Date: Tue, 04 Dec 2001 17:34:37
From: Ganymede
Subject: Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, ACT III

The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, ACT III, by Ganymede


WARNING:


This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts
between men and MINOR boys. It is not true! The story is not
intended to promote illegal acts against minors. I do not
condone child abuse, however the love of boys is a different
matter. Despite the prevalent attitudes of western society,
men have loved boys throughout recorded history. It is my goal
to help readers appreciate that love can exist between men
and boys. If the subject of man/boy love offends you, if
this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if you
are under the legal age for such material, do not read further!

By downloading this story:

"... you implicitly declare and affirm under penalties of
perjury that you are not a minor or in the company of a
minor and are entitled to have access to material intended
for mature, responsible members of society capable of making
decisions about the content of documents they wish to read...."

Any similarity to individuals, living or dead, is entirely
accidental. The sexual acts described in the story are the
result of my imagination. I have not performed these acts, and
I do not encourage others to perform them with minors.

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. Copies
have been placed in two archives for your enjoyment.
The story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. The story
cannot be placed in archives that require payment for access, or
printed and distributed in any form that requires payment either
directly or indirectly.



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FINAL WARNING:

If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal in
your place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't your
thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin!



The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, ACT III, by Ganymede


Dedicated to another's friend, a boy who wanted to dance.



OVERTURE

Alesha danced. He danced to please himself, shrouded in the
mystery of his mind. He danced the way he wanted to dance, not
the way his mother had trained him, not the way his teachers
demanded. Each step was sequenced, a symphony of movement,
turning gracefully without a thought except expressing what he
felt within, not recognizing his own body in the wall-long
mirror. His head turned away, then looked up, lifting his spirits
to the sky. He leaped, and for a moment he flew. Even when his
feet came down, he sprang again, barely touching the floor below.
So free. For that was what dancing had become for him. He was
liberated. Alive. Free to express his inner soul.

The passion came first from watching his mother dance,
absorbing her energy, her wisdom, her intensity even while he lay
in a bouncing bassinet. For a long while, he thought his mother
was exactly what he wanted to be. A ballerina. He did not want to
be a boy. But he heard the whispers. Boys who danced were
sissies. It hurt most boys deeply to hear those words from
friends, and the other degrading comments that came later were
far worse. Not Alesha. Not from the very first day when he had
been dressed in his leotard and tights, had he been hurt by what
he heard. He had known what he would do, known all along that he
would dance. So had his mother.

He made remarkable progress. Every one said so, even the
instructors in Kiev had acclaimed what he could do, and they were
very hard to please. However, he could do much better, his mother
always said so. He practiced, repeating, straining every muscle
to its limit, finding solace in the art of movement.

He performed a perfect pirouette, spinning to return another
time along the wall. The late afternoon sunlight danced with him,
splashing across his limbs and torso like a brilliant spotlight
from above. 'Breath in,... breath out,...' 'Control it'. 'Every
movement, every muscle.'

It had been a week, just a week. It had seemed forever, at least at
first. A week without her, without his mother. The longest that
she had ever left him was for five days, and then he visited her
in hospital every evening. He hated the smell of her room, the
lingering antiseptic odor, as much as seeing her inert, her leg
suspended, her badly swollen ankle.

Her words came back to haunt him constantly, driving him to
the point of physical exhaustion. 'Dansez mon chéri, Alesha'. She
always prodded him with words in French, challenging him to
excel, to go beyond what he was capable of. Until it hurt. Until
every muscle ached and all he wanted to do was to lie down and
fall asleep. 'Vous pouvez faire mieux'. Always he could do
better.

After practicing hard that Friday afternoon, Alesha needed
rest. He took a long hot shower until the aches were nearly gone.
Then, he had returned by his private stair to the attic studio.
He went by instinct, following some inner need, into the
adjoining room that was referred to by all as 'Mr. Beaufort's
Private Room'. He was still naked and he felt so fresh and clean.
He explored the closet whose contents he had only glimpsed ne
time before. Then, seeing his interest, Mr. Beaufort had remarked
that his mother had collected costumes before she died. Alesha
was trembling when he dressed.

Of all the dances she made him practice, the one he loved
more than any other was not his to do. Boys did not dance the
'Sugar Plum Fairy'. Only girls. He had watched his mother dance
the wonderful pas de deux from Nutcracker in Kiev one winter so
long ago that he could not remember more than that. He was in the
wings, hidden behind the curtain folds. Later, a day or two, he
tried to mimic what he saw. Clumsily at first, because he dared
not play the music louder than a whisper in case she heard. His
mother found him, watched and wondered. She smiled suddenly,
realizing the boy was doing only what he wanted. She made no
comment, but increased the volume until the music could be heard.

The next time he wanted to try the dance that only girls
performed, she helped him. His skill grew quickly, although his
young body still lacked the grace and strength to do it properly.
He practiced by himself. He practiced while she watched.
Improvement came. Then one day, she brought a small pair of
points to the studio. Because only girls wore points, his shoes
were decorated with a pink silk bow. Alesha learned to rise up on
his toes. His dancing became much better. Everyone agreed. The
boy had grace, elegance, great skill.

So in private, Alesha danced 'en pointe'. He danced the
'Casse-Noisette', The Nutcracker, ACT II, and one part in
particular. It was an exquisite pas de deux. But by himself, he
filled the floor, imagining his regal partner, the Nutcracker
Prince himself. How often had he watched that ballet? It was the
only one he could remember seeing in Kiev. He knew Hoffmann's
magic story as intimately as Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky's music,
but Act II was all he really thought about now that he was no
longer dancing as a mouse. With the choreography of Petipa and
Ivanov and something of his own, he proceeded through the ritual
of instigating the ethnic dances, Spanish, Arabian, Chinese, his
favorite by others--the Trepak, a Russian dance; and then the
dance of the flutes. The divertissement was followed by the Waltz
of the Flowers, then finally, his pas de deux. It was the story
of adolescent love, but more than that, it an awakening to life.
Alesha Yaroshenko came alive.

His movements were precise, every so slightly jerking to the
music's rhythm. Then, gradually flowing into a seamless symphony
of motion until the harp began to ripple. The reprise, ever
precise, putting everything he had into the steps. It came so
easily to him that one might think he had danced it all his life.
Only one part was hard, and that part stuck out from between his
legs. This time, he didn't touch it. Instead he relished the
sensations of each brush against the gauze-like cloth. Alesha had
never danced the way he did that evening. Finally, he dared to
look into the mirror.



ACT III, Scene I.

Alesha was dancing when I came into the attic. I stared in
mute disbelief, for a moment not recognizing him. His attire was
startling in itself. His costume was a delicate work of art. The
skirt, which came down to just below his knees, was of several
shimmering layers of nearly transparent light-pink tulle with
glistening silver thread. His chest was covered with an ivory
bodice that was trimmed in golden ribbons and bows with a lace
ruffle at the top. At the shoulders, tulle puff sleeves on each
arm completed the ensemble. He wore no tights, but his feet were
sheathed in pink ballet slippers with lace-up ribbons. Beneath
that beautiful opalescent dress was an equally beautiful boy.
When his right leg lifted up 'en pointe' to slowly spin around, I
observed with shock that he was naked underneath.

He was nearly finished the Dance of the Sugar Plum fairy
when he realized I was watching by noticing my reflection in the
mirror.

He stopped dancing. He glared at me. He slowly backed away.

"Go away," he said loudly.

I did not move. I was transfixed. Enraptured by a boy.
Alesha inhaled, held his breath.

"Go away!" His voice was urgent. "I don't want you here! You
can't see me like this."

His hands formed little fists beside his thighs. His eyes
were full of fear. And anger too, growing steadily stronger the
longer that I looked. I tried to find the words to calm him.

"You're so very beautiful," I murmured in awe.

Wrong choice! I regretted saying it as soon as the words had
left my mouth. Alesha's face contorted, his mood instantly
darkened.

"Go away!" he shouted vehemently. "You're not supposed to
come in here when I'm practising."

I was taken aback by his outburst, and while I should have
been more understanding, I resorted to anger in frustration.

"It's my house Alesha, and I'll go where I damn well
please," I replied in a low voice. "Where did you get the dress?"

His face blanched, his eyes nervously shifting from side to
side. He did not answer for a long while. We stared at each other
until he found the courage to speak.

"From in there," he answered meekly.

He gestured towards the open doorway to the changing room.
The mirror-door was also ajar, opening into my private room.

"From the closet?"

He nodded awkwardly, keeping his eyes away from mine. I
smiled.

"I wondered how it would look on you," I said softly.

He glanced up quickly, still timid yet suddenly relieved.

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not."

He shifted his feet, not making a sound. He was as
embarrassed as he had ever been. For a moment his eyes flickered
down, taking in exactly what I saw, the hazy outline of his lower
body, the shadow of his groin. His expression fleeted back to
fear.

"It's quite okay by me," I said reassuringly.

"Y-y-you're n-n-not angry?" Alesha stammered.

"Not at all."

He pondered that for a few moments, then still shameful,
still blushing, backed a step away. I smiled again, hoping that
he would find me less intimidating.

"You really are very beautiful."

"But,... but I'm a boy. I shouldn't be dressed like this."

"Says who?"

Alesha shrugged. His lips pressed closely together until I
could barely see them. He shook his head. His little adam's Apple
bobbed in his neck when he swallowed.

"Lets talk about it in my room," I offered gently. "Come
on," I added, extending my hand.

He looked at my hand for only an instant before he reached
out. He seemed very eager as his thin fingers enfolded mine. I
led him through the changing room and into my room, making sure
to close the door behind me.

I lifted Alesha's head up by placing my fingers on his chin.
He blinked, still very nervous, afraid to make eye contact until
I gave him no choice.

"It's okay, Alesha."

"You're not angry?" he repeated.

"Not at all." I slowly shook my head. "Well maybe I'm just a
little bit angry."

"Why? Because I went into your room?" Alesha clarified
uncertainly.

I shook my head again. Then, I smiled. "No, it's not that at
all. I want you to feel free to come in here when ever you want.
It's because you're so upset about doing something that is
natural for you."

"Me?" Alesha mumbled.

"Yes."

I released his hand, noticing for the first time how moist
it was, not dry like mine. Without thinking more than that I
needed to comfort him, I placed my hand on his shoulder,
enveloped him with my arm, drew him closer into my warmth. The
shimmering gauze cloth felt as soft as silk. I hugged him
tenderly, bringing his head forward so that it pressed onto my
chest.

"It's okay, Alesha."

"But,..."

"It's okay. It really is," I whispered.  "It's part of who
you are."

"I know what it means,... I'm gay,... I am, aren't I?" he
asked shamefully.

"I don't care about that, and neither should you. I want you
to be happy."

"Mama said I was,..."

"Shhhh, Alesha. I don't care about what she said. I care
about you. All I want is for you to be happy."

He was still very nervous. Every muscle was taut, his body
tensed like a cat just before it leaped. I stroked his bare skin,
just above the golden cords that laced the back of Alesha's
bodice. How ever had he managed to tie the bows by himself?

"I suppose I should take it off before it creases," Alesha
muttered as much to himself as me.

"Do you want me to help?"

"I don't have anything on underneath," Alesha answered
awkwardly.

I reached down and patted his lower back, just above his
bottom. For a few seconds I massaged the little bumps of his
spine.

"There's nothing to be ashamed about, Alesha. Besides, I've
already seen you naked. Front and back," I added.

Alesha considered that. His head lifted up and he smiled
shyly.

"Yes, You have. I suppose it's alright then"

He did not resist when my fingers began to cautiously
unfasten the bow behind his back. Some how he had managed to get
the lacing taut, and with his dancing, the bow had become very
tight, so tight that merely pulling on the ends served no purpose
but to make the knot worse. Finally, I managed to get one loop
free, and then the other. Carefully, I tugged the cords through
each small golden hole, working my way down the back until the
lacing was loose.

Alesha stayed very still, his head firmly pressed against my
breast. I could feel his body moving nonetheless, filling his
lungs, a slight tremor when I touched his bare skin. He was still
very nervous.

"Just relax," I said softly in his ear.

How often had I used those words with other boys. 'Just
relax'. It sounded simple, so very simple, when what it really
meant was 'Just relax and let me in.' I shuddered guiltily aware
that at that very moment I wanted nothing more than to take the
same liberty with Alesha. My hand jerked away.

"What's wrong?" Alesha asked meekly.

"Nothing."

"Why did you stop?"

"You can probably get it off by yourself now." I felt my
face getting hot.

"I need you to help me. I can't reach back there."

"No! The lacing is already undone. I'm sure you can do the
rest by yourself," I added guiltily.

I quickly stepped back. That little voice inside my head was
counseling a prompt departure. A much louder voice was demanding
that I stay and watch. What to do?

Even as I considered what was appropriate and what was not,
Alesha began to undress. Unlike his leotard, the ballet costume
had to be removed with the greatest care. He drew the sleeves
outward, using the slackness in the lacing to get the top of the
bodice past his shoulders and part of the way down his arms. Then
he moved to the front, working the ivory satin slowly down his
chest. He did not stop until he reached his waist. His eyes
flickered. His head moved to the side. Then, back to look
directly at me.

"I don't have anything else to put on." He sounded just a
little braver than before.

The bag of clothes that I had bought earlier in the day had
conveniently been placed on the top of the purple escritoire
where I would easily find it. I was glad that I had asked Dewon
to deliver it to my 'private room' after he had dropped me off at
the Harvard Club. With some amusement, I imagined that my giving
the chauffeur permission to do so irked Peters considerably. I
walked over and picked it up.

"Yes, you do Alesha," I replied. "I bought these today for
you to wear when we go out this evening."

He followed me across the room. He reached out and dutifully
took the proffered plastic bag.

"Thank you," Alesha said gracefully.

"You're welcome."

He glanced inside, tilting his head to examine the contents.

"Where are we going, Mr. B.?" he asked, still mystified by
what he saw.

I smiled. Clearly, Alesha was already beginning to be
affected by being around Dewon. My hoped my chauffeur would
remember his promise to me to be careful about what he said when
Alesha was around.

"To a private club," I answered.

"What sort of club?"

His interest was reassuring. However, even as he spoke, his
hand reached down. He lifted out the shirt and jeans. For a
moment I did not notice the sudden change of mood.

"It's a club for men and boys," I replied absently.

I was about to say more, to explain that he would have an
opportunity to meet boys who were like himself. Alesha glared at
me. The bodice had slipped a little lower, revealing his perfect
tiny navel and the little fold of covering skin.

"No!"

"Pardon?"

"These are girl's clothes." He spat the words out.

"Yes, I know they are," I replied calmly. "I bought them for
you. I'd like you to wear them tonight."

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because,... Because I can't, that's why,..." Alesha
shuddered, shaking his head frantically. "Because I'm not girl.
You know I'm not!"

"Will you just try them on for me at least?" I suggested. I
sighed. "I went to a lot of trouble getting the right fit for
you. I even had to take the jeans to my tailor and get them taken
in."

Alesha continued to shake his head.

"You don't want to wear them, is that the problem?"

"I didn't say that," he muttered self-consciously.

He bowed his head, staring at the polished floor beneath his
slippered feet. It was only then that I noticed the clouded
contour, the straight profile, the unmistakable shape of his
short erection behind the flimsy dress. What I had assumed to be
nervousness and shame was more than that. Alesha was excited,
sexually aroused, intoxicated by the very idea of wearing girl's
clothes. At the same time as he stimulated, he was consumed by
guilt.

"How did you know?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Know what?"

"You know,... about me,..."

"What is there to know?" I asked gently. "There's nothing to
be afraid of, Alesha."

He shivered, hunching his shoulders as if he was suddenly
chilled. He lifted his hand to his mouth and gnawed on his
fingertips. It was the first time that I had seen him do that.

"No one knows.... Not even her,..." he mumbled.

"Your mother?"

Alesha nodded slightly, still chewing on his nails. I heard
the unmistakable click as one broke off.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" I prompted gently.

"No." He winced. "Sometimes,... sometimes I wear her
clothes. At night,... when she's gone,... and I'm by myself,..."

"Yes?"

"Her things don't fit me very well,..."

"I don't suppose they would. Your mother is a lot taller
than you. I think these will fit nicely," I added with a gesture
to the clothes he still held in his hands.

"You,... you don't mind?"

His voice was beginning to break. Not from the squeak and
sqwark that came with the onset of puberty, but from the stress
that was building up inside him.

"Do I mind? Of course not. I want you to be happy, that's
all."

I took a pace towards him, noticing that he did not back
away. I reached out and tenderly touched his cheek. It was wet,
but only slightly. Alesha smiled weakly.

"You're crying," I said quietly.

"Sorry," he sniffed. "I can't help it."

"This place we're going to tonight, there will be some boys
who are like you, Alesha. And some men too," I added,
contemplating what Julian Kalmann had said about Marius and
Ramona.

"They're gay?"

I nodded, still stroking his cheek reassuringly.

"A few of them are a lot like you," I added. "They like to
dress very fashionably, even if it means wearing girls' clothes,"
I added, managing to avoid the word 'transvestite' and its
inherent complications.

"The men too?" His intonation changed. All of a sudden he
had become very curious.

"Yes, some of them. Of course, they don't wear what the boys
wear."

"They wear women's clothes?" Alesha asked sheepishly.

"Yes, some do."

He was pensive. "Do people make fun of them?"

"Not at the place we're going."

Alesha regarded the clothes again, this time with increased
interest, but still very bashful.

"Dewon told you, didn't he?" he asked after a while.

I nodded. "Just about the glitter jeans you saw the girls
wearing to school this morning. The shop assistant suggested I
get the matching top. There's a belt in there somewhere as well."

"Awesome."

Despite his European accent, he sounded very 'New York'. He
smiled, becoming increasingly bold as he discovered that I was
not only supportive, but encouraging him to express himself.

"Should I put them on now?" he asked brightly.

"Yes. We'll be leaving in a short while. I told Dewon we'd
meet him in the basement at seven-thirty." I checked my watch.
"Damn, that's in ten minutes. I just need to run downstairs and
change my clothes. I can hardly go dressed like this."

Alesha giggled, slowly pushing the bodice lower and lower
with his free hand. If he wanted to get my attention that was the
way to do it. I grinned at him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Undressing," he replied coyly. "What's it look like?"

"Hm, I had better not try to answer that or we'll be late,"
I laughed. "Get dressed and stay here until I come back up,
Alesha. I don't think it would be a good idea if Peters saw a
sexy young girl running around the house."

"Or a boy dressed as a girl?" Alesha suggested merrily.

"I wonder what would bother him the most?" I mused as I
started towards the door.



ACT III, Scene II.

Greenwich Village always reminded me of Paris, at least the
area around my apartment. I enjoyed the tree-lines streets, the
small boutiques, the frequent sidewalk cafes, and as much as
anything, the lifestyle that existed there. It was a joy to relax
in the back of the Bentley, watching Alesha watch the world go
by. Dressed in his shimmer tie-dyed shirt and glitter jeans he
could easily pass as a girl. Except for his hair. I loved his
hair. I loved the color, light brown with golden highlights. I
loved the style. It was not a fashion statement like some boys,
but its sheer simplicity amplified his beauty. His hair was fine,
with wavy curls, not tight curls, but enough that it added
greatly to his looks. Since I had seen him in the Attic, he had
added something to it to give it more body and a slight gloss
that made him look different, more exciting. Studying Alesha was
like looking at a young Adonis, only better. It was like looking
into the soul of a Russian artist, full of passion and mystery.

"Where to from here, Mr. B.?" Dewon asked suddenly.

"Sorry, Dewon. I wasn't paying attention. Turn left."

"The Big Bear Saloon is right over there a couple of
blocks," Dewon announced as he slowed at the intersection. "On
Broadway."

"You go there?" I asked curiously.

"I used to. One of my buddies in the Marines was a bear.
Talk about a Texas Longhorn. Man, was he a hound dawg."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"I sure ain't no trapper," Dewon snapped. "But I weren't
'bout to tell him what I really liked."

"That's understandable," I chuckled. "Especially in the
Marines."

"I got so's I took whatever I could get when I was growin'
up. There's not a lot of boys trolling in Harlem, not if you
don't count the trickers and dairy queens."

Alesha's ears pricked up, but he continued to gaze out the
window. I was perturbed at myself as much with Dewon, but it was
as good a time as any for Alesha to begin to learn about the
culture he was part of.

"What's a dairy queen?" Alesha asked loudly.

"A place where you buy really bad ice-cream," Dewon
chortled. "You want I should tell him, Mr. B.?"

I shrugged. "I suppose not," I replied. Seeing as you
brought the subject up, you might as well," I added with a mild
tone of rebuke.

"Um, well, a dairy queen is,... well it's like this,... um,
see sometimes there are black guys who like to chase white
dudes," Dewon mumbled.

"Oh!" Alesha considered that for a few seconds. "What do you
call it when its the other way?"

"Let's not go there right now," I interjected. I took a deep
breath. "Alesha, I think it's time that you and I had a talk."

Alesha nodded. "Okay?"

"When you and I were coming down from the attic we talked
about some things," I began. Alesha nodded slightly. "One of the
things I said was that you had to be careful about expressing
yourself. Whatever you want to wear is okay by me, but it's not
with Peters or the other staff."

"I can't let anyone know unless you tell me I can," Alesha
parroted.

I had not said it quite the same way, but apparently he had
grasped the importance of being discreet.

"Dewon is like me in some respects," I continued cautiously.
Alesha didn't respond. "He likes boys," I added.

"I figured that already," Alesha smirked.

"How?"

He shrugged vaguely. "I guess because you let him see me
dressed like this."

"Okay. Now, what I haven't told you is that Dewon is more
than just the chauffeur."

"He used to be a Marine," Alesha said brightly.

"Yes, he did." I could see Dewon smiling in the mirror.
"I've hired him to be your,...um,..."

'Bodyguard' was the wrong word, at least to use with an
eleven-year-old boy. I didn't want to frighten Alesha. The fact
was that despite Mayor Guiliani's efforts to the contrary, New
York was not a safe place to live. There was a reason why I never
used the subways of got on a bus. And when I walked, I walked
quickly, always keeping an eye on the people around me. The city
was especially dangerous for a child, and for a young ballet boy
from the Upper East Side, even more so.

"My what?"

"I'm keepin' an eye on you, Lee," Dewon said from the front
seat. "So don't be gettin' into no trouble at school."

That appeared to satisfy Alesha, however, I needed to say
more, much more before we arrived at the club.

"I want you to feel free to talk with me about things," I
said.

Alesha nodded slightly, uncertainty revealed in his
expression. I placed my hand on his knee and rubbed gently,
soothingly, feeling the firmness of bone under the glittering
cloth of his jeans.

"Part of growing up is finding out who you are," I
explained. "I think the first thing I realized was that while
most people were similar, finding two who were exactly the same
was impossible."

"Not even twins. Some are really different," Alesha said.
"There were two twins at the competition and,..." He grinned,
realizing what he had said. "Duh! Two twins! How dumb can I be!
Anyway the two twins danced very differently even though they've
always had the same teachers."

I smiled, remembering the Washingtons and the injustice that
I had witnessed in making the scholarship awards.

"My point is that there has to be room in the world for all
of us, Alesha. The problem is that our society likes to exclude
people who don't fit in the mold."

"Mold?"

"Think of it this way," I said, turning to look directly at
Alesha so that he would get the point. "Society expects boys to
dress as boys. That's the mold that society has created for you.
You don't exactly fit in the mold, do you?"

He smiled shyly. "I can't help it."

"I know. You like girl's clothes because that's part of who
you are. If it makes you happy, that's perfectly okay by me. We
aren't all the same."

"Then there are different molds?" Alesha asked after
thinking about what I had said.

"Yes."

"Like being gay?"

"Yes."

"So being gay mostly is okay?" Alesha questioned.

"Around other gays, yes, of course it is," I answered. "But
even gays have some molds they won't or don't want to accept."

"Like me and you?"

I was surprised until I remembered that his mother must have
explained what it would mean if I was his 'patron'. More than
likely she had instructed him in the need for secrecy and
discretion.

"Hm,... It would be different if you were older," I replied
honestly. "Most gays have a problem with men being with boys your
age. Both of us have to be very careful."

"But it's only another mold," Alesha said sullenly. "It's
just different."

"That's true," I acknowledged.

I squeezed his knee affectionately and then went back to
rubbing along his lower thigh. I could feel the strength in the
lean cords of his tendons, the firmness of flesh that was pure
muscle.

"Where we're going,... the people are like us aren't they?"
Alesha asked after a while.

"Yes."

"Kewl."

I laughed. "Cool? My little Russian said cool?" His accent
made the word sound different to 'cool'.

"Not cool, Sheldon! K-E-W-L. Kewl!" Alesha giggled. "It
means cooler than cool."

"As in frigid?" I teased.

"Don't be silly. It's like when someone does something
really special for you. Like now."

"Pardon?"

"Like you're taking me to this place so I can meet boys who
are like me."

"Oh. So that's K-E-W-l." I spelled it out, playfully sliding
my hand closer and closer the little bulge in his jeans as I
squeezed along his thigh with each new letter.

I dared not touch him, not there, not yet. Alesha wasn't
ready to be groped. I moved my hand back slowly.

We passed by the Arch in Washington Square Park and for a
moment I wondered whether Alesha would be interested in it's
history. He glanced out the window, seeing the carnival
atmosphere that never seemed to go away. Skateboarders,
musicians, people walking dogs, a cacophony of sights and sounds
greeted his attentive eyes. I smiled, content to let the subject
drop. Greenwich was famous for attracting people with a penchant
for different molds. Even for people like Alesha and me there was
a mold waiting to be discovered by anyone who dared to look.

"Are we nearly there?" he asked excitedly as soon as we had
left the melee behind us.

"Nearly. You might notice that a lot of the buildings are in
the Greek Revival style," I lectured.

After all of the weird but exciting things that he had just
seen, Alesha regarded me with a pained expression. I laughed.

"And over there was where Edward Hopper used to live," I
continued. "He was a famous painter."

Alesha rolled his eyes, pretending to be disinterested.
Nevertheless he glanced out the window in the direction I had
indicated.

"Who lives there now?"

"Probably a gay stockbroker," I chuckled. "Honestly, I have
no idea, but it's not unlikely."

We turned onto La Guardia Place for a few blocks before
meeting West Houston Street. If I took Alesha to Paris it would
mean missing the Feast of St. Anthony, but I could live with
that.

Alesha's head swivelled from side to side, fascinated by the
sights beyond the tinted windows. For myself, I found what was
inside the car far more interesting than the familiar sights
outside. I could not take my eyes away from Alesha. The clothes
were ideal for him, in color as much as anything else. He had
been transformed by wearing them every bit as much as the ballet
costume had changed his looks. I tried to decide what it was
about him that so entranced me beyond his face and body. Without
exception, all of my other boys had been 'all boy'. And now,
Alesha. Neither boy nor girl, but something in between? Or a boy
who was also content to reveal another side, a side that most
boys kept carefully concealed. I sensed his mother's hand in it,
yet Alesha had confided his secret to me as if he was afraid of
her response.

"It is much further?"

I was been dreaming and I was momentarily startled. "Not a
lot.... Dewon, turn right at the next block."

"Do I look okay?" Alesha asked nervously.

"You look wonderful. Doesn't he, Dewon?"

Dewon glanced up into the rear vision mirror. "He looks good
enough to eat, Mr. B."

"See, Alesha. I told you so," I teased. "Your hair is nice
by the way. What did you do to it?"

Alesha grinned. "I put some gel on it. I had to go down to
my room to get some shoes. Do you really like it?"

"Yes. It suits you." I smiled. "Just relax."

"I'm trying," Alesha giggled. "I won't look,... you know,...
weird or anything? Dressed like this I mean?"

"I already told you," I winked. "You won't be the only boy
in drag."

"Drag?"

"That's what it's called, when a man wears women's clothes.
Boys are in drag when they wear girls' clothes," I added
unnecessarily.

"Oh!"

Do you see that sign over there for video games, Dewon."

"Yeah."

"Believe it or not, that's it!"

The video game parlor was not only a ruse, but a very
profitable one. It was a haunt for the local boys and a few of
the girls who liked to play. Who was the person who said that the
best way to hide something was to put it in plain sight? Of
course, there was an important caveat--what ever was being hidden
had to fit in with the surroundings. Appleboys was on the second
floor, accessible only by going through the one of the virtual
reality rooms that were along the middle of the game center. The
members, men and boys, who entered generally did not look too out
of place, but on the second floor was an entirely different
'mold'.



ACT III, Scene III

Dewon double-parked outside the club and I gave him
instructions about returning to pick us up in four hours, or
sooner if I called on the cell phone. I still was not convinced
that I was doing the right thing, but having gone this far, going
a little further seemed in order.

Taking Alesha by the hand, I led him towards the front door.

"I thought we were going to a gay bar or something?" Alesha
whispered as soon as we were inside.

"You're about ten years too young to go to a bar," I
answered, leaning close to him.

I had to lean close for him to hear me. The raucous din from
the machines in the front room was overwhelming. There must have
been several dozen boys from pre-teen to late teen playing the
machines, often in groups of three or four. It was a little
quieter in the next room and still holding Alesha's hand I
continued on quickly. I exchanged two twenty dollar notes for a
handful of tokens and went through the motions of giving the
majority of them to Alesha. Already, he beginning to draw
attention. Some of the boys, young teenagers were looking in his
direction.

I was not at all surprised. Alesha was startling beautiful,
and dressed the way that he was, he destined to be the center of
attention, at least until the boys figured out that the 'she' was
really a 'he'. One of the boys, a Latino with an oversized bulge
in his faded jeans, began to approach with a macho swagger that
was intended to impress. I nudged Alesha, directing him to keep
walking. The last thing I wanted to deal with was a horny
teenager.

"Let's play this one," I said stopping beside one of the
virtual reality rooms.

In keeping with the theme of what was real and what was not,
the room was designed to confuse both from the outset and the
outside. There was one way in and one way out, and 'never the
twain did meet', since on one side was the video game parlor and
on the other was the cafe. One could never be quite sure who, if
anyone, was inside the room. I closed the door behind me and set
the indicator light to show that a game was underway.

"Did you ever play one of these?" I asked.

Alesha shook his head. He was having difficulty taking it
all in. There would be a better time for him to try his hand at
the virtual world of space invaders or whatever it was called. I
winked at him and then inserted the tokens I had retained into
the control panel. A few moments later, eerie music began and the
lights dimmed.

"This way," I said.

I took Alesha's hand again, leading him towards the
startlingly real image of a planet. It was so real that I had to
mentally restrain myself from trying to push it away as we drew
nearer, and that was absent the special 3-D glasses.

The third door was always difficult to find, at least it was
for me. I had to feel along the wall, shuffling my feet on the
floor as I tried to find the cleverly concealed lever that would
open it. Alesha kept bumping into my side. Finally, when I was
about to give up any hope of getting out by myself, my fingers
touched. The panel opened a few inches, just enough to admit a
shaft of amber light.

"This place is weird," Alesha giggled as I started up the
stairs.

"Remember, you can never tell anyone," I instructed, "Unless
I tell you it's okay. Not even your mother."

"Okay," he replied with a conspiratorial whisper.

At the top of the stairs, was a nondescript foyer that could
have been found in any midtown apartment house. A man sat behind
a desk. He was reading the afternoon paper but quickly put it
down when we appeared. We had to wait for a minute while my name
was checked against the list. It was a necessary if trivial step
for I was one of the better known members.

"Mr. Sheldon Beaufort, right?" the man repeated as if he had
never seen me before. He smirked before I had a chance to
acknowledge again who I was. "And who might I ask is the fuzz-
nuts?"

"Alesha." I said coldly.

I didn't like Alesha being called 'fuzz-nuts' by a complete
stranger. I wondered if the man insulted all of the sexually
immature boys who entered Appleboys. If he did, he wouldn't last
very long. Some men would not put up with it, and I was one of
them.

"Alesha?" he repeated.

"Yes." I didn't volunteer his last name, although it was
expected.

"You're sure about him, Mr. Beaufort? He's not a fairy hawk
is he?" he asked, his eyes giving Alesha a close, yet admiring
examination.

"He's safe," I replied as patiently as I could. "He wouldn't
be here with me otherwise."

"He certainly doesn't look much like a cheese bun, but you
never know. I have to ask. How long have you known him?" He
emphasized 'known' so that it took on its Biblical meaning.

I didn't counter. There was no point. New Yorkers were
famous, or perhaps infamous for being rude.

"A few weeks."

"Mr. Kalmann mentioned you might bring someone new. He
didn't say you've gone out and gotten yourself a real faunlet
this time."

I nodded, wondering how much Alesha understood. What was he
thinking? I was not at all sure that I wanted him to know that
there had been other boys before him.

"He knows the rules?"

"Not yet," I replied calmly. "I'll talk to him inside. Who
else is here tonight?" I asked with the vague intention of
getting him off his guard.

I handed over my credit card. He would keep it until we
left. It was a way of showing trust. It had started as a way of
making sure that everyone paid their bills, a problem when some
boys tended to be a bit on the wild side. After a while, it
became a tradition.

"Most of them you know already," he continued as he slid my
credit card into a draw with the others. "There's a couple of new
members since you were here last."

"Is there anyone we need to be careful of?" I asked
pointedly.

The bouncer looked at me and then at Alesha. "If I was you
I'd keep my cute little candy-ass real close to me if Benson's
around. He's mostly a Tijuana queen, but he's got short eyes, you
know what I mean?"

"Yes. Anyone else?"

"A couple of the older kids might be  a problem. I know for
a fact that one of them is a chicken-butcher. Of course, I'm
assuming you don't want him stuck?" he smirked crudely.

"I don't," I answered firmly. "As far as I know he's still
got his cherry, so certainly not that. In fact, I don't want him
touched, not unless he wants to be, and I think that's highly
unlikely."

"Okay. I'll have a word to Vincent when I see him. He'll
keep an eye on your chicklet if any cherry-pickers are hanging
around him. Go on in, Mr. Beaufort," he said, placing his hand
inconspicuously underneath the table to hit the concealed button
that would open the door.

I smiled at Alesha. He was even more nervous than he had
been downstairs or in the car. I wondered again how much he had
understood of the conversation. Probably not a lot, yet he was
certainly taking everything in. His eyes were constantly moving.
I placed my hand on his shoulder and guided him forward through
the now open door and into a different world. It was a world that
had been created especially for boys. It was one of the reasons
why I preferred Appleboys over Plato's Closet, the other man-boy
club in the Village.

It was loud. It was garish. It was alive. I was lucky to
leave without a migraine. It demonstrated how much could be
achieved with black paint and fancy lighting. In every sense of
the word, Appleboys was a stage set, which was only to be
expected given the man who owned it. I had never known a boy,
mine or anyone else's, who didn't enjoy going to Appleboys.

Inside, everything was black. Black walls, black floor,
black ceiling. All the furniture was black, but also highly
glossed. Indeed, most of the men and boys were dressed in black.
To my mind it was a parody of those often-seen New York pseudo-
intellectuals who tended to wear nothing but black. Very few of
the men in the club would acknowledge the cultural stereotype,
and the boys were far more concerned with looking sexy in their
tight, black leather pants and tops. Against the ever-present
black, the vivid contrast of flashing lights of constantly
changing colors around the perimeter was enough to paralyze the
mind. Still, the boys seemed to enjoy it when they played video
games or talked amongst each other.

I started walking, keeping my hand firmly on Alesha's
shoulder. If anyone was watching, it was clear notice that he was
mine. Just a few paces inside we came to a neon sign that stated
in no uncertain terms the theme of Appleboys. It was a black
outline of a large-breasted naked girl on a bright yellow diamond
sign. Across the middle, a swath through her vagina, was a black
diagonal stripe. Alesha studied it for a moment, his brows
furrowed before he smiled. He read the neon sign that was mounted
just above aloud.

"Go back, gay boy! You are going the wrong way. NOT!"

He looked up at me and giggled. I squeezed his shoulder
reassuringly and pushed slightly to show that we should proceed.
We went around the sign together.

In the center of the room was a dance floor, a slippery matt
black surface that required great care of anyone older than
sixteen. For the boys, it offered a chance to show what they
could do. The lighting was ultra-violet, the kind that makes
white turn brilliant neon blue. At eight-thirty the dance floor
was empty, although a disk jockey was playing disco music from
another era. Except for a few couples who were seated, the boys
had congregated around the video games at the far end of the
room. Along the sides of the room were booths, and it was there
that my eyes went to find someone I knew.

It took a moment before I spotted Julian Kalmann. He was one
of the few men who I dared to call a friend. The rest, well most
of them were acquaintances, people who I spoke to, but did not
trust enough to invite into my home. He waved to me at almost the
same time that I spotted him. We started to walk in his
direction.

"Over there is Marius Eisenberg. Probably the most famous
architect in New York, if not the entire U.S.A," I said softly to
Alesha when I was certain that no one else could here me.

"The woman in the booth back there?" Alesha whispered back.
Fortunately, he didn't turn around. "But Marius is?..."

"A man's name," I finished.

"Oh!" Alesha said in surprise. He glanced up at me. "You
mean?" I nodded. "But he has a girl with him. So much for the
sign," he added with a grin.

"That's Ramon," I winked deliberately. "Or Ramona to his
friends," I added with just enough emphasis on 'his' to get
Alesha's undivided attention.

"Oh!" He giggled self-consciously. "You mean he's like me?"

"I told you there'd be a few boys here like yourself, didn't
I?" I answered. "You can meet him later on. Right now there's
someone else I'd like you to meet.

Julian was in a booth close to where the video games were,
but far enough away that the noise was not overwhelming. He was
dressed in black, which was not unusual for him because he and
Roland usually went as something of a matched pair, at least in
the color of their clothes. Roland was thirteen and butch. He was
wearing all leather, a black M.C. jacket with lots of chrome on
the over-sized zipper and buckle at the waist. It had very wide
lapels. There were silver studs in the shoulders. It was open at
the front, revealing a laced tank top, also in black. It stopped
just above his waist so that his navel and a few thin lines of
bare boy-flesh could be seen. The lacing ran down either side of
his chest, making crossovers just above and below his nipples.
Each nipple had a small red circle around it with an arrow
pointed outwards to his shoulders, just in case there was the
possibility of anyone missing them. His navel had a gold ring in
it. That was important detail for boys like Roland. I was not
enthusiastic about boys with permanent body-mods, but the ring
suited Roland. I felt my penis start to harden from merely
looking at him.

"Hello Julian," I said. "And Roland, it's nice to see you
again. I haven't seen you since forever."

"He's really come out since he's moved in with me," Julian
acknowledged my interest in his nephew with a smile.

"Hi Mr. Beaufort," Roland said sweetly.

His eyelids flickered. He was such a tease, and he went out
of his way to take advantage of his good looks. Underneath the
brazen exterior was a very tender soul, a boy who was struggling
to understand himself and the strange world that he had suddenly
become part of.

"This is Alesha," I said, giving Alesha a fond hug around
his shoulders. "Alesha, I think you might remember Mr. Kalmann
when you were at the Nutcracker party last year?"

Alesha smiled and nodded slightly. He glanced at Roland, as
interested as I was in the young teen's attire.

"And this is Roland," I added.

"Hi!" the two boys said simultaneously, if a little
bashfully at meeting someone new.

"I like your top, Roland," I smirked.

Roland glanced down to see what I was admiring. His nipples
were hard and pointed, their size emphasized by the neatly made
circles.

"Dad bought me some matching laced chaps too, but I can't
wear them here because he doesn't want people seeing my bare
butt," he giggled.

It was amusing to hear Roland acknowledge Julian as his
father. Obviously, the relationship had changed dramatically once
Roland moved in with him. I laughed and slid into the seat
opposite Julian. Alesha hesitated, still uncertain, but after a
few seconds he followed me into the booth. He looked at Roland
shyly.

"This is your first time here, isn't it?" Roland asked.

Alesha nodded awkwardly. He glanced at me for support.

"How old are you?"

Again, that awkward nervous glance to me. He hesitated, as
if trying to decide his age.

"Eleven," he murmured, with no intention of elaborating
further.

"Cool."

Roland had run out of questions. He took a sip of his drink
and sat back, leaning against Julian's side and wriggling
slightly to get comfortable. Julian's arm moved around the boy's
shoulders. Alesha glanced nervously at me again.

"How is school going, Roland?" I asked.

"Much better now that I'm going to the private school,"
Roland answered. "It was pretty crappy before that," he added in
a vague reference to the torment he had undergone at the hands of
some intolerant school 'jocks'.

He cuddled closer to Julian, who responded by lifting his
hand to caress behind Roland's ear.

"At least he's not getting beat up anymore," Julian added.
"He's still getting some 'faggot' comments, but we can deal with
that."

I nodded sympathetically. Roland was certainly not the first
boy to get into a fight over his sexual orientation, and he
certainly wouldn't be the last one. It was very difficult to a
boy who was growing up gay, a problem that very few parents even
began to understand. Alesha was very lucky by comparison. At the
Academy, a boy's homosexuality was almost expected.

"Do you have a favorite band?" Roland tried again to make
conversation with an equally reluctant boy.

It was obvious that Julian had primed him to try to make
Alesha feel comfortable. Again, Alesha glanced at me before he
answered. I smiled back at him.

"Yeah, I guess," he replied without volunteering a name.

Roland rolled his eyes. "Well? Who is it?"

"You probably haven't heard of it,... They're British,...
Atomic Kitten," Alesha said shyly.

"Duh! Like they're all girls! How about a boy band?"

"Nsync," Alesha said quickly.

He glanced down at the table as if he was very embarrassed
about something.

"That's cool. I bet you think Joey is really hot," Roland
teased. Alesha reddened slightly. "So do I. Man, Justin turns my
dad on even though he's twenty. With that hair, he has just got
to be gay. I keep telling him, I'm gonna get mine curled like
that."

At that moment, the waiter came up to take our drink orders.
Alesha froze and kept looking down. Several seconds passed before
he moved, and then it was to shyly look towards me for help.

"What are you drinking, Roland?" I asked.

"A virgin banana-duck. The pink-duck is better."

"Would you like one too, Alesha?" I asked.

"What is it?" he mumbled.

"A virgin daiquiri?" Julian smirked. "It's the perfect drink
for a puppy, isn't it Sheldon. "It's mostly lemonade and either
crushed bananas or strawberries."

"Why is it a virgin?"

"Because it hasn't had sex yet," Roland chortled gleefully.

"They leave out the rum," I explained. "I think you'd like
it, Alesha."

"Okay."

"The cute boy here will take a strawberry daiquiri, hold the
rum, and I'll take a Manhattan. Give him the cherry," I said to
the waiter while giving Alesha's head an affectionate tousle.

"What's a Manhattan?" Alesha asked as soon as the waiter
left.

"Mostly whiskey and vermouth. Not something you'll be
drinking before you're twenty-one though," I added, moving my
hand down to playfully give his right thigh a squeeze.

Roland had resumed his position against Julian's side.
Julian's fingers brushed across Roland's lips and the boy kissed
them. Neither of them would have dared to do such a thing in
public. Alesha noticed too. Before I could lift my hand away,
Alesha's hand settled over mine, holding it there against his
leg. For a moment or two, I froze. His fingers squeezed against
mine, letting me know what he wanted. My penis lurched and began
to lengthen. Gently, I rubbed the inside of Alesha's thigh, never
going higher than halfway. I felt firm muscle and the ridges of
tendons. With his other hand, Alesha idly played with a fork on
the table. To a casual observer, all of the action was on the
other side of the table.

"There's not many people here tonight," I observed to
Julian.

Julian had started playing tickle games with Roland, running
his fingers around the boy's ears until he shook his head and
tried to grab the tormenting hand. Julian nodded.

"Not yet. I expect most of them are still having dinner. The
food here isn't very good."

I didn't comment. Like the environment, the food was also
intended to appeal more to the boys than to their older friends.
Neither Alesha or me had eaten before we arrived at the club, so
I scanned the menu with Alesha's help before we decided on
sharing some of the appetizers. When the waiter returned with our
drinks, I gave him the order.

Alesha was very quiet. He gazed at the tall glass in front
of him. It was bright pink, complete with an elaborately shaped
straw, a colorful paper umbrella and a little plastic sword
skewered through what should have been my maraschino cherry. A
cherry was not normally used in a daiquiri, of course, but it was
an ideal decoration for a young boy. Alesha tasted some, then
turned and grinned happily at me.

"Why don't you two boys go play some video games?" Julian
suggested.

Roland sat up from his cozy position against Julian. "Okay!
Let's go play for a while, fuzz-nuts," he teased.

"What's fuzz-nuts?"

I chuckled. "I'm surprised you haven't figured that one out
yet, Alesha. It's a boy who doesn't have any hair on his nuts."

Alesha blushed a little more.

"I've got hair, but not on my balls yet," Roland interjected
gleefully. "I guess I'm still a fuzz-nuts."

Julian winked. "He's definitely a fuzz-nuts. He had some
hair down there until yesterday. I finally convinced him to let
me shave it off."

Roland gave an exasperated sigh and stood up, shaking his
head with pretended annoyance.

"Pervert!" he rebuked with a grin. "Come on Alesha. Let's go
meet some nice people," he added, stressing 'nice' so that Julian
and I laughed.

We watched them leave.

"God, I love him like he was my own son," Julian said
wistfully.

"I noticed Roland called you 'Dad'," I said.

"Yes. He started doing that last month. I think it's because
his real father will have nothing to do with him. Dumb bastard.
He doesn't know what he's missing out on."

I nodded in agreement.

"It hurts just to watch him," Julian continued. "He's
growing up so fast," he added wistfully.

His eyes were following Roland as he ambled among the video
games with Alesha close behind him. They stopped at one machine
and Roland dug into his jacket pocket to find some tokens.

"He's such a flirt," Julian added. "I know he does it mostly
to annoy me, at least at present, but it still hurts to think one
day he'll be with someone else."

"But so will you," I observed. "Unless you're planning on
settling down with him?"

"Me? No way! I've thought about it a few times, but I'm one-
hundred percent boy-lover, I'm afraid. Do you know what it's like
for me watching those little dark hairs start to appear around
his dick?"

"You got him to shave his pubes?" I asked jovially. "I'm
surprised. Most boys aren't into it."

"I bribed him, Sheldon. Those lace-up chaps he was talking
about. They cost me three-hundred dollars plus shipping from
Mexico."

I laughed. "I'll keep that in mind. I'm not sure that
leather chaps will work for Alesha though. I'll have to think of
something else."

"Don't be so sure. You saw how he was looking at Rollie.
Your boy was all eyes. I wouldn't be surprised if he started
asking for some leather before too long. You ought to get him a
harness anyway. I told you I got one made for Roland didn't I?"

"For Christmas, wasn't it?" I replied.

Julian nodded, still watching Roland and Alesha. Roland had
taken the first turn at playing the game and Alesha was standing
beside him. He was either entranced by the noise and action on
the large screen or intent on figuring out what the older boy was
doing to beat the machine.

"He's never out of it when we're alone," Julian admitted
with a shameless smirk. "Well, that's not quite true," he added
suggestively. "If he's out of it, then I'm in him."

"I can't say I blame you," I said, taking a drink of the
cocktail.

It was not too sweet, not too dry. The whiskey could have
been better, but very few bar tenders ever used anything besides
Seagram 7. Another boy had sauntered up to stand on the opposite
site of the video game. I watched with interest as Roland made
brief introductions that probably consisted of nothing except
first names.

"Sheldon, I was thinking about Alesha yesterday afternoon,
and I came up with what I think might be a good idea."

I gestured for him to continue, paying more attention to
figuring out who Alesha was talking with than what Julian was
saying.

"I'd like to see Alesha have a greater role at this year's
Academy graduation than the Director was planning for him. As you
know, he was supposed to do a short piece from the Allegro
Brillante, a solo of course." Julian paused. "I was thinking he
should do the Russian Sailors Dance from The Red Poppy Ballet
instead."

I had never heard of it. I told him so.

"Reinhold Glière, my dear boy," Julian said merrily. "Opus
70? There is a nice recording by New Jersey with Macal
conducting. It's not all that well known, but it's very
difficult, so it would be perfect for Alesha to show what he can
do. He could wear an old-fashioned sailor outfit. The Company
hasn't done it before, so I am certain that it would get a lot of
attention from the Board. It would stop any rumors about Alesha's
fellowship before they got started."

"I suppose,..." I muttered absently. "Who is that?" I asked,
pointing towards Alesha and Roland and the boy who I have never
seen before.

"Oh, he's Crenshaw's lad. A very nice boy from what I've
seen so far."

"Trevor Crenshaw? I haven't seen him in ages," I said.

"He's had an overseas posting for six months. Yugoslavia, I
think. He's only just arrived back. He adopted the boy while he
was over there."

"Really?"

"After the war there are a lot of orphaned boys like him in
Bosnia, apparently. Nikola's twelve, I think," Julian went on.
"He had some sort of problem with his blood from a kidney injury
I believe. Trevor had him flown to Germany and then picked up the
tab for the operation."

"How's the boy doing now?"

"He's fine. We had them over last weekend. Nik's such a
sweet kid. He and Rollie played the two of us at Monopoly and
beat us soundly. Not bad for a boy who can barely speak English."

I smiled. Unlike most of the boys playing video games,
Nikola was not wearing leather. At first glance, he appeared very
normal in his blue jeans and white tee shirt. He could be any
boy, any normal heterosexual boy.

"He's gay?" I queried. "He really doesn't look it."

"Nik's afraid to admit it," Julian answered absently. "It
was one of the reasons why I invited them for dinner. To let him
see that being gay wasn't the end of the world."

"He and Trevor do it?"

"Oh yes! Quite frequently from what Trevor tells me." Julian
lowered his voice. "Trevor probably should be the one to tell you
this,... Nikola was raped by some soldiers when he was eight or
nine. That was when his kidney was damaged"

"Oh! That's terrible."

"He's tested clean," Julian added confidentially.
"Considering what happened to him, he's a very lucky boy to be
alive."

I turned to see the waiter approaching the table with a tray
of food.

"It looks like dinner has arrived," I observed. "See if you
can get our boys' attention."

A minute latter, the video game abandoned, Alesha and Roland
returned and joined us at the table. The boys dug into bowls of
spicy chicken wings, french fries, little oriental egg rolls, and
a few other delicacies that could only be appreciated by pre-teen
and young teenage boys. At first, I ate sparingly, making a
mental note to try to have dinner elsewhere the next time we went
to Appleboys. I wondered if Alesha would enjoy the Russian tea
Room.

"So who won?" Julian asked.

"He did," Alesha said, pointing to Roland. He licked his
lips, savoring the taste of a cheese-covered nacho chip.

"He's cool," Roland added.

"Is that cool or K-E-W-L?" I teased, spelling it out.

Alesha grinned. "Seulement vous êtes le dernier."

I grinned back at him, appreciating the compliment that only
I was 'K-E-W-l'. I had to think how to say 'Sugar-Plum-Fairy' in
French.

"Merci, ma belle fée de prune de sucre."

"What did he say?" Roland asked, his mouth partially full of
egg-roll.

"He said I was his ballet dancer, that's all," Alesha
replied quickly, with a warning glance at me.

"Dad told me you were at the Academy," Roland admitted still
masticating. "That must be so awesome to be able to do that
stuff."

Alesha shrugged nonchalantly. For him dancing was a way of
life, something that he had always done. It was no longer
special. It was who he was.

"No, really. I mean it," Roland continued. "He takes me to
the ballet with him sometimes. They're pretty boring and all, but
the way the guys can leap and stuff. That has got to be so hard
to do."

"It takes practice, that's all," Alesha said self-
deprecatingly. "Anyone can do it if they try."

Julian raised an eyebrow. It was an interesting insight into
Alesha. He he really not appreciate the special gift that was his
alone.

"Dad says you're going to be the next Nureyev," Roland
resumed as soon as the french fry he was eating had disappeared
into his throat.

"Me?" Alesha shook his head with definitive rejection. "No!
That is hardly me! Nureyev was a genius. A great dancer. Perhaps
the greatest dancer there ever was."

"Did you ever see him dance?" Roland persisted. He sucked
his fingers, licking the salt with his tongue.

"No. My mother told me that he was very sick with Aids even
before I was born. If I go to Paris in summer I want to visit
Sainte-Genevieve-des-Bois to see the cemetery. It's where he is
buried," Alesha explained quietly.

"Alesha is right, although he greatly understates his own
skill. Rudolf was a great dancer," Julian said supportively. "I
saw him dance the Corsaire pas de deux with Margot Fonteyn in
1964. I wasn't much older than you, Rollie. I was so impressed.
It was like looking at someone for whom the concept of gravity
does not exist."

Alesha nodded enthusiastically. "My mama says that too. He
could fly when other dancers merely leap up."

"He was as gay as a goose, you know," Julian chuckled. "I
remember hearing about one time when he was dancing with the
great goddess and he couldn't be found. He was supposed to be on
stage,..."

He glanced at me for permission. I shrugged and reached for
another chicken wing. They were not nearly as bad as I expected.
I dipped it into the blue-cheese sauce. It helped to hide the
spicy flavor. I had heard the story before several times.

"When they found him, he was in the men's room,.... with
another man," Julian snickered.

Roland looked up, suddenly interested, but sliding a long
french fry into his mouth while he listened. Alesha tilted his
head, resting it against his hand. Julian let the silence
continue until he had their rapt attention.

"Okay,... so was it number one or number two?" Roland
guffawed. "Get it? One or two?"

"I get it," Julian smirked. "I'm not sure that Alesha does
though."

"One's a blow job 'cause it's on the dick, and two is,..."

"Roland!" Julian interrupted him quickly. "I think that's
enough."

"Okay, but he's gonna find out about the 'Hershey highway'
sooner or later," Roland smirked knowingly. "I wasn't much older
than he is now and you were popping my pussy all the time."

I watched Alesha. He was obviously confused by what he was
hearing. He probably did not realize what a 'blow job' was, let
alone the meaning of 'Hershey highway.' If his mother had told
him anything at all about what gay sex involved, it was likely to
have been in very sanitized terms.

"Of course, maybe he already knows what happens to puppies
with cute butts," Roland continued with a lewd look towards me.

"And maybe he doesn't, Rollie. It isn't your job to help him
find out," Julian said pointedly. "I asked you to help him meet
some of the boys, not provide him with sex education."

Roland laughed. "Okay. Mr. Beaufort sure likes chicken,...
wings."

I laughed, still licking the sauce from my fingers. It was
difficult, no impossible, not to be amused by his juvenile
innuendo. While the boys were off playing video games, Roland had
removed his jacket. Now, he was sitting diagonally across me,
wearing his laced-front tank top and revealing more smooth boy-
skin than a boy-lover could be expected to resist. At the same
time, he was making passes at Julian. At least I had recovered
from the initial shock of seeing him with a little gold ring in
his navel and male symbols inscribed around each of his small
nipples. My penis was limp.

"Okay, I don't get it," Alesha finally admitted.

"We're talking about sex, Alesha," I explained simply.

"Duh! I figured that out already," Alesha said with a
scornful shake of his head. "I just don't know what all of the
words mean."

"What words in particular?" Roland asked gleefully.

"Rollie," Julian warned again, glancing at me.

I shrugged ambiguously. From my experience it was Julian who
was overt, although to be honest I had not spent a lot of time
around Roland to know whether it had rubbed off. I had expected
there to be some sex-talk, it was only natural around gay boys,
but not for the situation to develop as quickly as it did.
However, now that it had happened, I wondered whether I should
stop it, or if I even wanted to stop it. Alesha needed to find
out what being gay was all about, and this was as good a time as
any other.

The problem was that I was torn between reality and fantasy.
>From my experience, most men who professed to be boy-lovers
either took advantage of their boys, or placed them on pedestals
like objects to be worshipped instead of treating as the sexual
beings that they really were. It was a fine line. Boys were
either sexually abused, giving boy-lovers a terrible reputation;
or they were deliberately de-sexualized by the men who pretended
to love them. That was the fantasy of loving boys. Many men
convinced themselves that they could love a boy without wanting
to have sex with him. A boy was an untainted expression of a
man's ideal memories of being young, and as a consequence,
affection was restricted. This was the 'young-friend' approach,
purely platonic and unnatural. It was safer that way, and not
only because a sexual relationship between a man and a boy who
had not reached the age of consent was highly illegal.

Whatever love existed, was further complicated by the fact
that many boys who had relationships with men were merely going
through a stage in the process of growing up. Their natural
curiosity about sex and the need for sexual release created
transient relationships. However, latent homosexuality was not a
factor for Roland or Alesha, or for that matter any of the boys
who I had met at the club. They were gay, either by some genetic
or environmental quirk, or some process that scientists did not
even begin to understand. The men who loved them had a
responsibility to prepare them for the gay culture that awaited
them within a few very short years.

"What words, Alesha?" I asked gently.

Alesha turned to me shyly. "I figured some of it for
myself,... Some I already knew,..."

"Like what?"

He was nervous when he spoke, but because no one showed the
slightest sign of anger, he swallowed and continued a little less
awkwardly.

"Ah,... um,... like 'blow job'."

"I wonder why he knows that one?" Roland almost choked as he
burst into laughter. "Can I tell him the rest?"

"Okay," I replied warily. "Only go easy on him, Roland."

"Who me?"

Roland, still laughing, led Alesha off to the dance floor.
The last thing I heard was 'Hershey highway'. At least Alesha
appeared not only to be listening closely, but he was also more
relaxed than he had been up till then. Perhaps his confidence
came from being able to dance, from realizing that he would have
no equal when he danced. Perhaps it was simply a matter of
becoming used to a new environment. Whatever it was, I was
pleased to see it.

Although a few men were in the center of the room, at that
time it was mostly boys dancing with boys. Usually, it would stay
that way for another hour or two, at which point the boys would
begin to lure their older lovers out of the booths and onto the
dance floor, some of them well on the way to being inebriated.

>From the outset, Alesha was magnificent. I watched him
intently, fascinated by his grace and agility, and seemingly
boundless energy. More than anything though, it was the ease with
which he danced. Roland tried to keep up with him, but it was a
loosing battle. Alesha had style. He had rhythm in his soul. He
had panache. He created, invented, initiated moves that were
culled from a lifetime of ballet and jazz-dance classes. The
music was entirely his. I watched his lithe body gyrate to
thundering drums, and then with gymnastic control and startling
flexibility, slide around the floor with speed that was heart-
stopping. Others watched him too, not just me. Julian's eyes
never left Alesha and Roland, who was a very distant second in my
opinion.

"Incredible," Julian said after the fourth or fifth song had
ended. "He's simply incredible."

Neither of us had spoken until then. We drank and watched,
stared, gazed at two boys who were having the time of their
lives. Under the ultra-violet light that filled the dance arena,
they metamorphosed into surreal beings. Alesha's glitter jeans
were nearly black, with the glitter like a myriad sparkling
diamonds in dazzling neon blue. His shimmer shirt had a swirl
pattern that radiated life and color like a throbbing heart in
the center of his chest. Roland, dressed all in black was just
incredibly sensuous. It was like watching a naked Negro dance,
except for the flashes of dark skin along his sides and back and
an occasional glimpse of his belly.

"Yes, he is," I murmured. "I had no idea how sexy he could
be."

"You too?" Julian chuckled. "I wouldn't like to be in
Alesha's pants tonight. Well, that's not true because I would,
but I bet he won't feel much like sitting down tomorrow."

"It's way too soon," I remarked. "I'd scare the living
daylights out of him if I tried something like that."

"Maybe, but Roland was right, you know Sheldon. It's going
to happen sooner or later."

"That's probably very true, Julian. God, look at that boy
move," I added admiringly. "My eyes can barely keep up with him."

"I think every man here is watching him. Your boy's the
center of attention out there tonight, that's for sure."

"I hope so." I reflected for a moment. "You don't think I
did the wrong thing by bringing him here, do you?"

"Of course not. He's cool."

"Yes, he is," I agreed, thinking of Alesha's 'K-E-W-L'. "He
needed the chance to be himself. He's had it bottled up inside
him for so long. I know he was very afraid that his mother would
find out. He told me that he used to try her clothes on when she
was doing a show at night."

"Poor kid. It makes you wonder how many others are out there
like him and Rollie, struggling to fit into a society that really
doesn't want them."

I shrugged. It could be many, or just a few. There was no
way of telling. Most boys learned to keep it well hidden. Very
few had the opportunity to express who they really were. Those
who risked it, were the brunt of jokes once they went outside a
very small group of like-minded people.

"Now that you have Alesha, do you worry about being so big?"
Julian asked after a while.

I turned to face him, not expecting that question, although
it was certainly reasonable to ask, if a very personal subject
for me. I had worried about that issue from the moment Ioana and
Randal had raised the possibility of a relationship between
Alesha and me.

The music ended and the boys had a momentary breather until
the next song came through the speakers. 'New York City Boys'. If
anything could get a gay boy dancing, that song was the one to do
it. Even the boys who had been sitting on the sidelines or
playing video games, moved onto the floor. Within seconds there
was hardly room to stand. Except in the very center, where it
appeared that a place of honor had been left for a frenetic
dancing boy. Every so often I caught glimpses of Alesha's wild
gyrations, endless energetic twists, turns, twirls, and whirls,
as the disco music boomed out across the room. Julian and I
postponed our conversation. Who wanted to talk when there were
thirty wonderful boys to watch? It ended all too soon.

"Well do you?" Julian asked, picking up the conversation
where we had left off.

"Do I what? Oh that. I might ask you the same thing?" I
asked seriously.

"That depends on what you mean by big," Julian laughed. "I'm
certainly no size queen. Anyway, Rollie's big enough to take it."

"He wasn't that big when you two started," I fired back.

"Well, that's true," Julian agreed. He smirked. "Anyway,
important though it is, cock size wasn't exactly what I was
talking about. Alesha is so much smaller than you."

"You've noticed!" I said sarcastically

"Don't you worry about squashing him?" Julian teased. "How
much do you weigh, Sheldon?"

There was no way of getting past the obvious implications of
my size compared to Alesha. I was a big man, and years of eating
well had not helped.

"I probably need to lose some weight."

"Don't tell me I've embarrassed the great Sheldon Beaufort,"
Julian snickered. "You of all people?"

"Two-hundred and eighty pounds," I answered moodily.

Julian smirked. "And now how about the cutest little boy out
there. What do you think Alesha weighs?"

I shrugged, again trying to avoid the obvious contrast.
Finally, I answered.

"Between seventy and eighty pounds I suppose," I ventured,
while I continued to gaze at Alesha's wild frenzy on the dance
floor. He was a human dynamo.

"Closer to seventy," Julian corrected with a smile. "That's
four times his weight, you know."

"So, your point is? I should loose some weight? Okay, I
agree. I'll join Weight Watchers Anonymous or something," I
replied guiltily, but without agreeing to anything.

I was hardly corpulent, but I was full-bodied. Even as a
child, my mother used to say that I was big-boned. It was an
excuse. She encouraged me to over-eat. Only girls were suppsoed
to be slim. My doctor insisted that I needed to lose weight, but
other than a few pounds, which I promptly put on again, it was a
battle that I was not prepared to fight. Life was too good to me
for me to be thin.

Julian smarted for a long time. My tone had been somewhat
less than friendly. We sat in silence for a while, each sipping
our drinks. I had moved from Manhattans to Long Island Iced teas,
that innocuous-sounding concoction of vodka, gin, tequila, and
rum that was both refreshing and stimulating at the same time.
The drink before me also had a splash of Cointreau according to
my specifications.

"I'm sorry if you thought I was being rude. That isn't what
I was getting at," he finally said apologetically.

"Then what were you getting at?"

"I guess I was asking a much larger question, namely what do
the boys see in us. Roland could have just about any man here if
he wanted, yet he chose me."

"Alesha didn't choose me," I interjected bluntly. "His
mother did because I had the resources to provide what he needs
to become a great dancer some day."

"Be that as it may, he likes you a great deal nonetheless.
You can see it in his face, Sheldon. He practically worships you.
It's just a matter of time until he falls hopelessly in love with
you. I mean think about it, Sheldon. Here is one of the most
beautiful and talented boys in New York, maybe in the world, and
he could have any man out there, just as long as he like boys.
And Alesha ends up with you?"

"I'm sure he could do better," I replied acerbically.

"I'm not being sarcastic, Sheldon. This is serious."

"Maybe he's a chubby-chaser, Julian. Maybe it's just my
money. Maybe he likes older men."

"You're not that old. How old are you, fifty-six? Fifty-
seven?"

"Fifty-five if you must know. No doubt I've seen better
days," I commented sardonically.

"Don't get maudlin on me, Sheldon," Julian rebuked with a
smile. "Of course, there are boys out there like that. It would
be stupid to pretend otherwise."

He gestured towards the dance floor. 'New York City Boys'
had ended, but the following song was 'Y-M-C-A' and the boys were
going through the exaggerated and energetic alphabet motions
while shouting at the tops of their voices. I didn't mind the
raucous noise when the boys were having so much fun. It was
another of the reasons why I preferred Appleboys. I had to lean
closer to Julian to hear what he was saying.

"Some of them are here for the ride, that's for certain. But
there are also a lot of boys who need men like us, the same as we
need boys like them."

"The father-figure thing?" I remarked.

"I'm sure that's part of it. Most of them have had problems
with their fathers in one way or another. Damn, look at Alesha
and Rollie dance. I'm glad Rollie isn't into boys. I'd never see
him again after tonight."

The boys were incredible to watch. Roland was more than a
head taller, as befitted a boy who was more than two years older
and well into puberty, but he did not dominate Alesha. Not when
Alesha was the star of the show. I felt a sense of pride that I
had only felt a few times with boys. Most of the boys that I had
been with over the years were there because they needed
something, mostly money. Prostitution, even when it went by other
names, was nothing to be proud of. It struck me then, more than
ever before, that the role of 'patron' really wasn't any
different. It merely saved Alesha from walking the streets or
meeting strangers in a public toilet.

Julian and I continued to talk, although our discussion
shifted to other matters, primarily sharing opinions about some
of the issues concerning the Board, and the dilettantes in
particular. After a while, Marius Eisenberg wandered over to join
us. He was making the rounds of the booths, and since he had more
than a passing acquaintance with both Julian and me, he sat down
for a while. It was then that two older boys began to dance with
Alesha and Roland. Fortunately, I knew the boy who was partnering
with Alesha quite well, although certainly not on intimate terms
by any stretch of the imagination. At sixteen, Leigh was at that
age where it was becoming increasingly difficult to call him a
boy. Indeed, if he wasn't so likeable, and always ready with a
joke, Antonio de Fratelli would have put him aside a year or two
ago. Instead, there were excellent signs that Leigh was going to
accomplish that most difficult of transitions, from boy to mature
lover by getting 'married'. In that respect, Leigh was safe in my
opinion, and from the delightful expression on Alesha's face, he
was also very entertaining.

Eventually, after extending an invitation to us to have
dinner with him and Ramon the following Saturday, Marius tired of
us. He continued on his way around the room on a hapless search
for future clients. The economy, still going strong according to
the Department of Commerce, had already slowed considerably in
areas that affected his practice. As soon as he was gone, I took
the initiative by returning to the desultory conversation we were
having prior to his arrival. It lasted but a few minutes, before
Julian raised the subject that still occupied my mind.

"So why is it that Alesha finds you so sexy?" he asked with
a smirk.

"I have a huge dick," I answered, keeping a very straight
face.

"Not too big, I hope," Julian queried. "Otherwise as soon as
you get the head in he'll be calling out 'enough'."

I laughed. "Really, I have no idea."

"You are good looking," Julian remarked candidly. "You
remind me of the man who used to play Nero Wolfe in that TV show.
Whatever was his name?"

We spent a few minutes on that endeavor until we both
finally gave up at the same time. We laughed.

"Of course, I've always thought of you as a Nero Wolfe
type," Julian added.

I had not missed his emphasis on 'wolf'. I smiled. "Who me?"
I asked innocently.

"Yes you! Living in that enormous mansion by yourself. The
incredibly wealthy gastronome, surrounded by epicurean delights,
the connoisseur of everything that is worth living for."

"Including boys," I suggested lightheartedly.

"Especially boys. And judging by Alesha, you've found the
best already."

"Oh no! I have nothing else to live for," I joked.

"Except to have sex with him," Julian quipped.

"I'm not at all sure that I will," I replied after a moment.
"He deserves someone a lot better than me."

"At least you have the time and interest to develop a great
relationship with him. That's the most important thing for a boy
like him."

"Now who is being maudlin? If what you say is true, Julian,
then perhaps I should resurrect my mother's orchids," I suggested
cynically. "That would complete the Nero Wolfe image that you
seem to have for me. Actually, I think there are still some
Laeliocattleya Lustre and Brassocattleias Truffautianas in the
Atrium. She was very proud of them," I added.

"Unless I'm mistaken Rex Stout described those in Fer-de-
lance, didn't he?" Julian asked.

"That was one of the reasons why she acquired them, I
expect. Of course, my personal favorite was always Paphiopedilum
insigne albo-marginata," I smirked. "The flower has a little
yellow bowl that looks a lot like a young boy's scrotum."

We both laughed.

"And probably feels about the same too," Julian chuckled.

"I seem to remember that it does, actually. Not that I've
felt too many young boys' scrotums lately," I joked. "It's not
from not wanting too. I think I getting too old for the chase."

"Maudlin again, Mr. Wolfe?"

"Not at all. But look at him out there, Julian. He's,..."

"Perfect," Julian finished. "He is indeed perfect in every
way," he said thoughtfully. He swilled his glass, making the ice
cubes rattle in the bottom. "I probably shouldn't say this, but
I'm very worried about him, Sheldon," he said seriously.

"Alesha? Why?"

"I'm afraid you're going to squash him!" Julian guffawed. "I
don't know how you'd ever be able to explain it to the police."
He smirked, preparing another joke. "I don't know how it
happened, Officer. I was just lying on top of him and his eyes
bulged out."

I laughed. "I promise to be careful."

"If I were you, Sheldon, I'd be careful how I did it,"
Julian added, still laughing. "He's definitely a doggy-style for
you. He'll fit right underneath you."

"Trust me, that's not going to happen," I rebuked. "How do
you do Roland, by the way?"

"Mostly on his back. He likes to watch my face," Julian
admitted. "And of course, I like to kiss him when he's getting
close, even though he's not all that much into kissing back.
Although since he moved in, he's been getting a bit more
interested in showing his passion."

"I'm glad."

"It's always struck me as funny how some boys will suck your
cock, but not your tongue. Have you kissed Alesha yet?"

"Of course not!"

I didn't add that I had wanted to kiss him from the very
first moment that I saw him. That every time I looked at his
flawless lips, I imagined the sublime pleasure to be had by even
a single brushing kiss. Until Julian had rasied the subject, I
had not dared to wonder what it would be like to wrap my tongue
around his. Like all French boys, Martin knew how to kiss,
French-style, with more than just his lips. It had been Martin
who had taught me how to kiss, to properly kiss a boy, to kiss so
that it became another way of having sex. Over the years I had
only a few opportunities to practice the skill with boys.
Unfortunately, most of the boys I had known weren't interested in
having a relationship with me.

"I'm surprised. He looks like he's the type to me. I'm sure
it won't be long before he puckers up for you," Julian said
suggestively.

"Don't be silly."

Again, our conversation switched to other matters, although
boys were never far removed from the subject at hand. I watched
with amusement as Alesha had other partners on the dance floor,
even little Ramon. He was not much bigger than his companion.
Alesha was quickly turning into a very popular boy. Several
times, Roland and Alesha came over to refresh themselves from the
drinks on the table, or to nibble on chips or pretzels. They
never stayed more than a few minutes. Each time, Roland scooted
across the seat and cuddled up with Julian. I was beginning to
wish that Alesha was more affectionate. However, I was content to
see that he watched them with increasing interest. It was simply
a matter of time before he was ready to take that step. I hoped
it would be with me.

They drifted off again just as Antonio de Fratelli came over
to the booth.

"Such delightful tookys," he said with admiration as the
boys vanished back amongst the dancers.

"We like them," Julian remarked.

He gestured for Antonio to sit beside him. There was more
room on his side of the booth. Antonio interlocked his fingers
and regarded me attentively. He was a 'toad', an effeminate
middle-aged or older man who tended to gossip a lot. Nonetheless,
I still enjoyed his company.

"You have a new boy I see, Sheldon?"

I nodded with what I hoped appeared as indifference. It was
common knowledge that Antonio was less than discreet outside the
confines of the club. I hoped that his 'marriage' would settle
him down.

"Leigh said that not only is he the prettiest boy on the
floor tonight, but he's also positively charming. Where on earth
did you find him?"

"He's a dancer from the Academy," Julian answered before I
chance to stop him.

"Well, I knew that," Antonio said. He flicked his hands
apart for effect. "Just watching him with Roland was enough to
give me one."

"You old bronco-buster," Julian chuckled. "And I thought you
were into adolescents now?"

"Oh, but I am dearie. Still, there's no harm in looking at
the puppies, is there?" Antonio tittered.

Antonio was a famous fashion designer. Many people
recognized him, and he seemed to know everyone, even those people
who didn't know him. Most of his closer acquaintances knew that
he was gay, although very few of them realized that his primary
attraction in recent years had been for pubescent boys.

"Roland's leather is divine," Antonio continued. "I wish I
could sell clothes like that through the stores, but the news
media would eat me alive. I still remember that they did to
Benetton for those ads."

"Me too," Julian joked. "It's a pain getting them made in
Mexico. It would be a hell of a lot simpler if I could go into
your store on Fifth Avenue."

"And your little Russian is absolutely divine too," Antonio
added with unnecessary emphasis, turning his attention to me.
"Leigh tells me his name is Alice," he giggled.

"Alesha," I corrected softly.

Antonio shrugged. He flicked his fingers quickly.

"Such a wonderful body, he has. It is good that he likes to
dress up. Unfortunately, I think they are designed by my biggest
competitor in girls' wear," he added mockingly. "But still, they
suit him."

"So why do gay boys like to dress up?" Julian asked
seriously. "I mean they all do, don't they? It's almost like part
of them is female, the way they so focused on their appearance"

"Ha!" Antonio laughed. "That is easy. It is all about
mating. Always courtship and mating! I know this from the trade.
Females dress only to attract males, and so do boys who are gay.
And even if they have mates, they display themselves in order to
arouse. Your Roland wears leather to excite both him and you,
Julian."

Julian chuckled. "I've noticed he gets a boner whenever he
puts it on. So do I for that matter. I thought it was because he
didn't wear anything underneath."

"Most of them have bare butts tonight, or so Leigh tells
me," Antonio said with a smirk. "It seems that 'bare' has become
the fashion."

I was astounded then, less from what he had said as from the
revelation that had come to me. Alesha was 'bare' as well. He had
dressed in my 'private room' immediately after taking off his
leotard. He had been naked then so it stood to reason that there
was nothing underneath his new glitter jeans except his bare
smooth skin. My erection was instant and I watched Alesha with
suddenly renewed interest, until I realized that he might have
put some underclothes on when he went back to get some shoes.
Still, it was an interesting possibility.

"Come dance with us."

I turned around sharply, startled from a conversation that
had moved from clothes to the politics of being gay. The boys
were back. Leigh, Roland, and Alesha, who was standing bashfully
to the side. There was no mistaking the huge erection that bulged
in Leigh's tight black leather pants. It was no different for
Roland, although his was a considerably smaller lump.

Roland was breathing heavily, panting for every breath. His
hair, previously moussed, was damp and clinging to his head. He
looked hot and tired, but from his eagerness it was apparent that
he also ready for some more. By contrast, Alesha appeared
relaxed. He breathed steadily through his nose, slower and deeper
than was normal for him, but clearly not showing anywhere near
the same degree of stress. His face was moist with tiny specks of
sweat and his hair was tousled and out of place. He looked as if
he could dance all night.

Laughing, but clearly in agreement that it was time to join
the boys on the dance floor, Antonio and Julian slid out from the
other side of the booth. I stayed seated, not at all certain
whether I was up to such strenuous activity. A moment later, they
were gone.

"Please, Sheldon?" Alesha asked softly. "I want to dance
with you."

"I've been watching you. I'm not sure I can keep up with
you." It was a feeble excuse and both of us knew it.

"I know you can. I want to dance with you," he persisted.

In a word, Alesha's voice was sweet. So sweet and pure that
it sounded like a tinkling bell to my ears. How could any man
resist that voice, such delightful charm that I could never say
'no' and hope to get away with it?

Awkwardly, I inched along the seat until I could swing my
legs out from under the table. Alesha smiled.

"The music has slowed down a lot from before," he added
convincingly.

"It's just a ruse to get us old guys on the floor," I joked.
"Well, come on my beautiful Sugar Plum, lets get out there and
see what you can do."

The strangest thing happened when we reached the periphery.
The couples moved away, opening a space that lead to the very
center of the dance floor. Alesha and whover he danced with, had
been given the place of honor. There was nothing for it but to
move forward into the area of brightest light. Under the ultra-
violet light, Alesha's skin was very dark, and so sexually
arousing that it was all I could to contain my lust. His eyes
danced, his mouth opened to show teeth that were brilliantly
white. His clothing flashed with sparkles. The music started once
again, what might have been a Blues song in a different era. It
was followed by another song whose name I had long forgotten, but
one that was well suited to a slow dance. I was never very good
at fast dancing.

Alesha danced around me. Every part of his body was
perfected adapted to the art of dancing, of expressing something
in his soul. Passion seemed to flow from every movement. He
seduced me, from one song to the next, fast, then slow as the
light began to slowly dim and the sparkles on his jeans faded.
There were times when I stood almost still, barely turning as he
stepped, twirled, swayed around me. A few times I held my hands
out to him and his small warm hands came into mine. Then, he
changed his style to complement mine in a way that no woman ever
could. He came much closer, close enough that his body sometimes
rubbed against mine. He felt surprisingly strong, yet weak at the
same time. It was as if he could dance forever, yet I could crush
him if I applied too much effort.

By then, most of the other people around us were dancing
very close. I glimpsed Antonio. He was hugging Leigh with one arm
behind his shoulders, stroking the boy's neck. His other hand was
down the back of Leigh's leather pants, the middle finger crooked
and obviously inserted. I think Alesha saw it too. His expression
changed. Shock, shame, excitement, all flashed across his face.
Leigh and Antonio were not the only ones. There were other
couples making out. It was not unusual as the night wore on and
the lights grew dimmer. Julian came closer. Roland was pressed
tightly up against him. I felt Alesha's tiny tremor that came
with recognition. They swirled away again until we could not see
them. Song followed song, maintaining the romantic mood.

Around the periphery of the room, the colored lights began
to pulse. The night was drawing to a close. A boy-meets-girl song
by 'Dream Street' met with a few ribald comments from outspoken
boys. It finished quickly. Another started. It was not a song
that I knew, but Alesha recognized it from the first few notes. I
was beginning to think that other than holding hands and the
occasional brush together, there would be no contact between us.
The couple beside us was playing groping games. A television
personality whose name I thought was probably as well known as
anyone else in New York was dancing with a thirteen- or fourteen-
year-old boy who looked a lot like him. It would have ruined his
career if even a single word got out, let alone his marriage to
the boy's mother.

Then, suddenly Julian was back dancing right beside us and
Roland was hanging from his shoulders. They were kissing, and
judging from the barely perceptible movements of their hands,
doing more than kissing. Alesha tensed noticeably. His hands
tightened their grip on mine. His eyes were flickering from side
to side. Behind me, right where he looking, was another man and
boy who were doing everything short of having sex.

Alesha came closer, until his body touched mine every time
we moved together. It was getting darker so that I had to squint
to see his face. The music was quieter, just loud enough to hide
the subdued sounds from people who were only a few feet away.

Without a sound except an urgent whisper, Roland leaped up
into Julian's arms, locking his arms and legs around the man's
swaying body. They began to kiss with renewed vigor, making
muffled whimpers together as that slim black-leather-covered body
began humping against Julian's belly. From the side, I could see
Roland's buttocks thrusting, tensing, his rounded ebony cheeks
gleaming in the light that remained, squeezing and pulling in.
His movement quickly became erratic. I could hear his rapid
breathing, the wet slurping of their tongues, the beginning of a
low moan.

Poor Alesha. He had nearly stopped dancing by that point. He
stared at them, his eyes and mouth wide open in grwoing
disbelief. He was breathing heavily himself, but not the way that
a person does when he's close to exhaustion. I wondered what he
was thinking. Did he understand what they were doing? They
weren't the only ones doing it. Boys needed to achieve sexual
release far more often than their men. Suddenly, I was aware that
eyes were gazing at me. Eyes that I could barely distinguish in
the darkness. Alesha's eyes. His faintly glimmering shadow came
forward slightly. His hands left mine. His arms reached up,
finding their way around my neck. He stayed there for a moment,
just staring, trying to understand, trying to decide exactly what
it was that he wanted deep inside. I didn't move. My hands held
back, waiting. The decision was momentous and it had to be his
alone. It did not matter how much I needed him. Was he smiling
shyly? Or boldly, with the hunger that came with lust? I wanted
the light to be just a littler brighter, just enough to see his
face. The only light came from the illuminated exit signs and a
few reflections from the glossy black walls.

What was Alesha thinking? He clung to me, his hips swaying,
undulating. Roland moaned. He was moving quickly. His leather
clothes slapping against Julian with soft smacks. Another moan,
even more intense if that was possible. Sexually mature boys made
very different sounds from boys whose orgasms were dry. The last
time I had heard Roland climax he had whimpered almost as if he
was in pain. His moan was guttural, heaving frantically,
ejaculating whatever fluid was inside him.

It was only then that I felt Alesha's arms tighten anxiously
around my neck. The music ended. His belly, his chest, his thighs
and legs, all of his body was pressed to mine. He was standing on
the very tips of his toes, the same way that he had been when I
saw him dancing in the Attic. He was shaking with excitement,
trembling, pulling down, bringing my head closer to his. My lips
pursed instinctively. Our first kiss lasted only a second before
it ended. His breath was hot against my cheek. His hands pulled
against my head urgently. His lips were wet this time. Soft. Hot.
Pushing hard onto mine. I kissed him, hugging him tightly, but
not hard enough to quell the uncertain quaking motion of his
thighs. I wanted to tell him that I loved him.

The lights came back on and for a few more seconds we
continued to kiss. People were looking at us. I heard Julian's
voice and I drew away from Alesha's lips, away from the awkward
passion that had blossomed during the darkness. His eyes were
closed. His narrow chest rose and fell rhythmically with every
breath. His tongue caressed his lips, still tasting me. I kept my
hands on his shoulders and brought his head to my chest, fondled
his hair, soothingly rubbed his back. The realization overwhelmed
him. He shuddered, sobbing softly.

"It's okay, Alesha," I whispered in his ear. "It's okay to
be gay."

Alesha shook his head in denial. Most boys went through a
period of denial. For many of them, it lasted years. Sometimes
until they were in college. The lucky boys were the ones who got
over it quickly.

"Every boy here is like you," I added tenderly. "Roland's
gay. And that older boy, Leigh, who you were dancing with. So is
Nikola."

"And so is Ramon," Alesha murmured. "He told me. He's only
ten and he knows he is."

I nodded understandingly. "See. It isn't so terrible, is it?
It's just a different mold."

I reached down and took Alesha's hand in mine. It was
hotter, moister than it had been earlier. He trembled when we
started to walk back to the booth. Julian's expression was one of
concern. Roland stood beside him, looking tired, dreamy, exuding
post-orgasmic bliss. At least the pronounced bulge in his leather
pants had subsided. He watched Alesha with more than a passing
interest before he smirked.

"I don't know about you, Sheldon, but I'm ready to leave.
Rollie wanted a finger out on the floor so I had to promise him
we'd make babies when we got home."

"Sounds like you'll be sleeping in tomorrow morning?" I
quipped.

"If we're out of bed by the time his soccer match starts
I'll be surprised."

"When is it?" I asked absently

"Not until three," Roland giggled. "Hey, Alesha, you want to
go say good-bye to the others with me?"

They headed off as Julian and I settled up the bill, the
only way possible by splitting it down the middle.

"Talk about sexy," Julian observed while we waited for the
waiter to return with our credit cards.

"What's sexy?"

"Watching you and that little Russian minx kiss. That was
his first kiss with someone besides his mother, wasn't it?"

I was not certain but it certainly seemed so to me. I
smiled. It was answer enough.

"I warned you, Sheldon," Julian simpered. "And it'll be the
first of many, I'd be willing to bet."

"I wonder what they're doing?" I mused.

Both boys had their backs to us. They had stopped walking
and were standing very close together. It seemed likely that they
were probably talking, yet my intuition said it was more that
that. Julian shrugged.

"Probably comparing notes of which of us had the biggest
hard-on. You know what young fags can be like when it comes to
size."

"Very funny," I replied seriously.

Alesha suddenly jerked back as if he'd been stung. I
wondered what had happened. What had Roland said that could cause
such a reaction? I started forward, feeling anxious for no reason
other than Alesha was clearly both very nervous and distressed.
He looked at his hand, studying it closely before saying
something that I couldn't hear. Roland turned, glancing back at
Julian and me. He laughed, then reached out and took Alesha's
hand in his.

"I wonder what that was all about," I mused aloud.

I signed the bill and pocketed my credit card.

"Who knows? You know boys! I guess we'd better get moving,
Sheldon. It was as good a night as I've had in a long time. I
think we'll have fun at Marius' place next week. You will be
there, won't you?"

"I suppose," I ventured.

"Can you believe it's already after midnight already? Look,
I need to talk with Trevor Crenshaw for a few minutes. Will you
be a dear and tell Roland to either hurry up or meet me
downstairs will you," he said as he started to leave. "By the
way, wasn't I right about bringing Alesha?" Julian added with a
bold smirk.

He was gone before I could answer. I made my way over to
where Alesha was standing with Roland. Whatever had upset him had
apparently been forgotten. They said good-bye, giving me the
impression that they had become quite good friends during the
four-hour period they had spend together.



ACT III, Scene IV

Alesha was very quiet until we were seated in the car. As
soon as he got in, he moved all the way across the rear seat. He
barely greeted Dewon except with a murmur of 'hello'. I closed
the door, and like Alesha, occupied myself by looking out the
nearest window at the people who were still wandering about in
the middle of the night. In that neighborhood, they were mostly
gays who lived there or college students from uptown who were
cruising with their friends. We sat in silence, safely ignoring
each other while I tried to understand my own feelings about what
had occurred.

There was no question that what had happened had changed our
relationship. I could not get beyond the fact that Alesha had
kissed me of his own volition. Certainly, being at the club and
seeing other boys and men liberated from societal pressures and
doing what for them came naturally, had its effect on him. It
would have been naive to think otherwise, particularly as that
had been my plan all along. However, my intuition told me that
Alesha had been emotionally transformed by what he had witnessed
first hand as much as by the physical change wrought by wearing
the clothes I had given to him. The question that I pondered was
what else I could or should do to help him come to terms with
himself. Showing affection for a man was a very big step for a
gay boy.

I watched him from the corner of my eye. The silence
bothered me. It wasn't that Alesha was sulking, because he had a
faint smile all the time. If he had any bad feeling about what we
had done together, it was not because of shame or guilt. That was
reassuring. Clearly, he was confused and he had some questions
that he needed answers for. He simply wasn't about to talk before
he was ready. I decided to be very patient with him. After a
while, he gave a long sigh. Even then, we had traveled about
three or four blocks before he acknowledged my presence.

"Thank you for taking me, Sheldon," he began uncertainly.

"You're very welcome, Alesha. It was a pleasure for me." I
very nearly added that I had the best looking boy there.

Neither of us felt the need to continue the conversation. A
block passed, and then another. Finally, I could not stand the
silence.

"Did you have fun, Alesha?"

"Yes, I did."

"I'm glad. And I saw you make some new friends too."

"Yes,... I like Roland a lot. He's funny."

"Isn't he though," I replied. "He always has something to
say."

"Unlike me," Alesha joked feebly. Still he smiled at
himself.

"It takes a while sometimes to get used to new things," I
counseled.

"Like being gay?" His voice faltered.

"Yes. That among other things. Everyone needs time to adjust
to change. Like your mother moving away," I added.

"I miss her a lot, and I still think about her all the time,
but it isn't nearly as bad as it was the first few days."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I offered.

"Not really."

"Okay."

"Sheldon,...."

"Yes."

"Nothing,..."

I smiled. "You can talk to me about anything, you know
Alesha. I'm a good listener, and usually my advice isn't all that
bad either."

"Okay."

"Sometimes it helps to talk about things that bother us," I
offered.

"You sound like Mama."

"I suppose I do." I decided to be a little more forward.
"Sometimes all a person needs is a hug to know everything is
alright."

Alesha shrugged, trying hard to be nonchalant. Then, I heard
the definite click of a seat-belt being undone. A moment later,
while I continued to watch the passing parade outside the
nightclubs and bars, I felt the seat move next to me. Alesha had
moved a little closer although he was still an arm's reach away.
I smiled slightly and lifted up my arm so that it rested along
the back of the seat. He inched towards me, using the motion of
the car when it went around a corner to narrow the gap even
further. He stopped about a foot away.

"Roland had a ring in his belly button," Alesha blurted out.

"Yes, he did. It's fairly new I think. I don't remember
seeing it before."

"And there was one boy who had a tattoo on his arm. My
mother would never let me do something like that."

"Well, you're a dancer, Alesha, so you really can't have
something that could be seen."

"Lots of the other boys had rings and studs, and other
stuff," he muttered.

Did I detect a note of envy? I remembered what Antonio had
said about gay boys dressing up to attract mates. The same was
probably true for other forms of decoration as well. What would I
say if Alesha asked for something similar? I sighed. Roland's
navel ring was certainly arousing, but for Alesha? His body was
unblemished. It needed nothing to embellish it. I was not at all
certain what I would say if he asked for one.

"That's not unusual, especially in New York. This place is
full of weirdos," I explained. That made him smile again. "By the
way, you were incredible on the dance floor. Everyone said so."

Alesha grinned. "That sort of dancing is so easy to do. You
just have to do move in time to the music. You invent the steps
as you go. It's not like you've got to memorize every single
move."

I chuckled. "So what did you think?"

"What about?"

"Everything. What you saw tonight," I suggested.

"Hm,.... " Alesha was quiet while he formulated a response.
"It's funny seeing men and boys kissing."

"Yes, I suppose it is. Remember what I said about a
different mold?"

Alesha nodded. "I thought about that a lot tonight. I kind
of like the mold there."

"I thought you would."

He giggled. "They talked about sex a lot."

"The boys?" Alesha nodded. "I expect they did. It's usually
the main topic of conversation, especially when there's a new
boy."

"A couple of them wanted to know if I was an ass-virgin."

I should not have been surprised. Some of the boys were very
uninhibited. Some of it appeared to have rubbed off on Alesha, at
least in terms of words. I swallowed. If he had not understood
when they first asked him, he obviously did now.

"Um,... so what did you say."

"Roland told them it was none of their business. But they'd
have to stand in line behind him to find out."

I laughed. "It would be a very long line," I finally managed
to get out.

Alesha regarded me strangely. I had a fleeting suspicion
that he did not grasp my joke. Finally, he gave a shrug.

"I enjoyed dancing with you," I said simply.

I also wanted to tell him that I enjoyed kissing him as
well, but I thought it was cleverly implied. We were still
dancing, more or less, when he had reached up, stretched up,
brought his lips to mine.

We went around another corner a little too quickly. That
made the car lurch far enough to bring Alesha a few inches closer
to me. Surreptitiously, I glanced in the rear vision mirror.
Dewon had discreetly redirected the angle of the mirror so that I
saw the roof liner reflected back at me. Further, he had taken
the opportunity of raising the burled walnut panel between the
two front seats. All that was needed to ensure privacy in the
rear of the car was to draw the soundproofed curtain above the
seat backs. I thought about pulling it across right there and
then, but it was very premature, or at least it seemed so at the
time.

I glanced out the window. Already, we were several blocks
past Washington Square Park.

"Roland can make jizz," Alesha murmured quietly.

What brought that on? With the exception of a few seconds on
the dance floor, the two boys had been in my sight the entire
time. Roland must have told him, of course. Sexual maturity,
especially when it was came with the physical evidence of semen,
was always a cause for pride for any boy, gay or straight. The
word soon got around the club when one of the boys started having
emissions

"I expect he can. Once a boy has pubic hair it generally
means that he's reached puberty," I answered uncertainly.

"He has hair down there. Well, he used to," Alesha admitted
with a grin. He noticed my quizzical expression. "Remember Roland
told us that he had hair around his peenie, until Julian shaved
it off that is."

I laughed.

"He has a ring in his peenie too," Alesha giggled.

At first, I was amused that he continued to use his baby
words while adopting words from other boys. I expected it would
not be very long before he began using other words for his sexual
organs. Then, the implication struck me.

"Pardon? He what? You must be joking."

Somehow, I could not conceive of Julian allowing that. He
was liberal when it came to matters of sexuality, and he allowed
Roland more freedom than most boys had to discover what he
wanted. The ring in his navel was extreme in my opinion, but a
ring through the skin of his penis? It was bizarre to say the
least.

"He does, Sheldon. Really he does. It's in the very end."

"How do you know that? Did he tell you?" I asked in
fascination.

Alesha nodded, both very amused and curious why any boy
would want something like that.

"Then he let me feel it," he added awkwardly.

"So that was what happened just before we left?"

"I didn't believe him when he told me so he let me put my
hand down the front of his pants," Alesha admitted shyly. "He
wasn't wearing any underpants. It was wet and slimy right in
front of his zipper."

"What was? Oh! Oh. Didn't you know what it was?"

Alesha smirked. "He told me. Jizz sure is messy. It was all
over him and it made his pants feel gross."

"It tends to do that," I remarked.

"He said he did it when he was kissing Mr. Kalmann," Alesha
continued unabated.

There was excitement in his voice, the kind of restless
nervousness that all boys get when there is something that they
desperately want, but can't have.

"Yes, I expect so."

He regarded me thoughtfully. Then, without the help of going
around another corner, Alesha slid the rest of the way across the
seat. He didn't stop until his thigh was pressed against mine. We
sat side by side in silence. Both of us were reluctant to admit
the nature of the contact was incredibly exciting. So we sat
there, just feeling each other's warmth. A full minute passed.

"How come it didn't happen to me when we kissed?" Alesha
asked shyly.

"Ah, well Roland is more than two years older than you, for
one thing," I explained. "You aren't old enough yet to produce
semen, ah,... what you called jizz, at least I don't think you
are. Most boys don't start until they're twelve or so."

"Oh."

"Of course, that doesn't mean you can't have lots of fun
trying," I added quickly.

"How?"

I thought for a moment. "Did you notice how Roland was
moving himself up and down against Julian while they were
kissing?"

Alesha nodded thoughtfully. "So that's how he made it come
out? Does it feel nice when it happens? Roland said it does."

I laughed, noticing the Dewon was paying as much attention
to what we were talking about as the traffic on Seventh Avenue. I
pitied him, sitting alone, eavesdropping on our conversation.

"Well, Roland is absolutely right. It feels very nice
indeed," I agreed.

"Even better than when you rub it with your hand?" Alesha
asked with startling frankness.

"So you know about masturbation it seems?"

"Mama told me," Alesha explained guilelessly. "Roland calls
it jerking off."

"There are a lot more names for it than that, but they all
mean the same thing. Everybody does it by the way, Alesha," I
added.

"I know that too. Do you?"

"Um,... well,...."

Dewon laughed. I leaned forward and deliberately pulled the
thick curtain across the opening above the front seats. It had
metal runners, top and bottom, that contained slots, thereby
ensuring a soundproof seal from front to back. I should have
closed the curtain earlier. There were some things that employees
should not hear, or see for that matter. I settled back into the
seat, resuming my position beside Alesha. Instantly, he leaned
against me, burrowing against my side so that his head was under
my armpit. I was glad that I had taken a quick shower before we
left the house. Alesha smelled intoxicating. I absorbed the smell
of him with voluptuous delight. The hint of sweat, not stale but
faintly sweet. It was very much the smell of a young boy, despite
Alesha's girlish clothes.

"He has sex with Mr. Kalmann," Alesha confided in a soft
whisper very close to my ear.

"He told you that?"

"Uh huh. When we were talking about the words, the ones I
didn't understand...."

How much had Roland told him? Certainly, enough for him to
know that they had sex. And when it came to talking about sex,
Roland apparently wasn't shy. I wanted to know what Alesha had
been told, yet I would never ask. Some things were private.

Alesha reached behind his far shoulder. His fingers stroked
the back of my hand very gently. It felt as if a feather was
being used. His head lowered, looking to his feet, pensive.
Perhaps he was trying to understand what it was that made his
body suddenly feel hot. His heat flowed into me, along my thigh
where it touched his side. His fingers gradually receded to my
wrist, then back again, still like feathers, but inquisitive
instead. His fingers probed between mine, following each knuckle.
Slowly, his hand eased under mine until we were palm to palm. His
hand was hot and moist, and compared to mine, delicate to hold.

The streets sped past. Every minute, one or more blocks were
left behind us. The traffics lights were with us. At this rate we
would be home within the half-hour. It was too soon. I wanted to
spend more time alone with Alesha. I wanted to hold him in my
arms just once, well once again, before the night was over.

Alesha's hand drew out from under mine. His fingers folded
behind my hand, pulling gently yet not about to give in until he
had achieved what he wanted. I yielded, wondering what he would
do. He didn't stop until my hand was resting on his shoulder,
until he was safely cuddled up against me. His head rested on my
chest.

"That's better, isn't it?" I whispered.

He looked up at me and smiled, still shyly, but content that
he had my arm around him.

"Do you want to go home right away, Alesha?" I asked
apprehensively.

It was entirely possible that he would want to go home. It
was well past midnight and he was tired. I was tired. He thought
for a while and slowly shook his head. His fingers slid back
between my fingers, holding my hand so that I couldn't move it
even if I wanted. I wanted to hold Alesha's hand forever.

"Dewon," I said, using my other hand to press the intercom
button that was built in the leather and walnut armrest on the
door.

"Yes, Mr. B.?"

"Take us for a drive, please."

"Ah, sure. Where to?"

"Anywhere. Somewhere quiet."

"Consider it done. Sorry, Mr. B., about before,..."

"It's okay, Dewon."

"Mr. B., there really ain't no need to go some place quiet.
Cain't no one can see through them back windows. They's one-way.
I checked it out myself. You cain't see in, no matter what, even
if the lights is on inside. Not even with a flashlight, Mr. B."

"Thank you, Dewon."

I released the intercom button. I breathed out slowly.
Hoping for what I wanted deep inside. Afraid that it would occur.
Wondering what would be like. Alesha was very quiet. Together, we
looked out the window on my side. Streets continued to slide by.
We passed 42nd Street. What had they done with all the boys who
used to hang out there? Of course, they had grown up over the
years, but there used to be a steady inflow from Grand Central
Station, or by Greyhound bus. Boys came from all across the
country, some seeking their fortunes in the distant city, but
most were trying to escape homosexual persecution that was
rampant in small towns.

Dewon turned right. What street were we on? I did not
recognize anything, yet I must have walked these streets a
thousand times.

"No one can see in, can they?" Alesha asked meekly.

"Dewon said they can't," I answered softly. "The car has
some sort of special one-way glass. It's bullet-proof as well so
we don't even have to worry about being mugged."

Alesha giggled. "Can he hear us?"

His voice had become very soft. And nervous too, judging by
the tremor and the sudden change of tone.

"No," I replied. "We have to push the intercom button for
him to hear us."

"Oh,...."

Alesha lifted his eyes and gazed up at me. His eyes were
glassy, flickering with lethargy, yet he was still a long
distance from being sleepy. Of course, the caffeine was keeping
him awake. He had been drinking 'Surge' to quench the thirst that
came from dancing. His eyelashes were very long. I wondered why I
had never noticed them before.

"Sheldon,...."

"Yes, Alesha."

"If you want,... you can,... um,... you know,... take my
clothes off."

I smiled at him. His words filled my mind until I could
think of nothing else. Was it right this time? In the pervading
silence, I realized I could hear Alesha's breathing. His warm
breath exhaled across my cheek.

"Are you sure?" My voice sounded as nervous as his.

Alesha nodded. "I want to,... do what gays do,... with you."

Those words were magic. They galvanized my desire like no
other words could. He was barely eleven years old and, unlikely
as it sounded, he was asking to have sex. Some boys were like
that. The sex drive began sometimes years before they were
physically capable of fulfilling nature's role. However, for boys
like Alesha, the need that he was trying to express was nature's
role for him. He was born to love a man.

Tenderly, I caressed his opposite cheek. I had never touched
such softness. On a baby perhaps, but never on a boy. His hair
was silky, hanging in curling locks across his forehead. Again,
with my other hand, I pushed the intercom button.

"Dewon?"

"Yes, Mr. B."

"Just drive us around the city," I said. "Just don't have an
accident."

Dewon laughed abruptly. "I 'sume that you both got no seat
belts on back there. I'll be extra careful. Mr. B."

I released the intercom and turned the light control so that
the only light came from outside the car and not from the
numerous concealed fixtures in the interior.

"And one of us will be naked," I added under my breath.

Without saying a word, Alesha lay down on the seat, bending
his right leg so that it was wedged behind my back. I squeezed my
hands, pressing my fingernails into my palms. He was offering
himself. I licked my lips. In the darkness I could barely see his
face. I could not determine if he was happy, or something else
that I dared not contemplate. I had no doubts that his mother had
done her best to prepare him for whatever I would want. Even
this. He was making a gift of his innocence to me. I wasn't at
all sure what I was going to do about it. I scratched my chin. I
had not taken the time to shave before we left. I had day-old
stubble, enough to scrape his tender skin if I wasn't careful.

I could feel Alesha's eyes on me, boring into my mind,
demanding why I wasn't doing something, anything, what he wanted,
or said he wanted. But it was wrong, wasn't it? He wasn't doing
this because he wanted to, but because he had to. He had a patron
to serve, 'quid-pro-quo', even if he didn't know the Latin. I
sighed. Yet, while one voice urged virtue, the other shouted
lust, and lust would always win for me if I wasn't careful. If
only I could see his face. It was too dark to discern anything
but the general outline of his body, the paler areas of bare
skin, his slender stomach where his tie-dyed shirt had lifted up.

Again, I licked my lips. Instead of doing what Alesha
wanted, I leaned forward over him. His arms lifted up, one hand
going to one side of my neck, the other hand meeting it from
behind. His fingers interlaced. His arms pulled down. He pulled
against me until I had no choice but to lower. Not that it
mattered for his own body was lifting up to meet mine halfway. We
kissed like that, a quick meeting of our lips before he sank back
onto the seat and I came down over him.

I took my weight on one arm and the elbow of the other. It
was an awkward position, but there was no other way, not unless I
lifted Alesha up again. Somehow, having him lying down, passive,
submitting to my passion, provided an added measure of enjoyment.
It was how a boy like Alesha was supposed to be.

I was close enough to see that his eyes were closed. Close
enough to see his little nostrils flare. Close enough to see his
lips open, and his tongue lick across his lips, wetting, getting
ready for the kiss that would surely follow. My penis throbbed
mercilessly. I took a deep breath and began to close the distance
between us once again. This time Alesha lay very still, his arms
still locked around my neck in case I didn't complete what I had
started. Or what he had started. Did it matter any more? Did
anything matter? I had kissed a boy, a beautiful boy. We kissed
again.

The second time was longer, but still not with a lot of
passion. Passion was there for me, but for Alesha the kiss was
uncertain. Tentative, barely hinting at contact before we parted.
Martin and I used to kiss until our lips were sore. It seemed as
if I was always buying lip-gel for him. Again, Alesha's tongue
made a slow pass across his bottom lip. His eyes flickered. He
was gazing into my eyes as if trying to find an answer to a
question that he barely understood. We stared at each other for a
long while.

My eyes glanced down his lean body. His shirt had pulled
higher by another inch or more. I did not need more light than
that from the neon lights outside the car to realize that he had
such perfect skin. Such a tiny navel. His belt was shiny, even in
the dim light. The two rows of grommets glinted. And there was a
short ridge beneath his jeans, a ridge formed by a little spike
of flesh that pointed up his belly.

"Are you going to take my clothes off?" he quavered.

"Are you sure you want me to?"

"It's okay. Mama said you would want me naked when we ahd
sex," Alesha murmured.

Damn his mother! I wanted Alesha without her instructions of
what he should or shouldn't do. In teaching him about his future,
she had fettered him as effectively as putting chains on him and
throwing away the key. Had she known that all along? I could not
touch him. Not like this. Not knowing whether what he really
wanted was to please her, or to please himself.


END ACT III


INTERMISSION