Date: Fri, 30 Mar 2001 17:15:19 From: Ganymede Subject: Pandora's Box III 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 III: Friday Evening. The next time I awoke it was dusk. The sun had set and the heat of the day had begun to dissipate. Someone was shaking my arm. "Chrissie? Chrissie? Wake up, Sweetie." "Uh, oh,... hi Mom." I blinked and yawned widely, part of my wake-up routine. "You've been asleep forever, Sweetie. You must have been very tired after the long flight." "I guess so." I yawned again and tried to close my eyes. "What time is it?" I mumbled. "Seven-something. People are beginning to gather for dinner. We're having a barbeque tonight." I began to sit up and realized that a towel had been placed over me. Underneath, I was as naked as the day I was born. I glanced around quickly. There was a group of people near the doors to the pool room, people who I did not recognize. Mrs. Meier was talking to Aunt Sue. They held cocktail glasses and from their gestures I assumed they were talking about the final fading colors of the sun- set. It was a pity I had been asleep because it must have been a spectacular show against the panorama before us. David and Cynthia were dressed in very fashionable casual clothes. From the sound of their voices they were in the process of tormenting Joel. I felt sorry for him. "Where's my clothes, Mom?" I said urgently. "Oh, don't be silly. You don't need clothes. Of course, you can't go around nude either, but Mrs. Beaton said that your thong is perfectly acceptable. It is a pool party after all. You can swim after dinner if you want." I held out my hand and she passed me the world's smallest piece of nylon pretending to be a swim suit. I slipped my feet through the holes and dragged it up quickly, making certain that the towel cov- ered me at all times. When I had tied off the cord, I was less per- turbed. "You're getting a lovely tan, Chrissie," my mother observed as I pushed away the big fluffy towel that had been placed over me while I was asleep. I looked along my belly. I saw a dull sheen from the oil and I was much darker, not golden brown, but not lily-white either. Another day in the sun would make a big difference. Secretly, I hoped I could sun bake in the nude again. It would be nice to be brown all over. Paul would be so jealous, although he would never know unless I told him, or showed him. I stood up, aware that all that covered my nakedness were two tiny patches of blue nylon and some cords. It made me feel rich. It had not been so long ago that I resented having to wear the thong, yet now everything had changed. I strutted off to save Joel from my cousins. In some ways Joel Meier was a lot like my best friend, Paul Saunders. Once you got past the Jewish thing, he was reasonably friendly and could even be interesting to talk with. That was Paul. He was interested in weird things. He knew the names and details of the moons of Jupiter, and he could identify dinosaurs at the Science Museum without reading the signs. His parents both worked at MIT. I came up behind David quietly. "We already have plans for tonight," David said abruptly. "Besides kids' movies are really boring." "We could watch anything you wanted," Joel offered. "Mrs. Beaton said we should look through the movies and pick one out. It'll be just like having our own movie theater. We can even have popcorn if we want." "How sweet," David guffawed. "I'd rather do math homework." "Hiya," I said when I was so close it would have been rude not to announce my presence. "And here's Chrissie," David chortled. "Finally awake again, are we?" I smiled sheepishly. "I guess I was tired." "Aren't you cold?" Cynthia asked pointedly. She smirked. "Are you wearing just that for dinner?" Her eyes were staring down as she started to turn away. There was no question of what she was looking at. I had been socially rejected by a girl my own age. Apparently, wearing a thong to dinner was not appropriate attire in her world. I hated my mother for an illusory moment. `Okay, stay cool,' I told myself firmly. "I'm swimming later. After dinner," I announced boldly and in the hope that she would hear. "There's no point in getting changed." "Except you look like a geek, Chrissie," David said gleefully. "He does not!" Joel piped up in an adamant if characteristic peep, jumping to my defense. "He's,... he's,.... He looks,..." "He looks what?" David persisted belligerently "He looks very nice!" We all turned around. The man's voice was deep and loud and it demanded respect, far more respect than Aunt Sue deserved on a good day. I did not recognize him at first. I would have stayed frozen except for David's sudden change of attitude. "Boys on the French Riviera wear them all the time," the man added. "Hi Uncle Steven. You haven't met my cousin, um, Chris,..." He stopped there, poised to say `Chrissie' but thinking better of it. Uncle Steven regarded me dispassionately. His eyes communi- cated something I did not understand, but there was a message in his unrelenting gaze. I blinked first. He nodded slowly. "So you're Kate Faran's boy? I've heard a lot about you, Christopher." He smiled slightly, enjoying a private joke. His hand lifted up to thoughtfully stroke his beard. "Or should I call you `Chrissie'?" "Chris is okay?" I muttered. There was something about his eyes, about the way he was looking at me. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Kaufman," I said awkwardly. I breathed out, feeling a load lifted from my chest. The more I looked at him the more I recognized him from the article in People magazine. He was taller than I expected. Before him, I was small, with the top of my head barely reaching his chest. Abruptly, I stuck my hand out. He considered it for a moment, we both did. My hand was small and attached to a wrist that was thin and bony. My forearm was smooth and light brown and very slender. His hand moved, clasped mine, gripped tightly, squeezing my fingers. He had thick black hair extending from the back of his hand all the way up his arm. He shook and I got shaken. I had the amusing thought that he was shaking my entire body and not just my hand. "Actually, Chris, I'm your Uncle Steven too," he said absent- mindedly. "Let's see if I get this right. Your mother's sister is David's mother, who is married to my brother, Richard." "Yes Sir, I know that," I replied respectfully. He chuckled from deep in his belly. "You don't work in Holly- wood do you? No, I didn't think so!," he said as my head shook mar- ginally. "So don't call me `sir'. Okay?" I looked at him dumbly. He was a vexing person, overwhelming from beginning to end. He was such a big man that he completely dwarfed me. "Here's the deal. You don't call me `sir' or Mr. Kaufman, and I won't call you `Chrissie'. How about it?" "Okay," I giggled. "It's a deal, Sir. Oops." "Chrissie," he said emphatically, but with a slight smile. "Wouldn't you like to call me Uncle Steven instead?" I shriveled, barely nodding. Spending a week at his house was a daunting proposition. We were off to a very bad start. My mother would be angry. I tried to say something. Anything. Lodged in my throat were words which would have been a feeble apology for some- thing I was not even sure I was sorry about. Uncle Steven leaned down so that his head was very close to mine. "You're a very beautiful boy, Christopher Bryce Faran," he whispered in my ear. With that, he turned on his heel and walked away towards the Rollmans, who appeared to be having trouble keeping their eight- year-old twins from jumping into the pool with all their clothes on. "What did he say to you?" David demanded brusquely. I turned in shock, still not believing what I had just heard. Steven Kaufman, the Steven Kaufman had just said that I was a very beautiful boy. Me! There was no mistake. He had used my full name. I was not certain, but I suspected that I had been named after Bryce because he was my mother's best friend at the time I was born. "Nothing," I murmured. My mind was tearing at his words, trying to understand why he would say that. It was not something that I wanted to understand. "Nothing?" David insisted. "It's none of your business," Joel squeaked. "Come on Chris, let's go see what there is to eat. I'm starving." "No wonder you're fat," David hooted. "You better watch what you eat, Chrissie unless you want to be fat like him." I gave him a cold stare and followed crimson-faced sunburned Joel over to where food was being spread out on several tables. I spent the rest of the evening with Joel. We ate together, discovered a few things we had in common, went to the screening room to watch 'Lost in Space' on the largest screen I had ever seen outside a movie theater, and finally ambled off in separate directions to go to bed. I never did get to go swimming that night. I fell asleep dreaming about Uncle Steven and what it would be like to grow up in a desert paradise.