Date: Sun, 17 Feb 2002 00:49:11 -0500 (EST) From: Wishus Teglin Subject: Stupid Johnny, Chapter 7 (M/b) Stupid Johnny A Boylove Romance Chapter Seven 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) moj chlopczyk = moi hlopsik (my boy) Chapter Seven Grecka Droga Beskidy Mountains Rzeszow Administrative District, Poland September 15, 1959 10:24 A.M. Party Man. Communist. Piotr. Jasio could grasp such names. But Piotrek? Tato. Friend. Father. Other boys used those kinds of words. Not Jasio. At least ... never before. This man who was kneeling before him, who was leaning closer to kiss him yet again, spoke so easily of such things. How his own Tato had bathed him. How it felt to be touched by someone you liked. Someone you loved. "Some men get hard, when they like someone ...." And boys? Was it the same with a boy? Jasio held his whole body rigid, awaiting Piotr's ... Piotrek's kiss. .He felt his cock growing harder and harder, and knew that the man was right. He had gotten hard lots of times before, and it always happened whenever Leon used to force him onto his knees and suck his huge dick, but never before Piotrek entered his life had he understood why. Bulls fucked cows. Roosters fucked chickens. Their cocks got hard too. But little boys? Piotrek knew why. Now Jasio did too. It was so plain now. It was the need within him that did it. A need that Jasio understood all too well. Friend. Father. Mother. Someone! Even more wonderful, it was a need that Piotrek wanted to fill! Last night all he had wanted was to die. To die at the hands of this very same man. Now all Jasio wanted to do was to live. With this man. This man who cared that he was warm. This man who cared that he was fed. This man who cared that he felt safe. This man who cared ... ... this man who cared that he lived! Jasio wanted to shout out his joy, wanted to leap into the man's arms, wanted to hold on and never let go, wanted to ... give to this man, wanted to give IN to this man, wanted this man's touch, wanted this man's kiss .... He gasped, drawing in his breath in one loud rush, as Piotrek gave him that first touch on his now hard cock. He strained through fluttering lids to keep his eyes open, to watch, to match the images with the feelings, as Piotrek's hot fingers closed around the shaft, just below the head. His whole body reacted, he felt himself thrusting up, meeting the touch. With Piotrek's thumb and fingers on either side of his prick, clamping down, Jasio's thrust caused his foreskin to jerk down. He screamed out! He hardly ever dared to bare the head of his siusiak when he got hard by himself. It was just too ... painful. No. Pain wasn't the right word, but that was the trouble, there were no words to describe this feeling - until now. Now he knew. It was the need. The need that Piotrek made in him. The need to feel the man's hands on his cock. the need to feel the man's kisses there. The need to have the man touch the naked tip of his dick now - he would lay here, and let Piotrek do anything he wanted. Only Piotrek could touch it. Only Piotrek would know how to touch it and make that pain turn into something ... something that he just knew ... he needed. He had wanted Leon to do that. But that man had never known what Piotrek knew. Piotrek knew what it meant to give. To live. Jasio laughed. Tried to laugh. It sounded more like the bleating of a lamb to his own ears. It was hard to laugh when you could hardly breathe. Piotrek was pulling down even farther on the skin of his dick. Jasio felt the knob on the end stretching down, tighter, sending hundreds of little stabbing sensations into him - no, not hundreds. More. He had always wondered what the numbers were above that. You couldn't count the stars with just hundreds! He had tried many times. It was the stars then, themselves, that Piotrek was making him feel - everyone a signal that he needed to answer, to acknowledge, but there were too many to answer with just his little body .... He collapsed back upon the towel, no longer able to hold himself up on his trembling arms. He closed his eyes, wanting to block out the light. He willed himself not to hear anything, especially not that pounding of his own heartbeat that boomed in his ears. He only wanted to feel. To wait for Piotrek's kiss, and to feel! ---------------------- I thought Jasio was hurt, at first. Never had I heard such a sound from a boy's throat. Maybe he had a cramp? He fell back, flinging his arms up over his head, revealing every centimeter of his glorious boyflesh to me, as I peered up from his tummy all the way up across every little ridge of his upthrust ribs, past his tiny nipples, across the pearlescent tenderness of his armpits, and on up and up and up to the twitching fingers that grasped for air. Still he held his pelvis up for me, offering himself to me, so should I let go? I searched his face. His eyes were closed now, and his lips. They were both held tight, and his jaw was uplifted, tensed, teeth clenched hard. But there was a look of pure ecstasy there - not one of pain. Breathless anticipation. That's what I saw. I knew where I wanted to kiss him. I had bared his glans, pulled his foreskin down purposely, never expecting this kind of reaction. But all the better! I wet my lips, then kissed him lightly there, right below the crown, right on the frenulum. He froze, practically suspending himself in midair, his torso flexed up off the towel. I froze too, just momentarily, knowing what torture it could be for a boy to have his glans assaulted before he was fully ready for it. Sweet torture it must be, but I knew exactly how to prepare him for more. I lifted my head, and very slowly, gently helped his foreskin slide back up along the glistening helmet of his prong. He let his body down just as slowly, and I heard him release his breath. Heard him. Only heard him, because I didn't want to rise. I closed my eyes, and just let myself nestle there right between his legs, cupping my right hand over the end of his dick so that I wouldn't brush it with the bristles of my two- day-old beard. I rooted there. Burying my nose in his flesh, breathing of his new scent - his true scent - breathing at the base of his shaft, then sniffing down along the side of his scrotum, then up and around his pubis to the other side. Have you ever smelled something so intoxicating that it gripped your very heart, and you just couldn't bear to let it go? It might be new-ground coffee. Or the tantalizing lure of night jasmine. Those are powerful enough, but let it be the scent of a boy! I used to nuzzle Stefan's neck, after we had run and run and run through the summer fields and collapsed upon the hay, just to smell the sweat that beaded upon his skin and matted the short, silken hairs there to his nape. I used to snuggle down, deep down, alongside the other boys at night - back during the war - when even Tomek's strong arms were not enough to scare away the memories. There was something consoling in the mixture of odors that were captured under our blankets - some kind of palliative that was borne from within us. There was nothing I could have wanted but to lay there forever between Jasio's legs. No pleasure more enticing .. but one. I wanted the pleasure to be his. In the car, the night before, I had petted him, stroked him, till he had slept. Now I wanted him to experience much more. With one last kiss on the taut, sensitive skin next to his scrotum, I lifted my head from his flesh and raised up. With slow strokes of my free hand, I began to caress up across his tummy and down along his hips, just lightly circling his mid-section, but keeping my other hand cupped around the end of his dick. In its erect state, just as when it was soft, Jasio's dick looked huge in comparison to his body. I suddenly realized that I had never asked him how old he was. But whether he was 9 or 10, or a small 11 or 12 year old boy, his penis was prematurely oversized. It's tip would rest half-way to his navel, if I let it loose. I could easily place all four of my fingers underneath it. I did so now, careful not to disturb his foreskin, sliding my hand down his shaft. At first I only let my fingers graze his skin, and as I started to slide them up and then back down his shaft, it was with a feathery touch. A teasing touch. He humped his torso up. Once, then again, then taking up my slow rhythm. I watched him - he still didn't open his eyes, just held his head braced back against the towel. Slowly, I think unconsciously, he pulled his arms down and lifted his hands up into the air next to his chest. They moved erratically in the air, in short, jerky motions like that of a baby who hasn't yet gotten full control of his muscles. I knew that Jasio was instead entering that state where he would indeed lose control of his muscles. His dick was hot! Flaming. Whether it was the warm waters of the Grecka Droga, or the sunlight captured within this vaulted hothouse, or just the fire that I was kindling inside his body now, his whole body was hot. I realized suddenly that he was sweating, and so was I. We were both feverish. His hair was plastered across his forehead now - not from the washing, but from the heat. It felt so uplifting though, as if we were both cleansing from the inside out. The Grecka Droga was a strange and mysterious place, and its bath, this bathhouse, the jungle, the mist, the heat, the circles, two by two ... all together, One with the Other, One in the Other, One for the Other .... ... I don't know how long it lasted, but I do know that for a moment my mind swirled, and I lived those circles. When I came to, I was no longer gliding my hand up and down Jasio's dick. I was grasping it, full-fisted, and sliding it's sheath of loose skin up and down, with each stroke baring his fiery hot glans, with each stroke feeling his heat rushing up into my body. With each stroke his body convulsed, pistoning, matching my motions. Jasio was flopping his butt down wetly, splatting against the hard surface of the tile, with only the towel to cushion him. His arms were now stretched out by his side, jerking spasmodically just like his legs. It was like his whole being was centered between his legs now, and his limbs were only receiving sporadic stimulus from some autonomous, motor-control part of his brain. Through my own labored breath, I heard him repeating over and over, "Only ... Piotrek. only ... Piotrek ...." I didn't know if he was ready yet, but I was. His glans was swollen and stretched to a shiny sheen now, wet with the mucous from his own prepuce, and wider at it's coronal ridge than the shaft of his dick itself, just below the head. The encircling, flared ridge was a darker purple in color. It was there that my fist was rubbing over and over, forcing all the gyrations in his body. I wanted to taste it! I wanted to replace the heat of my fist with the wet heat of my mouth. With a hungry growl, I dropped back down and engulfed his 7 centimeters of boymeat in my mouth all at once, letting my lips slide down around it, letting my tongue immediately start laving it, testing it, tasting it. At the same instant I grasped his balls with my hand and started squeezing them. His butt shot up off the tile again. Instantly I dropped my other hand down below his buttocks and held him up there as I sucked. His flesh was hot there too, and so soft. Just the feel of his bottom against my hand made me thrust my own dick forward again, blindly. It only splashed water, leaving the raging need within me unanswered. So I concentrated on his dick instead, devouring it, brutalizing it now, pumping my head up and down on his prick, sucking hard, collapsing my cheeks along it, tightening the ring of my lips. The friction was firing every nerve ending the little boy had, and I knew he was feeling it all the way from the tip of his little dick down along the shaft, and spreading through his pubis and balls, flooding him. The juices of our sex squished against my lips and my chin at each downstroke- his testicles were wet with it now too. My head bobbed up and down on his spike. Each stroke I grunted. Each stroke I could hear the slurping, sloppy suctioning of my saliva. The taste of his boyflesh did that to me. The waters of the Grecka Droga had only enhanced the earthiness that I curled my tongue around. Just below the rim of the spongy helmet at the end of his dick, I tasted the tangy saltiness that his foreskin had hoarded, before I slicked it back, revealing it's hidden treasure. With each stroke he moaned now. It started as a low hum, almost imperceptible - it was mindless, coming from an involuntary tightness that was gripping his very insides. I knew the feeling well, like there was a hand reaching from within, gripping his privates, twisting, pulling, forcing the tension all the way up into his body. The moans grew louder with each suck, with his dick lodged all the way against the back of my mouth. When I withdrew, sliding my lips along his shaft all the way up to the rim of his dickhead, he had barely enough time to breath, then he had to release the sensations he was feeling with almost pitiful whimpers, almost as if he were pleading with me to desist. But I knew he didn`t want me to. I knew he had no idea what he wanted, if this was indeed the first time anyone had done this to him. I was sure of it. He had no clue what I was building him up to - those were whimpers of pure need now. Just to have a man sucking his dick, or pumping his manhood up his bottom, was enough to make almost any boy happy, but that same boy could and would almost always take more, and want more. "Piotrek!" he called out between gasping moans. "What are ... you ... you're sucking ... me ... it hurts ... No! don't ... stop ...." I wasn't about to stop. I don't think I could have if he had asked me to. It had been so many years since I had been with a boy, and now to be with THIS special boy of all others. I loved every sweet, tortured, cry that he made, because I knew I was giving him something worthy of his beauty and his goodness. I knew all about this kind of hurt. And I knew all about real hurt. So did he. This was something to make up for all the neglect he had suffered, every denial, every meal he had missed, every night he had slept cold and alone in a corner ... every morning wondering what there was that could be worse than the day before. I had settled into a rhythm that I knew would push him over the edge soon. He was literally squirming up against me now. I felt like a musician playing his body - we were so in tune, each motion of my mouth upon him causing a corresponding motion within him, each stroke bringing forth the low accompaniment of his soft tones. Such an instrument to play! There was no need for me to say anything, no need for me to answer his cries. He quit speaking intelligibly, and all that was left was his ragged breathing, the squirming of his hot, wet bottom upon my hand, the uncontrolled splashing of his legs in the water on either side of me, and his rising squeals. I released his balls and slipped that hand too down beneath his butt, gripping one cheek with each hand, digging my fingers into his crack and pulling him into my mouth even more, smashing his glans into the back of my throat. He cried out, in one long glorious scream of ecstasy and I knew he was going to finally orgasm. This was what Leon should have done for him. This was what I WAS doing for him. I couldn't speak the words, but they cried out from my heart - "I love you Jasio ...." ---------------------------------------- September 15, 1959 11:14 A.M. The old woman closed the door as unobtrusively as she had opened it, and turned away with as much of a smile on her lips as she ever allowed herself these days. One more boy with the man who loved him. Jan's orgasmic howl was suddenly muted, but that didn't matter to her. It had never been the sounds of their sex, nor the occasional accidental glimpse of it that she had obtained through the many years at the Grecka Droga, that she sought. She wanted always and only to know that each and every boy that came here was beloved and served. It was the Way. She had seen the man's love in his protective stance last night, in his concern for the boy's comforts and needs. She had seen that the boy had fallen in love too. His tears at the breakfast table told enough of that story. How many had there been through the years? Boys, and their men? She could remember as far back as before the First War - the old Count and his Anton. They had consummated their Oneness here too. She had feared its end. Two thousand years that the Circles had joined here, but she had feared it would all end with the Communists. Now it was a Communist who brought a Podhorowski back to the Way. She was certain of it. The Circles would not close. They had not closed. She slowly shuffled across the courtyard to their cabin, carrying their freshly cleaned clothing. She had even mended one large rip in the boy's coat. Jan. Jan Podhorowski`s coat. She was sure of it. She grunted up the steps and opened the door. "Just like men," she muttered under her breath acerbically, seeing the unmade bed and the clutter on the table. What a mess. "What is all this ju ...." she started to exclaim. This was a first. She had cleaned their rooms for more than half a century, but couldn't recall any boy or man who had packed in such an assortment of odds and ends. It must be the Jan's. He had a tinker's coat. More pockets and hidey-holes than she could count. Before she actually saw the boy, she had wondered how this Communist had managed to pick up a Gipsy boy. Idly she looked over the items on the table, noting how they had been laid out so systematically. The serrated-edged, cast-away lid from a tin can, a half-shredded sock. Nothing but scrap. Not one item that wasn't broken or used or tattered. Even that big skeleton key. It's haft had been broken, then hammered ba .... Suddenly, and for the second time this day, the old woman felt faint. She almost fell forward onto the table, but managed to grasp the edge and prop herself up on it unsteadily. That key! The emblem at the end of the haft, almost hammered out of all possibility of recognition, but still unmistakable to someone who had seen such symbols, had honored such symbols, all their life. Proof positive that the boy was a Podhorowski? There were the two interlocking horseshoes of the family crest. The old woman wondered if the boy had a clue - did he have any idea at all what that key represented? What if he had just found it? What if he had merely picked it up, along with all the other scraps he had accumulated here? No. She wouldn't believe that. The boy ... he looked .... Hurriedly now, driven the sudden need to confirm what she knew had to be the truth, the old woman turned to lay out the clothes for the boy and his man. She started to shuffle across to the door, then hesitated and reached out for the key. It was heavy. It must fit in one of the old family chests, or a ... well, she didn't know what. But the boy had to know. Or he had to find out. She placed the key right on the edge of the table, where her two guests couldn't ignore it, and made her labored way from the cabin and on across the courtyard. It was good that they weren't ready to come out of the Solarium yet. She had something to do before serving their lunch. Ninety-eight years old, and she had thought she had seen it all. Now this. How many years had it been since she had held any hope in her heart for such a moment? She groaned up the porch stairs to the inn, then headed straight back to her own rooms, to the familiar, treasured shrine in the corner. Here she kept all the momentoes of her life and of her service. The tarnished, silver-handled hairbrush her mother had given her when she turned 18. The votive book that her husband had carried every day in Russia, during the First War. The little circlets woven of their own hair - little Anton's, and his man's, the Old Count. The first she had served. And a picture. When was it taken? She didn't need to look, but she did anyway. There on the back. 1938. Three generations of the Podhorowskis. Here at the Grecka Droga. The little one - just 10 years old that day - Jan's father. Yes. He looked exactly like the boy in the picture. 10 years old, and never to know what it meant to follow the Way. Well, he knew, but the Communists made sure he never had the chance. The old woman hadn't cried in ... well, it had to be since before the war. Long before the war. Now she sat down heavily in her chair by the shrine, welcoming back long-forgotten feelings. So. She wasn't too old to help bring the circles back together again. Her hand trembling more from the emotion than from her age, she reached for the phone and began to dial. Captain Rudenko would know what to do. He would contact the others. ----------------------------------------------- September 15, 1959 11:37 A.M. Not even the purifying waters of the Grecka Droga could make me feel more alive, more like a new man, than Jasio's non-stop grin and clinging gaze, as we sauntered from the Solarium back to our cabin. He was holding onto my left arm with both hands, not even watching where we were walking. I laughed down at him, "You're going to trip. Better watch where you're going." "I'll just follow along with you," he retorted, and gave his head a little coy twist to the side. A stray curl of his hair flounced over, like a veil over his lips and chin I could have creamed right there - I still hadn't had my release! I had jacked him off, and sucked him, but my member was still straining at full stand. He was a beautiful boy before the bath, but after ...! I had combed his hair till it shone, amazed at how lustrous it became. It hung in gorgeous, natural curls, framing his thin face, and flopped about in abandon. "Haha! Alright," I conceded. "But what are you looking at me like that for?" I teased, not at all displeased to have him literally hanging on me, and knowing full well why, anyway. He was like a little frisky puppy, skipping along beside me. "Well ... you know," he threw his head back and puckered his lips up at me, taunting me. I couldn`t help but laugh again, "Yeah, I know." It had been all he could talk about. The feelings when he came. The fact that I had sucked him. That I had bathed him, kissed him all over his body. That I had treated him like a little baby. He had said that last accusingly, but without any force behind it. He was as transparent as any boy could ever be - just overjoyed at being the center of my world. He suddenly let go of my arm with his left hand, and let his right slide down till it found my own, interlacing his fingers with mine, and then he took up a more natural pace beside me. "Was that ... Is this how you felt, Piotrek, after your father bathed you that day?" he asked more quietly. "Hmmh. I have to admit that my father didn't suck me off, but ... yes, I felt very special that day. That he had taken care of me like that. That he had made me feel ... like his one special boy." "Am I you're special boy?" "Oh yes, Misiu. You are my very own special boy." I felt his hand squeeze mine then, and hold it tighter. I don't think it was even a conscious act on his part. It came from what he felt deep inside him. I felt it too. The cabin steps were too narrow for us to walk up them side by side, so I stopped and held out his hand, letting his fingers curl about mine as he lightly stepped on up to the porch. He turned to me, eyes level with mine, holding on to my hand as if were about to dance, and smiled beatifically. I stood there awestruck for a moment, wondering at the fortune that had made us cross paths. Less than a day ago, I was nothing but a criminal on the run. Less than a day ago, he was a vagabond, an outcast. What were we now? A gentleman in white suit, not a care in the world? A little sailor boy, off on a holiday? I looked about us. What was this place, that our paths had led us to? And where would we go from here? Circles were everywhere. Circles that joined, like a magician's metal rings - once joined no mere mortal could separate them, but ... what if the circles just transected for one brief moment? Were our paths to veer from here? His fingers laid within mine. Mine wrapped around his. For this moment. Would they separate tomorrow, never to touch again? I felt a sudden void opening, and emptiness inside me that physically hurt. "Piotrek?" Jasio tilted his head, quizzically. I tried to mask it, but he must have seen or felt or sensed my sudden panic. "Come on up, Piotrek," he finally said, giving me a little tug on my fingers. Obediently, willingly, I followed him on into our cabin, thankful that at least for this moment he was here to direct my steps. I dreaded to think what was to happen when once again I would have to make the decisions. "Someone's been here," Jasio said out of the blue. Immediately he dropped my hand and hurried towards the table. I was suddenly feeling quite bereft. "How do you kn ...." "The old woman - someone - brought our clothes back," Jasio said as soon as he stepped through the doorway. He pointed offhandedly towards the bed but was looking down at the table. "And the key. Look here, it's been moved." He waved me over to the edge of the table and picked up the large key. I couldn't really remember where I had placed it, in the midst all of his other stuff. Again he pointed, this time to the empty spot, where it had lain earlier. "Oh. Oh yeah, I see," I said dumbly, batting my eyelids. More in astonishment at his powers of observation than anything else. But for the new clothes laid out on the bed, I doubt I would have noticed any change. "Wonder why she picked it up," I mused. "Yes, me too," he responded, as he turned the key over and over in every which way, absently studying it. "What does it go to?" He looked suddenly taken aback too, and looked off into space. "I think ... it goes to a big box that Leon has in his shed. I ...." Jasio stopped, and just stood there. He didn't continue, but just ran his thumb up and down the shaft of the key. "What is it, Misiu?" I asked quietly. ""Well, I remember I used to have this key on a ... string, around my neck. And one day I was trying it out on things, and I was going to try it on this big ... box, that Leon has on a shelf in back of his house. He caught me in there, grabbed the key, and just stood there and broke it in two. He was so mad. I don't think I ever saw ...." Jasio slapped the key back down on the table top, but then just as quickly he picked it up again and then very deliberately put it back where it had been earlier. He turned away from the table then, seeming preoccupied and walked with head down over to the bed. Idly he fingered the sleeve of his old coat. "That's when he beat me, Piotrek," he turned back towards me and said it, lifting his head up at me, looking at me so forlornly. No tears. Just a look of wanting to understand. "You mean, back there?" I motioned towards his back. "Yeah. He whipped me. Told me to get out and never go near that box again. I snuck back in later on and got the key. then I hammered it back together, just like the blacksmith does, but ... I never tried using it again." He turned then, and just sat back upon the bed, upon his coat. I walked to his side and ruffled his hair a bit, and just sat down beside him. Neither of us said anything, for the longest time. Finally I put one arm around his shoulders and drew him to me. "I'm tired, Piotrek," he finally said, sounding defeated. It was like the memory of the beating had made him totally forget how happy he had been just moments ago. "Can we ... lay down for a while? Would you lay down with me?" "Of course, Misiu," I answered immediately, and just instantly felt shamed. Jasio hadn't forgotten. He wanted me to be with him. He hadn't forgotten at all. "I could use some shut-eye myself. The old woman will tell us when lunch is ready." ----------------------------------- September 15, 1959 1:20 P.M. For the second time that day Jasio awoke snuggled within the man's arms. He remembered. They had gotten undressed. Silently. None of the play, like when Piotrek dressed him after their bath. Then they had slipped under the covers again. He must have fallen asleep instantly. The last thing he remembered was the feel of Piotrek's strong arms, wrapping themselves around him, pulling him into the little cave formed by the big man's body. That, and Piotrek's lips - one little kiss, upon his head. And the feeling that none of the past mattered. Only that moment was important. Now he remembered something else. Standing back on the road, outside the collective last night, wishing he could turn back time, to make this man come back to him. Jasio didn't want that anymore. He never wanted to go back. But that's what faced him. Going back. Why couldn't he make this dream last? Why couldn't he stop time, right here and now? He used to track the sun's movement in the sky, with his Shadow Ring. Till Leon had noticed it, and stamped out all his markings, and hung up that sign. Glupi Jasio's Field of Corn. There was no stopping Leon. No stopping the sun, either. It came up in the East, went down in the west. Same thing every day. The true mark of time. Jasio snuggled deeper into Piotrek's arms, and felt the familiar hardness of the man's huge cock lodge against his spine. Funny. That seemed like something that time couldn't end. Piotrek was always hard. Hard because of him. Jasio knew that now. Understood it. He felt his own much smaller dick getting hard now too, feeling the man's erection so tight up against his back, and knowing now what it meant - to like someone, to love someone, to WANT someone so terribly much that you would even stop time, if only that would help. Slowly, so as not to disturb the man's sleep, Jasio curled about within the man's grasp, turning bit by bit till his face pressed against the man's wiry-haired chest. Now he could reach down between them to touch Piotrek's cock. Carefully, holding his fingers steady, he let them rest ever so lightly on the side of the huge dick. It was hot. Even within the warmth of their blankets, it was hot. Soft. Hard. Hot. Alive. He could feel that the man's heartbeat was strong, just be touching his cock. If he were going to stop time, then better that he stop it in the bath house, Jasio thought. He could hear Piotrek's words, "I remember once, my Tato washed me, kind of like I'm doing you now .... "Piotrek," Jasio whispered tentatively. Wishing that this man who had washed him would awaken. This man who had touched him, like no other. "Piotrek." Even his whisper sounded thunderous, deep down under the covers, but he wanted to say it. And say it again. "Tato ...." "For what you give me. For what you mean to me ...." He let his small hand curve over the stalk of his man's penis. If time was to stand still, here and now, then now was the time to give back. How he wanted to give back, then take, then give, then take again and again, so long as he was with this man! Time standing still. No going back. He narrowed his shoulders and crept downwards. Lower and lower, trailing one long continuous kiss down the the man's stomach to where he held the huge dick in his small hands. "Moj Tato," he whispered, as he bent to kiss the rounded, wet tip of the man's dickhead. -------------------------------- "Piotrek." "Tato." The man dreamed that Jasio was his. They were running together, towards a far wall. Father and son, man and boy. The wall kept receding, no matter how fast they ran. He picked the boy up in his arms, so they could leap forward. Jasio clung to him. "I want to be with you always, Piotrek. Tato," he whispered into Piotr's ear. Piotr woke instantly to the touch of the boy's fingers on his dick. After hours and hours of being engorged, his weapon was like a sword unsheathed, glistening and steel-hard, supple and ready. Beyond ready. But he held himself still. If it were a dream, he mustn't do anything to make it end. And if it were not a dream? The boy's fingers seemed so real, their touch so gentle, caressing, softly jacking. Piotr felt his heart beating harder already. It wouldn't take much to make him cum. Yet he wanted to hear. Had Jasio really said it? The covers pulled down from his shoulders. Jasio was slipping downwards - his feet seemed caught in the sheets. Piotr felt the boy's soft lips against his stomach, and wanted to cry out with a feeble protest, but even more - he wanted to listen! He strained to listen. "Moj Tato." This was no dream! Piotr looked down. Jasio's head was just above his dick. He had felt the little puff of breath, so hot against his pubis, with the boy's words. To be his father, for real! Now that was a dream, but ... was he not the boy's father, in spirit? He felt the boy's soft, hot, wet lips on the very tip of his dick! Involuntarily he pushed his pelvis forward slightly. His glans pressed into Jasio's lips, but the boy didn't draw back. He gripped Piotr's dick even more firmly, and opened his mouth a bit, letting half of the prepuce-covered glans slip within. Piotr's mind swirled. He wanted to think! To hear, to understand! Jasio wanted him! Wasn't it time to answer? But Piotr also wanted to feel! The ache in groin had been building for hours and hours, and he had suffered it gladly. It was time for words. But it ... let it be a time for ... release too ... Piotr let his right hand fall down off his side. He reached for Jasio's head, and touched him tentatively - first feeling his palm against those soft curls, then letting his fingers slip within to touch the boy`s cheek, letting the boy know that he had heard. "Moj chlopczyk! My dear, sweet boy!" He let the words float from his lips solemnly, softly. Jasio strained his head back, never letting the dick escape from his lips, and looked up at Piotr. There was no mistaking the joy, the love in his eyes. "You know ... what you're doing? What will happen ... if you continue that?" Piotr asked breathlessly. He knew Jasio had been forced to suck Leon, but had he ever seen the man cum? Jasio nodded. "And you want it? You want my seed?" For his answer, Jasio merely lowered his head and slowly sucked Piotr's glans into his mouth. The man felt his prepuce being pushed down by Jasio`s lips, baring his raw, swollen flesh to the boy's mercies. The boy was tender. His lips slipped tightly below the crown of Piotr's penis and lodged there behind the bulbous helmet, locked around the coronal ridge. His tongue sworled wetly all over the man's glans, first soft and flat, then hard-tip pointed, to probe the pee slit. The boy seemed to savor the tastes. His spittle was starting to dribble out, leaking down Piotr's stalk onto the sheet. --------------------------------------- Jasio knew all about the milk. He had seen Leon's semen spilling from Martina's slit, and wondered what it was. He had seen the same kind of thing dripping from the hard cocks of the farm animals, too. The baby stuff. The farmers used to laugh about it, when the bulls rutted. The cows would be sloppy with the baby stuff. "You want my seed?" Piotrek had asked. Yes, he wanted that seed! It wouldn't make a baby in his belly. He was no woman. He had no slit, like all the female creatures. But it was from Piotrek. Something powerful, magical, that would only come out of his dick when he was like this - hard! Hard because he liked Jasio. Because he wanted Jasio. The boy knew what to do too. His mouth would be the place where the man could pump his seed. And whatever there was of magic or power or strength or goodness or caring - everything that meant Piotrek - that's what he wanted to swallow. He would take it into his body just because it came from Piotrek. The man's cock was huge. Jasio could barely stretch his mouth around it, and he felt the spongy knob at the end of Piotrek's dick filling him up. Yet he wanted more of it. Wanted to move his lips down farther, take more of the man's hardness into his mouth, till it rammed against his throat, till he could not possible fill himself up further, till there would be no place else for the man's seed to go than into his throat, into his stomach. It was tight, stretching his lips, but he slowly sucked in more of the stalk. He felt Piotrek shudder. Felt the man's whole body spasming, jerking. Just like he himself had done in the bath. So he could make Piotrek feel that same incredible pleasure! Piotrek had taken Jasio's dick into his mouth too, then moved up and down it, and he had sucked and sucked on it. Suddenly Jasio felt the head of Piotrek's dick pressing into the back of his mouth, and felt himself gagging. Instinctively he jerked his head back. Piotrek screamed out. It sounded like he was in agony, but Jasio knew better. He had screamed too. His shrill voice had shattered the quiet in the bath house. Now Piotrek's groans were like a lion's or a bear's. The forest trees outside the cabin would shake with the sound. It was the movement of the man's dick inside his tight mouth that did it. Jasio immediately started back down on Piotrek's dick, slurping up his own saliva, tasting the man. Again he would take as much of the man's cock into his mouth as he could, then pull out again, and do it over and over again until Piotrek would shoot his seed. The boy set the rhythm. His own and Piotrek's. The rhythm of his lips, stretching over the swell of the man's cock just below the knob, the tight slide along the man's hot flesh, the inevitable blow against his throat - the rhythm of Piotrek's low, wavering moan as his dick slid deeper into Jasio's mouth, the erratic, but constant shuddering of the man's body, the rasping, entreating scream when his glans could go no farther. It seemed to go on and on, rising in volume and tempo. And then Piotrek's yells started to taper off and became stuttering gasps. Jasio remembered the sensations within his own body when Piotrek had sucked him. He remembered how it felt to give in to the man. Being in the man's total control, giving his body to the man to do as he wished with it. And then he remembered the moment he knew that there was no taking back. That Piotrek could manipulate his body like some kind of machine. Keeping up his rhythm, he reached his left hand down below the man's cock and tried to grasp both the man's huge balls. They were too large, and just slipped from his fingers. But he had to do it, to take the man there. That most vulnerable spot - for boy or man - where he could be hurt - but in the hands of the one who cared? Jasio opened his hand out flat supporting the man's dangling testicles and pushed in firmly, confining them against the man's own flesh. Piotrek gave one mighty jerk of his body, and seemed to straighten out rigidly. His dick stabbed into Jasio's mouth and started gushing his cum out in spurts. He yelled out and tightened his fingers within Jasio's hair, holding the boy's head still. Jasio felt the hot liquid shooting against the back of his mouth. He held his breath, ready for it, and started gulping down the man's seed. He swallowed it all, loving the feel of it, proud of what he had done for his man. ----------------------------------------- "Did you do that for your father, when he bathed you?" Jasio taunted me when I finally came to my senses. I was laying on my back and opened my eyes to see him kneeling beside me. His hand was still on my dick. I could feel his little fingers tenderly caressing, smearing the messiness of my ejaculation all over the now mercifully flaccid flesh. I just smiled, and reached up and smeared the same messy goo from off the corner of his mouth. A bit of it had straggled down to his chin too. I wiped it away there too, feeling a surge of the most overpowering emotion at that little act. I could touch him anywhere. I could wash him, dress him, clean his face just like a father would. He granted me that right, willingly. He also had granted me much more. "Hmmh, it kind of goes beyond what most little boys do for their dads," I teased him back. "So maybe I shouldn't call you Tato, huh?" he said, tenting his eyebrow. Clever boy! I was beginning to see that I would never win any kind of mental challenge with Jasio. "Oh, I loved it when you called me that," I protested, pouting - unconvincingly, I'm sure, because I couldn't help but smile. I held my arms out wide to him. He leaned forward instantly, falling into my embrace. I rolled over onto my side, and just held him there, with my arm cradling his head, and wrapped around his back. Our eyes were just inches apart. I crossed my other arm over his bottom and thigh, and pulled him into me. For a moment we simply explored each others eyes. I felt something passing between us. Everything we had shared together, from the moment I espied his gray, shadowy silhouette on the road last night, had forged a bond between us. Father and son? Man and boy? Lovers? Everywhere we turned here, we saw the signs of it. The circles of our lives had crossed. How could those circles possibly be broken? As if he read my mind - or perhaps because I had read his - we both started speaking at once. "I don't think I can ever take you back ...." "I don't think you will ever leave me on the colle ...." Both of us stopped in mid-sentence. I wanted to blurt out that he was right, but I was already feeling the doubt of my own statement! How could I not take him back? Should I put him at risk too? What if the KGB found me? Would they imprison him? Kill him? Or just abandon him, wherever we happened to be at the time? "Jasio!" I crushed him to me, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his eyes, his brow. I let my lips graze his, and wanted to linger, but did not. Instead I pulled his head against my shoulder, and whispered into his ear, "I don't want to take you back! Yet I don't know any other way? You have no idea the kind of danger I would be leading you into if you stay with me." "Whatever the danger, it doesn't matter, Piotrek!" he answered immediately, as he pulled back from me and looked me again in my eyes. I saw the desperation there. And the truth of how he felt. He did not know the facts, but he did not want me to leave him. I knew that as certainly as I had ever known anything in my lifetime. "I don't care what happens, just don't leave me. I - I was gonna ... I was ready to die back there. I want to die if I have to go back there. I could get by, if you stayed! But ... but could you stay, could ...." "Shhhh, Misiu! No I couldn't stay. You have to listen. I'm on the run. There are very bad people after me. If you get .... if you stay with me, it will just be worse for you. At least back at Jodlovka you have ...." "NOTHING!" he almost shouted it out, and sat up beside me. I sat up too, and reached out for him. He fell into my arms again, and let me just hold him. "I know. I know. It's bad there, but if I don't take you back ...." "You can't take me back there, Piotrek, please! I want to stay with you. Don't ever take me back th ...." "Stop that! The both of you!" We heard the old woman's growl coming from outside, on the porch. We hadn't heard her approach. Instantly we both turned towards the door, still holding onto each other. It was becoming a routine, this habit of hers - surprising us, commanding us. "Stop all that foolish chatter," she commanded yet again, louder than she needed to. We heard her hand fumbling with the door handle. "Jan! And you, Mr. Communist. I will tell you exactly what you are going to do. You must go back to Jodlovka. And you are going to do it tonight. Now get decent. I'm coming in to tell you why."