Date: Fri, 28 Jul 2000 21:53:07 -2200 From: Opus J Subject: Steven-Revisited-3 This completes Casper and Matt's story. My aim was that Casper should lay his ghosts while giving Matt back his place in a normal world. True boylovers give more than they take. Let's all remember that please. The usual disclaimers apply. Nine The next night he was standing at my bedroom door, pleading with me to let him share my bed, saying he was scared that his father would come to take him back. I grumbled theatrically but gave in in the end. He flew across the room and dived deep into the duvet, beaming at me, all trace of fear gone in a flash. I suspected that Matt was no mean actor. Although it was never openly discussed, it became understood that he would share my bed from that night on. If truth be told, I came to look forward to the sleepy conversations that tailed off sometimes in the middle of a sentence, his words being replaced by soft, boyish breathing. This was my favourite time, watching his chest fall and rise rhythmically, drinking in the sweet smell of his breath, his skin, his hair. No matter how tired he was, he always showered before bed. Then he would come into the room wrapped in an enormous towel and wait until his hair was dry before slipping into fresh underwear for the night. He wore boxers during the day, but could only sleep in briefs for some reason. After a week or so, I noticed that his bruises had all but gone and he was beginning to fill out a bit. His ribs no longer protruded so drastically from his chest, and his arms and legs were adding muscle mass from swimming almost every day. I had decided that there would be no repeat of what had happened that first day, however the nightly view of him scrubbed and clean, slipping into his little white briefs was beginning to make me doubt the strength of my resolve. The knowing look on his face when he caught me watching told me that he knew he was winning the battle, slowly but surely. One Sunday morning I awoke to see him framed in the doorway, coming from the bathroom. The light was from behind him, but as he turned to get back into bed I could see a pronounced bulge in the front of his briefs. He must have seen I was awake because he almost leapt the last few feet to the bed and slid quickly under the duvet as if he was embarrassed. He turned his back to me and hugged his pillow to his chest. "It's alright Matt, most men wake up with a hard-on in the morning " I said gently. "You're not mad with me then ?" His voice sounded so worried I couldn't help but put my hand on his shoulder to comfort him. The soft morning light played across my hand as it rested on his back, golden brown like sweet, sweet honey. "I was scared you would think I was being rude and make me leave." Now his voice was hardly a whisper. I felt my heart began to pound in my chest. Something told me my weakening resolve had just given way for once and for all. "Oh Matt, don't be silly. You're in the middle of puberty. If you didn't wake up like that it would be more of a worry. By the way, I wake up ten minutes before you every day so there's nothing new about what I just saw." I had barely got the words out when he spun round in bed and started mock-wrestling with me, squealing with indignation. "You rotten thing ! You could have told me." He was laughing and doing his best to pin my arms behind my head at the same time. I could feel his hard-on pressing into my chest, slightly damp where he had peed and not shaken the last drops off. Suddenly I let my arms go limp and he pitched forward. His lips landed full on mine, as I had hoped they would. Instantly he stopped struggling and began to kiss me passionately, his tongue pushing into my mouth. He began rocking backwards and forwards on me, his rock hard penis digging painfully into my belly. He broke our kiss and sat up, looking down at me, panting slightly and shivering with excitement. He ran his fingers over my chest, through my few hairs, touched my nipples, smiled at my sharp intake of breath. Leaning forward, he kissed each nipple in turn, sucking them gently into his mouth, rolling his tongue around them. I couldn't suppress a low groan of pleasure. As he straightened up again his hands moved lower towards the tops of my boxers. He moved back onto my thighs and eased my shorts down, giggling when he had trouble getting them over my jutting cock. He started to run his hand up and down the shaft of my penis slowly, using the other hand to work my boxers past my knees and down to my ankles. Still masturbating me slowly, he raised himself up slightly and, in one deft movement, slipped his briefs off. I caught a glimpse of his penis, rigid and bending sharply upwards, almost flat against his stomach, then all I could see was the top of his head as he leaned forward and began to lick around my cock and balls. I could hardly breathe as he sucked each testicle into his mouth, rolling them lovingly on his tongue , before continuing on towards my waiting hole. I pulled my legs up to my chest to make access easier.He flicked his tongue around the puckered skin a few times, as if trying out a new flavour of icecream. He must have found the taste more than agreeable as he began to push his tongue into my hole, slowly at first then more and more insistently. I felt two thumbs prying my hole open wider to allow his jabbing tongue to continue its journey of exploration. The sensations from my anus were spreading through my whole body now, each part of me beginning to tingle with pleasure. It was almost a relief when he pushed my legs back down to the bed, but that was short-lived as he took the head of my quivering cock into his mouth, then more and more, rubbing the base of the shaft with his left hand while his right continued to finger my hole maddeningly. I was shaking uncontrollably now, my orgasm just seconds away when he pulled his mouth away and shoved my legs roughly back up to my chest again. Using his saliva he began to lubricate his prick and I realised he wanted to fuck me. I was just about to stop him when I realised in turn that I wanted him to as well. This was no longer Matt, this was Stevie and Matt in one body. I looked into Matt's eyes, and silently told Stevie to enter me. I closed my eyes as I felt the thin, sharp head of his prick push past my sphincter and enter me almost painlessly. In one movement he was deep inside me and his hairless balls were tight against my bottom. He remained motionless for a few seconds then began to fuck me slowly, lovingly. Although my eyes were squeezed shut, tears began top roll down my cheeks, hot and stinging. His movements were fluid, comforting. It was as if he was scratching an itch that I had had for years, always just out of reach. Gradually I drifted away into a haze of ecstasy, feeling only the gentle friction of his cock moving inside me. Minutes or maybe hours later he began to breathe heavily and each thrust was punctuated with a small sigh. I kew he was close and I took hold of my cock and pumped it in time to his rhythm. Somehow he managed to keep back his orgasm until I was almost ready, then he pushed deep into me and we both cried out as we came together. He fought to stay in me as I bucked and, as we finished together, he collapsed onto my semen-soaked belly, his penis still deep inside me. I wrapped my arms around his back and held him tightly against me until we stopped trembling. "I love you, Casper James" He whispered into my chest. " I love you too, Matt Taylor." I murmured into his hair, not afraid to say words that I meant with all my heart. Ten We went to sleep like that, wrapped up in each other's arms, and it was after noon when I awoke, starving hungry. I gently slid him off my belly and he mumbled petulantly, not wanting to be woken from whatever dream he was having. I made a stack of cheese and ham sandwiches and a fresh pot of coffee, and when I got back to the bedroom, I found he was awake. He fell on the sandwiches as if he hadn't eaten in a week and after devouring four he sat back with a contented sigh. "Tell me about Steven" He said suddenly. I looked at him in surprise. Could he have known that I had thought about Steven just hours before, while we were making love ? He was fourteen years old. Could he have understood what had made me weep even as he was deep inside me ? I thought carefully before I spoke. I told him everything. . How Steven and I had made love that first night, carefully so as not to make a noise and wake my parents. How my parents had let Steven stay, building a makeshift second bed in my bedroom. How we had made love the next night, and the one after that, how finally we had got careless and fallen asleep in each other arms, innocent and happy. The next morning, a towering figure at the bedroom door, roaring with rage, pulling me from the bed as my mother shrieked in the background, unable to prevent the first of many beatings, vicious kicks and fists sending me back into a corner, the belt buckle biting at the backs of my hands as I covered my head, fearing for my life. Finally rising on shaking legs to see Steven outside in the road, his father dragging him back to the house in ominous silence. Weeks later, Steven calling me from the bus station, begging me to go with him to Birmingham, Newcastle, anywhere but here. And I told Matt about my fear, my awful cowardice, telling Steven I would join him when he got settled and had a job, to write and tell me where and I would be there the next day. The cowardice of not wanting to be queer, not wanting to be different. The cowardice of wanting my father's love more than Steven's. When the letter came, I burned it. I told Matt all of this, knowing how painful it was for him to hear, but he had asked, and he had to know and understand. He had to see that I was a coward, but that I would not make the same mistake twice. "Did you make your Dad love you ?" He wanted to know the end of the story , even though he probably knew it already. "No, Matt. I tried as hard as I could. I played the tough guy, getting into fights, getting into trouble with the police, always out with the lads, always bringing girls home, but it was no use. Nothing I ever did was enough. When he died I didn't even go to the funeral. Mum died a couple of months later. My sister told me I had broken her heart. Stupid cow. It was cancer. Nobody dies of a broken heart." When I finished we both had tears in our eyes. I ruffled Matt's hair and kissed him lightly on the lips then went downstairs and dived into the pool, swimming length after length, letting the water wash away my tears. Matt left me alone for the rest of the day. Eleven The visit from the police came as no surprise in the end . Matt and I had become a source of much gossip around the town and our shopping trips were becoming legendary. If Matt wanted to pay back his 'loan', it would take him a long time to do so, which was just fine by me. We had developed a very basic cover story revolving around him being my godson and having problems at home with a drunken father. It was close enough to the truth and highly plausible. PC Aldridge was certainly able to confirm the last part of the story. "He's a nasty piece of work, sir " the young constable warned me. " In and out of the nick for grievous bodily harm, drunk and disorderly - you get the picture." "I worked that out by the bruises on the boy when he arrived, constable." I had already told the PC the almost-true story of discovering Matt in my garden, filthy and starving. I sensed that he didn't particularly want to see Matt returned to Mr Taylor any time soon. "I don't know the father, to be honest. It was his mother, Susan, who was my friend. We lost touch after the christening and I didn't see Matthew again until he turned up at my door two weeks ago. Matthew told me she died several years ago and he has had to fend for himself pretty much ever since. After the last beating he couldn't stay there anymore. He found my name amongst her things and looked me up in the book. Unusual name, you see. " "Nevertheless, Mr James, he is the boy's father, and therefore by law Matthew must be returned to him. Unless the social services become involved, which could take months or even years. Perhaps it would be better if the boy came with me now." I could tell that PC Aldridge wasn't any happier with the idea of Matt being forced to go back to his father than I was. I had to think fast. "How about if the father agreed to let Matthew stay here with me ?" I asked. PC Aldridge nodded slowly. "That could work. A sort of guardianship." My heart was pounding in my chest as the constable continued to mull my suggestion over. I could have hugged him when he leaned over conspiratorially and said, "It's definitely worth a try" "I'll tell you what, " I suggested, "give me the man's address and I'll go and see him - ask him if he'll let Matt stay awhile. A sort of cooling-off period for both of them." I had asked Matt for his address before, but always met with a stubborn refusal. He didn't want me coming within an inch of his Dad if it could be avoided. PC Aldridge had to interview Matt as well but the story was true enough that Matt didn't have to lie or embellish to any great extent and ten minutes later we were all shaking hands. The policeman left to go about his business, leaving Matt and I high-fiving in the hall. Matt was my responsibility for now. It was up to me to see if I couldn't make the arrangement more permanent. Twelve "MATT" I bellowed down the hall over the sound of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. I heard him turn the music down and next thing he came flying into the hall like a fourteen-year-old dervish, sliding to a halt in front of me on his bare feet, grinning in anticipation. "Well ?" I could almost hear his heart pounding. "Bad news, Matt " I said forlornly. "He wouldn't give me guardianship of you." His smile crumbled. Suddenly he looked like a little boy again, small and vulnerable, just as he had on that first day. He hung his head and raised a hand to wipe his eyes. I reached out and lifted his chin. His eyes were brimming with tears and he was fighting to control himself. He pushed my hand away sadly and turned to go to his room. I followed him in silence and stood in the doorway as he began to pack his things. I noticed he took only the clothes he had arrived in. Within a few minutes he was ready to leave. I smiled at him in bemusement. "Are you going somewhere special ?" I asked innocently. "Don't make fun of me, Casper. You just said you can't be my guardian. That means I have to go back there until I'm eighteen, doesn't it ?" "Not quite, Matt." I forced myself to keep a neutral expression on my face. "Your father showed me your bedroom at home. Why didn't you tell me you could draw and like that ?" The walls had been filled with beautiful line-drawings and watercolours. I had known instantly that they were his work. Just as Steven had managed to survive the beatings his father had inflicted on him by switching off the part of his mind that felt pain and misery, Matt had done so by drawing, painting. He had taken his father's destructive violence and used it to create. When I had seen them, my heart had almost burst with pride. I had known instantly that Matt would make it, that I could help him. He had won the most important battle already. "I was a bit embarrassed, Casper. I didn't want you to think I was a sissy." He smiled ruefully. "When I draw, I...it's as if I..." words failed him. I stepped forward and placed a finger on his lips to show that I had understood. "There's an art school here. I contacted them. I showed them your work. " As I spoke, his eyes went wide with surprise. "They'll accept you when you are sixteen. Until then your father has agreed that you can spend your time here at the local grammar school. I believe they have an excellent art department." I waited while Matt took in what I had said. His lips moved but he didn't speak, then an enormous smile split his face and he leaped into my arms with a whoop of delight, smothering my face with wet kisses. He jumped down and began to run wildly around the house, hollering at the top of his lungs. After about ten minutes he calmed down enough for me to grab hold of him and give him a proper, serious hug. "I love you very much, Matt Taylor." I whispered gently. He hugged me so hard that I thought my ribs would break. "I still dont understand, Casper. Why can't you be my guardian ? Why will he let me stay here but not let you be my guardian ? " he asked plaintively. "Because he wants to get better, Matt. He wants to get help, but that takes time. He doesn't want to lose you completely." I said, running my hand through his hair. "He's a bastard. You should be my Dad, not him." There was no anger in his voice, just a deep sadness. "He's willing to try, Matt. Wait and see what happens. Not everyone is lucky enough to get a second chance." I thought of Steven and his dad, me and mine, and finally Steven and me. No second chances there. No happy endings. This one would make up for all the rest, I was sure. Epilogue Matt's been gone a few months now. He completed his studies at the art school in spring and won a scholarship to study at the Sorbonne in Paris. He calls me a couple of times a week. His father came to his graduation exhibition, looking awkward in an ill-fitting suit, nervously drinking orange juice. They shook hands, as they always do when they meet nowadays. I watched across the room as they talked self-consciously, then turned to look at the people admiring his work. I moved closer, studying the rich colours and confident strokes. His main piece was an extraordinarily vibrant work in oil, beautiful and moving. I studied the information card and couldn't suppress a smile of triumph. "Second chances" (Oil on canvas). Artist: Matthew James Taylor. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Opus likes to get emails at He doesn't like people who dont like him for WHAT he is, without knowing WHO he is.