This is a work of fiction involving a young teenage boy and an older man. It's a story of love and devotion, not a recitation of gratuitous sex. The characters are all figments of my imagination. None are real people, although minor players in the story are based on experiences I have had, and may reflect my bias.
I claim exclusive copyright to the story, and have granted Nifty Archive publishing privileges. You may download or print it out, but you may not sell it or derive profit from it. If you enjoy my tale, let me know with an email to email@example.com
Please pay heed to the law in your State or Country regarding age of consent. Minors are asked to read more suitable material for their age.
Sorry about the typo at the beginning of Chapter Eight. For those of you who missed it, the installment was falsely titled 'Chapter Seven.' I'll try to be more careful in the future. I know how it happened, but that's no excuse. Hindsight is always 20/20.
Tuesday morning, I realized I had not yet done anything about Eric's educational needs. After checking the markets, I logged on to the State education site, and found not only a placement test, but also a curriculum and an application for home teaching certification. I downloaded everything we would need, printed the test, and took Eric to the library to take it. I gave him the instructions, told hin not to dawdle since there was a time limit on it. I left him on his honor, and went back to the computer.
I filled out the certification application, which I had no trouble with. My education was excellent (if somewhat dated), and I was sure I would be licensed to teach one or two middle school kids if they lived on the estate. I was sure the school bus driver would be pleased they would be home taught. It was an extra five miles up that snowy hill.
The phone rang about ten. It was Ralph Zimmer, the realtor, who said he had a listing right on the beach in Lincoln City. He wasn't too enthusiastic about it though. It was a rundown, forty year old motel. He said the price was inviting, but that it would cost a bunch to make it habitable. I asked him if he thought it was worth the trip to look at it. He said, "Probably not, but it's the only thing that's even close to what you want."
I asked him when he would have the time to make the trip, and he told me he would make the time whenever I wanted to go. "Well," I said, "why don't we plan on tomorrow morning then, I'll meet you there around ten." He gave me the address, and I thanked him.
I looked at my watch, and was just about to go up to the library when Eric knocked on the outer door. "Dad?" he called out, "I finished the test." He still had ten minutes available to him, and I was pleasantly surprised.
"OK," I said. "Bring it here, and we'll get it sent off to be graded."
He ran in and handed me the forms, which I put in an envelope and got it ready for the mail. We took it down to the mailbox, put it inside, and raised the little red flag. I was really quite pleased that he had finished early, and mentioned it to him. He smiled with pride and the knowledge he had done something special. I got the impression that he was not all that familiar with praise in his former home.
Carl called about two, and told me Josh was doing pretty well, and the doctor thought a visit to the estate might be possible by the weekend. I approved the visit, and told him Eric and I would be going to the coast the next day. He said, "I'd like to come down here again tomorrow if it's alright with you. Tom will be there to look after the place."
"That's fine," I agreed. "As long as there is someone here to watch the gate in case there is a delivery, and to pick up the mail."
I hung up the phone, and asked Eric, "How about spaghetti tonight?"
"Yeah," he bubbled. "I haven't had spaghetti in a long time."
We went into the kitchen, and I set him to dicing up the celery and green peppers. I got the onions and garlic going in the big stew pot, and started browning some hamburger in another pan. The aromas filled the room, and Eric started salivating. "How long does it take to make?" he asked.
"It should be ready by five-thirty," I told him. "We have to get all the flavors to come together and make sure the vegetables are cooked." I paused while I added the salt, pepper, oregano and basil to the skillet with the meat. "In Italy, it takes all day because they use fresh tomatoes, to make the sauce. We don't have any in the winter here, so I use canned. It cuts a lot off the time." I salted the onions and garlic, and stirred the meat.
"It smells so good," he said, "I don't think I could wait that long." He giggled, and brought the bowl with the other vegetables around the island. I put them in the big pot, and stirred them a bit.
As the vegetables started to sweat, I put a couple of bay leaves and some marjoram in with them, and added some Italian sausage to the browning meat. Eric stuck his nose over the skillet and said, "Mmmmmm. I could eat that right now."
"Why don't you grab a couple of cookies and a glass of milk," I suggested. "Don't eat too many or you won't be hungry when dinner is ready."
He got out a package of Oreos and said with a grin, "Fat chance of that ever happening."
I smiled at the truth of that statement as I transferred the well browned meat into the big pot with a slotted spoon, and added a large can of tomatoes. Then I discarded the fat and reduced a cup of good red wine in the skillet to deglaze it, and put that in the pot too. I mixed it all up, put the lid on, and put it into a slow oven to simmer.
Eric went to watch some TV while I made a small antipasto, and coated some French bread with butter, garlic, and freshly grated Parmesan cheese. I covered the plates with saran wrap and put them away - the antipasto in the fridge, and the bread in the warming drawer.
I thought about making some pistachio gelato for dessert, but looked at the clock and decided there wasn't enough time for that. Ice cream would have to do.
I went in to join Eric, and we watched an old episode of Perry Mason, and a couple of MASH reruns. I left him surfing with the remote, and went back to the kitchen. I pulled the sauce out of the oven and added a can each of tomato sauce and tomato paste to it, stirred it, and put it back in to heat. Then I filled a stock pot with water, and put it on a big burner to boil. I melted some butter in a small skillet, and cooked down some mushrooms over medium heat. When they were nicely done, I added a dash of Tabasco and squeezed a lemon over them. I added a bit of salt, tossed the pan to coat them all, and then added the whole thing to the sauce.
Eric came in just as I was putting the spaghetti into the stock pot. "Is it almost done?" he asked.
"Just about," I answered as I took the antipasto out of the fridge. "Do you want to eat here or in the dining room?"
"Here," he said. "The dining room is too big when we don't have company." He started setting the island, and I put the antipasto on it between the two places. "What's that?" he asked.
"It's sort of an Italian Salad," I told him. "You can eat as much or as little as you want. A real Italian dinner isn't complete without an antipasto."
He picked up a slice of the salami, and nibbled at it. His lips formed a giant arc, and he gobbled the rest of the slice down. "Mmmmmm. That's spicy." He picked up a black olive, and tested it before he ate that too.
I told him to add a soup spoon to each place, and he asked why." It helps you eat the spaghetti," I said as I added a big bowl of Parmesan cheese to the table setting."I'll show you in a bit."
I put the garlic bread under the broiler. Then I tested the pasta, and drained it. By the time I got the pasta to the island, the bread was nicely toasted, and I served it with a flourish. Eric was still trying all the various new tastes of the antipasto, and I was pleased to see he didn't reject any of them. I put the sauce on the island in the hot pot, added a big ladle, and sat down.
He watched as I twirled my spaghetti up on the fork using the soup spoon as an aid. "That's neat!" he said. I watched him make several attempts to copy the feat, but he kept dropping it back to the plate. I showed him what he was doing wrong, and after a couple more tries, he was successful. He was overjoyed that he had accomplished a new skill, and probably ate more than he should have just so he could practice. I smiled at his boyish glee, and decided the ice cream wouldn't be necessary - at least not immediately.
As we ate our fill, Eric was enthusiastic with his praise of the meal. "I've never had spaghetti this good. Will you teach me how to cook like you?"
"I'm glad you like it," I said, "and I'd be happy to teach you everything I know - about anything I can. I'm pleased that you're interested."
Eric cleaned up the dirty dishes while I put the extra sauce into a container, and put it in the freezer along with the leftover garlic toast which I wrapped in foil. There wasn't much antipasto left, but I put it in the fridge in case he wanted a snack in the near future.
There wasn't much on TV, and Eric was so full of spaghetti that he didn't feel like playing pool, so we went to bed early in anticipation of the long trip to the coast the next morning.
I woke a little early the next morning, and was relaxing in the comfort of happy thoughts when Eric came in. He crawled into the bed with me, and cuddled up with his arms around my neck. "Good morning, Son," I said. "Did you sleep well?"
"Uh-huh," he grunted. "But I think I ate too much last night."
"I'm sure you did," I said, "but it's nice to pig out every once in a while."
"Are you going to work out this morning?" he asked.
"I think we better," I said. "Meals like last night's have a tendency to make you fat."
He bounced up, kissed me on the cheek, and said, "Well, let's go."
I got up, did my morning ablutions, and put on a pair of shorts and Nike's. We went to the basement, and had a good forty minute workout. He was experienced enough to pick his own exercises by now, and I let him do whatever he wanted to - always watching that he didn't overestimate his abilities to the point of strain. I spotted him for fifty pound bench presses, and was pleased to see he was able to do five reps with about half his body weight. We finished with a brisk walk on the treadmill, and some cool down stretches.
We shared a shower, and got dressed in casual clothes. When we got to the kitchen, I opened a jar of salsa, and made some Huevos Rancheros with a rasher of bacon on the side. He cleaned his plate, and I asked him if he had enough. He said, "I didn't think I would ever want to eat again after last night, but this was so good I couldn't resist." I gave him a funny look, and he giggled and added, "Well, not so soon, anyway."
We both laughed at that, and did the necessary clean up. After checking the computer for messages and investments, I made sure I had my checkbook, and we climbed into the truck for the drive to the coast. Eric was bright eyed, and said, "I've never seen the ocean before. Will we get to see it today?"
"If it's not too foggy," I said. "The weather forecast said it would be windy with high clouds so we should be able to."
He got a big grin on his face and said, "Neat."
It was a very enjoyable trip with Eric happily remarking on almost everything he saw. I realized this was a special outing for him, and made it as educational as I could without being pedantic. We pulled up at the property with ten minutes to spare for our ten o'clock appointment. Ralph was waiting for us, and we made the inspection with some disappointment while Eric stood agog gaping at the vast expanse of water beyond the beach. "Awesome," was his only comment.
The main building was in a drastic state of disrepair, and had evidently been used by several homeless people. The cabins were similarly abused. There were some good points - it was right on the beach, and had a sea wall that looked to be in good shape. The buildings sat several feet above the high water mark, and were structurally sound, but the place was filthy, and there were broken windows, unhinged doors, and the manager's living quarters had been gutted of everything that wasn't nailed down..
Ralph was apologetic. "I didn't know it was this bad, or I wouldn't have even mentioned it," he said.
"Not to worry," I said. "It has some good points. How much are they asking?"
"Four fifty," he said.
I ticked off in my mind the repairs that would be necessary, and told Ralph, "I'll offer one seventy five, and that's a gift for a 'do-it-yourself kit' like this - and it's only valid if I can get the permits to do some additional construction.."
Ralph went with us to the City Hall where we made some inquiries. I told the city planner what I had in mind, and he was helpful with his comments and suggestions. He told me there would be no problem with the permits and inspections. He told me the City had recently annexed that part of town and was hoping someone would refurbish that property. Ralph called the bank that held the deed. At the completion of the call he said with some surprise, "They'll take your offer. We'll have to fill out the offer and acceptance forms, but you should be able to take possession by late next week. It's a foreclosure, and the bank has already paid off all the outstanding liens. Escrow should be a walk in the park."
"I'll be in your office this afternoon by three," I said. I signed the offer form he filled out, wrote out an earnest money check, and handed it to him. He thanked me, shook my hand, and left for his office.
Eric and I called on a couple of contractors, and I got an idea of what it would cost to fix the place up. It was a slow time of year for businesses on the coast, and I met with one of the general contractors. He went with us to the site, and I went over the things I wanted done. He became excited when he saw the extent of the work, and promised he could finish it all by the first of May.
"I won't own it until next week," I told him, "but I would like to get the windows and doors closed up. The weather is not doing the buildings any good, and I'm sure you'll have to dry it out before you can begin."
He said, "I can do that this afternoon if you're sure you'll have title to the property by the end of the month."
"Everything is verbal right now, but I should have paperwork on the deal by close of business this afternoon." I wrote him a check for a thousand dollars to cover the cost of materials, and told him, "I'll call you by ten in the morning, and you can go ahead with closing it up. I'd appreciate it if you'd also post some 'No Trespassing' signs."
"No problem," he said. "Glad to do it."
Eric and I found a restaurant with a good view of the Pacific, and had a nice lunch of clam chowder and a seafood salad. Both were delicious, but I doubted Eric even tasted the food. He was busy watching the ocean, the waves, and all the birds and people on the beach. His eyes were so wide open, I thought they might pop out of his head. I finally said to him regretfully, "Come on, Son. We have to go. I have an appointment with Ralph this afternoon."
He sighed and nodded. I tried to soften his disappointment by saying, "We'll come back in a few weeks. Then you can go run on the beach, and wade in the ocean if you want to." He brightened immediately and said, "Really? I can really touch the ocean?"
I smiled and said, "Of course. In fact, this summer you can swim in it."
"Awesome," he said getting up. "I can't wait."
The trip back to the valley was even more of a pleasure for me than the one that morning. Eric was animated and excited. I think he would have been clinging to the overhead if he hadn't been firmly buckled into his seat. We laughed and made plans for the summer all the way to the real estate office. I hardly knew where the time went. The good company made the trip short, and after signing the necessary forms and agreements, we arrived home around five o'clock.
I made hamburgers, french fries, and a salad for supper, and Eric had the ice cream he had missed the night before.
We went in and built a fire in the fireplace. Sitting there on the sofa with Eric snuggled against me, and Mozart playing softly over the Hi-Fi, I couldn't think of anything that could possibly make me happier. I looked at the tree, and noticed the needles that had fallen on the floor. I said, "We need to take the Christmas tree down, and put away the decorations tomorrow."
"Noooooo," he whined. "It's still pretty."
"Yes," I said, "but soon it will shed all its needles, and it's already becoming a fire hazzard. Besides, if we leave it up all year, there won't be any surprise next Christmas."
He saw the wisdom in what I said, and reluctantly agreed to help me get it stripped in the morning. We sat quietly for a while, and soon I heard the unmistakable sound of his soft snores. I let him sleep for an hour or so, and then carried him up the stairs and gently put him to bed. He still had a smile on his face as he nestled into the covers. "Goodnight, Son," I murmured. I kissed his cheek, and quietly left the room.
I called the contractor the next morning, and told him he could start on the reconstruction whenever he was ready. The bank had told Ralph they had no objections since the purchase would be cash, and there was no reason for a credit check. They also promised a warranty deed within ten days with the title and transfer to be recorded by the end of the month.
After taking down the tree, and putting all the decorations in the attic, Eric and I went to town to beef up his wardrobe. I took him to a reputable men's store where he was measured, draped, posed, and pampered. He reveled in all the attention, and I sat quietly watching the scene play out before me. I bought him two more suits, some dress shirts, several ties, an overcoat, and some casual wear too. I also bought him a wallet, and put five twenties in it. He was a little disappointed when he learned the clothes wouldn't be ready until the following Wednesday, but took the news in good spirits when I pointed out all the sewing that had to be done.
We stopped by the shelter on the way home, and talked to the 'Three Musketeers, as they had become know. Josh was in considerably better shape than the last time I had seen him, and Eric was excited to see them all. They ran off to play while I met with Carl and the doctor.
Josh is amazingly resilient," said the doctor. "I didn't expect him to rebound from his experiences this quickly."
I nodded and said, "That's the result of a lifetime of disappointments, Doctor Ryan. He has spent the last three years forgetting the bad things that have happened to him."
"Call me Pat," he said. "Short for Padraig, thanks be to God. My older brother got the inheritance, but he also got Da's name - Shamus Cornelius." I hadn't noticed an accent before when I talked to him, but he had lapsed into a burlesque of an Irish brogue.
I chuckled, and imitated the brogue, "Small blessings are the best, for there are so many of them."
Pat was shocked, "You're Irish?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I'm descended from the Welsh family Llewellyn, but I'm sure there is probably some pure Irish blood back there somewhere."
We chuckled a bit, and then got back to the issue at hand. "I don't know if Josh is handling the situation better than most or if he's just in denial that this has all happened at all," Pat said. "It's a wonder to me that he hasn't completely withdrawn, and become catatonic."
Carl said, "I think the world of that boy, and I'm willing to do anything you suggest to help him."
"I'll give you some of his medications to take with you when he goes to visit," said Pat. "Use them as infrequently as you can. One is a mild sedative, and the other is for his epilepsy.That one you should give him once a day"
It was my turn to be shocked. "How did he survive on the streets if he's epileptic?" I asked.
"The simple answer is that he wasn't epileptic then." The doctor continued, "I think it's a conditioned response to losing Jeremy. It's something he has developed over the last several days to deal with events he can't explain to himself. Explain, Hell. He can't even bring himself to admit in his mind that they happened. When Jeremy died, he lost a part of himself - a part that he believes can never be replaced - and for some reason, he blames himself. We may never know what happened that caused them to be separated that night, but I believe the reason for that separation may be the key to his recovery."
"Sounds like a 'long and winding road'," said Carl, quoting the line from a song. "It doesn't really matter to me one way or the other - we'll still love him - but is there any hope at all?" he asked.
"Right now, all you can do is love him," said Pat. "Love does marvelous things for the psyche, and that's the part of him he believes is lost to him. He is also the victim of a deeply inculcated prejudice born of years of denigration and abuse. He has been taught that God punishes sinners, and that gay people are all sinners. Ergo, he believes that Jeremy is burning in Hell, and that is something Josh can't even contemplate. He would willingly suffer the same fate if only they could be together to face the flames."
Carl began to weep. "My God, I can't believe the torment he must be suffering. God damn all those self-righteous, so-called 'Christians.' I know Jews who live their life closer to Christ's teachings than those hellfire and brimstone bigots."
I had never heard Carl denounce anyone with so much vehemence. I said, "Easy, Carl. You're sounding like a bigot on the other side. None of us here think they are right, but you have to realize that they are just as sincere in what they believe. The difference lies in the fact that we will listen to reason; they will not. You can't win an argument with someone who shouts down your points, and teaches a doctrine that is absolutely ignorant of the love found in the Bible."
We decided to take Josh to the estate that afternoon instead of waiting until the next day. Doctor Ryan gave Carl the pills he would need, and cautioned him not to leave the boy alone for any length of time. "The onset of depression can be very quick, and a depressed person is not a logical one," he said. "Keep your arms around him as much as possible, and reenforce your love for him with both words and actions. I don't think I have to tell you that sexual contact is a no-no." Carl looked horrified, and started to say something, but the doctor continued, "I had to mention that for my own peace of mind. Josh may even want some kind of sexual release, but it would just be to feel used - actually, to flagellate himself."
One of the counselors, a man named Ray, knocked on the door, and stuck his head in. "Excuse me Doctor Ryan, but Kevin Wallace is here." He made it sound like a question.
"Oh, yes," said Pat. "I'll only be another minute." To Carl and me, he said, "Another wandering boy. We already have thirty one residents. All of them get a complete checkup for our protection as well as theirs."
We broke up the meeting, and went to find the boys. They were huddled in a corner of the lounge whispering and giggling. They looked for all the world like teenagers without a care in the world. Eric saw me and ran to me. "Dad! Guess what. There's a room upstairs with a piano, and horns, and guitars, and drums, and a whole bunch of weird looking instruments."
I was pleased that John had gotten the music room installed so quickly. I noticed that Josh had eased up beside Carl and slipped his head under an arm. I smiled at them all and said, "I knew about the plans for a music room, but I didn't know it had happened already."
I put my arm around Eric's shoulder and asked, "Are you ready to go home? Josh can come along if he wants to."
Bobby and Sam smiled, but it was a dejected smile. Eric bubbled, "Can Bobby and Sam come too?" I smelled the aroma of a conspiracy.
I thought about that for a bit, and finally decided it might be a good idea. "I'll have to talk to the counselor, but it's OK with me. It might be fun."
I left an ecstatic group of teens with Carl while I went in search of Ray. I found him waiting for the new boy, and told him of the plan to take all three boys to the estate for the weekend. He called his supervisor, and the permission was granted. I returned to the lounge and told the boys to get some clean clothes, and that they could ride with Carl since he had the van. Eric would have none of that plan, and pointed out that there was a second seat in the truck that would be perfect for Bobby and Sam. I don't think wild horses could have pried Josh away from Carl, so I gave in without a fight. "That's fine," I said. "Go get your stuff."
They vanished as if a magician had waved his wand, and reappeared just as quickly a few minutes later. Bobby and Sam had wide grins on their faces, which they had evidently taken the time to scrub. I told Carl I would do the shopping on the way home. Four teenage appetites would strip the reserves of our larder in less than a day.
I went to Albertson's where I knew I could occasionally get live lobsters imported in seawater from Maine. I found several nice young ones that were a little heavy for their size. I also bought fifty pounds of hamburger, twenty steaks, ten whole chickens, five racks of beef ribs, five pounds of sausage links, and odd and sundry other meat items in bulk. The meat counter looked like a tornado had stripped it when we got through. I sent the boys to the checkout with the carts, and told them to bring empty ones back. I gave Eric my household debit card, and told him to start the checkout. Bobby and Sam were in their glory scampering up and down the aisles carrying armloads of groceries to the carts, and then pushing them to the next aisle. I bought five ten pound bags of onions, three flats of mushrooms, two dozen heads of garlic, and all but cleaned out a bin of nice looking imported Mexican tomatoes.
I looked for the boys, but didn't see them. There was a crowd up front where a man was berating someone with words like "vandals" and "thieves". I pushed the cart I had been filling up toward the excitement. The assistant manager had Bobby and Sam by the collar, and was threatening them with all sorts of dire consequences. He made a grab for Eric, and I shouted at him, "If you so much as lay a finger on that boy, I will not be responsible for your well being."
He looked at me, and recognized me at once since I was such a good customer. He also recognized that I was livid with anger. I got right up in his face, and put my nose an inch from his. I whispered in an almost inaudible hiss, "These boys are all in my care, and if you ever touch any of them again, I'll have you charged with criminal child abuse. I will personally see to it that you never work in this State again, and if I can manage it, I will see you homeless and begging for nickels." He blanched at the quiet intensity of my assault on his consciousness and stood there speechless. "Do you understand me?"
He stood there quivering, and the store was deathly quiet. I almost lost it because I heard the unmistakable sound of urine leaking out of his pants leg. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" I roared.
He shit his pants, and collapsed in a heap. I looked up and saw four police officers standing at the edge of the crowd with smirks on their faces. I recognized one of them, and called to him, "Hey, Darrel. What's up?"
He pushed his way through the crowd while his partners started breaking it up. "I should ask you the same thing," he said. "What the hell happened here?"
"How much did you see?" I asked.
He looked down at the assistant manager who was beginning to revive, and moved away from the stink. "We saw most of it - from when you came out of the back of the store. What did you say to this jerk?"
I chuckled and said, "It wasn't so much what I said, but the way I said it. He believed every word, and could see his future evaporating. The wuss couldn't handle it, and he fainted."
The other cops were interviewing other customers. As the wimp slowly picked himself up off the floor and disappeared toward the back of the store, I got the impression that this assistant manager didn't have a lot of friends when the checkers started to give their accounts of the event. Darrel let me go, and I finished the shopping.
Bobby and Sam, who had been on the receiving end of the wimp's abuse often in the past, were dancing around having a ball as the checker went through cart after cart. Eric was strangely quiet, and I asked him what ws wrong. He whispered in my ear, "I was scared you were going to kill him, and then you would have been arrested, and I'd be on the streets again, and I wouldn't ever see you again.." The tears were flowing in buckets by then, so I took him in my arms and hugged him tight.
"I would never kill a nothing like him," I said soothingly. "It's a lot easier to destroy his manhood, and leave him with nothing but the memory of peeing on the floor, and shitting his pants. I don't think he will ever try to throw his weight around with kids again.
"And I will always make sure you have a place to live," I added. "You will never have to go back to the streets."
The checker finally finished totaling up all the groceries, and said, "Four thousand, sixty two dollars and forty eight cents." She said it as if a sale like that was a common occurrence.
I released Eric and said, "Give her the card, Son."
Eric handed the debit card to the checker. She swiped it through the machine and handed it back to him. I punched in my PIN number, and she started folding the ten feet or so of itemized receipt. The carts were lined up like the cars of a freight train on a siding, and I instructed the boys on the method of getting everything to the truck without losing anything. Sam stood by the truck and loaded it. Bobby and Eric pushed the carts out the door, and I stood guard over the remaining stuff.
The checker came over to me to hand me the receipt, and said, "Thank you Mr. Llewellyn. You made our day - all of us. None of us can stand that arrogant twit."
I chuckled and said, "Glad I could help."
Eric and I pushed the last two carts out to the truck, and found the boys had done a good job of loading the groceries into the bed. We finished loading, and I asked the boys to push the empty carts back into the store. They came running back giggling and cutting up, and climbed in. Sam and Bobby climbed into the back seat, Eric took his place in the front, and we made the trip home without further incident.
The boys all pitched in to unload the truck and put the food away. I called Carl on the intercom, and told him to send Tom up to the house with a list of what he needed. We all helped fill the order, and Tom left shaking his head with a big smile on his face. It was going to be a fun weekend.
I fed the wolf pack on hot dogs, canned beans, and warmed french bread slathered with butter. It wasn't the best or fanciest meal I've ever prepared, but it was hot, quick, and filling. I had a surprise for them tomorrow, so I didn't feel the least bit guilty. I was going to make Paella, the Spanish National dish.
Eric got Bobby and Sam settled in their own rooms, and we had fun playing team Eightball. I shooed them all up to bed around ten o'clock, and sat down with a highball to relax.
The house was still when I climbed the stairs. I opened each door, and smiled at the sound of regular breathing knowing it was an indication of feeling safe and secure. I dropped my clothes in my hamper, and crawled into bed. It had been a full day, and I dropped off to sleep almost immediately.
I awoke from a pleasant dream with the unmistakable sensation of a warm, moist mouth containing a very active tongue wrapped around my rigid cock, and sliding slowly up and down while ten expert fingers caressed my pubic hair and balls. I started to panic. How could I stop this without hurting the feelings of whoever it was? More importantly, did I want to stop it? Was it Eric? I didn't think so after all the talks we'd had about sex. Bobby? Possibly, but why? Sam? The most likely suspect. He was the oldest, and presumably the most experienced, and whoever it was, had lots of experience. But again, why would he risk something like this?
All these thoughts ran through my mind with the speed of sound as I looked at the clock, and reached up to turn on the light.
How's that for a cliffhanger? The answers to these questions and more in Chapter Ten.
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