Date: Fri, 15 Feb 2002 22:38:16 -0500 (EST) From: Wishus Teglin Subject: Stupid Johnny, Chapter 6 (M/b) Stupid Johnny A Boylove Romance Chapter Six by Teglin with the invaluable assistance of Michael and Kallen Dedication: Once upon a time, a friend of mine named Michael was driving along a country road in his native Poland, and came upon a ragamuffin of a little boy, dressed in tatters, struggling all alone to push a cart much too big for him. Looking miserable, hungry, cold. It was one of those moments - we all have them - moments we look back on with such great regret. Because Michael wanted to stop. He wanted to talk with the boy, see if he was ok, if he could use some food, or perhaps a helping hand, or just a kind word. But he didn't stop. Why didn't he stop? Why don't we all stop, in moments like that? Why do we let convention, or fear, or doubt, or hurry, or sometimes just plain selfishness keep us from meeting the moment? Well, Michael helped me write this story. It's all about what might have been. It's dedicated to that little boy on the roadside. And every other boy anywhere in the world who might someday need one of us to stop ... just for him. Copyright 2001 by Teglin. You may freely copy this boylove romance and distribute it. Please have the courtesy not to alter it in any way. WARNING: This boylove romance contains descriptions of sexual acts between a man and a minor boy. Their sexual relationship is very important to the story, as part of their love-making, but it is their spiritual relationship that I wanted to explore even more, as the very essence of boylove. If this story is illegal where you are, or for your age, or the concept of a man/boy romantic relationship offends you, don't read further. Glossary: Jasio = Yasho Podhorowski = pod-ho-rouskee Piotr Ostoja = Pyoter Ostoya Leon Koczurba = Le-own Kotschurba Beskidy = Beskeedy Jodlowka = Yodlovka Rzeszow = Dgeshow Polska = Powlska Misiu = Meeshoo babciu = bubshoo siusiak = shu-shak (pronounced softly, tenderly - a boylover`s most loving word for a boy`s penis) Chapter Six Grecka Droga Beskidy Mountains Rzeszow Administrative District, Poland September 15, 1959 9:16 A.M. I couldn't have moved if I had wanted to, as I lay there in the waters of the Grecka Droga, watching Jasio disrobe. He had looked at me - seemed to say to me by his mere gaze - that he knew I was watching, knew why I was watching, and that he wanted it that way. He had trembled. Yet the air was calm and warm. I could see his bare chest rising and falling as he drew in a series of big breaths, and then a controlled calm seemed to befall him, and with a knowing glance back at me again, he started unbuttoning his pants. Their tautness over the curve of his buttocks suddenly loosened, and he let them slip down over the barely perceptible swell of his hips, leaving only the thin, nearly transparent white of his undies to adorn his form. Then lifting first one foot then the other, just as elegantly as if he had choreographed a dance, he stepped out of the pants. As his body stooped and straightened, I indeed thought of a dancer bending to a song - one that he had chosen personally, and choreographed in acts. Each act was to reveal just one more element of his grace and beauty. First Act. The rounded curve of his shoulders, the arch of his back, the promise in the mounding of his buttocks, the long columns of his legs - the beauty of his boyish form. He might reveal it to me consciously, but it was inherent in him - he could not hide something that possessed him as much as he possessed it, for all the years of his childhood. The grace unfolded with obvious conscious intent, as he folded the pants and knelt as before an alter, to place them upon his shirt. Second Act. The strength of his thighs, his calves flexed, tendons taut beneath the white fabric of his knee socks. Sleek biceps, neck long and straight - the beauty of boy captured in motion. Grace in his natural poise, fingers outstretched and barely touching the fabric of his sailor shorts, his body balanced on one knee, the foot of his other leg potent with the power necessary for him to rise. I think I gasped again. A rude interruption, but one I could not halt. His play was a message. He had seen my erect manhood. Had known it's cause. Had responded as clearly as a boy could. His undies were stretched out, I could see his boyhood pressing out hard just below the line of his thigh, his balls forcing a bulge below. He paused, letting this act speak, still kneeling sideways to me, holding the pants out before him. He knew that I would hear and understand. The third act, and he suddenly seemed hesitant. Unsure. He straightened, and just stood there for the longest moment, then turned slowly and lowered his eyes, his hands by his sides. Only the distant gurgling of the stream, echoing softly from facet to facet within our crystalline shelter, could be heard, until I thought I caught the notes of a flute. They came from Jasio's direction, I was certain, but they were muted in the humid air - the glass that surrounded us in every direction failed to echo, and I could not make out the melody. He stood there so meekly now, his legs together, heels touching, the white of his socks and panties looking soft upon his flesh, the paleness of his thighs and naked chest almost blending with the garments. His hands crossed over his outthrust penis, hiding it, covering it. Again I heard the soft notes, and saw that his lips were moving. Another message? A ... question? The notes seemed to rise, but lose strength with their utterance. A supplication? A request? With a jolt I bent upright and stood, to splash across the pool. I stepped up upon the shallow terrace, but stopped at the edge of the pool. "Wha ...." I started to call out to him, but the notes came again, and so clearly that they were obviously his own sweet voice now, and the words, "I would come in with you, Piotr, but ... I'm not sure what to do next ... I want to follow you, but ...." He stopped again, seeming to be unable to finish this act. "But what, Misiu?" I almost whispered it. "I can't swim, Piotr, and ... I've never ...." "Then, Misiu, let me guide you," I rushed to answer. "I'll bathe you, right here at the edge of the pool. Once done, we'll see if you'll let me carry you deeper, to feel how wonderful these warm springs are. I'll never let you go." His eyes questioned me first, but the plea in my own eyes wasn't enough. He hesitated, "You ... won't let me go?" "Nev ...," I started to promise. Then I realized I could only answer with the absolute truth. "I won't let you go, Misiu. I will hold you the whole time. Alright?" He considered it for a moment, looking first at the pool, then back at me, then at the pool again, and finally said, "Alright." He sounded still very hesitant, and seemed to shrink in upon himself, standing almost stooped now, his shoulders hunched, his body drawing back. "Come. It will be alright, I guarantee. Here. Let me get your socks off. And your undies," I said as I dropped to my knees onto the dry ledge before him. He willingly lifted first one foot then the other, and let me slide the socks down. I smoothed his skin, and slid my hands down his calves, gently kneading them. "There, loosen up a bit. I'll take care of you." It was all I could do to keep from leaning forward and kissing his little dickie as it sprang through the opening of his undies when I unbuttoned them. It was softening, from his wariness, and flopped down from the confinement of the fabric, onto his balls. They hung there fairly loose in the warm air, but drawing up a bit with his apprehension. I slid the panties all the way off, following the line of white against white, as they slipped down and down and down against his flesh. Then dragged my eyes away, and followed his ritual, carefully folding both the undies and the socks, and stood to walk over to place them on top of his other clothes. He was totally nude now, and standing facing the pool, looking down at the waters as if they were bottomless. I allowed my self just a second before returning to him, shaking my head in something akin to disbelief. He was too gorgeous to behold! "Here, sit right here on the ledge," I said as I returned to him, my voice suddenly wavering with the wonder. I held out my hand, and he took it, but he didn't follow me as I stepped down onto the first terrace, within the water. So I just knelt again before him, still the supplicant - but this time I gently tugged on his hand. This time he let me pull him down. He folded his legs and crossed them, sitting very protectively there on the dry ledge. I loomed over him again, my dick bobbing out right between us lewdly. It seemed threatening even to me, as he sat there so timidly, still searching the waters, so I sat back on my heels. My pole still rose between my legs. "Uhmm, wish I could get this out of the way, but ...." I scrunched my lips up at one corner, as I pressed it up against my belly. When I let go, it just popped free again. Shyly, he gave me the meekest of little grins. "Good. I'll try to keep it from stabbing you. Now ... give me your feet, ok? Let me at least get your feet in." Reluctantly, he rocked back on his bottom and let me draw his feet out and stretch them into the water. I heard his sudden intake of breath as he felt how warm the water was. "Feels good, huh?" "Ye ... yeah, I guess so," was all he would admit to. For a moment I just supported his feet in the water a bit, then gradually lowered them, till he was all the way in to his ankles. Gently I cupped the water and starting lifting it along his calves, imperceptibly rising higher and higher. "My mama used to wash me when I was a boy. Before the war," I said, thinking to make idle conversation, "but I remember once, my Tato did it, kind of like I'm doing you now - we were at a resort." "Was that unusual?" Jasio asked, very quickly. I sensed his immediate interest. "Unusual? That we were at a resort - yeah - we weren't rich, we ..." "No, that you father bathed you, instead of your mother," Jasio interrupted, but almost in a whisper, almost apologetically - but needing the answer - as if I were telling him something crucial. Again I wondered - what has this boy experienced in his life - has he ever felt a mother's hand washing him, or his own father's? "Yes, it was a bit unusual for him to do that - but it made me feel so close to him - I'll always remember it - I don't often want to remember that kind of thing," I continued, half in bemused wonder at my sudden complete surrender to memories. Like I no longer feared them. It seemed right. Like I should let those memories unfold - for Jasio's sake. "Can I pull you down onto this first terrace, Jasio? It's very shallow. It won't even come up above your waist when you sit here." "Ok," he answered after considering it a moment, again looking down at how deep the water was, then back at me. "I guess my mama wasn't allowed in those baths - maybe only men," I continued my recollection, hoping to distract his thoughts from the water. It seemed to work, because as I talked, in one easy motion I placed my hands on either side of his thighs and just lifted him right down into the water. His little boyprick and balls floated loosely right there below my gaze as they were submerged and the soothing waters rounded over his thighs. He grasped me tightly, instinctively, holding my shoulders, but I felt the tenseness in his arms release even as his bottom touched the tiled surface of the terrace. I let him go, then gently loosened his grasp and lowered his hands to the water too. He was so cute there, and reminded me of a little baby for a moment, as he gingerly tested the water with his fingers, playing them about, concentrating on them. "Well, anyway, I remember being a little shy there at the resort pool, surrounded by the other bathers - all men, as I recall - a few boys - all males, anyway - and my Tato could see the fear in my eyes. He sat me down, just like I have with you, and ... took care of me ... I mean, he washed me, but ... somehow it was more than a mere bath ... like he knew what I needed and just did it - like all fathers should." Jasio instantly quit swishing his hands about, and muttered almost under his breath, "Some boys never had a father." I didn't know what to say to that, and both of us remained silent for a while. I felt so bad. It hurt deep down inside me. My throat was suddenly so tight, and I felt myself on the verge of tears. I thought he looked like he might cry too. I could only kneel beside him, and continue to cup the water and let it trickle now down his arms and his sides. Then I reached across to alcove, and retrieved some soap and a washcloth, and very gently started rubbing the cloth up across his tummy and lower chest. I dipped it again and again into the pool, and brought it back fresh - more to soothe him than to wash him. All the while I wondered how I could answer him. Finally I just had to settle on the truth. "I don't know, Jasio," I managed to say, feeling the emotion only slowly loosen its knot within my throat. "Maybe ...," I started, but hesitated to continue it, afraid of overstepping some bound - it was what I felt, but would he accept it, would he allow it? "Remember you asked earlier, why all this ... why I came back for you, why I gave you food. Well, maybe that's why I did it, Jasio. When I walked around your cart, and touched it, and then you came running out at me, so angry with me ... looking so fierce, but still a bit afraid of me ... and I just suddenly knew you needed something from me, whatever little I could give. I ... it was kind of like my Tato knew what to do back then. I just ... well, I had to fill this little tummy of yours, didn't I?" I tried to force a little smile, and hoped I could make him forget his own hurt. "You think if I had a mom or a dad, they would have done ... they would have taken care of me? "Oh yeah. I think we all have that caring in us, don't we? That's why I stopped for you, Misiu." "Not all of us," he answered so abruptly, certainly, lifting his head as he spoke it, and looking up at me through eyelids suddenly shuttering in butterfly motions. I knew again that he was willing himself not to cry. Everything I said was drawing us deeper and deeper into this well, where both of us were sounding the depths of our own sorrow, of our own pasts, but I somehow felt like it was what we both needed, right here, right now. Wasn't it about time that this little boy knew? Wasn't it about time that I started to remember, to open up, to give a bit. He wondered. I answered. How could I do less? "Yes, not all of us," I agreed. "I understand that. They weren't ... I guess they haven't been all that caring ... with you, have they, Jasio." They. We both knew who `they' were. His people. His keepers. Those who should have cared. Another long pause, while I washed his arms and shoulders. "We're not all like ... them, Jasio. I ... I'm not like them. I do care ... that`s what I wanted to tell you about earlier, at breakfast." He didn't speak, but just let me wash him. Meekly surrendering himself to my care. I wondered. Was his just a surrender to helplessness, still. Or did he yet believe me? Did he surrender to the spirit that was behind my caressing hands, behind my every touch, and glance? He looked down. At the tile. Then at my kneeling form. At ... what? I couldn't tell. Just the thought that he might believe me, that I might be getting through to him, and my penis began to pulse. Oh my god, if I could break through to him. If I could just make him feel my love. "Hey, let me ... uh, look at those hands," I said awkwardly. I motioned to him to lift them and hold them out. "Ahh, I'll have to scrub these with a little soap, and get at those fingernails." He still didn't say anything, but just sat there in the water and let me minister to him. I washed his hands and wrists and up along his forearms, lathering the washcloth, running it up and down. Carefully I looked at each finger in turn, and dug out the dirt from his fingernails with the cloth, then scrubbed them directly with the soap. "There," I said triumphantly as I splashed clean water over them, and then used my whole arm to push the suds away from us towards the lower pool. The underground spring was apparently constantly pumping fresh water into our pool, because the soapy water flushed out quickly. "They're clean enough to eat now," I bragged. "You're silly," he mumbled, trying to sound glum, but I could tell he was just about as proud of the results as I was. He sat there looking at his clean hands, turning them over and over, anyway. "Oh, I mean it. I think I'll eat them all up right now." "Oh, you won't either," he said, but the way he looked up at me from under his lowered brow - I could tell he wasn't just perfectly certain what I would do. "You just watch, little guy. If I wash it I get to eat it." Playfully I grabbed his left hand and brought it up to my mouth and acted as if I were about to bite into his fingers. His lips began to form a smile, but he tugged back on his hand nevertheless. "Oh no you don't," I admonished him, and flashed my other hand out to tickle him under his armpit. He finally giggled outright at that, and let me hold his hand. Again I acted as if I were going to insert his extended fingers right into my mouth, then I just froze and held them there, poised before my open mouth, looking right down into his wide-open, wondering eyes. "Oh, just a little nibble, ok?" And I leaned forward, closed my lips around the tip of his middle finger, and just held it there for a second. I couldn't resist then, and let the tip of my tongue just graze the end of his finger. It tasted just faintly salty and fresh. I closed my eyes then, and gave the tip of his finger a real kiss. He lowered his hand very slowly, still looking at me, his mouth open, taking quick, shallow little breaths. His eyebrows were raised - he had seen it, felt it, and I guess was trying to fathom my silly ways. "You didn't ... eat this one," he said as if in a trance, still looking right up into my eyes as I knelt before him. Slowly he lifted his right hand, offering it to me. I took it in both my hands - he laid it upon my open fingers, where I crossed them as if creating a serving platter. All the playfulness in my spirit suddenly vanished. His boyish hand, so smooth and unblemished even by his hardships, was so small compared to mine. That he would offer it to me was like an acceptance. He did trust me now. I bent my head low again, but this time to kiss the top of his hand. Still holding it to my lips, I looked into his eyes again. A mix of wonder and willingness and ... permission dwelt there. He didn't pull back. He let my hands guide his, as I turned it palm up and kissed there. Slowly I curled his fingers in, to close his palm. And then I let him go. He pulled his hand back just as slowly and rested it against his tummy. Half- opening it, he rubbed his other thumb just where I had kissed him. Again we looked into each others eyes, but neither of us spoke. It seemed that even the trickling of the gentle cascade at the edge of our pool, and the murmuring of the mountain stream were silenced, because I could hear nothing then but my own heartbeat. What did we share in that moment, beyond the sense that we existed alone, together? I felt he had given me what no other being had ever given me since Stefan, so many years ago, when we would lie in each other's arms wordlessly, sharing our souls. As with Stefan, at this moment, words did not seem necessary to tell Jasio how I felt. He knew. I knew. So it seemed simply natural that I cup my hands in the water again, and trickled it over his left shoulder. Then with the washcloth I soaped him there, and rinsed again. As the waters fled down, I leaned forward and kissed the rounded curve, then kissed again along the ridge of his collar bone. I felt my head brush against his cheek, and I am as certain as I have ever been of anything that I felt him lean in to make our contact hold even longer. I moved to his right shoulder, marveling at the beauty of this boy. He sat there upright, his back straight, with the water lapping at his tummy, his hands resting now in his lap, his head up, opening himself to me, letting me serve him as I would. As I washed him, the grime of days and weeks and months poured off him, falling down in streams across his chest and arms, leaving little streaks that washed away with my next handful of water. That scent that I had become so used to, almost to love, because it was a part of him and his past, slowly washed away too. I bent to kiss his right shoulder, then raised his hand high and cleansed his underarm down to his armpit and along his side. I bent to kiss there too. Even then he didn't pull away, but let my lips rest lightly in that so sensitive, private vulnerable flesh. My flesh met his, feeling the tightness of the skin over his ribs - more testament to his privation. I tasted the moist, hot, pale and tender flesh where his arm joined his body. I paused, and breathed in deeply, and let my kiss linger there. Again he leaned into me, seeming to want the press of my lips. Not a word spoken still, as I shifted to his left side once more. When I bent to kiss him this time, I felt his heartbeat there beneath his arm - it kept time with my own - beating, beating, measuring this time we had together, when all else in the world was suspended and forgotten. I sat upright and shifted back upon my haunches for a moment. My penis jutted up, still bearing witness to what I felt. He gathered his legs in and sat back upon them too. His little penis was lifted up out of the water and dripped down across his loosened scrotum, completely flaccid from the hot waters of the spring. "Close your eyes for me, now, Misiu." I whispered. He didn't even ask why, but immediately, without even the slightest question or hesitation he closed them and just remained there kneeling before me, with his hands resting on his thighs. I took the wash rag and dipped it free of all the grime, then soaped it lightly and raised it to his brow. "This won't sting. I'll wash it off quickly now, just keep your eyes closed for a moment, sweetie." With deft movements, I washed his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, even around his eyes. Quickly then I rinsed him. A little line of dirt lay there still along his hairline. I would have to give him a shampoo. He didn't open his eyes as I took up the cloth again and washed his ears, his chin, and down around his neck. My kiss, right on his forehead, seemed to awaken him from some dream. He opened his eyes then, and as I sat back, he gave me the most sublime, gentle smile of contentment that I have ever seen. "It feels so good, Piotr," he said dreamily. "Thanks." "Oh, we're far from done, Misiu. Let's do your hair next." "Ok," he answered, half-closing his eyes as in complete contentment and acquiescence. "You'll have to keep your eyes closed again, for a while." He answered by simply letting his head fall back a bit, and closing his eyes immediately. If only I had dared, I would have kissed his red lips right then and there, for he held them closed, almost puckered out, in his complete submission to me. "Haha, no, I think we'll have to do this a bit differently." He opened his eyes again, listening contentedly. "I think I'm going to have to lean you back in the water, and soak your hair ...." His eyebrows shot up at that, and he jerked his head back just a bit in reflex. "Don't worry, Jasio, I'll hold you the whole time. And you can see it's not really very deep here. Willing to try?" "Ye - yeah," he answered in a hushed voice. "Thanks," I said, feeling again that he had just set his stamp of approval on me. I scooted back a bit, then held out my arms. He leaned forward, rising up off his calves and let me take him by the arms. He practically floated about as I turned him sideways and pulled him towards me. He straightened his legs out in the water and leaned back against my left arm. I had forgotten the scars. The very instant I felt them against the soft flesh under my forearm, I stifled a gasp. Unconsciously I guess I had expected to feel the smoothness of his back against my arm. Instead I felt the welts that I had discovered last night in the car. Jasio didn't seem to notice. So they were obviously healed. I kept my composure and acted as if nothing had happened. "Now I'll lean you back, Misiu. Just let me get your hair good and wet. I won't even let your face get below the water-line, ok?" "Ok," was all he said in answer. He looked a bit tense, and I felt his stomach muscles stiffen a bit when I slid my right arm across his chest to gently grasp his other side, and then just laid him back with my left arm firmly supporting him below his shoulders. His hair literally dissolved into the water! For hours now I had become accustomed to the way it clung to his scalp and to the sides of his head, almost completely hiding his ears, clumping here and there, straggling out wildly in dirty, stiff-dried strings. Now as I lowered his head, and the water line crept up along the sides of his head and scalp, I saw how fine and soft his hair was. Each filament loosened and floated out. His locks waved gracefully in the water, ebbing and rising with each little motion of my arm. I think he felt it too, how wondrous cleansing and liberating it was, because all the while that I had I laid him backwards his eyes had held to mine, seeking reassurance, looking for any sign from me that I might drop him to submerge in the depths - now he just melted against me, half rolling his whole body towards mine. Again he closed his eyes dreamily, and I felt his shoulder muscles relax. He had to hold his neck straight, to keep his head from flopping back into the water, but it too seemed to loosen, to flex with each wave of motion in the water. I released my right arm from his far side, letting the buoyancy of the water hold him up and lovingly ran my fingers through his hair, loosening each strand carefully, sliding them between the pads of my thumb and fingers. And then, I swear the most startlingly arousing sensation I think I had ever experienced happened totally by surprise. I hadn't even considered it - but as I was brushing his hair beneath the surface of the water, my fingers began to come in contact with his scalp - with the very contour and firmness and ... softness ... of his skull! I stopped breathing momentarily. It was perhaps the most intimate touch that I had had with another being, since those days so long ago when Tomek would make love to me - but ... even those old experiences paled in comparison, I think, because I was touching a part of this boy that it would literally be impossible to touch in any other way than this! The water made his hair fly away, inviting my fingers to roam as if in direct contact with his scalp, feeling every little nuance of contour beneath his flesh. I closed my own eyes, and suddenly knew exactly what a blind person would learn to experience every day - that there ways of feeling, modes of sensation that were unimaginable in normal circumstances. I can't even explain it completely. Anyone can touch their scalp. Anyone can feel the planes and curves of the skull. It must have been some magical compound of the warm waters, the willingness of this boy, my growing love for him - I don't know. All I know is that I felt like Jasio had allowed me to touch his very soul. I cupped his head in my hand and held him floating there, washing him, watching his hair drift out beatifically, like a halo. Who but me had ever seen him like this? Surely his mother had once held him so, cleansing her baby boy's hair. Had she lived long enough to do that? Perhaps the man that Jasio vaguely remembered, dressing him - his father? Certainly few others, from the looks of him. What I washed from this boy was more than dirt. Each particle of grime that I removed was witness to some moment of hardship, as he toiled for miserly handouts. Every little scrape or bruise revealed beneath the dirt was a reminder of all the hours he had struggled with his cart, seeking everyone else's discarded scraps of wood and metal. And the scars on his back? Jasio seemed quick enough to tears, in the last few hours - with the mere reminder of half-forgotten memories, or in response to simple kindnesses. As I held him there in the water, I suddenly wanted to cry - remembering his future. He must have sensed it in me, for he opened his eyes once again and looked up at me, seemingly bewildered. "What's wrong, Piotr?" he said, his voice sounding lower, coming up out of some dream. "Nothing, Misiu. Nothing at all," I lied. "I'm just ... happy to have this chance to ... take care of you,' I answered lamely. My throat constricted as I struggled to hold back the tears. Just so he wouldn't see it, I pulled him up out of the water and into my arms, wrapping them around him, holding him tight to my chest. The waters streamed from his body till only their drip, drip, drip remained. Settling the fingers of my right hand over his temple, I began stroking him there in gentle cirlces - as if I could erase all memory of those awful hardships from his thoughts. I sighed deeply, marvelling at this moment. I was washing him, caressing him, but felt cleansed myself. Of every concern, every sadness, every sad memory, every regret. Of every thought of the future. Here I was. Here I wished to be. I held him against me, speechless, but hoping he would feel my love. Finally I kissed him on top of his head, and managed to croak out, "there, Misiu, your hair is almost clean enough to eat too. Just ... let me wash it a bit." "Yes, Piotr," he uttered meekly against my chest. I think he was perfectly content to settle there in my arms forever, because he had seemed to snuggle even closer, letting his arms cross over his chest, drawing himself in as I pressed him to me. He helped though, as I sat him back up upon his heels, holding himself upright again with his hands on his thighs, as I reached for the shampoo that stood in a bottle next to the alcove. The lotion was fragrant, like the exotic flowers that scented our haven. I was pleased. Jasio's natural scent would be perfume to me, but he deserved to know what it felt like to be pampered. "Keep your eyes closed till I rinse this out, ok?" I asked him as I poured the cream out into the cup of my palm. He nodded and closed them and just sat there looking very relaxed on his stiffened arms, his shoulders pushed up, his chest sagging forward. There was something incredibly sensual in being able to pour my eyes over his face, his shoulders, his hair, knowing that no one, even he, was watching me. He submitted to me willingly like this, but would he be so free to give his consent if he saw how I practically devoured every centimeter of his flesh with my eyes? The lather and suds transformed his hair once more - this time to a soft, glutinous white mass that molded into infinite abstract shapes with every twist and turn of my fingers as I kneaded and massaged and rubbed. His head weaved and bobbed to every stroke of my hands, but I made certain to do it gently. The contented little smile upon his lips was consent enough. "There! Now I'll lean you back again into the water," I said even as I started to wrap my hands about him, to lean him sideways. He flowed into it easily, and let me lean his body sideways, straightening his legs out again. He was even more relaxed now, and seemed to just naturally stretch out, letting me practically float his whole body with one arm under his bottom and the other under his shoulders. As I bobbed his head in and out of the water, the foamy suds lazed and drifted away in the current, till his hair once again waved freely, it's auburn hue catching the sun and defying the very laws of nature, started to shine with it's own burning radiance right there in the water. "And now for my due," I announced triumphantly as I lowered my lips to his forehead and kissed his brow. He opened his eyes in perfect contentment, yielding to me the only payment I had asked of him. He must have seen the way I let my eyes travel from one end of his body to the other, and perhaps how they lingered upon the limp form of his penis. Again I marveled at how big it was in comparison to his small body. It lay wavering and curving upon his flattened pubis with every little motion of his body upon the surface of the water, the half bared glans peeking first up towards his chin, then flopping over to one side or another languidly, in slow motion. His little testicles lofted up loosely, when the waterline rose above them, and then flattened laxly down between his legs when I lifted his bottom up. I might have unconsciously wet my lips, for suddenly Jasio said something that caught me totally by surprise. "You aren't going to eat my suisiak, are you?" he half-laughed. My eyes darted to his. He seemed bemused, but still wondering. Had he actually made a joke of it, I wondered. As much as I wanted to answer yes immediately, and then dive down between his legs to consume his boyish treasures, I hesitated. "I ... just might ... do that, little boy, but ... hmmh ... well, we did have sausage for breakfast, so perhaps I'll wait." I tried to say it just as jokingly as he had. He didn't respond, but just kept looking up at me, his eyebrows raised in that perpetual wonder of his. Whether he was disappointed or not, or whether he even had a clue as to what the implications of his question were to me, at the very least he seemed still content enough to just lay there relaxed in my arms. "First ... uh," I fumbled for a way to continue, "first I had better wash your legs and your feet. Those should be quite tasty." Playfully now, he lifted one leg and bent it at the knee. "Is this what you want?" he asked, looking very smug now. At least I had given him that. I suddenly felt just gloriously happy. Just a moment ago Jasio and I both had been on the verge of tears. The old woman's comments, all his questions at the breakfast table - all of my feeble answers - everything had conspired to ruin these moments we had together. Now all that seemed to have washed away with his bath. "Yes, indeedy" I answered, doing my best Groucho Marx impression, notwithstanding the fact that he had no doubt never seen any kind of film or even knew such a thing existed. He got the message anyway, because he giggled, and his whole body shivered in expection and delight. I shivered too. One of those spontaneous exultations of the spirit that just had to seek some physical expression - and then once again the full realization of what he was allowing me to do hit me, and I had to take another deep breath and steady myself. I watched as he lowered his long, slim leg back down into the water. It was so utterly beautiful a sight, the way every line of his body flowed into the next. His legs conjoined at the apex of my desire, then separating in symmetrical perfection, each thigh glistening from both the water and the natural glow of his pale skin. There along his inner thighs, where he flesh was most tender, I could see so clearly the blue tracery of veins beneath the transparent surface, carrying blood from his little feet and the firm, almost infinitesimal swell of his calves. Now my hands trembled again, as I floated him around in the water and lifted him at the shoulders so he could sit up again. I let my right hand slide down from his bottom and across, over both his thighs, then down, down, down the length of his left leg till I cupped his heel in my palm. I pulled up on it, forcing his leg to bend and rise. A fleeting waterfall appeared, then disappeared just as quickly, as the Grecka Droga's warm waters flowed from his leg. Carefully I leveraged him backwards against the bank of the pool. He eased back willingly, gracefully rolling upon his bottom, leaning till he could rest his arms there along the rim, letting them mold to the gentle curvature of the tile. I looked down between his legs, into the water. With his leg flexed up high, his bottom was lifted and opened - I glimpsed the darkened little hole there beneath his balls and wondered silently if I could wash him there too. It would be his choice. That much I knew. As he settled back, perhaps sensing my renewed passion, he gazed more intently down the length of his body, no longer so ready to giggle. I glanced up at him - he was following every motion of my hands as I started washing his thigh, dipping the refreshing, cleansing water up higher and higher along it. I took the cloth and ran it smoothly up and down his thigh, then over his knee and back down his lower leg. Every vestige of Jodlovka washed away, but for the little irregular trail of tiny bruises. Perhaps his shin had scraped against the cart pedal. Perhaps he had tripped over a fallen branch, in search of some half-hidden scrap of iron along the side of the road. Again, I contrasted these little injuries to the welts on his back, and when I leaned down to kiss each one, following their path down his fibula with my lips, I wondered how to salve the wounds caused by his people back at Jodlovka. With loving attention to every crease and curve, I finished by scrubbing Jasio's foot. My cloth found it's way between each toe, and again I dug the grit from beneath his nails. Like his fingernails, some were chipped, and all needed trimming. Something for later on, if I could get some scissors from the old woman. I switched to his other leg then, kneeling before him, feeling like his servant as I reached for his heel with my left hand, and cupped my other hand around the fleshy part of his calf. Again I pulled upwards, getting him to bend his leg and lift it so I could wash everywhere, up and down, inside and outside, behind his knee and all the way down to his ankle and foot. Wash and rinse, wash and rinse. The water dripping down his upraised leg was musical as it dribbled back into the pool, carrying with it all the filth that had accumulated over days and weeks. His body, from his head to his arms down across his belly to his legs and feet, was completely clean now. But for the long strands now clinging wetly to his scalp, he was completely hairless. I couldn't even see the short fuzz that some boys have on their arms and legs. If they existed, they were so silken and fine, so pale as to blend perfectly with his creamy complexion. His skin was everywhere soft and smooth, marred only by the occasional scar or bruise that any boy might have who had existed on his own for so long. If anything each little blemish served to heighten the impression of his boyishness. He had the fair paleness of a child, and the slimness round his shoulders, the red ripeness of his lips, the delicacy of his fingers were like that of a girl, but Jasio radiated BOY. There was no incipient promise of fullness in his hips, only the underlying promise of strength, litheness, sleek suppleness where his strong legs met the curve of his buttocks. There was no weakness underlying the tautness of his chest and tummy - just the firm outline of his pectorals, and the ripple of the stomach muscles below his ribs. I took one long labored breath of a sudden, just in awe of his incredible beauty. My penis was bursting with a sudden realization of my own maleness, in response to his. His penis was still resting soft upon his pubis, but the firmness of his foot rested in my hand. I felt it hard, and extended straight towards me. I shifted backwards, and extended his leg out completely, running my hands up and down the hardness of his lower leg, down along the top of his foot, and all the way along the side of his big toe. It too was a miniature of my own, delicate just as were his fingers, but so hard and rigid. I swear I didn't even think about it - it just seemed to happen, as if there were some primordial need in me to feel my maleness against him, I got up off my haunches and thrust my penis forward, rubbing it deliberately, roughly against his calf. My foreskin slid down and my suddenly bared and engorged glans glided excruciatingly against him. I heard myself groan softly, like some pitiful, wounded animal. Involuntarily I threw my head back, closing my eyes. "You ... you want me to suck you now?" The sound of his suddenly husky, hushed voice practically pushed me over the edge - I might have cum right then and there, after hours and hours of the arousal that his mere existence caused me, but the meaning of his words cut through the fog in my brain instantly. I toppled forward awkwardly, dropping one arm stiffly by the side of his legs to steady myself, and must have looked quite silly as I grinned sheepishly, guiltily, at him in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, Jasio. I just ... got ...." I just got truly stupid, I thought to myself. I was acting like Leon, no doubt. Doing just what that brute would have done, and started using Jasio for my own pleasure. "It's alright, Piotr," he said more softly, as I steadied myself and sat back again. "You're ... always hard, and ... when Leon starts to get excited like that, then ...." "I'm not Leon, Jasio. I`m sorry if I ... I want this to be ... I just want to make you feel good. I would never do like Leon." I said softly, feeling both upset at myself and a bit disappointed that the boy hadn't recognized the difference between why I did things, and why Leon might have done them. "I know, Piotr. You're nothing like Leon. I know that. I just thought maybe I could make you feel good too, like you ...." His words made my heart soar. He did understand then. At least part of it. "Jasio, thank you. I thank you more than I can even say. But I don't want you to think that you exist for my pleasure, or to serve me, or anyone else - even Leon. He should have served you." I lifted his foot again, and leaned forward, pressing my cheek against it. Just rubbing it there. I sighed deeply, feeling my love just pouring out to him, wanting so desperately to show him, just to give him a small idea of the kind of love I wanted to give to him.. I closed my eyes, feeling his foot against my cheek, and almost cried out again with the hurt - if only I could show him somehow, let him know that I'd do anything for him if only I could. "Jasio ... Jasio ... Jasio ...." I uttered, as I shifted to nuzzle the bottom of his toes, kissing each one, where they were so tender and soft. Then I just sat right down in the water at his feet and started kissing and kissing the bottom of his foot, a hundred little offerings of my love - I knew the meaning of what I was doing, kissing the bottom of his foot, placing myself exactly where I wanted to be. If only I could make him understand it too. Perhaps he did, for when I finally lifted my head and looked down the full length of his body, he met my gaze full on, with eyes that glistened with his own emotion His lips were parted and his chest rose and fell in jerking little heaves. He was on the verge of tears. "I do know one thing, Misiu," I said. He immediately lifted his brow, questioning me, then managed to whisper it, "What? What ... do you know, Piotr?" "I do know that I exist for you. To serve you." He caught his breath and brought one hand round to smudge his cheek, as the tears started trickling down, but I knew they were good tears. Very good tears. He was trying his hardest to smile through his sniffles. I ran my hand beneath his calf and bent his leg at the knee so I could scooch forward. I held out my arms and he nodded, and we both got up on our knees and I gathered him to me. My penis lodged between us, canted off to the side. I could see it's glistening head sticking out, just below his arm. Whether he noticed or not, I don't know. We just hugged each other, his head resting on my chest. I felt his arms reaching round me, his hands pressing hard against my back. I felt the scars upon his. I looked down, and saw again, just like last night, that they crisscrossed his narrow back. Slowly my penis drooped down, deflating right there between us. It wasn't a moment to ask about them. I didn't feel like stirring either anger or sadness, in him or me, but they couldn't be ignored. I just started caressing him there, from his shoulder blades all the way down to the curve of his buttocks, deliberately feeling each little puffy stripe. He tensed just slightly, when he realized what I was doing. When he realized that I was doing it on purpose. But then he relaxed again against me, sighing, as if giving in to the inevitable. They were old scars. My touch didn't hurt, but to be reminded of them must. "Let me look," I whispered down into his ear. He drew his hands in and just slid down, lowering his head as if in shame. He shifted about and sat back upon his heels there right before me and leaned forward over his knees, revealing the whole ugly expanse of his back. Ugly. Beautiful. Gazing at the scars, but seeing the boy, I wondered where ugly and beautiful met. For they were awful, sickening wounds. So harsh had been the beating, that long after the bleeding had stopped, each welt still looked angry, red and livid. Yet they weren't really a part of him. Not a part of this boy. What I saw at that moment was Jasio's spirit. My own anger, the hatred that I knew I would dwell on at some later time, fled before the vision I had of this boy defying the unjust punishment he had received. Jasio had never given in. The boy I found upon the side of the Old King's Way had defied every blow against his body, from man or the elements. I knelt there above my boy's arched back and knew that it must not be shame that Jasio felt. It was something precious to me, instead. He had bared his back to me, knelt and stooped so that I could see everything. His trust in me was complete. "I will wash you here also, Misiu. I'll be gentle." He nodded his assent. "Someda ... sometime I will ask you about these scars, Jasio. For now, I just want you to know how utterly beautiful you are," I said as I started lifting the warm, freshening spring waters up upon his back. "Beautiful?" he repeated the word, as if not believing me. "So very, very beautiful," I answered. I took the soap in my hands this time, and rubbed the bar between them. I didn't want to use the rag on those raised welts. The scars looked so delicate, the skin there lustrous, gleaming, looking too thin to protect him, as if they might open again, to trail blood instead of cleansing water down his back. I placed my hands there firmly though, letting the scars mold to my flesh, letting my hands glide in swirling motions to wash him, to massage him. Perhaps mine were the first hands to ever lovingly touch him there. Surely my lips were the first to ever kiss him there - each stripe, each wound felt the warmth of my touch. When I had washed him there completely and caressed and massaged him from his neck all the way to the small of his back, I soaped my hands again and let them glide down farther, till they cupped his bottom. He gasped once, but like a cat who has just been petted, Jasio seemed to instinctively rise upon his knees and lean forward, stretching his back forward, grasping the edge of the pool again, and thrusting his bottom up and out. My god, my dick sprang to life instantly in response to his action. I was hard in a flash. Solid, iron hard again, all 21 centimeters of me. I had to flex my own hips back to keep from stabbing my penis right in between his cheeks. Lovingly I washed him there, first concentrating on his little cheeks - washing and rinsing - then daring to let the middle finger of one hand, and then the next, glide up and down between his cheeks. I felt the little indentation of his anus, and could look down and see it's dark recess just at the edge of my gaze. Blindly, I let my fingers glide even farther, gently soaping his pereneum, and the underside of his dangling scrotum. Jasio squirmed with each touch there. That only made my dick throb all the harder, as I wondered if he had ever been touched there by Leon or any other man. Was he still simply submitting to me, his new protector, the man to whom he had offered his trust? Or was he experienced in these feelings? Did he squirm in anticipation? He looked back over his shoulder, and I had my answer in an instant. The skin over his brow was drawn tight, his nostrils were flared, his lips pinched in wonder - not anticipation. His eyes were searching - not daring. Again he breathed in short gasps, as if he were on the verge of some precipice, looking over, wanting to take the leap, but almost afraid to. I thought I saw something else in his look though - some desire or ... need. Perhaps it was a need that I wanted to read into his expression. Nevertheless, I bent to answer it, kissing both his cheeks in turn. Then I let my lips nestle in the cleft between, pausing there just centimeters from that secret spot that I had grazed with my fingers. Just centimeters from telling him, if only I could kiss there, and if only he would understand it, that I longed to submit myself to his service body and soul. I raised up again. He was still looking back over his shoulder at me. I just met his gaze steadily, hoping he would read in everything I did, that I wanted to be his. I had ministered to him there. Then I had kissed him there, just as I had every other part of his body. Every other part except one. "Turn over, Misiu," I heard some man's voice say. It hardly sounded like mine - it was hoarse and there was a sudden urgency in it. Jasio nodded, ever so slightly, hesitantly, then just kind of rolled over slowly in the water, naturally extending his legs out. As if by design, he lifted one leg and brought it around on the other side of me, so that I was suddenly kneeling right there between his legs and staring down straight at his penis. It lay there upon his pubis, soft but latent with his boyish potency - there was nothing about it that would have suggested that he was yet a man - not even a trace of pubic fuzz upon his mount. Jasio could not cum. But I knew he could become erect, and that was all that a boy needed from his member - the hardness that would let him feel what was to come as he matured, a hardness that would not die, but let him taste the future again and again and again. Even soft it seemed out of proportion with the sleekness of his body. I could almost have spanned the narrowness of his hips with one outstretched hand, and yet his cock was thicker than my thumb and almost as long. It lay there with it's underside bared to me. I could see the wormlike bulge of his urethra just beneath the surface, and follow it all the way up to where his foreskin connected to the spearhead of his glans. His skin bulged there too, and I knew if I tried to pull that foreskin down I would find the thin membrane that attached it - a spot so utterly sensitive that I wondered if he had ever had the resolution to rub it and play with it. As a boy, my frenulum had been so sensitive that I hardly dared to touch it for more than a split second - until Stefan taught me the intensity of the pleasure that hid there beneath the almost unbearable tenderness. The underside of his glans peeked out beyond the band of his foreskin. It's cleft was so enticing, half-hidden, but just as well half revealed, closing just below the bottom of his little meatus. The slit was so small as to be almost invisible, and yet I could just trace its opening - someday he would spurt his semen from that tiny hole - if he got his dick hard, if his glans engorged and became fiery red with his lover's touch. Now his glans lay quietly half within its protective sheath, more pinkish, even bluish than red - warmed by the Grecka Droga's waters, but not tortured by that soothing touch. Below his big boy's cock, this little boy's eggs lay just as soft, but just as surely protected within his scrotum. It was loose with the warmth, and let the little marbles within hang down freely upon the rise of his buttocks. They were large for his size too, but not yet extended like a more mature boy's. Large enough within their sac to almost completely cover the ridge of his pereneum as it trailed down between his butt cheeks to his anus. With each motion of his body within the water, his balls floated and bobbed, giving me tantalizing glimpses below. My fingers had cleansed there, but I had yet to see his most secret spot openly. Jasio's tummy and pubis were perfectly smooth, funneling down to the little fold of skin puckering around the base of his penis - smooth, pale and translucent white, bounded by his winking belly button, which I had already had one close encounter with out by the latrine, by the twin spurs of his hip bones spiking up, almost threatening to break the taut skin there, and by the V of his crotch. I could see the tendons there, flexing and stretching as his legs bobbed in the water. Without any prompting, both of us knowing what I was going to cleanse next, Jasio seemed to purposely lift his hips out of the water - I could see his tummy muscles tightening with the effort, and his thighs felt stiff and hard against my sides. I drew closer, shifting up farther between his legs. My own erect dick slid down below him - I felt it rubbing, flexing up against his bottom, but there was little I could do about that. I couldn't will it down. Only brief moments of sadness or hopelessness had made it soft, since the drive up into the mountains. Jasio knew what makes a man hard. He knew the effect his body was having on me. Thankfully he hadn't denied me this closeness because of it. I glanced up at his face a couple of times, tearing my eyes from his boyhood. He was watching me silently, intently. I could read nothing of fear in his look - just that same wonder, that same probing consciousness and hyper-awareness that I had sensed in him since he awoke this morning. He breathed more slowly now, calmly. We had shared an intimacy already that knew no bounds - he knew by now that my touch would be kind and gentle. He had let me caress those wounds upon his back - he had bared his soul then. Baring his boyhood to me made him no more vulnerable than that. And yet we both knew that if I washed his penis as I had the rest of his body that it would consummate something between us. By his own admission, Leon had never touched him there. Leon had only taken from Jasio. Leon had demanded that Jasio touch his manhood, become subservient to it. With my touch, with every action I had taken since we had met, I told Jasio that it was I who was here for him. "Did ... did your Tato wash your siusiak?" he suddenly broke our long silence, his voice so high and wavering. "No. No he didn't. That time at the hot springs, he washed me everywhere else, but then he said, `you know how to wash yourself down there. Now you finish the job.' I remember, I was kind of sad that it ended there. I never felt closer to him than that day." "Do you want me to ...." "No!" I called out, "I mean ... i-if you want to ... do it yourself, that's ok, but ...." I held my breath, my hands just poised to cup the warm waters and lave them over him. "You'll wash me there?" he finished for me, as I hesitated. The answer somehow seemed as important for him as it was for me. It was almost like a test. His final test for me. Was I or was I not like Leon? Was I or was I not that `Party Man?' He still held himself there rigidly floating in the water, awaiting my answer. "Oh yes, Misiu. I will wash you there. It`s something I want very much." "Ohhh ...," he answered meekly, so very softly. "This is what I wish my father had done," I said back to him, just as softly. I reached for one of the big white towels that lay within the alcove, then I leaned over him, looming over him, stretching with my arms to throw the length of the towel out upon the tile behind where Jasio was. Then I carefully placed one arm under his back and shoulders, and the other beneath his bottom, and lifted him right out of the water like a little baby and sat him down upon the towel. His buttocks rested right at the edge of the pool, flattening upon the soft white of the towel, and his legs dangled over into the water. Without prompting he leaned back, propping himself on both arms. The first palmfull of water that I dipped up, I let trickle down one thigh, right up below his crotch. Then I did the other, and then back and forth with more water, and a soft caress of the tips of my fingers. With each touch, I grazed his ballsac. It was so soft and light that I hardly felt it. "A boy needs to be taught to clean himself here," I said as I continued to wash all over his inner thighs, and let my hands roam up and out, over his hips, and to his lower tummy, circling my target. A couple of times the side of my hand or my palm nudged his flaccid penis, and rolled it accidentally from its curved and relaxed perch upon his pubis. It lolled there lazily, curving limply at the base, and extending out thickly to his right, till the head flopped upon his right thigh. I took up the soap, rubbed it thoroughly between my hands, then dropped it onto the towel. Everywhere I had laved him with the waters, I lathered and swept the suds all around and over. It felt like lotion against a baby's skin, he was so soft and virgin there between his legs. Boldly then I reached right down beneath his balls and lifted them, cupping them in the fingers of one hand, and started sudsing them too. "It gets all dank and stuffy inside our clothes, down here. We have to wash down here between our legs and all around our balls," I instructed as I continued. By this time his whole crotch was a white with the froth and foam, but for the shaft of his penis. Just as directly, just as boldly, but with the same care and gentleness, I reached for it and lifted it and lovingly washed it too. As big as it looked against his small frail body, it was so light and soft and pliant. I let my fingers rub everywhere, up and down the shaft, around his pee slit lightly. "A boy needs to clean here very well, Misiu," I intoned. "It's important to pull back on this skin, and bare the head of your penis and clean behind there. Do you do that?" "N-no." he started to say, then continued, "well, the skin comes down sometimes, but it feels so - kind of painful there - I never washed there before. Do you do that to yours?" You have to picture me the way I was then, kneeling between his legs still, but resting back on my heels. My own penis was still as hard as ever, and poking itself out right there on the surface of the water. If I got up on my knees directly, I would have stabbed the poor boy in the balls with it. Still, he could easily see the engorged head at the end of my stalk, and my own foreskin half covering it, just like his. The constant splashing within the water had kept the pre-cum from accumulating there, but it was slick and wet. "Uh ... yes, I do. It's a bit different when you get hard, but ...," I reached down with one hand and wrapped it around my stalk and pulled my foreskin down from around the resisting crown of my glans to show him. It popped free, livid with my arousal. I flinched as I cupped some water around its base, "Yes, I wash it here, and all along the foreskin that I pulled back. I released my dick, and took a deep breath. "Let's see if I can do yours like that, ok?" "Yes. Ok." he answered hesitantly. Seeing my reaction to touching my own penis, I wondered if I had just scared him. So very gingerly I took his limp member between the thumb and two fingers of my left hand, and with my right I tugged down on the outsides of his foreskin. It seemed just a bit reluctant to pull down freely, pulling the still pliant glans down with it. "Do you ... does it come down often?" I asked. "I never really pulled it down. Not really often. Kind of hurts when it does," he said, making a face. "I bet it does. The head of your siusiak is very sensitive, that's why. This skin protects it. But it does need to be washed." I tugged a bit more forcefully, and his prepuce started to retract, gliding down, peeling away almost - sticking to his glans as the skin was worked backwards, until finally his raw glans was bared completely. "There," I said, as I grabbed for the soap again, got a bit on my fingers, and then very lightly traced a trail around the base of his dick and foreskin. He only jerked once, so I seemed to be doing it right. We were like two surgeons, concentrating on a very delicate operation, both our heads down, staring at his bared glans. Next I rinsed him there, and let go of his stalk. It flopped over upon his leg again, and the foreskin quickly rolled right back up over the glans, till only the bare tip of his dickhead was peeking out again. Both of us were suddenly quiet as I rinsed his whole crotch free of the soap. Then I dabbed the corners of the towel around there, gently drying him. The silence within the solarium suddenly seemed deafening - the gurgling of the stream had become mere background noise, as did the little waterfall trickling into the lower pool - so steady and continuous were they that we forgot them. I sat still in the pool, and Jasio held his feet perfectly still too. I heard him breathing, though. I looked up into his eyes, and he seemed to be questioning again - or to be on the verge of another question, his lips parted, as if wanting to speak. I looked down into the waters between us, for some reason suddenly overtaken with doubt.. Should I .... "Did your ... did you want your Tato to kiss you there? Wh-when you bathed it, I mean," Jasio stuttered. I looked back at him, and took a breath, "Well, no, I guess not my father, but ... someone else ... other people. "Other people that you liked?" "Yes, someone I loved ... and who loved me." "Did you get hard, because you liked them?" "Yes." Neither of us spoke then for a second. He circled his feet about idly in the pool. If ever there was a pregnant moment, this was it, because I knew what I wanted to say, and I felt like he wanted me to say it. "Would you let me kiss you there, Jasio?" "Yesss," he sighed. It seemed so natural that his penis started to lengthen then, once we had both spoken the words that said `I like you. Do you like me?' I love you. Do you love me? We both froze, watching it - me, poised to lean forward and kiss him in that precious place - he, tensed back upon his stiffened arms, baring himself to me. It grew in little spurts, with the blood from his heart pumping into it, filling it. As it straightened and hardened and lengthened, stretching it's skin ever more tightly, the outline of his swelling glans began to appear beneath his foreskin, as if it were molded around the flesh beneath. It's color too changed, where it extended out beyond his prepuce, darkening, from the pale, flaccid pinkish-blue to its aroused purplish-red. My spirit soared, my heart started pounding in my chest. I hadn't even touched him. Mere words - with both of us skirting a direct avowal of our feelings for each other - had caused this. The words were as yet unspoken, but his boyhood, and my manhood, told the story clearly enough. "Because ... you like me?" I asked, stating the obvious, but wanting it to come from his lips too. "Yes, Piotrek" he answered so demurely, so softly, that it was half a second before I realized how he had said my name.