer buzzed and started spitting out the instructions
and requirements.

"I'm coming to pick you up from school Monday -- we can't miss a minute
getting this submitted."  Reading back through the instructions, I felt
sure he had a chance to get some help.

Then, Rafael showed me my face on the computer screen.  He'd added a gray
moustache and bushy lambchop sideburns.  "You'd look good like this."

Had to laugh at that -- I looked like an old photo of my great-grandfather.
"Not yet!"

***

Saturday, we ate a late breakfast.  "Working today?"

"Noon to four."  He said, starting on his second bowl of cereal.

"I'll pick you up and we'll go to mass and sit in the back.  The priest on
Saturday always keeps it short. I need to go to confession."

"You go in that little box and tell him what you did wrong?"

"Yep, I tell him the sins I committed and he tells me what I need to --
well, he tells me how to be forgiven.  When you admit your sins to another
person it helps you keep from doing it again."

"What sins did you commit?"

"I ate too much, and I was rude to one of the church members -- I insulted
him when I could have been gentle.  I was being crass."

Rafael chuckled, "Not you!"

"Yep, me.  God was listening, probably shuddered when I said those things."

"Do I need to confess?"  He looked at me.

"Depends on how you feel in your heart."  I got up to put the dishes in the
sink and asked Raf to get the box out of the back of the truck.  "We've got
work tonight."

Through the kitchen window, I saw him struggling with the box and went out
to help him.  "You think you'll like this?  Your old bike is for a little
kid, this one's the right size for the next few years."

There were tears in his eyes.  "Too much.  This is way too much."

Putting my arms around his shoulders, "Why do you feel like you can't have
nice things?"

He wiped his nose on the jacket sleeve, "My kid brother will never be able
to run or ride a bike, and Mom -- she never had anything good...  They need
nice things more than me."

"Well, she had you and you're the best."  Hot tears filled my eyes.  "Let's
get this box on the porch, we'll put it together tonight.  I want you to go
to school on a safe bike."

He stopped and looked up at me.  "You're right, she's probably not coming
back."

"We need to call the police and file a missing person report.  Will you do
that if I help you?"  We left the box on the porch and called the police.

Sitting next to Doug, I encouraged him to give the officer the information,
he did his best but his tears kept streaming.  He'd been living alone for
almost a month without utilities.  His mother's boyfriend had mentioned he
didn't want the kids around. Doug wasn't sure of the man's last name.  When
he told the officer that his mother worked the swing shift as a housekeeper
at the hotel on the highway, I knew there were problems.  She may hold a
housekeeper's job but probably took in "work" on the side. I kept that to
myself.

We promised the police we'd stop by his old house to see if there was a
picture of her and call them back later.  Doug dressed for work, with
swollen eyes, "Tell them you had an allergy attack, I tucked a handkerchief
in his pocket and we left.

Someone had broken into the old shotgun house and enjoyed quite a bit of
wine and a lot of weed, but there was little there.  Nothing worth taking
-- no pictures, no mementos -- nothing but an odd-looking machine with a
glass bottle fitted against a motor sitting on the floor.

"What's this?"  I asked.

"That's the vacuum machine for clearing my brother's lungs when he started
choking.  I had to keep him cleared out so he could breathe."

"Do you think he needs it?"

"Probably."  He started crying again.  "I had to use it several times a day
and at night.  He was getting too big to turn over my lap and clear him
that way."

I grabbed the odd device, about as big as a bread box with a few tubes and
put it in the truck.  "Do you think you can go online and find a picture of
a woman that looks like your mom and change it around like you did with our
photos?"

"Maybe."  He was still in a very sour funk, so I picked up my phone and
called the Bi-Rite and told Bill that Doug wouldn't be able to work today.
"Yeah, Bill, he's got allergies today -- got into something in the shed, I
think.  He'll call you later."

Rafael went to the back bedroom and shut the door behind him.  He needed
time to find his place in a very difficult world.  I heard him crying,
blowing his nose and finally, he must have fallen asleep.

How could I help him?  All the clothes and toys in the world wouldn't close
the wound that had just opened.  Food might, another glass of wine...  No,
he had to be the leader in his life, I could only stand alongside him and
offer advice.  Doug's denial was completely shattered -- he'd just realized
he was completely alone; he was abandoned. Unwanted.

The hope of surgery seemed to help, the distraction of a card game allowed
him to laugh.  Maybe we could focus on something else for a while.  Facing
the fact that he was unwanted was too much pain for his young spirit to
bear.  Almost too much for me to bear as well.

At around four I tapped on his door, "I'm going to mass.  C'mon, you'll
feel better.  We'll light candles for your family."

He turned over, "Will it help?"

"We'll pray they're safe.  That's all we can do tonight."

He got up and we left for the church, parking at the edge of the lot and
went in to find the back rows filled.  Doug kept his hoodie up as we sat in
the front and went through the responses and a few hymns.  The homily was
about the birth of a little boy, and the world celebrating for thousands of
years.  Then we collected a special donation to prepare the holiday
baskets.  Rafael dug in his pocket and put a five-dollar bill in the
basket.  "Maybe someone, somewhere will give my brother a gift."  He
whispered.

As we walked out, I told him I was going to confession -- pointing at the
candles at the side of the sanctuary, "You go light a candle and pray for
your family's safety."

"I want to go with you."  He looked up at me.  I figured he needed to see
how the church worked, so I nodded.  We waited our turn and went in the
tiny cubicle together.  I sat down and Rafael looked at me; I patted my
thigh.  "C'mon, you can listen."

With Doug perched on my lap, I began, "Father, forgive me..."  Rafael was
trying to look through the little screen but settled down when the priest
asked the nature of my sin.

"Gluttony at Thanksgiving."  How to word this next confession?  "I was
upset and called an -- well, an employer who was cheating his workers out
of their rightful due..."  I sighed deeply and explained my insulting Bill
about his greed instead of approaching him with patience and respect, "then
I coerced him with information I knew about his other sneaky dealings with
the undocumented workers."

"Who was hurt by this sin?"  The priest asked.

"Well, no one, but I could have been kinder about it.  I just gave him a
shove to follow the law -- no more than that."

"Let's both pray for the man's heart to turn to righteousness and I'm going
to ask you to think about the how to apologize and reinforce the way our
savior would deal with others regarding their rights.  Do you have anything
else to confess?"

Whispering to Raf, "Do you have anything to confess?"

"I stole."  He said softly.

"What did you steal?"

"Food.  I got a job at a food store, and before I went to Gabe's house, I
stole crackers and cookies from the store where I work."

There was silence for a moment.  "Why did you steal?"

"I was hungry."

"You didn't have any money to buy food?"

"I have to pay rent..."

Silence.

"If you're hungry, come here to the church and ask for Father Kennedy.
He'll make sure you have plenty.  No need to steal."  He paused, "Are these
two confessions related in any way?"

I had to intervene.  "Yes."

"Alright.  Stealing is a sin and a bad habit that can lead to bigger
problems.  Do you understand?"

"Yes -- I felt guilty when I did it, but I was so hungry."  Doug said
softly.

"Next time, come here.  We have plenty for you -- and there's a job opening
here at the church on Saturday mornings -- the food cooperative uses our
fellowship hall and they always leave a mess.  If you want that cleaning
job, come by the office -- ask for Kennedy."

As Doug lit the candles, I asked for divine protection and love around his
family, we knelt for a few moments then left for the truck.  "Don't you
need to say all that other stuff when you pray?  You didn't say `amen.'"

"No, just talk to god like you talk to anyone else, and I never say `amen'
because I never stop praying."

***

At home, we made sandwiches and brought the bike box into the kitchen, sat
on the floor and began putting the it together.  "Did you have a bike when
you were a kid?"  Doug asked as he adjusted the seat and reached for a
wrench.

"Sure, I loved riding.  There weren't so many houses and I'd ride way out
in the country all day.  But my old bike had pedal brakes and it wasn't as
fancy as this."

"Why don't you have a bike?"

"You know, that sounds fun.  This bike's for you to get to school.  I've
got a chain and a lock..."

The bike went together easily, and it had a short pump strapped to the
brace.  We pumped up the tires and Rafael took off down the driveway in the
dim light from the kitchen window.  Then I heard a yelp and a few bad
words.  I chuckled, as I saw him walking the bike toward me.  "I couldn't
turn.  The bar hit my..."  His hand was at his crotch, tugging at his
jeans.

"Maybe it's too big for you right now.  Can't have you hurting yourself."
I took the bike as the boy leaned forward with a grimace on his face.  In
the house, I told him to go take his jeans off and I found an old cotton
sock, shoved several cups of dry rice in it and tied a knot in the cuff
then popped it in the microwave for a few minutes.  "Meet me on the couch."

"We'll see if we can adjust the seat."  I sat on the couch and handed him
the remote control.  Then, I took the warmed rice and told him to put it
where he hit the bar and turned my head.  Then I tossed the old afghan my
mother had crocheted over him.  "Are you going to be alright?"

"I think so."  He lay back and adjusted the warmth between his legs.  "That
hurt!"

"Find us a comedy tonight."  I said.  "We need a little humor."  There
weren't any comedies so we watched a talent show.  Doug showed me how to
vote for the different contestants and handled that for us.  It was good to
see him distracted from all his travails for a while and he definitely had
an opinion on every singer and dancer.

The warmth seemed to work between his legs -- I reheated the bag several
times through the next few hours.  During commercials, he asked me about
the job at the church.  "Probably wiping the tables down and stacking them
back up in the closet...  sweeping and mopping the hall -- getting it ready
for the social hour Sunday.  If you want the job, ask for the description
first."

"How much do they pay?"  I explained minimum wage and told him the church
would probably give him a flat fee.  He only nodded, he was tired so I got
him up and told him to brush his teeth before he went to bed.  He grinned,
"Thanks for the toothbrush, and for calling Mr. Bill."

"You need to open a bank account -- we'll go next week."

In bed that night, I went back over all the events of the day and wondered
if this boy would make it back with his family by some miracle.  I had to
get that surgery application filled out.  Maybe Father Kennedy could sign
the application in lieu of a parent or guardian...  As I dozed off, I felt
the bed shake and the blankets move.

Rafael snuggled in behind me.  I didn't move -- this old man was tired.

***


Sunday morning, I felt Doug get up and go to the bathroom, showering and
brushing his teeth.  Then, I thought I heard him humming one of the tunes
from the talent show we'd watched.

"Can you make coffee?"  I yelled.

"Yep.  Stay in bed, I'll get breakfast."  He answered and appeared at my
bedroom door in a long-sleeved shirt clinging to his narrow torso.  "These
are cool shirts -- I like this color!"  The shirt was a deep teal, making
his pale skin and rosy cheeks stand out, it was his color.

"Welcome, but you know you have your own bed.  It's not seemly for a boy to
sleep with a man."

"What's seemly mean?"

"I'll explain later."  Soon, I smelled coffee and toast.  The day was
overcast and I'd already told Doug that we would go to Boykin Springs so I
got up.

"Go back to bed."  I heard him yelling from the kitchen, so I went back to
bed and crawled under the blankets feeling pretty cozy.  He came in with
coffee and toast putting them on the night stand.  "Half-breakfast for
now."

"Okay.  Now tell me why you came into my bed last night?"

"Most nights I slept with my mom -- we only had one bed and my brother had
a crib."  He didn't say much for a moment, "I feel alone sometimes."

"Okay.  Well, `seemly' means something may not be wrong, but it seems
wrong.  I want to protect you and help you get started in life, and if
anyone finds out you were in my bed, they'll think I'm one of those weird
men -- they'll think I'm having sex with you and that's against the law.
Weird is illegal."

He went to the computer and turned it on.  "At school we had a class on sex
and strangers -- things like that.  They didn't say much but gave us a
website."  I sipped my coffee and waited until he opened the site.  "Look,
they talk about danger but they don't say what kind or what to do except
call the police.  First you gotta get away, then find a phone..."  He said
as he scanned the screen.  "How much help is that?"

Taking the situation in hand, "Look, it's like this.  Don't be alone with
someone who makes you feel even a little uncomfortable.  Stay with a group
-- a weird person probably won't bother you when other people can see what
they're doing."  I thought for a moment.

"If you're selected for surgery, you're probably going to have to go to a
team of doctors and meet plenty of strange people.  Gerline, me or someone
you know will be with you.  And it doesn't matter - man or woman, if you
feel uncomfortable you can always leave.  You may have to be the adult in
the situation and protect yourself.  Would you tell me if someone gets
weird with you?  I won't let it happen."

"Men don't want me.  I'm too ugly."

"It's not how pretty you are, it's your body -- they use your innocence to
get control over you -- then they do what they want with your body.  Do a
search for pedophiles.  Open one of them up -- you'll see that a man who
wants children gives them attention and gifts to earn their trust then uses
them."

He looked at me.  That's what I'd been doing.

"Before you say anything, remember I cherish your innocence, and I admire
your spunk -- you're a very responsible young man.  You're a treasure I
want to protect, not take advantage of.  We have a good relationship, I
think, and I'm not ashamed for helping you.  We've got help now to get you
going -- helping you gives meaning to my life.  You know I'm not going to
ask you for sex, right?"

"Yeah.  You called that foster mom for me and helped me with the police
report. That's kinda like other people watching."  He went back to the
screen and I let him read about pedophiles, and sex trafficking figuring
he'd never get that information from the Texas schools.  Too conservative.

***

Doug studied the screen, clicking and reading intently.  I asked if he was
still sore between his legs.  "We'll take you to the hospital and the bike
back."

"I think I got a bruise but I can't see it very well."  He tugged at the
crotch of his jeans.

"Gerline's bringing a nurse tomorrow, she'll look at it."

"I don't want to undress in front of a woman."

"Okay.  Search for groin injuries -- there's bound to be something about
those bars on men's bikes."  He found some things and read them to me.
"Well, I have some aspirin.  By the way, do you have to work today?"

"No.  I'm off."

"I'd rather you work at the church."

"I can't quit Bi-Rite yet."  He said, and I didn't ask.

As I went for my shower he reminded me about a moustache.  "Let it grow out
-- you can always shave it off."  He was grinning so I went to him and took
his face in my hand and touched his upper lip.  "I'll let mine grow out
when you grow yours out."

He laughed.

***


Sunday went well, we loaded the bike to take it back.  Doug convinced me we
needed to keep it for later as we looked at a shorter bike in the
department store.  Then, he pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and
bought his own bike -- slightly smaller, but the same model and color.
Wouldn't let me pay for it!

We left for Boykin Springs and assembled the new bike in the back of the
pickup.  Then we both took off through the paths under a gray sky.  The
wind in my face felt great!  Yeah, I was a little shaky at first, but it
all came back quickly and I realized in a few moments why bikers wore
stretchy, tight shorts.  Jeans rubbed me the wrong way!

We had a great time.  Sitting under the picnic shelter while Raf took
another spin around the lake I figured I'd keep the bigger bike.  Doug
pulled up beside me eventually, he'd pushed his hair back under his knit
cap and his grin was almost as big as his scar.

"That was fun!"

"I'm gonna keep that bike for myself.  It is fun!"

***


We went home and made hot sandwiches, and I asked him to show me the sites
about child predators.  He showed me and we went to several sites about
youth sexuality.  Very interesting what they said and much more than I'd
learned from restroom walls.  Information on puberty and dating and
flirting -- lot of stuff going on with kids was easily available.
Chuckling, "Masturbation to relieve the sensation of testicular
pressure..."

"What's so funny?"  He asked.

"Masturbation -- the church says you shouldn't do it -- sex is only for
making children.  But Dad told me it would stop the next world war, so it
was my duty to keep peace."  I chuckled.

"My mom said it would make me blind -- I'd have to get a dog and use a
cane."  Doug said.

"Well, it's perfectly normal.  Don't think I'd have made it through high
school without at least a daily jerk - sometimes several.  Whew!  That was
a hard time -- and all the erections...  I was constantly embarrassed.  We
wore tight jeans back then - couldn't hide our woodies."  Remembering I'd
bought Doug jeans -- "Do we need to take your jeans back for a larger
size?"

"Nah.  I don't care so much, I just tuck it -- uh, the right way."

I lay back on my bed and listened to pop music playing softly from the
computer while Doug surfed, looking for something about bike maintenance,
occasionally mentioning oiling the chains and the gearbox.  Dozing off, I
felt him come beside me and I said something I'd not ever said before:
"Don't ever tell anyone we do this -- I could go to jail and you'll be in
foster care again."

He nodded, turned over and snuggled closely for a nap.

My skin craved his warmth.  Maybe it was all the diagrams and drawings of
bodies I'd just viewed, but I felt like something deep inside me had been
uncovered and had its first warm rays of sunlight.  Whatever it was felt
like it was growing.  I was erect and breathing faster by the moment.

I turned those feelings over in my head, examining the foreign responses as
though they were an odd fruit -- warmly colored, round and smelling sweet.
The skin of the fruit was dewy inviting me to touch, lick and taste.
Curious and inviting -- I had to touch it and see what this was about.
Wondered if it tasted as sweet as it looked. A lush garden came to mind -
this was a sexual response.

I got up quickly and went to the bathroom, stripping and showering -- worst
thing to do.  Soap, warm water and a little motion caused a powerful
ejaculation that didn't seem to want to end.  My head went light and I had
to catch my breath as my knees turned to jelly for a few moments. "Thank
you, Jesus!"  I prayed and turned the cold water on to bring myself back to
normal.

Back in my bedroom I saw Doug facing away from me on the bed.  His hips
were hunching and his hand was in his jeans.  My feet were paralyzed -- I
couldn't move -- only watch him.

Damn!  I was hard again immediately and leaking -- that was a surprise!  A
few moments later, a soft moan and he was still again -- his eyes still
closed and he relaxed back into sleep.  Tiptoeing in, I grabbed clean
underwear and dressed in the hallway before I went back in to find a clean
shirt and pants.

"You're not fat."  He said looking over his shoulder.

"No, I guess I'm regular, but fat or not, I like riding the bike.  Go
online and check out those stretchy bike shorts, I think we may need some."

"Can we cuddle some more?"  Temptation was at the front door with the key
in the lock.

"For a few minutes."  In my mind, the door just swung open wide for that
new feeling to take permanent residence inside me.  On my back, his small
body curled up beside me and put his head on my shoulder.  As if possessed,
my left arm reached over and drew him closer smelling a sweaty boy and
inhaled slowly and deeply through my nose.  Don't know why I didn't want to
miss a molecule of that!

He put his hand on my chest.  "You have a damp spot on your briefs."

"Men leak.  Can't help it."  Yeah, I was blushing, but paralyzed again --
couldn't move a muscle.

He snuggled closer, "I don't."

"You will soon enough."  I was trying to keep my manhood calm, but it was
so unreasonable in that moment.  A large, circus-sized tent sprung from my
y-fronts straining the fabric; I didn't move but I could feel more liquid
spotting the cotton.  The words of a priest from my childhood came back,
`Sex is a powerful force -- keep your lust in check or it'll drive you
crazy.'  Damn, he didn't tell me how to keep myself in check!  I closed my
eyes and bit my tongue.  "Give me strength..."

"Am I gonna be that big?"  I felt his small hand on my briefs.  My eyes
opened and I gasped.

"Probably..."  My voice wavered but I couldn't find it in myself to move
his hand.  This was so very, very wicked -- my beloved savior was probably
crying right now -- the heavenly choir was sobbing.  An iniquity alarm was
ringing somewhere in the back of my brain reminding me of sulfurous fumes
but I was helpless -- held captive by the need to feel the warmth of human
touch.

"This is not right.  We shouldn't be doing this."  Finally came out of my
mouth.

"What's wrong with it?  I just want to know."

In the spirit of being instructional, "Look it up on the computer."  Then,
I remembered a video of a man leaking pre-cum would probably be viewed on a
porn site.  But I began panting as his hand slipped under my briefs to feel
along my erection.  Couldn't help but push my briefs down and let the kid
find out what he wanted to know.

"If you keep that up, I'm going to ejaculate -- my semen..."  Well, it
came, and several thick spurts rushed out my slit, as my hips jerked and my
torso clenched several times.  "This is so wrong."  I was shaking my head.
"I'm so sorry.  Please forgive me -- the body is weak."

His hand fondled my scrotum and he glanced up at me from under his thick,
dark eyelashes, "Seemed more natural than wrong.  Aren't men supposed do
that?  You said it keeps world peace, looks like we're good for another
week or two."  That seemed to make sense in the moment.  His fingers played
in my semen and he took some on his finger and looked at it closely, then
tasted it.

"Oh, god!  Don't do that!"  I said, but something inside me was excited
when I saw his pink tongue lick his fingertip.

"It's okay, you said it was semen.  Mom always swallowed it.  I heard the
guys tell her to..."

"What?"  Then I remembered what he said his mom did for a living.  He went
on to explain that his mom brought her work home on weekends and he kept
his brother in the front room while his mom made some "overtime." The whole
time he related the incidents to me I was becoming more excited just
hearing the words coming from his lips.

"Shhh...  Enough.  I'm sure your mother loved you."  All this felt so
strange -- so foreign after years of satisfied celibacy, now listening to a
kid innocently explain about his experience with semen was disconcerting.
"Maybe we need to, uh -- um -- do the laundry so we'll be ready for school
and such."  My heart was beating like a drum in my chest.

"Will you see if I'm bruised?  I don't want to take my clothes off in front
of a nurse."  He asked, his voice soft and sweet.

I pulled my briefs up and went to the dresser and found a mirror.  "Check
yourself."  I had to turn away and dress, pulling my belt extra tight to
distract my errant penis from engorging again.  Crap, I was too old to
ejaculate more than once a week, and now...

"I can't see it."

"Okay."  I leaned over the half-naked body and saw his short, stubby and
very erect rod aiming upward, and one leg was out of his pants.  His
scrotum was tightly held against the base of his penis and almost the same
color as his lips.  Leaning over, "May I touch you?"

"Don't press."

There was a small dark spot.  I pressed around it to find it was the area
that covered his pubic bone.  "It should be alright.  Just a little bruise
over the bone."  Couldn't help but notice the thin, thready line that ran
from his scrotum to his anus.  So straight and dusty-colored against the
pale color of his flesh.  "Let's get the laundry done.  C'mon."  I had to
leave the bedroom.

***


I got through the rest of the day in the garage, straightening up all my
junk and making a place for the bikes -- we took a short ride through the
park and came back to have turkey and dressing.  I packed a lunch and got
his school schedule. "I'm going to ask Donna about getting you a tutor for
your math.  I'll be at the school at two-thirty.  Come to the office and
we'll get home as quick as we can to meet with Gerline."

After another shower, I went to bed and left Doug to put his laundry away
and pack his book bag.  In bed I tried reading my mother's old church
literature but I couldn't get past the memory of the boy touching me and my
incredible ejaculations.  Two within an hour!  Then, I surrendered and made
another slimy mess in my briefs as I remembered warm skin and gentle
touches.

What the hell was going on with my body?  My mind knew this was wrong but
didn't seem to care.  I just knew that every station of the cross had
someone wagging their finger and shaking their head.  Only prayers of
thanks came from my lips as my orgasm passed and I fell asleep.

***


Monday, I packed a new boy in my truck for school -- new jacket, new shoes,
jeans, backpack and a smile.  Off he went into the building with a new
bounce in new shoes.

I went back home and vacuumed, then straightened the kitchen all the while
pulling a ton of guilt behind me for my lustful thoughts.  Fortunately, I
didn't call the church and ask for counseling, instead I went online and
searched for some kind of help to avoid the darkness of my newly acquired
temptations.  The court of public opinion in a small town has a cold heart
and is quick to accuse on gossip and inuendo alone -- no acquittals
allowed.

As I read through some of the sites, I remembered several men, some
married, having to take their families and leave.  They may have been
homosexual, I didn't know them very well, but they were shunned by the
town, and the church -- excised from society.  I'd never known them to be
out of line with me or anyone else, but I never said that either.

I prayed silently for self-control and maturity. Maybe it was a sin to have
ignored that side of me -- a penis is part of the reflection of the divine
creator.  I decided to ride my new bike everyday -- maybe that would
release the excess sexual energy that was piling up inside my groin when I
was around Doug.  I'd simply tire myself out.

At two I placed a note pad and the application for Rafael's surgery on the
coffee table and left.  Donna met me in the front office at the school -- I
told her we needed to arrange for some math tutoring for Douglas Landres.

"You'll have to speak with the principal.  Let me see if she's available."
Soon I was in the principal's office I broke a sweat - not good memories in
there!  I'd gotten several swats for acting out in gym class aping the
coach.  I explained that Doug's mother was missing and Gerline, a social
worker and a nurse were meeting with me this afternoon, but in the
meantime, Doug had asked for math tutoring.

"He's been working at the Bi-Rite and trying to pay the rent himself to
finish the year.  We filed a missing person's report with the police for
his mother and brother...  Basically, things are in a state of flux for
him, but I'm trying to get him in to foster care with Gerline."

"Heart of gold, that Gerline..."  The principal said.  "Wait, he's only
twelve or thirteen, isn't he too young to work?"

"He was doing what he knew -- working to pay the rent.  I'm glad no one got
hold of him and taught him to steal or sell drugs.  Can you help with the
tutoring?"

She thought for a few moments, "I need someone to represent the boy who has
custody or some kind of legal standing while he's in school, but I'll put a
request in when the social worker calls me.  Here's my card, have someone
from Child Protective Services contact me."  I nodded and left to find my
boy waiting for me outside the office.  He gave me a hug right in the
hallway!  We left immediately.

Back at the house, I told him to get cleaned up -- he smelled like kid
sweat.  "Comb your hair and put on a clean shirt.  This is a big deal!"  At
three forty-five Gerline's truck pulled in the drive followed by two county
cars.  Meeting them at the door, I hugged Gerline.  She introduced Bernice
the nurse, I knew her face from church and Martina a young woman from
outside town -- she was the social worker.  Doug came in and introduced
himself, shaking hands with each woman, then sitting while I brought sodas.

"This is the boy that needs a home for a while?"  Gerline said, "What grade
are you in?"

He spoke about school and explained how we'd met at the Pecan Festival and
met again later after the church delivered Thanksgiving dinners.  "We went
to mass on Saturday -- I went to confession."  He told them like it earned
him some points.

I nodded, letting him lead his way, but added -- "We filed a police report
so they'd start looking for his mother and brother -- the youngest boy has
a disability.  Ask for it under my name, and phone number -- Doug doesn't
have a phone."

The social worker nodded and took a few notes.

"Look, I don't have the training to be a foster parent, but I do have a
strong interest in seeing this happen."  I handed them the application for
the facial surgery.  "Looks like he qualifies for consideration, but he
needs a parent or guardian to sign it for him."  That brought out the
electronic gizmos.

But Bernice looked at Douglas.  "When was the last time you've seen a
doctor or dentist -- can you see the board from your desk at school?"  I
looked at Doug.

"My mom had our vaccination cards, but It's been a long time since I saw a
dentist -- I saw the school nurse last winter when I had the flu."  Bernice
took Douglas into the kitchen with her laptop to complete an intake form.
I was left waiting, so I leaned back and prayed everything would go
smoothly.  The social worker took the printout about the surgery into the
kitchen and they spoke with Douglas, then they came out and Doug went to
the back bedroom.

"He's packing right now.  Tonight, he'll be at Gerline's and he'll be there
until we can see if she can get her license renewed.  If she can't get it
renewed within a few days, we'll move him to another home."

"Any way I can help, let me know.  I'd prefer he stayed with her."

"Why is that?"  Martina asked.

"She's near the school, and I know the boy will be safe with her.  By the
way, someone needs to call the principal -- Doug asked for tutoring to help
him catch up; she can't submit the request until a social worker calls."  I
handed her the principal's card.

She gave me a long look then nodded.  "Seems like you've got things under
control Mr. Gabe.  Nice thing to do for an -- well, almost a stranger."
She stared at me and asked, "Why didn't you call over the weekend?"

I knew what she was thinking and decided to keep the conversation on Doug's
needs, "He asked for tutoring, and it was an easy request.  What about the
application for surgery?"  I asked and saw Martina was watching my face and
thinking.

"Look, mister, we'll take care of all this.  The child protective system
understands the needs of young men and how to keep them safe...  You say
he's been here with you since Wednesday?"

Suddenly my hard drive needed destruction.  No there wasn't any porn, but
there were the sites I'd suggested Doug use to find out about child
predators and my searches for how to avoid becoming weird.

Bernice reviewed the paperwork for surgery, "Let me work on it, but you're
right -- physically and financially it looks like he's eligible -- but you
know it may take a while, and there's all the trips to the doctors and then
the surgery.  Sometimes things don't come out like we want.  It could wind
up being worse."

"Let's pray about it.  He wants this so much and I think he deserves a
chance."  I added.  Gerline and Bernice were old friends, I knew they were
in Doug's corner; wasn't sure about this new gal, but I offered to help.

Packing Doug's things in Gerline's truck I grabbed him around the shoulder,
"Help Gerline and do your best in school.  I'll get you a phone so we can
talk."  He nodded.  "Back door is always unlocked."  I whispered.

He nodded again and hugged me, then got in the truck and they were gone.

***


My home felt dark and empty, and there was some relief that I wouldn't be
tempted again, but that was quickly outweighed with worry.  I got on my
bike and cycled through the park then by the row of old shotgun houses.  I
kept riding in the dark, passing the street lights, counting them along the
way until I'd circled the entire town and went back home.  Four hundred and
twenty-three street lights -- three with burned-out bulbs.

In the shower I stroked like a seventeen-year-old and groaned loudly as my
load arced across the tiles.  Yeah, I went online that night and downloaded
some information, reviewing it carefully, making notes with pen and paper.
Then I went over my phone contract.

When I was done, I did something I really didn't want to do -- I took my
computer out behind the garage and poured salt in all the vents and open
spaces, then gasoline.  I let that sit for a while, then hosed it again
till I was sure it was ruined.  Leaning it against the wall, I let it dry
on the back porch and went to a box filled with my parent's papers and
started rummaging for some information Dad had told me about when we had
the old house torn down.

***


The next day I went to the electronics store at the strip mall and bought a
phone and put Doug on my plan, then straight to Gerline's.

"They took him to Marshall this morning -- all his paperwork, everything."
She said at the door.

"Marshall, Texas?"

"Yep.  Martina said they had a group home for troubled boys there."

"Doug wasn't troubled -- he had troubles but not of his causing."

"Sorry Gabe, I did my best -- but if they don't find his mom, his odds of
being adopted are zero because he's older and the state can't keep a child
in foster care for more than a year -- all the homes are full of younger
kids.  That's what Martina told me.  And I couldn't get my license renewed
-- too old now."

I wondered what was going on but I suspected an ambitious young social
worker with a savior complex was trying to score points with her
supervisor.

***


The week was unsettling -- my routine was broken by a distant vibration,
like some strange oscillation from beyond the horizon.  I couldn't shake it
-- and I couldn't concentrate on my usual chores or radio programs.
Something strange was happening so I called Gerline again, asking her about
the group home in Marshall, but she didn't know anything about it.  I went
to the library and got on their computer and researched: "Group home,
troubled boys, Marshall, Tx."

To my surprise there were several news articles about abuse in a group home
in Marshall from the previous year.  There was no mention of the name of
the group home, of course the address wasn't published; I expected that,
but I continued following the news articles through the updates.  Looked to
me like the non-profit that was running the home went defunct after legal
actions began.  The article listed charges against the management; physical
abuse, theft and assaults among the kids...  All that and the group home
had held an "A" rating from the state before the problems.  No information
on the new management.

Stopping by the church on the way home, I went into the office and asked
for Father Kennedy.  It took a few minutes, but he came in from the altar
guild meeting, greeting me.  "Did you get back with Bill over at Bi-Rite?"
He chuckled.

"Not yet.  Do you remember that boy who was with me in the confessional?"

"Didn't really see him, but he's not a member, is he?"

"No."  I went on to explain how I'd met Doug, and Gerline and Bernice, then
I explained about the social worker, but only in positive terms.  "I just
want to help the boy.  Can you find out where he is now?"

Father Kennedy motioned me to his office, "Gabe, you know I've got a lot of
respect for you...  I know you've always been a faithful member, but
remember Father Matthew?  The one with the goatee?"

"Sure, where'd he go?"

"Well, it's like this..."  He shut the door.  "Just want to help the boy?"
Kennedy shook his head, "Exactly what Father Matthew said about Romero.
Remember the light-haired acolyte?"  He lifted his eyebrows asking me if I
understood.

Romero was such a beautiful boy -- he jumped off the overpass in front of a
truck when he was twelve, two years after his family left the church.  The
entire town was shocked.  "What happened?"

"Made inappropriate advances...  Just trying to help the boy."

All this caught me off guard.  I could only stare and think for a few
moments.  I wasn't going to get any further help with finding Doug here and
felt insulted with Kennedy.

"I'll pray for the boy's soul."  This was the first time I'd heard about
Father Matthew and the boy.

"Pray for the diocese -- we made a huge settlement."

In that moment I was really ticked that my tithes were paying to cover the
abuse of an uncontrolled priest.  A male prostitute would have been
cheaper, much more discrete and non-lethal.  As I left, I realized that
what Father Matthew had done had been cast at my feet as though I had the
same thoughts and proclivities.

 I didn't!

***


The next few days were discomfiting -- I'd never been treated like this for
my generosity -- never thought I would be.  Helping a child was putting me
in a strange place with old friends and people I'd known all my life;
people who'd known me since I was born.  That, and a nagging feeling that
something was wrong about that group home...  I didn't know what to do, so
I biked in longer loops through the farmlands outside of town in the chilly
air of November.

Several weeks later on a Saturday morning, I decided to go to the
café for waffles.  Reading the newspaper, I ate alone.  On the way
home, I got a collect call and pulled to the shoulder of the road.  It was
Doug.

"Where'd you find a pay phone?"  He was outside a Stuckley's snack bar and
rest stop outside of Longview - the ones that advertise candy, gas and
clean restrooms all along the highways -- usually about twenty miles
outside towns and cities.

"Come get me!"  He said.  "Please..."  His voice trailed off.

"What happened?

"You'll see."  He was sniffling.  "Please come get me. Please?"

"Stay there, I'm on my way."  An hour later, I found him standing on the
edge of the parking lot, watching for me.  He jumped in, the hood of a
thin, gray sweatshirt around his face, ragged jeans and no jacket!  His
shoes were old and several sizes too large.

"You okay?"  I asked as he got in the truck.

He pushed the hood back -- his hair was gone, maybe only an eighth of an
inch of dark stubble, making the scars more prominent.  One eye was swollen
and his lip was full and cracked -- he'd been beaten.

"My god!"  I studied his face and glanced at his body.  He was trembling.

"Some of the guys cut my hair at night -- chopped off the top, and the
staff gave me a buzz cut the next day.  The bigger guys beat me and stole
my bike all my clothes and my money - everything.  I couldn't take it
anymore.  I hid in the back of a delivery truck when the guy brought
cleaning supplies."

"Did anyone hurt you -- I mean, like sexually?"  He didn't answer for a
while and turned his head to look out the window.  After a few moments he
began crying.  My eyes stung as well, but I got on the road.  "Me and my
friend Jonathan both got it, and several other of the smaller boys..."

"Where is Jonathan now?"

He shrugged.  "Don't know -- he took off the night it happened."

"Have you ever been to Ft. Worth?"  I put my handkerchief on his thigh and
patted it.

"No."

"You're going to now."

***


We pulled into a convenience store and got some really crappy hotdogs and a
knit hat Doug could pull down over his scar and most of his forehead.  In
the parking lot, I called my brother.

"Pete, this is Gabe.  Now, I don't call you often, but I need help.  Like
today."

"Hey, you ol' goat.  When did you take up the bottle?"  He chuckled, he was
a DUI attorney -- lotsa business in Texas where the national sport is
guzzling.  "What's up?"

Briefly I explained meeting Doug, and then having to give him up to the
system, "and did you hear about a group home in Marshall that was in
trouble last year?"

"Won't that case ever die?  We heard about it.  Terrant County was sending
boys over there -- the case raised a lot of commotion around here.  I heard
they settled with non-disclosures.  The non-profit closed its doors but
opened them under another name and took over again with most of the same
staff.  You wanna know the dirtiest part of that?  They put bounties on the
boys -- every social worker that gave them a referral walked away with at
least seven-fifty on the q.t... Troubled boys, my ass -- criminal adults!"

"My friend Doug was there.  He called me from the road to come pick him up
today -- he, uh, hitchhiked with a delivery guy from the group home.  Can
you help get him out of there and with me, or someone I can trust?"

There was a long pause.  "How close are you with this boy -- does he have
drug problems? Does he have a record?"

"None of that.  Look, I just want to help the kid get some surgery -- I
promised him I'd help, but I want to see him survive this mess and he needs
to be in school."

"Is he with you?  Can I talk to him?"

"Sure."  I handed the phone to Doug -- "This is my brother Pete, he's a
lawyer."  Doug took the phone.

For the next fifteen minutes, I only heard a few things; his age, yes, no,
and a few other things and filing the missing person's report on his family
with the police.  There was a pause, then Doug said the words, "Rape, um --
theft and they cut all my hair off."

Then, Pete was doing the talking.  Doug held the phone down and punched a
few buttons; I think he sent the picture of himself we'd taken in the
bathroom, then Doug described what he was wearing and hit the speaker
button.

"You still driving that old piece-a-shit Chevy?"  Pete asked.

"No, got a black GMC pickup, jerk.  I loved that Chevy.  Why?"

"Doug's going to tell you where to go.  Wait in the parking lot for a beige
Toyota Camry -- look for a dark-haired woman driving it -- that's Rosa, she
works for me.  Tell Doug to -- well, he knows the rest.  Then, go back home
and wait for me to call.  Do not mention you called me or where Doug is --
you haven't seen him since he left with Gerline and the social worker."

"This is pretty mysterious -- am I in trouble?  People think I'm some kind
of strange in town."

"No.  You're not in trouble and I'm going to keep it that way - just do
what the kid says."  He hung up.

Doug was already on his new phone.  He found the place where we were to go.

"Corsicana?  Oh, man!"  We drove three hours the small town and into the
parking lot of a very small clinic with an emergency room that served the
rural area and waited.  Doug ran off to the edge of the parking lot and
crossed the highway to get us some water while I watched him in the
rearview mirror but kept an eye out for the Toyota.  We waited and waited;
Doug fell asleep, but I woke him when the dark-haired woman pulled in
alongside us.

"Wake up.  She's here."  He nodded, but I grabbed his arm.  "Are you
comfortable with all this?  You haven't even met my brother, but he's a
good guy.  Trust me."

"I know."  He opened his phone and showed me a picture of my brother with
his family.  Then he flipped the screen and there was a picture of a
dark-haired woman.  Rosa.

"Wait till Rosa and Pete tell you it's alright to call me.  You know I'll
come anytime, anywhere, but I think you're safe now."  Doug got out and the
woman rolled her window down and they spoke.  Couldn't hear what they said,
but Doug turned to me and waved.  I left that precious boy alone with a
someone I didn't know.  All the way home, I played the radio trying to lift
my anxiety, but I knew Pete would do right by Doug.

***

Pete called on Sunday.  I hadn't left the house, not sure if he would call
my land line or my cell.  On pins and needles, I waited still feeling
unsettled but not as much.

"Sorry it took so long for me to get back to you, but we had to wait for
some test results.  Are you sitting down?"

"Shit!  Bad news."  I thought.  "Yeah, what happened?"

"Doug was roughed up, and -- uh, there were sexual assaults...  Several of
the younger kids got worked over the same way.  We notified the state and
the county about it and put an alert out for one of the boys who ran away."

"Gabe, Rosa took Doug into the ER after you left.  She's a social worker
and told them she suspected problems at his group home.  Doug didn't have
any ID or any paperwork, so they took her word and he got a rape kit done
and a very thorough physical.  We'll be representing him at the hearing
until he gets a decent attorney appointed for him."

"Where is he now?"

"With Rosa -- she has several very young children.  She's taking Doug for
counseling, he was upset about the exam, but you know they need the swabs
for the DNA tests."  Pete took a deep breath, "For the time being, he's
fed, and cared for and my wife's taking over some clothes and things for
him."

"Good."  Pete's wife was always a sweetheart and doted on me when we were
together.  "What about his schooling?  Can I help?"

"Lie low for now -- just go on about your business.  Rosa's got him doing
the online classes and Gabe -- you and Doug have stirred up a fire ant
hill.  The state and two counties are going to investigate and some
children's rights group. This is gonna be big when it blows."

I didn't care about the politics, "Look, Pete -- the kid needs surgery.
You've seen his face..."

"Rosa's on that already.  I'll call you back later."  He hung up.

***


That week I attended mass, but no more confessions from me until the church
confessed keeping an abusive priest on payroll.  I didn't contribute; no
tithes, no donations.  Furthermore, I openly asked about the finances in
the monthly business meeting, "Can anyone here check and see if there's
been a settlement by the diocese regarding the actions of an abusive
priest?"

Well, the silence in the room was complete.

"In the name of" I paused, "Romero and the other children we don't know
about, I want to see the pay-offs we made.  The money needs to be
accompanied by an apology and changes in the church."

"God's work must continue..."  One of the men said.

"You call that God's work?"  I was so angry, I shook.  "They're vulnerable
children, one is dead and we don't know how many more."

No one else spoke, just studied the papers in front of them.

I took that as their shame and again asked for a copy of the expenditures
over a hundred thousand dollars from all the accounts in the past ten
years.  There were a few raised eyebrows, but what did I have to lose?
They'd pegged me for a perv -- even my old friend Israel didn't return my
calls.  I signed up for the food distribution but no one called to schedule
me.  I was blacklisted and didn't mind not being part of this kind of
institution.

If confession is good for the soul, the soul of the church was sick.  My
behaviors were honorable with Doug -- almost got out of hand, but I was
strong enough to rebuff the temptation.  Now, I'd called the hand of their
god with one question and they were going to have to fold or show.  They
chose to delay their disclosure.  Couldn't force them to show yet but their
stalling couldn't last forever.

Tuesday afternoon, I got a text message -- a photo of an appointment card.
Doug was seeing a plastic surgeon.  I almost cried!  Immediately, there was
a photo of a pair of long shorts, black...  What's that about?  Then, I
realized that was his bike shorts -- someone had gotten him a bike -- he
was back riding now.  All that meant he was doing well.  That was such good
news, I rode around town twice that evening!

Damn, I needed those slippery, stretchy shorts, too!

***


Well, I went back to the finance committee meeting the next time they met.
I hadn't heard from any of them and asked again for the financial
statements regarding large pay-outs.  Nothing but excuses and delays from
the board so I upped the pressure, "Do I need to ask the state to audit the
diocese to get this information?  If there's nothing to hide, there
shouldn't be any problem.  What's going on?"

Nerf answers, more delays and the head of the financial group said that the
quarterly statements were being compiled...  Blah! Blah! Blah!  "Okay. I'll
have to go elsewhere for my answers."  With that, I left the room.  I was
getting pablum answers while the priests were cannibalizing the kids!

That night I called Pete and asked what I could do.  He told me to be quiet
and wait.  He also invited me to a family reunion during the week between
Christmas and New Year's Eve.  Yeah, Doug would be there for the holidays
with Rosa and her family.  Doug was in counseling and doing great in his
classes and looked very happy.  Pete's picture only showed him sitting on
the couch with two small kids on his lap, I couldn't see much, but he was
smiling and sporting several small bandages on his face.  "He had some
surgery, the rest will take place in a few more months.  Don't be surprised
when you see him.  Looks a little patchy right now, but things are coming
along."

"That's the best present I could get, but is there anything I could bring?
What would he like for Christmas?"

"Now that he's eating regularly, he's hit a growth spurt and he needs
clothes -- why don't you take him out for new shirts and jeans?  He might
like skates or a skate board...  I don't know - ask him when you get here."

"How's the lawsuit coming along?"

"The group home was closed immediately, they've placed the kids all over
the state.  But, just like the last time, they want to settle with Doug and
several other boys who didn't run away and disappear.  That's a whole other
issue.  The staff got hit with endangerment and falsification of records,
and -- whew!  The list of charges was incredible."

"As long as Doug's okay, I'm happy.  Do you think I could take the kids to
Six Flags for the day?"

"Ask him, Six Flags is usually packed on the holidays."

"Pete, is he upset with me about getting him into this mess?"

"He asked me several times to make sure I invited you, I think he wants to
see you again."

That felt good to hear.  We talked for a while, and I was satisfied with
Doug's arrangement.  I had some other fish to fry before I left town for
the reunion.

***


I cleaned house, and I mean cleaned!  All the old junk went out, all the
heirlooms I packed neatly and then I made some phone calls to realtors.  To
be honest, I was sick of this small town -- the way they'd treated Doug and
me!  If a baby boy was born in this town and a star shone brightly in the
east, they'd probably kill the gift bearers after they abused and separated
the young family and sold them all to the highest bidder.

But I was riding high with the news about Doug's first surgery and him
growing -- back at his studies and living in a safe place.  Maybe I'd done
some good, but I was a fool to lose him to the government system -- a
first-class, ignorant fool, I'd never do that again!  The thought of seeing
him lifted my spirits and I went out every afternoon to make sure I brought
as many pecans as I could for everyone then baked my specialty -- pumpkin
pies.  I left on the twenty-fourth and texted Doug, "C U soon?"

He sent back a photo of an old red English bike.  "YYYYY!"  Took me several
minutes to figure out that code; I was even more excited when I did.

***

Pete's house was decorated and lit beautifully.  Warm and cozy inside and
hugs all around from my brothers and sisters, and so many nieces, nephews,
and grandnieces and grandnephews!  It was a mob scene but I was looking for
Doug.  He'd be there later with Rosa's family, so I rounded up my nieces
and nephews and we unloaded the truck -- no way to wrap all the cardboard
boxes so we set them around in the living room and stuck bows on them.

All our parent's heirlooms would be distributed as presents -- they could
share and exchange them as they wanted, but I wanted them out of the house.
Why?  Because I listed my house with a realtor with specific instructions
about the buyer.  A man had approached my dad years ago, I hoped he was
still interested.

Not only was I sick of that town, I was sick of the straightjacket of
ignorance they bound me and probably a lot of other people into.  Divine
intervention, meeting Doug.  He opened my eyes, and I wasn't going to play
their game any longer.  The rest of my life would be very different -- I'd
be appreciated and respected for being the good man I am.

***


Per tradition, we all had a glass of wine, and I began shelling pecans as
my sisters and I reminisced and caught up on the news in our lives.
Clearly, I remember I was laughing about her attempts to remove a wasp nest
with a burning broom and setting the eaves afire.  I was laughing so hard,
I almost wet my pants when I felt a hand on my shoulder.  I turned around,
still chuckling and saw a different Doug.

My heart stopped, I couldn't breathe for a moment.  In front of me stood a
full-faced boy, smiling -- he was no longer staring at the ground under his
long, dark hair.  The deep, curved indentations were filled and his skin
was smooth.  His hair was cut short and spiked on the top, rather stylish,
and the eyebrow that had carried a deep furrow was now filled though a
little pink strip remained.  Transfixed, I couldn't speak.  The boy was an
angel -- smooth skin and those beautiful, full lips.  He grinned.

Grabbing him, I held him against me and hugged, feeling his arms slip
around my waist.  "You're so beautiful!"  Tears came to my eyes, "Well, you
always were, but this is almost unbelievable!"

"Not done yet, Gabe.  One more surgery."  He blushed.  "I don't want so
much attention right now -- makes me uncomfortable."  He whispered,
surprising me -- he was articulating himself clearly.  Far cry from the
silent boy standing on my back porch in October.

"Sorry!"  I pulled a chair out for him and he sat to shell nuts with us,
sitting quietly and watching me.  My sister went on and on about her
children and their lives in college.  My eyes kept going back to Doug's
face -- fantastic what the doctor had done.  Doug was being shy and didn't
say much but glanced at me often and gave me very tiny smiles.  Yeah, he
was proud.

Finally, my sister got up to help with the dinner.

"Are you alright now?  Are you safe?"  I asked softly.

"Yeah, it's great.  I miss you."

"How'd it go in with the lawyers and all?"

"Pete says I did great, but it wasn't real court.  It was all closed, you
know.  The other boys and me -- we're underage so we didn't have to do
anything in public.  I don't want to discuss that right now."

Nodding, "Where's your bike?"

"C'mon, I'll show you!"  We went out to the garage and he showed me an
older, but a sleek red English bike.  "Your nephew came home on break -- he
got a new one and gave me his old one.  We go to the bike paths."  As he
spoke, he slipped his arms around me.  "Can I come live with you?  I miss
you.  All these people are nice to me, but I miss you -- it's calm around
you."

"I'll talk to Pete about that, but I may not be in the old homestead much
longer -- selling it."  He looked somewhat dejected, but I lifted his chin
and kissed his forehead.  "Enough of that news, do you want to go to Six
Flags while I'm here -- we can ask your friends to come."

"Ask Rosa -- I have two shoots this week."

"You mean shots?  At the doctor's office?"

"No, photo shoots for catalogues -- you know.  I'm a model now."

A shiver ran up my spine -- I'd heard about photographers and the modeling
industry.  "Really?  What are you modeling?"

"Last Saturday it was," He thought for a moment, "Kids pajamas and socks,
rubber boots and Cowboy's team shirts.  I'm a perfect size so I get called
a lot.  Well, that and I'm not as fussy as the other models.  We have to
wait around a long time."

"Is someone with you?  Who is `we?'"

"I model with Rosa's son -- he's seven.  Rosa's sister comes and holds the
baby blanket -- sometimes we don't have a dressing area so she finds a
corner and holds the blanket for us to get dressed."

Nodding, "They photograph your face?"

"Not yet, mostly it's just my waist down, maybe my neck down -- my feet and
legs.  They have to save space in the catalogues so it's only partial-body.
Rosa saves the money for us -- we have our own bank accounts."

That sounded alright.  "Do you need some new clothes or do they give you
the clothes you model?"

"I wouldn't wear a Cowboys shirt!  I want one of those shirts you got me
before -- do you remember that deep bluish-green one?"

Hugging him back, "We'll go tomorrow -- if you're not working."  Seems like
I'd said like that before.

During dinner, Rosa and her sister were glad to tell us about the kids
modeling, and it sounded almost as hard as working Bi-Rite.  Sheesh!  But
the kids paid the sister for her day watching over them and Doug had
several thousand dollars in his college account.

***


The next day, everyone opened their gifts.  Pete and his wife bought me a
bike helmet and gloves.  That stinker Doug bought me a pair of bike shorts.
No, I didn't try them on to show everyone how they fit.  But it was a great
day and I was delighted when Rosa brought Doug and her children over for
the day.

We played in the pool for a while and all twenty of us went to services
together.  I sat with Doug, proud and happy.  Pete and his family are
Unitarian -- a bit odd, but uplifting service.  We honored all refugee and
immigrant children struggling alone in the cold.  That brought a tear to my
eye as I remembered Doug living alone before all this mess started, and I
felt grateful he was safe and healthy now.

All the time, I kept glancing at Doug -- he was simply angelic.  Beautiful
and had a very quiet, but responsive demeanor. I was sure he was still
getting counseling but didn't know how to ask without embarrassing him.

***


Six days in the packed house full of every age of kid was enough.  Nieces,
nephews, grandnieces and grandnephews, in-laws and too much rich food, I
was ready to go home.  On New Year's Eve, I packed my truck and we all went
to Rosa's house for dinner.  What a lay-out for a social worker!  I had to
ask Pete, "I thought social workers were underpaid -- what does she do in
your office?"

"Before we go to court she manages the custody of my client's children;
locates family...  She finds a rehab program for the client and gets the
family into counseling -- the woman's a whiz helping me prep.  She knows
the paperwork like she designed it herself -- worked her way through
college as a paralegal.  When the people who can afford me go to court, we
have the plan worked out for the judge.  The drunks get a lighter sentence
and some of them actually stay sober.  Cuts everyone's time and I bill for
her services."

"That's good."  I thought about Doug's family -- and that Doug was the only
one trying to hold them together.  "Does she have a husband?"

"Sure, he's part of special forces.  He likes Doug, though he doesn't
really know him.  Special forces have been heavy in the middle east for the
past several years.  He's not home very often."

Doug was back in a home with a working mother, young children and without
an adult male in the house.  I preferred that he have a father, but that
could be problematic in the foster system.

Pete looked at me for a moment, "You're going to ask me if you can adopt
the boy, right?"

"I was thinking -- but I don't know if I'd qualify."

"Rosa can't keep him till he's eighteen Gabe.  Sure, the state gives her a
stipend to keep Doug and I give her a monthly bonus but her family need
their privacy.  She's been more than generous - so I stepped ahead of you
and looked into guardianship.  You'd need to be a resident of Terrant
County.  If you'd move, I'd like having my little brother around again -
all us kids together again with a new nephew.  Lot more fun here."

"I put the house on the market."  I told Pete.  "Was thinking of Austin or
Palacious -- you know, music, arts, lots of color..."  I lied about that.
"And speaking of different cities, have you heard anything about Doug's mom
and his little brother?"

"Not a word.  But, hey little bro, move over here -- Lavon or Double Oak
are nice.  I'll send you the name of my real estate agent."

That trip went very well.  Now I could call Doug.  Driving home, I felt
very satisfied about calling Pete, should have called him earlier, but
things were smoothing out in front of Doug and me after too many needless
heartaches.

***


Yeah, my house was almost empty, but I kept a card table, bed and a few
things.  I called a charity from another town to come for the tools in the
shed and the last few odds and ends.

After faithfully attending over fifty holiday masses, no one called from
the church, and I didn't care.  Never got the paperwork about the payouts
so I notified the state that I'd heard there was a settlement over child
abuse by the priests.  Sure, I told them that there was a suicide involved
-- the suicide of a child. Now it was in their lap to investigate.

The next several weeks I worked on my real estate deal -- selling the old
house and the several acres it sat on.  Found that buyer that had spoken to
my father years ago and worked a hard deal.  Wound up getting a long-term
lease, and that was fine.  Another income.

I went back into Fort Worth to accompany Doug to his second surgery and was
surprised that they were changing his hairline and transplanting hair on
his eyebrow -- I thought he was fine, but this doctor was a real stickler
for detail.  After Doug's surgery, the doctor asked me if I wanted a little
"age regression" and touched my cheek.

 I thought she was talking about infantile dementia.  "Not today."

Pete's real estate agent found a duplex -- rather run down in my opinion,
but we bought it together for a song in a short sale and I lived with Pete
and his wife during the remodeling.  My job was to watch the contractors
and sub-contractors polish the duplex back into livable shape.  After all,
I had experience with contracts and contractors after managing the roads
for the county.  It seemed like slow going, but Doug came sometimes and
shared lunch with me. He was excited about going to court with me for
guardianship.

His legs lengthened and he grew a little taller.  I noticed that his
shoulders were wider, not much.  He was still boyish, but now with a big
smile.  We rode our bikes around the neighborhood of the duplex, near the
school he'd attend, and checked out all the shops and parks.  I felt like a
new man in a lot of ways -- new life, new house, new friends.  In case you
didn't notice -- no new church!

Within several months I was sure I'd be no slum-lord.  Fancy stainless
steel kitchen appliances, walk in shower with a bench, and shiny wooden
floors -- a patio and hot tub were all in place.  Pete's wife came to
decorate -- the place looked like a showroom.  And it was.  She took photos
and flipped them over so they'd look like the layout of the apartment next
door and posted them on line.  Pete explained how to set up my accounts for
depositing rents, paying taxes and all the details -- he was a genius!  I'd
pay almost nothing to live in a gorgeous house with Doug.

***


The day Doug and I went to court, Pete, his family, Rosa and her family and
a lot nieces and nephews who lived close by showed up.  It all happened
before I could get my bearings!  After signing a few papers, and lots of
hugs and kisses from everyone, we went my new home and welcomed the newest
member of our family.

The celebration was great -- music, food, lots of chatter and boxes of
gifts.  Doug was being bashful -- I'll admit it was a little overwhelming
but he dropped that after I told him to give everyone a tour of the house
and the yard.  Then, he kept his face behind his phone snapping photos.

That night our new home felt strangely empty -- suddenly silent.  Just Doug
and me, but we were tired and ready for bed early.  I was in a deep
loveseat by the window in my new bedroom, reviewing the rental contract
clauses on my laptop when Doug came in.  "It's so empty here, I liked your
old house.  It was cozier."

"It'll start looking like home when our junk starts piling up.  Do you
think you can be happy here?"

"Yeah."  He threw my sheets back and got in my bed, curled up and fell
asleep.  "Come to bed."  I heard him whisper.  Beside an angel, I held him
and squeezed him against me like I hadn't seen him in years.  "I missed you
-- I was so worried."

"I missed you, too.  But I need to go to confession."

"Why?"

"The last time we - well, I touched you.  Didn't ask your consent -- that's
against the law."

"Adults get in trouble for not correcting the situation, the kids are
considered unknowing.  Hard for a kid to force an adult into anything."

"I know.  I was curious and stupid.  Will you forgive me?"

"No forgiveness needed."  I nuzzled his hair, breathing deeply.  The deep,
primal satisfaction of skin on warm skin in loving embrace pushed through
me.  As I held him against me, my erection grew.  Doug must have been able
to feel it.  I backed away from him, "Sorry about that."

"My shrink says not to worry about getting hard-ons in bed.  Just wear
pajama bottoms at night or briefs.  It's gonna happen."

"Yeah."  The counselor was right.  "Did you tell her about..."

"I told her what I did.  She said I must have scared you to death."  He
chuckled.

"You surprised me for sure."  My curiosity spoke, "What do you talk about?
Do you like her?"

"Dr. Cassandra's smart.  Yeah, I like her a lot.  We talk about boundaries,
um, puberty, bodies and things like that.  I crossed your boundaries
without asking you."  He stopped for a minute.  "You can meet her on
Tuesday afternoon.  Will you come in with me?"

"Guardians do that."  I kissed his hair and pulled him against me and we
fell asleep.

***


We went to a shoot on Tuesday morning and were there till two.  Amazing how
much money Doug earned for sitting around most of the time, but the photos
were done and we left for my new passion -- Chinese food!  Doug only wanted
eggrolls, but I got the noodles -- scrumptious!  Then, off to the
counselor's office.  No, I wasn't ashamed or upset at all.  I hadn't done
anything wrong and Doug and I were happy.  That's what life is about,
right?

Was I surprised!  Dr. Cassandra was a few inches short of five feet tall.
She looked like a child herself but had a direct approach.  She wouldn't
let Doug wait outside, "No secrets, everything out in the open -- clear
communications!"  That surprised me, but I liked the gal.  She got my
contact information and Doug showed her some photos of our new house and
the party.  She asked me about my background and I explained briefly.  She
seemed pleased.  Was this the appreciation and respect I'd wanted?

We talked for about ninety minutes as she explained that she and Doug were
discussing integrity and pride and they'd come to the point about
manipulating people and some of the common strategies people use to coerce
others.  I learned a lot!

As we left, she said she'd send emails every week about the things that she
discussed with Doug.  "He gets the same information, nothing hidden, unless
Doug wants me to keep things between us and I won't break confidentiality."
Yeah, Dr. Cassandra was smart -- I respected and appreciated that.

After a long day, Doug and I took a five-mile spin and hit the showers --
he had two days of online classes to finish the next day.

In bed, holding him next to me, I felt complete.  Nothing but satisfied and
complete.

***


Didn't realize it but accompanying Doug to his classes at the community
center, making sure he kept up online and going to shoots was more than a
full-time job some days.  He was a part-time student, and a part-time
professional and bringing in a consistent income to his account.  Some days
I felt like I was holding down a full-time job just dealing with his work
and classes.

All of this was changing me.  I was meeting so many new people, and
watching so many new things happen around me, especially on the sets.
Couldn't help but ask what one of the girls was doing before she went on
the set -- she was rubbing her front teeth with her index finger.  One of
the mothers used a small tube of petroleum jelly on her daughter's teeth
before they went on camera.  "Let's her lips move across her teeth when she
smiles, they dry out under the lights."

The mom and I sat in the shadows and she opened her "fix it" bag and gave
me a tour of baby-butt wipes, small bandages, water, snacks, oils and
equipment including electronic pocket games and books she kept for her
daughter.  She explained about makeup removal pads and curling irons...
There was a bag of personal products for women, I pointed at them.  She
explained that sometimes her girl "leaked" a little when she needed to pee
while on the set.

"We practice at home so she can hold it enough to finish the shoot, then to
the restroom..."  Her daughter was five, and that seemed somewhat extreme
to me.  Doug and I visited the restroom before his makeup, but I wondered
if Doug was uncomfortable on set.  Didn't seem so.

With some discretion, she gave me the name of a dermatologist, "Your
grandson's getting to an age where he might have a few break-outs...."  She
gave me the name of a pimple cream.  "You'll probably need some of this.
The makeup artists will cover it up and they'll airbrush the photos, but it
can be a problem if it gets out of hand.  He'll lose work."  She gave me
the name of her nail salon -- "Mani and pedi once a month.  No polish!"

Sending a discrete email to Pete's wife, I asked her to help me find a
purse for a man to carry Doug's junk in.  "Whaza matter, bro-in-law?  Don't
want to be seen in the purse department?"  She sent a photo of one of her
sequined evening bags.

"This is Texas, men don't carry purses!"  The next day she sent pictures of
two leather bags -- some things Pete used a few times but weren't big
enough for all his stuff.  "Come by and pick them up."

Life rocked along smoothly but we had no weekends -- shoots were on any day
and evenings.  Arrangements and getting the preferred camera, sound,
lighting technicians and a studio were coordinated without regard to models
lives.  Younger children fell asleep sometimes and threw tantrum that
delayed the schedule; some of the older teens snarled and cursed.  Doug and
I watched and said nothing.  Through all this, Doug stayed calm but
sometimes I knew he was tired or anxious.  Along with his online classes,
he attended an acting class and a dance class at the community college.

"Maybe we need to cut back your schedule, I don't want you to get like
those kids.  We have enough money to live on without touching your
accounts.  You might like public school."

"If my mom sees me, she can find me."  He said, "If I make enough money, I
can help them."  His family was still driving his work, and I understood
that.

Doug was reading through a list of Classic Western Literature for one of
his online courses and I saw him tensing and relaxing his leg muscles and
stretching as he read.  We needed to ride our bikes, but he would walk a
hallway or read keeping himself tethered to his work.  I read through all
the emails and articles Dr. Cassandra sent me in the shadows of the sets
while Doug worked.

In hindsight, maybe I should have noticed the eighteen-wheeler on the
horizon in my mind, but I didn't.  I was distracted by a very lengthy
two-day shoot he did for a sports equipment company.  Skateboards, skates,
all the pads and helmets, wet suits, and snappy outfits.  But it was
grueling; changes, makeup checks, hair stylists, shoots again.  The cycle
repeated itself the second day -- it was almost too much for the kids.  I
saw Doug making suggestions to the camera man and the director when it came
to the bikes.

Of course, he knew about bikes and the right height for the kids and their
positions with the equipment.  The better the shoot, the better for
everyone.  This was an international catalogue, it paid well and would up
Doug's career.  Wasn't sure if it was worth it though.

I remember that shoot well.  Dr. Cassandra sent a folder with seventeen
articles to review on puberty, dating, sexual experimentation and
sexuality.  There was an article on depression and suicide among teens.
That was disturbing, I looked up at Doug, holding his pose and smiling.
Was he depressed?

***


On the way home I told Doug we were taking two weeks off.  "Calling your
agent in the morning.  Okay?"

He didn't say anything, he was exhausted.  We made grilled cheese and soup
and went to bed.  He'd hardly eaten anything.  I noticed dark shadows under
his eyes.

Doug slept in the next morning.  I stood in the hallway with my phone in
hand, "Cancel that short shoot in Dallas.  We're worn out -- the last shoot
was too much."  Doug's agent complained a bit but finally agreed.

I went back to my computer and reviewed the material that Dr. Cassandra
sent me.  Wanted to call her, but Doug was asleep and didn't want to unless
he could hear everything we discussed.  At noon, Doug woke up while I was
cleaning and doing laundry.  We had to grocery shop -- he had special
things he liked and I needed my junk.  Several stores...  I made a list,
looking forward to going out, but Doug only drank some juice and went back
to bed.

Bad sign!  I followed him and lay down on his bed beside him,
"Dr. Cassandra sent me some articles, one was about depression -- said kids
can hurt themselves.  Anorexia and cutting...  Kinda scared me.  Are you
feeling, uh, hopeless or depressed?  Maybe your mom hasn't seen you -- I'm
sure she still loves you."

"I get anxious sometimes, a little scared."

"What are you anxious about?  Did someone upset you on that last shoot?"

"No.  I just get anxious.  I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Can we talk later?"

"Maybe."

"We'll talk later.  Let's get up and get back into our routine.  C'mon.
Routines are predictable -- no stress today."  Before he got up, he put his
arms around me and thanked me.  He held his embrace and kissed my neck.
The warmth of his embrace brought my arms around him.  "I love you so much.
Whatever's going on, we'll take care of it."

***


Once we were in the grocery store, Doug's spirits picked up as he loaded
our basket with popcorn and pizza -- he loved fresh fruit.  He read the
labels on some sauces for pasta and tossed them in alongside my cans of
pumpkin and a turkey breast.  Maybe comfort food might help, and a card
game over dinner...

Tearing the bottom of my list off, I handed it to Doug.  "Go get the
detergent and this other stuff."  He was off as I finished on the cereal
aisle, then went to the dairy section.  Where was Doug?  I continued over
to the freezers, then went back to the detergent aisle to find Doug
standing still -- eyes on a young boy squatting, stocking the shelves, just
like he'd done before we met.  I forgot about the soap, put my arm around
him and took him to the cashier.

Didn't realize it then, but we were about to get another completely
unexpected blow.  The cashier looked familiar, I couldn't place her face,
but as our groceries moved along the belt I noticed her name tag.  "Hi!
I'm Martina, how may I help you?"

She didn't recognize me or Doug.  Maybe she did but didn't say anything.
Doug nudged my ribs with his elbow and I nodded.  As we left, I looked over
my shoulder -- she was watching us.  From a social worker to grocery store
clerk!

"I don't want to go back there."  Doug told me as we packed our groceries
in the truck.

"She's the one who should be ashamed, she owes you an apology at least.
Forgive and forget.  It's probably as painful for her to remember her past
as it is for us to remember ours."

The rest of the day went well; Doug working on his classes, I put the
turkey in the slow cooker and baked a pumpkin pie.  We took a long ride
through on our favorite path and came home to a house smelling like good
food.  Got the cards out and we played through dinner betting pennies and
buttons, paperclips and he grinned as he swiped all the pot from the table
winning with a pair and three of a kind.  Darn it!

***


The invisible eighteen-wheeler in my mind about was still heading toward me
at seventy miles an hour.  Didn't realize what was going to happen, and I
was happily thinking I had everything back on track.

Doug went upstairs and after I cleaned up, I heard music and found Doug on
my bed with his laptop watching dance videos.

Lax guardianship, I suppose, but Doug was a feral sleeper -- slept where he
wanted, sometimes on the couch watching movies.  One night, he slept in the
truck being so tired after a shoot.  He'd get up, sometimes and eat, then
come into my room if he felt lonely.  We had a hammock where he'd fall
asleep after sitting in the hot tub, then go to bed when he woke up.  As
long as I knew where he was, I let him rest when he was tired and eat when
he was hungry.

Needing more information on his anxiety, and knowing his belly was full and
he was in a good mood, I lay beside him and opened my phone with the
folders Dr. Cassandra sent me.  "Does your anxiety have anything to do with
one these things I got from your counselor?"

"Sort of..."  He kept watching the video.  I shut his laptop.

"Tell me.  It's my job to make sure you're healthy and happy."

It took a few silent minutes of wiggling and avoiding answering me, "I
think the reason my mom left me is because I'm different."  His voice was
soft.

Still didn't hear the buzz of the invisible eighteen-wheeler's tires on the
asphalt, but it was barreling toward me -- only a hundred yards away.

"Those scars are gone now.  She'll recognize your face, I'm sure."

"Not that kind of different."  He reached over and turned the light off and
sat his laptop on the floor then turned to me and snuggled against me.

"What does that have to do with the information Dr. Cassandra sent?"  I was
puzzled by this and should have jumped to the shoulder of the road of this
conversation -- but I didn't.

"Well, it has to do with my sexuality..."  The fender of the Peter-built
was within feet.  "I think I'm gay."

The grill of the truck hit my body and my head spun, my psyche went into a
strange shock as my thoughts flew and I landed on my back -- all the air in
my body flew out of my lungs in a long sigh.

Silence.

I had to get my bearings but didn't know where to start.

***


His warm skin on mine brought some calm, but I'd never even met a gay
person that I knew of.  What does a guardian say?  This is a boy I loved
deeply, yeah, I'd made some stupid mistakes, but we loved each other, I was
sure of that.  Very sure.  I didn't know how to respond.

"Are you going to kick me out?"  He asked softly.

"Never."  I couldn't lose him, but I was still in shock not knowing what to
do with this information.  I remembered the email that started the
conversation.  "Get your laptop back up here and open up that email.  Let's
go through the articles she sent and I want you to explain."

Going through the articles, I saw the wisdom in the doctor sending us this
information.  I'd reviewed it only thinking that Doug would eventually want
to date while his hormones were in overdrive and I figured we'd manage that
as it happened.  No.  The doctor sent these with very "inclusive"
information that I'd ignored.  Each article included information on
homosexual and transgender youth.

"When did you, uh, decide -- when did you know?"

"It doesn't happen all at once!  I feel the same as I always did, but now
it's like -- well, it's like when the other guys on the set are talking...
I heard how they talked about their girlfriends.  I never had thoughts like
that -- my mind is thinking about the boys and the men...  Don't hate girls
or anything like that -- I'm interested in men."

"Is that what's making you anxious?"

"Yeah, it's like a have to keep a secret.  I was afraid to tell you because
you -- well, the church and the stigma and all..."

The old teachings came back to me; no sacraments to homosexuals --
dedicated, perpetual sinners.  The church enthusiastically promoted large
families; more membership, more tithes.  Heterosexual to the max.  Then I
remembered Father Matthew -- but that was with a boy.  I was confused, I
had another straightjacket about sexuality to cut myself out of.

"Do you have any other secrets?"  I steeled myself for another challenge.

His arm came over my chest.  "I've been using your deodorant."

My fingers went to his armpit.  There were a few hairs.  "I don't care."
His erection filled alongside my thigh through his briefs and my pajama
bottoms and he kissed my chest.  My hands pulled him against me.  "I don't
care."

Laying as still as I could, I thought about all this news.  Doug hadn't
changed, he was simply becoming his own person, a young man -- certainly an
image of god.  It was my conditioned expectations that had been shattered.
At least he'd felt comfortable enough to explain himself, but was I
comfortable enough to look at him the same way?  Could I make this
transition?  The article about teen depression mentioned that suicide was
all too often an escape for the child's "difference."

That made me anxious, unsettled.  As my eyes closed, one thought crept in
from the shadows -- I was lying next to a half-naked boy in my bed talking
sex and embracing each other...  Did that make me some kind of "different"
as well?

What kind of weird was I?

***


Doug's career quickly moved into commercials.  We'd been planning for this.
Along with a new contract, Doug changed his name.  He wanted to be call
Rafael.  One name only and had a new portfolio made with a few video clips
included.  The agent wanted Raf to appear in some teen magazines.
Capitalism and the media are in cahoots to sexualize children as early as
possible -- it stirs sales of all kinds of junk.  Raf balked, he wasn't
ready for any extra attention.

In the Dallas-Fort Worth area a lot of people recognized Raf's face -- it
irritated him to have to stand with a stranger and take a selfie, so we
ordered most of what we needed online.  He wore sunglasses and hats most of
the time in public.

We met with family often at Pete's house instead of going out for fun.
When Pete's wife learned about our problems with the agent and going out in
public, she became was a big help again.  "He has to do one of those teen
stories?  Great!  This is Texas, put Raf on a horse!  Take the reins with
your agent and tell them you want to do it your way.  Do a horse story!"

Turns out that two of my grandnieces took horseback riding lessons at a
horse farm outside of town.  When we had two weeks off work, Raf and I
picked up the girls and a photographer for several hours and lunch outside
of Dallas at an equine spa.  The horses there were beautifully groomed and
kept like royalty -- the grounds were immaculate -- beautiful place for a
shoot.

I noticed that Rafael was directing the photographer not to get a full-face
shot of the girls, who were wearing cowboy hats, and jeans.  Raf was trying
to avoid making them the target of any attention in their lives and he'd
learned the tricks.  Riding, brushing, petting and feeding, we got photos
of Raf with hay in his hair, helping his "cousins" getting up in the
saddles, and we had a great time -- even had lunch with the owners on a big
picnic table under an old oak.  (More photos of Texas barbeque and tall,
frosty glasses of lemonade.)

Our photographer was a local guy Rafael met at one of his classes -- a
talented, new guy looking for a break.  He had all his equipment but was
slower than other photographers.  He came home with us.  The guys were
upstairs a long time on the computer downloading the photos and doing some
editing.  I handed him his check as he left.

Rafael called his agent himself and told him he'd created the article for
the teen magazine, with photos.  He told the agent that he could sell it to
the magazine for double the price since he'd covered the production costs
and written the article himself.  It was a simple "day in the life"
article.  Well, I had to read it, but Raf had carefully worded it to
reflect a simple family outing of a boy who loved the outdoors and animals
but little specific or personal information.  Clever!

The magazine editor wanted more personal information, Raf countered with an
outright refusal.  The agent sold it to another magazine and it tripled
their sales.  So, we did another piece little by little between shoots.

Rafael made an outdoorsy article.  He got the same photographer, who now
had some good credit to his name to take photos of us biking.  I loaded the
truck and took the three of us to Boykin Springs.  Got a lot of good shots
of Raphael in his bathing trunks, building a campfire, putting potatoes in
the coals...  Beautiful scenery -- streams and the spillway and a sunset
through the Loblolly pines.  More photos than text and that was alright --
everyone wanted to see that perfect face and smooth-skinned boy.

All of his photos focused on Rafael's face.  That sounds vain, and he
wanted his mother to see him.  He was also protecting our privacy that way.
Only my back showed up in a few photos as a bystander.

On the way home we went by where my old house stood, it was now a pet-food
plant and it stunk!  The plant rendered pork carcasses for "meat flavors."
Just my way of thanking the folks who'd treated me so well.  The church was
dark and the streets downtown were almost empty.  Even my favorite
café had shuttered its doors.  Oh, well.

We gathered pecans and went home.

***


For the next year, Rafael and I studied cinematography through online
classes.  Raf did a lot of commercials in Australia and Asia and started
auditioning for independent films -- he didn't have the pedigree of parents
in the business.  He had to struggle up that ladder one rung at a time with
only me and his agent to help.

By this time, we'd learned to keep a cold bag and a hot bag packed by the
door -- one suitcase for colder climates and one for the tropics.  It was a
tough year between traveling and commercials in different languages, but he
was a patient professional and becoming rather wealthy.  Pete found us a
tax consultant and I got a credit card for travel.  As for me, I was
becoming an old hand at spotting the trouble causers on the shoots and
learned how to step in without causing any problems for Raf's career.

Rafael landed a part in a movie by an independent, but brilliant young
filmmaker.  I'd read a lot of mixed comments about the man, but he looked
legit as he broke through the doors of the cinematic institutions that had
kept new people and new ideas out.

The movie was about two step-brothers on a road trip.  It was a
coming-of-age comedy, and I enjoyed that.  In the movie, Raf had to kiss a
girl and he did it beautifully.  The movie turned out well and was
acclaimed in Cannes and Sundance, but he became a five-star teen
heartthrob.  He still didn't like the attention.  Raf hadn't had much of a
social life outside of classes, and thousands of hotel staff and set
technicians.  He lived in an adult world and though he was a professional,
part of his boyhood was traded for unwanted celebrity and a lot of money.
Maybe it was me being jealous of all the time he spent working, but that
thought nagged me.

The hyper-sexualization began in full-force and brought us to a turning
point in his career.  I told him it wasn't anyone's business if he was
attracted to men, but the pressure from his agent and others was clear --
they wanted a heterosexual boy dating some of the Hollywood starlets to
promote -- gossip sells.

"Tell them I won't let you date."

"Gabe, that makes it look like you're forcing me to work and you're not."

"Oh, yeah, well..."  Interesting dilemma.  "Why don't we just tell them the
truth?  Tell them you don't have time to date.  Say your career started
earlier than most people's and you're staying with it and your studies to
become the best.  That's what this is all about isn't it?"

"Sort of."  Rafael explained that if he was successful, maybe his mom would
want him again -- she'd overlook his differences.

What could I say?  I didn't think his mother was interested or she would
have called already.

***


Now, I want to tell you about this glitzy, glamorous life -- it stinks.
Some of the sets are filthy, leering technicians hang out in the shadows,
drugs are rife and I have a photo gallery of hairstylists, makeup artists,
camera men and sound technicians who didn't last long due to their
addictions or incarcerations.

"Stage mothers" weren't a problem, but they were called a problem due to
their protective natures.  It was always strange to me that when I asserted
myself protecting Rafael, I only had to do it once or twice, but the little
girls were constantly given a hard time - piece of "mini-ass" I learned.  A
lot of those girls probably lost great careers due to their treatment on
sets, but I hung in there with my fangs bared protecting my Raf.  My angel
was ambitious -- as long as I stayed on guard, he stayed safe.

***


As Raf turned sixteen, his legs lengthened and his graceful slender form
was requested on a runway for a famous clothing designer.  We only did that
once!  What chaos backstage and for the big bucks, it seemed like the
designers and producers felt like they could treat the models like dogs.
Of course, photos of Raf's face flew around the world in suits, sportswear
and a skimpy bathing suit with his penis taped into the right place to make
the fabric "hang correctly."  I shuddered as the woman pulled the stretchy
fabric down and held his penis in place while she taped him -- Raf almost
lost control he was so embarrassed and upset.

No more runways, but several very high-end designers of menswear called for
catalogue shoots.  We were flown to the Mediterranean, Asia and Australia.
Small crew and relaxed sets, but not much of that kind of work.

As Raf grew, things changed on the sets.  Men knew I was escorting him, yet
some of them openly asked him out and flirted with him.  Sometimes Raf
grinned, but I don't think he liked it too much.  They were strangers and
he knew his boundaries.

About him being gay -- well, it didn't bother me so much.  I found out it
wasn't his choice or anyone's fault, just something he was born with.  I
loved him and respected him.  If anything, he was more mature and
professional than before and growing into a fine man.

Don't try to convince me he was sinning by admitting he had feelings about
men -- his feelings weren't mean-spirited or manipulative.  He was still
that loving boy to me.  It was me I worried about -- my mind kept returning
to his touches and I felt disappointed if he wasn't in bed with me at
night.  I needed the touch of his skin.

***


Quite unexpectedly, Pete called with news about Raf's mother and brother.
Raf was shooting a commercial for a popular soft drink in Australia I
remember taking the call while the jingle played for the fiftieth time that
day.

"Their bodies were found; looks like a murder-suicide..."  Pete described
the circumstances as the blood drained from my face.  I waited until after
the commercial was completed and we were on our way home, "It's been almost
four years of this chaos.  As your guardian, I think you need some time
off.  Let's get some rest and you need a boyhood of some sort."

Wasn't uncommon, but I noticed that several people took photos of Raf when
we got on the plane.  They were probably sent ahead to DFW.  We had to get
out of the airport and home through a mob scene, so I waited before I broke
the bad news.

We arrived at the airport at around two in the afternoon.  I called
security and we were escorted through the tunnels and back hallways to a
taxi and left for home.  My stomach was tense and I was not looking forward
to this.  The dream of finding his family and caring for them would be
completely destroyed.

The first thing we did when we returned home was to take our bags to the
washer and start a load of clothes, then check out the kitchen for
something to eat.  Milk and pecans -- toast and jelly.  That was about it.
We finished a few bites and went upstairs with a little jet lag slowing our
feet.  Raf went to his room, tired and I followed him.  "Love, let's
shower, we need to talk."

He was tired and didn't say much but came to the shower and let me wash him
gently, "I think we need some time off.  We don't need any more money -- we
need some time together.  You need to rest and enjoy your life for a while.
We'll get back into it."

"My agent says..."

"Your agent -- he only wants his percentage.  I'm your guardian, and I want
you to be healthy and happy first."  I was serious.  With a bottle of some
fancy lotion an advertiser had given him, I took him to his bed and lay him
on his sheets then began rubbing his smooth, naked body.  His muscles were
knotted and tense from all the work and travel.

"We've been on the run and it's time to pull over and take a rest."  Lying
beside him wrapped in a towel, I did something I hadn't done in almost
fifty years.  I pulled the sheet over our heads and whispered to my boy,
"Pete called about your family."  Holding him against me.  "They've passed
on to heaven."  He was still for a moment, and I pulled him against me.
"Sorry to wait for so long, but Pete called while you were finishing up in
the last commercial -- I waited till we got through the airport."

Silent tears spotted my chest and he snuffled and his arm went around me.
"Don't be angry, I didn't want you upset in public."

"Why are we under the sheet?"  He asked.

"That's how my mom used to give me bad news -- she said it makes hard
things softer."

We held each other for a long time, the bell on the dryer rang and the sun
was fading when he finally looked at me.  "Where are they?"

"I didn't ask Pete when he called.  But I'll get my phone."  When I came
back to bed, he was sitting, leaning against the headboard and we got the
details he wanted.  They'd been buried in the pauper's graveyard outside
Vidor.  "We can go and visit them anytime you want."

He only nodded and asked about how they died; I told him what I knew.

"Are you sure?"

"That's what Pete says, but we can call Vidor and get the paperwork."

That's when the tears started.  He cried for several hours, I suspected he
was thinking of his brother.  "They're in heaven, no more work, no more
pain -- they're perfect and comfortable."  By this time, I was in tears
myself.

***


The next day was Sunday and we needed groceries.  Raf pulled on a knit cap
and wore sunglasses and trudged into the grocery store together.  He'd
asked for pumpkin pie and turkey like I made the first Thanksgiving we
shared.  We bought the comfort food he wanted and the other junk I wanted.

Raf put things in the cabinets and folded our clothes while I started the
oven for the turkey roll, the closest thing to a turkey I could find.
"Pour our traditional glass of wine and get the cards out -- we'll play a
few games."  After a quiet evening I took him to my bed.  "Do you remember
the first time you touched my penis and told me we'd insured two more weeks
of world peace?"

He smiled, "Yeah.  I was so dumb, I never saw an adult man before -- and I
didn't ask first.  Sorry."

"Since then, we've been closer, and I didn't know I needed to be loved.
You gave me a wonderful gift."  His hand went to my groin and my penis
sprang into action but I stopped him, taking his hand and kissing his
fingers.

"As your guardian, I'm going to give you a gift.  From now on, you'll only
accept the most elite jobs -- work less and earn more.  You need time off."
I kissed those sweet familiar lips, "You can't go on like this forever.
We're going to stop and find the next direction for you -- a healthier one
and a safer one.  I'm not going to force you into anything, but we're going
to find someone to help you get through the rest of your life with some
kind of dignity and -- and respect.  I've heard them on the sets talking
about slutty models and seen how the industry uses young people -- uses
them up and throws them away.  We're not going to have that -- too many of
the kids you started with dropped out with drug problems and trauma.  I
have some ideas, one in particular that you might like.  For right now,
we're going to sleep and start a new day tomorrow with a call to your
agent.  Okay?"

I felt him nod but he was still squirmy and tearful.

After a while, tears came more loudly -- almost like the music at the end
of a video -- the volume increased.  He sobbed into my chest and pulled me
as close to him as he could.  Rocking him in my arms, tears came to my eyes
as well thinking about his young brother...  What a horrible death for that
young boy looking up at his mother as she cut him and completely unable to
stop her.  For some reason, I couldn't rouse any anger toward Doug's mother
-- men didn't want someone else's crippled child! She was selling what she
had to sell and it wasn't enough.

 I just held him and rocked him for a long time comforting him and myself.
Then realized I was the only one left - the only person who'd known him the
longest and I was only a state-appointed guardian.  My remarkable boy
needed someone to lean on now that the dreams that propped up his spirts
were instantly vaporized.  I needed to find a way to let him know, with
surety, he wouldn't be alone again.

"Side by side, we're going to make this work out for you."

"My little brother..."  He started sobbing again, then he got up and went
to his bedroom.

I went through my memory chips.  "This is probably guilt..."  So, I went to
his room and got into bed with him.  "I said side by side we'll get through
this.  You have to let me help you."  Pulling him to my chest -- leaving
was an abrupt behavior for Raf.

"Could you go, please?"  He said, still sniffling.

"Nope."  And that was fairly abrupt from me.

We lay together softly crying until we were quiet.  I knew he was tired, I
was as well.

"I want some privacy."  He whispered.

Self-abuse alarms rung inside my head.  "Not tonight."  I hugged him
tighter but he turned away from me in my arms.  I felt him fidgeting and
pulling his briefs off.

"What are you doing?"  I was baffled by this.

"When I feel edgy I jerk off -- it helps me go to sleep.  I told you I want
some privacy."

"Love, forgive me for speaking sharply to you."

"Are you gonna leave?"  He asked.

"No.  I said side by side."  I took my briefs off as well.  I needed to
calm down and go to sleep and soon.

"What are you doing?"  Raf asked, sounding disturbed.

"We're in this together, and we're going to stay together.  Stroke that
cock."

He was quiet for a minute.  I thought I felt him chuckle, but he turned
toward me on his side and closed his eyes, his hand on his short rod,
stroking along his balls.  He leaned his head against me.  With my right
arm around him I whispered I loved him and began a rather foreign-feeling
left hand stroke on myself.  First, I rubbed my chest, playing with my
nipples with a few sighs, then, I tugged my balls, and opened my knees.

I felt Raf's eyelashes on my ribs.  He was watching, and for some reason it
didn't bother me.  My first ticklish strokes on my penis were slow and
light.  Teasing my banjo strings, then I pulled on the tip of my swelling
erection and closed my eyes, thinking of the feeling that always started
deep inside my groin and went up my spine. But that funny, muddy feeling
started spreading -- wasn't sure I could complete this until I felt Raf's
arm cross my waist and I felt him hunching against my thigh.  He was so hot
and eager.  My left arm went around him and I pulled him close.  A few more
rubs and I felt his warm jism on my skin and smelled his cum.

We lay still.  I was limp, but I kissed his head.  "I love you."  His hand
came to my penis, tentatively and he touched me lightly.  I must have
trembled, he took his hand away.  "Side by side."  Not sure which side of
my brain that statement came from.

Taking his hand, I put it on my penis.  His fingertips explored my pubic
hair, and between my legs, then he squeezed my balls, feeling them move
inside their sac while pressure built in my penis -- refilling quickly.  I
stroked myself a few times while he explored between my legs.  Must have
gasped several times.  It was all so familiar, but all new and electric
this time.  Minute sparks left trails up my spine and I could feel my
anticipation build as my testicles readied.  "Stroke me, I'm almost..."

When his hand came to my erection, I covered it with my hand, and felt him
moving up, down, up, down.  Lightly.  Tenderly.  I squeezed his hands
around my excited shaft, encouraging him to grip a little tighter.  This
was so arousing, "Faster, just a little more."

My body tensed as I felt the heat of my cum rise up through my erection and
out my slit.  I`d done this thousands of times before, but this felt like
the first time again -- my hips lifted themselves involuntarily and I
groaned through the spurts hitting my chest.  His tender hand continued
squeezing and tugging till I pushed it away.  Grabbing my briefs, I started
to wipe my cum, but Raf pushed my hand away and licked my semen from my
chest.  This didn't feel taboo, evil, or unnatural between us.  He got up
on one knee and leaned over my face and kissed my lips with the taste of my
semen on his tongue.

Couldn't push him away.  He'd come so sweetly for a kiss.  The wave of
relaxation accompanying my orgasm was making me sleepy.  "Sleep, love.
Tomorrow is the start of a new life for you."

"For us."

***


The sun came up too early the next morning and I went to shower and soon my
Raf was in the shower with me, his arms around my neck.  His expression was
so innocent and loving, I let him stay and we showered quietly.

As we dried I reminded him to change his mind-set, "New day!  Less work,
higher fees!  Taking time to be a boy today.  We're going to the gym..."
Then I remembered the chaos he created in the public.  "Do you think we
need to get one of those workout machines?"

"I'd rather be biking.  I'll wear sunglasses -- with my helmet, that'll
work."

Over breakfast he asked, "You said you had an idea.  What is it?  I'm not
going back to catalogue work again and I don't want to teach kids to
model."

"Okay.  I said I wouldn't force you into anything.  But I remember that you
showed me your homework one time.  You did a book report on two boys who
lived on an island -- Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn."

"That was good -- I read it twice."

"Been a best seller since it came out.  Seems to me there are some
correlations between that story and your life.  You could update it and
call that new filmmaker -- he's doing very well now.  I'll sell the idea
for you.  If he doesn't like it, we've got income to fall back on -- you
really don't have to work anymore now that you have investments."

He looked at me, not saying anything.  "When we come home from our ride,
I'm going to compose an email for your agent.  Okay?"

He stared at me.  "Do I need to apologize for crossing your boundaries last
night."

I had to think about that.  Very complicated question, "We can be honest
enough so we don't have to worry about boundaries.  Okay?"

***


After a hard twenty miles, the heat was too much, we biked back home
quickly.  After showering I composed an email for his agent and Raf
reviewed it; we sent it without one bit of regret.

For the next several weeks he worked on rereading about Tom Sawyer and Huck
Finn but found some interesting stories about boys crossing the Great
Divide, some on trains, then he found more that had sold themselves into
slavery to get to America.  He found a movie that caught his eye -- "Pelle
the Conqueror."  Such a sad story but beautiful in an eerie way.  I cried;
Raf took notes.

For the next several months, Raf only worked half days on his story or
classes and half days riding and visiting family.  Rosa's kids were growing
fast -- we bought an ice cream maker (with a motor) and ate ice cream and
fruit till we almost popped in the late evenings.  I really loved that
family -- they'd been so good to my boy.  As soon as I sat down, the
youngest kids began climbing all over me, wanting to tell me things I
supposed they wanted to tell their dad.  Hugging and kissing them, I nodded
and listened.

Pete and his family continued their cookouts and mini-reunions, and we
played in the pool about twice a week.  Raf was able to enjoy his cousins
and family -- actually I'd never seen him happier.  He did take on several
shoots, one in London and another in Munich, then back to Asia for two
weeks, but it wasn't so pressured.  We enjoyed ourselves and we never slept
alone.

At times -- his sexual appetite drove him and I gladly held and kissed him
while he looked into my eyes and ejaculated between us.  The taste of his
semen and the smell of him was a complicated mental problem for me -- I
became internally conflicted, but I couldn't not love him.  I couldn't not
hold him.  I couldn't live without his warm skin next to mine at night
making my world whole, complete and my spirit satisfied.

Recriminations about not marrying or finding a lover for myself haunted me
in odd moments -- but that was the past, I couldn't change it.  I could
only be grateful that we were together.  Ambivalence about my increasing
affection toward my boy couldn't dampen my anticipation toward holding him
at night.  I thanked Jesus every morning.  I remembered Jesus had never
married and wondered if he had a boy - his own Raphael to love.

Raf's body was filling out, shoulders widened and the childishness vanished
as dark hair sprouted on his chest and upper lip.  I loved it.  I loved his
musk, his sweat and the smell of him -- my beautiful boy was becoming my
beautiful man.  This old man savored every whiff -- the aroma of heaven.
One night I ventured between his legs for a thorough sniffing.  He laughed,
saying I tickled him then he became silent as I licked, sucked and bit that
thin line that fascinated me.  I ejaculated from just being so close to
him.

Rafael relaxing and falling into a routine changed him.  He was gaining a
wider perspective on his world. I thought it odd, but Raf invited the
independent director to our home to discuss some ideas.  He agreed and I
hustled to get the guest room clean.  We greeted him at the door with hugs.
He brought his wife with him, a short, dark woman with a big smile.  Sure,
we were as glad for company as they were not to have to stay in a hotel.
"Place is yours, make yourselves at home."

We had a great time, I took the woman out shopping without all the mob
scenes, so that was a blessing.  She actually helped me pick out some more
up-to-date clothes for me and took me to a styling salon for a new haircut
while she got a manicure.  Hey!  I walked in the door at home grinning and
looking hot!  Well, warmer.

Pete's wife had to throw a barbeque when she heard about our visitors.  We
swam and enjoyed ourselves like one big family that night.  I never heard
so many raunchy jokes, Pete was on a roll that night.  I didn't realize it
at the time, but my family and Raf were grooming the director.  He liked
Raf's first film, sure, but after seeing us as a family and enjoying
himself, he became more comfortable.  That could have been respect and
appreciation as well.

I had a quiet bombshell to drop as part of my sales pitch.  All their
discussions on a story about a boy alone on the road became real when I
drove them through to the old town with the park filled with pecan trees.
With as few words as possible, I explained how things unfolded for Raf and
me.  No, I didn't mention the group home and the rapes, that was Raf's to
explain if he wanted to.

"All behind us now, we're looking into video production -- impactful
stories that carry a strong, moving message about lives like the viewers
live."  I left it at that as we stopped to pick up some take away lunch and
went to Boykin for a day at the lake.

***


The director and his wife visited us again three times through the next
several months and linked Raf with a screen writer -- kind goofy guy.  He
video-phoned Raf several times a week.  There were some disagreements, and
I told Raf to get the director on the line and work it out.  That seemed to
keep things moving smoothly -- I suspected the writer was good, his CV
showed he was quite accomplished, but the guy looked like he was on drugs,
so I always felt queasy about him.

An independent film maker has to work his odds in order to get financing,
he'd hired a known writer to increase the probability of getting the
funding he needed.  We didn't hear from the writer for several weeks, and
Raf stalled until we went on the net and found out he needed the big event
in his story -- dénouement -- the event that resolved the
character's conflicts.

"Love, write what you know.  Write what you lived.  I know it broke my
heart, but everything worked out for us.  Meeting you was a big event that
changed my life. What happened that changed your life?"

The next several days Raf did include the part of his life in the group
home including the rapes and assaults, thefts and abuse by staff.  I was
horrified reading it, "Is this what happened?"

"I left the parts out about the handcuffs and all the pee and shit. This is
enough."

Completely stunned that after all the cruelty, my boy came through with his
dignity intact and with his humility, his gentle nature and his love for
this old man who'd abandoned him into the system.  He'd come through to
love me without bitterness or anger.  In Raf's story, there was no savior.
His story was about boys helping each other succeed by their wits.

Raf sent his draft off to the director.  It was accepted immediately and
another writer -- an unknown came to visit for a few days with Raf to
polish the story.  I stayed in the background or the kitchen and let Raf
work and learn from this guy.  They got along well, though I like to think
it was my pumpkin pie that made the magic happen.

Oh, yeah!  They were funded and production started in the winter in a small
town outside Sacramento.  Raf didn't star in the story, but a younger and
very talented Hispanic boy.  The director, his wife and I rented a small
house during production.  Raf was on the set during the days coaching the
boy and we biked at lunch and into the evenings.

Living with a couple was different for us, but our days were filled with
work and exercise.  That director was a driven man and worked late into the
night.  They said nothing about Raf and I in the same bed -- such are the
ways of people in the arts making their way with almost nothing but their
own ambition and an idea.  They said nothing and I didn't either.

***


Finally, production completed, we went home.  All the video would be edited
and pieced together with music and then the final touches.  Pete's wife
told me to call her maid to help us get settled back at home.  I did.  What
a help!

Later, Raf and I flew to Sundance, Cannes and several other festivals when
the film was submitted for award.  We wore our sunglasses and baseball caps
and hid among the other people who didn't want to be noticed.  I was so
proud, so very proud when audiences applauded and asked the independent
director to come on stage for more adulation.  Raf had made it very clear
he didn't want any public attention.

We didn't stay to watch every film at Cannes but enjoyed the French
countryside and a lot of goat cheese -- it's good!  At another festival I
bought cannabis candies and thought my feet would never touch earth again,
but the loving comfort of my boy was only enhanced with the drug.  I was
high on life, marijuana and my boy smiling beside me.  His cum was ambrosia
to my tongue -- forget the candy.

As my boy grew into a man, his penis grew -- seemed like he had small
balls, but they worked well enough, I figured and checked often. Feeling
his excitement, I learned exactly what he liked and the moment he needed
it.  To hear him moan and jerk as his body gave me his gift was incredible.

All I was really sure about was that our love became more exciting for me
through those years.  He was a beautiful man, slender, dark with pale skin
and delicate features -- he'd never be rugged.  Not an effeminate man, but
a soft-spoken gentleman, nothing brutish about him.  He was gracefully
muscled, I didn't think his body would ever "bulk-up" like guys in the gym.
Raf was built more like a dancer or an ice skater.  His voice deepened but
only a little and still carried a twang when he used certain words --
couldn't take Texas out of him.

There was an unpleasant side effect to the popularity of that film -- we
stirred up the red ant hill again when it got out that the writer was from
Texas and the story was partially autobiographical.  That brought out a lot
of media investigations about the group homes and treatment of children in
the care of state's child protective system.  Our non-response to the calls
and requests for interviews was enough of an answer in my opinion.
Reporters and investigators turned up enough dirt to lead to harvest
incredible amounts of information on the corruption and abuse.

In my heart I was hoping this new wave of filmmakers would destroy the old
"Hollywood System."  It used children up the same way modeling and
commercials did -- the way the state did.  I remembered Ramon...  I
remembered Jonathan, I remembered Raf's brother and thought about so many
other unnamed children.

***


Until Raf turned eighteen we stayed home, either taking classes or online.
He passed all the tests for his high school graduation and already had
college credits, but he continued.

Damn, my boy was smart, he pulled me into his work -- I read all kinds of
books for him, researching for ideas or situations he could use.  After
summarizing each book or short story I marked the passages that were
particularly interesting and gave them back to him.  We were on the prowl
for his next story and the same independent director and his wife visited
often -- we all worked well together.  The next story would be about the
drug trade.

That's when we hired Rosa, yeah, Rosa the social worker that worked for
Pete.  She was a paid consultant and poured out stories of her work that
almost broke my heart -- what happened to children whose parents were in
the drug trade or were heavily addicted were appalling.  She made drawings
of some of the devices used to restrain young people and children who were
being sold on the international human trafficking market.  I almost choked.
Raf and I both realized in that moment how close he'd come to being lost
forever or killed.

Again, we were part of filming with Raf coaching the actors on specific
parts to make his story shine.  Raf and the director were earning more
acclaim together and more money, but we stayed on that director's grueling
schedule during filming.  I kept the slow-cooker filled and we worked,
biked, ate and slept.

I got smart and rented an RV for us during those days, and we were able to
keep up with the changes easily.  People I didn't know visited our RV -- we
welcomed them with coffee or tea and whatever we had in the cabinets.
After they left, Raf would tell me that they were other directors, and
producers sniffing around for talent to use in their next film.

I didn't know they were famous or rich as we sat at the folding table under
the awning sharing sandwiches and chips while we talked films.  I let Raf
handle those people himself in his unpretentious way.  He was making his
own name in the industry.  He was doing fine, and still earning though his
goal of finding and caring for his family was gone.

Couldn't help but notice that his themes involved abandoned people who kept
hope despite their circumstances -- his characters took chances to remedy
their problems; searching for something to cling to.  Sometimes the chances
worked out well, and sometimes not.  He was writing what he knew.

***


Through those years we attended a series of funerals.  Most of the
remaining family - my brothers and sisters, and their spouses passed --
just Pete, his wife and I were left.  Reunions were filled with young
adults and their children now and some of our traditions had passed along
with my family, but Raf and the other young people made new ones, like
ditching the gifts and decorating for a vacation together in Mexico.  One
year we all camped at Padre Island, fishing and building bonfires and
living in campers.

The reason I recall that reunion was that as we sat around the campfire
late, everyone had gone to their beds -- just Pete and I sat at the fire,
"I have to apologize to you, Gabe.  I should have gotten you out of that
god-forsaken town after Mom and Dad died.  You did so much for them while I
was building my career -- never came to visit, nothing.  Just want you to
know that burned my conscience."

We watched the embers for a while, "Well, I wouldn't have met Rafael..."

"Yeah, it turned out well, but you being gay and all, I should have gotten
you out sooner."

That stopped my remembrances, "I'm gay?  How do you know?"

"Maybe I should have spoken with you earlier, like when I suspected you
might be.  I left you in that hell-hole knowing full well they'd eventually
eat you alive.  I'm not saying you were some fairy, prancing around and all
that.  You were more like a priest -- celibate and steady taking care of
Mom and Dad like a saint."  He looked at me, "I know it's something a
person has to come to themselves, their own decision but, damn!  You were
more worried about Don Blankenship's knee injury than the drive-in on
Friday nights -- then working most of your life with a crew of guys saying
you were prouder of them than their parents?  C'mon.  You didn't have a
clue, but that was understandable.  Mom groomed you for the priesthood --
old custom to give one of your children to the vocations, you know.  For
her it was like heaven-insurance.  You didn't get many worldly experiences
with the role you took at home.  You took to it so well.  Never dated,
never had many friends...  What else could I think?"

I leaned back, sucking the last of my Shiner from the short, brown bottle.
He knew I was different, but I never felt that way.  He knew my Raf was
different and it made a way for us to be together.

But he didn't stop there.  "When you called with Raf in your truck that
afternoon, I thought you might have picked up a kid on the highway --
thought you might be visiting in the rest stops.  That's not a judgement,
just another lifestyle.  When he told me what you did for him, I knew you
were being the same old Gabe -- our steady little brother.  That's why I
pushed for guardianship as soon as I could."

"You knew he was gay when he talked to you?"  I asked hoping to get the
topic of conversation off me.

"Well, not exactly but he was waiting on the roadside for a man.  Rosa
mentioned he might be, but I had to prioritize his legal issues -- he
needed to be safe first, then the medical stuff...  Jesus what a life that
kids led.  He probably wouldn't have survived for long on the road..."

"I'm not sure if I'm gay -- I don't think so."

"Well, gay or whatever - it's worked well for both of you.  By the way --
he's what?  Twenty now?  Have you taken him to the spa yet?"  He winked at
me.

My only experiences with spas was taking Raf for a facial and an occasional
massage at the day spa at the mall -- they took all ages, I guessed.

***


The first Monday after we came back home from the holidays, Pete called and
said he was coming by at seven to take us to the spa.

"Pack your gym bag, Raf!"  I shouted up the stairs, "Pete's taking us to
the spa tonight."  He wasn't any more excited than me, but he loved his
Uncle Pete.

Should have left when I saw a punch bowl of condoms interspersed with small
packets of lube sitting proudly on the counter at the spa, but Pete was
insistent and Rafael couldn't stop grinning.  They asked for Raf's ID, but
Pete stepped in and told them, with a fifty, that he was twenty-one.  They
seemed to know Pete and waved us through.

In the back, the place looked like a fancy locker room and smelled like
chlorine.  This wasn't like the mall spa.  Where were the lavender candles
and the sandalwood incense?

"Let's to go the baths first."  Pete led the way as my protective instincts
became sharper.  I'd brought our swim trunks and we went to the shower.
When Pete saw me with my old baggy blue trunks, "Take those off -- only men
here.  Take `em off!  They'll think you're some kind of creep."

Well, I was still a modest man but I did my best.  Raf wasn't modest after
all his modeling -- my young man strode into the bath area gracefully
knowing every eye in the room was on him.  Now there weren't many men in
the place on a Monday night and these guys all seemed to know each other,
smiling and nodding as we slipped into the hot, steamy water.

A few called Pete's name -- he smiled and nodded, "Brought my little
brother and his son tonight."  They all just nodded and went back to their
conversations.  Pete sat beside me and I was still rather tense being nude
with so many strangers.  Raf was talking to two incredibly handsome and
well-developed men, but they were smiling and genial enough from my
perspective.  I almost jumped out of my skin when I felt a hand on my
thigh, but it was Pete.

"This is a spa, you're supposed to relax.  No one's going to bother you
here unless you want it."  He leaned over and kissed my cheek as his hand
went to my penis.  My penis!  Pete was stroking and fondling my balls!

"Does your wife know you're here?"

"I've been coming here since I was in college.  One of the privileges I
negotiated with her before we married.  Let's go to the steam room, I want
to show you something."

"What about Raf?"  I asked.  He glanced at Rafael who was laughing and
enjoying himself though I couldn't see where his hands were.

"He'll be fine.  Looks like he's making some new friends."

It took a few more minutes in the hot water for my body to relax and my
mind adjusted to the fact that this is where men come to enjoy themselves
sexually.  Couldn't help but wonder if some of them lived in small town
straightjackets like I had.

Pete and I went to a small cedar-lined steam room -- it felt good to feel
my skin surge with sweat; my muscles were limp and I may have been smiling.
I'd never been to any kind of spa for myself; this was all new.  This
moment, though, it felt like my boy and I were taking our next step
together, not side by side but more like growing into a new part of
ourselves.  Were these men like me?  Leaning my head back against the wall,
I sighed...

"Maybe it's because we look so much alike -- I always thought you were a
handsome devil."  Pete said softly.  "Kept yourself in good shape.  I
should have taken up biking -- lawyering only gave me a paunch."  He moved
beside me and put his hand on my thigh again, kissing my cheek.

"You're not supposed to kiss me."  I said.  "Stop it."

"Sue me.  I have a great lawyer."  His hand came to my face and he turned
me toward him and kissed me like Raf and I kissed -- deep, long and
passionate.  His tongue was slow and I froze -- I couldn't tell my brother
to stop, but this felt strange; exciting and strange.  "C'mon little
brother, let me love you."

His hand was on my leaking erection, "I know Mom groomed you for the
priesthood, but priests are only human..."

"Groomed..."  That word rang alarms in my head.

"Yeah, she really drilled hellfire and damnation into your little head.
Maybe she knew you were gay."

I was so relaxed, I allowed my dick to decide my direction, I kissed him
and held him close, and the feeling of human touch on my skin only made me
lustier.  My brother; his familiar body, smooth skin and square face were
beautiful to me.  There were several packets of condoms on the bench close
by, I put one in his hand.

"You gonna get pregnant or something?"  He tossed it aside.  "I want you
inside me."  He picked up a packet of lube.  "Do I have to beg?"

I looked around the room, only two levels of wooden benches.  Pete kneeled
on the lower bench with his arms on the upper bench.  "Get behind me."  He
leaned over and I kneeled behind him.  But I needed more touch, I pressed
my chest against his back and reached around to find him hard and dripping.

"Not yet, let me hold you."  I said, needing to feel him against me.  He
straddled my lap and I grabbed his cock, stroking gently and sucking his
nipples, but I rubbed my face over his chest often.  A sparkling, warm
feeling filled me. But, damn, this was uncomfortable.  "We're too old for
wooden benches in a public, well semi-public place.  Let's go home."

He got up and we left the steamy room to find Raf waiting outside alone.
"Didn't you find any fun tonight?"  Pete asked.

"Nah, I'm not the `celebrity fuck' on anyone's bucket list."  That was all
he said.

***


At our house, "Raf, Pete and I want some time together..."

His eyes widened, "Without me?"

Pete grabbed my boy around his shoulders, "Never."

Another first in my life -- two men I loved dearly were alongside me, naked
and erect.  If there was a heaven, this was it!  My sweet boy shoved his
beautiful cock in my mouth while my brother pounded into him; I sucked,
feeling their rhythm and finally the honey of youth coated my tongue and I
felt my brother's semen drip out of my satisfied lover.

New tradition: Monday night poker.

***


After Pete left, Raf took me in his arms.  "I love Pete, but I love you
more."

"Same here -- Raf, are you comfortable with this?  Seems wrong to me but it
feels...  Well, it feels so familiar at the same time."

"It's new.  Never suspected Pete liked sex with men.  But it felt kind of
natural to me -- we all love each other -- like we were loving each other
with our bodies instead of words or gifts...  Are you uncomfortable?"

That made me think, and his simplicity of explanation calmed some of the
old beasts of guilt that were hovering around my thoughts.  "Am I gay?"

That brought a long silence between us.  "I can't say.  I know you love me
in a lot of ways - every different situation you're loving me in a
different way.  You cook for my business contacts and sell my stories --
you used to snarl at the set technicians.  That was funny sometimes, but I
knew you were protecting me.  In bed you comfort me -- I love it when you
suck me...  You're always Gabe to me.  But I don't know - sometimes I
wonder if you'll meet a woman...  I'd lose my lynchpin -- my lodestar."

"Never.  Never.  I couldn't lose you..."  Then I thought -- what does that
make me now?  What does it make us?

"When Pete was inside me, I imagined it was you."  Raf always knew when I
was internally conflicted and moved me through it.

"Me?"

He didn't say anything more, but the most passionate and beautiful moments
of my life unfolded above me -- and inside me.  With my lover's lips at
mine, he parted my legs and lubricated my cleft, pressing his fingers
inside me slowly and I felt afraid, anxious and so needy at the same time.

Finally, he would love me the way that had been an undefined, but urgent
pleading from the dark places in my mind.  Through all the years, I'd never
been able to voice it, so restrained under layers of guilt and fear.  All
fear and shame, all guilt and ignorance were instantaneously blasted into
oblivion with an overwhelming need for him.  It felt like an adrenaline
rush all over my skin; tingly.

On his knees between my legs, I watched him oil his handsome, erection --
not as big as Pete or me, but he was going to love me; penetrate me with
his most sensitive part.  Me...  Was this really happening to me?

Holding myself open for him, I looked up to see him, smiling and I felt him
push.  He smiled, looked down and pushed again.  Oh, god, that hurt, and I
savored the burning pain.  I bit my lower lip.  He stopped all motion and
told me he'd loved me since he met me but wasn't sure what the feeling was
when he was a kid.

 "Hadn't been around many men too long after my dad left.  It took me by
surprise -- but you've made it easy for me to love you.  Never thought love
would be like that.  It's and so -- so lush, then it feels so solid.  All
unspoken, quiet -- natural for us."

My mouth dropped open.  Not sure if it was the sensation of feeling his
cock inside me or the word's he'd just told me.  But the moment was
astounding, like all the "side by side" I'd promoted was no longer -- it
was like we were inside each other -- so close and more intimate than I
imagined people could be.  We became one in the moment and I felt something
deeper than I'd ever felt in my life.  Unbelievable.

When he began pumping, he kept his eyes on mine, "I love you."  My heart
soared and my erection drooled until my pre-cum dripped down my side.

"More."  I needed him to push his cum as deep and as close to my heart as
he could.  Pulling my knees back further, I felt the most exciting and
enthralling sensations.  Hearing my lover's breath speed as his thrusts
became rapid-fire like a piston, I watched - he leaned his head back and
moan deeply.  He was cumming inside me -- like a christening of a new
awareness.  Hot rush after hot rush!  I could feel it and I only wanted
more.  I wondered if every virgin felt that same way -- no dove could equal
this!

From that night forward, I worshipped at the altar of my lover's body,
taking him and offering him anything, anyway he wanted during the nights --
but I couldn't penetrate him.  So afraid I'd hurt him, I went soft and,
well, I could only apologize.  Daylight usually brought my parental nature
to the fore again, but I never looked at him as a child again.  Never.

Lovers.  This was beyond all I'd been taught love could be and it was as
glorious as any other love that had ever lit this planet.  A large part of
me fell head over heel again and again.

***


Through that next year Pete's wife became ill -- quite seriously, though we
continued poker games on Monday nights with a carer helping.  Raf continued
working on screenplays and I visited at Pete's house to help where I could.
About a year later, we buried her -- a wonderful woman that had actually
helped start Raf on his writing career.  Pete was a sobbing mess and sought
comfort in the bottle.  They'd been strong partners raising a great family
and running a successful law practice -- both came from small towns with
humble beginnings.

"Pete, tell the kids to come take what they want from your house and come
live with us."  I said as he wandered through his home in tears.
Surprisingly, he told me to call them; his words were slurred and he looked
sick.  That made me worried for his safety.

After calling, the kids came by and the house began emptying the next
weekend.  "Put it on the market or rent it with a management company.
You're coming home with me.  Let's pick up a few things for your place with
us."  I went back into a caregiving role; seemed like I'd been caregiving
all my life, but I was suited for it.  Responsibility challenged me -- and
taught me a lot about myself.  I knew I could help Pete put the bottle down
-- we weren't raised as drinkers.

The first week Pete was with us, I kept him close.  Raf was in the kitchen
puttering around while he did the laundry; Pete sat with me on the couch.
We watched a new series that had a male character -- the dialogue alluded
to his character being homosexual.  Some thoughts had been rumbling inside
my head since he told me I was gay, and I came out with it.

"Pete, I don't like that word "gay."  I'm not gay.  Neither is Raf."

He laughed, "Well, Mr. Webster, what's the right word for men screwing each
other?"

"We don't screw.  We love each other.  When you say we're gay, it's like
you hit the button that starts a red, blinking light on our groins for the
world to see like we're only about sex.  The percentage of my life spent --
uh, in bed is less than ten percent.  I don't like the name.  After all
we've been through -- it doesn't reflect our lives or us at all."

"I never minded being called a bisexual perv."

"You're not.  You're my brother and I love you dearly -- well, even more
now.  We're going to be Raf, Gabe and Pete; side-by-side.  That's enough."

He just stared at me.  "Ten percent? More like point-one percent."

I ignored that. "Pete, when you label yourself, you reduce your life to
that term -- it's like you dismiss most of what you are when you limit
yourself to a one-word description and a sexual one!  We're greater than
that."

He didn't say anything more about it but fell asleep on my shoulder.

***


The next year was rough with Pete mourning and going through his changes,
but we made it through and decided to leave Texas.  Raf wanted to work on
the West Coast and Pete could use the change of scenery. I was grateful to
leave-blue northers and summer heat alerts.

 After a series of discussions, the three of us made our decision and we
moved to a beach house on the cliffs above Santa Barbara.  It was built on
several levels -- very simple, clean, open lines with a skylight, a wide
patio facing the ocean.  There was a big, empty room downstairs -- I
supposed the builders had intended it for parties.  Lots of glass facing
the ocean and a good breeze.  To be concise, it was a very simple, angular
4br/3ba home.  Wide spaces let the ocean breezes cool it all day and night.

***


At twenty-six, Raf had joined the writer's union and was invited to speak
at conferences around the country.  Pete and I occasionally accompanied
him, but we preferred to walk on the beach, enjoying the quiet while Raf
was enhancing his talent as a writer and creative consultant.

On my sixty-fifth birthday, Raf was gone all day.  I hoped he was bringing
cake and ice cream, maybe one of those new electric bikes I'd seen on the
streets.  Yeah, he brought cake and ice cream and he brought a young man --
about fourteen years old!

"This is Conrad."  He told Pete and me, then went into the kitchen.  The
boy seemed relaxed enough though poorly dressed, needed his shaggy brown
hair cut.

Shaking the boy's hand, "I'm Gabe and this is my brother Pete.  Are you
here to celebrate my birthday?"

He looked at me, "Sorta, I'm your gift."

Pete burst into laughter, "You just got a house-boy!  This is gonna be
fun!"

"House-boy?"  I asked, "What's that about?"

"You know, I help around the house."  He looked at the floor.

"Oh, like a maid or gardener?"  I put my hand on his shoulder to find it
bony.  "Hope you can wash windows."

"Sure."  He looked around the room. Pete was grinning at the boy, motioning
for him to sit beside him.  Pete had to check the boy out; I was still
flummoxed -- you can't give a human as a gift unless they're bought or
they're a slave.  I'd never agree to that! Where were the kid's parents?

Pete pulled the boy close to him, "That old codger doesn't know about
house-boys, but I do.  Tell me, what do you like doing the best?"

"Uhm -- I like swimming, but I can do laundry.  Maybe giving you a bath?"
A whispered conversation ensued between them, and the boy shook his head,
"No.  I was afraid -- I ran away."

Pete hugged the boy, "Get in the kitchen and get something to eat, skinny!"
The boy ran to the kitchen.  Pete was grinning, watching the boy leave the
room.  "What a gift and a virgin, too."

"We can't keep him here - his parents are looking for him.  Probably an
alert out for him now!"

"Doubt that.  Military father; mom left while he was stationed abroad and
didn't happen to tell the kid where she went.  He ran away from foster care
and was going to work the streets but he got scared."  He looked at me,
"Any of that sound familiar?"

"What are we supposed to do with him?"

"Give him work, find out where he wants to go.  If he stays here, we'll get
some ID for him and give him a new start.  Let's see how this works out,
but if I know Raf, he's brought this boy for a reason."

"Well, I could use help with the shopping -- but how do we know he's okay?
Doesn't look like he's on drugs but he could be street-wise..."

"Calm down old man, he looks fine to me.  Scared and hungry, needs a
friend.  I can be that friend if you won't."

"He's my gift."

"Humph."

***

Over dinner, Raf told us that he was leaving for New York for two weeks,
"I'd feel better if Conrad was here -- let's get him a phone so he can call
me."

"What's going to happen?  You think I can't take care of myself anymore?"
I snorted back.

"Gabe, I love you and Conrad can help with things -- remember when you told
me to back off the work and take some time off?  Well, back off the work --
this is your retirement.  Enjoy your life.  When I come back, I'll expect
that Conrad is healthier and happy.  You can be as good to him as you were
to me."  Conrad kept eating, I suspected he wasn't sure exactly what was
going to happen, but he seemed okay with all this.

"Conrad, have you worked before?"  Pete asked.

Nodding his head with his mouth full of pasta, "I washed car windows for a
while, then I walked dogs last summer...  Uh, I cleaned the house and did
the laundry for my mom..."

"How long have you been on the street?"  I asked.

"Since I was twelve."

I almost choked.  "How have you survived?"

"Dumpsters.  I eat out of `em and live in `em.  If you wedge the panels
shut, no one can bother you at night so I carried my wedges with me all the
time.  Most people don't want to climb up and into a dumpster at night."

"Ingenious, very clever."  I stared at the boy.

"Pete, you and Gabe take Conrad for some clothes tomorrow on the way back
from the airport, okay?"  Raf told us.

"Delighted."  Pete said and grinned.  "We'll make sure he's shining when
you get back."

"My gift."  I reminded Pete.

***


That night, Raf put Conrad in the guest room and came to my bed.  He
explained that Conrad had been living outside the union hall.  "I kept
seeing this kid coming and going.  Probably in the dumpster next door --
packing company, so there was mostly plastic wrapping and cardboard.  After
a while, I asked the staff at the union hall about him.  Gabe, the office
staff took up a collection for the boy but he refused it.  Someone asked
him to provide security for the parking lot -- he was willing to work for
the money.  Sounded like me so long ago, and I took a chance."  He looked
into my eyes, "Like you took a chance with me."

"He didn't get into drugs or sex, did he?"

"I asked -- he was afraid to prostitute himself.  Saw the body of one of
his friend dumped in the river -- a street boy.  Conrad wasn't specific,
but I think his friend was down in West Hollywood working the corners.
He's trying to make it till he's eighteen.  Said he could go into the
military."  Raf paused, "About the drugs, I don't think so but you might
check him for any needle marks -- but he's not dope sick, and he doesn't
look like he's in withdrawals."

"Does that boy think I'm going to demand sex from him?  Is that why Pete's
so excited about a house-boy?"

"I told him you were a kind man.  Gabe, I think he's a gay boy.  Be gentle
with him."

I nodded, "Would you remind Pete that Conrad's my gift?"

He chuckled and kissed my neck, then began sucking my nipples -- god that
made me so horny, but he held me against him, our erections squeezed
together between our bellies and he kissed me, held my face in his tender
hands and his hips began rocking smoothly, spreading our pre-cum.  His skin
against mine made me feel so human, so loved and so much a part of him.  I
couldn't help but start rocking against him as my hands opened his cleft
and I rubbed his pucker roughly.  He shuddered and I felt his slit surging
with cum; then mine.

We fell asleep in our embrace.

***


Never knew house-boys existed, and glad I found out.  He was a big help,
but I had to stay on him about his online classes.  He wasn't as studious
as Raf had been.  Conrad finished growing up with us as our light-weight
carer and we got a heavy-weight young man to help when Pete couldn't stand
so well.  Now Pete couldn't stand up so well, but he could still get it up
-- that was a comfort for me.  Raf was off around the world often.

Conrad enlisted and earned the benefits to go to UCSB.  He moved to Santa
Barbara to begin work in the computer field.  Pete left him enough money to
combine with his military benefits and buy a small apartment building.  He
did well.

When Raf turned thirty-five, I was over seventy and we were married.  Not
married in a man-woman sense -- not at all.  Raf met a man and fell in love
-- we were all joined as a family.  Nothing could separate Raf and me; his
new husband was a firecracker!  He'd been raised on a New Mexico ranch and
we became good friends -- real down-to-earth guy.

Our house was filled with friends and we usually had a couple of house-boys
-- I didn't like that term either.  They became "my boys," and I called
them by their names.  As I watched Raf work with the boys, I saw a young
boy taking care of his disabled brother, carefully suctioning his trachea
clear of mucus.  Caring was part of his nature as well as mine.  Could
never bring myself to do anything other than fondle their bodies -- unless
they asked for more.  More often than not it pressed to many of my buttons.
I didn't want any kind of lover who felt obligated to please me.

This was the way Raf pieced his own family together around him in a casual,
beautiful way.

Raf began using the downstairs area for writer's workshops and specialized
classes. His classes were for young people, new writers and boys needing
encouragement.  No degree, but he had more experience and ambition than
most grads.  Was I proud?  Oh, yeah.  Sometimes his schedule was hectic but
he was still earning top dollar at a job he loved.

What more could I ask on this mortal realm?  He'd made it!

We made it.

***


Strangely, my boy became the father to his man filling in the gaps of my
ignorance.  In some ways, at the age of fifty-two, I wizened at warp speed.
For years I ignored parts me because I had no name or place for them -- but
they marched forward haltingly claiming their long-empty places.  I became
whole through those years.

Rafael completed me in his way -- he showed me that love wasn't limited to
a narrow, specified act, but an expansive, dynamic power that made this man
more than he'd ever dreamed he'd be.  I was loved, appreciated, respected
by the man I cared for the most.  Believe it or not, I shed my
straightjackets; I was finally free.

The last straightjacket I shed was the one of working for the respect and
appreciation of others -- all I needed was self-respect and a strong boy
who became a good man that I respected, appreciated and loved.  That was
all I needed and I got it all.

We made it.


Fin.