Date: Fri, 15 Sep 2000 01:12:04 -0700
From: Zane Green <ZaneG7@excite.com>
Subject: The Story-Giver

 THE STORY-GIVER
by Zane Hunter-Green

 The others taunted him all day at school.

 "Stupid retarded Clay, he can't read the fool! And he looks like a girl, a
girl with a tool!"

 The boy looked out his window. The darken sky was painted with shadows and
silence. He opened the window to study the stars. Looking for the signs he
had been taught to observe. When the constellations were in the correct
degrees in the heaven he would come, the Story-Giver.  The boy shivered
with delight. He would be here soon.

 The first night that the Story-Giver came followed the day they snatched
his lunch, and flushed it down the toilet. It was his only meal of the day,
but they didn't know that, they really didn't care. Free lunch was a
life-line for kids like him. His Mom had moved him to this neighborhood in
rural upstate New York when she was diagnosed with Epstein-Barr syndrome.
She could no longer work, and she slept for hours. He learned to fend for
himself.

 His red gold hair had grown ragged, and his clothes were old and patched.
He sat in the back of his classroom trying to hide, a forgotten kid, a new
kid, a strange kid, really a beautiful kid, which only made them pick on
him harder.

 And he had never learned to read, but he loved stories. When the
Story-Giver first showed up he wasn't surprised.. It was also on the day
that the leaves had turned a pinkish gold. He brought one home for his
mother. She had made it to the grocery store, and there was cold cereal to
eat, she was already asleep again, so he sat alone, examined the leaf
and wished for a miracle. He wished that he could read like the other kids.

 That night a man full of mystery appeared. He wrapped the boy in his arms
and told him a story by The Brothers Grimm. It was about a little prince
who had a golden ball, the ball rolled into the forest where the wild man
lived. When the wild man was captured he had the boys ball, and returned in
for the key to his prison. The boy was terrified that he had released the
iron man and his father, the King would hold it against him for all time,
so the wild man stole him into the woods. In the woods was a magic pond.
The boy was to guard it everyday and make sure that nothing ever fell in.
One day he was curious and bent over to look at himself, his hair touched
the waters, and his hair turned to pure gold.

 "Look in the mirror, Clay. Tomorrow at school. When the teacher hands you
a book hold it upside down and to the mirror like the little prince did
when he was looking into the mirror of the lake.  Anthony sighed, the
Story-Giver kissed him gently on his lips and the boy fell asleep.

 The next day when literature books were passed out by the teacher she
didn't have enough for each child so she skipped him.

 "Please Miss., can I have one too."

 "Clay, you can't read but go ahead take one you can look at the pictures."

 The other kids snickered.

 Clay crept over to the sink before they could stop him. He held the book
up to the small mirror. His eyes widened as the words became real, they
made perfect sense. He could read the words in the mirror.  The teacher
called in the Principal to see.

 "He has dyslexia! We never considered that."

 The next night he told the Story-Giver who laughed and said "Yes like
Winston Churchill, or Leonardo Di Vinci." You just have to learn to write
backwards. and he did.

 UOY EVOL I, he wrote.

 TOO UOY EVOL I, wrote back the Story-Giver.

 "So what happened to the Prince?"

 "How would you like it to end?"

 I want the Prince to travel the world and fight pirates, fly on UFOs,
become a secret agent, battle wars and dragons, fly on carpets, explore
mountains, and caves, and oceans, I want him to travel throughout time, and
live in castles and tree houses and then and then I want him to return to
the wild man and live with him forever."

 "In what ways?"

 "In all ways."

 The next night the Story-Giver came back . "What story will you tell me
tonight?" asked the boy.

 "Tonight you will make up the story. What ever you want will happen."

 "Truly?"

 "I promise."

 The boy started his own story." Once there was a boy named Clay and he
was very lonely until the Story-Giver came, and held him fast.  He was
tempted to steal away with his friend where one night becomes forever, and
the Story-Giver knew how to make him feel good, and very special."

 "Is that what you want my dearest?"

 "Yes, I need you!" The boy inched down his pants, and pulled off his shirt
to show the man that he was serious.

 He was more beautiful than the man imagined. His slender body glowed like
white porcelain, his nipples had a bluish tint, the veins showing through
the pale skin of a red-head. His nipples were hard, and of such a rare
color. His penis pointed upward, ready and excited.

 The man reached over and gently stroked him. Wetting his lips, and adding
a sheen of saliva as he followed the line of the boys frenulum, he was
making the boy delirious his blue-green eyes wide, and wild. He was
ready. The man wanted to go slowly, to explore, and to initiate the boy
into pleasures one at a time, when he was ready. He gently circled the anus
with the slightest pressure of a finger nail. This was a doorway to open
carefully.

 The boy moaned and reached for him. He knew more than he should for one as
inexperienced. His instinct took over, and he tugged the mans zipper down
almost impatiently. He stopped short to stare at the mancock and then
greedily took it into his mouth. The rhythm was like water beating on
metal, in no time the man came, and the boy swallowed, delirious with the
seed that would take him into the night, where he yearned to go.

 "The Story-Giver could now take him far away where Clay could be a boy
forever, and also a man. He was so loved in the fire lit place, that one
thousand blissful years went by in the movement of a night shadow.  One day
he begged to go home to see his mother.

 "I knew that you would have to leave someday Clay, so I made a parting
gift for you. It is called imagination. With it you can return to me once
in a great while."

 So Clay went home, but it got better. His mother was given new medicine,
and they were able to move back to Manhattan, where he learned to read
using special glasses.  He started to write his own stories, the stories of
humanity and sorrow.  He always had the gift that let him dance in his
heart like a boy, long past the time his own boy came into his life, and
long past the time he took some of the fire and passed it on to his own boy
so he too could give stories to his boy, and then to his boy....

The End