Date: Mon, 02 Apr 2001 18:25:51 From: Ganymede Subject: Pandora's Box VI Pandora's Box VI, by Ganymede and Christopher. 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 VI: Saturday Afternoon. "Hello!" I spun around. Other than he had watched me when Joel and I arrived at the pool, I did not recognize the man who stood a few feet away. His eyes gave me the customary appraisal, not looking down and then up but watching my eyes for a few seconds. "You're Christopher Faran, aren't you?" I was not sure what to say to a complete stranger who obviously knew who I was. I stared back at him. "My name is Ted Lehr. I'm Steven Kaufman's doctor, and his close friend and confidant too." He paused. "Do you know what a con- fidant is, Chris?" I continued to stare at him, hoping that my silence would send him off to annoy someone else. At the same time, I had second thoughts. He had interesting eyes, eyes that had lots of questions and even more answers. I thought I could see myself reflected in them. "It must be hard for a boy growing up without a father," he said softly. "Trying to understand the world all by yourself." I shrugged. Nothing more. He smiled. "Can we talk for a for few minutes?" I shrugged again. "I have my mom," I said pointedly. "Huh? Oh! Yes, I've met her already. Your mom is a lovely lady. I was talking with her just a while ago." "What about?" "You," he answered with a peculiar smile. "Me?" Doctor Lehr held my eyes with his, assessing before he answered. "Yes, you Christopher." "Why?" He smiled. "Because Mr. Kaufman likes you. You're a very spe- cial boy. I don't think you realize just how special you are." I narrowed my eyes, turning my head slightly to see where my mother was, to see if she would validate this person as someone who I should be speaking with. I did not see her at first. Finally, she waved. I glanced back at Doctor Lehr. He was still smiling. "I'll be seeing a lot more of you I expect, Chris. In a way, I'll be your confidant too, as well as Steven's. You didn't answer my question about what a confidant is, by the way. Do you know?" "It someone you tell stuff to,... stuff that you don't want any- one else to know about. It's like a priest in confession." "Very good. Well, I'm better than a priest. I won't make you atone for your sins. However, you'll be able to tell me things that you won't be able to tell another living soul, not even your mother, and what's more, I'll be able to do something to help you." "I don't understand," I said. "I don't need any help." I don't think he heard me, because he had already turned and strode off before the words were out of my mouth. I ambled over to where my mother was. She was talking with Mrs. Rollman and she broke off the conversation apologetically as soon as I approached. Mrs. Rollman headed off to break up yet another fight between the twins. "Thank goodness you turned up. I was about to send out the search party. Where on earth have you been, Honey?" "Sun baking," I answered. I gestured towards the hedge. "Back there where no one could see me." "No tan lines I hope, Chrissie?" she said with pretended seri- ousness. "I was naked, okay Mom?" I answered with exasperation. "All that time? Since breakfast, Sweetie?" "No! Not all the time." I hated being interrogated. "I was with Joel for a while. We were in his room for a bit of the time too." "It's time you got changed, Chrissie. There are a lot of people here who you need to meet so you won't have much time for swimming." I shrugged and followed her as she lead the way into the house. I was aware of eyes following me. It was almost as if I was on show, like I was part of an exhibition of rare and exotic animals. No one stared, at least not for very long. I ascribed it to my attire or lack thereof because most of the had clothes on that ensured a modi- cum of decency. For the moment it no longer bothered me, but I still pretended that I was a famous movie star at the Club Med resort on the island of Moorea, of the coast of Tahiti. As soon as we were in our room I flopped down on my bed and groaned. "What's wrong, Chrissie?" I shrugged. "Mom, I don't want to ever go back to Cambridge," I complained. "It's so wonderful here." "Well, Sweetie, you know how it is,..." "Yeah, I know how it is," I repeated in a disgruntled voice. My mother smiled and sat down on the bed beside me. Her hands brushed over my belly and circled around my navel, getting closer and closer until a finger tip rotated in the little whorled button that had once connected me to her. "You have such a lovely tan, Chrissie. There's not even a trace of a tan line anywhere. It makes you look so sexy." "I used the oil all the time, Mom," I said absently. For once I did not feel dorky when she said I was 'sexy'. I smiled slightly. "I was careful not to get anything too scorched." "That's good. We wouldn't want you to get sunburned, would we? Especially on your thingie. It would be so sore." She smiled. "You're really happy here, aren't you Sweetie?" I nodded. "Mom, who's that doctor guy? Doctor Lehr I think he said his name was." "Oh him. I was talking to him earlier. It was a pity you weren't there to talk with him as well. I'm sure he could answer your questions." I sighed. "I don't have any questions that you can't answer, Mom." "None? None at all? Be honest with me, Chrissie." "Yeah, I guess I do," I murmured. "Mom, they're guy questions, sort of. I was thinking of asking Bryce about some of them when I see him again. Like if he comes over to dinner or something." "And I'm sure he'll do his best to answer them too. I think it's much better for you to talk with him about sex, Chrissie." "How,... how did you know?" I asked shamefully. My mother smiled. "Because you're my little boy, Chrissie. Because I know you better than anyone else." "Yeah, I am, aren't I?" I giggled proudly. "You're eleven years old now, Sweetie. Eleven-year-old boys are interested in sex, and the kinds of things they want to know about, well they really can't ask their mothers." "Thanks Mom." "Chrissie, I'm sure you'll have a lot of questions after today. I don't say that just because you started masturbating this morning. You're at a stage in your life when you need to start understanding things so you can make the decisions that are right for you." She paused. "Chrissie, you don't understand it yet but there is a reason why some men look at you." "Like what?" I asked disagreeably. Trust my mother to bring up the one subject that I did not want to talk about again. "That's not a question for me to answer, now is it Honey?" I thought about it. She made it sound mysterious. "Is it about sex?" I asked awkwardly "Yes, in a way it is, Chrissie. Now you'd better get that butt of yours into the shower before I have to give it a good hard whack. And use the apple-scented shampoo. It will make your hair smell so fresh and clean." I jumped up and darted into the bathroom before she had a chance to catch me. I showered, soaped and shampooed, and then dried myself off with one of the huge velvety towels from a stack of half- a-dozen. It felt like my irradiated body was being subjected to a million caresses. Still naked, I strolled back into the bedroom to find what clothes my mother had laid out for me to wear to the party. As soon as she noticed, she glanced up from the desk and beckoned me over. She had arranged some hair styling things and was ready to go to work on my hair. "This is the one time that I could really do with help from Bryce to get you ready. He is just fabulous in stressful situa- tions." "We have a whole hour and a half," I complained. "I just have to get dressed and do my hair." "Oh Chrissie, don't be silly." "I'm not silly," I claimed. "Why does everyone keep saying stuff like that. Like I am such an innocent, or I'm naïve." "Because you are, Sweetie. It's nothing to be ashamed off.We have to get you ready and that's all there is to it. Now,, stand here in the light and let's decide what needs to be done first." She smiled sweetly, which immediately gave me cause for con- cern. "Mom, nothing needs to be done," I proclaimed valiantly. "Your skin needs lotion. Is that nothing? No, of course not, Honey. Just be patient." She interweaved her fingers and rubbed her thumbs together. "What's wrong, Mom?" I asked. "Something Bryce said, actually." She lifted up my arm and held it to the light. There was a light fuzz of hair on my forearm that should have been almost invis- ible, yet it glistened so much that it could be seen in the light. She licked her lips, rubbed her nose, half closed her eyes. She thought for a moment. "He's right, of course. I think it would be best not to shave it off. It'll only grow back thicker. Not that it's thick now. It's just like peach fuzz." She smiled at me. "Now Chrissie, I know you probably won't like this, but,... " "But what, Mom?" I asked impatiently. "I'm going to put some cream on you to make you nice and smooth. You'd like that, wouldn't you? It wouldn't hurt at all." I frowned at her. "Mom!" I whined. "Now Chrissie! You know better than that. When have I ever been wrong? Just tell me one time? Was I wrong about letting Bryce trim your eyebrows? Or your cute little thong? You didn't want to wear that yesterday and now you're never out of it except when you're working on your tan." "Mom!" I tried to interrupt. "Was I wrong when I got you to start taking Karate lessons from Lee? Oh yes, you hated it the first time, but you haven't missed a single class, now have you Honey? And you already have your green belt, don't you?" "Mom! This isn't the same," I said with increasing agitation. "Sometimes I think you want to make me look like a girl." "You haven't the slightest idea, do you Sweetie? Honestly, mak- ing you look like a girl is the farthest thing from my mind. I just want you to look your very best for the party." "Mom!" I whined again. But it was too late. Her mind was made up and she was already unscrewing the cap to a tall thin bottle. "Will it hurt?" I asked nervously. "No, of course not. Of course there are some places where it shouldn't stay on for too long, like around your thing for example, but I promise you it won't hurt. It'll feel just like skin lotion." "What does it do?" "It's what women use to remove unwanted hair, Chrissie. You don't have very much, and it's so fine it should come out easily, roots and all. I'm just going to put a thin coat over your body and then you can go in the bathroom and wash it off. " "But I only just had a shower," I complained. "Oh Chrissie. Don't be so silly! Now hold out your arms nice and steady. There, that doesn't hurt, does it?" In truth, the cool cream felt nice after the hot shower. My skin had been exposed to a lot of sun over the last twenty-four hours so anything would probably have felt good. I thought I could feel it soaking into my pores, into my hair follicles. While she smeared it over my legs and thighs, from my feet all the way to my crotch, I examined my forearms, half expecting to see the tiny hairs falling out by themselves. She finished with my legs and began on my back. There was probably little or no fuzz on my buttocks and back, but she did them anyway. "Turn around, Sweetie. We're almost finished," she said with a playful tap on my behind. I turned around. I was still pouting. Sometimes it seemed to me that I had absolutely no say in how I looked, and it was beginning to wear me down. I grumped at her as she began to apply the cool cream to my chest. "I don't even have any hair there," I said bitterly. "Well, this will just make sure, won't it. There's not just hair on your arms, Chrissie. You're hardly a hairy boy by any stretch of the imagination, that's part of your charm, but it will be much nicer for him if you're absolutely smooth." "Nicer for who?" I asked irascibly. "Why, Uncle Steven, Dear. I want you to look your very best for him. He went to a lot of trouble and expense to bring us all the way here from Cambridge. Did you know our plane tickets alone cost him four thousand dollars!" "No, but I can't see what me being hairless has to do with him," I retorted. My mother chuckled. "Oh? Didn't he tell you that you were a very beautiful boy last night, Christopher Bryce Faran?" Yes, but,... " I surrendered. What difference could it possibly make whether I was hairless or not? "I'm nearly finished. Do you want to do your thing, or should I? It's probably better I do it because it's already on my hands. Close your eyes, Chrissie." "Mom!" I squealed as her hands grasped my genitals and slath- ered lotion all over them. "There, that's done. It'll take a few minutes, Sweetie," she said, reading from the back of the bottle. "While we're waiting I think I'll do your nails." "You're not going to put nail polish on them, are you?" I demanded in horror. "No. Are you really that afraid I'm trying to make you look like a girl? You're not a girl, are you Sweetie? Let me check. No, you still have your little boy's thing so you can't be," she laughed as she swiveled my body around again to check if my penis was still there. "Oh Chrissie, I do love you so much. I hope this works out for us. I really do." "What works out?" I asked uncertainly. She ignored my question and I had to stand patiently while she used her nail file to carefully trim each of my ten fingernails and reinforce the curved points on the ends. Then, I had to balance on one foot while I held on to the side of the desk while she did ten toenails. If I harbored any inhibitions about being naked in front of her, they were long gone. She discarded the clippings in the waste basket and smiled at me. "Now what?" I asked self-consciously. "Now Chrissie, I know I promised no nail polish,... ." "NO!" I said angrily. "I don't want it! Mom!" "What if it didn't have any color in it, Sweetie? I have some clear lacquer. Your nails would look so much nicer." "No, Mom!" "Chrissie, please. For me?" "No!" "Sweetie? Please?" She used her charming voice. The voice that she used whenever I was angry and frustrated with her. I pursed my lips. I was not going to give in, not this time. I even shook my head. She simply kept looking at me. Finally, I gave my hand to her, resentfully, but ever obedient. She applied the lac- quer with a tiny brush, sweeping across each finger nail so quickly that I was surprised when she reached out and took my other hand. "I can't see the point in doing your toenails. Not unless you want me to, Sweetie. It'd be different if you were going to wear sandals tonight." "No Mom! I want to wear my new shoes, okay?" "I suppose so. I think the polish is dry. Now, into the bath- room with you and let's wash you off." This time she led the way and I followed meekly behind her. She turned on the water in the world's largest shower and stepped aside for me to enter. She handed me a coarse sponge. I began to sponge. Although the shower water didn't wash the fuzz off my arms, it took only one sweep of the sponge to see the difference. I went down my legs deriving a strange thrill as the tiny silvery hairs disappeared quickly. I turned around and she rinsed off my back. I turned off the shower, toweled off and went back into the bedroom again. "Well lets see, Chrissie. Did it make a difference?" she asked as she lifted my forearm again. She ran a finger along my arm, and then back again. "You're so smooth, Sweetie. I can't remember you ever being so smooth, except when you were still a baby, of course. What you think?" I swallowed. I hated to tell her that she was right, yet again. But she was! She was always right. I studied my arms, then dropped them to my sides and glanced down the length of my body. I looked smoother. "It's okay," I admitted moodily. "Chrissie?" she persisted. "Yeah, it's cool," I gave in and grinned. "My skin feels really different too." "Different how, Honey?" I giggled. "It's like I feel really, really naked. My skin is all tingly too." "Good! Now you'll listen to your mom from now on, won't you?" she teased. "You know we should have used the hair cream on you yes- terday. I wished I'd thought of it then. You would have looked so much sexier at the pool." She handed me a tube of skin lotion. I was used to putting in on by myself although I much preferred my mother to apply it as part of a massage. Not that my mother did it very often. She was usually too tired at night, and I didn't like putting it on in the mornings because the scent would draw attention to me. I flipped off the cap and began to apply some to my legs, doing only one area at a time before I stopped to rub it in. It was even better that the hair cream for relieving the soreness of too much exposure to the sun. By tomorrow the reddish-hue would be replaced by a golden brown tan. "Chrissie?" my mother said. She turned around from the built-in make-up counter. "Yes?" I was almost finished and my skin was beginning to loose its tenderness. "Chrissie,... about this morning, Honey. I did have one thing I wanted to talk to you about." "Uh huh?" I answered absently. "It's only normal that people have thoughts when they mastur- bate. I know I do, and I'm sure you did too when you were doing it, Sweetie. It's called a fanstasy by the way. You kind of invent peo- ple or situations that excite you. It makes doing it even better. Sometimes people have them about quite strange things, but it's only because it excites them sexually. There's nothing at all wrong with it." She hesitated. " Well, Chrissie, what I wanted to ask you,... when you were masturbating, Sweetie. What were you thinking about?" I dropped the tube of skin lotion and stared at her, trying to understand how she could possibly know what thoughts had been in my mind at the time. She could do that sometimes, read my mind, I mean. But this? This wasn't like that. She was asking what I had been thinking about. I felt a cold chill and I shivered. Why did she have to bring that subject up again in the first place? I glared at her, feeling ashamed, not only of what I had done, but what I had been thinking about at the time. "Oh Chrissie, Dear, it's nothing to be ashamed of. We've talked about other things that are just the same." "I can't!" "Of course you can, Honey. I'm your mother." "No, I can't. You don't understand. If you knew you'd under- stand," I groped. "You weren't thinking about me, were you?" she asked nervously. "I mean I know some boys think about their mothers, but you? I never would have thought so. David, maybe, but you? You're not like that." "Mom!" I beseeched. "Please? Okay?" "Now, now Chrissie. There's no point in getting upset." She sighed. "You weren't dreaming about Cynthia, were you?" "NO!" "Chrissie, I don't want to play guessing games with you all night. Why don't you just tell me?" "Because I can't! Okay?" I groaned miserably. "I can't help it!" "Oh Chrissie, I hate to see you so upset. Please tell me. You know I won't be angry. Listen, let me help you. You just say yes or no, okay? It'll be just like a game." I shrugged, planning on not responding to her questions or her game. "Were you thinking about a girl? Maybe someone your own age?" "No, Mom," I said impatiently. "Another boy perhaps. I know a lot of boys your age get crushes on other boys. It's perfectly natural. David perhaps?" "No, Mom." "An older woman then? Boys get crushes on women too, some- times," she suggested. "No Mom!" She seemed to be getting increasingly distracted. She stopped there, giving me the impression that she was reluctant to go on. I silently prayed in gratitude and breathed out in sullen relief. "Chrissie, I don't want you to get embarrassed or anything. You know, there are times when I really wish Bryce would talk to you. He has such a better understanding of these things." She stopped again. Again I breathed out and considered how much simply it would have been if I had lied to her. I should have said `Cynthia' and it would over by now. She contemplated me in silence. "Chrissie, now I know this is difficult, but some boys,... well they have sexual feelings for men, and,... " "MOM!" I wailed. "Is that it Chrissie, because if it is I don't want you to worry? It's perfectly okay with me if you did." She rested again, but not for long. I could see her summoning her thoughts and organizing for the next round. "Chrissie, you haven't said `yes' or `no' yet. Should I take it as a yes?" I nodded slightly. It was all that I could do. I gazed at her with tears welling up in my eyes. I was eleven years old and my life was ruined. I had just told my mother that I fantasized about men when I masturbated. She opened her arms wide and I stumbled forward and into her loving embrace. "Oh Honey, Sweetie, it doesn't matter. You'll see soon, it isn't something bad. There's nothing to be ashamed about. Not for you. Everything will work out, I promise." "Mom, I can't help it," I said despondently. "The thought just came into my mind and it wouldn't go away. And I liked it so much. It made me feel so good inside. It was like everything I ever wanted. Something kept on telling me to go faster because it would feel even better." "It's okay Honey. You're so special. I know you're upset now, but there's no reason to be. Not really." "I didn't want to think of him, Mom. It just happened," I admitted wretchedly. "Who was it? Chrissie, can you tell me who you were thinking about?" "Uncle Steven, Mom. Mom? You aren't going to tell anyone are you? Not Aunt Sue! Please not her?" I begged miserably. "Chrissie, I would never do anything that wasn't in your best interests. You ought to know that by now." She eased me back and placed her hands on my slender hips. "You are so beautiful, Chrissie. It's only natural, you know." "What's natural?" I asked awkwardly. I felt my face to see if it was still flushed. She smiled lovingly. "You'd better get start getting dressed, Honey. We don't want to be late, do we?" "No, I guess not." I sniffed loudly and reached for one of her tissues to blow my nose. "What about my hair, Mom?" I remembered. "How forgetful of me. Well sit down, Chrissie and let me get to work." She applied the mousse expertly. She used just enough to do the job, not so much that it would look artificial. Most mothers would not have known where to begin. She brought out her styling comb and brush and started to reshape my hair into the same style that Bryce had used before we left Boston. She was meticulous and I had to be patient, but the results spoke for themselves. Finally, she stood up and turned me around to face the mirror. "Thanks Mom," I muttered. I grinned at myself. I turned my head from one side to the other, studying the reflection, admiring how she had managed to form each blond-tipped spike so that it was perfect. I don't think even Bryce could have done such a fabulous job. "Now run and get your clothes on and don't mess it up," she scolded. "Chrissie, did I ever tell you how absolutely beautiful you looked?" "Mom!" I whined as I walked carefully across to my bed and where she had aid out the clothes I was going to wear. One of the packages of micro briefs was already opened and I pulled it on hurriedly to see how it looked. Strangely, I was not in the mood for boxers. I wanted to wear the little red pair of briefs. It looked hot even before I put it on. I wanted to show off my body. It fit perfectly, with a little pouch to hold my penis and testi- cles. It came mid way between my penis and navel, contrasting viv- idly with the brown-hued skin of my lower belly. It was tight on my behind, making me aware that there was something behind me as well as in front. It offered support where there was none in a boxer, and it gathered my genitals to make a little hemisphere that appeared larger and much more interesting than if they hung freely. I won- dered why boys wore boxers in the first place when they concealed the most interesting parts of a boy's body. The leather pants felt unusual as I carefully pushed my legs through. The leather was clammy, almost sticky at first, but I remembered that Bryce had once told me that if they were properly styled, wearing leather pants felt like having a second skin. After a minute of adjustment I agreed whole-heartedly. I belonged in them, almost as if I was naked. I strutted around the room, flaunting my slender body to no one in particular and enjoying how my body's shape was accentuated by the leather. "You're very sexy," my mother announced when I posed in the mirror for the tenth time. I grinned back at her, for once not feeling ashamed when she called me `sexy'. "Maybe I should go like this, Mom. Topless?" She laughed. "No, not tonight, Honey. Save that for tomorrow when most of the guests have gone home." She held up a black shirt. It was shiny and very delicate. "Is it silk?" I asked curiously. It was too good to be true. I had wanted a silk shirt like the one that Bryce wore for Christmas Dinner. I had asked and asked, but to no avail. We didn't have the money for luxuries, and while I was disappointed, I understood. "Yes, it's silk. It's a present from Bryce, Chrissie. He knew how badly you wanted one. And the leather pants are too. You'll have to send him a thank you card at the first opportunity, Dear." I stepped up to her and allowed her to put the shirt over my shoulders and guide my arms through the delicate material. If felt as light as air. I folded my arm, then straightened it out again. "It's so cool," I said admiringly. "Bryce gave me strict instructions about how it was to be worn. Now, what did he say, Honey. I think he said your should skip the buttons down to your belly button. I think that's too much tummy showing though, don't you. Let's try one less. Here let me do it. What do you think, Sweetie?" "It's great either way," I said admiringly. It felt like I was wearing nothing on top at all, it was so light and flimsy. I pushed the ends of the shirt carefully under- neath the waist of my pants so as not to damage the material and stepped back to look at myself in the mirror. I was dumbfounded. Was that really me? I looked like Bryce, a younger, more attractive, version, but undeniably the same. I felt strange in ways that I still did not understand. "Oh Honey," my mother said softly. "You can't believe how fabu- lous you look," she murmured. I grinned. She was right. I did look fabulous. I looked like a boy-movie star, no better than that. I looked like something out of a dream, a dream whose meaning escaped me, but which I knew was very special. I hurriedly slipped on my socks and shiny new shoes, equally black. I was dressed all in black and the effect was stunning. Even Bryce would have been surprised. Like an obedient puppy, I followed my mother from the room and down the loggia to join the guests in the living room. There were a lot of people there. Immediately, I could feel eyes on me. This time I like being looked at. There was something to see. Me! The new me! I walked as elegantly as I could, not too exaggerated, but enough that I expressed the poetry of movement. My mother went directly to Aunt Sue with me in tow. "Oh! Oh, he's simply gorgeous," Aunt Sue purred. "Christopher, you look wonderful." I gave her a cold stare. I definitely did not like her very much. "My boy cleaned up quite nicely, didn't he," my mother said proudly. "It's quite a transformation. The last two days have been like watching a butterfly emerge from its cocoon." Aunt Sue smiled. "He's absolutely perfect, Kate." My mother smiled back at her. "What we were talking about ear- lier, Sue. I did ask him," she said ambiguously. "And," Aunt Sue prompted eagerly. "Not a older woman, I hope. He's really much too close to you. I'd hate for you to have to deal with a bad case of puppy love." My mother gave her sister a withering look. I thought `good for her', yet I knew what was coming. Despite my begging for her not to tell, she was going to tell. I signaled with my eyes, imploring silently, but she told anyway. "It was a man, just like you said," she said in a hushed voice. "Oh, how wonderful. I am so excited," Aunt Sue gushed. "I could only hope. I thought about it all afternoon. I know some boys are like that. David is. Well, some of the time he is. Of course, from what I've seen so far I'm sure he's bi." She smirked. "He'd be so shocked if he heard me say that, but it's true. Did he tell you who, or was in men in general?" I groaned and tried to block out what I was going to hear. It would not have made any difference, but I tried anyway. I wished I had not told her. A lie about Cynthia would have been so easy. "Steven," my mother said simply. Then she smiled slightly. "He didn't want to tell me, but I dragged it out of him. Can you believe it?" "Steven? I suppose I can. I'm surprised though. He's only seen him briefly. Still, how long does it take? It's even better than I'd hoped. It is so right! Now, I know it's going to work out," she said with deliberate emphasis on nearly every word, but in a way that said that I was not supposed to understand. "What's going to work out?" I asked awkwardly. "Nothing, Sweetie." "Where were you earlier by the way?" Aunt Sue asked pointedly. "Your mother and I searched everywhere. There was someone who wanted to meet you." "Doctor Lehr?" I suggested helpfully. I could tell by the expression on her face that I was right. "Well?" "He was sun baking behind the pool somewhere." My mother nodded at me. "You ought to see his tan now, Sue. It's simply delicious, and not a line in sight. And then he was with Mrs. Meier's boy," she added flippantly. "His name is Joel," I mumbled. Aunt Sue scowled. "Christopher, do you really have to play with him? It's like Beauty and the Beast. It isn't that he's fat. He's so dull. I don't see how you could have anything in common with him." "I like him," I said flatly. "At least he's someone my own age who I can talk to, and he isn't mean to me," I added deliberately. "Hello to my brother's side of the family," boomed a voice behind me. I spun around again. It seemed like I was always doing that when Uncle Steven was around. I grinned stupidly, leaving my mouth hanging open for a few seconds before I remembered to close it. "We haven't been properly introduced," he said sardonically to me. His eyes showed interest as he looked at me. I could feel them traveling over me, taking in the curve of my neck, the shape of my lips, my smooth brow, the style of my hair, even the delicate form of my ears. Then down to my neck again, taking in the thin tendons, the prominent bones where my collar bones ended, then lower, follow- ing the exposed `v' of my brown chest until it disappeared a few inches above my navel. He smiled slightly. He liked what he saw. "Steven, this is my son, Christopher," my mother stated for- mally. "And this is your Uncle Steven, Sweetie." I swallowed and awkwardly lifted my hand into his bear paw. Strong, oh so strong. It was like being squeezed to death. Vaguely, I wondered what it would be like to be hugged by this man. He would squeeze the life out of me and I would die happy. I tried to ease my hand back, but he held on, releasing the pressure but still keeping my hand in his. He was preoccupied, still talking to my mother. I could hear nothing. All I knew was that my small fragile hand belonged in his hand, as much by softness overwhelmed by masculine strength as by some other power that he exerted over me. How did I know that? "It's a pleasure to meet you properly at last. I've heard so much about you, Christopher," he said pleasantly. "It's a pleasure to be here, S-s-s,... " I stopped myself in time. "Steven," I managed. I had started nearly saying `sir'. I intended to call him Uncle Steven. I ended up calling him by his first name. It sounded very bold and it took him by surprise. He nearly stepped back. Then he smiled. "Steven?" he repeated. "Yes, you of all people should call me that, I expect. What have you been doing since you've arrived, Chris?" "Well, he's been swimming a lot, haven't you Chrissie?" my mother answered for me. I shuffled my feet. I would have liked to answer him for myself. I nodded slightly. "And he's been working on his sun tan," my Aunt added gratu- itously. "So I see. Mrs. Beaton tells me you're nice and brown all over," Steven chuckled. "She knows I like a boy with a tan. It's so healthy looking, despite what the doctors say. If they had their way we'd be lily white and never outdoors. She also told me there were no unsightly tan lines. I hope that's right," he teased. I blushed. Steven laughed. "Don't worry about Mrs. Beaton. She's seen so many bare boys around here that one more makes no difference. We're very liberated in California. Not at all like stuffy old Boston. I don't expect you'd get many opportunities to sun bake in the nude where you're from." I swallowed and tried to think of something to say to change the topic from naked boys and suntans. He read my mind. "Now what else did say say about her favorite guest. Oh, of course. The paintings. How could I forget that. Which one is your favorite, Chris?" "The Durer," I said quickly. Steven inclined his head and thoughtfully stroked his beard as he watched me. I felt so small standing before him, far smaller than the night before. I had a vague notion that if he lay on top of me, he would crush me. Now, why did I think of that? Because it would be natural, if he did lie on top of me. How bizarre? "Why it? There are a lot better pictures." "Because it's so beautifully drawn. The boy is nearly alive. He looks like he's moving. There's no color in it, but it makes you think that there is. You like it too, don't you?" I muttered. Steven smiled slightly. "For the same reasons, and one other. I bet you can't guess what it is?" I shook my head once. From the corner of my eye I observed my mother and Aunt Sue. They were watching me, and him. I could sense my mother's pride in me. I was talking with Steven Kaufman about something she could not even begin to understand. And there was fas- cination too, beyond a mother's appreciation of her son finally unfolding and stretching his wings. I was ready to soar. "So, can I borrow this wonderful young man from you for a while," Steven said to my mother and Aunt Sue. "There are some peo- ple I'd like him to meet." "By all means," my mother said with a big smile. Suddenly Steven's arm dropped onto my shoulders. His hand play- fully gripped right arm and squeezed. I was sheltered, almost pulled into his side. I could feel his warmth pouring into me, right through my silk shirt like it wasn't there. I felt weak, fragile, very protected. He escorted me away, following the line of windows. "What do you think of the view, Chris?" he asked. He gestured with his left hand towards the mountains. "It's incredible," I said softly. "Much though I like boys with sun tans, you've had enough sun for a while. I'd like you to see something of Palm Springs besides my swimming pool." He chuckled. "We'll have to find some other things for you to do. We could go up there the day after tomorrow, if you wish in the four-wheel drive. There are some very interestng places, but they are very hard to get to." "That would be cool," I answered nervously. We stopped by an elderly woman. She had hair that was dyed and she wore so much make up that it was obvious that she was trying desperately to preserve her younger life. "This is my mother, Chris. Mother, I'd like you to meet Chris- topher." "Christopher? You're one of Richard's boys?" I glanced at Steven uncertainly. "I'm Steven," he said patiently. The old woman wrinkled her nose. "Then he's one of your boys, isn't he?" she replied bluntly. "Christopher is my nephew. Mother. He lives in Boston. Actu- ally, he's Richard's wife's sister's son. Did I get that right, Chris?" I nodded. "Well, it's better if it's kept in the family, I think. He's much prettier than some of your strays, Steven. He has such nice blue eyes." She turned back to examine me closer. It was like being under a microscope. "You aren't Jewish." "No, Mrs. Kaufman," I answered nervously. "I'm Catholic." "I'm Mrs. Meier now. That can't be helped, I suppose. How old are you, child?" "Eleven," I replied warily. "You look younger. I hope you're gentle with him, Steven." "Yes, Mother,' Steven answered pleasantly. I turned and looked up at the man standing behind me. He reminded me of Sean Connery with his rugged features. He was very good-looking, I decided. Mrs. Meier cackled as she tried to laugh. "There's no need to look quite so besotted, boy. You do know what that means, don't you?" She did not wait for me to answer. "Besotted. It means infatu- ated." "I, I, I,... ." I stammered and she cackled again. "Don't be ashamed of it. You aren't the first boy who's fallen in love with a man, and I'm quite certain you won't be the last." My face was getting redder and redder. How could she say such things? I felt Steven's hand tighten and pull me closer. I wanted to disappear. The only thing I was grateful for was that my mother and Aunt Sue weren't nearby to hear what she said. "Now Mother, don't go jumping to conclusions," Steven inter- rupted firmly. "He's known me for all of five minutes." "How long does it take, Steven? A year? A month? One day? Five minutes?" The old lady gave a quick shake of her head as if trying to clear her mind. "He has such an endearing quality. I can see why you're smitten," she added absently. Then she smiled and the corners of her eyes wrinkled up and stretched into her temples. Her claw of a hand, withered with skin that was like parchment, reached out and her thumb stroked across my right cheek gently. It was a grandmother's caress, the touch of someone who understood the confusion that I was feeling. "So soft, so very soft. If he ever hurts you Christopher, you tell me okay?" she said tonelessly. I nodded slightly. For the first time I noticed the butterfly brooch that was attached to the lapel of her dress. It was the kind of thing that you might see in the costume jewelry department at Filenes. At first glance it was gaudy, but the delicate gold fili- gree contained what might have been hundreds of minute diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. It was not only beautiful, but also very valuable. "That's awesome," I admired. Startled, she stopped stroking my cheek. Her eyes followed mine, realized what I was staring at appreciatively. "That's just an old lady's trinket," she said. Her hand moved. Her fingers touched the lobe of my right ear. "You've just had your ear pierced, haven't you boy?" I nodded. I had been religious about using the antiseptic oint- ment that Bryce had given me in the salon and my ear lobe had nearly healed. In a day or two I hoped my mother would take me into Palm Springs to buy a ring. I was tired of the plastic garnet. "A boy needs ornamentation too, doesn't he?" she commented. "Such a beautiful face deserves something very special." She turned away and quickly whispered a few words to her aide, a middle-aged Hispanic woman. She promptly darted away, obviously a woman who had been sent on an important mission. "Tell me about yourself, Christopher." "There's not a lot of to tell, Mrs. Meier. You know all the important stuff," I said. "Now, I know that's not true. You just take the time to think what is really important to know about you." "Well, I go to Harding,... " I stopped. She would not be inter- ested to know which school I went to. It was even boring to me. "I'm in the Fifth Grade." I thought for a second. "I don't know there's much more to tell." "What's your best subject?" Steven prompted from behind me. It felt good to know he was so close. I pressed back slightly to increase the contact between us. It was just like leaning against a rock. He was secure and strong, and so reassuring that I could do nothing wrong. He stayed there, completely immovable. "I'm not very good at math," I ventured. That was me, always self-deprecating. I took a deep breath. `Why me?' I thought. Why shouldn't I tell her what I am good at? Why shouldn't I be proud of what I can do instead of being ashamed of what I can't do? "My best subject is probably Art. I'm not all that good at painting or drawing, but I love the other stuff." "Who would have guessed," Steven chuckled. "I don't get the best grades in Writing because my spelling isn't very good. I don't have a computer at home with a spell- checker like most of the kids at school." I stopped feeling sorry for myself. "But I usually have the most creative stories." "Usually?" I turned around and glanced up at Steven again. How he said that one word made me realize that he knew otherwise. However, there was no possible way that he could know that. I grinned as I turned back to Mrs. Meier. "Yeah, well,... " I began bashfully. "I got an award for a story I wrote before Christmas. It came first in a state-wide competition, only I didn't get any prize money." "How wonderful. Will you tell me about it, Christopher?" Mrs. Meier said admiringly. "It was about,... well I kind of got the idea from a painting I saw at the Fogg. That's an art gallery at Harvard. You know how say people say that everything you do is destiny?" I paused and she nod- ded supportively. "Well, even if you changed what you do from what you thought you were going to do, even at the last minute, what hap- pens is still destiny. It's like you can't change it." "And you wrote about that?" "Uh huh. My story was about a boy who wanted to be someone who he wasn't. So he tried to change." I realized then, and I suddenly fell silent. That was exactly what I was trying to do. I was trying to be someone who I wasn't sup- posed to be. It wasn't my destiny to standing in this magnificent mansion beside Steven Kaufman. That belonged to some other boy. It was not my destiny. My life was in Cambridge, in a squalid little apartment two blocks off Brattle Street. "What an interesting idea," Steven said distantly. I did not hear what he said next, or his mother. I felt stupid being there. I was dressed like a,... I don't know what. I was misera- ble. I was surrounded by people who were incredibly wealthy. You could tell that simply by looking at them, how they were dressed, how they acted. This world belonged to them, not to me. "Christopher?" I glanced up again, aware that my forehead was hot and I had been staring at my feet. "Uh huh?" "I'd like to give you something Christopher," Mrs. Meier said gently. "You deserve something special. Think of it as a reward for your story, if you want." She held out a small dark-blue box. It was covered with velvet. Carefully, she lifted back the lid. Inside, was a black satin cush- ion, and sitting on the satin were two diamonds. I had never seen diamonds, not real ones, except in a jewelry store. They flashed, brilliantly reflecting the light. They were much larger that the cubic-zirconium-pretend-diamond stud that Paul wore in his ear. I stared at them, non-plussed. "They're really much too plain for me to wear," she explained. "But they're perfect for a boy like you. You have such pretty ears, doesn't he Steven?" "Huh?" I said, still baffled. Steven chuckled softly. "I think she means for you to wear them." "I, I can't," I said nervously. "They're real diamonds, aren't they?" "Don't be silly, Christopher. I'm giving them to you because they'll look much better on you than on me." She smiled and one of her eyes gave a nervous flutter. "And because I like you. You take good care of him, Steven. I don't want to hear any complaints about you hurting him." "Now, Mother," Steven intoned. I could hear the warning in his voice, yet I could not understand why. "Well, at least he should try one of them on," she said brightly. "He'll have to have his other ear pierced so he doesn't look lopsided. I expect you can have your friend, Ted Lehr, do that, can't you? I really don't understand how young people today can go around with just one earring, can you?" Steven grimaced. "Mother, Ted is a doctor. I don't think he pierces ears." "He does circumcisions, doesn't he?" Mrs. Meier simpered. "Mother, that's hardly the same thing as piercing an ear. But yes, I expect that Ted is quite capable of doing the Bris Milah." "How interesting. I didn't know he was a Mohel. Baruch HaBa." "He's not, Mother." "Are you circumcised, Christopher?" she queried haughtily. I gulped. "Uh,... I'm not Jewish, Mrs. Meier," I answered meekly. I knew I had not answered her question. "Well are you, or aren't you, child? I don't expect you to show me. Lots of boys are circumcised and they aren't Jewish." "I, I, I'm not," I stammered. She looked down her nose. "Well it doesn't really matter. It's very easily remedied." "Mother, I do wish you'd mind your own business," Steven said testily. "Steven, there are some things that are more important, and cleanliness is one of them," she lectured sternly. Again, she held out the little box for me to take. I extended my hand guiltily, yet not reluctantly. "Why, Christopher, your nails are varnished. How delightful. I don't know of any boy who'd go to the trouble of doing that to make his hands look nice." I tried to pull my hand back. She peered at my hand, her hand holding the box closer. "He had beautiful hands, doesn't he Steven? Such lovely long fingers." "Yes he does indeed, Mother." I closed my long fingers around the velvet covered box. She started to turn, looking for her aide to support her in case she fell down. "Steven, take care of this one. I don't want to hear that he's been hurt in any way." "Yes, Mother." It sounded the same that I spoke to my mother when I thought she was being ridiculous. Patient, yet resigned. Anything to get it other with. "Christopher, it's been a pleasure to meet you. You have really brightened up my day. Now take yourself off to a bathroom and put on one of them on. I do want to see what it looks like before I have to leave." She wandered off with geriatric aimlessness, going nowhere in particular. I felt sorry for her. "Don't mind her, Chris," Steven said comfortingly. "It's so sad, watching your own mother grow old and become, well, the nicest word is forgetful." It was a nice way of saying she was as crazy as a loon. I smiled weakly, wondering how much was craziness and how much was not. Why on earth did she care if I was circumcised or not? I glanced down at the small blue box in my hand. They were very valuable. My hand trembled and I had to close my fingers to keep the box from falling to the floor. "What's wrong?" Steven asked soothingly. "Did she scare you? She's really not that bad." I turned and looked up at him again. His eyes were brown and reassuring. His expression was calm, faintly curious, benign. I felt safe again. Nothing else mattered if I could just stay close to him everything would be all right. With his arm still around my shoulders, he guided me away from the window where we had been standing. We passed some people I did not recognize. Steven introduced me again. His nephew, Christopher. I shook hands. We continued on our way. The Rollmans came next. The twins were still misbehaving. They whined worse that I did. It was obvious that Steven didn't like the family very much even if they were relatives. He was courteous, but curt. A minute later we were on our way again. He stopped next to the fireplace. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" he grinned. "Now, why don't you go to the guest bathroom next to the kitchen and put one of those diamonds in your ear. You don't need help, do you?" "No. I can do it by myself, I think," I answered. I was becoming quite practiced at removing the plastic stud. I could do it with one hand and with my eyes closed. "Okay. Then give the other one to Mrs. Beaton. She'll take care of it for you. Make sure my mother sees it before she leaves. Then go off and play with the other kids for a while. There's no point in you staying with me and being bored the entire time. I'd like you spend some time with me later on, if you'd like that is." "I'd like that. Do you want me to come back and show you what it looks like?" I asked hopefully. Steven winked. "I already know it'll look very beautiful, Chris, simply because it will be in your ear." He turned and pointed me in the direction of the kitchen and gave me a light whack on the rear to get me started moving, other- wise I think I would have stayed there until the next day. I walked dreamily, trying to understand what was happening, the situation around me, the people and what they said, and my feelings, my very confused feelings. There was one thing that I could not get out of my head, no matter how much I tried. Something was bringing Steven and me closer together, and it was like everyone around me expected it to happen. I used the time in the bathroom to empty my bladder, wipe my face with a small linen towel that was intended to be discarded based upon the sizeable stack on the counter, and to install the diamond stud. The plastic one was easy to get out because the clasp was sized for children's fingers. The new stud was more difficult because the clasp that held it in place was so small. The diamond was very large, with a solid gold mount that merged into the stud that passed through my ear lobe. I examined myself in the mirror and could not help smiling. That one stud had to be worth thousands of dollars and Mrs. Meier had given me two of them with instructions to Steven to get my other ear pierced before I left Palm Springs to go home. I wondered what I would look like with the second one. Some of the boys at my school said that two studs were girlish, but I didn't think so. If one stud was cool, two had to be even cooler. I headed back to the party and handed the small box to Mrs. Beaton on the way past the kitchen. She was very busy orchestrating half a dozen other people who were busy at work fixing platters of food for the guests, yet she still took the time to talk to me. She was glad that I was having a good time. Then she noticed the new stud and her eyes boggled, just like mine had. I grinned at her proudly and scampered out of her way. She was very busy. I had a single mission and that was to find Mrs. Meier. I would liked to have showed Steven first, but he was busy talking to a group of people, so I walked around until I found her. She was sit- ting down on a stool next to the grand piano. She was visibly pleased to see me. "Why Christopher, it's you again. I'm so pleased. Come here, let me see you. Oh my, but it suits you so nicely, doesn't it Dear?" I grinned and nodded effusively while I thanked her for all I was worth, which wasn't very much unless you counted the two dia- monds that I had just been given. I had no idea what my mother would say. All I could do was hope that she wouldn't make me give them back. That diamond sparkled so much that it seemed to have a light flashing within it. By comparison, Paul's stud was dull. And then I noticed. The entire center of the room seemed to be staring at me. I wondered what I had done wrong. I shrank behind the piano and tried to hide myself. I had to decide which jewels were worth stealing. There was a brooch that was worth at least a quarter of a million dollars. And there was one woman who had a necklace with a diamond the size of the Hope, even if it lacked the color. Beside the window was another woman wearing a ruby the size of a bird's egg on her finger. value, approximately two hundred Gs. Big ones were worth more. I would steal them all tonight. The only decision was when to do it. Now made no sense at all. I would have to wait until everyone was asleep. Then I could go from room to room at my leisure. With my skills at opening safes, it should not take very long at all. Mrs. Meier cackled again. "Now don't you worry about them." "Every one is staring," I whispered. "Well of course they are. Most of them are jealous and the rest of them are too stupid to breath." "Why would anyone be jealous of me?" I asked nervously. Mrs. Meier smiled faintly. "You really don't know?" I shook my head slightly, nervously. She nodded understandingly. "Everything is going to turn out okay, Christopher. You don't have to worry." "I don't understand what you're talking about," I said meekly. "You will in time, Dear. You might not know it yet, but you're a very lucky boy." I shrugged. "Everyone keeps saying that about me. I don't know why. Except for this, and the other one of course," I added quickly as I touched my ear lobe with the diamond stud. Mrs. Meier's expression became curious. She continued to exam- ine me through her fine-rimmed glasses, looking at me as if her eye- sight wasn't very god, which it probably wasn't. "Yes, I can see why now. You're different to the others. You're quite a catch, aren't you?" "I don't understand," I said patiently. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Meier." "Oh, I expect you will soon enough. Now, why don't you go and show your mother. She's right over there in the dining room. That is her, isn't it, standing next to Richard's wife Susan?" "I was going to show Steven next," I said. "Mothers are more important than friends, even boyfriends," she replied. "They know things about their sons that no one else knows." For some reason her comment reminded me that I had not seen Joel. I glanced around the room. He was talking to Cynthia and David, which was enough to make me feel sorry for him. And there was Steven, still standing next to the over-sized fireplace. He was so handsome he could easily have been a famous actor instead of a director. I stared at him, wishing that he would look my way. I heard Mrs. Meier's aide say that she should be leaving soon or they would miss the flight back to Florida. "Christopher? It's time to wake up." I swiveled and looked back down at the old lady. I grinned. I had been caught day dreaming again. That happened a lot to me. It also made my teachers at school very angry. "Don't look so forlorn, boy." "Forlorn?" I repeated. She touched my bare skin, right over where my heart was. It was beating fast, but she wasn't to know that. "It's in all here, isn't it Christopher? How you feel about things? I may be old and my eyesight isn't as good as it used to be, but I can still see some things that other people can't." "Huh?" "Good bye, Christopher. And remember what I said earlier. If he ever hurts you, I want you to let me know. You're much too special to be hurt like that." She slowly came to her feet, shrugging off he aide's attempts to assist. Her finally gesture was to stroke the side of my cheek. Her arthritis gnarled fingers drew slowly across my lips and then pulled back. "Imagine, all this is for you, Christopher," she said softly. I watched her leave. In a way, she was a friend, even if she was crazy. I glanced around the room to find Steven. He had moved on to a different group of people and was talking to a man who articulated everything he said with elaborate gestures. I spent a lot of time with a group of children who were as out of place at the reunion party as I was. I was confused in other ways as well, but I knew loneliness when I experienced it. I followed a few of them down to the screening room and watched `Star Wars I' on the big screen. Joel was there already, eating from a plate that had been brought to him by one of the waiters. All he seemed to do was eat. With a little manipulation of one of the younger kids, I man- aged to avoid sitting next to Joel. I felt very self-conscious about what had happened earlier in the day. It wasn't that I hadn't enjoyed it, because I had. I had enjoyed it very much. It wasn't even that I felt cheated because he did not do to me what I had done to him. Nor was my reaction because we were both boys. I was strangely comfortable with that aspect of what had happened. Other than being made fun of at school, I could not think of a reason why two boys should not have sex, if that was what they wanted. Time had allowed me to think about it. Maybe it was because Catholics were different to Jews. We were friends, and I liked him, but I certainly did not love him. Unlike other boys in my Church I had been raised to think of sex as part of being in love, and not something that only happened after you were married. I was very confused.