Date: Fri, 30 Mar 2001 17:12:34 From: Ganymede Subject: Pandora's Box II WARNING: This story contains a graphic description of sexual acts between a man and a MINOR boy. We do not condone child abuse, how- ever boy-love as described in this story is an entirely different matter. If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, if this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if you are under the legal age for such material, do not read further! You have been warned! Read at your own risk! The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. A copy has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. Feel free to post it to appropriate newsgroups or send it to your friends. The story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. It cannot be placed in archives that require payment for access, or printed and distributed in any form that requires payment. THE NIFTY ARCHIVE: The Nifty Archive needs your support. If you enjoy reading this story, please remember that it is available only because of the Nifty Archive. Instructions are provided on the Nifty home page for how to provide support. FINAL WARNING: If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't your thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin! Pandora's Box II: Friday Afternoon It was only when we stood up to disembark did the man across the aisle acknowledge my existence with anything more than one of his all-too-frequent glances in my direction. By then, I had ful- filled a dozen fantasies about him, each more crazy than a KGB officer who was sent to murder me before the plane landed at Heath- row. My personal favorite involved the transportation of a stolen work of art. The unframed Rembrandt was in the man's overhead com- partment. "Excuse me," he said directly to my mother. "I really don't want to bother you, but I've been trying to decide something for the last seven hours and it's gotten me quite curious." "Yes? What is it?" my mother said with a casual if not depre- cating glance it me. "Your son? I don't suppose he's the boy in the Bank of America commercials is he?" "Huh? I'm sorry. What commercials?" "The Bank of America. They've been running some ads on televi- sion. Your son looks exactly like the boy who's been doing them, except for his hair that is. His name is Daniel something, I believe. He's nine." "I'm afraid not. Anyway, my son's just turned eleven, although he does look quite a bit younger than that, I know." "Well I just thought I'd ask. I'm sorry I bothered you. It's just that up here in First Class you often see celebrities, particu- larly on flights into Palm Springs. And this time of year, with the Oscars on Sunday, it's only to be expected that there are a lot of celebrities in the air." "It's not a problem, is it Chrissie?" My mother smiled disin- genuously. "Although I must tell you, he was a little distressed earlier when he thought you were staring at him. Isn't that right, Honey? See, I told you it wasn't anything to be bothered about. He just thought you were someone else, that's all." I didn't say anything. What could I have said that wouldn't have made me look even dumber? Still, I made a mental note to keep an eye out for the Bank of America commercials and see if there really was a likeness. There was hope for me yet. I spotted the sign even before we had ascended the access ramp to the exit door. The sign said `Katherine & Christopher Faran'. It was held high in the air by a large African American man whose name we soon discovered was Keith Richards, like in the Rolling Stones he added proudly. We had not been told that someone was going to meet us at the airport, but it should not have been surprising given that we had been sent First Class tickets. We would never have found our way to Uncle Steven's house if we had rented a car and gone by our- selves. What was surprising was the car that was sent for us. It was a white Rolls Royce Camargue. It was turning into quite a day. Uncle Steven lived about fifteen miles out of town. Part of the way we traveled on the freeway, barely away of the road underneath us. Once we turned off, the car slowed down considerably. We must have been doing eighty or ninety miles an hour on the freeway because our speed dropped to a crawl. It was a good opportunity to relax and look around. Everywhere I looked I could see dark wood, burled walnut with its characteristic pattern of curves and spirals. I inhaled the pleasant aroma of the sumptuous Connolly leather and other smells that were distinctly masculine. Like expensive aged brandy, they were smells that came from age and maturity, and they transported me into a different world. It was a world that I had never experienced before, yet it was a world in which I was com- pletely at ease with. `Why Not Me?' I considered with amusement as we rode. I was going home to my house in the desert. It was always fun pretending. The sun was strong, but inside the car I basked in air-condi- tioned comfort. There was a softened glow of amber light from the sun shining through the window on my side. I sprawled in the seat, absorbing an agreeable warmth from what managed to penetrate the deeply tinted windows. Through the window, the desert appeared entirely hospitable. There were cactus plants and palm trees every- where, and the trees had leaves. Then the houses began to get fur- ther and further apart, and larger too. Except for the houses further down Brattle Street I don't think I had ever seen such large houses. However, unlike the houses in Cambridge, most of these houses were set a long distance back from the road, behind carefully landscaped gardens. We slowed further and turned onto a narrow road that began to weave along the side of a dry creek. During the next mile or two I saw only three houses, and from the little I could see it was apparent that they were very large. The car stopped at a metal framed gateway that had been care- fully incorporated into its setting. It was bordered on both sides by a profusion of cactus plants, while vines with brilliantly col- ored flowers grew over the adjoining white painted walls. The gates opened automatically almost the instant our car came to a halt. I glanced at my mother and she smiled nervously. "This must be it," I said cheerfully. "I'm sure it is. Heaven's above, Chrissie, you really should have brushed your hair." "Mom!" She had a brush out of her handbag before I could say anything to stop her. I sat there, ignominiously as she brushed my hair back and rearranged the spikes so they stood up taller. "My, but you are so beautiful, Honey," she said as she put the brush away. "I'm so glad now that Bryce did your eyebrows. You look positively sexy like this." "Mom!" "Don't be silly, Chrissie. I'm your mother so it's a perfectly harmless comment. Look, there's the house." It came into view on her side of the car, so my first impres- sion was partially blocked by her head. However, what I saw was enough to take my breath away. The house was like nothing I had ever seen before. Well, that's not quite true. Certainly, I had never seen a house like it, but there were some buildings at Harvard that would have looked quite similar if they were not so high. I went past them every time that I went to the Fogg and Peabody museums. The house was white, brilliant white. It was composed of long white planes, both horizontally and vertically, always at right angles. In the harsh desert it was equally harsh, yet it was not insensitive. The simple shapes, the rawness of the white planes, were entirely in keeping with the world around it. And there were enormous expanses of glass, glass that made the house appear transparent, glass that reflected nature back, glass that brought the desert within. "Wow!" "Isn't it incredible. I had no idea it was so grand," my mother said effusively. "I am so excited. Are you scared, Chrissie?" "Huh?" "It's perfectly okay. Just be yourself, Chrissie. I know you can be charming when you want to be. Remember, Sweetie, that first impressions are the most important. And I want you to speak up. No mumbling like you do with Bryce. You have such a sweet voice." "Mom!" Almost the instant the car stopped, the driver was out and opening my mother's door. Then my door. I felt the heat pour into the car as I got out. Hot, dry, overwhelming. It was like walking into an oven. It was very different to Boston's dank cold. Even the smell was different. I stood still, absorbing a different world. The desert, so easily put aside as a vast wasteland, was anything but barren. I heard the sounds of birds and buzzing bees, smelled the scent of flowers, and then I slowly became aware that there was no constant hum of cars. There were no raucous sounds, except the happy shrieks of some children who were out of sight. This place was a very long way from the city. "Ms. Faran, I'll take your bags to your room. We're about fif- teen minutes early I'm afraid. If you'll be so good as to go up to the front door, I'm sure Mrs. Beaton will be there in a moment. Mrs. Beaton is Mr. Kaufman's housekeeper." We walked up a path of marble chips, crunching loudly, until we reached the front door. A decorative pool, vastly longer than a swimming pool, ran beside the house until a cascade water spilled into a natural-looking pond. It was full of water lilies with large white flowers and the bright orange flash of fish could be seen near the surface. The pool was separated from the house by a loggia that continued on to a building in the distance. That it was the garage was very likely because the Rolls was at that instant, turning towards it. Before my mother had a chance to knock, the dark-oiled door swung open and we were greeted by a woman in her forties. She beamed at us. "Well hello. Ms. Faran, isn't it? It's a pleasure to welcome you. I should tell you that Mr. Kaufman was very sorry that he couldn't be here in person to greet you. He's in Hollywood today finishing up on the set, but he should be back before dark." "Oh? It isn't a problem. He must be such a busy man. I'm sure we'll meet him when he arrives." "Absolutely. He's been looking forward to meeting you. And of course, you must be Christopher? Mr. Kaufman will be very happy now that you're here. Well, come on in out of the heat before you shrivel up young man." Instinctively, I reached out and shook her plump hand and she nearly squeezed my fingers off. What a grip! She smiled at me as her eyes moved down and back up my body. I swallowed nervously. I was being appraised by strangers for what had to be the hundredth time that day. I could feel myself becoming tense. Then, as quickly as it started, my panic vanished. She smiled again. "Now, what say I give you the guided tour right away, and then you can get changed and go out to the pool," Mrs. Beaton suggested as she led the way into the house. "That would be wonderful," my mother answered for both of us. "Okay. Well, here we are. This is the living room, of course." It was huge. There was a fireplace of a substantial size, although why a fireplace would be needed in the heat of the desert escaped me. The floor was made of stone cut into rectangles and was covered with decorative rugs with red and blue patterns. I had seen similar rugs in the Middle East Rooms of the Peabody Museum. There was a grand piano in the corner next to an expanse of windows that seemed to go on and on forever, with a view to die for. To one side was a sun-filled courtyard and an enormous swimming pool. To the south was a spectacular view over the desert, ending in snow-capped mountains. The mountains seemed out of place and very unlike the mountains that my mother and I visited in the western part of Massa- chussetts. "It's what architects call `International Style'," Mrs. Beaton explained. "I'm not quite sure why it's called that, but it is. The architect who designed it was very famous. As you can see, the house is quite unique." She smiled at me. "It's a very nice view, isn't it Christopher?" I nodded, resisting the impulse to say anything because I was afraid I would make a fool of myself. "That's the San Bernardino National Forest leading up to the mountains, and of course, to the right over there is an Indian res- ervation." "Yes it is a lovely view," my mother answered for me as we trailed behind Mrs. Beaton into the dining room. The dining room needed no explanation. My eyes fixed on a painting on the wall. It was familiar. Mrs. Beaton stopped and nod- ded. "You've probably seen that before, Christopher. It's in all the art books." I grinned. At last there was something that I could feel com- fortable talking about. "Eduard Manet? He did it in Paris, didn't he?" "Yes, I believe so. I'm impressed. I'm sure your uncle will be too. Mr. Kaufman is quite well known as a collector. There's a Pis- saro hanging in his study that's also famous. Now, this is the kitchen. I want you to feel free to help yourself to anything in the refrigerators, Christopher. I know all about growing boys and their appetites. Are you hungry now?" "Not really, `cause we ate on the plane, but thanks anyway," I answered. My mother gave me a grateful if baleful look. "We'll be serving afternoon snacks on the terrace in a hour so I hope you can manage to make some room by then." Mrs. Beaton laughed and walked out of the kitchen. She gestured to the right. "Now down this way, there are bedrooms and the library. The Rowlands are staying down there. You probably haven't met them before. They have twin eight-year-old girls who I simply can't tell apart and a boy who's nearly thirteen. I imagine you know that Mr. Kaufman's mother remarried. Well his name is, I should say was David Meier, because he died last year. Her husband already had a son from his previous marriage. When he married, um, now what is her name,.... Tracey I think, they moved to Chicago. That's where she was from originally. They're in Palm Springs today, doing some last minute clothes shopping for the party tomorrow. And of course, there are the Meiers. They have the two rooms at the end." "Who are they?" I asked. "Oh, you don't know them? The Meiers are from New York. That's Mr. Kaufman's sister's side of the family. Anyway, they have a son who's about Christopher's age, I expect. He's quite a nice boy, but he's not what you'd call easy to get to know by any stretch of the imagination." "What's his name?" I asked. He sounded like someone I could be friends with. "Oh, let me think. Joel, isn't it? Yes, I'm sure it's Joel. And of course, there's Mr. Kaufman's private study next to the atrium. That's out of bounds unless he invites you in, by the way. You can go into the atrium if you want, Christopher, but you shouldn't touch any of the plants. There are some very expensive orchids in there. That door over there goes to the screening room. There's a wonderful collection of movies you can watch. Oh, and if you go through that doorway, you'll find the family room and beyond that is the pool room and the swimming pool." There was another picture on the wall and I stopped to study it closer. It was a beautiful pencil drawing in a gold leaf frame. The sketch was done with such uncanny accuracy that the figure of a young boy nearly came to life. After a few seconds I turned around. Mrs. Beaton smiled at me. "Well?" she said with the clear expectation of receiving a cor- rect answer. "Uh,... I think it's by Durer," I said nervously. "Do you like it?" "Yes. Very much," I replied awkwardly. "Albrecht Durer is like way cool." "It's one of Mr. Kaufman's favorites. He'll be so excited when he finds out that you're interested in art as well." Instead of going down the corridor to the right, Mrs. Beaton turned left. I would have liked to see the screening room, but it would have to wait until later on. She gestured to the next door we came to. "This room is where your cousins, Cynthia and David, will be staying. They're out at the pool right now." I had met my cousins only one time. Last summer my mother and I had been invited to spend a week with her sister's family in Fort Worth. I liked my cousins even though they laughed at me a lot. They were rich and I was not, and they knew it. They had every toy that was ever invented. They each had bedrooms that were larger than our living room and dining room combined. They had the latest fashion in clothes, and never wore something without a trendy label. I could only dream and try to hide my jealousy. "And this is Mrs. Kaufman's room," Mrs. Beaton continued. "I didn't know Steven was married," my mother interjected. "Oh, Mr. Kaufman isn't married. Mrs. Kaufman is married to his brother, Richard." "Oh, of course, how absolutely silly of me," my mother replied quickly. "I wasn't thinking for the moment. Richard is my sister's husband. She said there was a chance that Richard wasn't going to be here?" "I believe he's arriving tomorrow, just in time for the reunion party. And this will be your room, Ms. Faran. Unfortunately we're a little crowded, so for tonight we'll put Christopher in with you, if that's all right. I believe Mr. Kaufman's mother will be leaving right after the party to go back to Florida, so her room will be available then for him. It's right next door to yours. And the last door, of course, is to Mr. Kaufman's suite." I glanced up at my mother as she touched my shoulder. We were only a matter of yards away from where a movie industry celebrity slept at night. It was a bit like walking on hallowed ground. "There's even a private pool right off his bedroom. It's really quite wonderful. Unfortunately, he has strict rules about visitors, so I can't show you. He's very concerned about his privacy. I'm sure you understand. So much of his life is in the public spotlight that he really protects his private life. There is still a lot that peo- ple don't know about him, and he'd like to keep it that way." Mrs. Beaton opened the door to our bedroom. My mother entered with me right on her heels. My eyes were wide. The room was simply unbelievable. It was like a room in a palace, a very modern palace in a desert paradise. Just as the driver had said, our suitcases had been delivered and were sitting next to the beds. "I'm sure you'll find everything you need," Mrs. Beaton said efficiently. "Now, if you need anything at all just use the phone and dial `O'. I'll have it sent along promptly." She smiled at me generously. "And you young man, you should take yourself off to the pool and work on your tan as soon as you can." She departed, closing the door behind her. I watched my mother as she explored the room. I had only stayed in a hotel room a couple of times, but this was so much bigger and better that I was lost for words. There were two beds, both as large as the one in my mother's bedroom. They had embroidered covers, decorated with pastel hues that were reminiscent of the desert colors stretching into the dis- tance. Beyond the windows, there were two teak lounge chairs on a tiled terrace. It was partially shaded from the sun, but still exposed enough that one could get a suntan right outside the bed- room. I followed her around the room, taking everything in. There was even a signed and numbered Marc Chagall print hanging on the wall. We went into the bathroom and my mouth dropped open. The bath- tub alone was bigger than our entire bathroom. There were two toi- lets, which was strange, although one looked different to the other. And there were two basins set in a very long piece of marble that was in front of the biggest mirror I had ever seen. There was a sep- arate shower. It was surprising that there was no curtain to keep the water off the floor, but the tiled floor was sloped to drains so it might not have been a problem. "At least we won't have Mr. Thomas screaming when the shower water drips through his ceiling," I giggled. She laughed. "It's so wonderful, isn't it Chrissie? I could live here forever. Well, come on let's get unpacked." I soon discovered that my suitcase was full of new clothes. I grinned as I lifted one thing after another out. All of the clothes were expensive. Shirts, tee-shirts, shorts, even two pairs of jeans, and they all had labels I recognized. They were either black or vibrant colors. There were also new socks and what had to be a dozen small packages of underwear. One package contained boxers but the rest were briefs. If the picture on the front was any indication, they were very brief briefs. I truly appreciated all of the new clothes except the briefs. "Geez Mom!" I said, holding up one of the packages with the picture facing outward. "Don't be silly, Sweetie. There's absolutely nothing wrong with them." "They're tiny," I griped. "No they aren't. You're just used to boxers, that's all." "Mom, no one, I mean no one wears micro-briefs," I retorted, reading the label. "They look like girl's underwear." "You know that's not true, Chrissie. Besides you've never even seen a girl's underwear. I asked Bryce and he said they would look superb on you. They're so much nicer than boring old boxers. Well that's not quite what he said, but it's what he meant. I'm sure he's right. Anyway, it's only for this week. After that you don't have to wear them if you don't want to. I think you get used to wearing them before long." I shrugged. There was no point in arguing with her. At the very bottom of my suitcase I discovered a pair of black leather pants. She had redeemed herself. "Mom! Oh Mom, thanks. Thank you so much. I wanted a pair like Bryce's so much, but I was afraid to ask you because they're so expensive. You shouldn't have." "I just want you to look your best, Chrissie. It's the same reason why I bought the undies." "But no one is going to see them," I disputed. My mother gave me a curious look. Not that she was curious, but I was curious about why she looked at me as if I did not understand something that was perfectly obvious to her. I held the pants out against my body. They had the same style as Bryce's. Narrow waist, tight thighs, and flared legs. They were styled to show off a slen- der body. There was no way that Paul could have squeezed into them I thought with disconcerting amusement. "Mom, did you pack my trunks?" I asked abruptly. "Ohh, sorry," my mother answered in a sing-song voice. She was in a good mood. "I wasn't able to find anything at the stores and they didn't arrive until yesterday, and your suitcase was already packed, so I put them in mine. Now, where did they go. I thought they were right here. Yes, here you are Chrissie." She passed me a flimsy piece of sky-blue nylon. "No Mom!" I whined. "Chrissie, for goodness sake! What is your problem?" "These are," I said heatedly. "You can't expect me to wear these!" "Why on earth not?" "They're,... they're tiny, Mom. That's why. They're way too small!" "Well it's not as though your thing is all that big, now is it? Don't be silly. You haven't even tried them on yet. I'm sure it'll cover up anything that needs to be covered." "Mom?" I implored. "Chrissie, I went to a lot of trouble to buy it. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get one in that shade of blue so it would match your eyes? Bryce had to help me on the Internet. It took his entire lunchtime." I shrugged. I did not care whether my swimming costume matched my eyes or not. What I did care about was not looking like a geek. "And as for the size, it's a twenty-six waist. It's the small- est size that thongs are made in. It's the same size as your under- pants, so I don't think it will be too small for you." "But Mom?" "Chrissie, no buts, okay? You're a beautiful boy with a very beautiful body. It's about time you started to show it off. Now, hurry up and take your clothes off so I can see how it looks." I regarded her coldly. I should have been dispassionate about undressing in front of my mother. There wasn't that much room in our apartment that we could be worried about privacy. I had spent every day of my life sprinting around naked, from my tiny bedroom to the bathroom, and back again. However, I was irritated. "Now don't carry on, Chrissie. It's been a long day." "Mom?" I tried one last time. However, even though resistance was futile I resisted for as long as I could. She ignored me, continuing to unpack her suitcase. Eventually, I relented. I kicked off my sneakers and edged them over with a foot so they were neatly under the bed. My hands fumbled at my waist as I unfastened the button and opened the zipper of my pants. Sulkily, I shoved my pants and boxers down to my feet, then stepped out of them. All I had on was my black tee-shirt and it barely came to the top of my crotch. "Well, take off your tee shirt, Chrissie. We're wasting valu- able pool time," my mother instructed. She had stopped unpacking and she was looking directly at me. I usually was not a petulant child, not like Paul could be when he didn't get his way. I usually became morose and did what I was told to do, but in absolute brooding silence to convey my displeasure. "What, after eleven years you're now embarrassed for your own mother to see your body," she quipped. I shrugged again. I was not about to talk to her. That would give her the satisfaction of knowing that she was right once again. Instead, I lifted my arms and hurriedly pulled off the tee-shirt. I averted my eyes, avoiding her constant gaze, but I knew she was looking at the part of me that made me a boy. Hastily, I put my feet through the leg openings in the patch of blue nylon that some manu- facturer dared to call a swimming costume and pulled it up. As she had said, it covered everything that needed to be cov- ered, but only just. I stood before her appraising gaze, feeling exposed and forlorn, and wishing that I did not have to wear it out of the room. It was tight on my bottom. In fact, it felt like it was pulling into my crack. In front, it came very low, perhaps an inch above where my penis started. One the sides there was not much more than a piece of string. "Oh, Chrissie. It's adorable, Sweetie. You really ought to see yourself in the mirror." "Mom, it's tiny," I complained, not daring to look down. "Not at all, Honey. Trust me, it's not too small. It's a thong. It's supposed to be like that. It's very European. You're just not used to wearing it yet, that's all. Go on over to the mirror if you don't believe me." "What if my thing gets big?" I asked moodily. "It does some- times, you know, Mom." She smiled. "Of course, I know that, Sweetie. It's supposed to get big. I expect it happens to European boys too, but Bryce says that a lot of them wear thongs. If you want we can talk about why your thing does that later on. However, I don't think your's will get so big you'll have to worry about someone noticing, Chrissie." "What if someone does see?" I complained. "If you're embarrassed, then just get back into the pool or go to the bathroom or something." She shook her head like she did not believe that I had a problem at all. "Anyway, every woman here has a boy who's about your age so I'm sure every one will be quite under- standing." I walked over to the mirror and stood before it with my hands on my hips. I was ready to convince myself that I looked like a geek, but I didn't. The thong was small, and it didn't cover very much compared to swim shorts. However, for some reason it made me feel quite funny inside. I felt a surge of excitement that had been pent up within me all day from traveling all the way from Boston to Palm Springs, flying First Class, riding in a Rolls Royce limousine, and staying in a fabulous house owned by Steven Kaufman. I trembled as I looked at myself, assessed the image looking back at myself. I was slender and pale, yet the winter's tone would quickly disappear once I was outside in the sun. I had prominent ribs and a lean stomach with enough muscle mass to provide defini- tion. I smiled, remembering Bryce's comment about my preteen six- pack. I had an `outie' belly button that I much preferred to Paul's `innie', although for a fat boy, an `innie' was superior in my opin- ion. The thong was tight enough that I could see the general shape of what was being covered if not actual detail when I looked in the mirror. It made me shiver. If any one looked closely they would see the curve of my penis, the roundness of the end, even a tiny point where my foreskin ended. And underneath, the nylon articulated a small hemisphere. It was like being naked, while being dressed at the same time. The idea was perplexingly enjoyable. I moved my hips from side to side, arched my back, sucked my belly in so that I looked like a malnourished waif, turned around and studied the back view. "Don't be so shy, Chrissie," my mother said. "There's nothing wrong with posing and being proud of your body but try to be natu- ral. I've seen you doing your Karate exercises so I know you can be graceful." I stopped and turned around. For a moment I had been alone, living in a dream world where I was a handsomely paid model showing of the latest fashion from Paris, France. "Huh?" I blurted out. "It's TaeKwondo, Mom." "It doesn't matter what it's called, Sweetie. I've watching you dancing in front of the mirror often enough. You can be very grace- ful when you want to be. The point I'm making is you need to be more graceful all the time." She crossed the room, walking slowly and moving her hips. "See? You don't need to do it quite like that of course, but you need to be poised. That's what being elegant is all about. Looking good, wearing the right clothes, being proud of your body and not reluctant about showing it off." "Can we just go to the pool, Mom?" I begged. "In a few minutes. Listen, you've seen how Bryce moves around the salon, haven't you Chrissie?" "Yeah, I guess. He walks kind of how you do." My mother smirked. "Well he does do that, doesn't he? Anyway, I want you to try doing it for me, Honey. I know you can, because I've seen you do it." "I'm only pretending when I do that," I countered immediately. I felt my face redden. "It's not as if I like doing it or I do it all the time." "Then why do it? If you don't enjoy it?" "I don't know. It makes me feel,... I don't know,... strange I guess," I said haltingly. I tried to avoid her eyes, but her hand cupped my chin and tilted my head back. "When you do it, it makes your thing big, doesn't it Chrissie?" she asked softly. "Sometimes," I admitted guiltily. How did she know to ask that? I let my head hang down. Some- times, when I was naked, I danced in front of the mirror in the bathroom and the same thing happened. I liked to watch myself, to see the curves of my body as I moved around, pirouetting and pre- tending that I was a famous ballet dancer. Then my penis got very hard and I would have to sit on the toilet for several minutes and wait for it to go down. "It's okay, really it is Sweetie. It's nothing to be ashamed about. Why don't you just relax and walk across to the window for me? Just be your natural self. It's all you have to do." I breathed out. The first couple of steps were awkward. I was tense and I could barely put one foot in front of the other. I sensed that my mother was ready to laugh at my clumsiness. I brushed against the side of the bed. I was nearly halfway there. I tried to picture Bryce walking across the salon. He moved so gracefully that he could have been floating, or dancing. I tried to do the same. My nervousness evaporated. I breathed in, replacing ineptness with finesse. It felt natural, almost like doing a TaeKwondo form but without the punching and kicking gestures. I stopped at the window and pivoted. "Oh Chrissie, that was simply wonderful. How on earth did you learn to do that? You're so elegant." I wanted to tell her that walking across the room without trip- ping over my feet was something that any boy could do, yet I under- stood. Simply walking could be poetic. I could use my body to say something about myself, to get people's attention. I smiled back at her and stayed next to the window while she took her clothes off. I turned back again when she was naked. I watched as she slid into her bathing suit. "So why aren't you wearing a bikini?" I asked haughtily. "Maybe you'll find a husband if you showed your stuff off too," I added cheekily. She laughed. "Not around here I won't. Anyway, you're assuming I want a husband. I have one man in my life and that's quite enough for now. Maybe when you're settled down, I'll find someone." "Mom, that'll be years from now. You're not getting any younger, you know," I teased with a big grin. "Well I wouldn't take any bets on it, Chrissie," she replied as she picked up a light-colored nearly transparent gown. My cousins, Cynthia and David were in the pool along with another boy. I did not recognize him, but I presumed him to be Joel Meier. He looked Jewish, not that there's a problem with that because there's not. He was wearing baggy shorts that came past his knees. His hair was red and very curly, and there were a myriad freckles over his shoulders and back. On his face it was hard to tell what was a freckle and what wasn't. Despite a heavy application of white lotion there were clear signs that he was already beginning to burn. He wasn't quite as fat as Paul, but there was a huge roll of pink fat and several smaller ones at his belly when he bent forward. I walked over to the pool casually, practicing my `walk'. I trailed a foot in the water, expecting it to be cold but finding it lukewarm instead. Suddenly I wanted to get into the pool and have fun. "Hi." I said offhandedly. Despite my previous acquaintance with Cynthia and David, the first response I received was equally indifferent "I didn't think you were getting here `till later," David com- mented. It was typical of him, not even bothering to say hello. He went out of his way not to appear welcoming. His sister, younger by a year, was more hospitable if you included sarcasm as conviviality. "Your swim suit is cool, Christopher," she said with a smirk. "Real cool," David chortled. "Only it won't do much to keep you warm." "Who's worried about warm, when you're hot," I replied, I think innocently. David and Cynthia exchanged a quick glance and then both of them smirked at me. "Ooooohhhhh, he's hot," they said together, emphasizing the last word unnecessarily. "You better not let Uncle Steve hear you say that," David said gleefully. "Why?" I asked as I squatted down. I shifted position until I was sitting with my legs in the water. They giggled. David was wearing a multi-colored Speedo that looked as if it was a rainbow on fire. His sister's bikini-style suit had an identical pattern. David looked very much like he had the previous summer except that now he was a whole head taller than me. His sister looked a bit different. Her hair was longer and was bleached blond. I thought she might have been starting to get boobs because the top of her bikini was no longer as flat as it had been the last time I saw her. "I'm Joel Meier," Joel said with a mouse-like squeak. "I'm here all the way from New York." "Yeah, I kind of figured that you might be," I answered. "I'm Chris Faran. From Boston," I added. Even with the squeak it was hard to overlook the emphasis on `all the way'. "You know them already?" Joel asked pointedly. "Sure. They're my cousins. I was at their place last summer for a while." "They think they came further than me, and they only live in Fort Worth. That's in Texas. It isn't that far away. Not like New York." "I know where Fort Worth is," I said abruptly. `So who came further?" David giggled hysterically. "Get it? Who came further?" I looked at him blankly, which gives a good idea of just how naive I was on my first day in Palm Springs. "I did," Joel interjected. "No, I did," I said firmly. Any one who was awake during fourth grade geography knew the answer. "Then you, then them." I slid into the water, turned over and pushed off with my feet. Backstroke was my worst stroke so I floated and kicked rather than sculled until I was across the pool. The water felt wonderful. I had never been skinny-dipping, but I imagined that this was how it felt. I felt naked with just a tiny patch of nylon between the water and my private parts. I pushed off from the other wall and swam back to them. The conversation about who had traveled the furthest to get to the family reunion had trailed off. "Where do you live in Boston?" Joel asked. I caught David's sly smirk in the corner of my eye. He had put Joel up to it. It was his way of making fun of me. What he did not know was that during the last few hours I had finally realized that being poor was nothing to be ashamed about. "Cambridge," I answered curtly. "That's where Harvard is, isn't it? I'm going to Harvard." He said it the way Harvard students say it. Anyone from Boston knows it's pronounced `Havad'. "That's nice," I commented without enthusiasm. "Is your father a professor at Harvard?" I sighed and looked coldly at David. It was his doing. Somehow I could not conceive of his sister as being cruel. "Might be," I ventured. I intended it to sound mysterious. I pushed off from the wall again, this time submerging myself in a backward dive. I pretended to be a seal at the Boston Aquarium, keeping my arms and legs straight until I breached the surface again. The only problem was that Joel had followed me, clumsily splashing above me. "Are you Jewish?" he demanded. "No." "Oh? Why not?" "Because I'm not. I'm Catholic." "Oh. That's weird. Everyone else here is Jewish." "Probably." "How come you're not?" "I don't know. Why don't you go ask my mom," I suggested. I tried to get rid of him by swimming to an inflatable couch that was drifting by the side of the pool. He followed me, splashing away furiously in a stroke that was half dog paddle and half butter- fly. "Your mom's here?" "Over there," I answered. I pointed. My mother was sitting next to her sister engaged in earnest if not particularly meaningful conversation. She looked up, saw me, and waved languidly. "How's the water, Chrissie?" she called loudly. Joel giggled. I heard David laugh. It was too late. The damage was done. I could look forward to another week of torment. "It's nice, Mom. You should get in," I answered bravely trying to ignore what every other person had heard. "She called you Chrissie," Joel peeped. "Yeah." "Don't you mind?" "No." The sooner we got this show over with the better. His shrill voice was starting to get to me. "Why not?" "Because she's called me that since I was a baby, I guess." "But it's a girl's name," Joel clarified with painful emphasis. "So?" "It just makes you sound like you are, a girl I mean." "I'm not a girl, am I?" I retorted. Joel examined me with juvenile confusion. "I know you're not, but you kind of look like you are. Don't take this wrong or any- thing, but I've never seen a boy who looks as pretty as you do." "I can't help the way I look," I replied. "Any more than you can help the way you look." It was cruel and I knew I should not have said it even as the words were leaving my mouth. Joel winced. He looked as if he had been told he was the ugliest person alive. "I'm sorry, okay?' I said miserably. "It just bugs me when she calls me that when other people are around. I guess I lost my cool." "It's okay," Joel said. "I guess I said mean stuff too." "You probably ought to put on some more suntan lotion, Joel. Let's paddle over on this. I need something to drink as well." Joel's mother took one look at him and decided that he needed to get out of the sun before he `turned into a lobster'. One has to wonder where mothers pick up expressions like that. It certainly isn't from kids. Not wanting to spend the rest of afternoon inside the house or sitting in the shade, I meandered over to where my mother was. She was still engaged in a conversation with her sister, although from the few exchanges that I heard while I scouted the snacks, it sounded more like a one-way discourse on the few advan- tages of being married relative to a vast number of disadvantages. I assumed that my Aunt and her husband were not getting along. I was not particularly hungry so I made do with a handful of salty torti- lla chips and a can of fancy soda water. I found a chair that was by itself and was about to settle in for the duration when my mother called out. "Chrissie, you haven't said hello to Aunt Sue yet, have you?." I turned around and gave her an acknowledging wave with my free hand. "Oh Christopher, you can do better than that. Come on over here." Whenever my Aunt spoke she sounded smug. I sighed and walked towards where they were sitting. Even before I reached them I heard her hushed yet haughty voice, a voice that commanded respect. I was not supposed to hear what was said, but my Aunt was one of those people who think a normal tone qualifies as a whisper, and if she is overhead, then it is not her fault. "You really think he's ready? I mean he doesn't look any where near old enough. David's twelve, and he'd be perfect except that Richard won't have any part of it. Of course, they're at their prime right before they start puberty, so it'd be a pity to wait any longer. Luckily, he is so good looking. You never know, but I think he'll like him, Kate." I stood next to my mother until Aunt Sue finished speaking. I wondered both who and what she was talking about. She finished by saying, "It's such a wonderful opportunity. Why hello, Christopher, why didn't you come over earlier. You've cer- tainly turned into a swan, haven't you? Not that you were ever an ugly duckling." I shrugged, remembering why I did not like my Aunt very much. She had not said anything mean, or even hurtful, but her manner made me feel like I was a worm. There were kids like that at school, and kids like me survived by largely ignoring them. "He's a little showy, isn't he, although showy is good. If you've got it, you might as well show it off," Aunt Sue laughed. She gestured at me. "He's turned into quite a teaser, hasn't he? I adore what you've done with his hair. Did you do that, Kate? I'd love to have you do David's hair that way. It's so sexy." I glanced at my mother coldly. She raised an eyebrow with a look that was intended to ensure politeness on my part. "Actually one my mom's friends at the salon did it," I said smoothly. "Well, it's very nice. I hope you're going to work on your tan today, Christopher. If I remember correctly from last summer you tan very easily don't you? You're so lucky. My two have to be careful. Just a mite too much sun and they get quite burned." I nodded slightly, hoping that a nod would be enough to earn me dismissal. It wasn't. "Of course, out here in the desert, with all this privacy, most people get a tan all over. I was just talking about that with your mother. I don't see any reason why you couldn't get naked if you wanted to. I think young boys without tan lines are so scrumptious," she added. "I don't think I want to," I reacted. "Oh? I'm surprised. With the teeny suit your wearing I wouldn't think it would make any difference so I was sure you'd say yes. There's absolutely nothing to be ashamed about you know. I know your mother has seen you nude all the time, and of course, I've seen David's bare body quite often. They sun bake nude all the time at our pool." "Aunt Sue is right, Sweetie. Once you get a tan line it is so hard to get rid of. You're stuck with it for the entire summer. Why don't you think about it? I think it's a very nice idea." I shrugged, beginning to imagine what it would be like to slowly dissolve into the stone squares beneath my feet. I glanced around, hoping that other could not hear what she was saying. I could feel my neck getting hotter and a flush in my face as I started to blush. "Oh, how absolutely sweet. Now I've embarrassed him," Aunt Sue chuckled. "Maybe I should just call David over and we'll see if he can catch you and de-pants you." My mother intervened but it did not help much. "I'm sure he'd rather do it his own way. Chrissie, why don't you just lie down on the couch next to me and take them off. No one will even know." I glared at her and she made a deprecating gesture that sug- gested that I was merely postponing the inevitable. "Mom," I whined miserably. "There's people!" "So? I can assure you that Sue and I don't mind. Your cousins will probably go naked too once you do. And the Meiers are going inside the house, so there's no one to see you." She was right about that. I watched Joel disappear from sight and the glass door slid closed behind him. "Just about anything goes in California if you're discreet. Doesn't it Kate? And if you're worried about Cynthia, don't be. She knows what a cock looks like, I can assure you," Aunt Sue laughed. "And you shouldn't worry about the staff seeing you either. From what I've heard from Mrs. Beaton, there are naked boys running around here quite often so the staff are used to it as well," she added with a smirk. "Mom, I don't want to," I complained. "Don't be such a stick in the mud, Chrissie. Aunt Sue and I have both changed our share of diapers. There's absolutely nothing you've got that both of us haven't seen a million times before. Now be a good boy and lie down on the couch." I tried last time simply by giving her my most unhappy face. It didn't work. They were right about one thing. Given how little the thong covered, I might as well be naked. And the more I thought about it, the more the idea of having an all over tan appealed to me. I shuffled over to the lounge reluctantly, if not quite so dis- inclined as I might have been if the Meiers were still there. There was still Cynthia, but she was in the pool and a fair distance away. There was a clean white towel folded over the arm of the lounge and I spread it out over the upper half of the lounge, making sure that part of it would be available to cover my middle section if anyone came out of the house. After taking a long look to make sure that the pool area really was as private as it appeared, I lay down on the couch. I untied the bow at the front of the thong and cau- tiously peeled it down to my feet. There was no question that I was strangely excited by taking it off. It was the same feeling I had when I was alone in the apartment and I posed in front of the bath- room mirror. The undeniable fact was that I enjoyed being naked. I turned onto my front and buried my face in the soft towel. It smelled clean and fresh, lemon scented. The sun scorched my back, melting into me. I breathed slowing, deeply, aware of the heat and energy that was becoming part of me. So different to being on the balcony outside out apartment or lying on a crowded beach on the Cape in mid-summer. This was how life was supposed to be lived. I was young and carefree and I planned to enjoy the next six days to the fullest extent. I closed my eyes, dreaming of what it would be like to live like this forever. My mother and Aunt continued to talk and I drifted into a hazy half- sleep. Their voiced muted, barely intruded into my consciousness, and certainly not enough to rouse my interest. "Of course, with his skin he doesn't need lotion, not like my kids do. However, palm oil is simply excellent for keeping the skin smooth and soft. My dermatologist said that it's important that the skin is kept moist while it's in the sun. It'll give him a nice lus- ter too." "I think he's asleep. He's had such a long day. I'd hate to wake him up." "Oh, don't be silly. You really should put it on him. It's really quite wonderful for the skin, Kate." I barely heard the dull scrape of a chair as my mother stood up. A moment later she sat on the side of lounge. Her thigh was hot and sweaty against mine. I sighed contentedly. "He's asleep. I don't want to wake him," she said with a low- ered voice. "Don't be silly Kate." A moment later I felt something hot dribble over my back. It was only there for a moment before her hands began to massage it into my skin. Slow languid strokes, that did not feel anything like when she rubbed my back at night. This was much nicer. I stirred slightly, hoping that she would not stop quickly. Her hands came nearer to my shoulders, slippery, yet deliciously manipulating with her fingers. I breathed deeply as her hands flowed back down my back and slowly reached up the sides of my chest. She stopped there, and for a terrible moment I thought she was finished. Seconds later, her hands came back, covered with more of the slippery oil. Her hands resumed on my hips, her fingers reaching under my belly as they gradually moved higher. She reached my armpits and moved back and forth along my arms before I had a chance to giggle. There was another break, a momentary hiatus that left me unfilled. When her hands returned they were on my right leg. She worked from my thigh upwards, and then downwards, all the way down to the sole of my foot. She changed to the other leg and repeated the exercise. "Well, do his bottom, Kate. That's the one place on his body that really has to be done." "Really, Aunt Sue," my mother said plaintively. "There's no need to be so obvious about it." "If the shoe fits,..." Aunt Sue snickered. My mother hands easily covered both of my cheeks. Sometimes when she rubbed my back, she allowed her hands to go that far. There were even a few times that she encouraged me to take my pants down further. Those were special back-rubs and they were the ones that I enjoyed the most. Her hands remained there for what seemed to me to be an awfully long time. The sensation certainly was not awful. The sensation was out of this world. Her fingers moved around in cir- cles, spreading the oil and rubbing it into my soft flesh. I was aware of funny tingles running through my body and it was all I could do to lie still. Just when my nearly unconscious mind began to think that she was going to finish, I heard Aunt Sue's distant voice. "Do his crack, too. I'm positive he'll like it, and he might as well start getting used to it." I was beyond caring. I did not have to wait long. Her fingers, slick with oil, slid into the narrow verge of my buttocks, down into the depths of the dividing crevice into what is the most private part of a boy's body. Compared to the other sensations, what I expe- rienced in my dazed state was nothing short of delightful. It was more than being touched in an area that was very sensitive, and in an area that was until that time, completely untouched. It sent a hot surge through my body. However, the best was yet to come. Her fingers moved around, spreading my firm small cheeks further apart, allowing the sun's rays to enter. "He's so small." "Of course he is. What did you expect? He's a still a virgin, isn't he?" "Sue! Yes, I expect so. I mean he hasn't said anything to me. There's no reason why he wouldn't be." "Then he won't need to be tested first. It's probably better this way, but the poor little thing's going to be tight when he starts out." "It doesn't seem even possible,... It's so tiny and wrinkled." "Oh, it's possible all right. Trust me, Kate. It might be small now, but it has a remarkable ability to stretch. That is its func- tion after all, not just to let things out, but to let them in as well. All it takes is some patience and a little practice and he'll be fine." "Huh?" "For goodness sake. Why don't you, put your finger in him and see. If you do it nice and slowly it's very likely he'll stay asleep." "My finger?" "Of course, your finger. It doesn't matter which one." "Why?" "You'll see what I mean. Go on." The idea struck a chord in my drowsy sleep-numbed mind. More than her gentle pushing, it made me tremble. Not a lot, but it was an undeniable shiver. "Oh!" My mother's finger backed away instantly. To her, it seemed as if I had flinched. "For goodness sakes! He just jumped a bit. Even though he's asleep, he still likes it! I don't think there's ever been a boy who doesn't like it. Just put your finger inside his hole and see what happens. Go on," Aunt Sue prompted eagerly. "I don't feel right doing this." "Why on earth not? He'll never know. Look, just do it one more time for me. Put your finger inside him, but be very careful with your fingernail. You don't want to scratch anything inside him." Her finger poked cautiously between my cheeks. It was centered directly on my anus. I felt the firm prod, a sudden enveloping. I tried not to move, to show no sign that I was even aware of what was happening. There was a distinct but not unpleasant pressure. In fact, the longer the pressure continued the more pleasant it became. She kneaded my cheeks with her other hand while the one finger con- tinued to move very slowly in and out. After a minute of what had to be the most delectable sensation possible, the pressure had vanished and I realized that her finger had wormed it's way further inside me. "It's getting quite loose. It feels much bigger inside." "That's what I was trying to get you to understand. There's lots of room in there so there's nothing to worry about. If he's relaxed, even his first time could quite enjoyable. You shouldn't have any qualms for him, not about sex anyway. Perhaps you'd better stop before you wake him up." It was all I could do not to sigh when her finger eased back out. For the next few minutes I was sufficiently conscious to real- ize that I wished it had lasted longer. After that nothing mattered because I was asleep again. I slept for two hours like that, stretched out with my head cradled on my arms, my back sacrificed to the golden sun. Waking up again came with bursts of light interspersed with sweaty darkness as my face slumped into the crook of my arm. "He's,... very striking,... so unusual for a boy." "I worry about him,.... with Aids and everything,.... so young." "But it's a wonderful opportunity for him,.... And you too, Kate." `Yes,... I know,.... I still can't help worrying." "Well you shouldn't... It's not like he's the first,...." "... others,..." "Well, of course.... I know of several just in the last few years,.... David,...." ".... must be discreet,...." "Obviously very discreet. I think he's waking up. He really ought to turn over and work on his front for a while." "Chrissie? Chrissie honey, are you waking up?" "He has such an appealing face," Aunt Sue said. "You were abso- lutely right to do his eyebrows. Look at him trying to go back to sleep. He is so adorable." "'m not," I said moodily. "I'm awake." I rubbed my eyes blearily and started to sit up. I had a vague memory of earlier, but not enough to recollect that I was naked. I saw my sex organs as I came into a sitting position. I was naked but it no longer bothered me. However, my penis and scrotum glistened with an oily sheen. I regarded them with sleepy disinterest, slowly becoming curiosity. Then, I dimly remembered having my back rubbed with some kind of oil. It must have trickled through between my thighs. My belly and chest, and the front of my thighs were pat- terned with horizontal red-hued stripes from where I had been lying on the plastic strips of the lounge. Suddenly I realized that I was both thirsty and a little bit too exposed for comfort. I looked around for my thong. It was draped over the end of Aunt Sue's chair, like a little blue trophy. She smiled at me. "It looks like your sleepy-head son has finally decided to join us, Kate." "Hello Chrissie. Did you have a good nap?" I nodded so I would not be rude. It always took me a few min- utes to wake up properly. I glanced around the courtyard. The sun, although lower in the sky, was still very strong. There was still only my mother and me, and my Aunt and her children. David and Cyn- thia were on the other side of the pool, lying on towels. I wiped beads of perspiration from my forehead with the back of my arm. Unless I was mistaken, Cynthia had the top part of her bikini off. If she had boobs, they were still very small, not at all like her mother's. I glanced back quickly, not believing what I had seen. My eyes opened wide. Aunt Sue also had the top part of her bikini off and her full breasts were right before me. "What's the matter, Christopher? Haven't you seen your mother's boobs before?" she teased. I felt a wave of shame redden my cheeks. I swallowed and licked my dry lips self-consciously. "What, don't tell me you're turning into a little stud like David?" she laughed. "What a pity. We had such high hopes for you, didn't we Kate?" I shrugged, not understanding, and felt around on the ground for my thong despite the fact that I had just seen it. I yawned and tried to wake some more. "Oh, Christopher, don't be so droll. Just about everyone's seen your cock by now. There's absolutely no point in covering it up again." "I need to get something to drink," I said argumentatively. I turned away. I don't know why but I did not like the sight of her exposed breasts. They continued to talk, but with lowered voices as I walked over to the teak table and searched through the ice in the cooler to find what I wanted to drink. "That boy is so lucky. His back already has a nice tone to it. My kids would be red raw by now. He has such a delicious body." "He's only just turned eleven, and he's so tiny," my mother said flippantly. "I do worry about him sometimes, Aunt Sue. I mean the way he acts, it's like he wasn't,..." She leaned over and whispered in Aunt Sue's ear. I definitely was not supposed to hear what was being said about me. Instantly, my ears pricked up for the slightest sound. "Which makes him the ideal choice," Aunt Sue replied in a louder voice. "Like I've said before, I think it's a wonderful opportunity. And considering how much is at stake, it's something that ought to be kept in the family. If it works out with even half the success I`m expecting now that I've seen him, he'll be perfect. I think it's an excellent choice. You're both very lucky." "Well, Bryce did tell me it was perfectly normal. It's only to be expected that he'll start acting differently as he gets older. He said I shouldn't worry. I was so happy when he started his Karate thing. I just hope it makes him more aggressive." "And you shouldn't worry about the size thing either. I'm sure he'll start to grow there in a few more years. David's getting quite large now that he's started puberty. It's quite a handful at times. Besides, if he's a late bloomer it'll be even better for him. He hasn't started yet, has he?" "Hasn't started what?" my mother asked. "Oh, you mean puberty? No, not that I've noticed." I wandered back to my couch, deliberately taking my time in the hope that I would hear more. I didn't understand most of the conver- sation, and that aroused my interest because they were obviously talking about me. Aunt Sue's eyes followed me all the way, and while she smiled innocently, I realized where she was looking. There was nothing that I could do to stop her. I sat down on the lounge hur- riedly and lay back to enjoy my drink. "No, I'm quite sure he hasn't. It's much too small. In fact, he isn't even close," Aunt Sue said under her breath, but quite loud enough for me to hear. "How can you tell? Becase there's no hair at all on him there." "That comes later on. Usually there are changes in their balls that are the first sign." "So because of how small they are?" my mother suggested. "Partly. And they drop down into the pouch once it starts. Shhh, I thinks he's listening." Aunt Sue glanced disapprovingly at me, like it was my fault. "Christopher, you really should put some of that oil on your front now. It's right there beside your couch. You wouldn't want your little friend to get burned to a crisp, would you?" "Sue's absolutely right, Chrissie. I want you to put some of that oil all over your front. And do it properly. I want to see you rub it in thoroughly. If you'd rather, you can come over here and I'll do it." "No!" I said abruptly. My mother scowled. "No, Mom, I'll do it. Properly," I added as I tried to stay calm. I squirted oil into my cupped hand and applied a literal amount over my belly. It pooled in my navel, convex and shining, looking just like a piece of polished amber. Gradually, I lifted the oily film higher. There was a compulsive delight as my fingers caressed my flesh. My nipples formed tiny pink points, glowing as my fingers brushed against them, circled over them, made them firmer. They would soon be much darker given the intense sun. It beat down merci- lessly and soaked into my skin. I basked in shameless freedom. My penis was soft and it flopped lifelessly against my leg. My scrotum softened and hung loose, relaxing in the heat so much that my testi- cles could be easily discerned at two jelly-bean-shapes on either side of the base of my penis. I applied oil to my arms and legs, and rubbed some on the front of my thighs where there was none to be seen. There was only one place left and there was no way that I was going to do myself there when they were watching. I started to screw the cap back on the plastic bottle. "Chrissie, don't forget your thing. Do it too, Sweetie," my mother said loudly. I growled to myself. Sometimes she made me so angry. I sighed. I dribbled more oil into my hand and hurriedly wiped it over my pri- vate parts, only they were not private any longer. I heard Aunt Sue's muffled giggle. "Boys can be so ridiculous. They must think women are such innocents. It's just a cock and two balls and they treat it like it's the most valuable thing in the world," Aunt Sue chortled. "David's the same way. It's like he has the Crown Jewels down there." She went back to reading her magazine about Hollywood stars and their fabulous homes and I lay down on the lounge, grateful for silence. What she had just said was wrong, at least it was wrong about me. I did not think my genitals were anything special. I was a boy. I had what all boys had and that was all that part of my body meant to me. Casually, not even thinking about it, my right hand slipped down my side and over to my groin. I breathed out, resisting the immediate and powerful temptation to touch myself there. Now, I appreciated how good it could feel. I had not known such feelings were possible only a few hours earlier. It as just a matter of know- ing what to do. Absently, my little finger stroked against the side of my penis. Being hot and slippery, it almost felt nicer than in the air- plane toilet. I shivered, guiltily aware of the possibility of being discovered, but at the same time daring myself to do it in front of them. Aunt Sue would be suitably shocked. My mother would be horri- fied. I smirked and imagined how I could torment them. They would tell me to stop, but I would keep on doing it. It would be my revenge on them for whispering about me. I closed my eyes, engaging in my private fantasy. For the second time I fell asleep.