From: an27868@anon.penet.fi (Ganymede)
Reply-To: an27868@anon.penet.fi
Subject: PLATONIC LOVE (man/boy).

    PLATONIC LOVE - The Missing Chapters (Ganymede, Copyright 1995)

This is the concluding section of Platonic Love. It has been developed 
with help from two postings to alt.sex.stories by an74503@anon.penet.fi 
during 1993-4.

WARNING:

This story will contain graphic descriptions of a variety of sexual acts 
between men and MINOR boys. Generally, relationships are mutual and are 
based on informed consent. 

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 fiction. Any resemblance to any individual, alive or 
dead, is unfortunate.

WHY ISN'T THE STORY POSTED TO ALT.SEX.STORIES

I have little interest in presenting my work to a newsgroup whose 
primary interests are in other areas. If you want to send this story to 
alt.sex.stories, other newsgroup, or post it elsewhere, I ask only that this 
header remains in place and that the text is unchanged. Each chapter 
provides a convenient place for posting sections, should you wish to place the 
story elsewhere.

Because of my desire for privacy and security I cannot accept comments 
or criticisms by email.

PLATONIC LOVE. The Missing Chapters

DAY 31, Ravello, August 23, 1993

"It is said that those who, having attained virility and the age when 
the genital member if capable of copulation, have cut off their testicles, 
burn with greater and less-restrained desire for sexual union."

Basil of Ancyra

"What on earth will his father say?" Christina asked again as they drove 
back down the hill and through the streets of Ravello.

 "I don't know, Mom!" Leane snapped angrily. "Now that Carlo is dead and 
I have the money to do whatever I want, I won't ever have to talk to that 
bastard again."

 "I figured as much, Leane. I never did like him very much myself. But 
what about Jason, Honey? Carlo cut his balls off for god's sake! You must know 
that you can't keep something like that from his father. You'll have to deal 
with him eventually. You know that, don't you Leane?"

 Leane replied, "I'm not stupid mother! But I don't plan to have Jason's 
father find out his son is a eunuch. He won't find out if I send Jason out 
of the country where he can't get to him."

"But,... Leane, we have to think of what's best for Jason now. After 
what's happened to him,..."

Leane breathed out angrily and stared out the dark tinted window. "Yes 
Mother, let's think of what is best for Jason. Let's always think of what's 
best for Jason and the hell with my life."

"Now Leane, I didn't mean it like that. You know I don't mean to be 
critical of you, Honey. But we have to take care of him now. He's lost his 
manhood."

Leane turned swiftly back to face her mother. "Mother, I can't help 
what's happened to Jason. I can't put his balls back, can I?"

Christina shook her head slowly. She dabbed the corner of a tissue at 
the sides of her eyes. "No Honey. Of course you can't do that. I'm sorry to 
carry on like this."

"All Jason has really lost are his damned balls! I'm sure any doctor can 
give him what he needs for his precious manhood. And if you're worried about 
what's missing from between his legs, well any plastic surgeon can fix that. 
And from what I heard back at the villa, I frankly don't think Jason will ever 
have much interest in getting married or having children. That is what's 
bothering you, isn't it?"

"Really Leane!" Christina gasped. "It's not just that Jason can't have 
children. He's just a little boy. We have to take care of him."

"I've spent ten long years of my life taking care of Jason and now 
I'll have plenty to do just taking care of Carlo's estate. By the time his 
father decides to do something about his son, I'll be 'indisposed' and Jason 
will be somewhere in the States."

 "You're not going to tell him, Leane? You know he'll find out 
eventually. When Jason visits him next summer, or even sooner if his father 
tries to get custody,...."

"He's going to have to find Jason first, isn't he? I intend to put Jason 
in a school where his father can't get to him. The sooner we forget about 
all of this the better!" Leane retorted angrily.

"I can't believe that you're going to pack Jason off to the States and 
forget about it."

"Don't bet on it, Mom. That's exactly what I plan to do. I have my own 
life to live now. Jason has to live his own life. His loss certainly isn't 
my loss."

"But after this,... this terrible thing.... The poor boy. He's ruined. I 
know he'll be destroyed. Anyway Leane, you can't send Jason away. What's he 
going to say to other people, 'My Mom let new her husband cut my balls off?'"

"No, don't be an idiot, Mom. Orselli had the right idea. Jason had a 
tumor in his balls and there was no choice. His balls had to be to cut off. As 
far as anyone else is concerned it was done in a private hospital. I'll simply 
send a note to John and tell him that,... plus Jason doesn't want to see him 
ever again."

"Leane, it's not right. Poor Jason! You can't send him away now, not 
after what's happened."

 Leane leaned forward and tapped on the glass panel. Tony turned, 
nodded, and stopped the car by the side of the road. Leane and her mother 
got out and walked towards an old cemetery that lay a hundred feet down the 
road. They stopped under the cypress pines, out of the heat of the afternoon 
sun. Dark clouds, almost black, were building up in the west, over the Gulf of 
Salerno, but the storm was still several hours away. In the thick, hot air 
of the afternoon, and the incident at the villa, it seemed particularly 
threatening.

"Look, Mom. Unless I am very mistaken, and I don't think I am, you 
knew as well as I did that Carlo wasn't really in love with me."

Her mother's silence confirmed her suspicions. Leane shrugged and half-
closed her eyes as she studied the dark clouds on the horizon.

"Okay, then I assume that you also knew what Carlo was doing with 
Jason?" she continued quietly.

Again Christina was silent for several long seconds. "I was never 
sure, Leane. I always thought it was strange the way Carlo doted on the child, 
but that's all."

"If Carlo loved anyone, it certainly wasn't me. I think he was 
infatuated with Jason right from the start. You aren't blind either, Mom. 
You had to see what was going on between them."

The older woman nodded hesitantly. "I wasn't sure. I didn't think it was 
right. I mean all those expensive presents and spending so much time with 
Jason. All of that did seem a bit strange. But I never had any reason to think 
that Carlo was interested in Jason for,... for sex."

Leane snorted. "Don't pretend to be naive with me. You saw Carlo hugging 
him every chance he got."

"Well yes, but I didn't think it was, well,... like that! I thought 
Carlo just wanted to be close to Jason, that's all."

"And you never thought about how much money it could mean if it was more 
than that? You never wondered whether Carlo wanted your grandson in his bed?"

Christina tensed as she turned away. Confronted by the truth and well 
aware of her own suspicions, she was lost for words. She stared downwards 
fixedly.

"I know how little escapes you, Mom. Every time Carlo patted him or 
squeezed his butt, you saw it and you wondered just how Carlo was interested 
in Jason, just like I was."

"But sex? Jason's only ten years old. He's a little boy and you let 
him have sex with a grown man!"

"Yes, Mom." Leane laughed. "Don't be so shocked. I happen to know that 
dear little Jason enjoyed the sex with Carlo. Did you know my son is a 
little faggot? Well he is! And according to Orselli, Jason's been getting 
his ass fucked for a long while."

"Leane, really! He's your son!"

"Oh! And he's your grandson. Do you want to know something else? If 
Orselli's right, Jason hasn't been doing it with another boy,... he's been 
with a grown man, and recently at that."

"Oh Leane, how could you possibly know that? It's impossible!"

"Not according to Orselli. From the look of Jason's ass," Leane laughed, 
"we've raised a faggot."

"But Jason has always been so close to you, Honey. And the last few 
weeks, well he's been with his father, hasn't he? John may be a real bastard 
but I'm certain that he would never let another man do that to Jason."

"Mom, it doesn't matter who fucked him. All I'm saying is that 
apparently Jason's ass has been well used before Carlo got to him."

"Perhaps! Maybe you're right, I really don't know about those things. 
I can't help feeling that Jason doesn't deserve this."

Again Leane laughed. "You know enough to know what I'm talking about, so 
there! Besides, Jason only got what he wanted."

"But Jason is so,... well so innocent and sweet. You shouldn't have 
let him sleep with Carlo. He's only ten and that's far too young!"

"He's hardly a virgin! Even so Mom, your grandson did only what he 
wanted to do and make no mistake about it."

"Playing around with Carlo is one thing Leane, but letting him 
castrate Jason?"

"I didn't 'let' Carlo castrate Jason. What's done is done! There is 
nothing that you and I can do about that. Besides, it's a little late to be 
objecting on moral grounds now. Either you're with me and I take care of you 
with Carlo's money or tell me now and I'll send you back to the States with 
Jason and you can try to make it on your own."

 Christina quickly took Leane's hand. "Of course I'm with you, Leane. 
I just felt sorry for Jason. I mean,... well, after this, he's certain to have 
problems isn't he? Especially if Jason is, you know, the way you say he is. 
He's going to know what he's lost now that he has been with a man."

"I hadn't thought of it quite like that," Leane smirked. "Yes, I suppose 
he will be a bit put out by it. I expect he'll still have erections but I 
don't imagine much more."

"Maybe his father could help him deal with it. I just thought,... well 
it really doesn't matter what I thought does it?"

"No Mom! It really doesn't matter."

"When do you think Jason will be ready to go home?"

"Cardinal Orselli said he should be in pretty good shape in about a week 
or two. He should be ready to start school by September."

"Do you think it would be best to send Jason to the States?"

"What do you mean?" Leane demanded. "I thought we'd settled that 
question already."

"Well, if his father really wants him, it would be the first place 
he'd look for Jason, isn't it?"

"Probably. So what's your plan?"

"Send him somewhere else. I don't know where,... well,... to England for 
example. I'm sure you could put him in a good school there, one of those 
public schools or something like that."

"Mom, you're a genius. Yes, of course. The bastard would never look 
there for his precious little boy." Leane started to laugh. "Yes! Yes! And 
lots of nice English boys for Jason to get it off with. I hope Jason likes 
getting it in the ass. How appropriate! Yes, it's a great idea, Mom."

Christina smiled. "I'm glad you think so. See, your poor, old mother 
does have some good ideas at times. But really, I'm sure Jason isn't like 
that. It's so unlike him. He's so innocent, Honey!"

"Don't let his big, blue eyes fool you, Mom. You know I've always 
wondered if Jason was queer. I was never certain until today. He acted queer 
sometimes and he never had many friends, except that one boy he hangs around 
with in Paris."

"I don't know you could know." 

"But Carlo knew," Leane observed quietly. "Jason's anything but 
innocent. I'm sure he'll find English boyfriends just as much fun as his man-
friend," she snickered.

"Well, be that as it may, but I still don't think he's like that. 
Jason is so good looking, but I don't think he's that, not queer."

"Mom, if you don't mind, I'm tired of talking about Jason's sex life."

"Of course dear. I suppose we could always go over to England to visit 
him in school?"

"Yes, Mom! Whatever!" Leane said absently.

Leane gazed up at the ancient stone church that towered above the narrow 
ravine. For no reason she remembered her marriage vows with Carlo. '...for 
richer, for poorer, till death do you part...' She smiled, thinking about 
the beautiful villa in Frascati and the immense wealth that had suddenly 
become hers. It was too bad about Jason, but considering everything, his 
castration was a small price to pay for all of it. The boy would get over it 
sooner or later. She looked up, suddenly aware that her mother was still 
talking.

"... make some plans about putting Jason in school."

"Huh? You and I can go over next week and check out the schools, okay? 
We'll pick Jason up here in two or three weeks. Just as soon as Orselli says 
he's healed enough to go to school, we'll put him on the first flight to 
London. He has to get on with his life and put this behind him."

"But won't he need to see a specialist for treatment?"

"Yes, Mom," Leane sighed absently. "I'll make some inquiries in Rome."

She turned and started to walk back towards the car. Her problem was 
solved. Already she was beginning to plan. Even finding a school for Jason 
could be fun. They could hire a car and drive through England. They'd stay 
at the fanciest hotels, only those with tennis courts. Yes, a nice public 
school would be just the thing for Jason. Christina followed a few yards 
behind her, walking quickly until she caught up.

"What are your plans now, Leane?"

"Oh, I don't know, Mom. I'm going to enjoy life now that I have the 
money and Jason is out of the way."

"What about Sophia?"

"What! I don't know what you're talking about, Mom," Leane answered 
quickly.

"Please don't be angry, Leane. You've already said that I'm not blind. I 
might not have realized exactly what Jason was up to with Carlo, but I did see 
your thing with Sophia."

Leane stopped and turned to face her mother. "You don't know what you're 
talking about, Mom."

"I don't care, really I don't. Sophia,... well she is very pretty. I can 
understand you being attracted to her."

"For God's sake, shut up!" Leane snorted. Her eyes narrowed and then she 
smiled and slowly became a laugh. It was both relieving and contemptuous. 
"Okay! So I fucked Sophia. but it was the best fuck I ever had and all she 
used was a piece of damned plastic. Mom, you have no idea how much I hate men! 
They're all better off fucking boys."

"There's no reason to get angry, Leane. I was just asking a question, 
that's all!"

"To answer your question, yes I plan on fucking Sophia. What are your 
plans now?"

Christina smiled as she glanced back towards the car. Her eyes shone 
with excitement.

"I always thought that boy,... Tony, was rather nice. Don't you think 
so, Leane?"

"Mom! He's,...he's old enough to be your own son!" Leane started to 
laugh as she looked at her mother in amazement.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing! But you are. And you're so worried about Jason losing his 
virginity! I never realized how much of a hypocrite you were. Tony's not 
much more than a boy himself and you want to fuck him."

"You're crazy! I'd never do anything like that to my own son. Just 
like John would never do it to Jason, not to his own son."

"Mom, don't you realize,... Jason isn't his real son!" Leane laughed. 
She pivoted around and smirked at the woman beside her.

"What do you mean, Honey?" Christina asked cautiously. "Jason isn't 
John's child? I don't understand."

"John was sterile or something like that. We tried for a few years and 
then I had Jason. I had an accident. It was almost the stupidest thing I 
ever did. Next to marrying John that is!"

"There was another man?"

"Of course there was, Randall something or other. I almost had an 
abortion too, did you know that, Mom? John talked me out of it at the last 
moment. He really believed that Jason was his kid."

Christina looked at her daughter with visible shock. "But? I always 
thought,..."

"Jason's real father is some kind of doctor, a neurosurgeon or something 
like that. I met him at a horse show in Denver. He was a better fuck than John 
but still nothing to write home about."

"I did wonder why Jason didn't look very much like either of you. The 
eyes and hair he got from you but the rest of his looks,... This Randall 
must be awfully good looking?"

"Very, Mom. But he was smart, too. Why do you think Jason is so 
bright? It isn't from John, that's for sure."

"Why didn't you say something to me?" Christina asked in disbelief.

"I decided never to tell anyone. I never told John, of course, though 
I certainly thought about it before the divorce. It would have killed him, I 
expect. After a while, well it wasn't important because we were getting 
divorced. But you're so observant Mom, why didn't you see there was nothing of 
John in his son?"

Christina shrugged. "And John still doesn't know?"

"He may have figured it out. I mean you just have to look at Jason to 
see he isn't John's brat. Anyway, do you know what the real joke is? He 
loved Jason so much it disgusted me."

"I knew that was why you took Jason. It was, wasn't it? You really 
wanted to hurt John. You wanted to hurt both of them. I had no idea you 
cruel you could be until I realized that was why you kept Jason."

Leane smirked and started to laugh. "But do you want to know something 
else, Mom? I always wondered whether John was queer for boys. The way he 
hugged and kissed Jason all the time was sickening to watch."

"No!"

For several seconds the two women stared at each other. Leane's laughter 
was infectious. Slowly Christina smiled as the true meaning of what Leane 
had said penetrated her thoughts.

"Leane, you don't think,... that,... John was the man who Orselli was 
talking about,... with Jason?" 

"Mom, of course it was John! Who else could have been fucking him? After 
a month on his goddamn boat, it's no wonder Jason's asshole is as big as 
Orselli said it was. The poor boy. I bet he does miss his daddy. Still, I'm 
sure he'll have plenty of boy friends in England."

"Don't you care who Jason is with?"

Leane opened the car door and stepped back as her mother moved 
forward. "Do you really think I care who Jason sleeps with? Because I don't!"

"Then why don't you just send Jason to live with him?" Christina 
suggested smugly. "You really should put his happiness first."

"Because I hate him, Mom. It's that simple!"

"But surely, after what's happened to Jason. Don't you think we,..."

"Mom! I'm really getting very tired of talking about Jason's sex life."





Cardinal Orselli turned away from the now-locked gate as Leane and her 
mother drove away in the big Mercedes limousine. The afternoon sun was warm on 
his uncovered head as he sighed and shook his head slowly. There was so much 
pain and cruelty in the world that the small part he had played in the boy's 
immolation seemed insignificant. He felt no guilt or shame and he was too 
old for remorse. What Carlo had done to Jason could never be undone. It should 
not have happened, but it had happened.

Jason Anderson, little more than ten years old was, in the best 
traditions of the choir boys who had come to stay briefly at the villa, a 
castrato. And when a boy's wound had healed and he was accustomed to the 
loss of his eggs, he returned happily to whence he came. Each boy went with 
a pure soprano voice, a gift from God that was preserved, if not forever, then 
for at least several more years. It was a tradition that should have faded 
away into dim memory until it was finally forgotten.

But the mother's words, 'Then you're not even sure that Jason... 
wanted it?' rang persistently in his head. Why would any boy want that in 
today's world? It was a very different to that of a hundred years earlier. The 
more that he pondered the vexing question, the more that he was certain that 
the beautiful boy in the bedroom had not wanted it. But only Jason could 
answer that question now that Carlo was gone, not that his answer would change 
things. It was too late for that. 

That Carlo had preferred boys was evident almost from the beginning. 
Starting at the time he brought Carlo to Gubbio, taking him from the monastery 
at Sant' Agostino at Montepulciano, Carlo's sexual favors were directed as 
much to other younger boys in the village as to him. As Carlo Gubbio grew 
older, his desire for prepubescent boys became ever stronger. There was 
never a boy very far from Carlo. Each success was matched by a fleeting 
attachment to a boy between the ages of nine and thirteen. But never before 
had Carlo done this terrible thing to a boy.

From the beginning, from the first phone call from the United States 
when Carlo described the delightful boy whose acquaintance he had just made, 
it was evident this time that Carlo's feelings were more than the transitory 
affections of an old man for the beauty of a young male. It should have been 
warning enough when Carlo had decided to marry Jason's mother. He had paid 
little heed to Carlo's protestations of love for the child. Yes, love, for 
that was how Carlo described his need for Jason. And then last night, Carlo 
had become so angry on the telephone when he found out that the boy was not 
a virgin. His love had been violated and he demanded compensation.

He had tried to placate Carlo. Surely there were other explanations 
for the looseness in the child's anus. The looseness could be explained if the 
boy had been experimenting by himself, perhaps. Any number of foreign 
objects could be used if a boy was inventive enough. But even as he had 
tried patiently to convince Carlo of the Jason's fidelity, both of them knew 
that the boy was no longer a virgin. A boy's anus could get like that only one 
way and it could not happen with another boy.

Cardinal Orselli sighed and clenched his fists impotently. He walked a 
narrow and dangerous line. He prayed for Carlo's tormented soul even as he 
wished that Carlo had not died. It mattered not whether the boy had agreed 
in the heat of passion to be gelded, to sacrifice his manhood and be made into 
a eunuch to prove contrition. What had happened to the child was a crime but 
was it also a sin? Now someone had to make things better, to take 
responsibility for the deed, and above all, to prevent discovery by the 
authorities. Someone was needed to provide an explanation to the small boy 
upstairs. It seemed as if that job had fallen to Cardinal Orselli, and he 
wasn't at all sure that he was up to the task. 



No longer postpone the inevitable, Cardinal Giovanni Orselli walked 
slowly back Jason's room. He climbed the stairs, studying each small sculpture 
with an intensity and interest that had eluded him until this time. Before, he 
had never seen the gentle smiles on the statues and their delicate, childish 
proportions. In all cases they appeared to be preserved in the fragile 
interval between child and youth, both sexless and powerfully sexual. Their 
beauty was incomparable. The models were culled from the families of Europe 
and unsurpassed. They were boy-eunuchs, their exquisite voices preserved for 
the Church as their flawless bodies were shielded from the ravages of 
adolescence.

 At the top of the stairs Orselli stopped and gazed out over the cypress 
pines to the azure ocean. He mused aloud, although his voice was little more 
than a muted whisper.

"Ah, my Little Prince, only a small operation but such devastating 
consequences for a boy. I hope you know that there are things more precious 
than eggs. Perhaps, with luck, you will sing for me in the choir in Napoli, or 
even in Roma before His Eminence."



He turned slowly and walked along the corridor towards the special 
bedroom at the far end. How many boys had stayed in that room? The records 
were deliberately vague about the number of young guests who had come to 
stay at the Villa Pallavicino. But undeniably there were hundreds, perhaps 
thousands, from all across Europe. Only a few boys were identified by name. 
Their testicles were left at the villa for long forgotten reasons, preserved 
in bronze, brine, or at the turn of the century, in formaldehyde. He could 
imagine the feelings of the young guests at the villa after the operation 
had been performed. For most boys there would be joy at serving the Church, 
but for some boys there would be shame, guilt, disgust, and even disgrace. For 
such boys, a part of their bodies would always remain in the small, windowless 
room next to the library.

For those boys who had proudly taken the evidence of their 
emasculation with them, there was no record beyond the accounts of the 
villa. In the space of fifty years more than fifty pounds of bronze had been 
requisitioned. It look little effort to calculate that since each small bronze 
egg required only an ounce or less, as many as five hundred boys had been 
gelded. But by the time of Pope Julius there was a sudden change in 
attitude. Perhaps it was becoming increasingly difficult to convince a boy 
to submit to the little sickle-shaped knife. The orders of bronze ceased and 
gold became the material of encapsulation. The orders slowed to a trickle 
and finally stopped by the turn of the century.

 Cardinal Orselli walked quietly into the room. Maria was sitting in the 
armchair next to the window. She turned and smiled radiantly and held a finger 
to her lips. She stood and tiptoed to the door, still smiling as she passed 
the old man. He walked to the window and glanced back to the bed. The child 
was exceptionally beautiful. He could easily understand Carlo's infatuation 
with perfection, even more so now that the boy had been given the ultimate 
gift of never-ending youth. There was a curious balance in the sum of what had 
been done to Jason.

Cardinal Orselli was still there when Jason awoke two and a half hours 
later. He watched as the boy tossed and turned in the throes of waking, 
struggling away from the drugged numbness in his body. Several minutes 
passed before Jason looked up with eyes still bleary from the sedatives.

"W-w-where am I? W-w-who are you?" he asked nervously as he realized the 
foreign surroundings.

"I am Cardinal Orselli. You can call me Giovanni if you wish, Jason. I 
am,... was a friend of Carlo. You are at his villa. The Villa Pallavicino. 
Sometimes it is called the Villa Castrati."

Jason looked at the stranger dumbly. He shook his head slowly as if to 
clear the buzzing sound from his ears. He glanced around the bedroom, taking 
in the strange furniture, the view to the ocean, the crisp white cotton sheets 
that covered his body from the waist down.

"I d-d-don't understand. W-w-where's my m-m-mom? Where's C-C-Carlo? W-w-
why am I here? W-w-where am I?"

Cardinal Orselli nodded understandingly. He wanted to embrace the boy 
and quell his fears. There was no way to minimize the impact of what he had to 
say. He took a deep breath.

"Jason, your mother was here earlier, just a few hours ago. She came 
from Rome to make sure you were all right. I sent her home so that you could 
get some rest. You need to rest, my son. As for Carlo, there is something that 
I have to tell you."

"Tell me w-w-what? W-w-what's wrong? T-t-tell me!" Jason's voice broke 
as he panicked.

Cardinal orselli sighed loudly. "I'm afraid there was a car accident, 
Jason. Carlo,... didn't make it, Little Prince."

Jason gasped as he shivered. "You m-m-mean C-C-Carlo is dead?"

"Yes, my son. Carlo is dead. He died early this morning on his way 
back to Rome. His car went off a bridge on the autostrada."

"Oh!" Jason said with quiet finality. He glanced around the room again 
and recognized the paraphernalia of a drip. "W-w-was I injured too? I f-f-feel 
f-f-funny. And I h-h-hurt," he added with a whisper.

"Where do you hurt?" Cardinal Orselli asked quietly.

Jason glanced downwards and then trembled. "It h-h-hurts,... d-d-down 
there. It hurts b-b-between m-m-my legs."

"Do you really not know why you're here?"

Jason swallowed and his head turned to look at the view beyond the room. 
he tried to distance himself as if to gain perspective and see everything in 
his proper place. Beyond Carlo's sudden anger as he inspected his bottom, 
Jason could remember very little. Then his eyes closed as he remembered 
more. It had been more than Carlo's finger pointing as his still-loosened 
anus, his angry voice condemning him, charging him with being unfaithful. 
Carlo had given him an injection. He could remember the painful prick of the 
needle as it entered his left buttock. After that, nothing.

"No, w-w-was I in t-t-the c-c-car with Carlo?" Jason asked hesitantly. 
"I d-d-don't r-r-remember."

Cardinal Orselli took a deep breath. He sighed loudly for this was 
what he had been dreading. There was no way of knowing whether the boy had 
agreed to it in some perverse and masochistic acceptance of his twisted 
sexuality.

"No, Jason. You were not in the car. Carlo left you here at the villa. 
Don't you remember anything, my son?" He sighed again. "Didn't Carlo talk to 
you after he saw your bottom?"

"Uh?" Jason shook his head slowly. "I d-d-don't remember," he said. "W-
w-why does it h-h-hurt down t-t-there?"

"Jason, please try to remember. After Carlo looked at your bottom, 
what happened? What did he say?"

The boy struggled silently. He closed his eyes again and tried to 
concentrate.

"He w-w-was angry,... and h-h-he screamed at m-m-me,... and,... he g-g-
gave me a s-s-shot."

"An injection? Yes, Carlo would do that, I expect. Then what happened, 
my son?"

Jason nodded slowly as the began memory to come back. "He w-w-wanted 
me t-to s-s-say I-I-I w-w-was s-s-sorry."

"And did you, my son?"

Jason nodded again. How could he tell this stranger what Carlo had said. 
He had been furious, screaming in his face with allegations about his 
infidelity. Carlo had demanded who the man was, even suggesting that his own 
father had been the culprit. Jason had said he was sorry again and again. He 
had begged Carlo to let him go and to stop hurting him. His words were 
wasted until he pleaded for forgiveness. Then there was silence. Finally, 
Carlo had demanded that he prove he was sorry. By then the drug had entered 
his veins and was slowly numbing his body as he slipped into 
unconsciousness. He remembered nothing after that.

Cardinal Orselli rubbed his hands together contritely as if washing 
the sins of his friend and one-time lover away. "And then?" he prompted 
carefully. "Did Carlo say anything about an operation?"

"An o-o-op-p-peration?" Jason shook his head.

His silvery-blond hair shivered and cascaded forward over his 
forehead. Suddenly he was aware of the dull feelings in his leaden limbs, 
the awakening sensation of severed nerves discovering pain. His body began 
to tremble.

"It h-h-hurts," Jason complained.

Cardinal Orselli nodded reassuringly. How many boys had woken up in this 
bed and felt the same feelings, the onset of pain and the slow realization 
of what had been taken without their consent? Most boys, he expected, or 
wanted to believe, came of their own volition.

"I am sorry, Jason. You know Carlo was a doctor? Before he died, 
Carlo,... performed,... an operation on you. You have been castrated, my son."

"Huh?"

"It is only a small operation. I believe it takes only a few minutes for 
it to be done. But, my son, the operation is a very important one for you."

Cardinal Orselli stood up and went over to Jason's bed. He studied the 
boy for several long seconds. He admired the beautiful face, the softness of 
his golden-tanned skin, the corn-silk hair. The boy was perfect in every 
way. Jason watched him, his pale blue eyes flickering nervously. Then Cardinal 
Orselli bent down and carefully lifted the sheet from Jason's body, 
revealing the small, uncircumcised penis poking through the bandages that 
covered the boy's groin.

As if Jason could see under the bandages, he shuddered. And then he 
remembered through the haze of drugs, what Carlo had wanted. He had not been 
shocked. His mind was rendered too insensible for any reaction other than a 
desire to escape from his torment. Finally, when Carlo's screaming became more 
than he could stand, Jason had nodded meekly. He had assented to his 
punishment, no matter that it was both extreme and irrevocable. Carlo had 
not been slow to exact his retribution. Though drowsy, Jason was still awake 
as Carlo carried him, naked except for a tee shirt and wrapped in a blanket, 
down to the Ferrari.

 Hesitantly, Cardinal Orselli gently removed the surgical tape and 
lifted back the soft gauze, revealing Jason's groin. Even though he had seen 
the injury before, he gasped as he saw the empty scrotum again. He glanced 
at the boy and saw that he too was staring down at the source of his 
discomfort. Although all of the skin was still intact, the boy's small scrotum 
was little more than a soft loosened area of skin directly underneath the 
little penis. There was no plump fullness that should be expected from two 
small testicles. There was no indication that it contained anything beyond 
severed veins and the short remnant of a lifeless spermatic cord. Cardinal 
Orselli reached up and gently took Jason's hand. He drew it downwards and 
placed it on the soft skin. He spoke quietly, reassuring the boy as his 
panic began to mount.

"Careful, Jason, there are stitches."

"My b-b-b-balls," Jason whispered. "What h-h-happened to m-m-my b-b-
balls?"

The expression on Jason's face was one curiosity but as Cardinal Orselli 
watched him it turned to one of shock and growing horror. One small finger 
probed the loose flesh, squeezing slightly into the soreness. His 
exploration was gentle at first until the realization was unavoidable. As 
his mouth opened wide in a silent scream he grabbed at his genitals and then 
more and more frantically he examined himself. Jason pressed vainly at the 
area to either side of his penis, trying to get his testicles to pop out of 
their usual hiding places in the inguinal canals. Even as he did so, it was 
impossible for him not to remember the game that he often played with his 
father. How often, how many times had he pretended not to have any 
testicles? It was a game, 'No Nuts', that they often played after they had 
sex. His father would suck on his scrotum until Jason finally took his fingers 
away and released them into the powerful suction and the hot, wet safety of 
the mouth that contained the rest of him.

Jason's voice broke as he screamed. "My b-b-balls! W-w-what happened t-
t-to my balls?"

Cardinal Orselli grasped Jason's hands to keep him from hurting himself. 
He held the small hands tightly as Jason struggled in a frenzy to find his 
missing parts. The fight lasted only a matter of seconds until the small, 
naked boy collapsed and started to cry. The wail began deep inside the 
child, shaking his slender body as it rose, until it came out as a primal 
scream. It signified the acceptance of his loss and the mutilation that had 
been done to him. After a few minutes, the man released the boy's hands. The 
worst was over.

"Jason, the operation,... what Carlo did,... was it what you wanted?" 
Cardinal Orselli asked uncertainly. "He told me that he removed your balls 
only because he thought it was what you wanted. It was,... wasn't it?"

Jason shuddered and clumsily wiped his hand across his face. Had he 
'wanted it'? The question was frightening. Its answer, and the thoughts he had 
at the time when Carlo had suggested it, now sickened him as the extent of 
what had been done to him finally sank in.

"Where are t-t-they?" Jason asked suddenly.

The question caught Cardinal Orselli completely off guard. "What?"

"W-w-where are t-t-they? M-m-my b-b-balls?" Jason asked again.

The ten-year-old boy stared absently out the window, gazing at the 
view that many other boys before him had looked at as they tried to deal 
with the excising of their manhood. He took a deep breath. 

"I w-w-want my b-b-balls back," he said softly.

The man continued to look at him in surprise. The boy's reaction was 
unexpected but from what he had read, it was not unusual. The choir boys, 
those who came willingly to the villa and made that ultimate sacrifice for the 
Church, were believed to show their acceptance by keeping what had been 
taken from them. Afterwards, confronted by the visible evidence of his 
emasculation, a boy quickly became docile. Such boys were lucky. They were 
easily guided to the appropriate outlets for their deprived bodies. A priest 
perhaps, or a family friend who could be trusted to be discreet, was quickly 
enlisted to provide companionship and lessen the impact of a boy's loss of 
manhood. Neutered, but not unsexed, the boy-eunuch would soon find love and 
happiness. Although far-fetched, perhaps this beautiful boy had been willing 
to relinquish his right to reproduction in return for Carlo's love and 
forgiveness. Orselli hoped that was the case.

"They are gone, Jason. Carlo cut them off last night," Cardinal 
Orselli explained.

"I-I-I know that! I'm n--n-not b-b-blind. I just w-w-want to know w-w-
where are they n-n-now, that's all."

The man looked at the boy quizzically. Perhaps it was not so far-fetched 
after all. There were many signs that the boy was homosexual, far more than 
enough to indicate he preferred his own sex. Beyond affection and the need for 
physical relief, Carlo would provide everything that the boy would ever 
need. In some ways, the amputation of his testicles was a small price to pay 
for the immense wealth of Carlo Gubbio, even if it was to be shared with his 
mother. But even without Carlo, the 'Little Prince' would enjoy his life. He 
knew of many other men, good men, who would gladly take Carlo's place. They 
were kind and discreet and more than willing to love a boy like this one.

"I don't know. I wasn't here when Carlo did it. I suppose they are 
here in the villa somewhere. Maybe they went with Carlo but I expect that he 
left them here, Jason," the man responded. "Why?"

"I w-w-want t-t-to s-s-see them, that's all!"

Cardinal Orselli felt a sudden pang of guilt. He had not expected 
this. He studied the young boy skeptically. Almost oblivious to the child's 
nakedness, he had misgivings. Even if the boy had been willing, even if his 
acquiescence tended to corroborate Carlo's story, he was unconvinced. He was 
dispassionate in his logic as he remembered the small jars in the vault. There 
were nearly a hundred of the tiny jars, some no larger than a whisky glass, 
their tops sealed with the dull grey of lead and imprinted with a seal and the 
first name of a boy. Inside each jar, two tiny eggs floated, suspended forever 
in a clear preservative. Would there be a jar for this boy with his name 
inscribed into the lead? Would the child take them when he left?

"Why would you want to do that, Jason. They are gone, my son. You must 
get used to that. Little prince, please try to understand, there is nothing 
that can be done to put them back. It is simply not possible," Cardinal 
Orselli said hesitantly.

His voice was conciliatory but his hands tensed as he breathed deeply. 
The boy was both stubborn and very intelligent. It was a difficult combination 
under the circumstances.

"I t-t-told you I w-w-want to see them!" Jason said as his voice 
became louder. "I'm n-n-not stupid. I know y-y-you can't p-p-put them b-b-
back." He glared at the man angrily. "I just w-w-want to see m-m-my b-b-balls. 
They're m-m-mine! I want to s-see my b-b-balls, that's all," he shouted.

"Yes, Little Prince. I understand. You must excuse me for a minute."

Cardinal Orselli shuddered as he walked out of the room. He felt sick, 
his queasiness growing as he walked down the hall and into the adjoining room. 
For a moment he surveyed the room that had served as the "operating" room. 
He walked around the corner of the table. It was impossible for him not to 
think of the little boy in the next room. Only hours ago the boy had been 
strapped to the table as Carlo made the small incision. He swallowed bile, not 
at all looking forward to the job he had to do. He went to the end wall and 
stopped before the container that still held a blood stained towel and the 
boy's discarded tee shirt. He knelt down, lifted out the towel and shirt, 
and removed the blood-smeared plastic bag from under it. He breathed deeply as 
he came to his feet. Carrying the bag gingerly, he crossed the floor to the 
table. His fingers were clumsy as he unfastened the plastic bag. He fumbled, 
cursing silently as he struggled with the taut knot.

He swallowed again as he dumped the contents into the stainless steel 
pan at the end of the table. Several cotton swabs, some still wet with the 
boy's bright red blood, stuck to the inside of the bag. His finger touched one 
of the tiny oval-shaped lumps and he clenched his teeth as he looked away. A 
moment later, he looked back. So tiny, he mused, yet so important. He picked 
one up, and then other, studied them closely, and closed his hand. They 
were, he speculated, probably no larger than the testicles of a lamb. He 
dismissed the thought and started on his way out of the room. 

Although nearly weightless, the tiny eggs were the source of life and he 
carried them carefully. He walked slowly back into the bedroom. The boy looked 
up immediately. Was there a smile on the perfect face? It was impossible to 
tell but the child's expression was more than mere resignation. The pretty 
blue eyes seemed enlivened as the man walked over to the bed. Jason watched 
him, his eyes questioning as the man neared. Silently, Cardinal Orselli 
offered his hand to Jason, opening his fingers to reveal two very small, 
greyish, egg-shaped masses. That they were the testicles of an otherwise 
healthy ten-year-old boy went unstated. There was no doubt from the short 
lengths of blood vessels and spermatic cords and smears of crimson blood. 
There was a protracted silence as they both looked at them. More than a minute 
passed before Jason summoned the courage to gingerly touch one with the tip of 
his finger.

Jason prodded at it, pushing it to the side. It rolled slightly and then 
stopped. He sighed and glanced up at the old man. Less than a day ago they had 
hung between his slender legs and provided both him and his father 
considerable pleasure. Now they were unfeeling and lifeless, no larger than 
the eggs of a small bird, about the size of marbles.

"I w-w-want them," Jason whispered. "They're m-m-mine and I-I-I w-w-want 
them."

The boy's quiet demand was more than he could stand. Cardinal Orselli 
gently stroked the boy's hair.

"Yes, Little Prince. Of course you may have them."

"C-Cardinal O-O-Orselli,... w-what happens n-n-now?" Jason asked 
quietly.

"What happens? That, my son, depends entirely on what you want."

Jason looked at the man curiously. His blue eyes blinked sleepily as 
he settled back into the soft pillows.

You s-s-said my m-m-m-m-mother was h-h-here earlier. D-d-does she 
know? D-d-does she know w-w-what h-h-happened to m-m-m-me?"

Cardinal Orselli looked away, avoiding the clear, seemingly innocent 
eyes. "She knows, everything."

"I-i-is s-s-she angry?"

"Angry? No, I wouldn't say that. She was upset at first, but she 
understands that it cannot be changed now. Besides, she knows that you are a 
homosexual, Jason."

"She f-f-f-found me w-w-w-with Carlo," Jason said. "He w-w-was,... 
well h-h-he was about t-t-to,... you know,... h-h-have s-s-s-sex w-w-with me."

"Yes?"

"W-w-was she angry?" Jason asked nervously.

Cardinal Orselli shrugged. "Your mother accepted it. It is the way you 
are, my son. She also knows that there has been another man in your life, my 
son. Undoubtedly, he is a man who has made you a very happy boy from the 
look of your bottom."

"W-w-what? W-w-what about my b-b-bottom?"

"As for your bottom, for ten years old, it seems that your hole is 
very large. I would not be wrong if I said you were very accustomed to a man 
with a big penis."

Jason ignored the jibe. "S-s-she knows t-t-that?"

"She knows what she needs to know. I believe it is important for her 
to understand what this means for you."

The look on Jason's face was devastating. His lips compressed into a 
thin line as he fought back against the fear that now possessed him. The ten-
year-old boy was filled with self-loathing and his hands moved upward to 
conceal his face. In the space of a few seconds he had discovered hatred.

"She was not angry, my son." Cardinal Orselli smiled gently.

The man's voice was calming and without disdain. There was no 
revulsion for the small frightened boy. He remembered Karl Gubitowski. 
Although older and destitute of morals, he was no less abhorrent of the sins 
he had committed with Adolf Eichman over the years they had been together. 
Instinctively he knew what this small naked boy was feeling. He chose his 
words carefully.

"And she does not hate you, my son. You are who you are, my child. 
Some boys prefer men. That part of you cannot be changed no matter how much 
you may wish otherwise. It is the way you are and you must accept it. Your 
mother accepted it so I must suspect she knows who the man was. You must not 
hate yourself now."

Jason looked up wearily. "It's a s-s-s-sin," he whispered.

"Is it, my son?" Cardinal Orselli gestured towards the window. "There is 
a lot of sin in this world beyond this room that is far worse. Do you really 
think that the love you have inside your heart is that wrong? I know you 
have shared your body with a man, but is that so evil? Didn't you enjoy it?"

"I d-d-don't know."

"Was it that horrible?"

"It w-w-wasn't. I-I-I l-l-l-love him s-s-so m-m-much!"

"Then that is as it should be. Some would say that it is sinful and that 
you are wicked. But you love him, my son, and that is all that is important. 
The rest is irrelevant."

Jason nodded slightly. "I-I-I know th-th-that."

"Do you want something for the pain, Little Prince?" Jason shook his 
head. "You will feel better when you wake up. In a few weeks, you will be as 
good as new. Your man friend will barely be able to see your scar and with 
luck, everything will be wonderful again and just like it was."

The boy smiled weakly. "N-n-not quite. I-I-I don't h-h-have b--b-
balls, d-d-do I? That m-m-means I w-w-won't be able t-t-to make sperm, w-w-
will I?"

The old man shrugged. "No. No you won't have that. But you can still 
be very happy."

"I d-d-don't understand," Jason mumbled. He yawned sleepily.

"You won't miss what you don't have now," Cardinal Orselli explained. He 
hesitated. "And the special joy that you have known from behind,... that 
will always be there for you. And for you, that is all you will ever need. 
It is, isn't it my son?"

For an instant Jason was confused and then he blushed quickly, reddening 
all the way to his ears. The man nodded with conviction that Carlo Gubbio 
had done the right thing for the boy.

"Yes, Jason. He will be happy because you will stay a boy forever. In 
time, both of you will be glad that Carlo had done this to you while you 
were still young enough to benefit. And your testicles, what do you want me to 
do with them?"

"W-w-what about m-m-my balls? I w-w-want to k-k-keep them."

"Of course you want to keep them, but like this they will quickly rot. 
They must be preserved immediately in fluid or,...."

"Or w-w-what?" Jason asked nervously.

"Many years ago, it was a common practice for the Church to castrate 
young boys. These boys were the most important singers in the choir. The 
castration, the same operation that Carlo did to you, was always done before a 
boy's voice changed, while he was young like you. If a boy's testicles are 
removed, his voice stays high pitched."

The man studied the beautiful boy on the bed. Silently his eyes 
travelled down the naked body, stopping at the groin. He leaned forward and 
gently lifted the gauze dressing back into place and secured the surgical tape 
on either side of the little penis. By the time he straightened up, Jason's 
eyes were nearly closed.

"There was a tradition established back then,... If you would like, your 
testicles can be encased in bronze." Cardinal Orselli smiled. "Or even gold, 
my son. They will last forever like that."

Jason nodded and a second later his eyes closed completely. When Jason 
was asleep, Cardinal Orselli once again covered Jason with the white sheet and 
stepped back from the bed. It had not been as difficult as he expected.

"Yes," he thought aloud. It would cost a considerable amount to use 
gold, as much as a million lira, but it was appropriate for the precious orbs. 
"This is the least I can do for the Little Prince. In Napoli, I can find 
someone, a jeweller perhaps, to do the job. Someone who will not ask 
questions."

 

 When Jason awoke again he was alone. The strange old man was gone and 
what had happened nearly four hours earlier seemed like a dream. The sun was 
nearing the horizon and its dying rays gave an pleasant glow to the room. He 
stretched and then gasped as he felt a sudden pain in his groin. He shuddered, 
afraid of what he knew to be true, of what he would find by looking under 
the sheet. He sunk lower into the bed, feeling the shame of his loss. But what 
was far worse was knowing that his mother knew. She knew what had been done to 
him and she knew what her son had done, not only with Carlo but another man as 
well. The fear came back immediately. It was impossible that she would not 
know who the other man was. In fact the old man has said that she suspected. 
She would easily guess that he had loved his own father. Again he sank into 
the mire of his own making, yielding to the abomination he had become.

 And Carlo was dead? How could that be? Only a few hours ago, it 
seemed he had been in Carlo's arms. He had lost all sense of time. It was 
evening now so it had to have been more than a few hours, but perhaps days had 
passed. No, Jason decided, it was yesterday. He'd been with Carlo only the day 
before. Just yesterday, his mother had married Carlo and he had stood beside 
them as they took the sacred vows of marriage. Carlo had placed his hand on 
Jason's shoulder only seconds before he solemnly promised to love and 
cherish his mother, for richer, for poorer, until.... Jason trembled. At the 
time it had seemed as if Carlo was marrying him as much as his mother. And now 
Carlo was dead.

 And then there was the other thing, even more shocking in its end 
result. Jason could feel the persistent dull ache in his crotch. He was afraid 
to reach down and confirm again what he knew had happened to him. At the 
same time, he was afraid not to.

"Why would Carlo do this to me?" he whispered as much to himself as 
the empty room.

He had capitulated to Carlo's desires and in surrendering his body to 
the man's groping hands, made a greater sacrifice that he had ever imagined 
possible. Why had Carlo demanded that terrible price? Why had he submitted? He 
closed his eyes as the words resounded though his head. Again and again 
Carlo demanded who had taken his virginity. And then, when Jason adamantly 
refused, Carlo began a litany of complaints. He had been dishonored and 
disgraced by the boy's infidelity. Carlo had trusted him, loved him, given him 
expensive presents, and this terrible betrayal was his reward. Screaming at 
him, debasing the love that Jason had shared, shameful and indecent love, 
accusing him of moral treachery. On and on, until Jason buckled. Aware of 
his own culpability and more afraid than he had ever been, Jason said two 
words, 'my dad'. He begged for forgiveness. But Carlo wanted proof that a 
similar transgression would never happen again. He required incontrovertible 
evidence of Jason's love. He demanded the boy make the penultimate gift to him 
as his punishment. At the time, it had seemed unreal and now, impossible to 
belief.

 Jason had to know for sure and his small hand shook as he slowly slid 
it down under the sheet to explore the place that had become so familiar to 
him. It was an area he thought he knew, but now, as his fingers brushed 
against the surgical tape and touched the gauze bandages, he was not so 
sure. He gently gave a few tugs on his soft penis as if to reassure himself 
that it was still there and undamaged. More confident, but more than ever 
aware of the ache in his groin, his fingers moved closer. As his fingers 
tucked underneath, Jason knew that he had not been dreaming. He groaned 
quietly, abandoned to the strange curiosity that moved his fingers.

Missing was the fullness of his scrotum. The soft, hairless skin of 
his flattened scrotum felt strange as his fingers caressed it. It was pulled 
up against his body as if trying to protect the testicles it no longer 
carried. It was wrinkled. It was the same way when he had copulated with his 
father, or when he had been in cold water. But then there was a tautness to 
the plump hemisphere and there was now only emptiness that felt very strange 
to the young hand. Though they had always been there, it was during the 
weeks aboard Apollo that he had come to appreciate the function of the small 
eggs.

Although the empty scrotum was sore, the pain was not more than enough 
to provide some discomfort and a continuing sense of what had been taken 
from him. He felt under the scrotum, stretching the skin slightly with his 
fingers as he explored the wound inquisitively. There were only a few stitches 
on the underside of his scrotum, tiny pointed threads that felt like little 
spikes in his fingertips.

Within, Jason's mind spun in constant turmoil. Much more than the 
average ten-year-old boy, Jason was well aware of the special functions of 
that part of his body. It was, next to his penis, an essential part of his 
manhood. His testicles were also a source of considerable pleasure. What had 
been taken was more, much more than two tiny testicles.

He closed his eyes and cried as he remembered the last few weeks he 
had spent with his father. The nature of his loss instantly became 
overwhelming as his thoughts turned to his father. With sadness he 
remembered how they had been naked nearly twenty four hours a day. He 
remembered how his father liked to hold his scrotum, cupping it in his hand, 
fingering it with careful strokes or gently squeezing his little balls.

And as he wailed he thought about the long days and nights of love-
making and the talks that followed as they relaxed. He remembered the 
conversations about how it long it would be before he started puberty. He 
wanted his penis to grow. He wanted to be able to orgasm with ejaculation just 
like his father. How could his father ever want to be with him again after 
this? He wasn't sure if he was still a boy. Perhaps he would become a girl. 
How could it ever be the same again with his father now he didn't have 
balls? He cried himself to sleep.





The next week at the Villa Pallavicino passed quickly. At first he was 
confined to his bed except for infrequent trips to the bathroom. It rained 
constantly and the wind howled outside his room as it lashed the coast. For 
long hours at a time he stared out the window, peering between the shutters as 
he tried to maintain his watch on the ocean. At any minute he expected to 
see the white sails of Apollo come into view. Each day left him feeling more 
abandoned. When the storm passed, the discomfort in his groin had gone.

During the day, he read or listened to Cardinal Orselli as he told 
stories. The stories were often about knights, sometimes about saints, and 
several times, about the castrati and the traditions at the Villa Pallavicino. 
There was a history, however unpleasant, that Jason needed to know for he 
had become a part of that history. Afterwards, Jason began to understand 
that the loss of his testicles was not the end of the world. In a strange way, 
it was the beginning of a new life for him.

Jason listened to the stories about the young boys who had come to the 
villa. He discovered that many of the boys were much like himself. During 
the selection process, and again at the villa, confession revealed the 
nature of boy's desires. Then castration was done as much to remove 
manliness as it was to simply postpone the inevitable onset of puberty. That 
the operation preserved an already perfect body and the soprano voice of 
childhood was in most cases, only partial motivation for the surgeon.

Every other evening, his mother called from Frascati. They were 
perfunctory telephone calls and very short as they manoeuvered around 
difficult territory that neither of them wanted to address. Each call left 
Jason with an unpleasant feeling. At the end of the week he finally summoned 
the courage to ask about his father. There was no response for several seconds 
and for a moment he thought his mother had put the receiver down. The 
conversation that followed was very strained.

"Jason,... I don't want your father to ever know about it."

"M-M-M-Mom, I w-w-want to g-g-go live w-w-with Dad."

"That's not possible now. Surely you can understand that."

"Dad w-w-won't m-m-mind. He'll u-u-understand. I won't t-t-tell him 
about C-C-C-C,..."

"Jason, I don't wish to discuss this any further."

"M-M-M-Mom, please?" He started to cry.

"Jason! I know all about you and your father! You will not be seeing him 
again."

"M-M-M-Mom, I l-l-love Dad."

"I'm sure you do. Jason, act your age and stop crying."

He sniffed loudly and searched for a handkerchief in his robe. So that 
the wound would heal faster, Cardinal Orselli had insisted that Jason not wear 
any clothes. The only concession was a loose satin robe so Jason wouldn't be 
embarrassed in front of the housekeeper, or now, when he was outside his 
bedroom.

"M-M-M-Mom? Where's Dad n-n-now? Has he written t-t-to m-m-me?"

"No he hasn't written, Jason. His friend called from that island in 
Greece where you stayed for a while. It seems as if your father has 
disappeared."

"W-w-what do you m-m-mean?"

"He left Greece last week. He was supposed to call but he hasn't. 
Apparently there was a bad storm in the Mediterranean. It's quite possible 
that your father had some trouble."

"Trouble? W-w-what do you m-m-mean?"

"Isn't it obvious? He probably drowned, Jason."

"Oh God! No! I-I-I d-d-d-don't b-b-believe you!" Jason screamed into the 
telephone.

"Hell, I don't know what happened to him. I don't much care, though I 
suppose you do. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

Mommy, p-p-please, I-I-I w-w-want d-d-dad!"

"Yes, Jason, I suppose you do. But I can't help that. Anyway, Jason, I 
have to go now. Good-bye sweetie. Oh, by the way, I forgot to ask Cardinal 
Orselli. Is everything healing okay?"

"Yeah! H-h-he t-t-took the s-s-stitches out y-y-yesterday. You almost c-
c-can't s-s-see w-w-where Carlo c-c-cut m-my f-f-fucking b-b-balls off," Jason 
shouted angrily as he threw the phone onto the table and burst into tears. His 
father may have drowned! He wanted to die.



 Another week passed but it was far more enjoyable than the first 
week. Each day that there was no news about his father, meant that there was 
still hope. He hoped, he prayed, and he longed for his father to come and 
get him and take him away from the villa. He watched the distant horizon, 
wanting only to see Apollo. Now that the storm had passed there were many 
sailing boats in the Gulf of Salerno but none with the name 'Apollo', but 
Jason knew that if his father was alive, somewhere, he would eventually come 
to him.

Now able to get out of bed, Jason spent long hours outside in the garden 
where he could keep a close watch on the ocean. Sheltered from prying eyes, he 
could take off his robe and stretch out in the sunshine. The sun was 
renewing and strengthened his slender body as his tan was restored. The effect 
of the dry hot air on the small wound was nothing short of miraculous. 
Within two weeks the only sign that remained from his operation was a tiny 
pale scar. It was less than an inch long and followed the center line of his 
body so that it merged naturally into the thin line that traversed from his 
penis all the way into his crevice. As the skin slowly darkened it would 
become all but invisible. The scar would be unseen except by a close 
inspection by a trained doctor or as the result of intimate study by a lover.

But the visible change was not the only change in his young body. 
Every minute Jason was aware of the effects of his castration. Bathing, 
urinating, even walking reminded Jason of what was missing from his body. It 
was a strange feeling to walk and not feel the gentle rolling of his little 
testicles inside his scrotum, or even just the slight tug of gravity as they 
hung loosely between his legs. Sometimes, if he sat very still or when he 
was sunbathing, Jason could imagine he could feel his testicles again but when 
he reached down, the spell was broken and all he felt was the loose skin of 
his now-empty scrotum.





As the days passed it became both easier and more difficult for Jason to 
be naked in front of the cardinal. The first time that Jason's penis became 
erect after the operation was before Cardinal Orselli. After lunch Jason had 
ambled through the gardens to the secluded spot overlooking the azure water of 
the Gulf of Salerno. He had come to think of this place as his own. Beyond the 
sculpted hedges he could hear the waves washing against the rocks far below 
him. He remembered the long hot days in Greece and as he gazed out to the sea, 
he remembered his father on the last day.

Both naked, they had played like two children in the sand and water 
before they basked in the sun. He remembered how easily his father's penis 
penetrated him. He could still feel the bulging pressure as it pushed 
between his cheeks. There was a secure tightness as it lodged against his 
anus. Then the pressure increased as his father's arm wrapped around his 
belly. He breathed quickly, then holding his breath he tried to push back. 
They both groaned as it pierced him. And then they waited with the fat swollen 
head buried just within him. Minutes passed and slowly his body deferred to 
the squeezing bulbous tip. As much as Jason wanted to grant his father free 
and unfettered entry, it was always the same. He had learned to be patient. 
There was always a momentary tremor as his muscle wavered. It came and he 
pushed back firmly, now wanting the thick hot shaft deep within his body. As 
always, his body stretched. He felt the massive organ surging forward, gaining 
speed and force as his sphincter failed.

The air was pushed out of his lungs and he gasped. It filled him. 
Jason closed his eyes as he breathed heavily. He remembered the gasp 
clearly, a long moan as his rectum was distended. The sound was prolonged as 
inch by inch the giant penis extended into his innards. It lengthened him 
and expanded until his lower body was inflated. And then it started to move. 
With each slow thrust, his father's penis seemed to become larger. The 
mushroom head was distended and amplified the quaking throb of the boy's 
immature prostate. Within seconds, the ten-year-old boy's body was moving in 
unison. Joy turned to frenzy for both man and boy. He clearly remembered the 
sounds of his oily, loose flesh as he was sodomized relentlessly. As their 
orgasms approached, the sounds became louder. At that instant, Jason missed 
his father almost as much as he missed the end result of their love making-- 
the simultaneous jerks of the penis inside him as his own body contorted, 
shuddered, and writhed uncontrollably in response to the overwhelming strain 
of his dry release.

Like that now distant day, Jason lay stretched out in the warm sun and 
covered with a sheen of glistening olive oil and perspiration. So deep was his 
memory, he barely heard Cardinal Orselli approach.

"Jason?"

Startled, Jason sat up. "Y-y-yes?"

"I just wanted to talk with you. Your mother called from Roma after 
you left the table."

"D-d-did s-s-she say anything a-a-a-about m-m-my dad?"

"No! She asked how you were getting along, that's all."

Jason shrugged disinterestedly.

"She wants you to leave here. I told her that you still needed more 
time."

"I'm o-o-okay!"

"Yes, I know that Jason. You miss your father don't you?" Jason 
nodded. "You were thinking about your father just now, weren't you?"

The boy smiled slightly. "I m-m-miss h-h-him s-s-so m-m-much."

"Yes, my son, I expect you do. In more ways that I know, I expect." 
Cardinal Orselli sighed sadly. During the time that Jason had been at the 
villa he had come to love the boy deeply.

"Lay down again and let me rub your back," he said gently. "I've been 
meaning to talk to you for several days. I know you've been lonely."

With gentle caresses on his bare back, Jason was immediately reminded 
again of his father. It was intended to both reassure and relieve the boy of 
his pain but the slender body responded instinctively and immediately. He 
turned over and Giovanni began to massage his front, trailing his old 
fingers up and down the supple skin of Jason's flat brown belly. The old man 
smiled as he watched the little penis shrug off its stupor and grow quickly 
erect. Not large before the operation, now the boy's little penis seemed 
inadequate for his slender body, but it was more beautiful than anything the 
old man had seen. It was Jason's first erection after the operation. He 
studied it in detached silence. Not long ago, the thin projection had been a 
familiar and highly desirable appendage, now it seemed foreign to the boy.

Cardinal Orselli murmured in appreciation. His Italian was lost to Jason 
but the boy smiled back at him.

"It adorns you, my child," the man mused. "It makes you even more 
beautiful."

"I h-h-hate it!"

"You're very lonely aren't you, Little Prince?" The boy's stony 
silence confirmed his question. "I wish I could make everything better."

"That's d-d-dumb," Jason retorted bitterly.

"I only want for you to be happy."

"I-I-I w-w-want my d-d-dad a-a-and,... you c-c-can't h-h-help"

"Actually, I've made some inquiries through the Church. I'm told that 
the storm may have taken your father towards Africa. There is a chance he 
reached Libya."

"A-A-Africa? L-L-Libya?"

"Yes. I'm not sure how we can contact the Libyans at this time but you 
know I'll try to do everything I can."

Again Jason nodded. "I-I-I c-c-can m-m-make y-y-you h-h-happy," he 
whispered. He was willing to allow Cardinal Orselli to stroke his penis if 
it meant that he would try to find his father.

Jason's blue eyes glistened and as Cardinal Orselli reached out, he 
smiled back shyly. The old man's withered hand brushed against the taut skin 
of the young penis. Their eyes met as they exchanged a brief look. Then the 
hand enclosed Jason's excited penis. The boy's heat flowed in the man's hand 
and the fingers tightened. Again Cardinal Orselli thought of Karl and the very 
first time that he had ever touched a boy's genitals. It was payment for his 
kindness.

The short, rigid shaft was all that remained of Jason's sex organs but 
it was more than enough to give him the pleasure he needed. He settled back 
onto the grass and shifted his legs so that his knees were wide apart. The old 
man's hand never left the boy as he knelt down. His hand moved slowly, no more 
than the slightest pressure exerted on the delicate shaft as it glided back 
and forth on the slick film of oil. Without constant exercise, Jason's 
foreskin had become tighter. It was captured under the thin membrane of skin 
until it finally popped into the sun. Both Jason and Cardinal Orselli smiled.

"I-I-I f-f-forgot h-h-how g-g-good it f-f-feels," Jason murmured

"Does it feel good?"

"Yeah!" The boy grinned cheekily. "Y-y-y-you've d-d-done this to a b-b-
boy b-b-before, haven't y-y-you?"

Cardinal Orselli chuckled. "Many times, but the first boy was a long 
time ago," he admitted. "I loved Carlo,... when he was a boy."

Jason shivered. "C-C-Carlo?"

"Yes, my son. He was a different person then. I loved him very much."

"W-what w-w-as he l-l-like?"

"He was not as beautiful as you are." Cardinal Orselli admired.

"D-d-did y-y-you h-h-have s-sex with h-h-him?" Jason asked curiously.

"Of course. And the answer to your next question is yes. I put it in his 
bottom."

"Oh! D-d-did he l-l-like it?" Jason continued unashamedly.

Cardinal Orselli hesitated as he thought back. "About like you do, I 
expect."

"S-s-sometimes it h-h-hurts," Jason said softly. "L-l-like at f-f-
first."

"Once a boy gets used to it inside him, he always likes it. At least, 
I haven't met a boy who doesn't like it. Unless, of course, the man is as 
big as a horse." Both Jason and Cardinal Orselli laughed together. "Does it 
still hurt you, when he's inside your bottom?"

"It f-f-f-feels okay. N-n-no it f-f-f-feels g-g-great!"

"I'm glad. I think he's a very a lucky man."

"M-m-my h-h-hole isn't as l-l-loose a-a-anymore," Jason announced. He 
hesitated. "D-d-do you think it w-w-will h-h-hurt w-w-when I d-d-do it a-a-
again?"

Cardinal Orselli's fingers slipped downwards over the loose skin under 
Jason's penis. Teasingly, one finger playfully probed into the heat of the 
small crevice and towards the boy's anus.

"I don't suppose it is loose after two weeks. It's only natural that 
your body closes up. I expect it will hurt when you do it again."

His eyes crinkled as he smiled at the naked boy. As the tip of his 
finger brushed the tiny wrinkled indentation that marked the orifice, Jason 
sighed. His knees lifted upwards and the long thin muscles in his thighs and 
legs became taut. His buttocks lifted several inches off the ground. For 
several seconds, the finger pushed into the inflexible fold as it tested the 
tension in the contracted aperture.

"I d-d-d-don't w-w-w-want it to h-h-hurt l-l-like t-t-that again."

"It doesn't have to," Cardinal Orselli observed. "Even without him there 
are ways to keep yourself loose for him."

"Huh? I-I-I d-d-don't u-u-u-understand."

"There are ways," Cardinal Orselli continued, "that a boy can do for 
himself what a man does."

Jason stared at the old man curiously. "Yeah, r-r-right."

Slowly the boy's curiosity changed to incredulity. Cardinal Orselli 
reached into his pocket and slowly withdrew a curved, cream-colored stake. 
It was more than ten inches long and its purpose was very obvious.

"It's made out of ivory, I believe from an elephant tusk. It's very 
old," the man explained. "The boys who once came to the villa were 
encouraged to use it. It will help you find happiness, Little Prince."

Jason studied it with skepticism. It was shaped somewhat like an erect 
penis although the head was not as flared as the real thing. And then he 
remembered what had transpired in the cave on Naxos only hours after he had 
lost his virginity. Jeff and Harry had been witnesses as he was initiated. 
He giggled shamelessly. Up to that time he had never thought that anything 
other than a man's penis could possess his body, and afterwards, with one 
exception he had never had the need for anything else. Without hesitation he 
reached out and took the proffered object. He knew exactly what to do with it.

"S-s-small e-e-elephant," he smirked cheekily.

"I'm sure it's big enough for you," Cardinal Orselli replied. "You don't 
have to punish yourself, Jason."

Jason held the stake in one hand. It was about as thick as the penis 
that had all but become a part of his young body. It was several inches 
longer, but then he did have to hold on to it. It was more than enough to 
relieve his frustration at being separated from the man he loved.

"Th-th-thanks!"

"If you're not too embarrassed, my son,..." Cardinal Orselli began 
awkwardly. he took a deep breath. "I'd like to stay."

"Y-y-you w-w-want m-m-m-me to d-d-do it h-h-here? In f-f-front of y-y-
you?" Jason stammered.

"Perhaps I can help. I'm sure there are a few things that an old man can 
teach a young boy like you," the man suggested diffidently. "After the last 
two weeks there is no part of you that I haven't seen, but if you are 
embarrassed, I can go."

Cardinal Orselli began to stand but Jason reached out and clasped his 
hand.

"P-p-please stay." Jason swallowed. "I-I-I d-d-don't m-mind if y-y-you 
w-w-watch me."

The old man was content to caress the beautiful boy as he commenced 
the slow process of accustoming his body to the unyielding presence inside his 
bowel. Jason lay on his side, all but oblivious to the heat and the man who 
sat behind him. With one leg pulled up tightly against his chest and using his 
left to pry his firm buttocks apart, Jason began to lubricate his tiny now-
puckered opening with olive oil. After two weeks the dark ring of flesh at the 
rim of Jason's anus had disappeared and to even to the well-trained eye of a 
doctor, Jason was a virgin. The breach in the perfect body that had once 
indicated the boy's perverse desire had vanished. Jason's hole had become a 
tiny fissure that now seemed far to small for the thick curved stake. But no 
virgin would know to do what Jason's experienced hands undertook. His 
glistening forefinger massaged the deep chasm between the founded globes of 
his bottom before it gently probed into the crinkled outlet. 

Cardinal Orselli examined the boy's cleft with fascination. Many times 
he had watched as boys prepared themselves for intercourse but never had he 
watched a boy ready himself with such a ritual. It was intensely exciting. 
Jason's finger returned again and again, each time depositing more of the 
slippery oil, each time penetrating a little deeper, then withdrawing and 
moving in slow rotations as it focused on the sensitive portal.

For nearly ten minutes Jason's finger expertly manipulated back and 
forth in the depth of his crack before he placed the pointed end of the 
stake against his slightly loosened vent. Cardinal Orselli breathed heavily. 
He was well aware that he was privy to the most intimate act a ten-year-old 
boy could perform, but it was not that alone which riveted his attention on 
Jason's buttocks. Against the slender brown body the thick ivory stake was 
impossibly big. Skillfully Jason began to massage his anus. Both small hands 
grasped the stake as he worked against it but even after several minutes it 
had not progressed further.

Jason's hands pushed harder as he strained backwards. A sharp pain 
racked his lower abdomen and he cringed as a sudden cry burst out from his 
tightly compressed lips. His head turned slightly as his concentration was 
interrupted.

"S' t-t-t-too b-b-big," he hissed.

"I think you should oil it first, my son," Cardinal Orselli suggested 
softly. "That way it will be easier for you."

Cardinal Orselli stayed with Jason for almost an hour that hot 
afternoon. He calmed the boy, guiding him and counselling patience. The 
young body had to adjust. It was a slow and very painful process but one, that 
once commenced, had to be completed. As the tears came, Jason forced himself 
to think of his father. His first time had been difficult, but it had not hurt 
like this. The shaft was inflexible and unyielding, and although he controlled 
its motion, it exacted its tribute. His boy's body had been well exercised, 
accepting his father's penis with consummate ease. They had become 
accomplished lovers, both capable of giving and receiving overwhelming 
pleasure. Finally, with the stake lodged more than half way inside him, 
Jason rested. Was it that much thicker than his father's penis he wondered? 
His bowel was stretched so tightly that it seemed as if any movement would 
puncture it and he would split open. He thought only of the many times that he 
shared with his father, of the familiar rhythm they enjoyed as one body 
moved against the other. But the ivory spike helped.

Afterwards Jason lay on the grass. His energy was drained and his body 
exhausted. The blood-smeared ivory shaft lay next him, his thin fingers 
still curled around the end of it. He was aware of the dull ache that 
existed deep within his body. His rectum was bruised and tormented but he felt 
strangely satisfied even though he had not been close to orgasm.

Cardinal Orselli brushed the dirt and grass from Jason's chest. He 
pondered what to say, searching for the words that could convey his admiration 
and respect.

"You were wonderful my beautiful boy," he said quietly.

The smile that passed across the naked boy's face was barely a flicker 
of recognition. Slowly he nodded. "It f-f-felt b-b-bad a-a-at first."

"You were very good. I knew it was hurting you a lot." The old man 
paused. "Jason, when you mother telephoned from Roma,..."

"Y-y-yes?"

"She told me that she wanted to take you to a school in England."

"I-I-I know th-th-that."

"There is another thing. She said that your father's life raft was 
found. It was badly damaged and there was no one aboard."

"NO!"

"Jason, it doesn't mean he's dead. I'm sure there are other 
explanations."

"NO! N-N-NO! NO!" Jason screamed. "He's not dead! I love him!"





Although his relationship with Cardinal Orselli changed after that first 
harmless touching, it never progressed much further. Gradually becoming more 
convinced that his father was dead, Jason sought solace in what little joy 
could be derived from his young body. At the end of three weeks, Jason left 
the villa.





DAY 31 through 50, Mediterranean and Environs, August-September, 1993





"What?" she said. 'Are you making me a sacrifice of the boy you cannot 
live without, the lips you cling to, the one you love the way I want to 
love you?'



Petronious, The Satyricon



The first night without Jason was the worst night of my life. It was 
impossible to believe how much my son had come to mean to me. I missed him 
with a pain that kept me awake for hours. Some time after midnight I finally 
fell asleep. I awoke covered in a sheen of perspiration, a cold, shivering 
sweat. My heart was pounding as images of Jason darted through my mind. But my 
nightmare had dissipated, vanishing into the darkness as I awoke. I could 
remember nothing but I knew with absolute certainty that Jason had been 
hurt. I tried frantically to reconstruct my dream, but the fragments were 
distorted and meaningless. I did not sleep for the rest of the night. I needed 
to get to Rome as quickly as possible. As it turned out, it took twenty-five 
days for me to reach Rome but by then Jason had disappeared.

I passed to the south of the Pelopennesus on the morning of the third 
day after Jason left. I had never been so miserable in my entire life. I spend 
the night at Neapolis, preparing the boat for what was to come and getting 
some much-deserved sleep. That night I dreamed of nothing but Jason. I 
missed him badly, longing to hear his playful giggles and his sweet, high-
pitched voice, to enjoy his boyish, extroverted, enthusiasm; and, of course to 
see him naked and feel him wrapped around my body as we made love.

The next stage of the voyage would be the worst of the entire trip, a 
long stretch of four-hundred miles, non-stop across the Ionian Sea. It was a 
heavily travelled stretch of water, frequented by many ships and a flotilla of 
other small boats as they traversed the Mediterranean. I hoped to make the 
trip across in two days and one night, ending up at Messina or Reggio 
Calabria. From there I would take a break before continuing northwards to 
Rome. I planned to rest for short intervals during the day as the autopilot 
steered and stay up during the night by keeping myself awake with copious 
quantities of coffee. It was a formula I often used for longer voyages.

The voyage began uneventfully though non-propitiously as I departed from 
Neapolis in the early hours of the morning. There was a force three wind 
from the west, requiring long, time- delaying tacks into the breeze. To make 
matters worse, the weather worsened about a hundred miles off the coast as the 
wind increased to force five, then six. For a boat the size of Apollo, the 
wind and waves were not a major problem. I reefed the main sail and mizzen 
sail, furled the genoa, and hoisted the number-two jib. By the early hours 
of the evening the wind had strengthened and I had not been able to sleep 
during the day. A long night was ahead of me.

I went below and ate hurriedly, dressed warmly, made a thermos of coffee 
and returned on deck. Just during the thirty minutes I had been in the 
cabin, the wind had become even stronger. I reefed the main and mizzen 
again, gave serious consideration to bagging the sails and putting up the 
storm sail, but changed my mind because I expected the wind to fade during the 
night. The waves had also become larger and they swept across the ocean 
perhaps eighty or a hundred feet apart and often as high as ten feet. But some 
waves were higher, much higher. It was one of those waves that crashed over 
the port side and swamped the cockpit. That in itself was no problem because I 
was secured with a life-safety harness but the inflatable dinghy was not. I 
had tied it down before I left the Greece but in my rush, I had not braced it. 
It lifted with the wave and slammed into the life-raft canister on the 
stern. I watched in dismay as four thousand dollars of life raft ripped free 
of its mountings and was hurled into the boiling sea. The lines tethering 
the inflatable  held and it bounced into the mizzen mast. For a few seconds 
I thought about trying to recover the life raft. However, there was no 
possibility. The canister had broken open and the raft was automatically 
inflating. I could never get it back on board and I took the only action 
possible by severing the line that held it to the stern rail. In less than a 
minute it was out of sight. I wondered if my insurance would pay for it.

Bad weather was a familiar pattern for this time of the year but it 
was seldom as bad as this. By midnight the storm had not abated. I decided 
to bear-off and head towards the south. I would lose a day, perhaps two at the 
worst, but I was tired and the thought of 'slamming' Apollo into six and eight 
foot waves for the rest of the night was quite depressing.

I studied my charts, deciding quickly that heading towards Libya was not 
the smartest move in the world. The alternative was Tunisia, a long way to the 
west. Turning northwards would take me towards Yugoslavia and Albania and even 
further away from Jason. I decided, my better judgement and reason to the 
contrary, to make passage towards Libya, hoping that the wind would slacken by 
early morning. When the wind did change, I could make a long tack back towards 
Sicily, and depending upon the wind direction, pass to the east or west of it.

Not for the first time my plans back-fired and by early morning, shortly 
after three o'clock, the GPS (Global Positioning System) indicated that I 
had passed 34 degrees latitude. I was on a bearing that took me directly 
towards the Gulf of Sirte. If anything, the wind had strengthened and the 
waves were increasing in height. I examined the chart as dawn came, cold and 
battle-ship-grey, as foaming waves crashed over the bow and the boat pounded 
its way forward into an endless storm, rising and falling in often frightening 
surges. I was very glad the Jason was not aboard. From the chart, it looked as 
if Libya claimed only a twelve mile territory. From thirty-three-and-a-half 
degrees latitude, my position at the time, I anticipated having at least a 
hundred-and-thirty miles of sea room, at least sixteen hours of free time, 
before I came into Libyan waters.

I went below and prepared a breakfast of cereal and powdered milk. The 
noise and motion of a boat in a heavy sea is a very unpleasant experience, I 
felt nauseous within minutes. I threw my unfinished cereal in the sink and 
made a sandwich before quickly going back on deck. The stress of the long 
night was beginning to show and I knew the dangers were increasing rapidly. 
I made certain my life-safety harness was securely attached and settled down 
on the lee seat in the cockpit. Sleep was critical to my safety now.

Guided by the auto-pilot and the self-steering, Apollo ploughed on, 
crashing through wave after wave on an endless course towards the southwest 
and Northern Africa. I slept fitfully, waking every few minutes it seemed 
until I finally dozed off, too tired even to check the horizon for other 
vessels.

What I did not realize was that although Libya claims a twelve nautical-
mile offshore territory, it also claims the Gulf of Sirte, closing at thirty-
two-and-a-half degrees latitude. At a speed often in excess of eight knots, 
I was closing rapidly with an unpleasant adventure with the Socialist People's 
Libyan Arab Jamahiriya, perhaps the most regressive government in the world 
today with a revolutionary islamic creed established by Mu'ammar Abu Minyar 
al-Qadhafi. I was about to be in 'deep shit'!

The patrol vessel appeared at a few minutes before noon. It was 
running at close to maximum speed, sending huge plumes of spray into the air 
as it travelled at thirty knots or more through a broken sea. I struggled 
away, realizing that the storm had passed as I rubbed my eyes blearily. 
regained my senses and checked the GPS. My position was latitude 32 degrees, 
30 minutes, 6 seconds north, and longitude 19 degrees, 12 minutes and 15 
seconds east. I was still more than a hundred miles from landfall on my 
current heading, though only fifty-eight miles from Benghazi to the southeast. 
I was, however, very close to the territorial limit of the Gulf of Sirte. In 
fact, I was a little too close.

The Libyans are not known for their navigation skills. Each year, 
there are a number international incidents involving transgressions and in 
which the Libyan Navy is a fault. My brief stay as the guest of the Libyans 
was just another example. They approached in what could only be described as 
an unseaman-like manner, it was only my prompt action in putting out fenders 
and changing course rapidly that averted a collision. I stopped dead, sails 
flapping in the now dying wind.

They boarded my vessel, ten scowling arabs complete with appeared to 
me to be Uzi sub-machine guns. With pistols at the ready I was pushed into the 
cockpit and told to sit and be quiet. Without requesting permission they 
initiated a search while I was restrained on deck, staring down the barrel 
of a Makarov 9mm pistol held by the Libyan commander. He was surly and 
arrogant, and was probably in his early twenties. Despite my repeated attempts 
to convince him that I was outside Libyan waters, my arguments were to no 
avail. My exact position, established by GPS, met with no interest since 
that technology was unfamiliar to him, or at least he pretended that was the 
case.

Below, I could hear crashing sounds as the cabin was torn apart 
ruthlessly destroying whatever they touched. After ten minutes, the men 
returned on deck and proudly displayed the results of their search. I was 
carrying contraband, several dozen bottles of wine and two bottles of 
bourbon and scotch. According to the commander, that was enough for my boat to 
be impounded and confiscated and for me to be imprisoned. My heart sank as I 
worried that I would never get to see Jason again. The boat I could easily 
replace. The commander disappeared down into the cabin to investigate for 
himself. Long minutes ticked by before he came up onto the deck again. He 
was smirking and in his right hand he carried a large, brown envelop. I sighed 
in despair, knowing exactly what was in it. It contained fifty pictures of 
Jason, beautiful pictures of my beautiful, naked son. Pictures that I had 
taken on Mykonos, on Naxos, and during the last two weeks in the Gulf of 
Eurobea. They were enlargements, eight inches by ten inches in size, in 
vivid color, and with high-resolution detail that was inspiring, to say the 
least.

The pictures began with the first, natural-style pictures I had taken of 
my son as he revelled in the freedom of nudity. They were pictures that 
could be published in any nudist magazine or be found in a family photo album. 
But in the photos at the bottom of the stack, the most recent ones, Jason 
shamelessly cavorted before the camera, sexually aroused and visibly proud 
of it. The last picture was I had printed before the paper was used up was one 
of Jason only seconds after intercourse. He was lying on his back with his 
knees still lifted up above his shoulders. His cheeks were spread wide apart 
and his little, crimson anus gaped wide open into the darkness of his bowel. 
My semen, white and pure, dribbled out of his rectum, leaving a trail along 
the length of crevice, his scrotum glistening with the sheen of olive oil. For 
a child not even near the onset of puberty it was particularly obscene, but it 
was the knowing, happy smile on his face that made it beautiful to my eyes. 
Fortunately, other pictures, most even more depraved, had not yet been printed 
and the evidence of our much greater passion was still safely concealed in 
my secret bulkhead compartment. But enough damage had been done with the 
photos I had foolishly left in the drawer next to my bed. I was in very 
'deep shit'.

I felt a terrible panic as the commander continued to smirk at me. It 
was a smug, conceited look that reflected his vain ego and confidence. If I 
was in trouble before, his expression assured me that I was now in dire 
straits. He gave orders in Arabic and all but two of the men returned to the 
other boat. As he swung over the side he grinned at me.

 "He's a pretty boy," he said quietly. "I bet you like to fuck his 
beautiful, little ass good. You must fuck him really hard too I think from the 
look of him. I'm sure you'll enjoy living a Libyan prison. You'll learn that 
white men get it in the ass all the time there. In a week you'll be just 
like this pretty boy of yours." His lips formed a puckered circle, a hole wide 
enough to insert his forefinger. "Wwwhhheee," he smirked as he blew outward. 
Bad breath that reeked of stale onions came to me as I tried to look away.

 I closed my eyes in despair and shook my head despondently, suddenly 
very glad that Jason was not with me. Silently I swore, 'fuck you' as the 
engine of the other boat roared and it began to pull away. As ordered, I 
dropped the sails and started the engine. Even at full speed Benghazi lay five 
hours to the southeast. 

We arrived at dusk, and I motored into the untidy harbor, wending my way 
past rusted, ancient oil-tankers, then past fast, grey cruisers until we 
came to a dock in the naval yards. Several more sailors leaped onto the deck 
as we moored. They grasped me by the arms and pushed me forward against the 
coach house as soon as I killed then engines. Hands roughly searched me. there 
was a painful, tearing grasp of my genitals as the search finished and then 
I was dragged away, bodily lifted up and off the boat. As I turned around I 
saw that a guard was being mounted on Apollo. Three men, armed with 
threatening automatic pistols took up positions on the dock. Again, I was 
pushed forward, driven with abrupt shoves towards a waiting vehicle. It was an 
anonymous Russian car that resembled something from the 1960's.

I was shoved forward, falling clumsily into the rear seat. One of the 
sailors placed my camera bag on the seat next to me. And then I sat in silence 
waiting for something to happen. I did not have long to wait. After about five 
minutes, perhaps less, the commander who had taken it upon his shoulders to 
arrest me and impound my boat, got in the car. He took his seat in front, next 
to a driver who was barely in his teens. He said nothing to me in response 
to my question about where there were taking me. Silence. There was no 
explanation as the car exited from the naval yard into the busy streets of 
Benghazi. 

From Benghazi we travelled north-east towards Al Bayda, following the 
coast road through Daryanah. Of thin asphalt, with edges that were torn and 
rippled with bumps, the road was barely wide enough for one vehicle though 
it often accommodated two vehicles abreast. After some forty miles that took a 
little over an hour, we came to a town called Tocra. From there the main 
road left the coast and headed inland to Al Marj, but the car continued on 
following the coast. The paved road was gone. Now we followed a narrow, 
unpaved road into a hilly region. The ruggedness of the coastline was awe-
inspiring. A two-thousand-foot plateau descended quickly into the sea with 
deep gorges and cliffs that were barely visible in the moonlight. Only the 
reflection of the moon on the now-calm sea gave any indication that we were 
not travelling through mountains in the inland region of Libya.

After a few miles the car slowed and turned onto a side road. A minute 
later we passed through a guarded gate. We had arrived at our destination. 
From the appearance of the building that loomed out of the darkness, it was 
a prison. It was an old building, perhaps several hundred years old, but it 
was in good condition. That it had once been a fortress was obvious even to an 
untrained eye. The behemoth was constructed of huge carved stones, complete 
with revetments canted outwards at the base and battlements of a Moorish 
influence on the high walls. It was both frightening to behold and imposing. 

The vehicle slowed at the gateway, once a portcullis, barely squeezing 
through and into the courtyard beyond. It stopped before a single flight of 
stairs. The commander alighted and summoned a guard over to the vehicle. My 
door opened and I stepped out into a cool night, into a place that I 
expected to be my prison for the next few years at least, and then only with 
the intervention of the U.S. Consulate. It was difficult to imagine the 
ambassador rushing to the defense of a child pornographer.

I looked around silently. The cool air chilled me and I shivered 
suddenly. I thought of Jason, somewhere alone in the night, without me. I 
wondered whether he missed me as much as I missed him. The commander's teeth 
flashed as he grinned at me, his eyes narrowing as he regarded me. But his 
expression was different to what it had been on the boat, nearly seven hours 
earlier. To me, tired as I was, it seemed almost respectful. I was confused, 
too exhausted to think clearly, I stumbled after him, up the steps and into 
a grand hall, or at least, what had once been a grand hall but was now empty 
except for the largest persian carpet I had ever seen.

By this time I was not interested in what the Libyans had in store for 
me; all I wanted to do was sleep. But I was not to sleep, at least not yet. My 
head throbbed with the start of a headache, as much from the lack of food as 
the stress I was feeling. I closed my eyes and tried to block out my fears 
as I stood there waiting long, silent minutes with only the driver of the 
car as my company. The commander had disappeared somewhere in the ancient 
castle. In my exhausted state, it seemed like something out of the Arabian 
Nights. I wanted to sit down. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to be with Jason, 
both of us safe and sound aboard Apollo. I tried to focus my thoughts on 
preparing myself for what was to come but they drifted back to Jason every 
time. And every time I formed a mental picture he was naked and in my arms and 
wanting to do it again. Had Jason been that wanton, I wondered? He was 
certainly insatiable at times. Finally, when I opened my eyes it was because 
of the sounds of people approaching. The commander, an older man, and two boys 
walked across the stone flagstones. They talked in Arabic until they reached 
me and then stopped. At first glance I thought that the older man was a 
colonel, but I quickly realized my mistake. He was a general, and if the 
number of stars on his jacket had any meaning in Libya, he was very important. 
He stood close to me, less than three feet, and glared at me with a look of 
interest that bordered on contempt.

Behind him, the two boys lingered. They were dressed in ubiquitous and 
formless robes that came to the floor, so different to the revealing string 
bikini that Jason had worn most of the time aboard Apollo. But even under 
the brightly colored cotton, I could easily visualize their lean athletic 
bodies, taut and trim from living so close to the desert. One boy, the eldest, 
was perhaps fifteen years old. Surprisingly, he stood unnaturally close to the 
commander. I wondered what their relationship was, an uncle perhaps, an 
older brother? But there was no similarity between them beyond the dark skin 
that they shared. The man, my captor and tormentor, adopted a possessive and 
protective pose towards the boy.

The other boy was several years younger and to my jaded eyes, definitely 
much better looking than his brother. Only a few weeks ago, I would have found 
him unattractive and uninteresting. Now, even with Jason as a basis for 
comparison, I thought he was handsome. His hair was dark, almost black, with a 
playful wave that dipped over his forehead. If you liked boys with the 
Mediterranean look, then this boy was very attractive. The general spoke 
excellent English and it took me by surprise.

"Mister Anderson, I welcome you to my house. It is a pleasure to meet 
you."

"Uh? Yeah, sure thing," I mumbled awkwardly.

It was only with the greatest difficulty that I managed to drag my 
eyes away from the young boy who I took to be his son. He had been looking 
at me as well with a kind of suppressed interest that made me wonder what 
was going on. His head crooked to the side slightly and he smiled slightly 
as if acknowledging my attentive gaze.

My unspoken question was quickly answered. The general held out a dog-
earred magazine. For a few seconds I looked at the cover and dimly tried to 
remember enough German to translate the title. And then I gasped aloud for the 
picture was far more meaningful than the title could ever be for me. The 
picture was of a man and boy on a sailing boat. It was not an unfamiliar 
picture although I had never seen it before. The boy wasn't completely naked 
but he might as well have been. He was thin and pale, his creamy white skin 
glowing in the sunshine as the water sparkled in the background. His tee shirt 
was pulled up under his shoulders and the man was fondling his genitals. Jason 
was grinning like the proverbial cheshire cat though my face was obscured as I 
faced towards him.

The picture had been taken on Mykonos, when we were moored off Super 
Paradise Beach, that much I was certain of. The lack of depth in the picture 
told me that a telephoto lens had been used. In the distance I could just make 
out another boat and from the position it was fair to assume that the 
photographer had been hidden in the sand dunes somewhere on the beach. I could 
remember distinctly the events of that morning. The picture had been taken 
on the morning following what I treasured as the most wonderful night of my 
life.

The general grinned. "He's a pretty boy, Mister Anderson. There is not 
much resemblance but he's your son, isn't he?" I nodded nervously. "Perhaps 
you should get these other pictures published as well. Your photography is 
excellent. If it wasn't for the subject matter, these pictures could be in 
an art gallery."

I nodded again. My confidence was beginning to return slowly. I stared 
at the magazine cover contemptuously. From the angle and the low resolution, 
the picture had to be taken from the beach and with a low quality telephoto 
lens. Suddenly, I was very glad that nothing else had happened that morning 
beyond a little harmless penis play. I wondered what the pictures were doing 
in a German magazine. I did not need to look inside to know that it was a 
collection of pictures of boys in sexual poses with grown men. Still, I 
flicked through it absently. Like the cover, most of the pictures were fuzzy 
and poorly composed and some were vulgar in their lewd display of juvenile sex 
organs and exaggerated poses. None of the boys had Jason's looks or perfect 
body, though many of them were blond and all, like my son, were sexually 
immature.

"So?" I said quietly.

From the corner of my eye I watched the older boy move closer to the 
commander until the man's arm slipped around his shoulder and hugged him 
closer. 

"Here, in this country, such things could get you into a lot of 
trouble." 

The general spoke softly as he randomly shuffled through the sheaf of 
pictures and held up one picture of Jason. My son was spread-eagled over the 
rounded hump of a rock like a sacrifice to the sun god, his brown body 
glistening with oil. The sun danced over his bronzed bare skin, reaching 
into the innermost recesses of his crack. I remember clearly when the 
picture had been taken at our favorite place in the Gulf of Eurobea. I had 
pulled back from him only a moment earlier and eased him down so that he 
lay, exhausted over the rock. His anus was still wide open and the red-crimson 
of his well-stretched rectum was clearly visible to the camera. Even though 
most of my semen was still deep inside his belly, his scrotum was slick with 
my milky juice. His lithe dark body sparkled with beads of sweat.

Casually, the general turned the picture towards the commander and his 
eldest son. They both smirked. They had obviously seen it before.

"He has a big hole," the older boy commented with a crude smirk. "For 
a little boy."

The commander chuckled. "I expect his father has a big cock, Abu."

The general smiled again. "Or this one, Mister Anderson. This is a crime 
against Allah," he continued. "Though it is one of the sexiest pictures of a 
boy that I have ever seen." 

He held up the next photograph. I breathed out slowly. It was one of 
my favorites as well. It had been taken in the bright sunshine in the 
cockpit as we sailed along the coast off the Island of Petalioi. For a dare, 
Jason had squatted above the starboard winch and with very little 
difficulty, he had inserted the black plastic-sheathed end of a winch handle 
into his anus. Nearly two inches in diameter and more than five inches long, 
the thick ebony handle had slowly disappeared inside him. I had photographed 
him from the floor of the cockpit, looking up at him to see his anus stretched 
so tight that it became a thin pale line. Jason took almost his entire 
weight as he sat, legs wide apart, impaled on a mechanical cock for the 
first time. He grinned triumphantly, having won his dare. The glistening black 
of the carbon-fiber handle and the shining chrome of the huge winch added a 
vibrant touch to an already visually stunning image. With only a little 
imagination, it looked as though my ten-year-old son was being fucked by a 
negro. The man smiled with visible enjoyment at my predicament.

"There are even some courts in Libya where the judge would order you 
to be castrated for possessing these pictures. And then they would 
disembowel you."

The commander grinned at me with a sly and perverse excitement. His 
arm tightened on the boy beside him and drew him closer. Now the boy stood 
in front of the commander and he began to move his hips with a slow rocking 
motion. He stared at me and then with a teasing smile, glanced at his 
father. I swallowed and breathed deeply. Such punishments might well occur 
in a country that believed in matching crime and punishment by cutting off the 
hand of a thief.

"What do you want?" I demanded angrily. "Get to the point."

The general's smile widened. "In my country it always pays to 
negotiate before you strike a bargain. What do I want, Mister Anderson? 
Can't you guess? Such a beautiful boy must be seen in the flesh, so to 
speak, to be appreciated. Where is he now?"

"Jason? God only knows! With his mother in Italy somewhere."

"He can come to you if you sent for him?" the general asked.

"No! You must be joking. His mother and I are divorced. She would 
never let him come back to me, even for a moment," I said cautiously as I 
realized that was his motive. He wanted Jason.

"It is unfortunate. I would prefer that the boy be here with you," he 
said firmly.

"What do you want?" I repeated. "What do you want Jason here for?"

"What? No negotiation!" The general started to laugh. "You think I 
want to fuck him? No, nothing like that. Fortunately for you, my taste in boys 
does not run to infidels, however pretty they may be."

"What do you want?" I asked again. I was increasingly frustrated. I 
yawned sleepily.

"It's really very simple. I want you to take pictures of my sons. I want 
to remember them as they are now, before they grow into men. I want you to 
take photographs like these," he added as he lifted up one of the first 
pictures I had taken of Jason. "Perhaps some others,... if the boys are 
interested, which I am certain they will be."

"Why? Don't you have your own camera?" I asked playfully.

"There is a need to be very discreet in my country about things like 
this. Everyone knows that men and boys can be lovers but the mullahs have made 
it a crime against Allah."

"So?" I prompted.

"It is not a matter of a few photographs. They must be developed and 
printed and there must be no evidence. I cannot afford to have even a single 
picture leave here. Besides, you are an excellent photographer. You have an 
eye for capturing the natural boy as well as, shall we say, certain acts 
that he might engage in."

"You want me to photograph your sons naked, and in positions like 
these?" I suggested as I gestured towards the photographs. There was no 
correction and I took my assumption to be correct. "And give you all the 
negatives and prints."

The general nodded. "That's all. Do this to my satisfaction and you will 
leave in your ship as soon as you are finished."

I breathed out in relief. He nodded again. I wondered what the catch 
was. "Okay, general. But I'll need my equipment, of course."

"It had been brought here with you." He grinned as he pointed to the 
commander. "In fact, Mamur and Abu have already purchased the necessary 
supplies."

I studied the general silently. There had to be more to it than this. 
"Why me? It really isn't that hard to make the prints and anyone can take 
photographs." 

The general turned slightly and looked towards his youngest son. "Not 
like you, Mister Anderson. In this, you are unsurpassed."

"What else do you want?" I demanded angrily

What else? These pictures for one thing. They are my security for your 
silence. If anyone finds out, these pictures will be sent to a magazine that 
is, shall we say, very interested in boys like your son. Perhaps we will 
make some copies for your wife. Maybe I send some to your embassy. Do I make 
myself clear?"

"Very clear. And if I agree, I go free,... with my boat?"

"Yes. But, there isn't much time. There are only a few weeks left."

"And why the rush?"

"In a few weeks, my son, Tazo, will leave us. He will be gone for 
several years. We will miss him but Tazo has been selected from among many 
boys and it would be very bad for him not to go to Tripoli. Before him, Abu 
was the favorite. Now my Tazo must take his turn."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," I said dully. "Selected for what?"

The man smiled and dropped his hand deprecatingly. "This is not a 
democracy. We are ruled by one person and his will is supreme. Tazo will spend 
three years in another place. There, his body will not be his own. When he 
come back to us, he will no longer be a little boy."

"Oh!" I murmured as the truth dawned in my slow-witted brain. "Oh, I 
see. And you want me to photograph him before he leaves? That's all? It's 
really that simple?"

"Yes! When I see him again, my son will be a young man like Abu. I 
will miss him greatly."





I slept late the next morning. When I awoke the sun had already 
climbed high in the sky. I stretched out lazily, feeling the pleasant coolness 
of soft linen sheets on my body. I could not remember undressing the night 
before but I was naked now. My morning erection quaked and I brushed my 
fingers across it. For almost every morning for the last month, Jason had 
played with my stiff penis. I could feel the soft warm of his fingers as he 
stroked the swollen flesh.

On some mornings he took great delight in teasing it. He tormented my 
penis until it was painfully hard, until I wanted nothing more than to 
insert it into his slender, naked body and satisfy my desire for him. When 
he tired of his game, he asserted his sexuality with aggressive demands. 
They were demands that I was always eager to satisfy. On a morning like this 
he was usually the first to initiate intercourse, though my dominant role in 
copulation quickly came to the forefront as I penetrated his little anus and 
sank into his hot flesh. I missed him so badly that it hurt.

Unwilling to masturbate and knowing that I needed to satisfy the 
pressing urge to urinate, I finally struggled out of the big bed. I was not 
prepared for the view. I walked to the window in a trance. Beyond the balcony, 
the Mediterranean sparkled. I peered over the yellow stone balcony. A thousand 
feet, perhaps more, of sheer cliff before the waves broke on huge boulders. 
Sea gulls wheeled, screeching their calls on the gentle breeze as it rose up 
from the sea. I breathed the air deeply and sucked in freshness and the tang 
of salty air. 

After several minutes I turned back into the room. The room was 
simple, but very beautiful in its simplicity. A plain wooden bed, a single 
chair of elaborately carved mahogany, large orange tiles on the floor, 
whitewashed walls and vaulted ceiling. I padded across the floor in my bare 
feet. The toilet, if that is what the basin and bowl could be termed, was 
behind a simple curtain. I urinated, rinsed my face, and used the toothbrush 
to great satisfaction. I turned back into the bedroom. There was no sign of my 
clothes but there was a robe draped over the end of the bed. I picked it up, 
wondering how one got into it. With some difficulty I placed it over my 
head, slid it down my body, and inserted my arms though the loose sleeves. 
It seemed about the right size.

The door to my room was not locked and I went out into the hall. There 
was a smell of fresh wax and the floor shone with a dull lustre. No one was 
around and I walked quietly along the corridor. It turned once as it 
enclosed the courtyard and finally ended in wide stair. I went down, following 
my nose to the smell of breakfast. They were waiting for me outside on the 
wide terrace. Potted orange trees lined the far side and the fragrant smell of 
blossoms drifted across to me.

The general turned and smiled. No longer dressed in his uniform but in a 
robe not unlike mine, he looked far less threatening.

"Good morning Mister Anderson. My son, Tazo, said you were sleeping 
soundly so he did not wake you. You slept well, I hope?"

I returned his welcoming smile. "Very well indeed. Good morning."

Tazo grinned cheekily and glanced sideways at his brother. Immediately I 
wondered what the boy had seen or done while he was in my room. Had I been 
erect? I suspected that I had been, particularly if I was dreaming about 
Jason.

"I hope I wasn't snoring, Tazo," I said as I wondered how much English 
he knew.

I watched as he glanced back at me. If he blushed it was barely 
perceptible under his dark skin. His hands moved apart slowly. Six, seven, 
almost eight inches before he stopped and dropped his hands to his sides. He 
smiled at me and raised his eyebrows with a deliberate invitation. His 
simple gesture answered my question. I wondered whether his curiosity had been 
strong enough for him to touch me.

"You have a beautiful house," I said with admiration. I glanced at the 
two boys as they lingered beside the table. "And two beautiful boys as 
well," I added.

The general nodded as he stepped forward, carrying his breakfast plate 
in one hand. His other hand moved to my forearm and he guided me over to the 
table.

"I'm sure you and my boys want to become acquainted, but first, you must 
eat. It was rude of me not to offer you food last night. I had thought that 
you had eaten on the way here, and when I found out otherwise, you were 
already asleep."

I grinned. "It had been a long day. I was pretty tired last night."

"I'm sure. Mamur tells me that you sailed right through the storm. It 
was very bad, even here. Several boats were sunk and I hear that a ship is 
aground off the coast of Crete."

I picked up a plate and surveyed the food on the table. I have never 
been interested in Arab food but this morning was different. I picked up 
several of the small honey-drenched cakes and several slices of melon. That 
would do for starters. The coffee was dark and thick, almost like syrup, but 
it was good. I needed the caffeine to get started, to relieve the tension in 
my limbs.

"There are some excellent places for photography," the general began.

I nodded between bites, licking the honey from the fingers of my right 
hand. I glanced at the two boys. They were in deep conversation, 
occasionally peeking in my direction when they thought that I was not looking. 
They were very attractive boys in a ruggedly handsome way.

"Your robe is the right size?" the general asked. I looked back at him 
quickly, wondering whether he had observed my long and very interested study 
of his sons.

"Tazo thought it would be the right size. It is one of mine."

"Yes, thank you, it fits perfectly. Tazo is very observant," I added 
with a quick look towards the younger boy. He caught my eyes and held them for 
an instant. Something flashed like electricity between us.

"My sons will take you down to the beach after breakfast. It is very 
private down there. You will not be disturbed."

I was startled by his openness. It sounded an awful lot like he expected 
me to take some photographs that were as obscene as those I had taken of 
Jason. I wondered if I was up to the task. Taking that kind of picture was a 
lot easier when the model was someone who I loved dearly and who had been very 
intimate with me, like my son Jason.



After a leisurely breakfast I collected my cameras and several lenses 
and followed the two boys along the terrace and down to the surrounding castle 
wall. I wondered why Abu was carrying a flashlight until we entered a narrow 
hall that led back under the castle. It had been the antechamber to the 
dungeon at one time in the distant past. After a few minutes of carefully 
picking our way between enormous stone piers, the hall narrowed and began to 
descend rapidly. No longer made of squared stones, the faces of the passage 
had been carved from the rock itself. When the steep stairs ended we had 
came to an old metal covered door. Possibly as old as the castle itself, the 
door was constructed of sheets of dull green bronze, riveted together with 
square metal pegs. It was locked.

Abu grinned and pulled at his neck. A handmade key, about four inches 
long was attached to a leather cord. He worked it carefully into the ancient 
lock and turned easily and noiselessly. The door opened silently on well-
greased hinges. Though not a student of architecture, I knew that this was the 
postern gate, the escape of last resort when a castle was attacked. Now, it 
appeared to protect the privacy of men with unnatural and prurient interests 
in young boys.

We started downwards on steps that emerged from the rock face well below 
the castle wall. For the first time I really appreciated the dramatic setting. 
The castle was perched above a craggy mountain, like a stone pinnacle reaching 
for the sky. The steps were narrow and as they descended, they wound back 
and forth, sometimes going straight down a nearly vertical rock wall, at other 
times zigzagging in a sloping path. As we neared the bottom, huge boulders 
loomed before us, like giant marbles that were twenty to thirty feet across. 
The path narrowed as it passed between two boulders and then levelled out on a 
small beach.

Protected from the ocean, the beach was quiet and peaceful, and very 
private. It was an ideal location for taking photographs of two very sexy 
boys. I found a shaded place under one rock, kicked off my sandals, and spread 
out a towel. My camera bag contained two cameras, one with black and white 
film, the other loaded with high resolution color film. I decided to take 
advantage of the strong shadows and start with black and white photographs. It 
was harder to get a good picture but when the light conditions were supportive 
and everything worked, the results were superb.

I ambled along the beach feeling the soft warm sand between my toes. Abu 
followed closely. His younger brother lingered behind as if reluctantly 
confronting the inevitable moment of having to undress before a complete 
stranger. Tazo stood back shyly as I stopped and pointed the camera at Abu. 
The older boy grinned and lifted up his arms. He drew his brightly colored 
robe upwards until his head and shoulders were covered by the cloth. I focused 
swiftly, set the exposure, and just before he pulled the robe away, I released 
the shutter. The sound was loud and Abu smirked as soon as he saw me.

I was immediately impressed by his lean, athletic body. Abu was a very 
handsome youth. He was rapidly approaching manhood but the smoothness and 
slenderness of late childhood remained with him. He wore no underpants and his 
teenage penis was well on the way to achieving a healthy erection. Now that he 
was stark naked, I endeavored to lessen his inhibitions further by not 
confronting him directly. For more than a minute I continued to study him 
through the view-finder. Like all Arabs that I had seen, the youth was 
circumcised and there was a ring of curly, dark hair at the base. Though not 
much longer than five inches, his penis was thick and almost man-like in 
appearance. But even when it was fully aroused, Abu's penis would not be a 
threatening instrument for several years to come, if then.

His testicles were surprisingly large for a boy who was barely 
fifteen. Abu's testicles were about the same size as Calamata olives, the big, 
purple-black olives that are both very juicy and unusually tasty. Calamata 
olives were my favorite delicacy from Greece. I could not take my eyes away 
from the swollen eggs as they swayed in the loose folds of his well-
stretched scrotum. I could sense the seed that lay within them, almost tasting 
the richness of his thick, white fluid. It went without saying that Abu's 
ejaculation would be plentiful.

But I was startled by my attraction to the naked youth. Over the 
period of a month I had become accustomed to Jason's immaturity and I had 
learned to appreciate the potential of his diminutive penis and tiny 
scrotum. I had found immeasurable delight as I suckled on his penis and I 
could imagine no greater pleasure. I was not prepared for the sight of a 
teenage boy displaying his maturing sex organs to me. His sturdy legs parted 
further as if inviting my continued inspection of his body. While Abu was 
not especially attractive to me, I was still very aroused. I felt my penis 
begin to harden as I focused on his genitals and pressed the shutter button.

Now that he was shamelessly naked, I took my time. I guided him back 
against one boulder and contrasted the smoothness of his almost hairless 
body with the rough texture of weathered stone. It was a picture with an 
implicit sexual theme because of his rigid penis and yet it was very 
evocative. Abu could be a boy from any culture at any time. He looked 
natural and very alive as he grinned sensuously. Then, taking his clues from 
my words of encouragement, he began to model.

That Abu was quite uninhibited was advantageous, though the pictures 
would have been remarkable even if he had been as reluctant as his younger 
brother. He moved gracefully, all but oblivious to his splendid erection as he 
cavorted on the beach. After a few minutes, his stiffness faded and without 
the visible evidence of sexual arousal, his attention increased. He obeyed 
my instructions precisely. One pose followed another, sometimes playful, 
sometimes serious. Like Jason on his first photo session, there was always a 
barely suppressed sexuality that threatened to burst free if I proposed a pose 
that was inappropriate.

I was constantly aware of Tazo's presence. He reclined against a 
sloped rock, watching us with apparent disinterest. However his eyes never 
left up for a second. He was very interested. I wondered what the problem was. 
After his casual indication that he had observed my erection earlier in the 
morning I had expected that he was well versed in such things. And with his 
father's openness about sexuality, despite the fact that pederasty was 
prohibited in Libya, I anticipated that the boy was experienced. Perhaps he 
was shy or impeded by his youth, or perhaps his reluctance could be ascribed 
to his immaturity. But maybe Tazo did not have experience with sex. That 
thought was particularly exciting to me even though I loved Jason greatly. 

In thirty minutes I took two rolls of thirty-six exposures and enjoyed 
every one of them. They were very good photographs that accentuated the 
freedom of a naked boy on his way to manhood. Under the robe, I sweated 
profusely. The heat increased steadily as the sun rose higher in the 
cerulean sky. Even Abu perspired. It was impossible not to notice the silver 
droplets of sweat as they spread across his chest. With shock, I realized 
how much the glistening sheen on his torso increased the latent sexuality of 
the photographs. Finally, I stepped into the shade and breathed out with 
relief. I was physically tired from the effort of photographing a naked boy.

"What's wrong with Tazo?" I asked as I mopped my brow.

Abu slumped back against the rock and grinned. "Don't you know?"

I shook my head and glanced back at the younger boy. His eyes locked 
on mine briefly as if he knew the question that I had asked his brother. His 
brown hand flicked at a fly that buzzed too close.

Abu smirked. "Tazo hasn't been with a man,... yet."

"Oh!" I chuckled. "You mean your little brother is still a virgin."

Abu's grin widened. "I thought you knew," he replied nonchalantly.

I shook my head again. There was a slight breeze drifting among the 
rocks. It was barely enough to take away the settling heat. It was nearly 
noon. I gave Tazo another quick look. Our eyes met once more and I thought 
he smiled slightly. There was a surreal quality in the haze and heat, as if 
a latent attraction between us was submerged but threatening to surface. I 
shuddered and tried to think of my own beautiful son.

"But, Abu,... your father,..." I began hesitantly.

The boy shrugged. He turned to me and I saw a serious look on his face 
as his brow creased. "In Libya, for a man to do it with a boy is very bad." He 
paused uncomfortably. "But for a father and his son,..."

"Yes?" I prompted.

"They would both be punished."

Abu turned away again. He stared out towards the bay, deep in his 
thoughts. I sighed and half-closed my eyes to block out the glare. My own 
thoughts wandered. I loved my son and he loved me. We loved each other. My son 
was my lover. What we did together was beautiful and our love, while 
proscribed by modern society, made us both incredibly happy. Why did there 
need to be punishment for something so wonderful?

"How?" I asked guiltily.

Abu shrugged. "A man in a village not far from here did it with his 
son.... They were both punished.... They were gelded,... like horses,... 
only his cock was cut off as well. All of the boys in the village had to 
watch."

I gasped loudly. "I thought your father,...?"

Abu shook his head vigorously. "Never! Never would he do such a thing to 
Tazo or me. This is why we must be so careful. I sleep with Mamur when he is 
here but no one knows. Even when Tazo leaves us, we will say that he has 
gone away to a special school."

"Where is Tazo going?" I asked curiously.

Abu regarded me uncertainly as he considered his reply. "He will live 
with a very important man until he is my age. I went there too when I was a 
boy."

"And now you have Mamur," I said quietly. "You're very lucky. He's a 
handsome man."

"He's good in bed," Abu grinned. "His cock isn't as big as yours but 
he puts it in a lot."

I laughed. "I'm sure he does. You must love him a lot."

"Yes! I love him a lot. When I was Tazo's age I wasn't sure that I could 
really love a man."

I opened the back of the camera, removed the film canister, and replaced 
it with another roll. "Did you like it when you went away?"

"Not much! I hurt a lot inside at first. Even when I was older it wasn't 
very nice. I didn't like him very much. Sometimes he would bring other men 
to share me."

"That's wrong. Even if you don't love him, you should want him to do it. 
You know Abu, it doesn't have to hurt," I said quietly.

"I know that now. Mamur is wonderful when he does it. Anyway, I'll 
soon be big enough to do it to him."

"Yes, I guess you will be," I observed as I glanced down at his groin. 
He was big enough to do it now and have lots of fun. "I'm surprised you 
haven't done it with Tazo."

The boy smirked. "I know boys who do it a lot together. It's different 
with a boy, I think. Most boys aren't big enough to really do it properly. 
Tazo wants to, but Mamur and Papa say it's best if I don't."

"But your father," I questioned cautiously, "Doesn't he like boys?"

"Of course he likes boys, just like you do," Abu giggled. "It's not that 
unusual. A lot of men like to have sex with boys."

"Your father has sex with other boys then?" I persisted.

Abu nodded. "His boys usually come from the mountains south of here. 
It's very poor there. Mostly they are younger than Tazo or even your son. They 
are still little boys."

I swallowed and took a deep breath. In only a few seconds my penis had 
become impossibly stiff again. The events of the last few days since Jason had 
gone back to his mother seemed incredible. Abu smiled slyly and his voice 
became quieter as he leaned towards me conspiratorially.

"My father says little boys are better. They really like to fuck once 
they are used to a big penis. Papa says they are much tighter so it feels much 
better for him than with an older boy."

I nodded awkwardly. Judging by my experiences with Jason, Abu's father 
was right on the money even though I had no basis for comparison beyond a ten-
year-old boy. And Jason was tight, not as tight as he had been at first, but 
still firmly gripping my penis even when his sphincter was thoroughly relaxed.

"He brings the boys to the castle?" I wondered aloud. Abu nodded. 
"Does your father have a boy now?" I asked.

Abu shook his head. "Today he's going to Al Jabal al Akhdar,... the 
mountains. He will find a Berber boy at Marawah probably. The boys are cheaper 
there because of the sheep disease."

"He buys them?" I asked in surprise.

"Everything has a price," Abu said solemnly. "Even a boy. And the 
shepherds need money badly. They can't sell their sheep, but they can sell 
their children."

My curiosity was piqued. "How much?"

"Mostly it depends on the age of the boy. The ones my father likes are 
cheap because they are too young to work. They cost maybe twenty or thirty 
dinars, sometimes less,... about what a goat costs when there is no drought. 
My father sends them back to their families after a year or two."

I was stunned. I wondered what a dinar was worth in dollars. It could 
not be very much, less than a hundred dollars. But my surprise was due to more 
than simple economics. Abu talked so matter-of-factly, as if he had 
accompanied his father on a boy-buying excursion, but what really shocked me 
was that a man could be attracted to a boy who was even younger than Jason. 
What Abu had said was unbelievable. What could a boy of eight or nine do for a 
grown man? A boy of that age would be far too small to engage in 
intercourse, wouldn't he? I shuddered as I imagined Jason trying to 
accommodate my penis when he was eight. It was difficult enough for him now, 
but two years earlier he could be terribly damaged. It was time to change 
the topic.

"What about Tazo?" I asked. I wasn't sure about what I wanted to know 
about Tazo but it opened the way to what had perplexed me from the night 
before.

Abu leaned closer and whispered in my ear. "Papa doesn't want him to 
be a virgin when he leaves here."

He laughed as he jerked away. With six or seven running steps he reached 
the ocean and plunged into the brilliant water. He disappeared and then 
moments later emerged, shaking his dark head and tossing water into the air. 
He twisted around and beckoned to me. I walked down to the water's edge and 
watched him only several yards away. The beach sloped quickly and he was 
barely able to stand.

"Come on in! The water is great!" Abu shouted. 

I laughed and gratefully slipped off my robe. Instantly the breeze 
flowed over my hot body and I began to feel relief. I stepped into the 
water. It was lukewarm at the edge but my next step was into cooler, deeper 
water. I sighed as I waded to Abu. Side by side we swam out into deeper 
water and then, after a few minutes of treading water, came back to the beach.

Tazo ambled up. Even though he had been sitting in the shade most of the 
morning he was still sweating. His thin dark face glistened with clear 
droplets and his hair was damp and tousled. He smiled shyly as if waiting 
for an invitation to join us and cool off his heated body.

Abu splashed water at him and the younger boy leaped away. He was 
remarkably agile in the cumbersome robe but he had grown up in that attire and 
was well used to it. Tazo giggled and stepped forward again. His dark sombre 
eyes flirted with mine. I watched him smile shyly and his brother made a quick 
gesture that I caught from the corner of my eye. His thumb and first finger 
had made a circle that opened up as his finger moved away. Finally only the 
tips touched and he held them there as he smiled lewdly at his younger 
brother.

Even with his dark complexion, Tazo blushed. The three of us, two boys 
and a grown man, knew the exact meaning of Abu's crude gesture. My own thought 
were in turmoil. Beyond my love for Jason and the memories of how we had 
shared our bodies, was a sudden fear that was anything but irrational. What 
was the punishment if I sodomized the twelve-year-old son of a Libyan general? 

Tazo started to smile. His amusement increased and his smile widened. He 
pivoted around in the sand. It was a peculiarly naive attempt to preserve 
his dignity. His thin bronzed arms lifted his robe up and within seconds it 
fell to the sand. He modestly kept his back towards us for a moment and I 
silently admired his firm bottom. Unlike Jason's gorgeous, little, rounded 
rump, Tazo's cheeks were pinched and more muscular. The man who took his 
virginity would have a magnificent prize indeed.

Unable to avoid the inevitable, the slender young boy slowly turned 
around. He was proportioned very differently to Jason. What a difference two 
years and the onset of puberty made to a boy's body. But Tazo was spectacular, 
despite the adverse effects of increasing levels of testosterone. His body was 
well-shaped with clearly defined muscles. His chest was solid, accentuated 
by squared shoulders and a waist that was already thickening, so much unlike 
Jason with his sloped shoulders and narrow, tapered waist. But it was the 
difference in the physical manifestation of his maleness, that was even more 
disturbing.

That puberty had started some months earlier was clearly evident. Tazo's 
penis was no longer than Jeff's but it was much thicker. Even limp, Tazo's 
penis had a distinctly wedge-shaped appearance that in later years would 
become even more pronounced as it widened at the base. Like his older brother, 
he would not be well endowed, but he would be more than thick enough to 
satisfy any man or boy, if he was so inclined. His testicles were not unlike 
his brother's either, only considerably smaller as they hung down below the 
slightly pointed end of his circumcised penis. I wondered if he was sexually 
mature. The size of his testicles left little doubt in my mind and what 
doubt remained was dispelled by the few fine strands of sparse pubic hair I 
observed. There was not very much and it was both straighter and much 
lighter in color than Abu's soft down, but it was more than sufficient to 
convince me.

So used to a prepubescent boy like Jason, Tazo's pubic hair was 
strangely depressing to me. Too soon he would become a man and his boyish body 
would vanish. Unknown to me at that moment, Tazo could continue to maintain an 
erection after ejaculation of his milky semen for a few months at least. But 
there on the beach as he confronted me for the first time, I could only 
think of Jason and his almost perpetual state of sexual arousal which did 
not diminish for more than a few seconds when he orgasmed. With regret, I 
thought that Tazo's wet orgasm would be like mine and his excitement would 
quickly fade once he had attained both release and relief. It was a very 
depressing thought.

As I looked up from his groin I met his eyes again. How long had I 
stared at his boy-genitals? He was smiling and very aware of my interest in 
his naked body. He stepped closer and his penis bounced and swayed between his 
slender legs. Much longer than Jason's, it seemed to brush the insides of 
his smooth dark thighs as it wobbled to and fro. He walked into the water, 
stopped, leaned forward, and arched his back as his hands came over his 
head. He dived into a small wave leaving little more than a ripple. He came to 
the surface only a few feet away from me and grinned cheekily.

"Hi!" he said ebulliently.

"Hi yourself, Tazo. It feels better in the water, doesn't it?"

"Much better. It's hotter today than usual."

I smiled at the delicious Arab boy. His face beamed as he grinned. He 
was unbelievably sexy. I knew then that it would take all of my concentrated 
willpower to have enough resistance to overcome temptation. I wanted to stay 
faithful to my son just as Jason would always be faithful to me. Our 
relationship was very important to me. I had established a degree of trust and 
respect with Jason that I had come to treasure. I had come to understand 
that it was more than love and sex that we shared on Apollo.

"Did you take good photos of my brother?" Tazo asked as he smirked at 
Abu.

I nodded. "Lots of them. I hoped you would join us."

"There's lots of time for that and it was more fun watching you.... 
Abu's cock was hard," Tazo added after a momentary pause.

I smiled and shrugged as if photographing a naked boy with a rigid penis 
was the most natural thing in the world for me and certainly nothing to be 
ashamed of.

"I thought you were going to suck Abu's cock," Tazo blurted out. He 
giggled loudly, unable to contain his amusement.

"Uh! Now why would I do that?" I teased. That put him on the spot.

Tazo glanced at his brother and did not answer for several seconds. 
"Because his cock tastes good?" he suggested innocently.

"Now how would you know that, Tazo?" I challenged. Abu laughed at his 
younger brother's discomfiture.

Tazo raised his brows sensuously. "I don't, but Mamur sucks Abu's cock 
all the time,... so it must taste very good."

"Is that all?"

"You're just jealous," Abu interjected swiftly.

"And Abu sucks on Mamur's cock," Tazo taunted.

"I do not! I don't do that!"

Abu reddened ever darker than his brother had. He turned away from me in 
shame, his affection for Mamur still a source of embarrassment to him. I 
expected that would change in time but who could tell with a Sunni Arab.

"He does so. Abu does it to Mamur's cock at night because I've seen 
him," Tazo added slyly.

I laughed at the boy's innocent crudity. "I'm sure that Mamur does 
more than that at night," I suggested playfully as I glanced to the side at 
Abu.

Abu was a little embarrassed but not enough to care. Like me, he was 
enjoying his brother's seduction. The younger boy examined me with a practiced 
eye. He was an intelligent boy and his casual inspection hid more than it 
revealed.

"Mamur puts his cock in Abu's backside... I don't think it tastes so 
good afterwards."

For an Arab, that comment was particularly vulgar. I pressed my 
advantage as Tazo hesitated. Even for a boy he had gone too far and he knew it 
immediately.

"If he washes first, it doesn't taste so bad," I laughed.

How many times had I undertaken that most intimate act with Jason? It 
had taken only a few days before we were so familiar with each other's 
bodies that it became a natural part of our love making. Once I had realized 
the ability of my tongue to excite his body, it was impossible for me to stop. 
We did it both before and after penetration, savoring the special 
differences in the taste and smell of him. Before my penis sank into Jason, he 
was tight and the smell was both earthy and musty and not unlike a basement. 
There was little taste to his body. After intercourse, his little anus was 
extremely loose and oozing juices from our union. Then the taste was strong 
with a sweet saltiness. The boy's musky odor was both rich and redolent and it 
always excited me to greater heights. How often had our that oral passion 
led to repeat performances, sometimes until we were too tired to move?

Both Tazo and Abu looked at each other and then back at me. I could 
see that they were more than a bit disgusted, but such is the power of two 
millennia of cultural taboo.

"You've done THAT with your son?" Abu said with growing shock as he 
realized that my comment was not in jest.

"Of course, Abu. It's special. It's the most wonderful way there is of 
showing him how much I love him. Hasn't Mamur done it to you?"

"It's dirty," Abu replied with forceful rejection of the practice.

I shrugged and slowly waded onto the sand, leaving the two boys standing 
together. I had planted the seed of doubt. I wondered whether it would 
blossom.

They followed me with some trepidation. I sensed that in the last few 
minutes their perceptions of me had changed dramatically and I suspected 
that my openness had been too much for them. With my shameless 
acknowledgment that I not only tasted but enjoyed Jason's excrement, I had 
become a disgusting monster and fouled by human waste. It did not matter to 
them that Jason's bottom was unsoiled by feces. I was curious to see what 
followed.

I went back to my cameras and picked up the one with black-and-white 
film. Now it was time to photograph the boys together. They were both 
reluctant models as they struggled against their innermost fears. With shame 
at being seen before a barbarian, they were bashful and protective of their 
nudity. The affront to their dignity provoked strong resistance. Tazo and 
Abu moved hesitantly as I directed them across the beach to the big 
boulders. I contrasted the scale; the scale of boy against rock, of a larger 
and older boy against his younger brother.

With each successive exposure I knew that these photographs would be the 
best of the day. Less artificial with their posed smiles replaced by serious 
expressions, their dark, lean bodies were visibly petulant and passionless. 
And yet, their overt sexuality and looks of contempt combined into haunting 
images. These pictures were not kiddie porn but evocative expressions of the 
sublime beauty of human form. By the time I finally put the camera down that 
day, I had taken nearly two hundred photographs. The boys were silent as we 
climbed back up the hill. They had been disinterested when I suggested another 
swim to cool off. Instead they stood in the shade and sulked as I swam, 
dried off, and put on my robe.

Their father was waiting for us on the terrace and he was not alone. 
This time a ragged, brown-haired boy sat on a stool beside him. From his 
position it was evident that his role was already understood. He was more than 
a servant but much less important than a son. No more than eight or nine years 
old, the waif was thin and malnourished. His arms were skinny and his elbow 
joints were bony. It did not take much effort on my part to figure out that 
this was the newly arrived catamite from the mountains. Both Abu and Tazo were 
disinterested in their father's latest boy. Abu wandered off to find Mamur and 
Tazo slumped down in a wicker lounge and stared at me coldly.

The new arrival was an attractive child, though his beauty would fade 
quickly as he grew older. He was dressed in a brown coarse-cotton robe that 
flowed to the ground and all but covered the stool.

Introductions were perfunctory. The boy went by Majid al-Abd, but even 
the general referred to him as Maj. His expression was disconcerting. His dark 
eyes were large and sorrowful and they studied everything and everyone 
carefully, though never for very long and always without making eye contact. 
There was pain in his face. His jaws were clenched and he often looked down at 
the ground as if in shame. I felt very uncomfortable before him, as if I 
owed him his childhood.

Within a few minutes of arriving on the terrace I understood the 
reason for my guilt. Maj shifted uncomfortably on his stool. He trembled and 
tried to stand but the general's hand moved to his shoulder and pushed him 
back. The boy groaned loudly and his face contorted in pain. I glanced 
sideways at Tazo but he was unmoving. Something was very wrong. I stood up and 
took a single step towards the small boy. I could see the tears building in 
his eyes as he fought against an unseen agony.

"Sit down my little peg-boy," the general ordered. "It doesn't hurt that 
much,... yet."

I stared at the child as he cringed. His little brown hands were shaking 
with fear. The general smirked at me. It was a look that expected no response, 
merely my understanding.

"What's hurting him?" I asked cautiously.

"He did it earlier I think?" Tazo said softly. He had come to his feet 
and moved to stand behind me. "I'm sure Papa's fucked him already," he 
whispered. "But it always hurts them on the stool."

The general raised a single eyebrow at his son as if questioning his own 
virginity. The exchange between father and son, though silent, indicated 
that the results expected from the day on the beach had not eventuated.

"What about,... the stool?" I asked hesitantly.

The general smiled knowingly at Tazo. "It helps him, even though it 
hurts. It's good for a boy to sit for a while, even if he doesn't have a man."

Tazo darkened. While I was confused Tazo seemed to know exactly what his 
father was talking about. I watched the boy's fist clench tightly until his 
knuckles whitened.

"Perhaps this is what you need Tazo," the general continued. "I think 
some time on the stool would be good for you, but a much bigger peg of 
course,... a fifteen or twenty instead of a little ten-centimeter one like 
his."

"What about the stool?" I repeated awkwardly.

The general placed one hand under the boy's small shoulder and lifted 
him as if he weighed nothing. From under the child's robe came a loud wet 
'plop', a sound was not unlike a stone falling into the water. As the Maj's 
robe was raised higher, I saw the stool and I gasped loudly. He had been 
sitting on a thick wooden peg that protruded from the top of the stool. It was 
polished, black, and wet; no longer than four inches; no wider than an inch. 
Like a stake, it had been driven into the Maj's tiny anus. The general eased 
the boy down to the ground and he stood weakly, shaking with nervous energy as 
his body recoiled from its punishment.

"Why?" I said in disgust.

"Because he's still too tight," Tazo whispered. "It's the only way to 
make him bigger for Papa's cock."

I breathed out, unable to understand how Tazo and Abu could be so 
offended that I had defiled my body with my intimate love for Jason and yet 
their father could cause grievous pain to a child and torture a young body 
in order to prepare him to accommodate a man's penis. There was no logic or 
humanity to it.

"It doesn't hurt him that much," the general added as he grasped my 
consternation. "In a week or two Maj will be grateful. It will lengthen him as 
well as stretch him further. Taking all of a man's cock will be easy for him 
then."

"Yes,... I expect so," I said cynically.

"It doesn't hurt him all that much," Tazo said quietly. "Abu told me 
that he used one sometimes when he was in Tripoli. He said it helps if it's 
bigger inside because there's more room for the man."

The general laughed. "Your turn will come soon enough, Tazo. You ought 
to start now so you'll be able to take a man without crying. When he puts 
his cock in there you'll be ready."

Tazo breathed out and glanced sideways at me. I knew then that I was the 
man intended for Tazo's virginity. I had another role to fulfill beyond merely 
being the photographer. All things considered, it would not be an unpleasant 
job.

"Now that Abu's big enough for Mamur, he doesn't need the stool," the 
general added as he studied his youngest son. "But you will!"

Tazo shrugged and returned his father's gaze. He was a proud boy and his 
look verged on arrogance. "Maj needs a bigger peg."

 "Later on, perhaps tomorrow, I'll use a bigger peg. This stool will 
be his amusement before long and then he will beg for bigger pegs." He smiled, 
pleased with his slick use of a foreign language.

I nodded, knowing that I needed to be very careful if I ever intended to 
leave the castle and find my way to Jason. I swallowed my loathing.

"The stool is actually an American invention," the general offered. 
"This one is more than a hundred years old. It came from San Francisco. It's 
made of redwood. Not the pegs, of course, they're ebony because they need to 
be very smooth."

"I can understand why. No splinters!" I said.

The general laughed. "Yes! No splinters! That's very funny. In most 
ports peg-boys were very popular in the whorehouses. Sailors liked them 
because they could see what size a boy could take before they paid for him. 
You're a sailor Mister Anderson, maybe you should use one for your son. 
Perhaps I can have one specially made for you before you leave. I expect 
twenty centimeters should be about right."

"Well,... uh,... that would be nice, I guess. I better go,... uh,... 
develop the film," I muttered.

I left quickly, but not fast enough. I heard the child's high-pitched 
squeal as he was placed back on his stool. It was the same kind of noise 
that Jason made when I penetrated him too quickly or without warning. It was a 
sharp intake of breath that wasn't from pain as much as from the suddenness of 
yielding to a foreign presence inside him.

Tazo trotted along beside me, scuffing his bare feet under his robe. 
He looked up at me as I stopped outside the bathroom that had been 
designated as my darkroom. His eyes questioned mine and I knew what was on his 
mind.

"Do you really do that to him?" Tazo asked uncertainly.

"What?" I asked, pretending innocence.

"Use your tongue there?" Tazo persisted.

"What do you think, Taz?"

He gave me a curious look as if he wasn't at all sure about me and 
then he grinned shyly. I opened the door and stepped into the darkness of 
the room. The boy studied me for a moment as if he was trying to decide what 
he should do next. He hesitated and then he stepped forward, prepared to 
follow me. I barred the way. For now at least, I needed time to think. I 
needed time by myself. Was what I had just seen really so bad? Was the peg-
stool any worse than allowing, no encouraging, my own son to insert a winch 
handle into his bowel? Worse still, would Jason use the peg-stool if I brought 
one back with me? I suspected that he would be eager to try and I would be 
more than willing to allow him. Was it any different for an eight-year-old boy 
who wanted to please his master? 

Most of the photographs turned out even better than I expected. A few 
were rejects, but only by my standards. They could all have been published, 
though certainly not in most magazines. After an excellent dinner of Arabian 
delicacies, I showed the contact sheets to the general. He perused them 
quickly and then called Mumar and Abu over to his chair to assist in the 
selection of potential prints. I drifted off to explore the castle, 
entertaining myself while I searched for Tazo.

Tazo had vanished to some hidden place in the castle. Both Tazo and 
Maj did not appear at dinner. I could easily imagine why the little Berber boy 
did not feel much like eating, but I missed Tazo and his cheeky grin. For an 
Arab boy, he was both remarkably amusing and unusually pleasant. He was far 
less extroverted than his brother and I much preferred his company. I went 
up to the roof garden after dinner and gazed northward. The sun was setting 
and the ocean was rapidly darkening. I thought of Jason and wondered what he 
was doing at eight o'clock in the evening. Would he be by himself and thinking 
of me? As the next question came to me I swallowed sickly. Would my son be 
with the man who had taught him so much about sex? I shuddered at the 
thought of it.

Rome was a little more than seven hundred miles away to the north-
west. The villa in Frascati, his last known place of abode, was well within 
the reach of my SSB radio aboard Apollo. I wanted to talk with my Jay-boy, 
to reassure him and tell him not to worry, that I would be with him as soon as 
it was possible, that I loved him more than ever. But even as my thoughts 
focused on Jason they drifted back to Tazo. Again and again I caught myself 
comparing the two boys. They were so different. As I stood on the roof terrace 
and scanned the horizon, I realized what the differences between the two 
boys meant to me.

I loved Jason with every part of me. My son was slender, prepubescent, 
and delicate. With his perfect body, long silver-blond hair, and golden tan, 
he was the quintessential distillation of beauty. When I loved Jason, it was 
not a matter of copulation and satisfying human desires but an act of 
worship before a perfect boy-god. But above all, my love for Jason did not 
require a physical act, but each time we joined together it was as if our 
entire beings were united as one. By contrast, I lusted after Tazo. Although 
he was still a boy, Tazo was masculine, much taller, and considerably stronger 
than Jason. With the advantages of being two years older and capable of 
reproduction, or close to it, Tazo radiated an assertive and visible 
sexuality. The older boy had a strange effect on me; I was highly aroused by 
his dark complexion and exotic features. Like an Arabian stallion, he exuded 
enduring power and speed. That his passion would come with great fervor was 
for me, a forgone conclusion. It would also be immensely satisfying.

I sighed and closed my eyes. I felt guilty as I remembered my promises 
to Jason. They were staunch promises of faithfulness and fidelity as we 
exchanged vows of love and even now I was yielding to temptation. I wondered 
what had happened to me. Had Jason so affected me that any good-looking boy 
would raise my interest now? I shuddered as I realized what I wanted at that 
moment. I wanted to have sex with Tazo, if only to find out what it was like 
with a boy who was capable of achieving the same pleasure that he gave to 
me. I sighed again, silently promising Jason that I would always love him, 
no matter what.

I turned quickly as I heard footsteps approaching behind me. Tazo 
moved quietly, like a thief in the night. Without so much as a whisper, he 
came up to me, opening his arms as he stepped into my welcoming embrace. I 
could feel his lithe, muscular body through our robes as his warmth surged 
into me. I hugged him tightly and smelled the fragrance of myrrh in his 
freshly washed hair. He felt alive and young. My hands slid slowly down his 
back and grasped his firm buttocks. I pulled him even closer, seeking to merge 
his body into mine. His arms locked around my back and he strained as he 
burrowed his head into my chest. We were both trembling slightly as we parted. 
I wanted to kiss him but I dared not.

"I missed you at dinner, Taz," I said softly.

He looked upward and smiled shyly. "I didn't want to see you. After what 
my father said to you,.... You know what Papa wants, don't you?"

"I,... I'm not sure, Taz."

"Papa wants me to,... to fuck with you," Tazo whispered confidentially. 

"And uh,... what do you want?"

Tazo grinned cheekily as he shifted under his robe. "Can't you guess?"

I turned away from him and walked back to the edge of the terrace. The 
crenellations in wall were several feet wide and I leaned back into the 
protective enclosure. Tazo stepped closer. Even in the last of the daylight 
I could see his chest rising and falling with each strong breath that he took.

"I don't love you, Taz," I said quietly. "I love Jason. I don't know how 
to tell you this,... I can't! I can't do what you want! I love Jason too 
much!"

"He's a lucky boy," Tazo said softly.

He came even closer until he was beside me. Now he blocked my escape. 
I sighed. I wanted to take him in my arms and teach him just as I had taught 
Jason how to love and be loved in return. But it was more than that. I 
wanted to learn from him as we discovered the joys of our bodies. It would 
be different with Tazo. He was old enough and big enough to take me in the 
same way that I had him. I could feel my penis hardening quickly as I 
recognized the possibilities. What would it feel like? What did Jason feel 
when I was contained inside him?

"Will he be angry?" Tazo breathed out.

God, he knew my thoughts! I shook my head. Jason would not be angry. 
He would be a little cynical, a calm Stoic like he usually was, taking the 
best and worst in life as it came to him. But he would be jealous.

"Taz, please,... you have to understand,..."

Tazo lifted up his arms and within seconds his robe dropped 
noiselessly onto the dark tiles of the roof terrace. His body had a dull shine 
to it, barely illuminated by the fading light. In a minute or two the night 
would come. The twelve-year-old boy was naked and aroused. For me, it was an 
impossible combination. His penis stuck out like a little key waiting to be 
turned. Once turned, there would be no turning back. Pandora's box would be 
opened.

Tazo's penis was begging to be held, pulsing as it throbbed with growing 
excitement. His chest was heaving with the exertion of just breathing. My 
right hand clenched tightly as I tried to resist one last time.

"Do you really put your tongue there?" Tazo asked shyly.

"Yes! It's really not dirty or bad."

"I never said it was, remember. Abu said it's disgusting, not me."

"It's really a beautiful thing for a man to do to a boy, Taz."

"I suppose,... Will you do it to me?"

My hand broke away from my control and reached out of its own accord. 
Tazo was both harder and hotter than my son. He was also bigger, much 
bigger. I held his penis tightly, grasping the root of it between my thumb and 
first finger while my little finger rubbed over his dark, swollen glans. I 
felt the wetness on the end and my finger smeared over it, carrying the 
slippery bead like a thin coating of machine oil until it dried away. The head 
of his penis felt velvety smooth, very unlike Jason's uncircumcised penis 
and the delicate, moist membrane which normally lay protected under his 
foreskin. But the little knob on Tazo's penis seemed to be no less 
sensitive. He shivered noticeably as my finger brushed over his glans, flexing 
his shaft instinctively and demanding more.

"Now Taz? You want me to do it here?" I asked uncertainly.

Tazo nodded quickly. "No one will come up here. Not tonight, and 
certainly not while I'm here with you."

He smiled shyly as his penis jumped again and again. I breathed out as I 
slowly sank to my knees, still holding tightly onto his thick, stubby shaft. 
Guiltily, I realized that Jason would know only if I told him. Tazo's penis 
flexed again as I took my hand away. This time it was right in front of my 
face and there was no avoiding my overpowering desire. His scrotum was 
contracted into a full lump that formed a swollen ball at the base of his 
penis. It bulged outward like a ripe fruit ready to split open and spill its 
seeds. I gazed at his genitals in wonder. So unlike Jason, so much bigger 
and man-like that they were strangely threatening to me. His penis was 
stretched so tightly that the skin was shiny. Curiously, I took Tazo's penis 
in my hand and tested its stiffness with an even firmer squeeze. He gasped 
audibly as my fingers pulled up and down slowly. Again and again my hand 
experienced the strange sensations from his rigid flesh. This Arab boy's penis 
was so unlike Jason's because there was almost no give between the smooth skin 
and the blood-engorged tissue underneath. When Jason was absolutely rigid, his 
skin slid back and forth easily--one big advantage for the uncircumcised boy.

"You like that, Taz?" I asked softly.

His little grunt of pleasure was more than enough to tell me that I 
did not need to look up to know that he had nodded. I pulled the end of his 
stiff penis downward. Immediately it stiffened even more and made his plump 
scrotum bulge up to the sides to get out of the way. The increased pressure 
inside his organ produced another clear droplet at the tiny, burgundy-
colored slit. Unable to stop myself now, I leaned forward and touched it 
with my tongue. There was so little of it that I tasted nothing but I wanted 
more. Up close, Tazo smelled fresh and clean and very, very inviting. I licked 
the little knob-shaped glans again and he shivered as a tremble of delight 
passed through him.

"I sat on the peg-stool before I came up here," Tazo whispered.

I nodded and then leaned forward to take the hot rounded bulb between my 
lips. My teeth settled behind the slightly flared head and my tongue washed 
over the tip. After several wonderful seconds I pulled away.

"Yeah! Why?" I asked quietly as my fingers gently stroked his testicles.

"Why do you think? I don't want it to hurt."

"Did it hurt a lot?"

"Not that much. I want you to do to me what you do to him," the boy 
pleaded.

Unable to answer, my mouth settled back over Tazo's erect penis. I 
wanted to nod and it was only with the greatest difficulty that I restrained 
myself.

 Even though Tazo's penis was so much bigger than Jason's, it was 
starting to excite me. He responded just as my son did whenever I caressed his 
small penis with my tongue. His hips urged forward with boyish anxiety, 
eager to get inside the hot wetness of my mouth. I obliged, sucking his 
painfully stiff penis into me until his soft groin touched my nose. But unlike 
Jason, both of his testicles could not follow with ease. With Jason, I 
always took all of him in one gulp and used my tongue to massage his testicles 
as I sucked. Now, I opened my mouth as wide as I could but given my awkward 
position and the relative size of Tazo's genitals, it was impossible to 
enclose all of him without being uncomfortable. I sucked hard, knowing as with 
Jason, that my powerful suction would induce an even stiffer penis as blood 
flowed into the vacuum I created. My fingers began to squeeze his testicles 
and he grunted again happily as his hips began to buck.

I was perfectly content to go on sucking for all I was worth but Tazo 
had other ideas. Unlike his older brother, whose early sexual experiences 
had occurred in a restrictive environment and within the rigid constraints 
of tripoli, Tazo had grown up with few moral reservations. He was attuned to 
his body's needs and perfectly willing to experiment with me to discover how 
to satisfy them.

"Will you do,... THAT to me before I cum?" he demanded urgently.

Already Tazo's body had stiffened and become tensed. With surprise, I 
recognized the proximity of his orgasm. He had only been inside my mouth for a 
matter of seconds and he was frenzied, charged with the urgency of achieving 
release. His slender thighs thrust eagerly forward as he sought to drive his 
jackhammer penis through the roof of my mouth. For some 'obscure' reason his 
hands had moved to cover my ears so that I barely heard him. I pulled away 
from his saliva-soaked genitals.

"Huh?"

"Yeah!" Tazo gasped. "Do THAT first, please," he demanded again.

'THAT' could only mean one thing. I was eager to please and my hands 
shifted to the boy's bony hips to turn him around. As I did so my mouth pulled 
away from his throbbing penis. Close to orgasm and seeming more rigid than 
Jason had ever been, it slapped wetly up against his lower belly. In the 
silence of the darkness that surrounded us, the noise was deafening. 
Startled I looked around behind him and in the dim light, I saw the 
silhouetted shape of a man perhaps thirty or forty feet away. Instinctively 
I recognized that the man observing us was Tazo's father.


PLATONIC LOVE: Conclusion       (man/boy) by Ganymede (Copyright 1995)

WARNING:

This story will contain graphic descriptions of a variety of sexual 
acts between men and MINOR boys. Generally, relationships are mutual and are 
based on informed consent.

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 fiction. Any resemblance to any individual, alive or  
dead, is unfortunate.

WHY ISN'T THE STORY POSTED TO ALT.SEX.STORIES

I have little interest in presenting my work to a newsgroup whose  
primary interests are in other areas. If you want to send this story to  
alt.sex.stories, other newsgroup, or post it elsewhere, I ask only that  
this header remains in place and that the text is unchanged.

This is the final part of this story. There are many loose ends but I 
do not feel like writing another few hundred pages.

Because of my desire for privacy and security I cannot accept  
comments or criticisms by email. I hope you enjoy reading the story as
much as I enjoyed writing it. Personally, I agree with few of the
sentiments expressed by the protagonist or otherwise implied within the
story.


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!



PLATONIC LOVE -- Ganymede.

December 21st, St. Peter's School, Gersau, Switzwerland


"Orpheus had rejected all love of women.... He was even the cause whereby 
the men of Thrace transferred their love to their own sex, towards boys in the 
brief springtime of life, whose first blossoms they plucked."

Ovid, Metamorphoses, 79-85



As it turned out Jason did not go to boarding school in England. 
Instead, Cardinal Orselli intervened at the last minute and convinced his 
mother that it was far better for Jason to attend a small private school in 
Switzerland. The school had a reputation for excellence and a curriculum 
tailored to the needs of individual pupils. Given his physical and emotional 
condition, he argued, Jason would be much better off there. The deciding 
factor for Leane, however, was less the discovery of her son's emasculation 
than the potential for his father to attempt to obtain custody of his son. And 
so, in early September it was decided. Jason would attend St. Peter's 
School, located in Gersau, a small village about forty kilometers outside 
Lucerne.

For almost four centuries, St. Peter's School had educated the hand-
picked sons of some of the best families in Europe. It had been the school 
of the Hanover family and, as a result, educated no less than four future 
kings. It had also been the most important school outside Italy for boys who 
were destined to achieve prominence in the Church. Although neither Jason or 
his mother knew it at the time, St. Peter's School had a long tradition that 
extended beyond merely educating the occasional monarch or cardinal. During 
the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, many of the boys who came to 
the Villa Pallavicino in Ravello had also gone to St. Peter's. The number of 
students was significantly reduced by the social changes in Europe during 
the late 1800's (which put an end to such barbaric practices as the castration 
of choir boys) and the decline of the influence of the Church, but St. Peter's 
continued to prosper. By the start of the twentieth century, St. Peters was 
educating the sons of diplomats, politicians, and industrialists.



After morning classes on the last day of term, as the ancient bell in 
the clock-tower tolled 11 a.m., there was a stampede of boys down the halls 
and across the courtyard to the dormitories. That morning, excited and 
happy, Jason returned to his room in Grenfadel House to change clothes.

Telford started to take his trousers off. In silence Jason watched him 
unfasten his belt, open his zipper, and push his trousers down to his feet 
before kicking them off. Telford wore white underpants trimmed with a black, 
elastic waist band. He sat down on his bed to take his trousers off. When he 
stood up again Jason could see the prominent lump that the other boy's 
genitals made. It was a considerably larger bulge than the one in his own 
underpants. They stood facing each other for only a few seconds. It usually 
didn't take very long for Telford to start getting an erection. Even as 
Jason watched he could seen the bulge begin to grow as the other boy's penis 
began to lengthen and respond to an instinctive urge.

The boys studied each other for almost thirty seconds passed but it 
seemed like an eternity. Not for the first time Jason felt a sudden pang of 
jealousy for when Telford's penis was really stiff, it was much longer than 
his own. In fact, when the two boys first measured them a few months earlier 
with a ruler they discovered that Telford's penis, as befitting a twelve-year-
old boy, was just over five inches long and about an two inches longer than 
ten-year-old Jason's stubby erection. At the time the two boys were nearly 
asleep, but the memory remained with them for it was the first time they 
touched each other's sex organs. It changed their relationship from merely 
sharing a bedroom, to one of greater intimacy and close friendship. Even 
now, although he still could not produce semen, Telford had started to 
change in other ways. He had about a dozen little hairs around the base of his 
penis that at last could be seen without a magnifying glass. His balls were 
quickly becoming bigger as well, a realization that constantly depressed 
Jason.

Suddenly Jason felt very unhappy and he knew Telford felt the same 
way. There was something very sad about taking a last look at each other. 
Jason was going to miss Telford during the Christmas break. They had been best 
friends for most of the three months that Jason had been at St. Peter's, but 
during the last month their friendship had become even stronger. Their 
friendship extended far beyond the fact that they were the only American 
boys attending St. Peter's School. Jason felt very close to Telford and he 
knew why. It was because of what they did together at night after 'lights 
out'.

"I -w-w-wish you weren't l-l-leaving. I'm r-r-really going to m-m-miss 
you," Jason mumbled quietly.

Telford glanced at the open door and then as Jason watched, the older 
boy's hand moved to make a cup over his groin. He squeezed himself the same 
way he always did when he wanted to engage in sex play. Both of the boys 
were getting erections. Only a few more seconds would pass before Jason 
could see it make a tent in his friend's underpants. He reddened a little 
bit because he thought he could feel his own penis starting to get bigger. 
Despite their intimate familiarity, a boy's spontaneous erection usually is 
a source of embarrassment and Jason and Telford were no exceptions. Jason 
looked down at his suitcase and tried to ignore it. Besides, they didn't 
have time to do anything.

Jason sighed loudly. He did not intend to sound sad but for some 
reason he wanted his best friend to know that he was going to miss him. 
Telford was going with his parents for a holiday in the British Virgins. 
They rented a villa on Tortola every year. Jason was returning to his mother's 
villa outside Frascati. He did not expect to have a merry Christmas.

"I'm going to miss you too. You know something, you ought to be going 
Jason, instead of me," Telford smirked.

"Me? W-w-why?"

"Because you haven't done it with a girl yet."

"I d-d-don't understand," Jason said.

"You're a virgin, you dope. British Virgins, get it Jason?"

"You're s-s-so f-f-funny, remind me t-t-to laugh n-n-next time, Tel," 
Jason retorted. "B-b-besides I'm n-n-not the only v-v-virgin h-h-here, a-a-
anyway."

Telford glanced at the younger boy smugly and then his eyes moved 
downward. Jason realized that his friend's eyes were fixed in the middle of 
his body and several inches below his navel. Telford was staring at his 
genitals. From the warm tightness in his trousers Jason knew that he was 
also fully erect and from the smile on Telford's face, he knew as well.

"Hmmmm,...You're startin' to hot, kid," the older boy mused with a 
cheeky grin. It was impossible not to like Telford with his endearing smile.

"Anyway, I'm n-n-not a v-v-v-virgin," Jason countered swiftly. For a few 
seconds he considered telling the other boy the only secret that he had not 
shared with him. He hesitated as Telford continued to smile. Jason shrugged. 
"At l-l-least, I'm n-n-not one a-a-any m-m-more than y--y-you are."

Telford smirked. "What if boys don't count?"

"You h-h-haven't d-d-done it w-w-with a g-g-girl y-y-y-yet either, T-T-
Tel," Jason reminded him gently.

"Maybe! Okay, so I haven't done IT with a girl yet, but I will Jason. 
I'm going to look up Sally Dumbarton just as soon as I back from the 
islands. I told you that we almost did it last summer."

"Yes? I-I-I c-c-can imagine. I-i-in y-y-your d-d-dreams," Jason 
replied smartly as he tossed the last of his school clothes in the suitcase.

He picked up his blue jeans and grinned. It would be nice not having 
to wear a school uniform, at least not for another three weeks. Even if 
Jason did have to spend the entire time at Frascati with his grandmother, 
there was still a lot more to do there than in the stifling environment of St. 
Peter's School. His excitement was due to more than simply being away from 
school. Fortunately his mother would be in New York the entire time, but 
despite all that had happened to him, Jason still looked forward to seeing his 
grandmother again. But there was something more on his mind--he knew his 
father would soon come to Rome, perhaps by the new year, and in that respect 
his feelings were uncertain.

"Hi Roger!" Telford yelled out as yet another boy stopped by the door 
and looked into the room. "Are you leaving already?"

Roger Devlin, darker haired, taller, and older than both of the boys 
in the room, swaggered through the door like he owned it. For a lot of reasons 
Jason didn't like Roger. For one, he was a complete and utter idiot, 
spending his second time in the sixth form. But despite his poor grades, Roger 
was scheduled to move on to the Upper School, his father's donation had seen 
to that. Roger shook his head abruptly as he flopped down onto the nearest 
bed, Jason's.

"Not until this afternoon. What about Tel's dreams? Are you having wet 
ones now, Telly? It's about time. And how about you, Jason? I bet nothing 
besides piss will ever come out the end of your dick."

Telford gave the visitor a sour look. Of all of the sixth-form boys in 
Grenfadel House, and there were eighteen of them, only Roger and three other 
boys were known to be capable of producing semen. Both Telford and Jason had 
seen Roger do it a couple of times. But while Roger was mature--at least to 
the point of wet orgasms--he was still puerile. Jason watched Roger smirking 
and he hated him. Jason wished he would leave, but Roger wasn't finished, in 
fact he was barely started.

"Are you two going to pull each other's dicks again before you leave? 
This, I have got to see," Roger chortled.

The boy who had invaded Jason's peace stretched out on the bed. He 
pushed Jason's clothes to the side with his feet. Jason glanced sideways at 
Telford and then glared at Roger with a look of hatred as he suspected how 
much had been told.

"Everyone at Grenfadel knows that most boys in boarding school do that 
stuff and it's normal," Telford said pointedly.

Suddenly, Jason was angry at Telford. "T-T-Tel was j-j-just t-t-
telling me," he began. He stopped as he caught his best friend's warning 
glance but he no longer cared. Now Jason wanted to get back at him for telling 
Roger. He grinned. "H-h-he s-s-says he's g-g-going to d-d-do it w-w-with a g-
g-girl this t-t-time when h-h-he g-g-gets back f-f-from Christmas." 

"Tel wouldn't know where to put it!" Roger laughed. "Except in your bum, 
that is Jason."

Jason shuddered with as much disgust as he could manage, for he had 
never done anything like that with Telford. There was no interest from his 
room mate.

"Y-y-you're g-g-g-gross D-D-Devlin," Jason said angrily.

"Just listen to you," Roger snickered. "Y-y-you're g-g-g-gross D-D-
Devlin," he mimicked.

"I-I-I c-c-can't h-h-help i-i-it," Jason stammered nervously.

"Wait until you get back to school. Sixth-form boys like you are hot 
property. When one of the seniors gets his cock in your bum, you'll wish it 
was Telly instead. I hear some of those guys have whoppers."

Roger laughed loudly and Jason hated him even more, if indeed that was 
possible. As Jason felt his face getting redder and redder, Telford was 
giggling at his room mate's discomfiture.

"Why d-d-don't y-y-you g-g-go bother s-s-someone else, D-D-Devlin," 
Jason said with as much control as he could manage.

He glanced at the door hopefully. At that precise moment Ken Mwai Oginga 
stumbled past. He was half carrying and half dragging a large suitcase and a 
duffle bag. Jason had come to like Ken since halfway through the Autumn 
term. He was only the only African at St. Peter's, and was as lonely as 
Jason had been at the time. He was full-blooded Kikuyu, from Kenya. Their 
friendship developed quickly.

"H-h-hi Ken," Jason called out, "A-a-are y-y-you l-l-leaving already?"

The boy stopped and looked through the open doorway. He saw Roger and 
stopped before he came into the room. He smiled cheerfully despite his 
reluctance to come in and confront one of his worst tormenters. Like Jason, he 
was happier at that moment than he had been during the entire year. Most of 
the time the two boys had studied and their report cards showed it. The 
improvement in Ken's performance was nothing short of miraculous. Although 
Jason was nearly two years younger than any other boy in the sixth grade, he 
was considerably smarter. He had become Ken's private tutor. The more than two 
years difference in their ages was unimportant.

"Hi Jason. You're leaving soon too, aren't you?" Ken asked.

"Y-y-yeah, I'm l-l-leaving. I-I-I w-w-was going to c-c-come d-d-down 
in a f-f-few m-m-minutes and say g-g-good-bye."

The boy outside the room glanced at Devlin momentarily and then looked 
back at Jason. They both hated Roger Devlin with a passion. Jason smiled 
reassuringly and hoped he could get the other boy to come into the room. But 
the probability was about zero for on more than one occasion Ken would go well 
out of his way to avoid his major enemy. Roger seemed to find a sadistic 
delight in tormenting Ken, a delight that was even more than he found in 
making Jason's life unpleasant.

"C-C-Cardinal O-O-Orselli is d-d-driving m-m-me to Rome in a few m-m-
minutes. It's b-b-been cool, m-man," Jason continued cheerfully.

Jason was a popular boy with his American accent, even with the stutter. 
There was a musical lilt to it, a kind of twang from south of the Mason-
Dixon line than was a lot more interesting than the clipped tones of the other 
boys. His voice was a also a lot higher pitched. In the school choir, Jason 
was one of several dozen sopranos, but as the boys joked among themselves, 
Jason could reach notes that only a dog could hear.

"You're not coming back to school after Christmas, Jason?" Ken asked 
in disbelief.

Jason grinned happily as he nodded. Everything had happened so 
quickly. It was only in the last few days that he had really become happy. 
Until Friday afternoon of the previous week, he had been planning to spend his 
the rest of his childhood with his mother in her villa outside Rome. Then, 
during history class with Father Laughton, his father had telephoned from 
the States. They spoke briefly for the first time in nearly four months. 
When he came back from the headmaster's office his eyes were still wet but 
he had not been crying because he was unhappy. He was radiant all weekend. 
Even after that, when the initial shock had passed, Jason went around with a 
big grin. And now, despite the fact that he still stuttered a bit, it was 
nowhere as bad as usual. His father was alive. His father loved him. His 
father was trying to get custody of him.

"I-I-I think my d-d-dad is r-r-really g-g-going to g-g-get c-c-custody," 
Jason said as he continued to smile gleefully. "That's w-w-why he's in the 
States ins-s-stead of the G-G-Greek Islands. H-he's t-taking my m-m-mom to c-
c-court. I-I-I know h-h-he'll win. I-I-I know he w-w-will. He's g-g-going to 
m-m-meet me in R-R-Rome as s-s-soon as it's f-f-finalized. M-m-maybe even b-b-
by the t-t-time school s-s-starts, he s-s-said. Then w-w-we're f-f-flying b-b-
back to Greece."

"If he does get custody, is it true you're going to live on his boat?" 
Telford piped in.

Jason nodded. "From n-n-now on. I'm going t-t-to g-go to school on N-N-
Naxos,... that's an island n-n-near Greece," he answered proudly. His voice 
was full of certainty and confidence despite his continuing stutter.

Ken grinned back at him and tried hard to camouflage his real 
feelings. "I'm going to miss you, Yank. Promise you'll write first. You have 
to, remember, so that I know where to write you back," he said.

Ken took two steps towards Jason. The slender ten-year-old was 
probably the smartest boy in the school and definitely one of the nicest, 
and not for the first time, Ken realized that Jason was incredibly good 
looking. He was not handsome with Telford's firm features, or ruggedly British 
like Roger. He would never say this to anyone but Jason was more like a girl 
with his delicate features and long blond hair. With the rumors going around 
Grenfadel and the rest of the Lower School, it was probably a good thing 
that Jason would not be coming back to school. If only half of what was 
rumored was true, his life would be hell, or maybe not, depending on how you 
looked at it.

"I wish you didn't have to go," Ken said quietly. "I know I won't see 
you again."

Jason nodded. "I've g-g-got to go, Ken. I'll m-m-miss you, really I w-w-
will. I-I-I promise I'll w-w-write."

Ken reached out and took his friend's hand in his. They shook solemnly 
as they wondered whether they would ever meet again. There were tears in the 
corners of the boy's nearly black eyes as he turned and continued to drag 
his bags down the corridor. Jason wanted to cry as well, but certainly not 
with Roger in the room. For a moment he thought about running after him and 
helping him but Cardinal Orselli was due to arrive any minute. He had to hurry 
because the old man did not like to be kept waiting. Jason pushed his trousers 
down and started to put his jeans on, not much caring that Devlin saw him in 
his underpants.

"Dumb darkie! What a fuckin' homo," Roger said even before Ken had 
gone far enough not to hear. He said it loudly and with disgust as if he was 
talking about something that was both evil and vile.

Dressed only in his underpants, Jason turned on Roger angrily. "K-
Ken's g-g-great! And he's n-n-not a h-h-homo!"

Roger shrugged and then stared down at the younger boy's groin. It was 
the kind of look that meant only one thing. "Why should you care? At least you 
have an excuse with no balls, Jason."

"W-w-what's that s-s-supposed t-t-to m-m-mean, D-D-Devlin?"

His anger was building rapidly. Any second Jason was going to erupt 
but he was smart enough to know that he would lose any fight he started with 
Devlin. Almost fifty pounds and several inches separated them.

"Hell Anderson, everyone here knows you haven't got any balls. That's 
why you don't play any sports. That's why you're a homo, you dick-head."

"That's n-n-not t-t-true! I-I-I don't know h-h-how to p-p-play s-s-
soccer, that's a-a-all!"

"It's no big secret that your balls got cut off just before you came 
to St. Peter's. Hell, Anderson, every knows that's why you're so pretty. 
It's because you're turning into a girl!" Devlin chortled.

Jason glared at Telford again. His suspicions were instantly confirmed 
as the boy looked downward to avoid his eyes. He wondered how much Telford had 
told Roger. One night, a few weeks ago, he had entrusted Telford with a few 
details of what had happened to him. By then Ken knew a little more but the 
full story of what happened to him the previous summer only he knew and he was 
not going to elaborate beyond the fact that he had some kind of tumor.

"Don't be cruel, Roger. Jason had something wrong with him. I think it's 
called a tumor. He couldn't help it," Telford said without looking up from the 
floor.

Roger chortled. "Well he's never going to have spunk that's for sure. 
It's probably a good thing the little dick-head is a bum-fuckin' homo. No 
wonder his mum doesn't want him around." He began to laugh as he continued. 
"But can you imagine his father when he finds out about it. Is he going to 
be angry or what?"

"My f-f-father won't c-c-care, y-y-you idiot," Jason shouted. "H-h-he d-
w-won't c-c-care about it! H-h-he l-l-loves m-m-me."

"He won't care about his kid not having any balls? My father would be 
truly pissed if I lost mine. So would I, for that matter." Roger smirked.

"I-I-I d-d-didn't s-s-say my d-d-dad didn't c-c-care. What I-I-I meant 
w-w-was,..." Jason retorted.

"Yes you did, Jason," Telford interrupted. "That's what you said."

"W-w-what? Oh, I-I-I didn't mean it l-l-like that! Of c-c-course he c-c-
cares what h-h-happens to me but I m-m-meant that h-h-he still l-l-loves me 
and w-w-wants m-m-me to l-l-live with h-h-him n-no m-m-matter what."

"All I can say is I'm glad another fucking homo is leaving St. Peter's," 
Roger snorted. "There are enough homos here already without you."

"Why don't you just go, Roger?" Telford interrupted.

"It's a pity, Jason," Roger snorted. "It's really a pity."

"W-w-what's a p-p-pity?" Jason challenged.

"Now Ken's leaving, you won't be able to get it up your bum, will you?"

Roger guffawed as he rolled onto Jason's pillow and pushed it underneath 
him. For a few seconds as he laughed, Roger pumped his body into the pillow 
and pretended to have sex. He grunted loudly as he simulated ejaculation and 
then rolled onto his back. His hideous smirk was enough to show that he 
found the idea of sex between two boys both enjoyable as well as highly 
repulsive.

"Y-y-you're g-g-gross! A-a-anyway, I don't d-d-do that s-s-stuff, D-D-
Devlin."

 "I'm glad you're not coming back to school. We're all a lot safer 
with one less homo around here."

"Yeah? But Ken does it with you, doesn't he Jason?" Telford asked slyly.

Jason shuddered as he wondered how much Telford knew. He felt his face 
reddening and his body quickly became hot as he blushed.

"We know all about what you did with that Ralph Carrington kid. And he 
is a homo, isn't he? Everyone in St. Peter's knows you were in LOVE with him," 
Roger shrieked.

"N-n-nothing h-h-happened D-D-Devlin!" Jason turned on Roger, fuming 
as he shouted. "It's w-w-wrong of you t-t-t-to make f-f-fun of me. I-I-I-I w-
was l-l-lonely, that's all! A-a-and there w-w-was no one h-h-here who w-w-
would b-be f-f-friends with m-m-me. C-C-Carrington w-was nice t-to me. A-a-and 
Ken, t-t-too. I-I-I just h-h-helped him w-w-with his m-math, that's a-a-all."

Roger stood up and smirked at Telford as he walked towards the door. 
"Well, that's not the way Carrington tells the story. Ralph says that you 
really like a nice big one up your bum. I guess that makes you a homo, Jason." 
Roger snorted again as he stared at the younger boy's genitals again. "Hey 
Telly, I'll see you when you get back from the Virgins, or wherever it is 
you're going. Maybe you and me can get with Sally Dumb-arse and I'll teach you 
how to knock her off," he added as he rounded the corner into the corridor.

"You want to practice some soccer, Roger?" Telford bellowed. "I'm not 
leaving until three o'clock."

"Yeah! Come down to my room when you're ready."

"R-r-really Tel, I-I-I don't know w-w-why y-y-you like R-R-Roger," Jason 
said angrily as soon as Roger was far enough down the hall not to hear me. "H-
h-he's a r-real b-b-bastard."

Telford shrugged. "You don't have to like him, Jason but I can't help 
that he doesn't like you, can I?"

"You d-d-don't have t-t-to like h-him, T-T-Tel. A-a-and another thing, 
I-I-I w-w-wish you hadn't t-t-told him a-a-about m-me. It's h-h-hard enough f-
f-for me a-a-as it is," Jason mumbled.

"What if you really are a homo? According to Carrington,..." Telford 
teased playfully. He continued to grin at the younger boy.

"H-h-he's a liar, T-T-Tel! I-I-I told you that n-n-nothing h-h-
happened between m-m-me and C-C-Carrington," Jason said angrily.

"Maybe! I only know what Ralph said," Telford suggested gracefully. 
"He said you were a cock-sucker."

"D-d-don't you b-b-believe me?"

"I guess. But you know how it is. Anyway, sometimes you act weird,... 
kind of like you are a homo."

"H-h-how d-d-does a h-h-homo act?" Jason asked cautiously.

"You know Jason, just as well as I do! You also know you do the same bad 
stuff that homos do."

"I-I-I don't d-d-do anything that's b-b-bad. W-w-what y-y-you and I d-d-
do isn't w-w-wrong," Jason countered. "W-w-why d-d-d-do you m-m-make it s-s-
sound s-so dirty?"

"Because it is, that's why! And it's the same stuff that homos do 
together."

"H-h-how d-d-do you know, T-T-Tel?" Jason asked sadly.

"Have you done it with Ken?" Telford challenged quickly.

Often Telford would tease Jason about his age and size, and sometimes 
about his sexual preference, but this time he was not. As Jason studied his 
best friend, he wondered about the strange stare. Was it one of knowing? Did 
Telford know what Ken and Jason did at the boathouse every Saturday afternoon? 

"M-m-maybe I-I-I am a h-h-homo," Jason replied slowly as he tried to 
hide his rising panic. He took a deep breath as he avoided Telford's last 
question. "H-h-hell, I-I-I don't know, T-T-Tel. B-b-but it's cruel a-a-anyway. 
I-i-it doesn't m-m-matter w-w-what I-I-I am, I-I-I s-s-still think i-i-it's t-
t-terribly w-w-wrong to m-m-make fun of s-s-someone w-w-who's d-d-different t-
t-to you."

At the time Jason did not really understand why he said that. He only 
knew that he needed to stand up for himself. If he was a homosexual, so what.

"You don't like girls either," Telford observed calmly as he continued 
to study the boy before him.

"So w-w-what? W-w-what d-d-does it matter i-i-if Roger's always t-t-
talking a-a-about them. I-I,... it d-d-doesn't prove a-a-anything!"

It was common knowledge in Grenfadel House, that Roger Devlin had a 
thirteen-year-old girlfriend who was, according to Roger, more than willing to 
do it with him. Needless to say, among preadolescent boys, having sex with a 
girl and especially an older girl, gave Roger a kind of status that only he 
could enjoy.

"Well, Roger's not the only person who thinks you're one," Telford 
said slyly. "Every kid in Grenfadel tells homo jokes about you."

"T-t-then they're a-a-all d-d-dumb!" Jason retorted.

"Have you?" Telford continued.

"Have I-I-I w-w-what?"

"Have you done it with Ken? Some of the homo jokes are about the two 
of you, Jason," Telford confided.

"Huh?"

"Because you're always hanging around with him, I guess that's why 
they say you and Ken are both homos."

"I,... I,... I l-l-like K-K-Ken, that's a-a-all!" Jason stammered. " W-
w-we study t-t-together, Telford."

Telford shrugged. "Yeah, but what did you study? His dick?"

"Y-you're gross. I-I-I helped h-h-him in m-m-math. T-that's all!" 
Jason said hotly.

He clenched his fist as his felt his face become feverish and clammy. No 
one could possibly know what they did together in the boathouse. No one! If 
any one ever found out about it, life would not be worth living. Jason 
swallowed nervously and slowly shook his head in denial. It was a lie.

"You know something? I don't care if you are a homo, Jason," Telford 
smirked. "I don't care if Ken does it in your butt, I still like you."

For a moment Jason wondered whether he was angry because of Telford's 
knowing smirk.

"W-w-well I'm sorry!" Jason said angrily. "I-I-I can't help w-w-what I 
am."





Cardinal Orselli arrived promptly, but then he had never been late in 
his entire life. Jason saw the Mercedes Benz limousine pull up in the drive 
while he waited on the porch outside Grenfadel House. He had arrived 
downstairs only a minute or two earlier with his bags packed and ready to 
go. Tony Carelli, now promoted from gardener to chauffeur, opened the rear 
door and Cardinal Orselli got out as Father Luchiano, the headmaster of St. 
Peter's School, quickly came down the steps to greet him.

Jason sighed loudly. The school year was over and he was going home. 
As that thought came to him, he was surprised. For the first time since coming 
to Italy Jason had thought of the Villa Bellini outside Frascati as his 
home. He took a long look around the ivy and wisteria-covered buildings that 
had been home for the last three months. He had not cried since the 
operation but now he started to tremble. He sniffed and pulled a 
handkerchief from his pocket as he felt tears welling up in his eyes.

Jason watched two boys walking across the manicured lawns towards the 
practice field. Even from that distance he could easily discern Telford and 
Roger. They carried a soccer ball. He knew they were talking about him. He 
knew that Telford was telling Roger what he had finally admitted just before 
they parted. And then Jason wanted his father and he wanted to go home to 
Apollo. He tried to steady himself, not wanting to cry, not there, not then, 
and certainly not in front of other boys.

The porter picked up two of his bags as Tony came up the stairs. Jason 
liked Tony. He was handsome and even though he had worked for Carlo, Jason 
could remember him only with affection.

"Bon giorno Master Anderson," he said perfunctorily. Jason gave him a 
cursory look with as much indignation and contempt as he could muster. Tony 
smiled slowly. "Hi Jason!"

"Hi T-T-Tony!" Jason acknowledged ebulliently.

"I bet you're glad school is over," Tony said as he picked up the 
other two bags and led the way down to the car. "Your grandmother is very 
excited. She's been looking forward to seeing you again. You're all that she's 
talked about for the last week."

Jason grinned. The feeling was mutual. He liked his grandmother. For 
many years after his parents' divorce, and while he was growing up, she had 
been his best friend. Tony took the bags to the back of the car and opened the 
boot. Jason waited beside the car, absently listening to Cardinal Orselli 
and the headmaster.

"He was with you at one time wasn't he, Your Eminence?" Jason heard 
Father Luchiano ask. "When you were in America?" he added.

"Of course I remember Alistair Browning. So he's Telford's father? I 
could hardly forget Alistair. He was quite a boy, and smart too." Cardinal 
Orselli chuckled as if he was enjoying a private joke. "Yes, Alistair was 
quite a boy! And he was certainly big for his age too, a highly desirable 
trait, wouldn't you say, Luchiano?"

"It looks as though young Telford will be the same. Like father, like 
son, I expect."

Cardinal Orselli smiled. He seldom smiled. "We can only hope so, my 
friend. It would be a good connection for us to have. His father is well 
thought of by the present administration. It is likely that he will soon be 
appointed as ambassador."

"Maybe it runs in the family," Luchiano smiled.

He glanced sideways at Jason with a strange, knowing look. The boy 
swallowed and looked back but didn't know what it meant. Cardinal Orselli 
glanced at the slender boy as well and for a few seconds Jason was the 
center of attention. As he ambled over to Cardinal Orselli and the headmaster, 
he suddenly became very curious to find out what they were talking about. As 
he had thought, the conversation had turned to him.

"Well I certainly hope so but we both know only time will tell in 
these things. I think you're a better judge of boys."

"Boys will be boys." Luchiano smiled at Jason reassuringly as he 
acknowledged his presence. "And young Jason is one of the best."

"Yes, he's quite a boy," Cardinal Orselli added as he turned away from 
looking at jason and back to Father Luchiano. "Still it's a shame about 
Telford. I had high hopes for him and Jason."

"No matter," the headmaster said agreeably. "Of course Jason has been 
good friends with Ken Oginga. They spend a lot of time together on the 
weekends. I think he's quickly becoming Jason's best friend."

"Isn't he the African boy, the older boy from Kenya. You told me about 
him, Jason. You were helping him study, weren't you?"

Jason nodded as he wondered what Cardinal Orselli and the headmaster 
were talking about. While he was surprised to find that Cardinal Orselli 
seemed to know Telford's father, that they were discussing his friendship with 
Ken came as something of a shock. Jason thought for a few seconds and then 
remembered that Cardinal Orselli had spent many years in Boston. It was likely 
that he had met Telford's father there but it had been a long time ago. That 
still did not explain why Cardinal Orselli would have high hopes for Telford 
and why they were interested in the identity of his best friend. By the time 
Jason tuned in the conversation again, the subject had been changed again.

Casually Father Luchiano's hand came to rest on Jason's shoulder. 
"Jason's schoolwork was excellent this year. Even though he is much younger 
than some of the other boys in his class, he still did exceptionally well."

"I'm glad we agreed to put him in the sixth grade. Jason needs a 
challenge." Cardinal Orselli smiled warmly at Jason. "He's very bright."

"He responded very well," Father Luchiano said with open admiration. 
"His size and age caused a few problems with a few of the older boys, needless 
to say. I followed your request that he not be allowed to play sports."

Jason glared at the old man with visible antagonism. He had 
desperately wanted to play soccer when he had arrived at St. Peter's. By then, 
his strength had returned fully and he needed exercise. Instead, he found an 
outlet for his vibrant energy with Ken Oginga. On the afternoons when the 
other boys were at soccer practice, Jason was also 'practicing' with his new 
friend. Slowly his angry look melted and he smiled meekly. His practice 
sessions were considerably more fun.

"Given the nature of your injury, Jason," Cardinal Orselli said quietly, 
"there was no choice in the matter. "

Father Luchiano raised one eyebrow questioningly. "Of course you know 
young Jason was in the choir. He sang with the rest of the boys for the 
first half of the term and then he was given a solo part. He performed with 
great merit."

"He has a remarkable voice," Cardinal Orselli agreed as he smiled at 
Jason.

"And of course you know he went with St. Peter's choir when they sang at 
St. Karlikirche in Lucerne. That is quite an achievement in itself but to sing 
a duet on the steps of the Hofkirche is wonderful for a boy of his age!"

Cardinal Orselli nodded in agreement. His voice had a mellow quality 
that still commanded respect even when he spoke softly. "Yes Jason has a 
beautiful voice. Like other things, it will continue unchanged, I expect. 
Hopefully, Jason will make the right decision."

"W-w-what d-d-decision?" Jason asked quickly.

"If it helps, next year I think Jason can sing as lead solo," Father 
Luchiano offered quickly. "I have a place for him here but even if he 
chooses to go to school in Rome, I am confident that he can sing lead soprano. 
His voice will be magnificent with more training."

Cardinal Orselli nodded as he glanced at the boy beside him. "As you 
know my son, one of the benefits of your unfortunate operation is that your 
voice will not change. Unless, that is, if you decide otherwise."

"Huh?"

"It is possible for you to grow like other boys. Do you remember the 
doctor you went to see in Lucerne?" Father Luchiano said. Jason nodded 
slightly. "There are hormones that he can provide so that your body matures 
normally."

"It's your decision," Cardinal Orselli continued. "You can choose to 
take the medicine or you can choose not to. It's up to you. Would you like 
to keep singing?"

Jason nodded meekly. "I've b-b-been practicing r-r-r-really h-hard 
and,...I-I-'d like to s-s-sing,... b-b-but what a-a-about l-l-living in R-R-
Rome?"

Cardinal Orselli interrupted the boy as he spoke again. "Well 
Luchiano, we must be on our way. Thank you very much for all you've done for 
Jason. I'll be in contact with you shortly about the other matter. I think 
we're right about Jason going to school in Rome. It would do him good and keep 
him close to his family. If there is any doubt I think that would certainly 
clear it up. Perhaps we can get together to discuss it."

They shook hands and then, as Cardinal Orselli got in the car, it was 
Jason's turn to say farewell to the headmaster of St. Peter's School.

"Good-bye F-F-F-Father," Jason said as they shook hands formally.

Father Luchiano's hand was strong and it gripped the boy's small hand 
tightly. He did not release it. He looked into Jason's eyes with a 
disturbing intensity as if he was trying to see what the boy was like 
inside. Jason felt as if the man could see right into his soul. It was 
frightening and he shivered.

"Good-bye Jason." Father Luchiano smiled and his blue eyes crinkled. 
"You are a wonderful boy, you know. You're very special to me. We've been 
lucky to have you,... and so have your friends, young Telford Browning and 
especially the African boy, Ken Oginga."

Jason shuddered. The man's words seemed to be saying one thing but his 
smile said something entirely different. The curious look on his face seemed 
to say that he knew what Jason did with Telford at night in their bedroom 
and that he knew everything that happened when Jason was in the boathouse with 
Ken. It was as if he even knew something about the boy that he didn't know 
himself.

But as far as Jason knew, no one else knew about what happened in the 
boathouse, not even Telford. His fight with Ken had lasted for less than a 
minute. Ken had not intended to touch the other boy's genitals. It just 
happened during the struggle as they tried to hit each other. Even before 
Ken realized what he had done, Jason started to cry and they stopped. 
Instantly Ken recognized something in Jason that he liked a lot and Jason 
realized that he needed Ken. When his tears stopped and after they had 
talked for a long while, the two boys were well on the way to becoming 
friends. But before they left the boathouse, Ken had stared in disbelief as 
Jason opened his zipper and pulled his trousers and underpants down.

The rumor that had passed quickly through Grenfadel was right. Jason did 
not have balls. Where other boys had plump little scrotums, all Jason had 
was wrinkled-up skin. Without a word, he lay down on the dust-covered floor of 
the attic and Ken looked closely. He could just see the little pale scar. It 
was on the center line and low down, on the underside so that it could only be 
seen from a few inches away.

But while Jason was missing testicles, he did have a foreskin. His small 
penis looked very different to Ken's larger organ that had been circumcised 
only a few months earlier. The operation, performed according to tribal 
custom, had taken all of the prepuce. The result was that the skin of the 
older boy's penis was tightly stretched even when it was limp. When his 
penis was erect, the skin was so taut that it glistened. While both penises 
looked strange, they also felt very different. In Jason's case the skin 
moved so much further, while for Ken, the skin barely moved and it 
heightened the boy's sensations so that he orgasmed quickly. As the two boys 
masturbated each other they came understand each other's feelings and to 
develop techniques that considerably enhanced their enjoyment.

But they did not stop there. During the warm Autumn afternoons the two 
boys explored each other and did things that few boys realize could be so 
enjoyable. If it was wrong, it did not bother them for no one would ever 
find out what happened. No one would ever know that they sucked each other's 
penis or that they kissed on the mouth or that Ken put his penis inside 
Jason's anus with surprising frequency. While nothing had happened between 
Jason and Ralph Carrington, he had done IT with Ken in the boathouse.

"B-b-bye F-Father B-B-Luchiano," Jason mumbled.

"Bye Jason. I'll miss you. You're an exceedingly handsome young man, 
Jason."

The headmaster moved closer to the car and looked through the open door. 
"It was very nice meeting you again, Your Eminence."

Cardinal Orselli smiled dismissively. "Yes, I'm sure. Good-bye Luchiano. 
And again, thank you for all you have done for Jason. I'll be in touch about 
Rome. I believe there is a vacancy in the boy's choir for next year. I agree 
it would definitely throw some light on Jason's decision."

Father Luchiano stepped back and closed the door as soon as Jason was 
inside the car. Jason watched him wave as the car pulled away, its wheels 
crunching loudly on the red gravel. Cardinal Orselli and Jason sat in 
silence until the car was several miles away from the village of Gersau.

"Did you have a good year, Jason?" he asked at last.

"Uh? Y-y-yes sir. I-i-it w-w-was okay, I-I-I g-g-guess. W-What a-about 
R-R-Rome?"

Cardinal Orselli turned towards the boy slowly. His hair was brilliant 
white and it made him look very distinguished. It had once been blond, a faded 
straw color like the young boy beside him. But there the resemblance ended. 
His hair had always been straight while Jason's was full of curls.

He ignored the boy's question. "Father Luchiano was telling me that 
you made a close friend this year."

Jason nodded and turned to look out the window as the car rolled over 
the old stone bridge outside the village. He tried to glimpse the water in the 
river below. It was the same river that passed by the boathouse. It was the 
same river that Ken and Jason watched swirl past the dust-coated windows 
when they were naked together in the attic. Because the floor was so dirty the 
two boys used to do it standing up. When Ken inserted his penis into Jason's 
small body, they would both look out the window to see if anyone was coming.

"Y-y-yes s-s-sir," Jason mumbled.

Already Jason missed Ken. He had a quirky smile and he was funny. Unlike 
with Telford, Jason did not feel like he had done something wrong when he 
was with Ken. And when they went further, much further. It was an entirely 
mutual pleasuring that satisfied both boys. As he stared out the window all 
Jason could think about was how much nicer it felt when another boy touched 
his penis and he returned the touch. It was so much better than masturbating 
by himself. Ken's hand seemed so much softer than his own and he rubbed 
Jason's penis in a special way that made it feel unbelievably good. It felt 
almost as good as when Ken was inside him, only not as hot and wet. But either 
way, Ken felt very different to his father.

"It's good for a boy to have a special friend," Cardinal Orselli 
continued softly.

"Y-y-yes s-s-sir," Jason sighed.

"Perhaps he can come to Frascati to visit. I'd like to meet him."

"I'd l-l-like to h-h-have T-T-Telford come d-d-down and s-s-stay w-w-
with m-m-me later on. He's g-g-going t-t-to the C-C-Caribbean with h-h-his 
parents f-f-first b-b-but do y-y-you think h-h-he could c-c-c-come down f-
for a w-w-w-week when h-h-he gets b-b-back?" Jason asked hopefully.

"Telford? He's Alistair Browning's boy isn't he? His father is with 
the U.S. Consulate. Did you know I knew him when I was in Boston? We spent a 
lot of time together. I was very fond of him."

Jason nodded absently as his thoughts drifted to Ken. He could still see 
the river running past the window. Just beyond his view, the river emptied 
into Lake Lucerne. He could think only of the afternoon sun shining on Ken's 
short black curls. Strands of his hair glistened like black mesh. He 
remembered using all of his strength to squeeze on the other boy's thick penis 
and try to keep it inside him every time that he pulled away. Ken's penis felt 
very different compared to his father's. The African boy's penis was 
smaller, both in girth and length, so that he did not receive the same intense 
joy that bordered on exquisite pain as it concentrated deep within his 
bowel. Afterwards, he felt subdued but never drained. With his father, his 
stressed body was always exhausted. But because the nearly black skin was so 
tight, Ken's penis seemed to move much further inside him. The greater 
movement enhanced his pleasure although it never lasted more than a few 
minutes. That was the only problem with Ken, Jason decided. It was Ken's 
idea to buy the margarine to make it feel even better as the shaft moved 
swiftly back and forth but every time Ken backed away too far, his penis would 
pop out by itself. Quickly, Jason was brought back to reality.

"Yes, Jason suppose he can come down for a few days. But why not 
invite the African boy,... Uh? Ken? I'm sure he'd like to spend some time in 
Italy with you."

"K-K-Ken is f-f-flying h-h-home tonight," Jason explained.

Immediately, Jason started to feel sad. For some unknown reason he 
realized that he would never feel Ken's soft fingers wrapped around his penis. 
With his American accent he called it 'jerking off' and Ken laughed. He 
laughed again when Jason told him that Australian boys call it 'wanking'. 
Tears came to his eyes as he remembered something he had almost forgotten from 
his past. He sighed. He knew he would never kiss Ken again. The negro boy's 
lips were full and firm and very passionate. After they kissed he would bend 
over in front of the older boy. With little difficulty, Ken would penetrate 
him. Again Jason sighed, certain that he would never feel the boy's penis 
slide inside his bottom, pause briefly and then begin pumping rhythmically 
into his bowel. Denied his father's love, the feelings Ken gave to Jason 
were as good as anything else.

"That's too bad. Ken sounds like a very nice boy. I think that I'd 
like to meet him one day."

Jason nodded. "He's v-v-very n-n-nice. He's thirteen, w-w-w-well 
almost thirteen." He sighed as he remembered Ken again. "He's v-v-very g-g-
good-looking," the boy offered. It was a pitiful offering, a poor 
acknowledgment of Ken's appearance and the fact that he was black.

"That's what Father Luchiano was telling me. I think he said quite 
handsome. Apparently you've become his best friend, Jason."

Jason nodded and smiled shyly at the old man. "I-I-I like h-h-him a-a-
a lot."

"He's a very lucky boy to have you as a friend. I'm very fond of you. 
You know that don't you?"

Slowly Jason's head nodded in assent. "I-I-I l-l-like you t-t-too," he 
added.

"I'd like you to take your trousers off, Jason," Cardinal Orselli 
breathed out.

For a few seconds Jason stared at the old man in surprise, his mouth 
slightly open as if searching for the words to convey his shock. Slowly a 
smile appeared on the boy's face. His eyes flickered as he looked back at 
the man beside him. He was not surprised or offended. Instead, he felt a 
curious excitement that was not unfamiliar to him. After all, he reasoned to 
himself, he had spent the best part of three weeks naked and much of that 
was in the company of the old man who now sat beside him. He had allowed the 
man to bathe his wound and change the bandage, even to witness his body's 
gratification. He had nothing to hide.

"What are you waiting for?" Cardinal Orselli prompted. "I have seen 
you naked before, haven't I?"

Again Jason's smile returned. "N-n-now? H-h-here?" he whispered. "What 
about T-T-Tony?" he added cautiously. "He'll s-s-see m-m-me."

Cardinal Orselli shrugged. "So what! You're a boy! Besides my son, we 
both know that there isn't all that much to be seen, is there?" he replied. He 
watched as Jason tensed. "You have nothing to be ashamed about."

"Except th-th-that I-I-I don't h-h-have any b-b-balls, remember?" 
Jason countered.

"Of course I remember what was taken from you. And it wasn't that long 
ago that I sat beside you and watched you use the ivory in your bottom."

"M-m-maybe I-I-I don't w-w-want Tony t-t-to see m-m-me," Jason added 
defensively.

"But you were once Carlo's boy. Tony knows what to expect from one of 
Carlo's boys. You're no different to him when he was your age."

"I-I-I don't u-u-understand," Jason murmured.

"You don't?" Cardinal Orselli mused. "I think you understand 
perfectly. Carlo had many beautiful boys before you, my son. Do you really 
think that you were the first lovely young thing to sleep in his bed?"

Jason stared at th old man, his mouth slightly open. "No,... n-n-no I-I-
I guess n-n-not. But you're s-s-saying that T-T-Tony,... that h-h-he did it w-
w-with C-C-C,... C-C-Carlo as well."

Cardinal Orselli smiled. "Of course he did. It must have been ten or 
twelve years ago now. Tony was very good looking at the time. He was nothing 
like you, needless to say, but he was still a handsome boy."

"But C-C-C,... C-C-Carlo didn't c-c-cut Tony's b-b-balls off, d-d-did 
he?" Jason said angrily.

The old man sighed wearily. "No, Jason, he didn't do that. You really 
don't understand why Carlo did that to you, do you?" Jason shook his head 
slightly. "He loved you, Jason. He loved you more than he could bear. From the 
very first time he saw you at the farm in Kentucky, he was madly in love 
with you."

"Yeah, s-s-sure. H-h-he loved m-m-m-me so m-m-much that h-h-he did 
this," Jason whimpered as he pointed downward between his slender legs.

"No, my son. He loved you so much that he wanted you to stay the way you 
are forever. His other boys, boys like Tony, he discarded as soon as they 
showed signs of becoming men. He loved you so much that it drove him mad. He 
knew that he was the first man in your life and he knew that you found him 
desirable. He could not bear the thought of you growing up, finding him 
undesirable, and leaving him alone."

"H-h-he was n-n-n-never that! I-I-I h-h-hated what h-h-he did to me."

"And that was why you went back to him time and time again, my son? 
No, you liked what Carlo gave you, and I mean more than the gifts."

"I d-don't know w-w-why I-I-I went back," Jason replied. "I-I-I didn't 
l-l-l-like h-him very m-m-much."

"Were you afraid?"

"Not r-r-really. I-I-I mean I w-w-was frightened, b-but mostly b-because 
I-I-I thought it was w-w-w-wrong. I thought it w-w-was a s-s-sin, to d-d-do 
that s-s-s-stuff. I-I-I was scared my m-m-mom would f-f-find out."

"But you liked what he did to you, didn't you little prince?" Cardinal 
Orselli persisted. "You did find him desirable. It isn't wrong for a boy to 
want a man,... to love him."

The boy shrugged as he tried to avoid the truth before him. Try as he 
could he could not pretend that he had not gone willingly to Carlo. The gentle 
touches were reassuring and the pleasure that soared outward from his groin 
was more than sufficient compensation for the guilt and shame he carried. At 
any time he could easily have told his mother. Instead he chose to keep his 
secret with Carlo.

"Yeah, I-I-I-I guess," Jason admitted quietly. "Yeah, I-I-I liked it. 
Until I-I-I c-c-came b-b-back f-f-from Greece," he added sourly.

"And then you were in love with someone else,... another man," 
Cardinal Orselli prompted. "You loved that man more than you had ever imagined 
was possible."

Jason nodded as he sighed. "I-I-I couldn't h-h-help it. I-I-I didn't 
know w-w-what l-l-love was u-u-until then. Then every d-d-day, I-I-I loved h-
h-him more and more a-a-and the m-m-more I-I-I loved h-h-him the more I-I-I 
hated C-C-C,... C-C-Carlo."

"Once Carlo knew there was another man,... there was only one thing that 
could happen. He had to punish you, Jason. At the same time he wanted to 
keep you with him forever," Cardinal Orselli said.

"B-b-boy was h-h-h-e ever m-m-mad." Jason smiled but at the time it 
had not been funny. "As s-s-soon as h-he saw my b-b-butt h-h-he knew what 
I'd b-b-been d-d-doing while I-I-I w-w-was away. D-d-do you know w-w-what made 
h-h-him really angry?"

"No! What? Did you say something to him? Did you tell him who you'd been 
with instead of him?"

"No! I-I-I s-s-sure thought a-a-about it. I-I-I knew w-w-what he w-w-
wanted to d-d-do to m-me that n-n-night. H-he even t-t-told m-m-me that h-h-he 
w-w-wanted to d-do s-s-something to m-m-me the n-night b-b-before I w-went 
to s-s-stay with m-m-my d-d-dad in Greece."

"Did you know what he wanted at the time?"

Jason grinned. "H-h-hardly. I-I-I didn't know a-a-a-anything then. I-I-I 
asked h-h-him w-w-what he w-w-wanted to do to m-m-me b-but he wouldn't s-s-
say. H-h-he wanted to f-f-f-fuck me. I-I-I really d-d-didn't know w-w-w-what 
it meant."

"I find that hard to believe," the old man laughed. "Did he explain it?"

The boy shook his head. "I-I-I suppose I-I guessed p-p-p-part of w-w-
what happens when a b-b-boy g-g-gets fucked because h-h-he kept on r-r-rubbing 
my b-butt and sticking h-h-his fingers in m-m-my c-c-crack. S-s-so I knew it 
involved m-m-my b-b-butt somehow. I-I-I got s-s-scared then a-a-and I-I-I 
wouldn't let h-h-him."

"And then?"

"H-h-he said it c-c-could w-w-wait until I got back and I-I-I w-w-was 
probably too t-t-tight anyway." Jason smirked. "I w-w-was, too."

"I can imagine. But the man you loved in Greece saw to that, didn't he?"

The boy nodded. He breathed out slowly as he smiled. "Yeah!"

"You must have had a lot of pain at first," Cardinal Orselli said. 
"Was it very bad for you?"

"It a-a-always h-h-hurts a b-b-boy when he s-s-starts d-d-doing it," 
Jason answered matter-of-factly. "H-h-he tried s-s-so h-hard not to h-h-hurt 
me, b-b-but it did."

Cardinal Orselli remembered his examination of Jason in the second floor 
bedroom. He would never forget the slender young body as it lay unconscious on 
the bed. With both hands on the rounded firm cheeks he had studied the small 
opening exposed in the deep crevice. There had been no indication of 
bruising or any of the other residual signs that attended a young boy's anus 
after it had been exposed to forced penetration by a man. From the 
appearance of Jason's body he had presumed that the boy had not only been a 
willing accomplice, but that he had also been both carefully and frequently 
sodomized. In all his years he had seen such dilation only three or four times 
and those boys were street prostitutes in Napoli.

 "And you were willing to do that?" he suggested.

"Of c-c-c-course. I-I think h-h-he was m-more scared than I-I-I was at 
the t-t-time," Jason giggled. "A-a-anyway, as s-s-soon as m-m-my h-h-hole 
got b-b-b-big enough f-f-for h-h-him to f-f-fit it inside me a-a-and not hurt, 
w-w-we d-d-did it a w-whole lot."

No wonder Carlo had been so angry, the old man thought silently. What 
Carlo had discovered was not merely a matter of damaged goods. His anger had 
been sparked by something that was much more than a beautiful young boy who 
was not longer the innocent that his features and demeanor suggested. The 
boy had loved another man with considerably more lust than Carlo could have 
provided. Carlo Gubbio had been intensely jealous of the other man in 
Jason's life. He had always known that Carlo was possessive and suspicious 
of his boys, but in Jason's case, his invidious yearning had turned to 
demand the child's sacrifice.

"Who was he?" the old man asked softly. "Who loved you, my son?"

Jason turned away and looked out the window. Others knew his secret. 
Harry and Jeff had known from the outset for they had been witnesses to his 
most intimate act. And Ken knew but there were no others.

He sighed. "I c-c-can't t-t-tell you," he mumbled. 

"It was your father, wasn't it Jason?" Cardinal Orselli asked softly.

He gazed at the small boy fondly. Had he been younger himself, he 
would be envious of any man who loved the boy. But he had known the identity 
of Jason's lover for more than two months, ever since John Anderson had come 
to seek his help in recovering his son. It was then that Cardinal Orselli 
first realized that he too, loved this blue-eyed, blond-headed boy-angel.

The boy shook his head resolutely in denial of the truth before him. Ken 
knew only because they shared similar secrets.

"I-I-I can't," Jason blurted out. 

"Yes, you can, my son. You can tell me. You can confess and I can take 
the sin away for you."

"I l-l-love him. I-i-it's not a s-s-sin because I-I-I love h-h-him!" 
Jason stated firmly. "I-I-I can't t-t-tell you!"

"Yes, I know you love him. I would not expect anything else of you. I 
also know that he loves you more than life itself."

"H-h-how do y-y-you know that?" the boy breathed out.

"How do you think he found you in Switzerland? You owe me a great 
deal, little prince."

"I-I-I owe you?" Jason protested. "A-a-after what you a-a-and C-C-
Carlo d-d-did to me? He c-c-cut my b-b-balls off, r-r-remember!"

"I wasn't there, my son. Had I been there, I would have tried to stop 
him. I have tried my best to right that terrible wrong. You already know 
that I tried to find you father." Cardinal Orselli half-closed his eyes. 
"Well?"

"I-I-I know y-y-you tried h-h-hard," Jason admitted.

"By the time I located him, you were in Lucerne. Do you know why I 
arranged for you to go to school in Lucerne?" Jason's head shook slightly. 
"Because I trust Father Luchiano. I have known him since the war. Anyway, I 
arranged for you father to seek custody in New York. Considering everything 
that has happened to you, and especially your mother's position, I know the 
judge will be very sympathetic to his case."

"W-what do y-y-you mean?" Jason asked.

"Your mother knows what you did in Greece. She knows about your father 
and you. She will use that in court to keep you. She will do anything to 
make you hers because everything depends on her getting custody of you."

"What d-d-does she know?" the boy demanded urgently. "She c-c-can't know 
that. A-A-anyway, s-s-she can't p-p-prove it! N-n-no one can!"

Cardinal Orselli reached into the pocket of his coat. He smiled as he 
delivered the blow. He unfolded a small magazine. Instantly, Jason 
recognized the boy who cavorted in the bow of the yacht. The boy was ten years 
old and, like the man beside him, almost naked. Only a tee shirt covered his 
body and even then it was lifted up under his arms. His father's hand was over 
his genitals and the expression on his face was one of utter bliss. He 
remembered the morning with frightening clarity but could not grasp how the 
picture had been taken.

"H-h-how?" he stammered. "I-I-I d-d-don't u-u-u-unders-s-stand."

"It doesn't matter how, Jason. The simple fact is the picture exists. 
Are there other pictures?"

"Y-y-yeah," Jason acknowledged nervously. "M-m-my f-father w-w-would n-
n-never s-show them to a-a-anyone."

Cardinal Orselli smiled. It wasn't hard to imagine what sort of pictures 
existed of the boy. He was very photogenic, a natural model. His poses would 
be crude and sexually arousing, and very beautiful. They would be pictures 
worth seeing but they would never appear in an underground magazine for German 
boy-lovers.

"You mother will try to use this picture to prove to the court that your 
father is unsuitable as your legal guardian."

"T-t-then D-D-dad will lose," Jason asserted sadly as he continued to 
stare at the magazine cover.

"I doubt it, Jason. I am very confident he will have custody of you by 
the time school begins again."

"H-h-h-how? I-I-I don't understand," Jason repeated.

"There are several ways, little prince. But, as I have said, the judge 
is very sympathetic. He already knows about this picture. He thinks that you 
are an exceedingly beautiful boy."

Jason smirked. "You m-m-mean he l-likes b-b-boys, d-d-don't you?"

Cardinal Orselli nodded. "Of course. He's an old friend of Carlo's. In 
fact, if I am not mistaken, he was one of Carlo's first boys. He feels very 
bad about what Carlo did to you."

"D-d-does my f-f-father know a-a-about my b-b-balls?" Jason demanded 
cautiously.

"Not yet! I think it is best if he finds out from me. I will talk with 
him when he arrives in Rome. The judge will tell your mother that he knows 
what her husband did to you. Besides the physical damage to you, and that is 
covered in the doctor's certificate, there is some evidence that she knew what 
Carlo was doing to you."

"S-s-she c-c-couldn't know?" Jason pronounced awkwardly. "S-she found us 
on t-the n-n-night C-C-Carlo c-c-castrated me. S-she d-d-didn't know until t-
t-then!"

"That's true, Jason. But one night, in fact the night before you left 
for Greece, she watched you leaving Carlo's bedroom. You were naked if you 
remember, and you kissed Carlo as you left. She told one of the maids, a young 
woman, a girl really, called Sophia, about it."

"Oh!" Jason murmured. "I-I-I don't want my d-d-dad to know a-a-about C-
C-Carlo," he added sadly. "It w-w-would really h-h-hurt him if h-h-he found 
out."

Cardinal Orselli nodded again. "Sooner or later your father will have to 
know, just as he will have to know about what was taken from between your 
legs." He sighed. "If you don't mind, my son, I would like you to undress."

"H-h-here? I-i-in the c-c-car?" Jason affirmed

"Of course," the old man confirmed. "You know there's nothing for you to 
be ashamed about, my child."

"B-b-but w-w-what about T-T-Tony?" Jason persisted. "He'll s-s-see me."

"Perhaps. And what if he does. He's seen you naked before, little 
prince. You have nothing to hide."

Jason shuddered. He had completely forgotten. Suddenly he remembered 
being carried from through the darkened house. Except for his tee shirt, he 
was naked. He remembered the cool air on his legs. He was barely conscious. 
The sound of Carlo's feet were loud on the ancient marble squares. Across 
the hall, back to the servants entry, almost dropping the boy as he unfastened 
the lock and pushed the door open. They went outside. The air was cooler and 
the night was very dark. As they reached the stables and turned towards the 
garage, Tony came forward and helped to carry Jason. Together, they placed the 
drugged boy in the front seat of the Ferrari and fastened his seat belt.

And then Jason shuddered again as the rejected memory suddenly became 
clearly. Nearly unconscious, the events of that night had all but eluded 
him. Now, the neglected words were no longer forgotten. Carlo had pulled his 
tee shirt up and brushed the boy's hands away from their protective shield 
over his genitals. His voice had been scornful. "Look at him Tony! look at his 
balls! The next time you see him, he won't have any."

"T-T-Tony was there t-t-the n-n-night C-C-Carlo t-t-took me to R-
Ravello," Jason declared. "H-h-he helped C-Carlo p-p-put me in the c-c-car. H-
h-he knew w-w-what C-C-Carlo w-w-was g-g-going to do t-t-to me."

Cardinal Orselli scrutinized his fingernails. He had suspected as 
much. He scratched his thumb against his fingertips absently. He waited 
patiently. The child needed no prompting. With deliberate slowness Jason began 
to unfasten his belt. With each tedious step, he studied the back of the young 
man in the front of the car. Then finally, with his belt, button, and zipper 
unfastened, he lifted his buttocks upward slightly. With one deft movement his 
hands pushed downward carrying both his jeans and briefs well past his 
knees. Slowly he eased downward in to the seat, shivering slightly as he 
felt the soft butter-colored leather under his buttocks. Without a word he 
parted his legs for the Cardinal's inspection and appreciation.

The change in his body over the short space of just three months was 
immediately apparent. Long gone was the crimson scar on the underside of the 
flattened scrotum. Now the small, empty sack merely looked deflated, as if its 
loose folds had never carried the weight of two tiny testicles.

"It's healed well," Cardinal Orselli remarked. "Carlo was always good 
with a scalpel." His finger extended and gently brushed against the silky 
skin. "I can't even see the scar."

"That's w-w-what the d-d-d-doctor in L-L-Lucerne said. Y-y-you have t-t-
to be r-r-really close to s-s-see it. A-a-at first h-h-he thought I-I-I was b-
b-born without b-b-balls."

"That happens sometimes," Cardinal Orselli mused. "I know a boy in 
Napoli like that. Unlike you, it is very hard to get him excited."

"M-m-mine d-d-doesn't g-g-get as s-s-stiff a-a-anymore," Jason 
continued. "I-I-I think my c-c-cock is a l-l-lot s-s-smaller now as well."

The old man smiled gently as his finger continued to caress the tiny 
pouch. He marvelled at the softness of the skin as the silky flesh moved 
away from his finger.

"It's no smaller, my son. Without your testicles, it merely lies 
closer to your body. What did the doctor say? What did Father Luchiano tell 
him?"

"We b-b-b-both said I-I-I had a t-t-t-tumor and they h-h-had to be c-c-
cut off. A-a-at first h-h-he was s-s-suspicious b-b-because normally only 
one is a-a-affected and usually b-b-boys m-m-m-y age d-d-don't get them."

"I'm sure he's right. What did he say?"

"H-h-he didn't s-s-say a-a-anything other than that h-h-he was s-s-s-
sorry for m-m-me. T-then he t-t-took a ph-ph-photograph. That's f-f-for the j-
judge, isn't it?" Jason asked. "S-s-so my d-d-dad can g-g-get custody."

Cardinal Orselli nodded as he continued to stroke Jason's scrotum by 
moving his finger back and forth in the soft flesh. The beautiful boy beside 
him was a eunuch but he felt no sorrow. He was beyond remorse. Now he wanted 
only to bring happiness to the boy.

"H-h-he did s-s-some t-t-tests on me a-a-as well a-a-and explained a-a-
about the h-h-h-hormones and s-s-stuff for w-w-when I'm older. I-I-I can't 
ever h-h-have children of m-m-my own, d-d-did y-you know that?" Jason added 
abruptly.

"I already told you that. Don't you remember talking about it at the 
villa? We discussed all that. It's a pity, little prince. You would have 
lovely children."

"I-I-I r-r-remember," Jason answered. He looked out the window, 
following each car as it passed the darkened windows of the limousine. He 
was oblivious to his near nakedness. "I-I-I can't b-b-be a f-f-father," he 
added. "In a w-w-way I-I-I'm like y-y-you, aren't I?"

Cardinal Orselli smiled. "Because of my vow of celibacy? Yes, Jason, 
we are alike in that respect."

"S-s-so if y-y-you couldn't m-m-marry, w-w-what did you d-d-do?"

The old man's eyes narrowed as he examined the boy. The clear blue 
eyes were innocent. Only a few men, others who shared his desires, had heard 
his confession. It was a sin that was never confessed within the sanctity of 
the church.

"Y-y-you did it w-with b-b-boys, didn't y-y-you?" Jason prompted 
curiously. 

The old man sighed as he remembered the many youths and the several boys 
who had been his companions over the years. "Yes, Jason. But none of them were 
as young as you are, my son," he answered. "And none were as beautiful, for 
that matter."

"D-d-did you,... d-d-did y-y-you ever d-d-do to it w-w-w-with a b-b-
boy like m-m-me, you know w-w-without any b-b-balls?" Jason asked nervously.

"Yes," Cardinal Orselli acknowledged. "There was a boy in Napoli

"W-w-what was it l-l-like?" Jason continued. The question had burned 
at him ever since he realized that his own pleasure was diminished. "D-d-did 
y-y-you like it a-a-as m-m-much?"

"It's very different in a way. Without them, a boy is less of a man. 
He can make love to a man without fear of losing his manhood."

"W-w-what's that s-s-s-supposed to m-m-mean? I-I-I already know I'm g-g-
gay. I'm n-n-not f-f-frightened of it a-a-any more"

"In due time, you'll understand, my son. But let me say this for now. 
For those men who prefer boys like you, I believe they desire them because 
they are neither man nor woman. Do you understand?"

Cardinal Orselli studied the boy next to him. Jason frowned as he 
considered the old man's words and tried to place it in perspective. He was 
a boy, not a man, and certainly not a woman.

"My d-d-dad, h-h-he loves me b-b-but he isn't g-g-gay. H-h-he doesn't l-
l-like m-men!" Jason announced.

"It's not a matter of being gay, it's simply affection for the 
absolute perfection of a beautiful boy like you. And there is the joy of being 
young. Not having testicles only prolongs both your beauty and your youth."

Jason nodded slightly. "T-the b-b-boys at school s-s-say that I-I-I look 
l-like a g-g-girl," he mumbled.

The old man smiled affectionately. The similarity was impossible to 
ignore. "You are very beautiful. That's a compliment, Jason. You should not be 
offended." Jason shrugged. "You already know what happens when a boy loses his 
testicles. You know that it will keep you from becoming a man if you do not 
have the injections when you are older. Eventually you will have to decide 
whether you want them,... whether you want to become a man,... or not."

The boy blinked at the old man. The question had been on his mind 
since his visit to the doctor. The essential issue was his father's reaction.

"W-what about,... m-m-my,... father?" Jason asked slowly. "I-I-I don't 
w-w-want him to b-b-be ashamed of me."

"If anything, I believe your father will be happier with you. It's 
nothing to be ashamed about."

"I'm n-n-not ashamed of it a-a-any more." Jason breathed out slowly. "A-
a-at first I-I-I hated it. I-I-I w-w-wanted to d-d-die when y-y-you t-t-told 
me w-w-what happened to m-my balls."

"And now?" the old man prompted.

"I-I-I guess I s-s-still w-w-wish it h-h-h-hadn't happened b-b-but I 
know I-I-I can't change it n-n-now s-s-so it's okay."

"Have you found any good things that have come from it, my son?"

Jason shrugged as he considered the question. He glanced out the 
window and caught a last glimpse of Lake Lucerne as they started to climb 
higher into the mountains. "I c-c-can sing b-b-better than I-I-I used to. A-a-
and Father L-L-Luchiano s-s-said that m-m-my voice w-w-won't break until I-I-I 
want it t-t-to."

"Is there anything else, little prince?"

Jason smirked knowingly. "I-I-I can s-s-still have s-s-sex," he said 
softly. "I-i-it doesn't f-f-feel exactly t-t-the s-s-same, b-b-but it's okay."

Cardinal Orselli chuckled. "I expect so. You must keep young Telford and 
your African boyfriend very busy, I imagine."

"Only K-K-Ken," Jason confided. "Tel w-w-wants to p-p-play around and d-
d-do stuff, b-b-but nothing s-s-serious. I-I-I think h-h-he likes g-g-g-girls. 
He's a-a-always talking a-a-a-about d-d-doing it to a g-g-girl."

"Are you jealous?"

Jason grinned as he looked away from the window. "M-m-my dad s-s-says b-
b-boys are b-b-b-better.G-g-girls d-d-d-don't feel a-a-as g-g-g-good. H-h-he 
says g-g-girls don't l-l-like it in their b-b-butts."

"I think he absolutely right. Your friend, Ken sounds like a very nice 
boy. Is he good to you?"

"G-g-g-good? H-h-how do you m-m-mean?"

"In the way that counts."

"I l-l-l-like h-h-him a lot. H-h-he l-l-l-likes me as w-w-well." Jason 
said honestly.

"That's not what I meant, my son. "

For several seconds Jason was quiet before he giggled. "He's okay. 
He's really big down there and he tries to be gentle and he likes to do it a 
lot, but,...."

"But what?"

"It's j-j-just not the s-s-s-same." Jason looked up and their eyes 
met. The boy breathed out as he yawned. He rubbed his eyes and stretched.

"How is he different to your father?"

"It's l-l-like he's c-c-clumsy or h-h-he doesn't know w-w-what I'm f-f-
feeling or w-w-what I want, a-a-and he's t-t-too fast."

Cardinal Orselli nodded patiently. "Being in love makes a lot of 
difference," he explained.



They sat in silence for a long while. Jason stared out the window and 
watched the mountains pass by as the road curved and snaked across great 
chasms. After they reached Lake Maggiore the road passed though a long tunnel. 
Several minutes later, the limousine began to slow down. Jason, sleepily 
blinking, looked out the window.

"W-w-where are w-w-we?" he mumbled. Suddenly he recognized the vibrant 
red, green, and white Italian flag that fluttered above the roadway. "Oh! 
We're a-a-at the b-b-border," he added. "I-I-I better g-g-get d-d-dressed."

He started to pull his jeans and briefs up. As he reached his knees he 
glanced up and saw Tony's eyes in the rear vision mirror. The young man was 
staring at him with interest. His eyes seemed to be fixed on Jason's groin and 
his thin, limp penis.

"W-w-what are you s-s-staring at?" Jason demanded grumpily. He watched 
Tony smile in the mirror.

 "You can leave your clothes off, little prince. They won't stop us," 
Cardinal Orselli explained reassuringly.

He gestured towards the front of the car and Jason saw the purple and 
white pennant flying from the fender. Not for the first time he realized the 
power of the Church. The border guard raised his hand and motioned the 
Mercedes forward. They did not stop and seconds later the car surged forward 
and began to accelerate again. Through the dark tinted glass the guard had not 
seen the old man and the nearly naked boy in the back seat but even if he 
had seen them, nothing would have been done about it.

"Even if you do decide to live with your father,... I'd like you to live 
in Rome." Cardinal Orselli said quietly. "There is an excellent school 
there, an American school. You will be able to sing in the boy's choir."

"L-l-l-live in R-Rome?" Jason asked disdainfully. "I-I-I w-want to 
live w-w-with him on h-h-his yacht,... f-f-forever. I-I-I don't w-w-want to b-
b-be near m-m-my m-m-m,.... m-m-mom." He hesitated. "I-I-I h-h-hate h-h-her!"

He wondered why he was so confused about his feelings. The few times 
since the operation that Jason thought about his mother, it was not with 
affection. Without her sympathy and support for his loss, Jason had come to 
dislike her. What love he did not receive from her, his father more than 
compensated for. And yet, he still loved her, not with the same intensity that 
he reserved for his father, but with dutiful devotion. His relationship with 
his father was the single most important thing in his life but his love was 
due to far more than the fact that they had been lovers for most of the 
previous summer.

Cardinal Orselli did not speak. During the weeks that Jason had spent at 
the Villa Pallavicino he had become infatuated with the boy. The perfect 
child, his slender boy emasculated, devastated less by what had been taken 
from him than by the imagined loss of his father, had found friendship and 
solace in the company of the old man. Slowly, irrevocably, Giovanni Orselli 
had come to love the boy but he could not admit it to himself. There was far 
too much at stake. More than a month after Jason had departed for school in 
Lucerne, he made his decision.

"Did you know that you are now very well off?" Cardinal Orselli said 
gently as much to himself as to the boy beside him.

The old man sighed loudly as he remembered the difficulties. The boy 
knew nothing. He did not know what had transpired during the last three 
months, except that his father was trying hard to obtain legal custody of 
his son. So much had happened and it had happened quickly once his decision 
was made. Carlo Gubbio's will had been brought to light. Leane had been 
furious but her protestations were ineffective. The Italian Court bowed to the 
Cardinal's arguments, accepted the new document, and rejected her challenge. 
The boy would get everything. But there were provisions, conditions 
precedent and subsequent, some established by Carlo himself, others set out by 
the Court with Cardinal Orselli's agreement.

"Huh? M-m-my father d-d-doesn't have m-m-much money."

Jason's words interrupted his reverie. He looked up, startled as the boy 
continued proudly expounding on his father's strengths.

"You are very rich, take my word for it," Cardinal Orselli repeated.

"He l-l-lives on a y-y-yacht. He d-d-doesn't e-e-even have a h-h-
house. If h-h-h-he gets c-c-custody of m-m-me, I'm g-g-going to l-l-live on h-
h-his boat and s-s-sail every w-w-w-here w-w-with him," Jason said excitedly.

His voice was full of enthusiasm and the words, although broken up 
with his stammer, came lightly and with unbounded happiness. It made the old 
man happy just to hear him speak.

"That might be not as true as you would wish it, little prince."

Cardinal Orselli shook his head sadly as he realized just how much he 
would miss the sparkling vitality of the beautiful child if he were to 
leave. At night in Ravello he had often dreamed of being twenty or thirty 
years younger, of being the boy's lover.

"I told Father Luchiano that you would not be coming back to school 
after Christmas. Even if your mother does get custody of you for some 
reason,... and she will not,... you will be going to school in Rome.

"How d-d-do y-y-you know that?" Jason asked curiously. "D-d-did my f-f-
father s-s-sell his b-b-book?"

"I believe so, Jason. I doubt that it will make him rich, however."

"Did h-h-he sell A-A-Apollo?"

"No, nothing like that. Carlo's will is involved. You are the rightful 
heir. According to the Court of Probate in Rome, as of the beginning of this 
month you have inherited a vast fortune."

The old man sat quietly as Jason contemplated the news. The boy deserved 
to be rich. Jason remembered the beautiful villa in the hills of Frascati, the 
magnificent gardens as they stepped downward on the long terraces, the 
shaded pool, the long avenues of trees. He remembered the villa at Ravello and 
although he could not overlook the shocking mutilation that had been done to 
him, it was impossible to slight the simple elegance of the villa and the 
spectacular view of the cliffs and ocean. And now, according to Cardinal 
Orselli and some court in Rome, it was all his. His feelings were mixed up--
there was both affection and hate where Carlo Gubbio was concerned.

"There's another surprise waiting for you at home," Cardinal Orselli 
said quietly as he changed the subject.

His hand moved to rest on Jason's bare leg. It was just above the 
boy's knee and his fingers slowly stroked along the underside where the skin 
was softer.

"We haven't spent much time together, have we, my son?" Jason shook 
his head slightly. "It's been very difficult for both of us since the 
operation." Jason nodded again. "I want to spend more time with you this 
Christmas," Cardinal Orselli added sincerely.

Jason watched as the autostrada flew past. His eyes followed the lines 
of fences and concrete walls as if they enclosed him. If he could see beyond 
them, then he could escape back to his father and the solitude of the Gulf 
of Euboea. He remembered his father's embrace, the powerful arms locked around 
his waist as they rolled in the sand. They had been naked all day and it was 
the third time since sunrise that his father's penis had been inside him. He 
could feel the sudden jerks, the hot spurts in the sensitive depths of his 
rectum, his father's gasps as passion disregarded the exhaustion of orgasm and 
he continued to thrust with the sole purpose of giving the boy one last climax 
before the sun set.

Inside the Mercedes it was very quiet. There was the faintest hum of 
road noise and not a whisper from the engine. Jason breathed slowly. His 
thoughts drifted back and forth, from Tony and Carlo and his first clumsy 
discoveries about his body, to the strange and wonderful feelings he had 
explored with his father, and finally to Telford and Ken and his 
investigations of another boy's body. Cardinal Orselli's hand continued to rub 
his thigh, moving slightly higher until the tips of his fingers were 
slightly under the flattened pouch of Jason's scrotum.

"I m-m-miss my d-d-dad," Jason murmured sadly.

"I know you do, Jason." He paused and Jason felt his fingers tighten 
on his empty scrotum. "Your grandmother wanted to come up today to meet you. 
She's missed you, a lot," Cardinal Orselli added as an afterthought, or so 
it seemed.

"You love your father a great deal, don't you Jason?" The boy nodded. It 
was as if Cardinal Orselli had read his thoughts at that very instant.

"W-w-what did you m-m-mean about m-m-me g-g-going to school in R-R-
Rome,... even if m-m-my father gets c-c-custody of me?" Jason said cautiously.

"Well with your voice, it would be wonderful if you sang in the choir. 
There is a place for you in the Laterno. There are only a few boys who can 
sing as good as you and all of them are at least a year older than you."

"W-w-what about s-s-school?" Jason persisted. "W-w-would I live there?"

"You would go to school at the American School. And no, little prince, 
you would not live at school. I expect that you would want to live with your 
father in Frascati, now that you own the Villa Bellini."

"B-b-but I w-w-want to l-l-live with h-h-him on A-A-Apollo," Jason 
complained. "I-I-I w-w-want to sail in G-G-Greece w-w-with him."

Cardinal Orselli sighed as if he was remembering something from a long 
while ago. "Still,... sometimes there is no choice. If he gets custody of you, 
there is no choice. You must live with you father in Italy."

"W-w-why must I-I-I?"

"Because that is what Carlo's will requires, until you are twenty-one 
years old. It is very precise on the subject. You are, of course, allowed to 
travel outside Italy for several months each year. Fortunately, the judge in 
Rome accepted my argument to set aside the provision for your mother to live 
with you at Frascati as your guardian. I expect that if all goes as it should, 
your father will be your guardian."

"T-that's a-a-all!" Jason asked.

"There are several other requirements as well. There is one pertaining 
to me. I can continue to live in the Villa Pallavicino until I die."

The old man paused and breathed deeply. Slowly his old fingers 
massaged the empty folds of the boy's scrotum. He felt the withered ends of 
the fragile vessels that only several months ago had carried blood to the 
child's testicles. The operation was irrevocable, the absent organs, now 
encased in a delicate sculpting of gold and filigree silver, lay in a small 
box in Frascati awaiting their owner.

"I-I-I don't m-m-mind," Jason mumbled. "W-w-what else is th-th-there?"

"I expect it will be very difficult for you, but every morning you are 
to pray for Carlo."

"W-w-what?" Jason's voice trembled in shock. "I-I-I hate h-h-him!"

"You must forgive him, my son. You can never recover what he took from 
you but you can, you must forgive him."

Cardinal Orselli's words hung in the air between them and Jason looked 
away again and stared out the window. Several minutes passed. Cardinal 
Orselli's fingers stayed on his scrotum, moving slowly back and forth. It 
began to feel moist and hot and Jason began to feel strange. He felt funny 
inside. It was as if his heart was fluttering, like a little bird was flapping 
its wings inside his chest. The old man had seldom touched him anywhere but 
Jason suddenly liked his hand there. Although the skin was dried up and the 
fingers had a yellowish mummified appearance, it felt big and strong and nice. 
And then Jason felt uncomfortable as the man's fingers lifted up and 
enclosed his small penis.

"You are growing up, aren't you Jason?" Cardinal Orselli said huskily.

A few more seconds passed before Jason realized that he felt warm, a 
sensation that could only mean that his penis was starting to get stiff. 
Suddenly it felt very hot and tight between his legs. Jason glanced down as 
surreptitiously as he could. He was getting an erection from Cardinal 
Orselli's hand. He trembled and tried to ignore it, knowing that it might go 
away if he thought about something else, anything else. Despite his best 
efforts Jason realized that it was not going to go away. He could feel his 
penis getting harder and harder until it started to stretch out into the 
eighty-five year-old man's hand.

Cardinal Orselli coughed loudly and Tony's head turned quickly as he 
looked through the window that separated them. It was a terrible sound from 
deep inside his chest and it scared the boy.

"Your Eminence, are you all right?" Tony asked. He smiled slyly as he 
saw Jason's legs stretched wide apart, his short, pale penis standing to 
attention like a little soldier ready for inspection. "Should I stop the car?"

"No! No, I'll be fine, Tony."

Cardinal Orselli's hand pulled away and for an instant as Jason looked 
at him. Their eyes met. He was breathing heavily and he scratched his cheek 
thoughtfully as he studied the slender boy.

"Yes,... you are growing up, aren't you Jason," he said softly. He spoke 
as much to himself as to the boy beside him.

It was not a question but an observation and although it appeared 
innocent on the surface, its meaning was veiled. Jason realized then that 
Cardinal Orselli knew he had enjoyed the gentle touching. He blushed quickly 
as he wondered more about what had caused it. Another man, a man far older 
than his own grandfather, had touched him and he had become stiff. At first 
Jason was shocked and he stared at Cardinal Orselli in utter disbelief. He 
could only think about his father and how they made love. Even though Jason 
knew it was terribly wrong for a man to touch a boy like that, but 
especially his own son, he could not conceal his love for his father. He no 
longer felt shame or guilt. He felt good inside, a warm glow of pride and 
intense happiness settled over him.

"It's hot in here, isn't it?" Cardinal Orselli said softly.

Jason felt his penis slowly subside and he breathed out as he nodded.

"I'd like to get to know you better before your father arrives from 
America. It won't be too long before he's here, Jason," he added. He seemed to 
grope for each breath as his coughing fit slowly passed.

They returned to silence. Jason closed his eyes, turned onto his side, 
curled up in the seat, and began to think about his father. He could easily 
picture him working on the yacht. He had an infectious laugh. Jason remembered 
what happened in the weeks that they had shared together and he shivered. 
How much had he changed in last three months? Would his father still love him?

"Jason?"

Jason blinked as his eyes opened. Carlo held his hand out, offering 
the boy the same ivory shaft that he had used at the Villa Pallavicino. It was 
almost as thick as his father's penis and several inches longer. As he 
recovered from the mutilation of his boy, the curved stake had brought him a 
lonely happiness that eased his torment. It had no passion of its own but it 
aroused within the ten-year-old boy a familiar yearning that had not 
vanished with his father's disappearance. And now, even as he contemplated the 
cream-colored shaft with distaste, his appetite was unabated. Jason reached 
forward and took the proffered instrument of pleasure.

"You need to get ready for him, my son," Cardinal Orselli remarked. 
"Otherwise he will hurt you,... if you are not used to it."

"I'll b-b-be okay," Jason asserted. "I-I-I d-d-don't need th-this."

"It's been several months and you will want to please him. And unless 
I'm wrong, you will hunger for it. It will be better for both of you if you 
body is prepared to receive his passion."

Jason grinned as he reached out and took the small jar of vaseline 
that the old man handed to him. He didn't mind the audience, even though he 
was aware that Tony was leering in the rear-vision mirror as he watched. 
Expertly Jason lubricated the pale, polished tusk, marvelling at its 
smoothness and slipperiness as the grease began to cover it. This time, unlike 
the first time, it went in very easily.



The ride home lasted most of the day. The trip went slowly until they 
left the mountains. There was very little pain, and only the slightest 
discomfort in Jason's body when they stopped for a late lunch at a 
restaurant on the River Abba, several kilometers south of Lido. He removed the 
ivory and suddenly became aware of the void inside him. In more than two hours 
his young body had adjusted, yielding to accommodate the presence of the 
foreign object that was lodged more than six inches inside his bowel. He 
felt loose and stretched, a good feeling as his resilient but distorted rectum 
began to contract. He dressed quickly, pausing only once to test the pliant 
ring of his anus. He enjoyed the sensation as his finger poked inside and 
penetrated into the lush heat of his bowel. He remembered how he felt after 
his father's penis pulled free of him. It felt exactly the same.

 At Bologna, they turned south towards Florence. As they climbed away 
from the dust covered plains, away from the broad expanses of farms and 
factories, Jason became more exuberant until he was bubbling with heightened 
spirit. Beyond Florence, and into the Tuscany region, the boy gazed at the 
vineyards that crowned the hills. It was only the second time that he had seen 
this part of Italy but already he had come to love it. On another day, 
Cardinal Orselli would have stopped the car and purchased some of the 
Chianti wine. They had done that three months earlier when the old man 
escorted the boy to his new school in Lucerne. From then on Jason had a fond 
memory of sipping his second glass of wine, his first being with his father in 
Greece.

They skirted around Rome and into the rolling hills of the Frascati 
region. Jason counted the miles as they neared the Villa Bellini. It was 
nice to be going home, even if home was where Carlo had been buried. With 
every mile Jason wondered whether he would ever see his father again. As 
soon as Cardinal Orselli had told him that his father was alive, Jason knew 
that his father would come to him. Their paths would cross and their lives, 
like their bodies, would be inseparably joined. 

They arrived at the villa in the early evening. The surprise awaiting 
Jason was not what he had hoped for, but then he had not expected anything 
of the kind. They sat outside in the crisp evening air, at the end of the 
loggia only a few feet before the stone steps that led down into the garden. 
Cardinal Orselli sat back, sipped his port, and watched as Jason drooled 
over it. It was an iridescent, ruby-red Honda, an all-terrain mini-bike with 
two cylinders and twenty horsepower. It was a big bike for a ten-year-old boy. 
Another boy might have said it was 'cool' but it was 'hot', according to the 
high-spirited boy. It was either his birthday present from his father, six 
months late, or a Christmas present, one week early. Beginning right then 
Jason started to think that living at the Villa Bellini might turn out to be a 
lot more fun than he expected.

"It's a-a-absolutely a-a-awesome," Jason said. He could hear the 
excitement in his own voice. "It's w-w-what I-I-I always w-w-w-wanted."

"Well, Christmas is in a week, Jason, but your father thought you'd like 
to get it earlier so that you could use it while you're here by yourself. 
You have to promise me to be very careful with it. Don't drive too fast! 
It's not a Ferrari!"

"Y-y-yes Sir!"

"Do you like it?"

"It's the n-n-nicest p-p-present I could get. I-I-I really l-l-love it," 
Jason gushed.

Jason rushed up to the old man and gave him a hug. He was still 
sitting down so Jason had to kneel down and lean forward over his legs. 
Cardinal Orselli wrapped his arms around the boy and held him tightly as he 
rubbed his fingers through the silky blond hair. 

"Well, remember what I said on the trip down, Jason. You are growing up, 
despite what Carlo did to you. Even though you have certain responsibilities 
now as the future owner of Carlo's estate, your father and I still want you to 
enjoy being young."

"I w-w-wish I-I-I could th-th-thank my d-d-dad," Jason said mournfully.

"Well it won't be that much longer before your father arrives and you 
can thank him personally. I'm quite sure you have a few ideas on how to 
thank him."

Jason liked Cardinal Orselli more at that moment that ever before. It 
was after seven o'clock by then, so it was too late to ride very far. Tony 
helped to wheel the bike down to the front drive and Jason rode along the 
avenue to the gate-keeper's lodge, back up to the villa, and around the 
fountain in the forecourt again and again until he was called in for dinner. 
It was just after eight o'clock, about the time when Ken's airplane was 
landing in Nairobi, Kenya.



December 22nd. Villa Bellini, Frascati



"Is life worth living for man, while he contemplates Beauty itself. If 
ever you see this, it will seem to you to be far above gold and raiment and 
beautiful boys and men, whose beauty you are now entraced to see and you and 
many others are ready, so long as they see their darlings and remain with 
them, if it could be possible, not to eat nor drink but only to gaze at them 
and to be with them.



Plato, Symposium





The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Jason went out to the 
loggia. His new bike was even more impressive in the daylight. It was 
everything that Jason wanted. It started on the first go and roared to life 
with a rough bark until the engine settled down to a steady idle. Jason set 
off to explore the estate of the Villa Bellini.

One of the things that Jason had to promise Cardinal Orselli was the 
he would always wear a crash helmet. Another thing was that Jason would 
drive slowly, use the bike safely, and not engage in races with other boys. At 
a snail's pace, Jason drove down the path beside the kitchen garden until he 
was through the wall and out of sight of the house. Then he opened the 
throttle wide. The gravel road was bumpy and very unlike the main drive up 
to the villa. It lead away from the gardens and down towards the cemetery. 
He stopped the bike between two old cypress pines and opened the gate. It 
squeaked loudly. Cautiously Jason entered, examining each monument as he went. 
For several centuries the villa had been owned by the Bellini family. The 
statue on one ancient monument caught his eye and he stopped to read the 
aged description carefully:

Ethereal beauty fleeting, never mine,

but suspended, waiting for love.

But love once found, no innocence remains,

he is mine; body, mind, and soul.

Eternal boy, returned to me,

too fragile, he dies.

The boy, Marco Giorgio Bellini, had been one year older than Jason 
when he died in 1793. He was buried beside Count Giorgio Bellini, born 1760, 
died 1793.

There was a sudden chill down his spine, and Jason turned sharply. His 
eyes quickly found the new marble monument just before the enclosing stone 
wall. It was Carlo's grave. He approached slowly and looked down at the pure 
white marble slab that covered the tomb. For several long minutes he gazed 
at it. The man had taken both his innocence and his manhood but had given 
him immense wealth in return. He could not forgive him. He could not pray 
for him. He turned away and ran back to where he had left his bike.

 Now Jason had to choose between the road that went up to the 
vineyards and the track that followed the crest of the hill before it turned 
and, passing through the woods, ended up at the front gate. There really was 
only one choice for a dirt bike. Stones and dirt flew up behind him as Jason 
charged along the track. In only a few minutes he reached the gate-keeper's 
house. It was built in the tradition of the region with a tiled roof and walls 
made of local stone.

Almost as soon as Jason stopped the bike, Tony came out to greet him. He 
took one look at the new bike and he raised his eyebrows.

"You got some nice wheels, Jason," he said as he came up. "I know this 
time it isn't another gift from Carlo. I picked it up last week in Roman for 
you father."

"T-th-thanks Tony. I r-r-really like it," Jason grinned. "T-T-T-Tony,... 
can w-w-we be f-f-friends?" he added.

Tony smiled slightly. "I'm sorry about what happened to you, little 
prince. I couldn't have stopped Carlo."

"I-I-I know that," Jason said. "I-i-i-it's okay! I-I-I want to b-b-be 
friends,... do y-y-you?"

"Friends, little prince? Yes! Now we both have reason to hate Carlo."

Tony extended one hand and high-fived the boy. In the space of six 
months Jason had all but forgotten that he had once taken Tony's thick penis 
into his mouth. Now as he gazed at the lean, strong body before him he 
realized that he was still fascinated. His eyes focused on the prominent bulge 
in the young man's jeans. He could sense the tension between them. The 
swelling in Tony's jeans seemed even bigger than it had been the last time 
he had seen him. With difficulty, he pulled his eyes away.

"A-a-awesome dude," Jason agreed. "Y-y-you've got t-t-to get y-y-your 
bike out too T-T-Tony," he suggested. "We can ride together."

"I can't Jason. I've got something I have to do,... for your 
grandmother. Maybe this afternoon we could go for a ride."

"Oh! W-w-what's she w-w-want you to d-d-do? Maybe I-I-I can t-t-talk 
to h-h-her?" Jason suggested.

"You can't! It's not something that you can talk to her about."

"Oh s-s-sure I-I-I can, T-T-Tony! It's a-a-all m-m-mine now and you h-h-
have to d-d-do what I-I-I say. I-I-I can t-t-talk to her," Jason said quickly.

"Maybe we can ride later. I have something to do for her," Tony added 
with emphasis.

"I-I-I can h-h-help, can't I-I-I?" Jason asked mournfully.

If the truth be told, Jason wasn't particularly interested in what his 
grandmother wanted Tony to do or in helping. The idea that they had been 
having sex or that his own mother had been having sex with Tony's sister, 
Sophia, never entered his mind.

"Hardly! She wants me to fuck her," Tony said crudely. He smirked at the 
sudden surprise on Jason's face. "You know what being 'fucked' means, don't 
you?"

Ever since Jason had awakened that morning his mind had been on only one 
thing. He wondered when his father would come to get him. He nodded 
slightly, he knew exactly what being 'fucked' was about. He had been fucked, 
again and again until he was to weak to move. Until that instant, he was 
content just to think and remember but with a sudden, desperate desire he 
wanted it. He could feel a man's engorged penis moving inside his body. He 
could feel it pushing, pumping, protruding, pounding into his bowel. He 
could feel his entire body concentrated on the savage organ as it 
overwhelmed him. As they stood there, face to face and only a meter apart, 
Jason was suddenly very hot.

"You r-r-remember,..." Jason suggested slowly.

"Yeah, I remember," Tony interrupted. He smiled slightly.

Jason returned his smile. "I-I-I really m-m-missed you, T-T-Tony."

"You were one of Carlo's boys. I shouldn't have done that to you. Was he 
angry after he found us together by the pool?"

"Y-y-yeah. H-h-he was p-p-pissed at me that n-n-night for a wh-wh-
while,.. u-until I s-s-sucked his a-as w-w-well."

"I thought you might have forgotten," Tony admonished.

"I-I-I didn't f-f-forget."

Jason's thoughts drifted away from the brief interval that Tony had been 
part of his life to what he had done with his father in Greece. He would never 
forget what happened with his father. It had been the most exciting thing that 
had ever happened to him. It was also the most enjoyable thing he had ever 
done. In the instant that his father's penis started to push into him, Jason 
knew he could never be the same. He enjoyed it far too much. From then on, 
Jason wondered what it felt like for his father. A few minutes after his penis 
was all the way inside him, his father always started to act strange. At first 
he would push harder, as though he was trying to get even more inside, then he 
would start to moan and do it faster and faster.

Then, if he went fast enough, he would begin to shake. It began with a 
kind of quivering but before long he would be trembling and gasping for breath 
as he made a funny groaning sound. By then Jason would be so loose inside 
his hole that he could barely feel more than a mushy wetness around his penis. 
But while it still felt good for him, Jason could tell it obviously felt a lot 
better for his father. Then he would groan and shudder as if something was 
really hurting inside him. Even though the boy thoroughly understood the 
mechanics of orgasm by then, it looked more like his father was in pain than 
anything else. Jason could not help but wonder what it was like for him.

It was only a week ago when Jason finally managed to ask Ken to let 
him do it instead. What seemed to Jason to be a reasonable request was not 
so to Ken. He was met with a laugh. One look at Jason's tiny penis and both 
boys knew that neither of them would feel much of anything. It left him 
feeling impotent and very bitter.

 "You sucked my cock like a real pro," Tony laughed. "I bet old Carlo 
loved it."

Jason grinned cheekily. How many times had his father said the same 
thing, he was an 'awesome cocksucker'? And Tony's penis was so much bigger 
than that of either Carlo or his own father. How much bigger had it been, 
and inch, maybe as much as two inches? He tried to make a mental picture of 
the two men, fabricating each detail as closely as he could. One penis was 
clear, each minute variation recorded in his mind in great accuracy. How 
many times had he kissed the swollen glans before he took it into his mouth? 
The tip of his tongue could almost squeeze into the slit if he pushed hard. He 
could barely remember Tony's penis, except that it was big, very big, and 
curved.

"If y-y-you want to, T-T-Tony," Jason asked uncertainly.

"It isn't like that, Jason. Of course I want you to,... but I've got 
to wait here until your grandmother gets back."

"Okay." Jason shrugged. "I-I-I don't c-c-care."

"Man, what's got you all bulled up?"

"Huh?" Jason asked.

"You want it in your mouth that bad?" Tony taunted as he stepped away. 
"I thought you got it all the time at school from that nigger friend of 
yours."

Jason could feel his cheeks getting hotter. "What do you mean by that, 
Tony?"

"Pretending you don't know what I'm talking about won't help, Jason. You 
were plenty interested before you went off to Greece."

Tony had changed considerably in the period that Jason had been away. In 
little more than three months he had become the bed-companion of a woman who 
was thirty years older than he was. He had become a lot older as well and with 
his greater maturity, had come the realization of the full power of his 
sexuality.

Not for the first time Jason realized that he was attracted to the young 
man before him. He towered over the boy by so much that Jason's head was below 
his shoulders. But it was more than height alone that was disturbing to the 
boy, and much more than the difference between man and boy. Before Jason had 
been very uncertain about his sexuality. It was had been time of discovery, of 
exploring who he was, but now Tony was teasing him, leading him on, testing 
him. It was no longer curiosity that drove the boy on but a strange desire 
to prove that he was still capable of loving a man and of providing the 
satisfaction that a man's body demanded.

"No m-m-more than y-y-you w-w-were," Jason countered. He stared down 
at the ground and avoided the young man's eyes.

"I know you don't have any balls any more,..." Tony smirked.

"S-s-so?"

"So Jason, I bet you can still suck cocks. A boy doesn't need to have 
balls for that, not if he can get off by sucking a man's cock, that is."

"Y-y-you're a d-d-dick-h-h-head," Jason said angrily.

Tony chuckled crudely. "But that's not all, Jason. I can give you what 
you can't make for yourself."

"What's th-th-that?"

"I'm a man and you're a boy, Jason and I've got a real cow for a penis."

"So what?" Jason demanded angrily.

"It's very simple. What it means is that I can give you the stuff to 
make you become a man. All you have to do is drink my milk."

"I-I-is that a-a-all I-I-I h-have to d-d-do?" Jason said sarcastically.

"It also means I get to tell you what to do."

Again the memory of what Jason did with his father returned. He 
started to wonder not only whether his father would still love him, but 
whether after his loathsome injury, he would still want to make love to him. 
Without warning, a mischievous thrill ran through the boy like lightening. 
There was one way of finding out whether his father would still find him 
desirable.

Jason shrugged casually. "So wh-where d-d-do you w-w-want to do i-i-it?" 
he asked.

Tony regarded the boy quietly as though he was trying to make up his 
mind. His finger brushed against his nose the same way that a farmer does when 
he's considering the price of something. His eyes looked up, met Jason's 
eyes for several long seconds, and then slowly travelled down the young 
slender body. His look was disconcerting.

"We can't go in the house," he said. "My mother's there."

"We c-c-can go u-u-up to the p-p-pool," Jason suggested hopefully. "N-n-
no one is th-th-there."

"No. It's too cold. I know a better place we can go. You know the grotto 
down by the garden, where Carlo and your mother used to have ice-cream in 
the summer?"

"Y-y-yes," Jason said, too quickly.

 Tony smirked. "You must want it real bad, Jason," he teased. "Wait here 
for a second and I'll get my bike out of the garage."

A minute later and they were on their way up to the villa. Tony knew a 
shortcut that brought them through the woods and straight to the grotto. The 
grotto was as old as the villa. It was almost concealed behind the thick ferns 
that grew from the sides of the pond. A waterfall splashed down from the rocks 
above sending a sparkling spray of droplets into the air. On the other side, a 
marble statue of young Adonis had been placed conspicuously as if guarding the 
grotto beyond.

 Since Jason had seen it last, the inner room of the grotto had been 
repaired. The door was now securely latched against intruders and the broken 
glass in the stained-glass windows had been replaced. His suspicions should 
have been aroused as soon as Tony retrieved the key from behind a stone in the 
wall. But Jason was unsuspecting and the simple truth that the grotto had been 
repaired for a specific reason eluded him. Tony opened the door and waited 
until the boy entered before closing the door behind him. He grinned as he 
watched the youngster look around. It was not the first time that Jason had 
been inside but that time had been six months earlier.

"It's a-a-a lot c-c-cleaner," Jason observed. "This p-p-place used t-t-
to be a d-d-dump."

"Better than the pool, isn't it?"

"L-l-lots!" Jason grinned. "This is n-n-nice."

He turned away from Tony and saw the marble statue for the first time. 
It was life-sized and made of perfect Cararra marble. The stone had been 
burnished so that it glowed with a pristine white lustre. He had never seen 
the statue before but he immediately recognized the subject. The boy, 
Ganymede, was mounted on the back of a giant eagle, Jupiter. The eagle's wings 
were outstretched and the huge bird was frozen at the instant it was taking 
off. Ganymede was beaming, one arm thrown high into the air, the other wrapped 
around the eagle's thick neck. The latent sexuality of the pose was 
disturbing. The boy was partially aroused, his thin, tapered penis jutted 
outward only a few short inches from the curved beak. 

Jason remembered Carlo's story. He had heard the story of Ganymede on 
the day Carlo had taken him to Monte Cavo. That day, now so long ago, was 
the first day that carlo had touched him. It was the day that Carlo had made 
him aware of his desires, the day that unleashed the carving harbored within 
him. From then on, Jason would never be the same. It was the day that he 
lost his innocence.

"W-w-where did that c-c-come from?" Jason asked inquisitively as he 
walked slowly towards the statue.

"That? Carlo bought it for you while you were away. It looks very 
expensive. He said you'd know who it was and why he bought it for you."

Jason frowned. He had become very tired of Carlo's expensive gifts. 
There were nothing but attempts to obtain his affection, to buy his body.

"It's n-n-nice," he acknowledged. "It's G-Gany-m-mede a-a-and J-Jupiter. 
Th-th-they were l-l-lovers in a-a-ancient G-G-Greece."

Tony smirked. "No one can see us here." He gestured out the window. "And 
we can see anyone coming with plenty of warning."

Jason nodded slightly and followed Tony's gesture. The grotto was very 
secluded. For no reason at all he suddenly felt scared. "Who c-c-cleaned it u-
u-up?" he asked.

"I did." Tony smirked again. "Carlo wanted it cleaned up for you."

"Who b-b-brought the b-b-bed down?" Jason asked nervously.

"I did. Carlo's wanted it for you. It's a lot better than doing it on 
the floor. What are you waiting for, Jason? I haven't got all day to spend 
down here with you."

"Huh?"

"Take your clothes off. You can't do it like that you know."

"H-h-here?" Jason asked doubtfully as he was suddenly confronted by that 
knowledge that he was not at all certain that he wanted to do with Tony. "Wh-
wh-what if s-s-someone comes a-a-along?"

"They won't, but if someone does you can tell them to get lost. No one 
is going to question you. You're Jason Anderson aren't you?"

Slowly Jason relaxed. "I'll t-t-take m-m-my clothes off i-if y-y-you 
do."

"Fuckin' hell! You're carrying on like some dumb bitch, aren't you? 
Remember, Jason, you haven't got anything between your legs that I haven't 
seen before."

"At l-l-least, i-i-if we take our c-clothes off, it's a b-b-bit w-w-
warmer in h-h-here," Jason laughed.

"That's true. It's cold enough outside to freeze your balls off, if 
you had any that is"

Tony lifted his arms up and dragged his shirt over his head. Jason 
watched him, more aware of the muscles in his arms and chest than he had 
ever been before. Although Tony had always been strong from working on the 
estate, the undeniable fact was that he was a well-endowed young man.

"Are you going to strip off, or what?" Tony demanded. "Maybe you just 
want to look at me. Is that it?"

Jason shook his head quickly and started to unbutton his shirt as he 
continued to steal swift glances at Tony's body. Even before the man's 
underpants were off Jason realized that his own small penis had become very 
stiff. As he straightened up it was impossible to look away. The man's penis 
had grown considerably in just a few seconds but it was still not erect. 
Unlike the boy, he was still soft enough for his penis to swing back and forth 
like a limp, fat sausage between his legs. When it was stiff it would be 
enormous. Jason stared long and hard. Without doubt it was, was the biggest 
penis he had ever seen. The size of his penis made the boy's small appendage 
look like it belonged on a baby.

"You don't look so bad," Tony commented as he looked the naked boy's 
body over. "You're skinny, but Carlo always liked his boys skinny. He used 
to say that it made their little asses even tighter."

"I-I-I never did that with C-C-Carlo," Jason denied hotly. "I-I-I 
didn't!"

""I don't care if you did, it's your ass. It's okay for fucking if 
that's what you like. I bet you enjoyed it. You look like you would be 
really good fuck."

Jason felt his face begin to redden as he stepped back and carefully sat 
down on the bed. His eyes never left the young man's body. Tony's penis 
started to lift up away from the huge wrinkled pouch of his scrotum. The man's 
testicles were very large. Again Jason remembered what was missing from his 
own body. It was as if the man read his mind.

"When you sit like that, I can see you haven't got any balls," Tony 
observed.

"Sit like h-h-how?"

"Like that, with your legs apart. If you didn't have a dick there, you'd 
look just like a girl. Maybe you better start sitting like a girl. You ought 
to keep your knees close together so no one can see what you haven't got 
down there."

Jason blushed as his legs closed. All that remained of his genitals 
was now concealed between his slender but firmly muscled thighs. In one simple 
gesture he had become sexless, an androgynous child.

"Must run in the family. All you Anderson's are the same."

"Wh-wh-what's that s-s-supposed to m-m-mean?" Jason demanded angrily.

"You all want to fuck! Your grandmother can't get enough of my cock 
and your mother, man is she a whore."

"W-w-what do y-y-you mean about m-m-my mom?"

"She screws my sister. You remember Sophia, don't you? She's only 
sixteen and she's been with your mother every night since Carlo died."

"I-I-I don't b-b-believe you," Jason shouted. "She wouldn't do that!"

His angry outburst frightened him and he shuddered uncontrollably, 
clenching his fists in impotent rage. Ever since the operation, from the 
time that he had been separated from his father, he had been powerless. He had 
been castrated, and like a young colt that had been gelded, he had been 
emasculated. He felt weak. His energy seemed to drain into a bottomless pit. 
He sat on the bed passively, clasping his hands as he continued to gape at 
Tony's naked body.

Tony stepped closer to the bed menacingly. "You're staring, Jason. You 
must want my penis in your butt real bad. You do, don't you?" Jason 
swallowed and tried to shake his head. "Well, little prince?"

"No! I-I-I don't!" Jason retorted. How could he possibly know that 
thought had been foremost in his mind? Only his father knew what he wanted 
better he did.

"You don't want it in your asshole, then where do you want it? I bet you 
want to suck it. If you're real good maybe I'll even let you drink it."

Jason shook his head quickly. Suddenly he wanted to escape from the dark 
room. It no longer mattered whether his father rejected his mutilated body. He 
wanted only to be loved and held in his powerful embrace.

"Those are the only two places you've got, Jason. That isn't a cunt down 
there. I've already seen what's between your skinny legs, and you haven't 
got one. It's a pity Carlo left your cock when he cut your balls off. You'd 
make a pretty girl."

Jason leaped to his feet. "I-I-I hate you, T-T-Tony. I-I-I can't help 
it. I d-d-didn't ask for th-th-this. Why d-d-don't you g-g-go fuck m-m-my 
grandmother?"

As Tony laughed behind him, he grabbed his clothes and rushed out of the 
grotto. He did not cry. Instead he felt only anger, anger at Carlo and his 
mother, and Tony, and even his grandmother. 

"Fuck you, Carelli," Jason swore to himself. "I'm going to have you 
fired. You and my grandmother can get the fuck out of my life forever."

He dressed quickly, mounted his new bike, and rode at a dangerous pace 
back to the villa.



December 24th, Villa Bellini, Frascati



My flight from New York landed in Fiumicino Airport outside Rome on 
Christmas Eve. It was after eight o'clock by the time I cleared customs and 
met Cardinal Orselli. We shook hands and he smiled as he observed the 
excitement that I radiated. Few times in my life had I felt so happy and of 
those, all had been with Jason.

"I take it that everything went very well in New York?" he asked.

"Jason is mine," I said simply. "Leane tried everything to get him but 
she lost in the end."

"Even the magazine picture?"

I returned the smile. "That came out early in the hearing. The bitch! 
She tried to use it to prove that I had sexual relations with Jason."

"And what did the judge say?"

"That it proved NOTHING!" I said with emphasis. "After all it only 
showed was the two of us without clothes on. How did he put it? Yes, a 
father and his son enjoying the early morning sun!"

"Good for him! So it didn't matter that it was the cover of a boy-sex 
magazine?"

I snorted as I picked up my bags. "Not one bit, apparently. Leane was 
pissed off. She started making claims that I sodomized Jason continually for 
the entire time he was with me."

"But you did, didn't you?" the old man chuckled. "Jason was very much 
the catamite, when I first saw him. You must have been very gentle with him. 
He's a sexy boy, and very lucky too, I would say."

I smiled again. "Other than the picture of us on Apollo, Leane had 
nothing to prove that I had been intimate with Jason, but once she had 
raised the issue, the judge picked right up on it. He was so quick I was 
certain he knew more than he let on."

Cardinal Orselli chuckled quietly as we walked towards the parking 
lot. "Believe me, John, your judge had a good idea of what he had to do. It 
wasn't just luck that he handled your case. I'm very glad that I was able to 
get him appointed to the case."

"I don't know how I can ever thank you for all you've done," I said 
honestly. "I owe you! Unless I'm mistaken, and I don't believe that I am, 
everything was the result of your work."

"I didn't do that much. I only did what was necessary to insure 
Jason's happiness. He had been through a great deal," the old man said 
sadly. "I can never replace what he's lost."

I shook my head sadly. Many of my questions had been answered during the 
court proceedings. While some of the testimony put my fears at rest, other 
things sickened me.

"Sophia was there with your ex-wife. Does it bother you, John?..." he 
asked. "Now that you know about Carlo's passion for your son."

"I suspected something like it," I admitted. "Right from the start Jason 
seemed, well to know too much, to be too eager to do things that he should 
know nothing about. I wasn't sure who he had been with, but I guessed it was a 
man. The things he wanted to do were not the sort of things that boys get up 
to. Even oversexed boys like Jason."

"Jason is an unusual boy. He is very sexy, unnaturally so I think." 
There was a long pause. "He's very special. Perhaps Carlo took advantage of 
him, but somehow I doubt it. I'm quite certain that Jason was interested."

 I nodded. When Sophia had given her evidence that my ex-wife knew about 
her son's sexual relationship with her then boyfriend', I had been stunned. My 
head was spinning as all of my questions about my son came to the forefront. I 
had never presumed that the boy was simply precocious--nor was he the innocent 
ten-year-old that he appeared. I realized on the third night that he was 
with me that he was sexually active far beyond his years and that he had 
been carefully tutored. However, he was far too intelligent to share his 
secret with me.

"I expect he was," I muttered. I had been jealous of Carlo from the 
outset. Unable to give Jason gifts of equal value, I had resented the man 
for his obvious affection for my son. But it had been much more than mere 
affection that drew them together. As Sophia finished her evidence I watched 
Leane turn bright red, angrily denying that she had watched Jason leaving 
Carlo's bedroom early one morning. I felt a wave of nausea as I thought 
about it, imagining Jason, my beautiful naked son, holding his pajamas and 
standing on tiptoe outside Carlo's bedroom. And Leane had known!

"He's a wonderful boy," Cardinal Orselli said. "He is a bit oversexed 
sometimes for his own good sometimes, but still, he's a good boy." He paused 
again. "Every boy is entitled to a mistake or two."

I stopped walking and turned to look back at the airport terminal. I had 
come a long way to see Jason. I wondered if he still loved me. Summer seemed 
like a long time ago. Was I one of Jason's mistakes?

"I guess," I replied tentatively. The question loomed in my mind with 
a hunger all of its own. "Did Carlo,... did he do it with Jason?" I asked 
nervously.

Cardinal Orselli walked slowly back to where I was standing. "Does it 
really matter if he did? How much do you love him?"

"I love him more than anything in the world. I want Jason back with me," 
I answered honestly.

That was what I had decided on the cold December day in a New York 
courtroom as Sophia gave her evidence. No matter what had happened between 
Jason and Carlo, I would always continue to love Jason. If it had not been 
Carlo, it probably would have been someone else. Jason came to me with a 
measure of experience that was far greater than that of a boy several years 
older. If it had not been for that experience, I doubted whether the events 
that brought us together would have occurred.

"How much was said about what happened after Jason came back from 
Greece?" the old man asked cautiously.

"Not a lot," I replied. "Did something happen that I should know about?" 
I added.

On the last day of the hearing the judge had taken Leane into his 
chamber. They were gone for more than an hour. It was a disconcerting period 
for me. I was convinced that the custody settlement was being developed, 
eliminating me from any future contact with my son. I paced the hall, 
trembling every few minutes as I thought that I would never see Jason again. I 
made a silent promise to myself that I would continue to love him no matter 
what happened. If need be, I would kidnap him and take him somewhere in the 
Pacific where we would never be found, perhaps even to Australia, for Jason 
had become very fond of the land 'down under' as a result of his radio talks 
with Boxy and Josh, Australian boys who lived somewhere near Wildland in New 
South wales.

The woman who walked out in the courtroom afterwards was white-faced. 
Less than a minute later, the judge rendered his decision. The words were 
branded into my mind. It had happened only one day earlier but I knew I 
would never forget them.

"I award permanent custody of Jason Anderson to his father, John 
Anderson. No privileges are awarded to his mother, Leane Gubbio, and such 
rights to visit or communicate with her son are solely at the discretion of 
the legal guardian and only if the minor so requests. Leane Gubbio, if it 
was in my power to charge you with criminal neglect I would do so. You have 
polluted the child and caused him grievous injury, the like of which is 
sickening. The court contemplates charging you with contempt. The hurt that 
you have imposed upon the boy defies humanity. What you have done is one of 
the most despicable acts that I have known. May God have mercy on your soul. 
This court stands adjourned!



"What happened to Jason?" I asked quietly.

The old man sighed loudly. "Please come to car. I will tell you on the 
way to the villa."

I followed. Something bad had happened to Jason, of that I was 
certain. I still remembered the judge's angry tone, his cold glare at Leane as 
his words echoed in the courtroom. I waited until the car was underway.

"What happened to Jason?" I demanded again.

Cardinal orselli coughed and breathed heavily. He was quiet then, as 
if searching for words to convey his sadness.

"Let me tell you a story, a true story, about a boy much like Jason. His 
name was Marco Bellini. He lived where Jason now lives, at the Villa Bellini 
in Frascati. When he was eleven years old, Marco Bellini fell in love. It 
was not a girl, or even a woman that he loved. Nor was his lover a boy. His 
lover was his own father.

"Count Giorgio Bellini became unnaturally fond of his son, perhaps 
because the boy was weak and sickly, perhaps because the child reminded him so 
much of his first wife. It is difficult to know how such things begin, suffice 
it to say that the love between father and son became very intimate. Neither 
was adverse to the relationship and over a few months it progressed from one 
thing to another until the father joined with his son. As you know, such 
things happen even though society and its laws despise both incest and 
pederastic love."

I nodded absently, remembering the guilt I always had carried about 
being Jason's lover. My son, in his usual offhand way seemed unperturbed by 
our relationship, indeed sometimes he flaunted it openly as he hugged or 
kissed me in public, but deep inside it must have affected him.

"For many months father and son were both very happy though the 
opportunity to satisfy their lust was seldom found. They used to go the grotto 
in the garden. There they would be undisturbed for the time it takes for a man 
and a boy to make love several times. They did not know that the Count's new 
wife had observed them going to the grotto. One day she followed them.

"A few days later the Count left for the annual visit of his estates 
in Tuscany. The boy had taken ill and did not go with him. In all likelihood 
his sickness was the result of some potion prepared by his stepmother."

The old man hesitated and took a deep breath. He was visibly stressed. 
"While the Count was away, the boy was taken to Villa Pallavicino. It is south 
of Naples, on the Amalfi Coast, at a small town called Ravello."

I watched as Cardinal Orselli swallowed. His eyes closed and he 
shifted uncomfortably.

"It was often referred to as the Villa Castrati. At the time,... two 
hundred years ago, young boys were taken there to be castrated. Usually the 
operation was done to preserve their voices for the choir. Sometimes it was 
done for other reasons. Occasionally a man would take the boy he loved there 
to stop the inevitable changes of puberty.

"For young Marco Bellini, the operation was done very carefully. 
Sometimes everything is taken and the scrotum is pulled tight. Often the 
scrotum is ligatured until the flesh withers and the pouch drops off. It is by 
far the safest method although it is very painful for the boy."

The old man breathed heavily. His shrivelled skin made a rasping sound 
as his hands rubbed together. His eyes met mine and I noticed that the eyes 
were yellowish, caved in behind his forehead in deep sockets.

"Alternatively, the flesh is cut and is sack is opened. At such times 
usually only the sack is emptied and the skin is left loose to remind the 
boy what was there. In Marco's case the eggs were taken and nothing else. That 
way many of the feelings are preserved for the boy. It is not the safest 
way, and it is not the easiest way. Sometimes the boys die from infection when 
the bleeding does not stop.

"Before Marco was strong enough to return, he was taken back to his 
father. Done carefully, a boy's urge is diminished by the loss. Between his 
legs Marco Bellini had the desire of a healthy male even if he lacked some 
of the necessary equipment. Neither he nor his father realized the need for 
care."

"What happened?" I asked. I could not hide the tremble in my voice. 

"Marco died. Perhaps the wound became infected but what is more likely 
is that the boy was not strong enough to bear the man's passion. He was the 
last of the Bellini family. The father was grief-stricken and killed 
himself. When Carlo Gubbio discovered the father's letter, his suicide letter, 
he was fascinated. He acquired the Villa Pallavicino and renovated it to its 
past spender."

Cardinal Orselli's wilted eyes met mine again and held them with a 
magnetic intensity. "Jason,... your son,... was taken there the night he 
came back from Greece."

"I don't understand," I gasped. "You can't mean,..." The old man 
nodded abruptly. "No, you're joking. Not that!"

"Jason was gelded. He was castrated three months ago. Just like Marco, 
only the testicles were removed. The scar is barely visible now." 

"Who? No! You mean Carlo did that to him? Why?" I begged. "Why would the 
bastard do that to Jason? Oh my god, the poor little kid!"

Cardinal Orselli shivered. Anxiously his hands rubbed his face. He had 
prayed that this would not be difficult. No matter how hard he had tried to 
place the events of August 22nd in perspective, he was unable to reach a 
conclusion. Only Jason knew the truth. Again he took a deep breath.

"Jason had some say in it, I think. There is reason to believe that he 
was offered a way out of becoming a man and he took it."

"I don't believe you," I murmured. "Jason wouldn't do that."

"After the operation Carlo telephoned me from Ravello. He assured me 
that Jason was willing for it to be done. Jason, I'm not sure about this, 
may have said yes."

"He would never say yes," I denied feverishly. "Not Jason! Why would 
he agree to such a terrible thing."

The old man shrugged. "You might know better than I do. Your son was 
very confused. He was very upset at being taken away from you. Perhaps it 
was his way of punishing himself."

"Why would he do that?" I asked quickly.

"He loves you, every bit as much as you love him."

"That isn't a reason for him to do that," I groaned. "It's a reason 
not to it!"

 "He knew that the love he shared with you was wrong. I think that he 
was consumed by his shame. Several times when we have talked about it he has 
called it a sin."

"So? Jason and I talked a lot about it. I think, no I know he accepted 
it. He wasn't ashamed of what we did together."

"What if he was also very attracted to Carlo? "

"Was he?" I asked. "I thought he only liked Carlo."

"Who can tell! Only Jason knows the answer to the question and he will 
not admit more than he was willing to go along with Carlo. If he was attracted 
to Carlo, then his love for you might make him feel terrible guilt about 
what he did with Carlo. He might want to be punished."

"I,... I guess so. Jason is a very sensitive kid. When he left me in 
Greece he made me promise him that I would always be faithful, no matter 
what."

I shook my head. My promise was more than fulfilling a lover's 
request. Being faithful was nothing, more nor less, than proving my love to 
jason. Faithful, was that a joke. I was no more loyal to my son, than a 
prostitute was to a client. Jason had been out of my arms no more than two 
days before I was fucking Tazo. If Jason felt guilt over his feelings for 
Carlo, I wondered why I did not. But I didn't love Tazo, at least not in the 
same way that I loved Jason. Tazo was young and good looking. He had a 
libido that made him rut with a fervor and his mere presence affected me 
like the strongest aphrodisiac. I stayed inside his hot lubricity for more 
than two weeks, taking him to my bed every night, loving him whenever the urge 
came to us.

Sadness overwhelmed me. So much for my vow of resolute devotion to 
Jason. My words had been empty of meaning and intention. It did not matter 
that my initial motivation had been only to do what was necessary to escape 
from Libya and rejoin my son in Italy. Jason would never understand that I 
fucked Tazo so that I could be with him. For a long while I had contemplated 
not telling my son. The knowledge that I had been unfaithful would hurt him, 
as much, if not more than the knowledge that he had been in Carlo's bed hurt 
me.

"Jason trusted me," I said quietly. "But I was,... unfaithful to him."

"That is between you and Jason. I think he will understand. While he has 
been away at school there has been another, a boy, a negro, who he has 
become very fond of. I expect that Jason will tell you when the time is 
right."

"And you think,... that Jason agreed?" I asked.

"I don't know. He has accepted the loss with little regret. It has not 
affected him as much as it should. I'm sure you realize that Jason,... well 
he's not as manly as other boys."

I remembered the first day we had put to sea from Piraeus. My first 
impression was that Jason was effeminate with his long blond hair blowing in 
the wind. His face was too pretty for a boy. His voice was too high pitched 
for a boy. His body was too smooth and slender for a boy. The only 
indication of his maleness was the tiny penis and testicles that dangled 
between his legs.

The lights of Rome began to disappear into the darkness as the car 
climbed into the hills. It would not be long before I was back with Jason 
again. I loved him ardently, just as Harry said I would. I loved him so much 
that physical union was unnecessary to our relationship. Our love had become 
platonic. Cardinal Orselli's voice interrupted my thoughts and I looked up 
quickly.

"Of course the alternative is that Carlo took out his hatred for you 
on the boy."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"As soon as he saw Jason on the night that he came back from Greece, 
he knew what Jason had been doing. The indications of that sort of thing on 
a young boy's body are very visible, as I'm sure you know."

I nodded. I could picture Jason bending over, parting his small cheeks 
with his fingers as he displayed his orifice to me. His opening had been 
distorted by the constant battering of my penis. It did not disfigure him like 
a blemish that resulted from a perverted and tortured love. His aperture 
opened outward, a breach into his perfect body through which my penis could 
easily pass without obstruction. Within lay the cavity that allowed us to join 
together and become one. The entrance was no longer bruised or reddened, it 
was just very big. 

"Carlo would have hated you for doing that to him," the old man 
continued. He paused for nearly a full minute. "I saw Jason's body myself 
the next day. Carlo would know that you had been inside him frequently. It 
would have made him very angry, more than angry enough to castrate the boy 
as punishment. When his anger faded, he was very sorry. He left everything 
to Jason before he killed himself"

"Carlo was a bastard!" I said loudly. "He should not have done that to 
Jason! Nothing is worth that!"

"Jason needs to know that he is still what you want, despite what he's 
lost between his legs. He knows what has been taken from him."

"That doesn't bother me," I said sincerely. "We can't change what 
happened to him now. That's all in the past."

"You make it sound so very simple," he said in obvious relief. For the 
last two weeks he had been very worried about my reaction. "You understand 
about Jason, don't you?" he asked circumspectly.

"Yes, I think I do. I wonder what really happened on the night that 
Jason got back from Greece." I sighed.

Perhaps I would never understand my son. In Greece, from the first 
time he had undressed and romped naked and sexually aroused before my 
camera, to the last glorious day we had spent together, he had been a constant 
source of surprise to me. With sudden insight I understood one thing that 
had been bothering me since I heard the judge's decision.

"The judge knew about Jason, didn't he?" I asked.

Cardinal Orselli nodded fractionally. "Yes, of course he knew. I had 
arranged for a doctor in Lucerne to examine Jason. He sent an affidavit to the 
judge. In his chambers, he confronted your ex-wife with it and forced her to 
give up custody. I expect that she is furious."

"I expect so," I agreed. "Leane is very used to getting her own way. 
Tell me one thing, Giovanni,... what was her reaction,... when she 
discovered what Carlo had done to Jason?"

"Her reaction? A little anger towards Carlo at first, when she came to 
Ravello, but not a lot, not even when she saw what had been done to the boy. 
It was certainly not what I would have expected. I think that was what 
surprised me more than anything. Then, when Jason was recovering, she did 
not come down to visit him. She telephoned occasionally, of course."

The old man hesitated for several long seconds as he closed his eyes and 
remembered. It was a painful memory but one that he found relieving. He 
thought about the long days and nights he had spent with the weakened boy. 
They had shared many hours together and he had come to discover an affection 
for the beautiful child that had previously eluded him. He had found love at a 
time in his life when he was far too advanced in years to do anything about 
it.

"At first I thought that she could not stand to confront what had been 
done to him. To find out that her son had been gelded was surely a terrible 
discovery, but what kept her away from the boy was not that. From what I 
heard, she was too busy,... she was shopping with her friends in Rome, and 
London, even in Paris, I believe."

"Leane was always a selfish bitch," I said angrily as I thought of my 
injured son lying in his bed. She had left him alone in the strange villa at 
the time when he needed her most. I would never forgive her. I would do 
everything in my power to make it up to Jason. I would love him as I had never 
loved him before.

 "Jason didn't love Carlo as much as you might think... There really 
is only one man in his life,..." the old man continued slowly. "... Jason 
loves you. He needs you to love him. He needs you now more than he ever needed 
you before."

"I need him too," I murmured. "I've missed him so much these last few 
months."

Cardinal Orselli smiled understandingly. "That feeling is one you 
share with Jason. I don't think that I have ever seen a sadder boy,... 
except perhaps one time,... a long time ago after the war. Your son will 
want to make love with you just as he did before while he was with you in 
Greece. In all likelihood he will want you as if nothing has happened."

I grinned. "I hope so. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or something 
like that."

"He will want to prove himself. You will need to be very careful with 
him tonight when you make love to him. He could be easily hurt, physically and 
in other ways as well."

"I will. I don't want to hurt him, either."

"I have encouraged Jason to use a dildo these last few days that he 
has been at the villa. It has helped, but of course, it may not be enough. 
There is a better way to make certain that he is ready for you, perhaps you 
know of it. It can also reduce his pain considerably. You should give the 
boy an enema to empty his body. Often an enema can achieve what other means 
cannot."

I remembered Jason and the pain that he had suffered on Naxos. It was 
the first time my penis had been inside him and despite my careful 
preparation, it had still been very difficult for him. I nodded, grateful 
for the old man's suggestion. He seemed to have vastly more experience than 
I did when it came to loving a young boy.

"It sounds like an excellent suggestion but I think you had better 
give me instructions," I chuckled. "I've never been constipated before. This 
is all new to me."

Cardinal Orselli laughed. His support was unfeigned. He genuinely 
loved Jason and was more than prepared to do whatever was required to ensure 
the boy's happiness. He explained carefully, and then, as the car approached 
the town of Frascati, began to expound on some of the difficulties that 
Jason would face when he failed to start puberty in several years. What he 
described was not something to which I was averse. Long before I had gone to 
new York, I realized that Jason's immaturity was far more thrilling than 
Tazo's pubescent body.



 December 24th, Villa Bellini, Frascati



It was not only that Jason felt uncomfortable before me but he exhibited 
a restlessness that was out of character. Usually, when Jason was anxious it 
did not bother me very much. His nervous periods were short lived, vanishing 
as quickly as they came as soon as we started to become intimate. As we 
talked, Jason glanced downward frequently. But whether he was remembering 
the emptiness of his scrotum or the presence of my penis in his bowel, I did 
not know. We had a lot of catching up to do and even after two hours it seemed 
as if we had barely scratched the surface.

We had been so close together during the summer and his life with me had 
been very pleasant but what happened afterwards was horrific. Even worse, 
Jason did not want me to know. I confronted the boy directly, pleading my love 
for him with an eloquence that astounded me as I acknowledged the fact that 
I knew he had been castrated. I had yet to untangle the riddle of what had 
really happened in my son's bedroom four months earlier.

He lay back on his bed, still dressed in his pajamas, the sheets and 
blanket covering him to his chest. I had not seen Jason in pajamas since he 
was a toddler. I glimpsed the pale skin of his neck and remembered how 
tanned he'd been when I last saw him. He had changed a lot, becoming more like 
the self-conscious boy who I had first met at the airport in Athens. He seemed 
sexless and yet, despite all that had happened since he had arrived back in 
Italy, I found him intensely arousing.

I sighed, knowing that it had been only four months, but it seemed a lot 
longer. Jason could remember the last time. We had done it with such 
regularity that for me, each time seemed to blend with all the rest until what 
remained was a continuous orgy. However Jason remembered the precise details 
of every time it seemed. He tormented me, until my own memories returned, 
until I remembered every vivid action that occurred on the last night 
onboard Apollo. He grinned as I fell quiet. He knew that I was thinking 
about the last long, lust-filled fuck we had together. I could still feel 
the sweaty heat from him, his body clamped around mine like a vise. He 
squeezed tightly on my penis, grunting with each labored breath as he 
drained the semen from me with tightening grasps of his sphincter muscle.

As he talked on and on about what had transpired after we parted, I 
slowly realized how much Jason hated his life. Everything he did seemed to 
be either shameful or disgusting. He looked back up at me sadly. There were 
tears in his big pale-blue eyes. Inside my stomach I felt sick. Even with what 
I now knew, there was a nagging hunger that was worse than it had ever been 
before. I wondered if the desire was mutual. I hoped and prayed that it was. I 
needed Jason's body to relieve my own torment.

"Well, D-D-Dad?" Jason repeated patiently.

"I don't want to hurt you, Jason. It's been a long while."

"Cardinal Orselli g-g-gave me a thing to use," Jason said quietly. "I-I-
I tried it a few times but it d-d-didn't feel good, because,... w-w-well, I 
guess you know w-w-why."

"Of course! I understand. I'm glad to know that you did it with Ken, 
Jason," I said gently. "I wish it was me, of course, but I'm glad you were 
happy with him. He sounds like a nice boy."

"I used to p-p-pretend that he was y-you. You don't care that he's 
black?" Jason asked quietly.

I reddened and looked away from him in shame. How could he understand my 
relationship with Tazo? I did pretend.

"Listen to me, Jason. I don't care about Ken. I'm glad that he loved 
you. You needed him, or someone like him. The color of his skin doesn't 
matter. But now I'm here,... and I'm going to stay with you,... forever."

"I know you are. I can't help it. I missed you so much," Jason replied 
sadly. It was hard not to sound bitter. His life was ruined.

I sat down on the side of the bed. "I'm sure it wasn't very nice, Jason. 
I missed you too. You have to help me."

He nodded. Jason's hand reached out and gently stroked mine as he pushed 
his hair back. I followed his slow movement with my eyes until Jason looked 
up. He was very handsome, no, he was truly beautiful. I hated myself when I 
remembered Tazo. He paled beside this golden-haired boy. I wondered how 
could I have found Tazo attractive when I had Jason. How could I have man 
loved to Tazo after I had been Jason's lover for all those weeks? I caressed 
his cheek lightly. This boy was an angel--sweet, pure, and perfect. My hand 
pushed into the thick soft hair behind his ears.

"You have beautiful hair," I said softly. "So soft and blond. It's 
like silk. I love how it curls behind your ears."

My fingers tickled him and Jason smiled slightly. He sensed that his 
resistance was breaking and he smiled back.

"Did Cardinal Orselli t-t-tell you?" Jason murmured.

"Tell me what?" I asked.

"C-C-Carlo cut my balls off," he answered bravely. "The night I-I-I 
got back from Greece, he did it."

Without really understanding why, I wanted to kiss Jason the way we 
kissed before. At first he had only kissed me on the lips, then one day I 
had pushed my tongue into his mouth. My son had been so surprised. Not 
disgusted, or shocked, just surprised that I would so such a thing. From 
then on, Jason was a wet and very passionate kisser. Now, I wanted to kiss him 
again and again.

"Yes, I know that. I know all about what happened in Ravello. Giovanni 
thought that I needed to know. He told me in the car. It doesn't matter. I 
don't care. I love you Jason, and you love me, and that's all that counts."

"You still want to,... you know poke me?" Jason blushed.

"I'd still put it inside you no matter what that bastard did to you."

"Okay!" Jason laughed. "I love you Dad." He raised his eyebrows 
seductively. "Do you want to put him inside me new?"

 "If you insist!" I teased.

"I insist," my son replied. "I wanna poke,... if you want to."

"Of course I want to. That's all I've wanted to do since you left me and 
came back here. I've missed you so much Jay-boy."

"I love it when you call me that," Jason said shyly. "You used to call 
me Jay-boy every time you,... you know,... did it inside me."

"Giovanni said I should be very careful," I continued. "He suggested 
that I give you an enema before we did anything. It's probably a good idea."

"What's an e-e-enema?" Jason asked. Suddenly he giggled. "Oh! Now I-I-
I remember. My mamaw used to d-d-do that to me when I-I-I was little. If I 
couldn't p-p-poop she'd give me one."

"So how did she do it?" I asked uncertainly. I had listened to 
Cardinal Orselli's directions but now, it the heat of the moment, all I 
remembered was a scrambled list of do's and don'ts that would take hours to 
decipher.

"She would s-s-sit on my bed and p-p-pull me over her so I-I-I lay on my 
t-t-tummy. There's was some g-g-greasy stuff that s-s-she used on the t-t-tube 
so it could go inside m-m-me easily."

"How far in?"

"I guess p-p-pretty far, right up to a-a-about where your c-c-cock 
goes I think." Jason smirked as he stretched his arms back over his head. He 
knew exactly what he was doing. The little blue-eyed wretch was slowly and 
very deliberately turning me on. His confidence skyrocketed and his stammer 
vanished. The change was remarkable as he began to become sexually aroused.

"She used to use soapy water. I still remember how cool it felt when 
it drained down into me. It always felt terrible. It was really yucky, Dad. 
I asked her to make it warm but she said it didn't work as well if it was hot. 
Anyway, she used to wait for a few minutes and then she would take me into the 
bathroom. A few times she had to do it again to get it all out."

"Okay! I think we'll try it, Jason. I'm sure it will help make you 
feel better when we do it," I said.

"I haven't been anyway, at least for a few days since I started using 
the ivory thing again," Jason smirked. "I wanted to be big enough for you. I 
thought I still had another week before you came."

"I'm surprised your grandmother would do that to you," I teased. "Even 
if you do have a cute little butt."

"She's nicer than she looks."

"Maybe," I replied doubtfully. "Anyway, it looks to me like you've put 
on a few pounds, Jay-boy. It must be all that good food at school."

"I'm not all that heavy, Dad. I only weigh a bit over sixty pounds."

"You're a skinny little runt, aren't you?" I laughed. "Still, I'm 
surprised she did that to you."

I stood up and walked into the bathroom, easily finding the plastic 
bag and tube that Cardinal Orselli had left there for me. I could hear Jason 
moving around in his bedroom. I heard the sound as he opened a drawer, then 
getting back into bed. I came back into his room and sat down on the bed 
again. He had taken off his pajama pants. For several seconds I was 
transfixed. I knew his body as well as I knew my own. His young body was 
beautiful. He was half-naked and a lot paler than when I had last seen him. 
I remembered dragging the slender, bronzed body across the bed. With no 
guidance from me he had lifted his legs upward until his heels were at his 
shoulders. We called it the 'Greek way'. Presented to me, with his butt in the 
air and his firm little cheeks split wide apart, it always took all of my self 
restraint not to dive down onto him and thrust my penis in to the hilt. I 
learned to be very patient with my ten-year-old lover, especially in the 
'Greek position'.

I walked slowly across the floor, each step taking me closer to the 
boy I loved. I scooped him up in my arms, twisted him around, and placed him 
face down with his genitals in my lap. Jason closed his eyes and momentarily 
tried to think about something else, but like me there was only one thing in 
his mind. It was a fruitless battle against our desires. I heard him take 
the top off the jar of vaseline and he passed the container back to me without 
a word. Long seconds passed before I achieved the courage to touch my son's 
beautiful bottom.

Jason could feel nothing and he started to become impatient. He wriggled 
in my lap, sending a clear signal of what he wanted. Playfully I slapped his 
buttocks. Then as the sharp sting began to fade, I started to knead the firm 
rubbery flesh. Several minutes passed as I carefully examined Jason's hole. He 
was considerably tighter than when I had last seen him. The opening was 
constricted by a dark band of flexible muscle. I tested the elasticity of 
it. The flesh was resilient but adaptable. Cardinal Orselli's ivory dildo 
had performed adequately. I felt Jason's involuntary shudder. He knew that 
my fingers were pressed into his anus and the tube was starting to slide 
into him.

Even though Jason could feel very little, he started to wonder whether 
he was getting an erection. It had happened often enough since his operation 
but never with the same frequency or degree of hardness which he had known 
previously. Usually it became erect when he was with Ken or Telford but it was 
never very hard. Casually my right dropped down and I lightly caressed his 
scrotum.

"Oh my god!" I gasped in shock.

"What's wrong?" Jason asked nervously.

I jerked my hand away. I had felt the emptiness of his scrotum. There 
was nothing within except the soft tubes that had joined to his testicles. The 
skin felt even softer than I remembered.

"Nothing, really I didn't mean it like that.... Your balls,... well,.. 
your ball-sac,... it feels so different, like it's gotten bigger, that's 
all! I'm sorry! It's just that it's so loose. I didn't expect it to be like 
that. I'm sorry."

Jason closed his eyes as he heard my pity and wondered why it had to 
happen to him. "It's because,... because I don't have anything in there 
now," he explained awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," I said sadly. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded.

"It'll never be like it's supposed to be. It's just one of those 
things that happens."

"I'm sorry. Okay Jason, it's in up to the blue mark."

My son nodded in relief. "I think I can feel it. It's in pretty deep 
isn't it?"

A few seconds passed and Jason knew without turning around that I had 
lifted the bag up into the air and straightened the tube out.

"That feels different," he sighed as the feelings suddenly became 
nice. "It's making warm glow somewhere inside my tummy."

"I know. I've used warm water so that's probably what you can feel," I 
replied. "It's almost all in. Can you feel it, Jason?"

"Uh uh! It feels like it's getting fuller. It's okay. I like it warm 
like this. It feels nice,... it's going right up inside my belly."

Five minutes passed faster than ever before. I pushed Jason's pajama top 
up under his arms and rubbed his back the entire time, going from the middle 
of his back to his shoulders. Jason was nearly asleep when I picked him up and 
carried him towards the bathroom. He came back to life immediately. It was 
impossible not to laugh as he made a noise like an aeroplane and pretended 
that he was flying. We nearly crashed twice, once into wall next to the huge 
marble fireplace as I zoomed my son around his room, and again, almost into 
the bathroom door. Jason was aimed up for the shower screen when the fluid 
started to dribble out of him. A second later, even as I started to lower him, 
I heard a loud squirting sound. I quickly placed my son on the toilet and 
kneeled down on the floor. I continued to hold his shoulders and I grinned 
as if nothing had happened. Although Jason could not see it, he suspected that 
his dirty mess had landed on both of us.

"Sorry, Dad," he murmured.

"We don't want you falling in, do we Jason?" I said reassuringly with 
a forced smile.

Jason smiled back at me as his feces started to squirt out. It stank 
terribly. There was brown smelly slime over his legs and he felt like crying.

"Pretty gross, huh Dad?" Jason gasped as he waited for the rest to 
come out.

 I tightened my grip on his shoulders and shrugged as if it did not 
bother me as much as it did him. Jason shivered and waited for the second 
burst. The second and third times were the worst because the lumps started 
to come out. This time Jason sounded like a machine gun. There was a lot 
more than usual and the lumps were like little hard balls as they plopped into 
the water beneath him.

I was patient, knowing that Jason needed me in a way that few boys 
needed their fathers. He looked at me with his big blue eyes. His eyes were 
sad-looking, as if they had seen all the pain in the world. His fingers gently 
wiped at his eyes and cheeks. Until then, I had not realized that my son was 
crying.

"It's okay, Jason. I don't mind. I'm here because I love you," I 
whispered as I leaned forward.

I kissed my son on the forehead and then on the eyes. Jason felt the 
wetness of my tongue under his eyebrows as I licked at his tears. After a 
few seconds he pulled away as if he was suddenly frightened of me. I wanted to 
tell him that it was all right, that I wanted to kiss him on the mouth. As the 
disgusting smell rose up around us, I couldn't find the words to let him 
know that I wanted him. I wanted to keep touching him. I wanted to make love 
to him.

"I pooped on you, didn't I Dad?" Jason asked nervously.

"It doesn't matter, Jay-boy. I'm sure it'll wash out." I picked up a 
face cloth from the side of the bath and then stopped. "Maybe you should 
have a bath instead," I thought aloud. "How long has it been, Jason?"

My son thought for a second. "I remember you bathed me the night 
before I left for Rome. No, it was the night before that. That's when you took 
me to the restaurant on the hill."

He strained downward. His pretty face contorted as he felt another 
painful cramp tighten in his bowels. He waited. Nothing came and we both 
relaxed. There was no warning before his body excreted its contents. The 
next gushing sound came within a minute and lasted for a long while before 
it finally ended in a weak dribble. Jason looked up at me. I wanted to kiss 
him again and again but I sensed that he felt too weak to move. I picked up 
the face cloth again and rinsed it out, ready to sponge him clean.

"It's easier to wash the mess off me,...," Jason mumbled shamefully. 

I nodded understandingly. "Can you wait for a minute while I run the 
bath? Why don't you get your top off?" I added gently.

Jason nodded obediently. Carefully he unbuttoned and took off his soiled 
pajama top. He was naked and I turned and studied him for a few seconds. He 
was far more beautiful than I remembered. Without saying a word, I reached 
over and turned on the bath tap.

"Dad,... I'm sorry," Jason choked.

He trembled uncontrollably and then he stared down at his lower belly in 
disgust. No one can know the hatred that he felt for himself as he saw the 
empty folds of his once plump scrotum. He started to cry, sobbing as I 
lifted him up in my arms and held him tightly like a baby. I endeavored to 
appear oblivious to the outrage that had been done to his body but Jason's 
injury was impossible to ignore. I could not look away.

"It's okay, beautiful. It's okay!" I crooned gently. I said it again and 
again. I hugged Jason for a long while, until he started to doze off in my 
embrace and then he was startled awake. For a second my son struggled and 
fought against me wildly, reliving a nightmare from four months earlier.

"Everything's okay! I'm here, Jason! I love you," I whispered in his 
ear. "I don't care about your balls. I love you the way you are."

Slowly Jason quieted as his panic subsided. For a few terrible seconds 
Jason could feel himself coming out of the drug-induced stupor on the old 
table in the Villa Pallavicino. His body, strapped to the ancient 'throne,' 
had shuddered violently. He was being emasculated, becoming a little prince in 
the tradition of the castrati. He remembered the searing pain of the 
scalpel, the clamps that held his vessels, the unforgettable sight of his tiny 
testicles suspended as his scrotum was emptied. The wetness of his blood was 
all over his groin. Carlo reached for him, injected his thigh again, and 
held him tightly. And then nothing. Nothing until Jason woke up in the 
darkness of the adjoining room and discovered that he had been castrated by 
his mother's new husband.

I eased Jason into the bath cautiously after testing the temperature 
of the water. I knelt down and began to soap my son. Although I had often 
showered with him, this was the first time that I been able to bathe him in 
a real bathtub. Jason smiled peacefully and lay back in the tub. He was 
quite capable of washing himself but he liked me touching him. I washed 
everywhere, beginning with his slender legs. Starting between his toes, I 
worked up the insides of his legs and made a thick lather on his thighs as I 
neared his groin.

"I can do that," Jason interrupted guiltily.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Uh? No! I don't want that. I like you washing me. You're better than 
the old lady who nursed me after the operation."

"You don't want me washing your penis, is that it?" I asked. I tried 
hard to pretend that the boy's immolation did not upset me. I intended to 
ignore it from now on.

Jason reddened slightly and he shook his head. "You can wash it,... down 
there,... if you want. I don't mind."

"Did your nurse used to do that?" I teased playfully. The mere idea of a 
woman, even an old woman, touching my son's sex organs was amusing to me. If 
another man touched my son's genitals, I may well have killed him on the spot.

"Sometimes. I didn't like her to but she did it anyway. Mostly 
Cardinal Orselli took care of me," he admitted. "Do you mind, Dad?"

"I suppose not. Giovanni is a good man, I think. I like him." I smiled 
sincerely. I owed a lot to the old man. If it had not been for him, I would 
not have gotten custody of my son.

"I like him too," my son admitted.

"You have a beautiful body, Jason."

Jason tensed and slowly looked up at me. I had stopped washing him and 
was smiling at him. Sooner or later I had to bridge the chasm that opened 
before us. I needed to acknowledge what my son had lost. There was a gentle 
look in his eyes. There was a long silence.

"You do, son" I said quietly. "It doesn't matter about your balls. 
You're still beautiful."

Jason stroked the side of his chin thoughtfully as if he was trying to 
decide a question of earth-shattering importance.

"Can I touch your ball-sac?" I whispered.

He nodded and watched silently as my hand descended on his limp penis. 
My fingers brushed over it, then slowly descended to his scrotum. I squeezed 
gently, feeling for what should have been there but which I knew had been 
cut away. Jason felt almost nothing. The good feelings had all but vanished. 
The boy was not completely without feeling there, but the delightful sensation 
from his testicles was gone.

He didn't understand that I could still love him. He did not want to 
watch and reluctantly, he turned away and tried to hide his sorrow. By the 
time he turned back I was getting to my feet.

"What are you doing, Dad?" Jason demanded. "Are you leaving me to finish 
washing by myself? I don't want you to leave. I wanted you next to me," he 
pleaded

He watched in amazement as I started to undress. My clothes dropped to 
the floor and Jason silently observed my body emerge. And then I was naked and 
my young son gazed at me in awe. But it was my genitals that caught and held 
his attention. He had seen my cock and balls many, many times before but never 
had they had this effect on him. My genitals seemed even more enormous than 
Jason remembered. My penis hung like a thick hose with an slight S-bend in it. 
It was already getting hard and it grew even as Jason stared at it. My balls 
were huge, swollen with months of abstinence and lust for the boy who now 
lay in the bath tub. They were like golf balls swinging between my legs.

Jason found it impossible not to draw a comparison between my enormous 
genitals and those of Tony Carelli. However, the similarity was more than 
the sheer size. It was the sense of raw, savage power that lurked beneath 
the surface. We were both men. As Jason thought about Tony, he remembered 
the afternoon when Carlo had discovered them in the room down by the 
swimming pool. It was the first time that Jason tasted semen. It seemed so 
long ago that he had done that. While he cowered before the young man, holding 
his testicles in his cupped hands, Tony had spurted into his mouth without 
warning. Jason remembered how Tony had rubbed his semen over him. That so much 
had come out had been funny at the time.

The memory was fleeting and Jason swallowed nervously as my penis 
expanded. He tried to take his eyes away from it but he could not. He 
remembered sucking on my penis early one morning aboard Apollo. He had 
stayed in the aft berth with me all night. He had woken up before me and 
tempted, had carefully taken the huge, hot hardness into his mouth. He 
trembled as he remembered the slimy taste on the end of it. He remembered 
stretching his small mouth as wide as it could go just to get the head 
inside but mostly his thoughts focused on the bitter saltiness of my thick 
semen as it spurted into his mouth. Like Tony, my semen was endless, streams 
of it gushing into his mouth until he could not swallow more without being 
sick and he started to gag. His penis would never be the same.

I stepped over the side of the bath and Jason gazed up at my testicles 
dangling underneath my now erect penis. Until a few days ago, Jason had been 
content to remember what had happened during the summer. My genitals were so 
much bigger than he remembered that he felt strange. He was scared, but he was 
also excited. I knelt down over him with my knees on either side of his 
legs. Silently I lifted him up and twisted both of us around so that when we 
sat down again, Jason was sitting between my legs. I leaned back against the 
bath tub and pulled my son against me. My arms closed around his narrow 
chest and I gave him a strong hug until his slender body was squeezed 
tightly in my embrace. Slowly I released the pressure and Jason snuggled 
against me, letting his tousled head rest against my shoulder. He wanted to be 
held so badly that he sighed loudly. I began to tickle his chest, making 
circles with my finger tips around his belly button and then across to his 
chest and around his nipples.

My thumbs pressed into his nipples and then I pinched them slightly 
between my fingers, pulled them outwards, and even rubbed the little points 
that formed. They were so firm and wrinkled that they felt sore but Jason 
liked it. He liked my arms around him and the heat we shared. He was content 
and secure. I could feel my penis sticking into the small of his back. It 
was just above his buttocks and it stretched all the way under his shoulders 
to end only a few inches below his neck. I smiled as I wondered what would 
happen if I climaxed while Jason was lying back against me. I expected that my 
semen would shoot out far enough to go into his hair.

Jason apparently had the same thought. He started to move his 
shoulders and wriggle against me. I clasped him tighter so that he could not 
move. The boy turned his head to the side and nuzzled my shoulder, licking 
my skin with short quick darts of his tongue. I allowed my hand to drift 
slowly down from his chest and across his belly. About an inch below his belly 
button I could no longer stand it and as Jason lifted up his head to watch, my 
hand settled over his genitals.

I held him gently, cradling what was left of his manhood. He sighed as 
my hand began to stroke between his legs, rubbing around his little penis, and 
squeezing his scrotum with my fingers. Of course I could feel nothing, no 
matter how hard I squeezed and probed his empty ball-sac. I remembered playing 
'no balls on the boy', when Jason used to guide his testicles back into his 
inguinal canals. Strangely, it had been nice to watch at the time. And now 
there was nothing there. I directed my attention elsewhere. I stretched 
Jason's penis out, gingerly pulling down the foreskin until the fat little 
head was squeezed out. But try as hard as I could, the disconcerting fact 
was that Jason had been castrated.

 For some mysterious reason Jason's penis did not become hard. I was 
so used to my son's short penis being impossibly stiff that it took me by 
surprise. Always, and after only a few seconds at most, it would poke 
vertically into the air like a short, blunt stake. 

"I can't get a stiffie, Dad," Jason explained quietly after several 
minutes. "It's really difficult sometimes to get Pokey to stand up."

"But Jason, it does get stiff sometimes, doesn't it? I know it does 
because Giovanni told me that he had seen you erect on the way back from 
school."

My son shrugged. He did not understand it either. In the past, and often 
without warning, his penis would start to harden. Under some situations I 
had known his erection to last more than a few hours before it went away. 
And now, despite my frantic efforts to encourage it to stiffen even 
slightly, my rubbing was a complete waste of effort. 

"Do you want me to stop, Jason?" I asked.

Even I could hear the stress in my own voice. I knew it came from 
wanting to keep touching my son, but being afraid that he did not want me too. 
We had a lot of time to catch up. Too much had happened for us to simply 
resume as lovers. I felt depressed as Jason nodded, then seeing no reason 
why I should not continue, he slowly shook his head.

"You're beautiful, Jason," I added as my fingers massaged the soft folds 
of his loose scrotum. "I think I love you even more like this."

He lay back against me and allowed me do whatever I wanted. I soaped him 
until he was white and foamy and very slippery and my hands went everywhere. I 
touched every part of my son, but concentrated on the places that I knew he 
found more interesting. From the limpness of his little penis, it appeared 
that Jason received no pleasure at all.

After a while I turned him over so that his belly was against mine. My 
penis had softened but as the boy lay face down on top of me, I could feel 
it start to get hard again. It grew quickly and before long I felt it 
pushing into his slender abdomen. It felt very nice. It was hot and hard and 
very big. Several times I considered pushing the boy downward a few inches. 
That was all it would take for him to reach the tip of my massive penis with 
his tongue. I needed to love the boy. My desire was frightening in its 
intensity. I desperately longed to be contained within the taut confines of 
his slender form.

With his head on my chest, Jason nearly went to sleep. Without asking 
Jason, I commenced washing his firm little bottom. I expertly parted his small 
cheeks and washed his crack. My hands were covered in soap and as I washed 
him, I massaged the boy, making a soft squishing sound in the slippery suds as 
I kneaded the pliant flesh. Jason shifted uncomfortably.

"Do you mind if I wash your bottom?" I asked hesitantly.

He barely moved his head as he nodded. He was sleepy but he felt 
better than he had for a long time. Not since a day before the operation had 
Jason felt so peaceful. He nodded again. "Okay," he said quietly. "It feels 
'cool', Dad."

"Your hole, Jason. It feels like it's opened right up," I observed 
with surprise.

"It has?" the boy asked.

"Just like Giovanni said it would. I guess the enema must really 
loosen you up inside. Does it feel okay?"

"Yeah, it's nice back there,..... Dad? What if my hole doesn't get as 
big any more? I don't want it to hurt like it did the first time."

"It will, Jay-boy. We just have to be patient, that's all."

There was nothing left but to try it. Using the soapy film, I gently 
inserted the tip of my forefinger. There was no resistance as I squirmed 
past the dilated opening. With a life of its own, my finger surged forward. 
I felt Jason's body shiver and then his anus locked tightly. I kept my 
finger there, probing and testing as Jason willed his body to relax. We both 
wanted it inside him. I felt the slackening of his muscle as my finger began 
to move more easily. Within a few seconds my finger had pushed all of the 
way into his hole and was deep inside his narrow rectum. Now I needed no 
instructions from the old cardinal. Jason was mine and I set to work. I coaxed 
him loose, using all of my finger with a slow rhythm before I moved on to 
other things. Several minutes passed as Jason lay half-asleep on top of me.

"You're so big, Jay-boy," I finally said.

"What do you mean?" Jason asked sleepily.

"Your hole,... it just keeps on getting bigger and it doesn't stop. It's 
like there's nothing to stop your hole from getting huge. There's no tightness 
inside you at all."

"I guess that's from the enema," Jason sighed, feeling contented at 
his condition. "How big is it anyway?" he asked nervously.

"Uh,... pretty big," My voice was suddenly very nervous as well.

"How big?" Jason asked.

"Uh,... I'm sorry. I just wanted to see what happened."

"What are you doing?" Jason repeated.

"I,... I,... I've put the soap inside your bum."

"What?" Jason giggled.

"I'm sorry,... it just sort of slipped into you."

"And?" Jason prompted suspiciously.

"Well, it was so easy,... You see I put two fingers up there a few 
minutes ago,... and,"

"Yeah?"

"Then I put three fingers inside your butt, Jason. It was still loose, 
so,...."

"So?" Jason prompted again.

"I tried rubbing the soap, Jay-boy," I answered softly. "You don't mind, 
do you?" he added.

 Jason shook his head slowly. He felt an incredible thrill. He had 
only been this excited a two times time since the operation. The last time was 
when Cardinal Orselli had been playing with his penis. Before that, he had 
been with Ken Oginga in the boathouse. That time was the first time that Jason 
felt Ken's thick black penis sliding into him. The times that followed in 
the boathouse were never as good as the first time. It was always the same, 
only a few seconds before Ken could go no further into him, a few more seconds 
before both boys were groaning and shaking because it felt so good, and then 
Ken's dark body would spasm and fall back drained of its seed.

"Do you mind?" My voice brought the boy back to Earth.

"Do I mind?" Jason repeated stupidly. "Why should I mind? I don't have 
any balls, you know that! Life's not worth living like this!"

There did not seem to be any logic to it. I didn't care. I loved the boy 
more than I could stand.

"Do you love me, Jay-boy?" I asked gently. "Because I love you very, 
very much." I breathed out slowly and took the gamble despite the odds. "I 
don't care that you loved Carlo. I don't care what he did to you. I don't care 
that you wanted to be with him at night. I want you to love me now and 
forever."

I felt the boy shudder. And then, in a flash, Jason's excitement knew no 
bounds. His heart leaped and he started to tremble again.

"I'm getting cold, Dad. I think I had better get out," Jason mumbled 
awkwardly.

There was a long silence. I had tried my best to breach the wall that 
Carlo had erected between us. He was a master of engineering fortifications. I 
had done my best to make the boy feel good all over the part of him that 
remained. And then I turned my attention to the other part of my son, the part 
that was missing. There, I had found the part of his body that disgusted 
him. I realized then that Carlo had not taken as much as Jason had given 
freely. Had it been self imposed punishment for loving Carlo or intended as 
a reward for me, the preservation of his boyhood.

When he returned to Rome Jason had wanted Carlo badly but he also wanted 
to stay with me on Apollo and never leave. In the confusion of a ten-year-
old boy's mind, he had taken the only course available to him. If Carlo wanted 
to touch his genitals that was fine by him. If he wanted to stick his penis up 
the boy, that was a different matter.

As we lay there in the bath I realized that Jason had been faced with 
a terrible dilemma. In the secure love we shared, he had done whatever he 
wanted with me. We had made love despite the fact that Jason knew that doing 
what homosexuals did was wrong. His mother and the Church had raised him to 
believe that it was a sin to love someone of the same sex. But he had 
wanted, wanted more than anything to share his love with me. I tried to find 
the words to convey my understanding. I understood the extent of his shame and 
guilt. For once I needed to be his father more than his lover. I resisted my 
desire.

 Fortunately my son was right, the bath water finally had started to get 
cold and it was time to get out. We had been in the tub for nearly an hour. 
Jason's hands had turned pale and the skin was wrinkled up like an old man. 
Without a word I lifted the boy out and carried him, still dripping water, 
into his bedroom.

Jason was still wet and covered with gooseflesh when I placed him on the 
sheets. He stared up at me with such welcoming gentleness that it was 
impossible not to smile back at him. The expression on my face was serious and 
my penis was still sticking out. It had reached the apogee of erection and 
would not go down until my appetite had been sated. 

My son wasn't scared. Deep inside, Jason knew that he wanted to have sex 
with me. He should have been frightened but his past experience had long ago 
removed any doubts that he possessed. One look at my monster penis should have 
been enough for any normal boy to turn and run as fast as he could, but even 
before the operation, Jason would never be anything like a normal boy. I broke 
the long silence. Perhaps in time when he was older and more capable of 
dealing with the difficult demands of a society that saw our love as taboo I 
could be his lover again, but not now.

"You had better go to sleep, Jason. It's way past your bedtime you 
know."

He stared up at me. He looked so wonderful. He was incredibly beautiful. 
His body was strong and he exuded an aura of mystery. He radiated sexuality 
like a reactor in melt-down. It was as if I needed only say the words and 
Jason would obey. As before, I was his lord and master.

"Good night, Jason Anderson," I said, pretending firmness.

Jason watched me lift up the sheet and blanket and place them over 
him. He tried to find the words. I knew that he wanted me to love him, to 
touch him, to stay with him for the night, and every night that followed.

"I'm still wet, Dad," Jason complained.

I breathed out and my hands trembled. "Jason, I have to go. I can't stay 
here with you. It's wrong, it's a sin!"

"Of course you can. That's wrong. I love you. Cardinal Orselli said it 
was okay."

"Jason, I'm your father,... and I love you,... and what I did to you 
in the bath tub was terribly wrong."

"I don't care." We glared at each other. "Dad,..."

"Jason,..."

"Dad, please stay with me for a little while longer. Please!"

"Jason, I can't. This is wrong. I can't stay with you."

"You want to do it with me, don't you Dad?"

My mouth dropped open and I was stupefied. "Jason,... I,... "

"I'm not a complete idiot. I know the Church lies about sex. I know what 
happens in Confession. Cardinal Orselli said it was okay for me to love you."

"Jason,... this is not like before. Everything has changed. I know how 
much I love you. On Apollo we were playing around. It's not like being with 
one of your friends from school. I'm a grown man. I shouldn't be in love 
with a ten-year-old boy"

"Is it because I'm your son?" Jason snorted angrily. He shook with 
frustration. "It's because I'm your kid, isn't it Dad?"

"No! Of course not, Jason. You know better than that." I turned away and 
for a few seconds Jason could not see my face. "Jay-boy, remember what I 
told you in the garden at Naxos?"

"About how much Harry loved Julian until he started to grow up? About 
how it was wrong to like me that much? How you were afraid that I would grow 
up some day and you wouldn't love me."

"Yes. When I told you about what happened to Julian, about what will 
happen to Jeff too when he starts puberty, what did you think?"

"Uh? I,... I,... I don't know. I guess,... well I felt sorry for him."

"That's why a man shouldn't get involved with a young boy. You might get 
hurt. Maybe I'll stop loving you when you get older."

"I'm already hurt," Jason pointed out. "I don't have any balls," he 
added as his knees moved wide apart to reveal his penis and scrotum. "I 
can't grow up like Julian or Jeff, remember."

"Jason, it isn't that!" I said with sullen exasperation.

"Are you afraid you'll turn me into a homo like you?" He regretted the 
words as soon as he said them. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean that. If you are 
a homo, well so am I, that's all there it to it."

"I know you didn't, Jason. It doesn't matter whether you are gay, it's 
just that a man really shouldn't become involved with a boy your age."

"So what? The ancient Greeks used to do IT with boys. You and Harry 
taught me that," Jason said smugly. "At least that was what Jeff told me and 
he knows an awful lot about Greek history, probably from all the times that he 
spent on Naxos."

"This isn't ancient Greece," I retorted.

"We can pretend," Jason giggled. "I'll call you Plato instead of Dad," 
he suggested.

"Jason, it isn't possible. Don't you understand? It's simply not that 
easy to pretend something and make it okay."

"What if I want you to put your penis inside me? You want to, don't 
you?"

"What I want isn't important, Jason? I'm responsible for taking care 
of you."

"Then take care of me," Jason grinned cheekily.

"For God's sake, Jason, be realistic. If any one found out they would 
put me in prison."

"I'm not going to tell," Jason replied instantly. "And you're not 
going to tell, so who will know? No one!"

"The two us will know!"

"I know you want to, Dad. You already told me what happened when you did 
it with that boy, Tazo. You did it with him and you didn't even love him," 
he said angrily.

"That was different, Jason. I was,... being forced,... to initiate 
him. I did it to get back to you." We gazed at each other for several seconds. 
Jason could sense my resistance collapsing. "And don't you tell me it's my job 
now to initiate you, because that won't work either," I laughed. "You hardly 
want initiating."

"Okay! Then why not?"

"It's not right," I said feebly. "It's not because you're my son, or 
because you're a boy, or because you've been castrated. It's wrong, Jason. 
We both know that it hurts like hell and I can never hurt you like that 
again."

"I won't feel it that much anyway, if my butt is as big as you say it 
is" Jason added cheekily. "I know I was even smaller than I am now and we 
did it lot. It really doesn't hurt all that much."

Jason began to smile. His white teeth flashed and his pale blue eyes 
crinkled. It was only a matter of seconds and we both knew it. "Jason," I 
implored. "Please don't. I don't want to spoil our relationship. It isn't that 
I don't want to do it because I do. I want to do that to you more than 
anything else in the world."

"It looks like he wants to do it," Jason added. 

He pointed to my huge penis. It was still as hard as steel. Ever since 
he had returned from Greece, Jason had been lonely. Like me, he needed to be 
loved. He lifted up his arms and reached out for me. For a second I hesitated. 
I stepped closer to the bed until my knees were against the mattress. I was 
breathing heavily as I looked down at my son.

"You're very beautiful," I said quietly. I swallowed and followed his 
eyes back to my own body. My penis was bobbing up and down, pulsing with every 
beat of my powerful heart.

"Dad, it's okay," Jason whispered. "I have to grow up some day, but I 
won't for a long, long while. I did it for us."

I nodded as I sighed loudly. I knew the truth now and it no longer 
frightened me. "I don't want this to change things between us, Jason," I 
mumbled. "You're a wonderful boy and I love you very much."

I climbed onto the bed cautiously as if I was afraid of hurting the boy. 
I straddled his legs, leaned forward, and lovingly stroked the sides of his 
chest.

"Dad,..."

"Hush, child," I whispered. My big hands caressed the naked boy with a 
gentleness that belied their strength. "Put some of the vaseline on my penis," 
I instructed.

Jason reached to the side and easily found the small bottle that we 
had left there after I had finished inserting his enema tube. The lid was 
not on it and Jason dipped his finger into the pale grease.

"How much,...?"

"Use lots, Jay-boy," I interrupted.

It wasn't the first time that Jason touched my erect penis but his 
hand trembled nervously. It was hotter and harder than it had ever been before 
and it seemed to throb under his slender fingers as if it was alive. The 
skin was softer than Jason remembered, and as the grease began to cover it, it 
became even more so. He squeezed his fingers tightly together and tried to get 
the tips to meet. Then still holding me tightly, Jason rubbed his hand up 
and down the full length of it. At the top of the stroke, the purple head 
swelled outwards and the slit opened up so that Jason could see the crimson 
inside. Gently I lifted his hands away. We gazed into each other's eyes as I 
guided his legs, positioning his body to receive mine. As I leaned forward 
over him, his feet came down to his own shoulders. He gasped as he felt the 
fullness of my penis press into his anus. Instinctively he forced his body 
to relax and accept mine. We joined as one.