This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts between a man and a minor boy. The story is not true; the sexual acts described herein derive solely from imagination. It is not intended to promote illegal acts with/to/by minors, nor does it condone child abuse of any sort. If you object to the subject matter, stop reading. If you are legally under age to be reading this, or if your reading of this material otherwise violates laws in your place of residence or where you are currently located, stop reading. Thank you.
This story is protected by the copyright conventions of the United States.
This story may not be altered in any way or placed on any site other than Nifty without permission from the author. If you find this work satisfying, please consider supporting Nifty with a contribution.
I offer a heartfelt note of thanks to Richard for providing expert editorial assistance.
My stories as pure fantasy. If they do nothing else, they ask, "What if..." Those who wish to comment, may email me at email@example.com
A story in 13 Chapters
The young man gazed into the mirror, and studied the reflected figure. Had not his breathing been proof otherwise, he could have been a sculpture of Michelangelo. At 18 years old, the naked form was in no way muscle-bound; rather, it was marked by tight, firm musculature. The skin was smooth and richly tanned. There was only the slightest lightening of color across his hips, back and front.
His hair was sun bleached and smooth, but that was to be expected given the location of his home for the past four years - a small island off the coast of Venezuela. The kinky hair on his arms and legs seemed, if anything, even lighter, since it was set off by his dark skin. Curly hair, somewhat darker, decorated each armpit. His well-developed pectorals in contrast, were nearly denuded of hair, but a clear, narrow trail led downward to his navel, then grew thicker and darker and, like an inviting river, flowed into a rich, thick bushy sea surrounding his manhood. Behind, the youth's butt was covered by fine, sparse hair with a thicker patch just above two perfect chiseled outcroppings of muscle.
The 18-year-old gazed satisfied at his reflection. As he did so, his eyes focused on his slack appendage, and slowly, it began to fill and throb with life. When it had grown to its outstretched seven inches, he reached down and grasped it with one hand, the other finding his pendulous testicles. A slow sigh emerged from his full inviting lips, and his practiced action increased in intensity. A look of urgency filled his eyes, yet they sparkled with pure energy. In moments, his body hinted at what was building inside him with its rhythmic undulations, increasing in magnitude. Then, as if passing some undefined threshold, his actions changed - both his hand and whole body assumed a new intensity, almost fury. Every muscle in his body seemed as if they were penile tissue, for they seemed to be compelled to become erect like the organ that slide within his blurring hand.
With a violent thrusting, his hips heralded the imminent climax of his efforts. Eyes closed, muscles popping, body rigid and erect, skin glistening, legs slightly spread, small moanings escaping from his throat, all suggested something almost mystical was about to occur. Then suddenly, with one more thrust which seemed to draw its required energy from every muscle in his body, this living Adonis exploded, launching his seed three feet beyond him. A thick, white, rich cream struck the mirror and began a slow descent to the floor even as another and another and another spasm caused more of his essence to be expelled from his body.
His actions now slowed, and as he stood there, he reached out with his hand and leaned against the mirror, unmoving. His glistening skin testified to the boy's effort. A last, slow drop of semen slowly emerged from his meatus. And, gently squeezing to coax the last bit from his diminishing organ, he scooped up the delicacy with his fingers and greedily sucked them into his mouth.
It was exactly the release he knew would bring him the calm he sought. For now, after four years in this place, the time had come to leave. Except for one small carry-on his bags had already been placed on the island's private jet - the same one that had carried him there almost literally a lifetime ago.
What awaited him now filled him with both excitement and uncertainty. In that respect, he was like any other young man heading off to college. But that perhaps was the only point of similarity between the young man and his soon-to-be college classmates
In the dark haunts of the city, the afternoon's failing sunlight seemed to give permission to the cold to steal in. If the streets were ominous enough, then the side-streets and the alleys off them took on a threatening specter. It was in these places that the most dangerous transactions occur.
"I ought to send yer fuckin' ass back to yer whorin' mother, yer lit'l bastard," the voice hissed venomously.
There was no response from the small figure cowering in the dismal corner of cold brick and grime.
"'At's exactly what I'd do, if I thought she hadn't spent the money already, you son-of-a-whore."
The towering figure stuck his hand under the boy's chin and lifted it. "Yer see, I bought you fair 'n square, fer these two hours. Yer my toy. Understand that, boy."
"I...I..." It was a weak sound that the prepubescent lad seemed barely strong enough to utter.
"What's that!" the dominant figure demanded.
"I'm cold," the boy said weakly.
"Cold. I'm the one with my dong hangin' out here. But things'd warm up fer both of us, if you'd pucker up and let it inta yer yap, like I tolt ya'."
The boy pressed further back into the corner if that was possible.
"Come on, boy. I know yer a fuckin' fag. Least 'at's what yer mother says."
A tear welled up in the boy's eye and spilled over down his cheek. "So, maybe if it ain't goin' in yer mouth, maybe it's yer arse, then. And then yer really will be a fuckin' faggot." The man laughed a rasping, horrid laugh. If possible even more fear spread over the tortured face.
"Come on, then, let's see what yer got." The man reached down and ripped violently at the boy's pants. In one move, the boy's groin was exposed. The smooth, unblemished skin was like a beacon in the darkness of the place. Two swaths of angry red traced where the man's fingernails had scraped downward on either side of the boy's hips. At the center of the whiteness, a small circumcised penis sat, drawn inward, barely visible, and thus exposed an equally small sac pulled tightly up to the protection of the boy's abdomen. "Not much there," the man said and snapped his finger at the little gonads. The boy recoiled, but, impressively, did not cry out. A flash of anger rose up in the boy. "When I get big..." but his bravado faded as quickly as it came.
"From the looks a' things, you ain't never gettin' big, my lit'l boytoy. I ain't so int'rested in 'em anyways." He grabbed the boy's genitals. "Good thing." The man grabbed the boy roughly and swung him around. He swatted at the boy's pure behind, leaving an angry welt. "At's what's got my int'rest." A small cry this time emitted from the child. The man lowered himself and pressed his exposed manhood closer the child's purity. "We'll get yer mind off'n 'at just about anytime now." He ran his unseen manhood up along the furrow formed by the boy's two perfectly shaped, surprisingly muscular globes.
"Please..." was all that the boy could muster.
In the shadows nearby, an observer had seen enough, and because of his work, he was prepared. Quietly, but in a flash, the observer was next to the thug. Even as he was about to drive his flesh into the boy, something was distracting him...the odd, but distinctive metallic sound.
"Don't move another muscle. I have a .45 aimed directly at your left ear. Don't I?" The observer shoved the weapon aggressively at the man's ear, pressing it roughly against his head.
"Yes," the man whispered, suddenly sounding more like his victim.
"You're going to slowly turn around, and walk out of here and turn right onto the street. Then you're going to walk two blocks before you even think of turning around. You understand?"
The man nodded.
"Okay, then go."
The man turned, but instead of moving away, he began a furious lung at the observer, but he - the observer - was prepared, and in a single vicious action, slammed the side of the weapon into the man's head, stunning him. Then with one smash to the man's mid-section, his legs sagged, and the tormenter slumped to a pile, gurgling a vile vomitus onto the filth below him.
During all of this the boy never moved. The observer put the gun away, then gently, briefly, touched the angry welt on the boy's buttocks. It was hot with pain. A feeling of sorrow welled up inside him as he gazed at the beautiful boy ass just inches from him. He knelt down, reached out and pulled the boy's pants up. The underpants were tangled in his jeans, and the observer straightened them out. As he did so, he could sense what he couldn't before: the lad was filthy. His white briefs were tattered and stiff with days and days of dribbled urine.
He turned the boy around, and came face to face with the immature genitals he'd only seen from a distance. The boy was clearly prepubescent, showing no signs of even the earliest hints of puberty.
Quickly he pulled up the underpants, then the jeans.
Finally, when all that was taken care of, he looked up at the boy's face.
Beneath the grime was a handsome child, but what the dirt failed to cover was the mask of fear and uncertainty, which the child thought was hidden from all but the most discerning observer. For his savior's part, however, that present reality faded in the beauty of the child - a beauty immediately obvious to his trained eye. The boy had the features of a ten or eleven year old, but the observer's years of experience signaled a warning. Something seemed oddly out of place.
"What would you like to do?" the observer asked.
The boy seemed suddenly more uncertain than ever.
"Would you like to go home? To your mother?"
The boy glanced quickly down at the crumpled assailant, then back at the soft-faced benefactor kneeling in front of him. On instinct, mostly, the boy quickly shook his head. No, the man could tell, that was one place the boy didn't want to go. No telling what would be waiting for him.
"And she ain't my mother."
"I can take you to a place where you'd be safe."
"I don't wanna go to no halfway house or Youth Services place."
Clearly, the kid had been around.
"I don't want to go to any halfway house" the man corrected gently, then added quickly, "No, it's not a place like that."
A long moment passed. The boy looked up at the kind eyes.
"You a cop?"
The man smiled. A contact. "No, I'm a doctor."
The boy studied him for a while longer. "Okay." he finally murmured. "Okay."
The man rose, and stood before the boy and held out his hand. The boy studied it for a moment, at some level recognizing that his life was about to change, then reached up and allowed the man to pull him to his full upright height. He noted the strength in the man's hands and it surprised him that such strength could be so gentle.
They stepped around the lump of evil that lay unmoving next to them.
"Some doctor," the boy breathed and they glanced at each other - each of them smiling for the first time. Even in the midst of the cold, darkening March afternoon, the boy's brief flash of smile was radiant, full of relief at being saved.
"Where are we going?" the boy asked. He'd been silent for most of the trip in the fresh new rental car.
"To the airport."
The man glanced over at the boy. "Far away. To a place where it's safe. A place where there're other kids like you. They're all growing up...they're all happy...They're all discovering who they are, and they're liking it."
That seemed to satisfy the lad for the moment - but only briefly.
"We gonna fly in a plane?"
The man nodded. Glancing over at the boy, he could see growing uncertainty. "You ever flown before."
The man interrupted. "Look...I've got one rule. We're always honest with one another. Always."
The boy looked chagrined. Gazing down at his feet, he spoke softly. "No, mister, I've never flown before."
"Good. It should be kind of fun, then. By the way, my name's Jason."
The boy smiled easily for a moment, then the tension returned. "I'm Sean." the boy replied.
Jason stuck his hand out and Sean took it tentatively. "Sean. Nice to meet you." Again the man's smile put the youngster at ease, but only momentarily. "I...I'm kinda a mess."
"We'll take care of that," the man said quietly.
The boy glanced up and saw the signs to the all airlines. Which one, he wondered - which one would he be flying on. But then Jason turned and seemed to be heading away from the terminals. Again the look of alarm returned. Jason saw the change. "It's all right. We're going on a different route."
After a few more turns, Jason pulled up to a booth and a gate. He spoke to the man in the booth, gave him a paper, the gate rose, and the man waved him in.
Sean sat up more in his seat. Planes were all around them. Across a large asphalt area, there were the big commercial planes. But Jason was heading for a smaller one. Jason parked and an attendant immediately appeared. "Here are the keys," he said handing the man the car keys. Another man appeared, this one in uniform, in the doorway of the small jet. "We're ready to leave as soon as you get clearance," he said.
"Where to, sir?" the uniformed man asked.
The pilot climbed down and headed for a nearby building.
"Oh," said Jason, stopping the pilot. "This is Sean. He'll be going with us."
"Nice to have you on board, Sean." the pilot said, and saluted him, before heading off.
"Come on, Sean." Jason beckoned to him and together they climbed up the four steps and into the cabin.
Sean couldn't believe his eyes. It looked like a narrow room from some kind of palace. There were just six seats and one small sofa sort of thing, and they weren't in rows the way he'd seen in pictures of commercial airliners. They were arranged more like in a living room. The cabin smelled of leather.
"Now...go on in through there." Jason gestured to a door in the rear. Sean opened it. It was a small but immaculately clean bathroom. "I want you to put your clothes in there," Jason said pointing to a plastic-lined trashcan. You won't need them anymore. We'll have some new ones for you. We'll draw a bath, and get you clean." Jason started the water running into a small tub. "And just to be sure you're really clean, you'll take a shower afterward. Then you can brush your teeth, and by then, we'll have something clean for you to put on. But," Jason began, taking off his coat, "first things first. We got to get you clean. I'm sorry, I know it's a little strange, but I'm going to give you the bath. I want to be sure we get all the dirt off." He really meant he wanted to be sure there were no lice or other vermin, but he wanted to be kind. "Is that okay?" Sean thought about it and realized he felt totally at ease with the man standing before him - as at ease as with any adult he'd ever been around except for his mother.
Slowly, he began to undress. His coat, his shirt, his shoes, his socks, his t-shirt. All of them into the trash. "You have anything in the pockets you want to save?" Jason asked. Sean shook his head. Breathing in slowly, he unsnapped his pants and lowered them to the floor and stepped out of them. Those too he threw in the trash. Now the boy emerged from the snarl of filth. Jason was again struck by his beauty - a handsome lad, despite obvious signs of poor nutrition. The boy was too thin for his size, and showed no signs of puberty. But even now, the doctor knew from experience, that with the proper nutrition and treatment, the child would become a stunning youth. His blue eyes sparkled and his matted yellow hair hinted at something approaching beauty.
Jason smiled and turned away to afford the boy a bit of privacy at the last moment. While the man poured some disinfectant into the warm water, Sean pulled his briefs off and tossed them into the bin.
"Okay," Jason said, not turning, "climb in."
Sean stepped beside him, then into the tub. The water was up to his knees. "Scootch down and lay back." Jason then began the difficult task of washing Sean's hair. "I'm rubbing in some special shampoo into your hair and scalp," Jason explained. "It's going to take a few minutes. And close your eyes. I don't want to get soap in them, and this stuff really stings." Slowly and methodically, Jason worked at ensuring any lice and nits were killed. As he worked, he could feel the boy start to relax. The boy's hair was thick and luxurious. With a proper haircut, he'd look great. Next, Jason moved on to the boy's face - his strong brow, dark eyebrows, and button nose. With the dirt removed, the man could see deep dimples, one in each cheek. Jason rinsed the cloth in clean water, then washed the boy's full, red lips, then moved on to his neck. Using the soft cloth, days of dirt were cleansed from the boy. At the same time, Jason used basic massage techniques, and felt the boy drifting. "You aren't going to sleep on me, are ya?" Jason asked.
Sean stiffened slightly.
"It's really okay if you do," Jason said gently as he moved on to the boy's arms. Again, layers of dirt melted away. Jason noted the feel of the skinny boy. His pale arms were covered with sparse soft white down. He gently lifted each arm and washed underneath in Sean's armpits. The boy stiffened slightly.
"Something wrong?" Jason asked.
"It just kinda tickles, that's all," the boy replied.
"Sorry 'bout that."
Now he moved onto the chest. Again, he massaged the small body allowing his fingers to drift over the nipples. He felt saddened as he noted the clearly visible ribs. This would change quickly, he knew, but the boy's present condition was clear testimony to his mistreatment. When Jason's hand drifted downward, the boy tensed slightly, and he could feel the tautness of the boy's abdomen. "Okay," Jason said again, breaking the silence, roll over, and get up on your hands and knees. You can lay your head down on the pad if you'd like." Sean's glance found the folded towel one the end of the tub and laid his head down on it. He sighed. Jason gazed at the smooth back etched with a knobby spine, and began wiping methodically across the shoulders, then downward. He allowed his hand to travel down long the spine. The boy's buttocks were two small globes of muscle. He washed them with utmost care, then paused, put more soap on the cloth and resumed his stroking. Slowly he drew his cloth-covered hand up and down the boy's furrow. He checked and noted the boy was breathing easily. "Okay, Sean, now I'm going to wash a little deeper, okay?"
"Uh-huh," came the quiet reply.
Slowly Jason, with one hand reached down and spread the boy's crack. At its center, was a small, perfectly formed pucker. All throughout the process, Jason had been looking for signs of abuse. Sean had a few bruises on his arms, but nothing like some of the boys Jason had seen. Here again, to his relief, Jason saw no apparent evidence of abuse. He'd check more carefully later on, of course, but for now, he was relieved. Slowly, carefully, he drew the cloth down between the globes and then across the boy's anus. Almost involuntarily, the boy's muscles drew themselves inward. Jason repeated the action, first favoring one side, then the other.
"Good boy, all done with the backside, now, role over again, for me."
Jason glanced up at Sean's handsome face; his eyes were closed, then back down to the boy's genitals. Again, few signs of puberty. No hair, save the softest blond down of any 10 year old. Soft, one-inch penis resting over a relaxed scrotum. Jason moved onto the boy's legs, again covered with downy hair, but certainly not suggesting adolescence. He scrubbed the legs completely, and the feet, then, lowering the boy's leg, washed slowly upward along his inner thigh. "Now, I'm going to wash your genitals." Jason informed his subject. Again, he carefully allowed the cloth to come in contact with the area from the boy's crack to under his scrotum. He washed gently. Next, with utmost care, he lifted the small penis and washed around the scrotum. He could feel the two small stones inside and made yet one more mental note.
Finally, he gently took the penis in the cloth and massaged/washed it. Under his grasp, he thought he could feel a slight stiffening, but he wasn't sure. Again, there'd be the more thorough check later.
But, all in all, there were no abnormalities to be concerned about - on the contrary, before him basked a potentially extraordinary specimen.
The boy sighed contentedly, and opened his eyes. "Thank you," he said dreamily, then realizing the strangeness of the situation, colored slightly and he stood up before Jason, seemingly completely unconscious of his nakedness.
"All right...into the shower - just to be sure. This time, you get to wash yourself, and rinse yourself off completely. There's a towel here, a toothbrush, and I'll get you something to wear."
The four-foot, ten-inch boy watched as Jason reached down and opened the drain to let the filthy remains of the bath water disappear. With it, both Jason and the boy sensed, went a past of pain and unhappiness.
"Get goin'" Jason urged, lightly swatting the boy's firm bottom, and an almost gleeful child hoped past him and into the shower.
Fifteen minutes later, Sean emerged from the bathroom. He wore a white, crisp jump suit kind of outfit, white socks and Nike's. The clothing seemed to fit him perfectly, and actually was trimly cut, like the bikini briefs beneath them, to emphasize the few small bulges of his body. It somehow made him look healthier already. His face shone, and although the clothes and washing made a world of difference, Jason knew there were still challenges to be faced, but for now, all seemed at peace.
"When are we going to leave?" the boy asked.
"Soon. Jack's up in the cockpit, now. You want to go up there, or stay back here?"
The boy's face lit up. "The cockpit?"
"Why don't you ask Jack if it's all right. I'm sure it is."
Sean moved forward, then hesitated. "You...you won't mind?"
"No...not at all."
"Well, maybe just for a little while. Then I'll come back."
"It's a deal." Jason smiled easily at the boy. Sean walked up into the cockpit.
"Can I sit up here?"
"Right there...the copilot's seat. Buckle up." the pilot responded. Once the boy was seated, the pilot handed him a headset. "Here, put these on, that way, you can hear what's going on."
Immediately, Sean heard the pilot's filtered voice over the earphones. "We'll start the engines, and then in a few minutes, we'll be on our way."
The boy's heart was pounding. Jack reached out and flipped a series of switches. "Engine one start." A soft, high-pitched whine of the jet slowly grew into a roar. Jack flipped some more switches, then turned to Sean. "Here. Lift that cover, and flip that switch, there." Sean did as directed. "Engine two start." And another whine merged with the roar of the first engine.
In moments, they were taxiing out onto the runway.
"Here, put your hand here," Jack said, and the boy placed his small hand on some levers between them. The pilot placed his hand over the boy's, and together, they pushed the levers forward. The boy's eyes sparkled as the engines roared to life and the aircraft sped down the runway, lifted off, and soared up high over the city.
In the west, Sean saw the last glow of the setting sun, and then Jack pointed the plane to the south. Sean studied the instrument panel. Dozens of instruments, and even more switches drew him like magnets. They all seemed almost alive.
When things quieted down a little for Jack, he explained what some of the instruments were for.
"How fast are we going?"
"About 340 knots - that's about 390 miles per hour." And then they flew along in silence. After perhaps an hour in the air, Sean asked if he could go back to Jason.
"Whenever you want."
Sean released his three-point seat belt, and got up. "Thanks Jack."
The pilot responded with a thumbs up sign.
"Hi," Sean said simply.
"Hi," his savior replied. "I've got some food on. You hungry?"
"Yeah." Then, after a moment, the boy added, "I'd like that. Please."
"You want to sit here? You get a pretty good view." Jason patted the space next to him. Sean sat and, with his head resting in his hands, and his elbows on his knees, he gazed out the window in silence.
After many minutes had passed, Jason spoke. "Sounds like you're doing some pretty heavy thinking?"
"Guess so." The boy sat unmoving for a long time, and Jason gazed down at the small form. Finally Sean turned slowly and as if only seconds had passed, continued his thought: "I was thinking about my mom."
"She used to tell me about flying. She said she used to want to be a flight attendant. But then..." Sean frowned almost involuntarily "...then I came along. She had to work at an office, cuz she wanted to be close to me."
Jason now looked into the boy's eyes.
"What did you mean back there when you said, "She's not my mother."
Sean shifted uneasily in the seat. "It's true. That was my aunt. My mother died three years ago." He turned and looked out the window.
"How'd you end up with her?"
"She was the only one who could take me. She wasn't bad back then, least I didn't think she was. Then she got into drugs...an' she was always goin' out with these men. We moved around a lot...an' it kept gettin' worse and worse."
"What about your father?"
Sean sat quietly for a moment, then shrugged. "I dunno. Mom never talked about him; my aunt said he got my mom pregnant, then disappeared."
Jason nodded - a gentle action meant to convey understanding.
The boy went back to gazing down on the city lights so far below them. He felt safe at 35,000 feet above a world he had come to fear.
Jason prepared the microwaved meals, and together they sat and ate, mostly in silence. At one point, Jason decided to risk a little.
"Can I ask you a question?"
The boy shrugged. "Sure."
"I was wondering how old you were?
Jason nodded. "Thanks." He smiled pleasantly as he watched a hint of uncertainty form on Sean's face.
"Does it matter?"
"Matter? No...not at all...just curious, that's all." Interesting, thought Jason. Clearly he should have seen more signs of the onset of puberty - but he didn't. This just might be the case he'd spent months looking for.
As Sean was finishing the last bites of his meal, he spoke again.
"Just where are we going?"
"An island, in the Caribbean," Jason said simply. He gazed into the boy's eyes, and could almost see the thoughts careening around in his brain.
"Jason?" Sean said finally.
"Because you looked like a kid who needed a little help."
"There are lots of kids like that."
"Yeah, you're right."
"I'm not sure...you looked like someone who - given a chance - could do good things. I guess, to be honest, I see a lot of kids, and it's too late to help them. If I'd seen you a year from now...or maybe even a month from now...well...it might have been too late."
"Or even a day." Sean added. He was breathing a little faster now, not quite as relaxed as he'd been since getting on the plane. "I don't know what I would've done if you didn't show up." He turned away, for a moment, looking back out the window.
Jason quietly removed the dishes, then stowed the table.
Gently, he placed his hand on Sean's shoulder, and turned the boy.
"How'd you get into that mess, anyway?"
Sean swallowed hard. "That guy'd come to my aunt's a couple of times. Last time he sees me, and started talkin' to me 'n all. I thought he was just bein' friendly. Then today when I come into the apartment, there he is with my aunt, and she says he's gonna' show me sumpthin' and it's gonna take a couple of hours. So we start walkin' and I go, "Where we goin'? 'An' he says, you'll see soon enough. He takes me to this buildin' an' he tells me it's where he works, and we go down in the basement to this place, an' he's holdin' onto me real tight 'n he finds these magazines, and pictures 'n stuff, and asks me if I wanna feel real good." Sean paused, reliving that moment. "I knew it wasn't gonna be the way he was saying, but he was holdin' onta' me real tight, so I said, I guess so. He says, 'good,' and then while he's lookin' at the pictures, he takes my hand and puts it down...down there...on him, an' makes me feel...his thing...and he grabs me down there, an' says I'm never gonna' feel so good again. I was tryin' to figure out how to get away, but he wouldn't let me go...He kept rubbing my hand on his thing, and...it was gettin' hard. Well, there was one magazine over on the floor, and there was a picture of this kid on the cover, so I said, "I wanna look at that one, an' when he let go of me to get it, I pulled away, and got out, but he caught me just outside the building. That's where you found me."
Jason was moved by the pathos in the boy's eyes welling with tears. He reached out and touched Sean's shoulder. "It's okay, Sean. It's okay." In a flood of emotion, the boy collapsed against his new mentor. "It's okay, now, Sean, you're going to be all right.
Hot tears flooded from the boy's eyes. And in the midst of his heaving breaths, he choked out one further worry.
"Why," Jason said, rubbing the sobbing boy's back.
Sean was quiet for a moment, then spoke.
Jason never stopped his movements on the child's back.
"Sean, nothing you say will change how I feel about you. I want to help you, and I think you want me too. Right?"
"Yeah," Sean said finally.
"You can tell me."
Sean shifted his position, and looked up into Jason's face, then looked down again.
"I...I felt...strange when I was lookin' at those pictures, and my thing...it was gettin' hard when he was feelin' it. Maybe I am what he called me."
Sobs wracked the boy's body again.
"It's okay, Sean. You know what I think?"
The boy, vision blurred by tears, looked up at Jason.
"I think it took a lot for you to share that. The fact is, it probably didn't just feel strange, it probably felt a little exciting. Am I right?"
The boy nodded with a growing look of fear.
"That's only natural...really. Despite what some people may say, sexy pictures can make you...well...feel sexy. What you need to know now, is that it's okay." Jason spoke softly, and continued rubbing up and down the boy's back. Finally, as Sean quieted, Jason lifted his head, cupping it in both hands. The face nearly melted Jason's resolve. He wanted to throw it all to the winds and place his lips firmly on those of the boy and draw his breath from the boy's; he wanted to guide the boy - to open him and suck his tongue deep into his mouth, and push his tongue into the boy's mouth and explore all his wet warmth. But he knew that could be devastating for the child, and terribly wrong at this moment.
"Sean," Jason said, summoning all his strength. "You are a good boy. I can tell. It's okay to feel that kind of excitement when you see those kinds of pictures. But it was wrong, what that man wanted to do. That's not the way it's supposed to be. But try to keep those things separate: the way the pictures made you feel, and the way that man made you feel. In the time you were down there with him, it was all kind of confused - all jumbled up. Do you understand."
Sean looked pensive for just a moment, then nodded. "Mm-hmm."
"Good. There'll be plenty of time to talk about that another day. No matter what how you feel, you're a good boy."
Sean gazed into Jason's eyes, and nodded.
"You okay?" Jason asked again.
Sean nodded again, he shifted his position, laid back and settled in. In a few seconds, the weight being lifted from him, he was asleep, breathing slow, regular breaths.
"It'll be okay, my love," Jason said softly. "It'll be okay."
As if in response, the boy shifted in his sleep and came to rest against Jason's side.
Of all the boys Jason in his files, this one might well be the most interesting. He placed his arm around the lad, and in response, the boy snuggled in closer. It had been a trying day for Jason, too, and so, he shifted a bit, and drifted off to sleep as well.