This is my first attempt at writing fiction - particularly erotic fiction. The names and events are all figments of my imagination, and I apologize for any similarity to your life or lovers. I assure you, it's not intentional

I claim copyright privileges for this story. It comes from a favorite fantasy of mine, and if you find it enjoyable, let me know with an email to deerstalker79@hotmail.com.

Although there is no sex in the first chapter, I assure you that if the response is good, and the comments favorable, I will continue the story in a much more erotic fashion. There will be inter-generational sexual content.

The usual disclaimers apply. If you are under the legal age in your State, go read something else. If you are offended by this type of subject matter, why are you reading stuff from a gay site?

For all the reat of you, enjoy.

ERIC

    He came out of the storm like a wraith, a white on white image in the headlights, waving his arms wildly, the snow clumping up on the oversized army surplus OD jacket and navy pea cap. I stopped and rolled down the window of the pickup. He ran up to me, slipping and sliding in the heavy snow already on the ground, and pleaded, "Please help me Mister."

    I had seen the boy before in warmer times, and bought sandwiches for him on a few occasions the summer and fall before when I saw him rummaging through garbage cans to survive. He was somewhat bigger than he appeared tonight, bundled up in the heavy clothing - about 5'4" and 90 pounds - but he had lost a lot of body mass due to skimpy and infrequent meals. I had pegged him as a street kid with a sordid past that included physical abuse by a red-necked (step?)father - a runaway, or a "throwaway" - one of the hundreds of kids who have to make it on their own through no fault of their own. I knew he was jail bait - no more than 14 - and I had not had any extended conversations with him in the past. Registered sex offenders tend to avoid consorting with young teens. Missing today was the beautiful, glowing smile that had made me notice him last June. He had the wan look of defeat; the appearance of one who has come to the end of his rope.

    The Willamette Valley of Oregon doesn't get a lot of snow - indeed it had been several years since we had any at all - but the storm unleashing its fury on this Christmas Eve was making up for all the ones we had dodged before. The temperature was in the low twenties, and the snow was coming down at about two inches an hour. I had come into town to stock up on food and a few other things for Christmas and New Year's, and was just pulling out of the supermarket parking lot when this child made his plea. I knew he would die this night if noone sheltered him from the tempest. "Get in," I said. "We'll talk."

    He hurried around the front of the pickup, and climbed in. He was shivering, and his lips had taken on that bluish cast that indicated he was cold to the core. I cranked up the heater, and told him to open his jacket so the heat could get to his body. "What are you called?" I asked.

    "Eric Larson" he replied. "I sure thank you for this."

    I was a little surprised that he would give me his last name. Street kids usually protect their origins, but I didn't push the question. "I'm Bob. Before we go any further, I want to tell you I'm gay," I said.

    "I figured you were, but I just can't hold out any longer. There are worse things," he said

    "What do you mean, 'hold out,'" I asked.

    "I've had a lot of offers since I hit the streets, but I never went home with anyone before," he said. "I don't want to catch AIDS. I wouldn't go with any of them even tonight, but you've always been nice to me, so when I saw you leaving the store, I decided to ask you for help." He added an afterthought, "You don't have AIDS, do you?"

    "No. I don't have AIDS," I told him. "I have a dicey heart, arthritis, and a few other maladies that come with old age, but I've always been careful about incurable nastiness.

    "And to answer your next question, I won't hurt you either." I smiled at him, and added,"Hurting people isn't my bag. It doesn't give me any pleasure at all. I don't like to be hurt, and I just assume that other people don't like it either."

    He thought about that for a moment or two, and nodded in agreement. "I'm sorry," he said, changing the subject as he spread open the jacket.  "I guess I don't smell very good."

    "Don't worry about it," I told him. "You'll have a chance to fix that in a little while. I think we should make a stop at Sear's and get you some new clothes and shoes first. The ones you have on look like they've seen better days."

    "You don't have to spend any money on me," he exclaimed. "Just a warm corner and maybe a sandwich is enough."

    "It's my money, and I can spend it however I want," I said.  "Actually, I have much more than can I could ever spend in two lifetimes. I won the big lottery jackpot a few months ago, and I'd a lot rather spend it on someone like you than let the State take it in inheritance taxes."

    I drove my big Dodge four-wheel through the deepening snow and parked in the Sear's lot as close to the entrance as I could get and said , "Come on. They're probably going to close early today so I don't think we have a lot of time."

    Eric opened the door and reluctantly climbed down into the four inch covering of snow on the ground. We walked quickly into the store, and were hit by a wave of welcome heat. I led him to the Boy's Department, and looked for a salesperson. Eric's rather pungent aroma must have preceded us because a pinch-faced man screwed up his nose and avoided eye contact with me while he departed.  I caught a glimpse of a spinsterish woman disappearing around a pillar, but a young man - twenty-something or so - noticed his supervisors avoiding us, and came up to me and asked, "My name is Frank. May I help you?"

    "Yes," I said. "This young man needs some new clothes - a complete outfit, I think, but let's start with shoes. I guess we need some new socks first so he can try them on."

    He looked at Eric's feet shod in ratty, old, wet cross-trainers, and asked "Do you know what size you wear?"

    Eric blushed, and said quietly, "These are fives, but they're a little tight. I think they shrunk."

    Frank smiled at that, walked over to a rack with packages of white socks on it and took down a package. Opening it, he told Eric, "Here. Sit there, and put a pair of these on. You can use some of the others to dry your feet. I'll be back in a moment." He walked around a pillar, and reappeared almost immediately carrying a Brannock Device. He waited patiently while Eric took off his old shoes and socks, carefully dried hie feet. and put on the new socks. He put the measuring scale on the floor and fitted Eric's right foot into it, and then said, "Please stand up while I adjust this."

    I watched as the salesman measured Eric's foot, and noticed that the old shoes were causing him some displeasure. I asked him if there was a trash can we could deposit them in. He smiled and said, "Over there, by the cashier's station," indicating the counter from whence the two prigs had departed. I smiled broadly as I picked up the offending items and carried them to the receptacle. As I walked back to the fitting area, Frank and I exchanged a knowing grin. I doubted the supervisors would return any time soon.
    "Well, it looks like your feet have grown a bit," he said to Eric. " They measure just under size five and a half. I'd suggest you get sixes, since you're probably going to grow quite a bit in the next few months. Now what style do you have in mind? "

    "Let's have a look at the 'Hush Puppies'," I said. " He'll also need a pair of insulated boots, a new pair of cross-trainers, and some house slippers." Eric looked at me and reddened. I winked at him, and he shrugged.

    When Eric had been carefully fitted with his new footwear, including wool socks to go inside the boots he was now wearing, we walked over to the clothing section and got him fixed up with underwear, t-shirts, jeans, slacks, dress shirts, casual shirts, a warm jacket, and, as an afterthought, a suit - off the rack, but it looked like it would fit him pretty well. He turned ashen when the register checked out at just over eight hundred dollars. When he seemed to ready to object, I whispered to him,"Don't worry about it."

    I thanked Frank for all his help, and noting that the store had long since closed, slipped him a fifty dollar bill. He was effusive with his thanks for this unexpected gift, and helped us carry our purchases to the door. When we got to the exit, I sent Eric out with the first load and took Frank aside. I said, "Would you please go to the jewelry department and get me a watch for Eric? I want something nice to put under the tree, but not in the Rolex category." I handed him two hundred dollar bills, and said, "This should cover it." He walked away with a nod, and returned as Eric and I were picking up the last load to take to the truck.

    "I think you'll like this one," he told me quietly as he surreptitiously handed me a small package. "The receipt and your change are in the bag. Merry Christmas."

    I thanked him, wished him a happy holiday, and slipped the small bag into my jacket pocket. I followed Eric out to the truck with the last of the packages. As I put the key into the ignition, I glanced over at Eric. Tears were streaming down his cheeks leaving white streaks where they had cleaned off the dirt of uncounted weeks of deprivation.  

    "Why are you crying?"

    "Nobody has ever been this nice to me," he answered. "At least not since my Mom died. That's when my father turned into an asshole. I don't know how to thank you enough. My feet haven't been so warm in a long time," he added while looking at his new boots.

    "All you need to do to thank me is get back that big smile I used to see last summer. I want you to be happy. That's all the thanks I need."

    "My father would never spend that much on anyone but himself," he sobbed. "

    "I told you before - the money is not important," I said. "Money, particularly if you have a lot of it,  is never important. It's only a tool - like a hammer.. A hammer can be used to build a house that will keep a family warm, or it can be used to beat someone over the head. The hammer has no knowledge of what it's being used for. It's just a hammer. The difference is in the hands of the owner. The important thing is what you use money for. Some people find joy in hoarding it or buying things they really don't need. I've been there, done that. When I first won the lottery, I bought the biggest truck I could find. Then I bought a big house on a huge piece of land. I pay two guys just to keep the grounds looking good, but I'm still the same lonely old man I was before. I just have echoes now in that big empty house. I have everything I ever wanted when I was poor, but I have noone to share it with. So, I find pleasure in using the money to bring happiness to others. I hope you will want to stay and share my good fortune with me so the house will echo with the sound of laughter and happiness instead of solitary footsteps.

    "Now dry your eyes, and let's go home."

    He looked at me, sniffled a few times, and then started a tentative smile. "You're the driver," he observed.

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