Date: Wed, 11 Feb 2004 08:29:07 -0800 (PST)
From: Ganymede
Subject: Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, ACT 9

The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, by Ganymede.


WARNING:


 This story contains descriptions of sexual acts involving a man and a
MINOR boy. Such descriptions are an integral part of the story. While the
story may appeal to prurient interests, it is intended to have serious
literary value. If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal
in your place of residence, or if man-boy relation- ships aren't your
thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin!



As a friend recently said: "Everyone has the right to fantasy. No one has
the right to censor an imagination, or dreams." With that in mind, know
that this story is not true! Further, it is not intended to promote illegal
acts against minors, but to demonstrate that men and boys can love each
other despite the prevalent attitudes of western society. It is my goal to
help readers appreciate that

love. 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.  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 penal- ties 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
capa- ble of making decisions about the content of documents they wish to
read...."

The story is copyrighted under my pseudonym, Ganymede. A copy has been
placed in the Nifty 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.  Any similarity to
individuals, living or dead, is entirely accidental.

Now that the preliminaries are out of the way.....


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The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, Act X



OVERTURE


Alesha danced. Whenever he danced, there was always joy in his heart. He
danced because he loved to dance. Dancing was the only reason for his
existence, yet this time the reason why he danced was different. Although
he soared with happiness, his expression was anything but bemused. He was
not smiling or laughing because nothing was funny. Instead, he was consumed
by feelings of excitement and contentment. Only that day, he had discovered
within himself a deep reassuring satisfaction, a deep personal fulfillment
that a person can know only when there is love. Yet Alesha, like any
innocent eleven-year-old boy, did grasp the true nature of his feelings. At
that age, he could not know about love beyond that of his mother and
himself. It would have been unreasonable to expect otherwise, even of a boy
who was experienced beyond his years. Alesha knew only that his buoyant
mood lightened his steps until it seemed that his feet were barely touching
the wood-planked floor.

Flying back and forth. Around and around he went, repeating the same
warm-up routine that he had performed every morning of every day for as
long as he could remember. However, this time it was accomplished with such
weightlessness that it seemed he would never tire.

The sense of unrestrained freedom that he felt was limited only by the size
of the tower room that had been assigned as the place for him to dance. It
was a cramped space, just 10 stretched paces square. There wasn't a proper
bar or mirror along one wall, although someone had hastily secured an oak
handrail to the wall.  The floor was water stained and made of wide, rough
ancient boards, rather than highly polished parquetry or maple strips that
were polished smooth in the manner that a floor was supposed to be for a
dancer. However, he paid it no heed.

That day, the tower room served more than merely for a place for him to
practice. His imagination took flight in that cramped eerie. Fantasy was
facilitated, for there was mystique aged like vintage wine into those
medieval stone walls. That, and a sense of timelessness that held his
curiosity; a quiet, slightly musty silence that teased his mind and
summoned a desire to express himself through movement.

It was evident from the moment he entered that the hurriedly adapted room
possessed a quality that his other dance studios lacked. The light was
ethereal, most of it provided by a large pointed-arch window that reminded
him of a chapel window. There was nothing less than a thousand diamond
glasses set within the stone frame. Each chiseled crystal was a different
shade of green, and the surface was rippled in such a way as to completely
distort the view of the courtyard outside. Within, the light was muted,
tinged with emerald, and it suffused dappled patterns upon the white
limestone walls in hues taken from a watercolor palette.

On the other side of the room there were four narrow windows that admitted
thin shafts of yellowed afternoon light. In these windows, the old obscured
glass had been replaced by modern transparency and the modern metal frames
were thrown open to admit the country air. Yet the opening was still gothic
in intent and attenuated welcome glimpses of the surrounding hills.  If he
stood on tiptoes, Alesha could gain a brief downward peek of a meandering
river through two of the windows. Through another narrow opening, he
fancied he could see the distant conical towers of Chateau Vienne where
they poked above the trees. He relished those hasty interludes for the view
was magnificent, however, like his favorite dark Belgian chocolate, he
allowed himself only enough to whet his appetite before he turned away. He
gazed through those deeply angled and ancient slots only when he stopped to
breath and rest. He could not allow a single distraction to interrupt his
practice. And that afternoon it was even more important that he concentrate
and finish quickly. He had to hurry because Mr. B had promised to take him
horse-riding.  They were to go that very afternoon with Count Guido of
Terragni and his boy, Antonio, when they arrived at the Chateau.



Chateau Vienne... Alesha grimaced as he dwelled upon the ancient name and
what had happened there. It was not so long ago that he didn't tremble at
the memory. However, that was the one thing he could not allow himself to
think about for it would distract him to the point of stopping. Yet, it was
the only thing that he wanted to think about while he moved from side to
side, stretching, arching, and pirouetting, always on the move.

Just that morning, the Chateau Vienne had taken on special meaning in his
life. There was good reason. After all, it was his chateau, according to
Mr. B, but even more distracting to the boy who should have been
concentrating on his practice was the Chinese Room and what had happened on
the ornate dark-gloss bed. He saw everything again, so clearly, perhaps too
clearly in his mind. A boy spread on top of the patterned red-silk
bedcover, his clothes in disarray around him, relinquishing his
still-virgin body to a man's tender caresses, wanting more and giggling
with pleasure, eager, enticing, and feeling strange. It was still so
strange, feelings so unfamiliar to him that they seemed foreign. He had
changed, awakening to discover that a part of him, all of him, needed
Mr. B. so badly that he ached inside.

Alesha still found it hard to believe. It was almost a dream, or a secret
fantasy. Whatever it was, it had finally come true. Yet as unbelievable as
it seemed, he accepted it in his innocence, and with a tinge of smug
delight too, if only because he'd been warned by other boys of what to
expect when a boy was alone with a man like Mr. B. Like all of the boys
he'd met during the last few weeks, he possessed the power to sexually
arouse a man. That was what boys like him were supposed to be able to do.
According to those boys, sometimes even a single glance was enough to
arouse a man's lust to the point of losing control.

Much better that the heightening of his self-esteem was knowing that he
would never forget that day. It had been so simply wonderful, so
exquisitely agreeable, and so absolutely right.  That there could be so
much enjoyment from playing a game with a man old enough to be his father
now seemed even more exciting than anything they'd done on the bed.

At the time, it had been all that Alesha could do to act his part.  He
heart had pounded with such excitement that it frightened him.  Was it a
play, or like life itself, a performance where his role was that of a girl?
He could not be certain. And all he had to do was to pretend. No, it was
more than that! He enjoyed showing off his body, but it wasn't only than
that. Certainly the act of undressing had its share of spectacle on that
higher-than-his- waist bed. It was a game then? A game that required a
pale- skinned, slender boy lying on red-brocade before a man, a game where
their innermost desires became real. No, it was more than a game. What had
happened was very real, undeniably real, and far too close for comfort.
Yes, that was it, he realized as the truth struck with unnerving accuracy.

He glanced out of the window that looked towards the Chateau Vienne and his
innermost thoughts surged out. They were even stronger than before, this
time taking over his concentration. In the Chinese Room, everything had
seemed so instinctive, so expected, so very appropriate that he had not
been uncomfortable in the slightest. The playful way that gentle Mr. B had
pretended to be the cruel Lord Beaufort, using words that should have
stung, but didn't. Not teasing him, but reassuring him. How easily he
accepted the role of a girl. He found himself cowering, showing fear while
deep inside he was desperately hungry for more, all the while wondering
just how far Mr. B. would dare to go before the game concluded. His heart
had pounded frantically when his leather shorts were yanked down, when his
red panties were all that covered his private parts, and even then it
emphasized more than concealed what was underneath. That small part of his
body, so important to a male, grew so stiff that it protruded out and made
the cloth pull to a tight point. There should have been no question of his
gender, yet there was.

He trembled at the memory, remembering that he had nodded when Mr.
B. raised an eyebrow instead of asking permission. He nodded because he was
willing, wanting only to be stripped naked by the man who loomed over
him. It was exciting and frightening, and shameful and wonderful, and
deeply satisfying. Was that how Ramon felt when he pretended to be Ramona
for Marius? As if he was given the ability to live a different life, a life
where everything was as it was supposed to be, for Alesha had thought it
was at the time.



Yet, even as Alesha knelt down before his pretend-master and cherished his
first feelings of submission, a different sensation came to him without
warning. It was a physical sensation as much as anything else, an intense
need that seemed familiar in some way, as if he had known that it had
existed all along.  Still, he had not believed it at first, not until he
dared to look from underneath. Then, there was doubt for he saw Mr. B's
tongue protruding. He knew where it had been a moment earlier. It had
touched his bottom, touched the very place where his mother had told him
that men made love to boys.

The strange thing, at least to Alesha, was that Mr. B appeared to
anticipate precisely what he needed him to do. After a while, Alesha was
shaking constantly. It felt as if his insides were being sucked out, as if
his anus was wide open, as it would never be tight and puckered again. He
sensed that just a bit deeper inside his slobbering spasm-charged entry was
the center of his existence, the meaning of life itself. It was irrational,
but that was how it was. He couldn't think, not really, not when Mr. B's
tongue kept up its assault and took control of all his senses. No, it
wasn't an assault. For one thing it certainly wasn't violent.  It was
gentle and tender, and it was fantastic, delightful, and above all,
intensely gratifying. It was rough too, at least when Mr. B's bristles
scraped against his buttocks, but the hot slick slippery tongue always made
up for it. Was it possible that anything could feel like that?



With great effort, Alesha forced his mind to quit and concentrate on
dancing. For a while, perhaps the next half an hour, he pretended his
mother was sitting in the corner watching him practice. In his mind, he
could hear her harping voice, issuing instructions in Ukrainian of what he
needed to do in order to improve. Nothing he did was ever good enough for
her.  Or Alesha Yaroshenko for that matter, he realized wryly. He was his
mother's son. When his body ached, he allowed himself a brief relief, just
long enough to catch his breath. He ambled over to the nearest window slit
and raised on his toes to look down into the courtyard. A red sports car, a
Ferrari Maranello, had pulled up since he had last looked. He glimpsed a
tousled dark head for an instant before it disappeared from view. There was
no doubt that it was a boy, and Italian too by his looks. Another boy would
make six in all, not counting Alesha Yaroshenko, who was supposed to be
practicing, but wasn't. Grimly, determined to get it over with, he went
back to dancing. Only a few minutes passed before he stopped again. He
sighed and wiped his brow.

He walked across the room again, gazed down from the same window as
before. The red sports car was gone. He slipped his arms though a short
white robe that bore his name in embroidered gold letters above his heart
and the crest of the Chateau de Villeau. It was a gift from Martin.

His shower was perfunctory, except for the time he spent washing the parts
of his body that Mr. B found so interesting.  One soapy finger penetrated
nearly all the way through his anus, probing the now-taut muscle and
cleansing thoroughly in the remote though hopeful possibility that Mr. B
would want to repeat what had happened a few hours earlier. Still imagining
the feeling of the man's tongue as it moved around inside him, he dried
himself quickly and went into the bedroom to dress. There were stone-
washed blue jeans and a cowboy-style denim shirt with studded brass and
silver buttons already laid out for him on the old- fashioned bed. He
wasn't sure why he liked for Mr. B to decide what he would wear, but the
choice always made him happy. There were socks and even a fresh white
handkerchief.  However, there were no briefs. Without giving the matter a
second thought, Alesha pulled jeans onto his otherwise naked body for the
first time in his life.



ACT IX, Scene I.



"... Anyway, there was Sheldon kneeling before the bed," Martin
laughed. "Oh, what a sight that was to be sure. Of course, it was the last
thing I expected to see."

It was the last thing I wanted to hear. Needless to say, Martin was
enjoying himself. He was playing the profligate host, although very much at
my expense. A perfect reprobate, I thought with wry amusement. Still, I did
worry that he was about to reveal something that I much preferred to be
left unsaid.  Trust wasn't the problem. It trusted the men we were with,
but for Alesha's sake, it should have been a private matter.

"Of course." Antoine laughed. "And?" He pressed with amusement.  "Out with
it, old friend. Now you've piqued my interest you'll have to tell all of
it."

Martin raised his eyebrow to me and in response, I shrugged as nonchalantly
as I could. I would not tell him what to say, or what not to say. I
depended on his judgment in most matters.

"Actually, I wasn't sure what Sheldon was doing,...  certainly not at
first." He met my eyes for a second. His eyes sparkled with the same
merriment that had been there when he was twelve years old.  "And,
well,... then I finally realized."

"And?"

"I really couldn't see his head, not at all, but then he glanced
up,... and,...."

Martin smiled. I would always remember him as a boy.  He always had the
same teasing smile when he was about to shake the very foundations of my
life. There were many times when he was like that, most of them
unforgettable. He wasn't by nature immoral.  Instead, he was brazen in his
sexuality. It was as if being shameless could somehow free him from the
strict bonds of his French Catholicism.

"And? Stop stalling, Martin. You have to tell us everything."

Martin suddenly smirked at me. I scowled back at him.  No doubt, he would
tell them all, both men and boys, tell them everything before we dined.

"Would you believe my friends,..." He paused for effect. Their ears were
attentive. Everyone was looking at him.  Martin smiled.  "So there it
was,... his tongue was what I saw,... and it was sticking out this far."

"His tongue indeed." Antoine laughed. "Now, you'll have to tell everything
you saw no matter what, Martin. I'm guessing Monsieur Beaufort was doing
something very bad."

Martin and I shared another glance. It was beyond stopping at that
point. Even I was caught up in the mood. Perhaps it was the champagne, or
merely the company of other men who appreciated what it was like to truly
love a boy.

Martin laughed. "Well, it was quite clear to me what was going on?"

"Oui! He was licking Alesha's ass, was he?" Antoine snickered.

"Yes indeed. Not that I could blame him. Judging from what that darling boy
was doing, it seemed to be working too.  There's nothing quite like a good
licking to loosen up a tight little ass, though, is there?"

"Nothing," Antoine agreed. "Except a thorough fingering, although I've
always said it's best to start off with a little oral stimulation to get
them wet."

Martin laughed. "You're right about that. Actually, I'm wrong.  Sheldon was
well past the licking stage."

People laughed and I blushed, even though I tried to appear haughty and
above their crude amusement. Still, given Martin's even greater lack of
discretion when he became drunk, I was glad to be among friends for the
weekend. Even though I was barely acquainted with several of the men who
were gathered in Martin's library, I knew the story would never leave the
room.  All of us knew better that to allow such things to reach other ears.

"What a sight that must have been. How wicked."

"Yes, it was, Antoine. Of course, I really don't know why I was so
surprised.  If ever there was a man who was hopelessly in love with a
boy,..." Martin said suggestively. He winked at me.

"Ah, so it's finally happened again. I knew you had it in you, Sheldon,
despite what you profess to others. After Martin got too old for you,...
well, I've always said you needed someone else to keep you warm at night."

I smiled at Guido, the seventeenth Count of Terragni, if anyone was
bothering to count. It was difficult not to like him. He was a jovial
character even when the world was pitted against him. He was nearly a year
younger than I was, and just as fond of food and wine. I had known him even
longer than Martin, having attended the same private school in Lucerne for
several years.  As adolescents, we shared the same love of young boys,
although it was never with the same passion I believed. Both of us had a
crush on a delightful twelve-year-old student who came from Iran. Years
afterwards, Guido and I still talked about the dusky-skinned boy with dark
hair and brown sensuous eyes. Nadir was charming to look at and romantic to
a fault, and he had the habit of quoting Arab poets of centuries earlier at
the most inopportune times. It was because of him that I purchased a copy
of Burton's 1001 Arabian Nights and later read Abu Nawas with great
enthusiasm.  Nadir wasn't the first boy I fell in love with, nor was the
only boy whose interest I had to compete for with Guido, but he was surely
the most remarkable. A year later, there was another boy who interested us
both. He was a delightful English boy with blond hair and milky skin and a
seemingly constantly stiff penis.  However, the competition between us was
somewhat less than that for Nadir because he wasn't averse to sharing his
affections with his two admirers. He looked a lot like Mark Lester.

To my mind, Guido was profligate in his ways with boys, although he always
talked of them in terms of how much he loved them. His current acquisition,
because Guido tended to think of boys as possessions, was in the corner
playing with a of antique Matchbox cars. Marco was, in my opinion, one of
the best looking boys I had ever seen. He had cheeks that were ever so
slightly dimpled, unruly dark brown hair, a thin face with big brown
doe-eyes and a mischievous grin. Even without his Neapolitan features he
was something to behold. He was barely nine years old, and according to
Guido, he was the sexiest boy in Northern Italy.

Everyone was looking at me. I followed my golden rule.  When in doubt,
pretend ignorance.

"Me?" I muttered, hoping to be ignored despite my size.

"Yes, you!" Guido laughed. "You've always been something of a dark horse,
Sheldon. I've always wondered if you were waiting for the right boy to come
along."

"Moi?"

Martin chuckled. "Moi, he says! Then, you see it's just as I said.  You
really must be smitten with him, Sheldon."

"Frankly, I'm not at all surprised that darling Russian boy of yours has
finally gotten some tongue," Antoine interjected with amusement. He used
his cardinal's voice, a tone that received immediate attention.

"Why is that?" Guido asked promptly.

"He's not Russian," I interjected, only to be ignored.

"Ah! When you've met Alesha you'll understand, dear Guido," Antoine
answered with a mysterious smile. "I think you'll agree with me that
Sheldon's boy is what the Americans call a one-in-a- million."

"Really?" Guido smirked. "You're saying that our dear Sheldon finally has a
boy to show off?"

"Oh yes. Once you've seen this boy I'll guarantee you'll want a piece of
his delightful derriere."

"So you've fucked him quite often then, Sheldon?"  Guido continued
brazenly, but intending only humor.

I shook my head curtly. Discussing sex in public, even with other boy
lovers always made me nervous. I put it down to my mother's influence. It
wasn't that it was illegal, but rather that some things were supposed to be
kept private. I was sure that she wasn't thinking of men making love with
boys when she offered that pearl of wisdom.

"I find that very hard to believe," Guido scoffed.  "Not you! Not the Don
Juan I remember from school? You were into little boy-bums as often as I
was."

"If you must know, what happened today was the first time we've gone that
far," I countered with a disparaging laugh.  I was still hopeful that the
subject would be dropped.

"I don't believe that for one minute," Antoine scoffed. "He's so incredibly
sexy, truly a gem among les garcons. I wouldn't be able to keep my hands
off him if he was mine."

"Well, I have,... except for one night a few days ago, that is," I
admitted. "But, to be honest, he was asleep at the time."

They laughed again, not sarcastically, because we all appreciated what I
had said. It wasn't the first time that a man had taken advantage of a
sleeping boy. The trick was in doing something that he would not have
minded if he was awake, because there was always the possibility that he
would awaken. I'd heard stories, true of course, about men who had taken a
boy's virginity without him ever finding out. It was remarkably easy to do
because a boy's muscles were naturally relaxed when he was asleep. If a man
was careful, other than having loose bowels in the morning and some
residual tenderness, there was very little evidence. Of course, there were
an equal number of stories about boys who feigned sleep for one reason or
another.



"Sheldon is very concerned with doing what's in Alesha's best interests,"
Martin lectured sternly, but in a mocking tone I thought.

Guido laughed. "I'm that way with Marco too. I would never do anything he
didn't want me to do."

Martin laughed. "We know all about you and little Marco.  Deflowering him
at nine! You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"Oh, but I am," Guido snickered. "Personally, I think I waited a year too
long."

"I happen to agree. Eight is the ideal age for a boy to start.  Rene Guenon
used to say 'sex before eight,'?."

"Or else it's too late," Guido and Antoine chimed in together.

"Actually, I think starting a boy when he's eight is pushing the limit most
of the time, but I do agree that Sheldon's waiting too long as well. It's
obvious that boy of his needs a good fucking."

"Martin!" I turned on him, expecting better judgment.

He was always impetuous. Besides, in private we'd concluded that the
earliest a boy should lose his virginity was at ten years old.

"Well he does, Sheldon?" Martin rejoined. "One look at him is enough to
know. You of all people should see that."

He mocked my reluctance to do anything like that with Alesha. I shook my
head. It was all in good fun, but that didn't help my reddening face. They
were taking about my Alesha, not just any boy.

"He certainly looks like he's ready for it," Antoine said with the same
authority he might have used in church.

He raised his hand and acknowledged Emile who had just entered the room
accompanied by a blond-haired boy with a very pretty face.  The boys
stopped walking, made a momentary recognition of the men standing by the
table with smiles, and then continued on their way. I glanced around
looking for someone else, a companion for the new boy. I had a vague
feeling that I had seen the other boy before at a summer party at Guido's
villa outside Nice a year earlier. Then, I smiled. Indeed, that charming
boy had made such an impression on me that I could still remember his
name. It was Christopher, but everyone called him Chris. I searched my
memory for his last name and then I suddenly remembered that he had been
adopted by Steven Kaufman. He was a charming boy, exuding what initially
seemed like exaggerated shyness while still appearing teasing. Innocence
and allure was the perfect combination for a boy in any man's lexicon.

"Yes, well I'm sure Sheldon will be 'up' to the task," Guido joked, his
exaggeration not unnoticed.

"Oh, for goodness sake!" I said with exasperation.

"Well, he does have something of a 'fuck me' look, doesn't he Sheldon? Or
haven't you noticed?" Antoine persisted with a smirk.

"How can you say that, Antoine?" I asked. "You've met Alesha one time for a
couple of hours at Le Cage."

"You've taken him to Le Cage and he's still a virgin?"  Guido intoned
suggestively, emphasizing 'virgin' to everyone's amusement. "My oh my. I
find it very hard to believe hasn't been deflowered. He must have been the
only one there, this year if not for the last few years," he added with a
leer.

Everyone laughed, including me.

"Now, now, there have probably been one or two others," Martin joked. "We
just don't know who they are."

The laughter continued without interruption.

"And he's really a virgin, Sheldon?" Antoine asked. "I find that so hard to
believe."

"He is," I acknowledged dryly. "And I plan on keeping it that way for a
while."

"Well, I wouldn't be able keep my hands off him for a minute if he was
mine. I'd be into his bottom quicker than a mullah."

Again, we laughed and shared some lewd remarks about Moslem clerics and
their boys while Martin refilled our wine glasses.  Arabs had a
well-deserved reputation for sodomizing boys while professing the strictest
moral fiber. The men who had gathered at Martin's chateau might not be
above reproach, but at least they weren't hypocrites.

The wine was excellent, a surprisingly fruity Grand Crus from Puligny, a
village a dozen miles to the west. Martin and I had split the cost of a
case at the November auction of the Hospices de Beaune. It was an auction
in name only, for it occurred during a truly "Rabelaisian" festival in
Burgundy, one that I had attended every year since Martin had taken over
the Chateau de Villeau. The wine that Martin had chosen to serve his
closest friends had a flavor that was supple and rich with good acidity, a
chardonnay with good structure equal to top grade whites. It was also
beginning to have an effect on some of Martin's guests. For myself, I
savored every sip because I would soon have to forgo the chance to imbibe
some of the best wines in that part of France.  Still, in the back of my
mind, I was very much looking forward to an afternoon of horse riding with
Alesha.

"You've started getting him ready though, haven't you old friend," Guido
asked audaciously.

He was relentless sometimes, but I tried to shrug nonchalantly. It was
difficult to deny the truth.

"But of course he has," Martin laughed. I scowled at him. "Why else would
he be eating his bottom up like he was flamusse," he added. (apple pudding)

"Ah, flamusse. Now, I would have thought a pear tartouillat would be more
descriptive for a virgin," Antoine joked. "A special treat and a joy to eat
very slowly, because that way you get to savor every bite. Sheldon, now
you're the gastronome amongst us. How would you describe Alesha's ass?"

"Other than utterly delightful," Martin exclaimed.

"Shouldn't you be off doing something with Emile," I quipped to Antoine. I
was met with a knowing smirk, enough to say, 'I've already done that
something with him once today and I'll do it again tonight no doubt.'

Again, we laughed. My face was red, but that could be ascribed to thinking
of Alesha's behind as a pear tart, complete with sticky- sweet pastry.

"You've gotten him started with a dildo though, haven't you Sheldon?" Guido
asked reproachfully.

"No, not yet."

I smarted, feeling the men's eyes on me. Guido was usually the most
outspoken of all of my friends when it came to sexual matters. For several
seconds, no one spoke. I could sense both their high regard for a man who
respected a boy's virtue, as well as disbelief. The disbelief was not
directed to Guido, but at me.

"Not even a little one old friend?" Martin chided. "It doesn't need to be
all that large to do the job. It's never too soon to start opening up his
passage."

At that moment, Alesha entered. I was too shocked to answer. He regarded me
with a strange expression, leaving the impression that he had been
listening outside the door. Before I could say anything, Martin walked
across the room, opened the drawer of a Louis XIV desk, and took something
out. He stalked back, holding out what appeared to be a small white
hourglass encased in a plastic bag. I gulped, recognizing the shape of
it. It was hand- carved from ivory, intricately figured with tiny
low-relief carvings of men and boys copulating. It was something that could
be purchased only from certain very discreet shops in the Orient.  I had
purchased the ivory plug, or one very much like it for Martin on one of my
trips many years earlier. Unless I was mistaken, there was also an
intricate gravure on one end that featured a young boy bending forward at
the waist with his buttocks parted. That tiny scrimshaw drawing left no
room for doubt where the device was to be placed. Indeed, the same red silk
cords were still there, if looking a little frayed on the ends.  The cords
were looped around the narrow part of the plug. I smiled fondly,
remembering how often those red silk cords were all Martin wore for hours
at a time when he was with me.

By then, Alesha had seen that I was engaged in conversation and continued
across the room to join the other boys. I watched them making introductions
like adults would do. He already knew Emile and Raffi and he greeted them
ole old friends. He shook hands with exaggerated formality with Marco and
Christopher. It pleased me to see Alesha's social skills in action. He was
turning into a perfect gentleman, I thought to myself. Not only were his
manners on a par with the other boys, but he seemed to be fitting in very
well, I thought. Indeed, the boys were acting more like adults than some
adults I knew.

"You really should get the process started, you know Sheldon," Martin added
obliquely, and lowering his voice since Alesha was well within his hearing
if he chose to listen.  "Particularly when I'm sure you wouldn't want to
hurt him. When the time comes you'll be glad you did."

I glanced at Alesha, feeling the familiar surge inside, the joyful warmth
that came from loving him so dearly that it hurt. He was such a skinny
little thing, I realized, especially beside other boys. The jeans he wore
were size 10-slim because I had looked at the label when I placed them on
the bed. Yet, the legs were loose, almost baggy on him. The jeans were new
and would probably shrink a bit, but until then they drooped down his hips
until the waist was finally held several inches lower than the style
required. I had been thoughtless not to include a belt for him to wear. It
didn't matter. The casual 'hip' look was very popular with boys.

Suddenly, I grasped the point behind Martin's comment.  Of all the men
present, he understood what it was like for a man to truly love a boy. Some
men took advantage of boys or seduced them into having sex before they were
ready. Other men, usually of the self- righteous variety, proclaimed that
anal sex was the last thing that a boy wanted. And then, there were others
like Martin who understood that while it depended entirely on the boy,
there were some boys who needed to be loved that way. Unless I was wrong,
Alesha was one of those special boys whose bottom would sooner or later
come to bear the burden of his desire. If I was ever to take that final
step with Alesha, I would need to undertake a thorough preparation. It was
even more important because he was small compared to other boys. He would
need gradual stretching and strengthening of his bowels beforehand.

It was for that reason and without more ado than a knowing smirk from Guido
and Antoine that I reached out to take the small ivory plug that Martin
offered. The last time that I had seen it was when Martin was all of
fourteen years old, and then he no longer needed it. I was pleased that he
had kept it all those years. I quickly placed it in my pocket while I
wondered whether I would ever dare to use it again, especially with
Alesha. It was taking on something of an heirloom quality, being passed not
from father to son, but from one lover to another.

He winked at me and whispered, "Use it as often as you can, Sheldon. It
isn't that big that he'll be uncomfortable for very long. Unless I'm very
mistaken, that boy of yours is going to need it soon. He's much too pretty
to remain a virgin much longer, even around you, Sheldon."

"Really, Martin!"

"Really, nothing! We both know that you pretend to be sanctimonious, but
you're really a dirty old man when it comes to boys," Martin chuckled.

I laughed with him, yet I winced within because what he was saying was only
the truth. No matter how much I wanted to make love to Alesha, I still
disputed with myself that I could ever inflict that awful pain on
him. There was no getting around the fact that a man's penis had to be
forced inside a boy's body, and not just for the first few
times. Sometimes, it could hurt for weeks.  Sometimes, it never stopped
hurting. Even though Martin has been as eager as I to try it, he was sore
for several days.  I still remembered his lingering discomfort, the spots
of blood that soiled his underpants. Even worse was seeing the dark ring of
bruises that I had inflicted on him. It wasn't easy taking a young boy's
virginity. Could I ever do that to Alesha?



"Mr. B?"

At the sound of that musical voice, I turned to greet Alesha. He grinned up
at me. He looked stunning in his blue jeans and denim shirt. The latter was
unbuttoned halfway down his chest to expose the gold chain I had given him
to celebrate being accepted in the Summer Program in Paris. Against his
pale skin, the chain sparkled unnecessarily. I felt very proud of him. To
my mind, Alesha was clearly the most beautiful boy in the room. A perfect
'10', I thought, but then, so was Marco, and young Christopher as well. I
was surrounded by beautiful boys.

"Ah, my dear Alesha has finally arrived. It's about time you came down to
join us. I was beginning to wonder whether the castle ghost had carried you
off somewhere." I winked at him and he returned a grin. "Now, who haven't
you met?"

I glanced around the gathered men. They were very attentive to the newest
member of the inner circle. They smiled at Alesha.

"Alesha, this is Count Guido of Terragni," I began.

They looked at each other for a few seconds.

 "It's a true pleasure. At last we meet in person," Guido beamed and
extended his broad hand that swallowed Alesha's delicate grasp. "I must say
that I've heard so much about the divine Alesha Yaroshenko since I've
arrived that I've been dying to meet you. I see I wasn't misinformed."

Alesha smiled slightly. His eyes met Guido's.

"And such a strong grip too. You're a ballet dancer, I hear?"

"Yes Sir," Alesha replied sweetly. "I'm attending the Summer Program at the
Paris Academy of Dance."

"And as we should all be aware, there's no school better for ballet, not
even in America," Martin commented dryly.

Guido laughed, still holding Alesha's hand. I felt a pang of jealousy,
thinking of Nadir and the torment of being fifteen years old. His fingers
stroked the back of Alesha's hand, his thumb pressing into Alesha's
palm. His gaze was fixed, rapt with admiration of the blond-headed angel
who stared relentlessly but politely back at him.

"Yes, I have to agree, Martin, he's perfect. Utterly divine,..."  Guido
mused in a quiet yet awed voice that made me very uncomfortable at the
prospect of competition. "You're a very lucky man, Sheldon. How did you
ever manage to acquire such an absolutely wonderful specimen of a boy."

"Perhaps because I think of him less as a specimen and more as an honor. I
believe I'm blessed by his acquaintance."

Antoine laughed good-humoredly. "Touche!"

Guido smiled; a little disingenuously, I thought, but he was like
that. Finally, he released Alesha's hand. "You must visit me soon, dear
boy. Bring your stuffy old Sheldon if you must.  However, I'm sure we'll
have a lot more fun without him."

Alesha grinned. "I'd like that a lot except I wouldn't know what to do
without him, Sir. I'm rather boring in that respect."

We laughed. He had politely put Guido in his place.

"I'm certain that's not true. Anyway, I'm sure I could probably make up for
it. I personally, would undertake to provide you with whatever you
needed. I am sure I could make up for anything you missed," Guido returned
brashly.

"I'm sure you would try, Sir. However, I know I'd miss Mr.  Beaufort far
too much to be happy for very long."

Guido chuckled, enjoying the repartee. "I can only assure you that I would
do whatever it takes to make you happy. It's far nicer on the Riviera than
in smelly old New York."

Alesha merely smiled, but it was one of those smiles that could melt any
heart, man or woman.

"He's quite a catch, Sheldon. I see what you mean, Antoine. He's very sexy
isn't he?" Guido admitted with characteristic frankness.

Alesha reddened instantly and looked down. The effect of his teasing smile
had been far more than he had bargained for.

"What? Now I've embarrassed our pretty angel it seems?" Guido teased
relentlessly. "Such a beautiful Cupid, eh? He shoots his little arrow of
lust right into my heart he does, and then he smiles and pretends innocence
with his blush."

Alesha glanced up awkwardly, barely meeting my eyes.  After a few moments,
he faced Guido again and shrugged slightly.  It was the right thing for him
to do.

"Again he does it. What manner of seduction is this you've been teaching
him, Sheldon?" Guido teased. "I am afflicted merely by looking into his
eyes. He would be an angel among boys, but he is too sexy for an
angel. This delightful lad is the devil himself, I fear."

People laughed and Alesha's embarrassment deepened to crimson.

"Trust me, sweetie. There's nothing for a boy to be ashamed of when someone
says he's sexy, not when he could have any man he wanted," I said quietly.

Alesha glanced abruptly up at me. "I don't want any man," he said
nervously.

"Touche, Sheldon," Martin laughed. He turned around to greet another quest,
who was accompanied by Raffi. "Ah, Steven, so the grand tour is over at
last? I was beginning to think you'd taken off for the weekend with Raffi."

"What? Me? I'm already accounted for. I wouldn't dream of it.  Don't get me
wrong. He's certainly worth absconding with, Martin, but to leave Chrissie
here by himself with half a dozen pederasts?  Do you think I'm crazy?"
Steven Kaufman replied.

We laughed with him. I introduced Alesha and he wandered off again to join
the other boys after we shook Steven's hand.  He had a firm grasp, what
might be termed the 'Hollywood deal' handshake, because it had such an
intensity that a single handshake would be all that was needed to make a
contact with him.

"Well, Steven, out with it? I'm dying to know what you think?"  Martin
asked. "Is my chateau going to become a movie set?"

"Honestly, Martin, I'm very interested," Steven answered thoughtfully. "The
thing is, though, the script calls for a two- scene setting in a castle in
the Loire, not that we couldn't fudge it if we had to. Your courtyard is
ideal for one of the scenes, because we can easily inset a view of the
Loire in the background where it's needed. The problem is,... well I was
hoping to find something, ah,... more romantic you see. It's for the second
scene. It's supposed to be in a great room around the fifteenth century."

He glanced around the room. The library, like most of the rooms in the
chateau had been extensively modified at the turn of the century. It was
most definitely not 15th century.

"We could shoot it here, I suppose, but it would mean bringing in a lot of
props. It wouldn't be easy."

"The chance of getting permission to shoot in any of the well- known
chateaux is very small at this time of the year.  Even for someone with
your reputation," Martin said without intending sarcasm.

"So I've already discovered, much to my chagrin," Steven replied with a
hint of what I took to be annoyance at French bureaucracy.  "We were
supposed to get access in May for that reason. My people have been working
nonstop with the US State Department and the Ministry of Culture and
Communications to set it up, but there's nothing happening. It's not that
much different to when I was shooting in Greece last year. They stalled as
well, but there were good reasons for most of the delay. Now, I'm beginning
to wonder whether we need to grease a few palms in Paris to get things
going in the right direction," he added sarcastically.

Martin smiled, ever calculating, and gave a sideways look at me.  "I don't
think that's necessary, Steven. At least not yet, although I do have an
idea or two on how you might proceed. One of our very good friends is
rather well-connected politically."

I coughed, rather than interject. I was never one to voluntarily offer my
services as an intermediary. It was my opinion that the people who rushed
forward to involve themselves in someone else's business usually did more
harm than good.

"Really? That's exactly what I need," Steven answered.

Martin gestured to me. "Sheldon, how about it? If there's anyone who might
know how to get him what he's after, it's you. I don't know anyone who
knows as much about cutting red tape," Martin acknowledged.

I shrugged, regarding Steven absently. My mind was elsewhere.

From the corner of my eye I observed Alesha talking to Christopher with as
much animation as I had ever seen from him.  They seemed to be getting on
very nicely. I made a mental note to invite Steven to stay with me the next
time he was in New York. With luck, Christopher would accompany him.

"Sheldon?"

"Pardon?" I looked back.

"Do you have any ideas?"

"Regarding?"

Martin shook his head sardonically. "I'm afraid when there are beautiful
boys around Sheldon, it's like talking to a rock."

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "It's true. I must admit my mind was on our
young friends over there."

"Perfectly understandable. The two of them make a delightful pair, don't
they? It's not often that two boys complement each other like that. You
must come and stay with us at Palm Springs," Steven suggested.

"I was thinking much the same thing, but only if you and Christopher visit
us in New York. Now, what's the problem? I heard you and Martin talking
about getting permission to use a chateau on the Loire. Which one in
particular?" I asked.

"Well, I was hoping to use Azay Le Rideau?" Steven answered optimistically.
"The people who my staff originally talked to said it was no problem if we
could do it before June.  That was more than a year ago. We had to pay a
deposit, of course, and there was a fairly hefty fee as well. Anyway, we
turned up with a crew in early May only to find out that there was a delay.
Supposedly, they were doing maintenance, but there's no sign of any work
being done. Since then, well,... it's been a waste of time talking to
them. They won't even return phone calls."

"That sounds about right for the Ministry of Culture," Martin joked. "If
there really is maintenance to be done they'll probably start work on it at
the height of the tourist season."

"If it was just us, I would agree. However, I'm shooting some other scenes
in Toulouse and it's much the same story.  One of our contacts in the State
Department even said that approval was stopped at the highest level. It
doesn't matter a damn to them that we have contracts signed."

"Ah, then the minister really is involved. I you ask me it sounds as if our
President isn't very supportive of your project," Martin mused.

"You might be right. The last I heard before Chrissie and I left to come
here was that the Ministry of Culture was saying that because we've already
paid we might get a day or two in late August under the right
circumstances. God only knows what that means. Usually, that sort of thing
is a hint for a bribe to be paid. I would do it too, but not for a damned
day or two. The thing is, it's a complicated scene so I need to be there
for three days, maybe four days if there are difficulties in getting set
up."

I nodded. Without realizing it, Steven had put his finger on the
problem. "Forget it. Even I couldn't get it arranged by talking directly
with the Minister."

"What's the problem, Sheldon?"

"Hm,... You might say it's a problem of international relations.  The
French are in something of a quandary at the present time.  It's an awkward
situation with the people at the top, no offense Martin. France's new
President is about as anti-American as he can be without coming right out
and saying it."

"No offense taken, but only because I happen to agree, Sheldon," Martin
said dryly. "I believe that we're moving into a very difficult position
with America. I'm not at all happy about what's going on."

"Why is that?" Steven asked impatiently.

Martin looked at me to become the expatriate American who was supposed to
understand international politics because of my past associations.

"I think you'd best ask Sheldon. Needless to say, his insight is a lot
better than mine. He knows a few things that tend to bring him into contact
with the State Department."

"Don't exaggerate Martin," I countered. "Part of the waning is because the
EU is increasingly ineffective when it was supposed to solve France's trade
problems. Some of it's because of the blasted Euro-dollar exchange
rate. Some of it's jealousy of the success of the American economy and how
the country has taken the leadership role in the international arena," I
explained. Martin nodded in agreement. "And of course, the election of
George Bush junior hasn't helped relations with France one iota," I replied
honestly.

"I was thinking much the same thing. Actually, our initial approval to use
Azay le Rideau came when Clinton was still in power," Steven explained. "I
assume the French government sees Bush as being rather weak, especially
after what happened in Florida?"

"I think that's part of it," I confirmed. I had to be careful of what I
said even though the men who I was talking with would be unlikely to share
my confidences.

"Meaning?" Steven asked pointedly.

"Mostly nothing. Let's just say that he's considered to be rather
ineffective by some countries."

"Such as France?"

Sometimes, a smile was enough. I smiled. "Let's just say that the general
impression in President Chirac's Cabinet is that George wouldn't be in the
White House except for his father."

"I hear much the same sort of thing in Hollywood all the time, but most of
them are house-Democrats," Steven agreed cynically. His tone of voice
demonstrated exactly what he thought of his fellow movie people. His
opinion tended towards mine. "I don't think it's true. He's quite a leader
in his own way, but only a crisis will show whether he can measure up to
the job."

"A crisis?" Martin laughed. "Now that's likely in the near and foreseeable
future, isn't it? What crisis? With the Russians falling apart at the seams
and the Balkans finally quieting down, there isn't going to be a crisis.
The worst thing that could happen for the next few years would be a bad
year for wine, don't you agree Sheldon?"

"I wouldn't go that far," I commented dryly. "However, I agree that now
that Eastern Europe has settled down I must say that it's difficult to
imagine an international situation that could test the U.S. beyond a minor
inconvenience. There's always the unexpected, I suppose. Like those fools
in Iraq trying to take over the world's oil supply by attacking Kuwait and
Saudi Arabia again. Something like that is very unlikely now given how the
U.S.  responded last time. Hussein has been difficult with the inspections,
but he won't take it to the point where the US takes action."

"I didn't intend to sound so flippant, Sheldon," Martin said seriously. "I
must say that the deteriorating relationship between our two countries is
something I worry about.  And I'm not just thinking of the sales of
wine. There's a lot at stake, especially in the long term, that people
don't seem to realize."

We both appreciated that it was a veiled comment concerning Chirac, but no
one else picked up on it. Antoine opened his mouth to say something.
Instead, he hesitated until he had our full attention. I felt a little like
I was waiting for a papal edict.  He usually chose his words carefully when
he wasn't talking about boys.

"Actually, it's not just France, but Germany as well that seems to be
anti-American," Antoine finally said. "When I was in Germany last month, I
heard rumors that there are terrorists meeting quite openly in Hamburg. Of
course, there's never been much sympathy for Israel, and what support there
is, well, it's having no effect because the country is so anti-American at
present.  That would never have happened a few years ago. I'm certain it's
because Reagan achieved the impossible and brought down the wall without
firing a single shot. Now, they're stuck with rebuilding the Eastern sector
without US help. The last thing they want to worry about is an oil
shortage. Put that with the anti-Semitism that's always been there. My
enemy's enemy,...."

"I've heard it's the same in Paris with an increasing number of Arab
extremists who are ready to take on the Jews," Martin added.

"These so-called terrorists,...." I began curiously. I remembered what
Alesha and I had witnessed in the Jardin des Tuilleries.  "You're saying
they aren't German nationals, Antoine?"

"They're mostly Saudis from what I understand, which strikes me as being
very strange considering how the U.S. saved their country from the Iraqis
not so long ago. But they're still Moslems however you look at it, so I
suppose I shouldn't be all that surprised."

"Goodness, look at the time," Martin interjected suddenly. "You were
supposed to be horse riding by now, Sheldon."

I glanced at the mantle clock, a huge gold-leafed monstrosity of
neo-classical origins. It was of a style what could be loosely termed
Second Empire. The ornate hands showed the time to be nearly five p.m.

"I suppose it could always wait until tomorrow," I suggested.

It was difficult to show enthusiasm. It had been a long day, beginning
before dawn when we departed Paris for the drive to Beaune. I was tired and
hungry, especially the latter since I had neglected the food table. The
Alesha diet didn't help but it was mostly the by-product of engaging in
more interesting, if not occasionally embarrassing conversation with fellow
boy-lovers. I was looking forward to a long hot bath before dinner and a
chance to spend some quiet time with Alesha in a friendly game of chess.
Even if we left quickly, more than likely we would be gone for at least two
hours. The very thought of sitting in a saddle for that long left me
feeling sore.

"And disappoint your delightful Alesha?" Martin asked jovially.  "I think
not, Sheldon. I'll have the horses saddled and brought around immediately."

"Martin, I really don't want to put you or your staff to any trouble."

"Nonsense!" Martin said emphatically. "Besides, you're already wearing your
riding clothes, Sheldon. I can't think of a nicer way to end this wonderful
day than by going horse riding with a beautiful boy. He's absolutely
charming in his jeans, although I'm certain he'd look even better out of
them."

He raised an eyebrow suggestively. All I could do was smile and think much
the same thought.

"And when I think of his pretty little bottom bouncing up and down in a
saddle,... Mmmmm... I want to be his saddle."

"I have to admit I also get excited by that idea," Guido added with a
smirk. "He must be quite a sight when he's nude, Sheldon?"

"That's something to think about," I returned with a wink.

"It's easy to see that he has a wonderful body, even in jeans.  He's much
too beautiful to be hiding himself with clothes," Antoine agreed.

"Trust me, it's quite a sight," martin added.

"Surely, you're the only man among these reprobates who's been fortunate
enough to see him naked, Sheldon?" Steven asked pointedly of me.

"Ah, you missed the conversation earlier," Martin laughed. "I was telling
them about,...."

I smiled and shook my head. "Let's not go through all of that again. I
think the subject has been discussed at length. Martin had the bad taste to
spy on Alesha and me."

"And what were you doing, Sheldon?" Steven asked bluntly.

Guido smirked. "He won't tell us. We were thinking he might have been
getting ready to fuck the dear little lad, my old friend. God knows, he
looks like he's ready enough for it. Perhaps he'll tell you the truth,
Steven. He won't tell us, will you Sheldon?"

"No!" Despite my apparent irritation, it was difficult not to smile,
however. He made it sound positively tempting.

"Hm, not that. Then, perhaps you were engaged in a little fellatio? He
looks as if he'd be a willing partner in that."

This time I shook my head. Guido laughed. Steven had a way of putting
things that was entirely his own.

"Ah ha! I knew it! Then you were providing a little oral stimulation of his
hindquarters, perhaps."

"That's one way of putting it, Steven. Indeed he was.  For myself, I prefer
to think of it as a good old-fashioned licking of his ass," Martin
returned. "But no doubt it was very stimulating given how his darling
Alesha was carrying on."

He left us laughing and strode across the room to where the boys were
gathered. He picked up a telephone and gave orders in a surprisingly
authoritative voice. I watched with growing amusement. He had changed over
the years, yet even as a boy Martin had been very different to the shy and
unassuming Alesha. As a lover, Martin had been remarkable. There was simply
no other way of describing him. Remarkable! He was bold by nature, but when
he was aroused he became aggressive. He always knew what he wanted and he
was not afraid to do whatever was required to get it. Along the way, he
developed an uncanny skill to satisfy me in any way imaginable. He learned
how to delay my orgasm until I was ready to faint with exhaustion. Then,
with an incredible pressure, he could induce the surge that would carry me
over the edge. No wonder I was so much in love with him.

As a lover, no man could ask for more. However, as a businessman Martin was
proving to be a force to be reckoned with.  In more ways than one, Martin
was one of my better investments, I thought.

"To the stables," Martin shouted gaily. "The horses will be saddled by the
time we get there."

He placed his arm around Alesha's shoulder and led the way, talking
earnestly. Most of it seemed to be Martin asking about his prior experience
with horses, and more than few questions about how I was treating him.
There was no alternative than to follow a few paces behind, listening
attentively. Guido and his little Neapolitan boy, whose name I'd already
forgotten in the rush of excitement, followed after us. I searched my
memory for his name as we walked outside to the courtyard. Marco, yes that
was it, and perfect for such a charming boy.

Already, the groom and his assistant were leading saddled horses from the
stables. I greeted the groom, having ridden with him the last time I
visited Martin. He was elderly with the appearance of a leprechaun, a
long-retired jockey whose services Martin had acquired when he bought the
Chateau.

"Since you've ridden only a few times before, my dear, I'll have you ride
Pernod," Martin said to Alesha.

He made sure that I was listening and I nodded gratefully. I used the small
wooden steps to mount. The horse I usually rode when I stayed at Martin's
chateau was a solidly build chestnut mare that was in all likelihood
genetically related to a Belgian workhorse.  By comparison, Pernod had
Arabian lines.

"He's a gelding, but he can still be a little jumpy, especially with
someone your size," Martin explained to Alesha.  "Don't panic. Just keep a
firm hand on the reins and stay close to Sheldon. He's really quite a good
rider."

Instead of allowing the groom to assist Alesha, Martin formed a step with
his hands. He boosted Alesha into the saddle with ease, then proceeded to
adjust the stirrups for my little cowboy. I was certain it was merely an
excuse to touch his legs, but with his stone-washed blue jeans covering
everything from his slim ankles up, there seemed to be little point in it.
Nonetheless, I directed my horse over to where they were.

"You look exactly like a Texas cowboy, my dear," I commented
affectionately.

Alesha grinned and straightened up in the saddle. "Hi ya pardner," he
quipped in his best western imitation, but still very foreign- accented
accent.

"Keep an eye on him, Sheldon," Martin warned despite his glowing
smile. "He's quite a boy. I wouldn't want anything to happen to him."

I nodded. The warning was unnecessary. The last thing I planned to do was
to let Alesha get further than an arm's length away from me.

We started slowly, guiding our horses through the open gateway that had
once been a thick oak door and portcullis to hold back Germanic marauders.

"You'll be back in time for dinner, I hope Sheldon?"  Martin called
out. "The chef's preparing roast pheasant especially for you. And that
flambé you so enjoy."

I turned in the saddle. "I'd not miss that for anything. Well, almost
anything," I added, grinning at Alesha. With him beside me, I could think
of any number of things that I would willing forgo dinner for, even the
specialties of the Chateau's chef.



ACT IX Scene II



Being the person most familiar with the region, it fell to me to be the
guide of the four musketeers, as Alesha and I quickly came to call
ourselves. Needless to say, both Marco and Guido were as at home in the
saddle as I was, and Alesha did an admirable job.  Certainly, he listened
carefully and applied all that I told him about carefully using the reins
to guide the horse.  Unlike most people who yank and jerk the reins, and do
damage to the horse's mouth when they first get astride, Alesha had a
determined yet gentle manner that I found relieving. My little Ukrainian
cowboy could become quite proficient with just a few lessons.  He sat well,
using his legs and adapting his body for balance, not gripping the pommel
like most inexperienced riders.  Indeed, my worries for his safety were
quickly put aside when I realized that he had excellent attitude and ample
strength to control the horse.  Inside that slender body were remarkably
strong bones and muscles. Judging by the perpetual grin on his face, he
certainly seemed to be enjoying himself.

As we rode alongside the river, I was struck by the change in his
demeanor. It was as if I was seeing a different side of my Alesha.  The
quietly effeminate boy who had so easily accepted a female's role in the
Chinese bedroom also had another side that I'd barely glimpsed beneath his
much-too-pretty-for-a-boy surface. Of course, he was beautiful and elegant,
and as sensitive and graceful as he ever was. That would never change. Yet,

increasingly as he became more comfortable on horseback, he grew
exhilarated and bold. More boy-like if you will, more like Martin as I
remembered him from years earlier. It was pleasantly reassuring in a way. I
was a boy lover, after all.

Alesha's eagerness was infectious. We galloped across a meadow, flattening
the grass. We galloped all the way up to a broken rail fence. I had a
fleeting feeling that Alesha might even have coaxed his horse to jump if I
had not reined in and called out to him to stop. He trotted up beside me
and beamed at me, seemingly oblivious to the possibility of being hurt.

"Well, that's settled that. I'll definitely have to arrange for riding
lessons for you," I announced.

Alesha grinned happily. I hadn't asked him what he wanted, yet I had given
him exactly what he wanted.

"Can we gallop again, pard-na?" he asked with a laconic soprano drawl made
even more amusing because he was breathless with excitement.

"Not Mr. B?" I teased. "Not even Shel-donne?" I added, using the same
lilting voice that Alesha used when he was in a playful mood.  "Now, I'm
just partner?"

He grinned, standing up in the stirrups. There was a small bulge in his
jeans, just enough to say 'boy' and mean it. He scanned around him. Guido
and Marco were still some distance away. They'd been dawdling when we
reached the bridge. Indeed, they seemed to be slowing deliberately.

"They sure are a long ways back," Alesha said, attempting to sound Texan
yet again.

Like me, he was thinking that it was good to be by ourselves again, even if
only for a short while. I smiled and looked around, wondering whether his
motivation to study the landscape was the same as mine. Ahead, as far as
the eye could see along the river, there were more meadows divided by
fieldstone walls and overgrown hedges. The fields were mostly used for
grazing cows.  It would be a slow process of opening and closing gates
along the way, at the end of which we would have a dull return ride by
following a rather nondescript and dusty lane. Across the river, there was
nothing but vineyards to be seen, for by that point in its meanderings, the
best locations for growing grapes had shifted to the other side. To my
right lay the tall pine forests that were jointly shared by several
chateaus, our own included.  I gestured to the right so that Guido could
see my intention. He waved back.  It was less his wave that I took to be
agreement, than the fact that he urged his horse on and cantered up to us
with Marco close behind.

"Sheldon, I was thinking that perhaps you know of a quiet place up
ahead. Somewhere where we could rest our steeds and stretch our legs?"
Guido asked with a devious smile.

"There's a pleasant glade in the woods, if I remember."

"Most excellent! It's sufficiently secluded to be private, I would hope?"

"Indeed it is."

Guido grinned and rubbed two of his fingers in a lewd gesture that only a
fellow boy-lover could appreciate. Two fingers in a boy like Marco, or
Alesha too for that matter, would be very tight, but certainly not
impossible. More than likely, Marco was used to things a lot bigger than
two of Guido's fingers.

We started off again, soon diverting down a narrow path that required we
ride in single file, ducking our heads to miss low- hanging trees. It
wasn't long before we were well out of sight of the river. Long grass and
brush scraped our stirrups.  Slowly, the abundant vegetation gave way to a
thick soft floor of brown pine needles and towering dark green trees that
changed the color of the light to something like that of a gothic
cathedral. The refreshing smell of pine filled my nose. Alesha drew up
beside me.

"It's beautiful, Mr. B," he said wistfully. His expression of melancholy
took me by surprise.

"Why Alesha, whatever is the problem?"

He looked away and sighed, swallowing. "I was just thinking of something."

"You look positively glum."

"I'm sorry. It's just,..." He sighed. "Mr. B,... I keep thinking I've been
here before."

"Déjà vu, Alesha?" I teased. "Somewhere in the Ukraine perhaps?"

"Not that. I don't mean here exactly. It's just that it reminds me of
somewhere else. It was just a few weeks before my mother left for
Texas. We'd just got our van repaired and she took me to a state park in
Connecticut for the day. We had a picnic. There was a path that looks just
like this, well a lot like it.  We walked for a long while." He smiled
weakly.

"It sounds beautiful."

"It was. Just like here. I remember,... The reason why I was so sad... It
was right after the competition. She started by telling me I had to be
brave when she was gone."

"You are brave, Alesha," I said admiringly. "You're very brave. I can't
think of any boy who could do what you've done these last few months. I'm
very proud of you."

I could not remember anyone ever saying that to me when I was a boy, but it
was important to say it. I was proud of him. I intended to say it loud and
clear, and often as well.  I intended to let Alesha know that he was
special and that he was

accomplishing things that few other boys could do. For a moment I
considered telling him that I loved him, for the place we were in also had
that effect on me.

He smiled slightly. "That was the day,... um,..." His voice lowered to a
secretive tone. "It was when she told me what would happen with you."

"Oh?"

"So you see I remembered all that just now,..."

"What did she say?"

"Mostly we talked about the things I would have to do when I moved into
your house."

"You don't have to do anything," I said quickly.  "I,... I never wanted it
to be like that. I want it to be your home."

He gave me a bashful look. "I know that now. The thing was, I was really
dumb back then, Mr. B. I didn't know very much at all about sex,... and
nothing about,... I mean I knew men and boys,... Kids tell jokes about
dirty old men and stuff. I mean,..."  He smiled shyly, embarrassed by
whatever he was thinking. "I guess I knew about some sex stuff.  I'd heard
things from the kids at school about gays and what they did, but I really
didn't understand what it meant. I'd seen them too, of course, but I really
didn't get what it was about. Then, one time she said that some men liked
boys more than other men."

"That's true," I quipped.

Alesha responded with a wry but otherwise noncommittal smile.  "Anyway, she
got so embarrassed when I asked questions about it."

"I can imagine."

"The thing was that I really wanted to understand what she was trying to
tell me. That day we talked about it again, only she said the men were like
you. I guess she tried to make it simpler for me, but she really didn't say
that much I could understand."

I reined my horse in and with a firm grip on the saddle, l started down an
embankment. Alesha used a calming voice with Pernod, reassuring both of
them that what looked very steep was nothing more than a gentle slope. It
was very tricky going because herds of deer had churned the ground to
slippery mud. We resumed our conversation once Alesha had drawn up
alongside me again.

"You handled that very well," I complimented him.

"Ridin's sure fun, ain't it pard-na," Alesha drawled before he giggled. He
sounded like Johnny Crawford when he played Mark McCain in The Rifleman.
There were even a few other similarities if one was observant, not the
least being his long legs.

"So, what did she tell you, Alesha?" I asked curiously.

"Like I said, Mr. B, not very much." He grinned.  "Actually, I learned more
in a few minutes the first time I was at AppleBoys. I guess she told me a
few things I needed to know."

"Such as?" I asked curiously.

"Well, for one thing, how for some boys it's right for them to be with men
even if it is against the law, but mostly people had to be careful."

"She was right. We do have to be careful." I agreed.  "It's a dangerous
world."

"I know. The thing is, she didn't say all that much about what you might do
to me. She talked about me doing whatever you wanted me to do, because that
was the way it was supposed to be."

I wanted to interject and say that was wrong, that our relationship didn't
have to be like that, but I held my tongue. It would have been dishonest
because I very much wanted to make love to him. I wanted him to be willing,
but if not that, then at least unresisting.

"Mostly she talked about us having sex in a vague way.  She kept saying
that some men and boys liked to be together."

"It sounds a bit like the gay version of the birds and bees talk I had with
my mother when I was thirteen," I joked. "It wasn't very helpful then?"

Alesha grinned again and shook his head. "It wasn't, Mr. B. The thing
was,... see, I wanted to know more. Anyway, eventually I came right out and
asked what they did together because they both have the same thing.
Actually, I asked whether they do it differently to men and women."

"Indeed," I laughed.

The horses skittered as a branch snapped in the forest. Alesha did a good
job of controlling his mount. The horses settled down quickly. He smirked
at me. Then, watching me, he rubbed at his crotch. Was it possible that
what we were talking about was arousing to both of us?

"Tell me more," I teased. "How did she handle you asking about that?"

"She was a bit embarrassed for a while, but then she told me that the man
put his sex organ inside the boy's body. I'm translating, but those were
her exact words. What bothered me most was that she called it that. Until
then she'd always called it a xxxx when we talked about sex."

"Uh oh."

"Uh oh is right." Alesha laughed quietly.

"Pretty scary?"

"That's the understatement. I guess I knew that much from school.  The
thing was, I wasn't really upset by it. What I really wanted to know then
was how it happened. All she said when I asked was that the boy should do
whatever he could to help because it could hurt otherwise."

"Now that's more helpful, isn't it?" I teased. Alesha rolled his eyes and
gave me a smug look. If I hadn't known better, his haughty look might have
disturbed me.

"She tried to make it sound as if she wasn't talking about me, but we both
knew."

"Most adults find it difficult to talk to children about sex," I commented
dryly.

"You don't, Mr. B."

"Ah, and why is that, do you think dear boy?"

Alesha laughed. His head came closer to share a secret. "Because you want
to put your cock in my ass, and you think it's better if I know what I'm
supposed to do when the time comes."

"Never was a truer word spoken. Ignorance isn't bliss when it comes to
having sex, I'm afraid, despite what most parents seem to think. I've
always believed that it's important for a boy to understand what sex is all
about before he starts doing it."

"Do you think they do it?" he asked suddenly, making a movement with his
head that directed my attention to the couple riding a hundred yards behind
us.

"Guido is a very accomplished lover, Alesha," I joked,

"especially when it comes to young boys. He has quite a reputation to
uphold in certain circles. Virgins don't last more than a week or two
around him."

"But Marco's so young."

I nodded. "That's true, Alesha."

"But,... Marco said he's been with him for,..." Alesha stopped.  "He said
he only just turned nine."

"Actually, he turned nine only a month or so ago. We were invited to his
birthday party in May, but we had the Russian Sailor's Dance. If Marco was
still a virgin then, he wouldn't have been after the party. Guido wouldn't
have waited much longer."

"Sheldon," Guido called out from behind us.

I brought my horse to a halt, turned in the saddle and waited for them to
catch up.

"Is it much further?" Guido asked pointedly. "We do need some time to play,
old friend."

"Just a few more minutes, Guido. We're nearly there.  Actually, I think
we'll leave the horses here and walk the rest of the way. It isn't far and
the place I have in mind isn't very large," I explained.

I've always found dismounting from a horse difficult, and doing so after
riding for a distance is even worse. I cautiously removed my foot from the
stirrup and leaned forward in the saddle to ease my leg behind me. I
quickly realized that Alesha's program of exercise and diet was beginning
to have an effect for I found the action far less awkward than I
remembered, but I still labored to lift my leg over. I held on the saddle
tightly and carefully lowered myself to the ground. By then, Alesha had
slid from his saddle and was in the process of lifting his reins over his
horse's head, a horse that appeared to be trying to kiss him. I laughed and
was met with a mock-what-are you-laughing-at look.  Guido and Marco were
standing on the ground, both amused, but it could have been as much by
Alesha and his horse as by my show of awkwardness. I decided, for no other
reason than self-deceit that it was Alesha who was the cause of amusement.
However, not for the first time, I felt embarrassed by my size, especially
compared to the sprightly lithe-bodied boy who grinned at me.

We tied our horses to a tree that offered shade in the midst of an adequate
supply of grass, if the horses ate sparingly.  Like Alesha, rather than me,
I thought ruefully. Then, with me leading the way, we followed a narrow
path down a rock-strewn bank and into a dense coppice. It was rather like
walking down a narrow tunnel, high and wide enough only for deer to walk
abreast. It was certainly not of the size for a man of my girth. I could
not remember the pathway being so overgrown, although it had been several
years since I ventured that way, then accompanied by Martin. Fortunately,
just as I was giving thought to turning back, it suddenly opened onto a
small clearing where moss and lichen- covered rocks replaced the thick bed
of pine needles.  A small creek gurgled among rounded boulders, splashing
joyously when it dropped into a narrow pool. On a hot day, it was a very
welcome sight.

"It's so beautiful," Alesha said quietly.

"Yes, it is. If I'm not mistaken, I think it's part of our woods," I
answered. "I'm sure that the path we just left was the eastern boundary of
the Chateau Vienne."

"I hope so," Alesha murmured. "Then we can come here all the time.  We can,
can't we?"

"We can if you want to. Would you like to splash in the water for a while?"
I asked.

"I will if you will as well," Alesha laughed.

I shook my head even though the idea of cooling my feet was very enticing.
Alesha grinned at Marco. "Do you want to play in the water for a while?"

Marco returned an uncertain look. Alesha thought for a moment. He asked
again, in French. This time, Marco nodded eagerly.

Together, they removed their socks and shoes. Both boys tried to roll their
jeans up, but could not get past their knees before the cloth was bunched
up into ungainly rolls.

"I think it would be easier if you just took them off and swam in your
underpants," I suggested lightheartedly.

Alesha grinned and nodded, and seemed to welcome my suggestion.

From the look on Marco's face, he needed no prodding to take his clothes
off either. It took only a few seconds for Alesha to unfasten his metal
button and zipper, however, he hesitated to lower his jeans.

"What's wrong?"

"Um,... nothing,..."

"Well no matter. If you don't want to that's quite okay. It's entirely up
to you."

Alesha smiled shyly. "The thing is, Mr. B, I sort of forgot that I'm not
wearing anything underneath,"

"Oh! I didn't put any underpants out for you, did I?"

He shook his head, his fingers still fumbling at the silver and brass
buttons on his blue-denim shirt. I glanced at Marco who was sitting nearby
on a mossy patch and intently engaged in the process of pulling his jeans
past his little brown feet. He'd already removed his shirt, a bright-green
short-sleeve shirt that would not have looked out of place on a Vogue-kid
model. Guido looked on appreciatively at what was by then an almost naked
boy.  All that Marco was wearing was a boy-bikini, one of those petite
pieces of apparel that Italians designed to emphasize the 'boy' part of a
boy. It was bright blue and very effective too, even though Marco's boy
part appeared to be quite small from where I stood.

"It seems as if Alesha's at slight disadvantage, Guido," I explained with a
sly smile.

"Ah, a disadvantage? He's been riding bare, has he?"  Guido asked
flippantly. I smiled in acknowledgement. "But he's not afraid of showing
off what he has, is he?"

I gestured with my hand, an ambiguous signal to show that it depended on
matters beyond my control.

Guido smiled reassuringly, yet I could tell that he was as fascinated by
the possibility of seeing Alesha naked as I was.

"Such a beautiful young male should never be ashamed to show his body to
his friends," Guido said with a hopeful tone, and what was to me unsettling
admiration.

"I'm sure if the playing field was level, he wouldn't be adverse to going
bare. Would you, Alesha?" I said suggestively.

Alesha smiled again and with more than a hint of enthusiasm. He nodded
slightly. He glanced at Marco, taking in the younger boy's slender dark
body as the younger boy finally extricated his feet from the bottoms of his
jeans. All that remained of modesty was insignificant in size. Two small
patches of neon blue cloth served only to focus attention on what was still
covered.

Guido snapped his fingers and then gestured to the side. It was as clear a
signal as any I had ever seen. Marco giggled.  A moment later Marco's
briefs were lying on the ground. The little boy rolled on the moss,
exhilarating in the coolness and freedom of being nude. That he was used to
being naked outdoors was evident from his uniform tan. I envied Guido and
the lifestyle to be enjoyed in a southern European climate.

"Et tu, Alesha," I said playfully.

Alesha grinned. Without hesitating, his jeans came down. He pushed them off
his feet hurriedly, then quickly unfastened his shirt buttons. Guido
stared, just as I expected he would, but my eyes were similarly fixed on
Alesha. Guido made no secret of his attraction to younger boys, and he had
enjoyed more than his fair share, yet Alesha was so delightful to look at
that he was completely entranced. Beside Marco with his Neapolitan
coloring, Alesha was pale, but he was stunningly beautiful. He was very
different to Marco, whose body was still proportioned in a young boy
way. Alesha, after years of dancing, was lithe and wiry. His body was a
composition of muscle, sinew and bone that could only have been mimicked by
a sculptor who possessed the skill of Michelangelo.

"He's absolutely adorable," Guido remarked honestly.  "Quite wonderful, and
just as Martin described."

I nodded in mutual appreciation. In that idyllic setting, with the only
light being a few beams of sun that managed to filter through the pine
trees, Alesha became a faun, not the fawn of a deer, although his long
limbs certainly had some resemblance, but the faun of classical times. That
woodland creature, not entirely human yet as divinely inspired and
mysterious as a unicorn.

With a faint smile, he ambled to the edge of the pool and cautiously dipped
his toes into the water. His bottom tensed, pinching in. He turned back and
grinned at me.

"It's nice."

"I'm sure it is. You can get wet if you like, Alesha.  It won't take long
for you to dry off."

Without answering, Alesha proceeded to disrobe, swiftly removing his cowboy
shirt and tossing it back to me. I straightened it out and folded it neatly
while I feasted my eyes like a glutton on the young male's anatomy. Even
Guido fell silent. Marco joined him in the water, exploring every nook and
cranny of the pool. Together, it was difficult to choose between them, both
angelic, one boy naturally brown-skinned and the other still creamy pale
because we had spent so little time in the sun. Together, they were
exceptionally beautiful, but even making a correction for my bias, it was
very apparent which boy had the perfect body.

We watched them playing, uninhibited in their natural state. They kicked
and splashed water at each other. They built a dam of rocks and battled
navies. They lay down and pretended to soldiers hiding in the jungle.

It was the first time that I had observed Alesha being the boy he was
supposed to be. And what a boy he was. His giggle was infectious, his
enthusiasm, his curiosity, his attention to Marco, all of it made me love
him all the more. Yes, he was highly talented as a dancer, but he was also
a child. With all the pressure to perfect his skill, he seldom had the
opportunity to be himself-an eleven-year-old boy. He glanced at me
frequently, almost as if reassuring himself that he had my unwavering
attention. Each time he smiled. In that simple act was all the proof I
needed. I decided right there and then to take every advantage of the time
we spent together. I would exercise more often and religiously follow the
Alesha diet if it meant that I had the privilege of being in his company.

Eventually, they tired of play and clambered up the bank to join Guido and
me where we sat. Alesha squatted down beside me, shameless in his natural
state. His skin was beaded with glistening drops of water, refreshingly
so. His scrotum had shriveled to a walnut and his penis was so small that I
almost wondered what had happened to it. In that pitiful dormant state it
seemed as if it would never be hot and hard again. It was as small as
Marco's tiny nubbin of boyhood. He shivered.

"You're cold, dear boy?"

"Now I am," Alesha answered. His teeth were close to chattering.  "The
water is colder than you think, Mr. B."

"Are you cold too, darling," Guido asked in Italian.

Marco nodded and Guido opened his arms wide. The little boy instantly took
his place in Guido's lap. A bear with an angel.  Alesha regarded me
shyly. I smiled and raised an eyebrow, and he smiled back encouragingly.
Any shame that previously had limited his actions with other people
present, had disappeared entirely over the last few days. A moment later he
had taken up a similar position with my arms wrapped around his body. I
held him tightly, rubbing my nose through wet strands of hair.

"You're so warm," he purred. "You feel so good."

"You should've gotten out sooner dear boy."

He giggled. I could tell he was happy. "You sound like my mother, Mr. B."

"Perhaps, but only because I care about you," I said quietly.

He snuggled closer and I stroked his back, rippling my fingers down his
cool-skinned spine. His head rested contentedly on my shoulder. Gradually,
his chill faded, replaced by warmth that seeped into my fingers. He was
sleepy, but that was only to be expected given that we'd risen very early
in order to make the long trip from Paris. I was glad the day was finally
drawing to a close, for then we would retire to the privacy of our chamber.
Would he sleep in bed with me? We slept together in Paris, but Martin had
thoughtfully provided a couch in the room we shared.

I looked around the glade. It was as private as any man could need, as
private as any bedroom could be. Would we take advantage of that privacy?
Marco was nuzzling Guido in a preliminary to something more intimate.
Alesha sighed contentedly from deep inside, seemingly blissfully unaware of
our companions.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked tenderly. I stroked his coltish
thigh, lingering as I came closer to his groin, then away again, all the
way back to his knee.

"Guess," Alesha said wistfully. He eased away to look back at me, his eyes
bright, his eyelids flickering. We were so very close, that for a moment I
had wondered whether he would say he loved me.

"Hm, how nice it is here?"

"Yes, mostly that. It's so quiet. Listen,... You can hear even the wind in
the trees and it's barely moving, Mr. B." He looked upward.

"Yes, you can," I agreed, listening more to the beating of my heart than
any sound overhead. Yet it was true, the music of the pines, rustling in
the afternoon zephyr of warm valley air rising higher.

"It's saying something,... about going away, but it isn't
goodbye,... because it never leaves for very long," Alesha mused pensively.

"And there's the stream babbling away. It's saying Mr.  B. is hugging
Alesha. Mr. B. is hugging Alesha." I increased the pressure of my hug to
prove the point.

He smiled shyly, glancing away to the stream, then back. His gaze was
arrested before he looked at me. "They're kissing," Alesha whispered.

"Yes, I know."

"Do you think it's strange?"

"What's strange?"

Alesha raised his eyebrows, then inclined his head towards our
companions. His fingers closed over mine, holding my hand prisoner. It was
a few inches away from his genitals.  He stroked the back of my hand with
his thumb.

"Because,... you know,... they're guys," he answered obliquely.

At least he hadn't thought it strange for a man to be kissing a boy, or
perhaps he did. It was simply his way of coming to grips with it.

"Oh, hm,... Do you?"

"You said I should never answer a question with a question," he reprimanded
coyly.

"Did I?" He gave me a stern look in response. Oh, how I loved those looks
of his. "Yes, I did, didn't I? Hm, well,... To answer your question,
Alesha, no I don't think it's strange.  It's definitely different, at least
compared to most people, of course. Strange? Hm,... not really, not if they
really like each other. And wrong, definitely not!" I added. Even though he
had not asked that, his question implied it.

"I know it isn't wrong, Mr. B." He paused. "What I was thinking, was, well
until now,... seeing them do it, I never would have wanted to make out with
someone else watching."

"Why not?"

"Because,... because,... well,... it's private,..."

His voice trailed off. His attention momentarily diverted. I looked in the
same direction. Guido had taken Marco completely into his lap, their arms
locked around each other, their heads so close together that it was
difficult to see what they were doing.  Seeing a naked boy reclining in the
arms of a fully clothed man , kissing as only lovers kiss, was intensely
arousing, yet it was in its way innocent and far from becoming overpowering
lust. It was, like our relationship, founded on love and respect despite
Guido's apparent lack of inhibition when it came to other boys.  Did he
even understand the meaning of the word, 'devotion'? Yet, what I could see
was more than enough to realize that their passion was increasing, as well
it should have. It was impossible not to be affected in that most romantic
of places.  The need for affection grew within me, my desire becoming more,
so much more than merely wanting to kiss the boy I loved.

"Alesha?" I said softly.

He slowly turned his eyes to meet mine, leaving the impression that my
thoughts were also his. Beautiful eyes, with pupils grown large in the
gloomy glade, eyes that opened into his soul.  Intelligent, happy
unwavering eyes that met mine and said that love between us was possible
even if the words were slow to come.  I saw the signs of desire even if his
penis remained shriveled from the chill of the water. His scrotum was still
wrinkled into the dark-skinned flattened walnut that one associates with
prepubescent boyhood. In a way, he wasn't completely male though that would
come in time.

He smiled nervously. "It's like a fairy tale, isn't it?' he said quietly.

"You're thinking of Beauty and the Beast," I posed cheerfully.

He returned an infectious grin. "Not that one,...  Actually, I was thinking
of something else. There's a story my mother used to tell me when I was
younger."

"What was it called?"

He giggled. "I don't remember. I forget most of it, but I still remember
some. I used to love the part about the unicorn and the dancing boy. The
unicorn lived in a place just like this and the boy was lost in the woods."

"Hm, a unicorn? That's all you remember?"

"It was about eight years ago," he said apologetically. "I remember there
was a woodcutter," Alesha added.

"What, a Ukrainian story about a woodcutter? Are you sure it wasn't a
Russian tale?" I asked, pretending surprise.  "All those pine trees
stretching from Moscow to Vladivostok?"

He smiled, appreciating my wry sense of humor. "I wasn't very old,
Mr. B... Momma used to tell me the story all the time,..." His hand clasped
mine and squeezed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing,... It's just that I remembered the last time she told me the
story. It was when we lived in Kiev. I remember we were visiting her
friend. He had a beautiful dacha and,...  you don't know about him. He was
a famous ballet dancer, in the Bolshoi?."  he explained.

He fell silent, remembering something that had happened, a dim memory to be
sure but something unpleasant from the way his eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh?" Immediately, I wondered if the man was Alesha's father, his mother's
benefactor. It was the logical explanation.

His vexed expression confirmed the tone of his voice.  He did not want to
talk about it anymore. I changed the topic, nudging Alesha to look towards
our companions.

"Now, that's what I call French kissing," I observed lightheartedly, if a
little envious of what I was seeing. "Even if they are Italians."

Alesha giggled. "It's just like the United Nations, Mr. B. See, right now
we have America, and Italy, and the Ukraine, all together in France."

"That's true, but we're not as useless as that blighted organization, I
hope," I commented dryly. Alesha regarded me, his eyes looking for
elaboration. "It's just that I've had the opportunity to know some of the
U.N. delegates over the years. Its inner workings leave a lot to be
desired, Alesha."

"How so?"

"Hm, too much politics for its own good, you might say."

That seemed to satisfy him, which was good because I did not intend to say
more. He glanced quickly at our friends, before turning his attention to
the stream once again. A frog croaked from among the rounded stones.
Something splashed. It was easy to imagine a pure-white unicorn carefully
picking its way to the edge to drink. And a dancing boy. It could only be
Alesha, naked of course, because he was a faun of the woods and fauns
always went naked when there were unicorns about.

I smiled.

"And what's so funny?"

"Hm, I'm afraid you'll laugh at me," I answered.

"Try me," Alesha insisted.

"I was thinking about your fairy tale. You were the dancing boy."

"That's why it's called a fairy story," Alesha remarked overtly.

The blunt way he said it caught me off guard.

"Does that bother you?" I asked quietly.

"Being gay?"

I nodded.

"I used to be afraid of how I felt," he said matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry."

"It isn't your fault. It's no one's fault. Anyway, I'm used to it
now. Momma says that just about every dancer is gay," Alesha explained for
my benefit, as if I didn't know.  "There's no reason why I should be any
different," he added simply.

"Just because you're a wonderful dancer doesn't mean that you're going to
be gay, Alesha," I countered without hesitation. What need was there for me
to keep on pretending, yet to do otherwise seemed tactless.  I had to hold
out the possibility of a normal life until he future was decided. "That's
like saying,... well that artists are more sensitive so they're gay."

"But I am," Alesha returned frankly. "I know it's nothing to be ashamed
of. It's just how I am."

"You're a very astute young man, Alesha." I smiled at him. His face showed
more concern than his words. It had to hard on him.

"What's wrong sweetie?"

"Nothing,... not really. See, Mr. B, I think that I've always known deep
down inside. Sometimes, even when I was little, when I was alone at night,
I would dream about kissing someone," he said softly, looking towards the
stream. "I've done it since I was really young."

"Your mom is very lucky."

"Not her,...." He swallowed to get the words out.  "It's always been a
man," he said softly. Again, he looked at me and then, after a moment, his
eyes edged away. "I've never,... I never wanted to,... not with a
girl. I've always liked,...  the idea of,... you know."

"Being with a man," I suggested gently.

He nodded. "I wanted to,... even if I didn't know what it meant."

"I understand. It was the same way for me."

"It was?" His voice lifted up a notch in curiosity.

"Yes," I replied. "I was about your age if I remember when I started to
realize why I liked boys more than girls. I was in my teens before anything
happened," I mused. "My mother didn't want me around when I was no longer
the cute little boy. I went to the same boarding school as Guido. It was in
Switzerland.  That was when I figured out what I was. All those beautiful
lonely boys.  There were so many to choose from."

Alesha giggled. "See, I didn't really ever think I wasn't gay, Mr.  B. I
think I've always known I was different, but I just didn't know what it
meant. What I'm getting to, well it was a few years ago,... I asked her why
some of the dancers we knew weren't married. I noticed they were always
together."

"Men dancers?"

He nodded slightly. "She told me that they were gay.  She didn't have to
tell me that because I already knew, but I didn't know."  He giggled
again. "I'm not making much sense am I?"

"On the contrary."

"I even knew that there was nothing wrong with being gay. It was just how
it was sometimes. Then, I asked her if I was that way and she said it was
too soon to tell. But I already knew, Mr. B. I was so sure of it. I said
so, and then she said that she expected that I would be, and it was just as
well. Even back then. I couldn't have been any older than six or seven when
that happened. It was like there wasn't any other option for me. I was
going to be gay and that's all there was to it. I used to think about what
it would be like to be held and kissed my a man,...  Mostly when I wondered
about how it would feel to be kissed by those men, my dick would get so
hard. At night, I would kiss my pillow and pretend."

"Lucky pillow."

He gave me a sardonic look. "Lucky nothing."

"How so?"

"Kissing my stupid pillow was nothing like it turned out to be.  For years
and years I thought the real thing would be the same."

"Is the real thing better or worse?"

"Better of course. You kiss back."

"I'm better than your pillow? Come on. I find that very hard to believe,
dear boy," I teased.

Alesha licked his lips, his eyes growing dreamy with tiredness and the
thoughts that grew inside him. After a few seconds, he smiled.  "You are
better, Mr. B,...."

"Better than a feather pillow?" I shook my head mockingly.

He smiled and nodded, playing along. "You are, trust me. Do you want me to
prove it?" he asked with boyish glee.

So mischievous, so utterly perfect, so much a boy who was curious about
what the world held in store for him. I felt myself teetering on the
edge. I nodded slightly. At that moment his thoughts were truly entwined
with my thoughts. It was if we had always been destined to come together
and share our lives. There had never been any options for me, either. For
as far back as I could remember, my thoughts had only been of other boys. I
always dreamed of boys at that magical age when childhood is fleeting, but
puberty had yet to descend and devastate the perfection of a boy.

"Hm,... Well I'd settle for being your pillow any day, but would you mind
if I really did kiss you, dear boy?" I asked emboldened.

Alesha nodded, his smile widening. Initiating sex was always easier if it
involved a game. "I'd love you to, Mr. B.  But only if it's French
kissing,... Because we are in France after all."

And so we kissed. It began as tender brushes of our lips, but the lesson
from earlier in the day had sunk in. Gone was the tentative inexperienced
boy. Instead, the lamb had become a lion. Kissing now meant lips and
tongue, and using skill, lots of skill.  Together, we possessed more skill
than Guido and Marco, more than any man and boy had ever known. My arms
tightened and I lifted him back onto my lap. His arms locked around my
neck. His lips were wet and brutal in their passion, but no less ardent
than mine as I sought to devour his perfect lips. I ravished his mouth,
then he took over, nibbling, then gnawing, then going deep as he put his
soft-slippery-slithering-tongue inside me. Then, with our hearts pounding
with urgent lust, we parted to regain our breath. His penis was stretched
out, not quite erect. He ignored it. So did I.  For a while we gazed at
each other. Just thinking.  Still not ready to share the most private
thoughts of all, or to exchange the most important words of all.

"I 'm glad," Alesha murmured.

"What about?" I whispered back.

"Everything,... mostly being here with you,... I'm suppose,... it really
isn't a dream or a fairy tale, but it feels like it must be. I never
thought of myself as being lucky, but I am. I think I'm the luckiest boy in
the world."

"You're lucky? No, I'm the lucky one," I countered cheerfully.

"Momma said if I was really lucky, I'd like you as well,... but it's more
than that?." Alesha whispered. His lips brushed my ear, his breath warm and
moist across my cheek.

I wasn't at all certain of what he said after that, but it sounded very
much like, 'I love you.' A moment later he jumped to his feet, his little
erection jutting proudly out from his body. He glanced down, smiled shyly,
and dragged against my hand to pull me to my feet.




ACT IX SCENE III



"Monsieur Beaufort, s'il vous plait?"

Alesha's teasing voice jerked me back to reality. By then, we'd been
walking beside the stream for several minutes, scrambling over tree-trunk
obstacles, hopping from one rock to another when the water stretched from
bank to bank, throwing small pebbles to scatter tiny silver fish. I had
never ventured so far upstream, but I was pleased that Alesha had suggested
going for a walk together. Despite the afternoon heat, I felt refreshed,
more alive and alert than I could remember feeling for some time. I put it
down to the 'Alesha effect', as I had taken to calling it. I assigned that
spirited sense of well-being as much to his regimen of diet and exercise,
as much as to the sheer joy that came from being in his company.

"Let's stop here for a while, Mr. B, " he added breathily.

It was out of character for Alesha to exhibit the slightest sign of
tiredness, but clearly he was worn ouy.  Instinctively, I glanced around,
as most men do when they are in the presence of a boy who they are
attracted to, especially when there is a hint of something in the offing
that demanded privacy. My heart lurched from guilt perhaps, or something
else? Was it merely his desire to be alone with me and free of the
distraction of our companions, or the possibility of what might transpire
as a result of relaxing our inhibitions? Not that Alesha could be less
inhibited for he was already naked and he had been like that for some time.

Yet, delightfully naked as he was, his earlier erection had quickly
faded. Now, his little penis dangled down and bounced off his slender
thighs. Surely, it was as flaccid as I had ever seen it. For Alesha, the
possibility of sex had become distant once again. He was un-aroused and in
a playful mood, fortunately perhaps because my desire challenged me
constantly with an erection that would not go away.

By then, Guido and Marco were some distance away, far enough that even if I
shouted at the top of my voice it was likely that they wouldn't hear me. We
were alone, together, barely inches apart in a secluded place. For no
reason other than Alesha's tone of voice, I stopped walking, still holding
Alesha's small hand, gently, because although it was bony strong, it was
delicately thin. Was there a reason why he wanted to stop here, next to an
exposed gnarled root that was covered in moss and tiny blue flowers?

"Yes, Alesha?"

He smiled warmly at me, meeting my eyes in silence for a long while.
Together, we let out a slow breath.

"Do you think unicorns would come here, Mr. B?" he whispered in awe.

"Perhaps. No,... make that more than likely."

There are but a few places that have such a mystical quality that one's
imagination can take flight. A place never touched by human hand, or very
nearly so. A place whose beauty is so intense that one cannot think of how
to describe it beyond a magical place where unicorns came to drink.

We gazed at each other in silence. Again, I was consumed by the feeling
that his eyes saw far more than he was prepared to acknowledge. What did he
see when he looked into my eyes? What I saw, or wanted to see, was his
utter devotion to me.  Did he see my addiction to him? There could be no
other boy in my life now that Alesha had come to me.

"You're a very beautiful boy, Alesha," I said deferentially.

Could he hear the awe, the outpouring of emotion that wanted to say 'I love
you', but which resorted to an affectionate tone and admiration because it
was still too soon to proclaim what my heart and mind wanted to shout
aloud? Why wasn't there a word more superlative than 'beautiful' for boys
like Alesha? He was perfect. It was true. However, I was in love with him.
So much in love that any imperfection, if there was any, was going to be
overlooked anyway. His eyes flickered and glanced away. It wasn't enough. I
needed to say more. I needed to tell him how much I loved him.

"Did I ever tell you how much I love the way the sun makes your hair
shine?" I dared say nothing more for fear of proclaiming the love that
burgeoned inside me.

Alesha shrugged, brushing away his hair nonchalantly, self- consciously
aware of himself, of the effect he had on someone else, on me especially,
yet he also delighted in my approval. What boy did not like to be told he
was beautiful, especially when he was standing in an enchanting glade?

"Mr. B, be serious," he remonstrated.

"Okay." I pretended to slap my cheeks as if inebriated, as if bringing
myself back to my senses.

That made him smile. It took a few moments for him to collect his thoughts
again. "Remember what we were talking about before?" he asked hesitantly.

"Hm,... you were telling me a fairytale about a unicorn and a dancing boy?"
I teased.

He grimaced in mock frustration and rolled his eyes in typical boy
fashion. "Not that. We were talking about sex, remember?"

"Ah yes?" I prompted. "We were talking about your mom telling you about the
gay birds and bees? Is there something else you want to know about? How
your penis becomes stiff, perhaps? Or why you have two balls instead of one
or three?"

"Mr. B!" Alesha protested again, shaking his head in scornful disbelief.

He stepped back and ambled a few paces, then stopped.  He used the toes of
his right foot to pick up a small pebble.  Then, with a quick graceful
kick, sent the pebble flying into the stream. His sense of balance was
remarkable. He glanced back at me, still poised on his left leg.

"Okay, out with it, young man!"

He smirked. "You know something, Mr. B? As far as I know, I'm the only
virgin left." He didn't sound proud or ashamed.  It was a statement of
fact, but obviously one that he'd been thinking about.

"At the chateau you mean?'

Alesha nodded. "None of the other boys are. They've all done it.  They've
all been doing it for a long while too. Even Marco and he's just turned
eight. And Chris too,... He's not that much older than I am."

"I think Chris is nearly thirteen now," I interjected.  "He looks a lot
younger than his age, but then so do you."

"So? It doesn't change anything. He told me he's been doing it with
Mr. Kaufman for almost two years now."

"Does it bother you? Being the only virgin?"

Alesha tried to pick up another stone, this time larger, but his toes
couldn't get around it. He settled for another pebble. He delivered it into
the stream with flair.

"We could fix that very quickly, if you wanted to, Alesha," I added
suggestively. What was I thinking to even suggest it?

"You mean do it here? Now, Mr. B?" he asked nervously.

I smiled reassuringly. I couldn't stop myself. I could not think of a more
appropriate place for a boy to lose his innocence. My heart began to beat
faster at the thought.

"Yes. If you wanted to, Alesha? Other than it might hurt somewhat, it isn't
all that hard to do," I said with candid honesty. "It'll take a few
minutes, but afterwards you'll be like them," I added facetiously.

"Will it hurt a lot?" he asked uneasily.

"Hm, let me put it this way. Did it hurt earlier, when I licked you there?"

Alesha smirked. "Of course not, Mr. B. But that was your tongue."  He
paused. "When you did it to Martin the first time, did it hurt him?"

"I seem to remember he was sore for a while, a few days at most, but you're
not Martin. He was older and quite a bit bigger than you, Alesha," I said
quietly.

"Marco said it hurt a lot when Guido did it to him the first time.  He's
small like me."

He didn't sound at all happy about that. I wondered whether Marco had
exaggerated, because he was prone to, or whether Guido had been too hasty
with him. He did tend towards being impulsive when it came to boys and sex.

Alesha resumed a two-footed stance and I walked over to him. I caressed his
hair. It was already dried out, if clumped into unruly strands.

"I'll never hurt you that way, Alesha. I'm not like that. If and when the
time comes for us to do that, I promise you'll be ready for it."

"How?"

"I have a few tricks up my sleeve." I winked. "You'll have to trust me on
that, I'm afraid."

"Like using a butt-plug?" he asked boldly.

"Now, where on earth did you learn about that?"

"Where do you think?" Alesha replied smartly. He shook his head,
grinning. "So when am I going to get one?"

"When?" I sighed. "When I think you're good and ready, and not before. You
know what it's used for, don't you?"

"A butt-plug? Of course, I do. Boys like me have to use one to make their
holes bigger. Then you can put it inside without hurting me."

"Your mother told you that?" I mocked.

He smirked and shook his head. "Hardly. The other boys, of course."

"Have you even seen one?" I asked, remembering what was in my pocket.

Alesha nodded his head unconvincingly. "Only the end of it. I touched
Ramon's. He didn't want to take it out because it was hard for him to put
back in by himself. He said he'd show it to me again when I got back from
Paris,"

"Well, that's a few months away. If you must know, this is one," I said, as
I removed it and held it out for Alesha to see.

He smirked, not saying anything as his eyes examined the unlikely shape in
my hand.

"It's not very big," he observed.

"Trust me, it's as big as it needs to be."

He giggled softly, although I couldn't see what was amusing. I couldn't
understand why some men used adult-sized plugs with boys when the main
pleasure to be had from having sex with a boy occurred because of the
tightness. The important thing was not to cause a boy unnecessary pain or
damage the rectum. The sphincter muscle was remarkably resilient, but it
needed to be treated carefully.

"Why does it have strings on it?" Alesha asked.

He was referring to the three silk cords that were secured to the knobbed
end. At one time, the cords had been white, but they had aged to become
brown.

"To hold it inside you," I explained. "You wouldn't want it to slip out if
you were walking down the street, would you?"

He grinned and shook his head. Suddenly, the grin became a giggle.  "You're
not joking, are you Mr. B? You really do tie it in place and wear it
around?"

"Yes, if you want to. The longer it stays there, the more used to it you
become. Eventually, you'll forget it's there.  This is about the right size
for you. You wouldn't want anything bigger, that's for certain. This one,
because of how it's shaped, will strengthen the inside of your body and get
you used to being stretched without making your anus too loose."

He shrugged, not really believing that was possible, but not willing to
dispute the point further. "I thought they were made of plastic or
something," he observed as much to himself as me.

"Most of them are, Alesha. This one's old so made of ivory."

"I know."

I returned a questioning glance by lifting an eyebrow.  Alesha
smiled. "I've seen something that's just like it in a museum in Rhode
Island. Actually, it was a knife handle. It didn't have the sex stuff on
it, but other than that,... "

"You'd look pretty funny with a knife sticking out your butt."

We both laughed.

Suddenly, a piece of a jigsaw dropped into place. It was a small world.

"Ah,... So you went to Newport with your mother last year. You did, didn't
you?" I asked still deep in thought, yet grateful for the chance to change
the subject.

The Ballet Company had made up the East Coast at the end of the previous
season. Of course, it was entirely logical that Alesha had gone with his
mother. He could hardly stay in New York by himself and there were plenty
of spare seats on the bus. A thought lingered, dwelling on something I'd
seen a year earlier, but for some reason, I could not decide what was at
the back of my mind. I had been a guest of the Vanderleigh's at the time,
staying for the week at their magnificent summer home on the sea shore. I
returned their generosity by taking the family to see a well-choreographed
ballet performance. However, it wasn't the splendid meals I'd eaten or the
spectacular views that I remembered.  Instead, it was a boy, a very
beautiful, very talented boy.

"You were there,... in Newport, weren't you," I murmured. "I remember
now. You even danced. How could I forget? All this time with you and not
remember that?"

Alesha nodded gleefully.

How could I have forgotten? That superb slender boy who had danced the part
of the young orphaned chimney sweep. I laughed, feeling a sense of relief
that I had finally met the boy who had captured my interest for all of
three minutes while he was on stage. However, for a man who loved boys, it
was a very memorable three minutes.  The company had performed one of my
favorite modern ballets.  Favorite, simply because it was one of the few
ballets, classical or modern, that had a part for a boy. At the time, I had
assumed that the young dancer had been selected from the local company.
Still, all through that night's performance, I entertained the notion of
meeting the delightful boy. Had it not been for my hosts' three daughters
being sleepy, I would have gone backstage and tried to find out where he
was. In the program, the dancer's name was listed as 'Randolph Hart'. I
fantasized about meeting Randolph Hart for the rest of the time that I was
in Newport.

"You were wonderful," I said in awe.

"You didn't know it was me, did you Mr. B?" Alesha asked smugly.

"You had nearly black hair at the time, and you face was covered in soot. I
never would have recognized you." I smiled.  "Never in a million
years. However, I must say, I was very impressed by your dancing."

"Don't be silly, Mr. B. I was okay, that's all. I didn't have much chance
to practice. I wasn't even supposed to be there. It was an accident I even
managed to get the part."

"Why?"

He leaned back against me and I embraced him as I was supposed to.  "The
other boy,..."

"Randolph Hart," I interjected.

"How do you know his name?"

"I always make a point of remembering the names of boys I fall in love
with," I said honestly, but in a manner which sounded flippant.

Alesha returned a quizzical expression. I was glad he didn't ask me to
explain.

"So what happened to young Mr. Hart?" I asked.

"He came down with appendicitis the day before we arrived at Newport,"
Alesha answered. He sounded positively happy about it.

"That was unfortunate."

Alesha glanced at me to see if I was serious. He smiled ever so slightly.
It was just enough to show that he had been very pleased at the time, even
if he wasn't able to say so.

"There wasn't an understudy and no one was available to take his place,..."
His smile widened. "I was there with nothing to do, and I was the only
person who was the right size so I was given the part. I only had the
morning and afternoon to practice. I was lucky that it's not that hard a
part. Most of the time it's about cleaning the chimney so how hard can it
be. There were only a few dozen steps that I had to practice."

"I'm sure the Hart boy couldn't have danced it half as well as you did even
if he'd practiced for a year. You were wonderful," I commented, thinking
back. The truth was that I had enjoyed several days of frenzied
masturbation, pretending I was having sex with Randolph Hart. Randy Hart,
if ever there was a name to fantasize over, that was one. And all the while
it was Alesha Yaroshenko who I had been infatuated with? Surely, it was
fate that had finally brought us together?

Alesha shrugged absently and glanced away. He was always strange when it
came to being complimented on his dancing.  Sometimes, it was almost as if
he disliked being praised. Neither of us spoke for a long while.

Alesha took a deep breath. Something was weighing heavily on him.  Then,
without warning, he giggled. "Mr. Beeee?"

When he used that tone of voice and said my name like that it usually meant
that he wanted something.

 "Yes, dear boy."

"Did you happen to see what Chris had in his ear?" he asked mischievously.

"Hm,..." I pretended ignorance. Alesha was very observant, but the diamond
stud in Chris' ear was so large that it was impossible not to notice it.

"He has his ears pierced."

"Both of them?" I pretended ignorance.

Alesha nodded. "Did you see the diamond he was wearing?" he asked
apprehensively, perhaps because if I had not seen it, it would have sounded
like he was exaggerating about its size.

"Yes, actually I did," I admitted. "It's probably worth a small fortune."

"He has two of them you know," Alesha remarked bluntly.

"Yes, well I suppose having a matched pair would make sense, otherwise his
head would be lopsided from all the weight on one side."

Alesha giggled. "Do you think it looks nice?" he asked anxiously.

"Nice?" I pretended to think about. "I suppose so. It might not suit some
boys though."

"Do you think I'd look good with my ear pierced?"

He was too shy to press the point home. He wanted something similar. What
boy would not if he was concerned about his appearance. Of course, Alesha
would never ask outright, but giving hints was a different matter.

"You? I've never really thought about it," I teased.  "I'm not that keen on
boys wearing jewelry, but it rather depends on the boy, I think," I added,
taking delight in the glum look on his face with perverse pleasure. I would
enjoy surprising him.

 "So it's made from an elephant's tusk then?" he asked softly, changing the
topic back to something he seemed to be very interested in.

"Elephant?.... Oh, this?" It was still in my hand. It was warm and smooth,
shaped so much like a penis that it was reassuring in its own way. I had
quite forgotten I was still holding it.


"Duh?" Alesha smirked.

"This? I don't think so. Well, it might be, because it is ivory, Alesha,
but more than likely it's made from a walrus tusk," I continued. "Going by
the scrimshaw,... the carving on it. See, the designs on the sides."

I pointed with my finger at the rounded ends. Not all of the incised
sketches were pornographic. There was one small drawing of a four-masted
sailing ship.

"It's not at all like Ramona's, Mr. B."

I raised my eyebrows and was greeted by an Alesha smile, vaguely sardonic
yet teasing.

"His is the only one I've seen and it looked a lot different."  Alesha
admitted as he leaned forward to examine it carefully. "His was shiny and
smooth. It's plastic, I think."

"That's quite likely. Most of them are plastic. This one is a few hundred
years old or so, I imagine," I explained.

"It looks just like an old-fashioned sailing ship, Mr.  B. See the masts?"
He pointed at the tiny drawing. "It's yellow too, like it's really old."

"Exactly. I expect it was made by a sailor on a whaling ship."

"For his cabin boy?" Alesha giggled.

"More than likely for the Captain's cabin boy," I returned.  "Perhaps an
eleven-year-old cabin boy with blond hair and a cute little bottom needing
to be stretched a bit."

"Like me?"

"I expect so," I said good-humoredly.

Alesha smirked. "Um,..."

"Yes?"

"Do you think,... Well,... like we pretended I was a girl
today,... um,... could we pretend I was a cabin boy?"

He was suddenly very nervous. He was excited too.

"Meaning?"

Alesha shrugged nonchalantly, or attempting to do so, but his eyes remained
on the small ivory carving. It was polished to a low sheen in the narrow
middle. It wasn't hard to figure out why. It hadn't taken Martin very long
to discover what it felt like if he moved it in and out.

"You'd like to try it?" I asked softly. I already knew his answer.

"You don't think I should?" He was afraid, but what boy would not be the
first time. Even Martin had the jitters when I inserted it the first time,
and he was well-used to anal sex by then.

"It's entirely your decision, Alesha,... but what makes you think it's for
you to use?" I teased.

He grinned and confidently shook his head, tossing his blond hair from side
to side. "Because you have it with you,...  and you wouldn't have it
otherwise, Mr. B," he said sassily.  "There's another reason too."

"Which is?"

He gave me a 'wouldn't you like to know look.' We both knew what it
meant. Part of me was glad that there were some things that didn't have to
be put into words. How would he have phrased it?  'That I wanted to fuck
him'? I gulped at the idea. It was undeniably true. I had come so close
earlier in the day that I had barely been able to think of anything
else. After putting my tongue inside him, it was the logical thing to do
next. It would have been difficult without the proper lubricant, but I'd
used saliva on other occasions. I could make do if I was careful. I would
have too, except that Martin had been watching us from the doorway to the
Chinese Bedroom. Some things demanded privacy. A boy's first was one of
those things.

"Indeed, Martin is right. I've certainly got my hands full with you," I
laughed. "Yes, it's for you."

"So I can use it if I want?"

Was it my imagination or was Alesha's voice trembling, so nervous with
excitement that he verged on shaking? He stared at the object in my
hand. It was all I could do to nod.

"It used to belong to Martin, didn't it?" He was whispering, quivering,
knowing my answer even before I spoke.

Instead. I nodded again. His tongue caressed his lips, barely touching,
tantalizing. My tongue had touched the lips of his anus the same way
earlier in the day, tasting him for the first time.  It was a taste unlike
anything I had ever known. Just slightly acrid, yet refreshing. After that,
I had not been gentle with him.  Once that strangely enjoyable taste had
faded, my tongue had assaulted him, all but raping him, and he had loved
it. A sudden glow ran through me.

"He used it too, didn't he?? You put it inside him?"  Alesha murmured.

Again, I nodded.

"Did it make him,... you know,..." He giggled awkwardly. He searched for
the right word. "Bigger?"

"Yes, I think so, after a while at least. I seem to remember he got to be
quite a bit bigger back there. I'm not sure it was because of this,
though." I thought the reason was obvious so I didn't elaborate.

"Big enough for it not to hurt?"

Had Martin really needed to be bigger there? I could still remember the
tightness of the hot and oozing tube that gave both of us more pleasure
than seemed humanly possible.  After I was done, he was always eager for
more. He said he enjoyed the feelings of having it inside him, of having
the pressure still buried deep inside him even when my penis was safely
behind my trousers. I nodded.

"Can we put it in now?"

There, it was said aloud! Alesha's eyes flickered, blinking the way he did
when he was anxious or tense, or worried about something. Still, he looked
at the milky object, curious about the satin smoothness, the shape and
size, yet understanding far more of its purpose than a boy should have
understood at his age. Day by day he was being relieved of his innocence,
however, like Martin, he had grown up aware that he was gay. For that
reason he accepted where it would go, and why.

"Are you sure?"

"Will it hurt?" he asked in a rush.

"Did my tongue hurt?" I reminded him.

He shook his head suddenly, breathing through his mouth as he inhaled,
shocked at the memory, dwelling on thoughts that were hidden from me.

"I expect it will feel a bit sore for the first couple of minutes.  It'll
feel tight too until you get used to having it inside you.  Then, it will
feel good," I added quickly.

"Let's,..." Alesha said, glancing around to make sure we really were alone.

"Right now?"

He nodded. A moment passed as we gazed into each other's eyes. It was
understood by both of us that doing this was the necessary prerequisite to
doing something else. It was something we had to do, and this was the place
to do it. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply. His chest rose, fell,
his eyes sparkling with life, with desire.

"I don't want to be the only virgin, Mr. B.," he said softly.

"Then we'll have to get you ready, won't we Alesha?" I muttered nervously.

Alesha stepped back and slowly turned around so that his back was to me. He
bent forward at the waist, placing his hands on his buttocks to split them
even further apart, parodying a boy offering himself to a man. It was
enough to make me laugh.

"Not like that," I said, gently fondling his hands where they clenched his
buttocks and made his knuckles white.  "You need to relax."

With that, I took one hand away and straightened him up, then led him a few
paces to a moss-covered tree trunk. It was at the ideal height, several
inches below his hips. I drew him to me, nuzzling his hair as my hands
stroked his muscled narrow back, flowed down his lean flanks, onto the bony
ridges of his hips, then slowly back until his small cheeks filled both of
my palms.  My fingers pressed between the firm rounded flesh, parting the
crevice, imagining my sex bulging into the warm groove, seeking entry into
his hot hidden place. Alesha's arms tightened around my waist, his face
pressing into my chest. No doubt he could feel the ivory plug dangling from
its silk strings, tapping lightly against his thighs as it swayed to and
fro behind him.

Without incitement from me, Alesha's head tilted back.  His eyes closed.
His lips pursed, readying. I kissed him tenderly, allowing my lips to
nibble on his, aware that his tongue was insistent in its effort to
penetrate behind my teeth.  He was turning into a very accomplished kisser.

When the kiss ended I eased him away and caressed his cheek. He was hot,
almost feverish. His penis was hard. His breathing was slow but it was from
deep inside his chest, which was only to be expected since he had been
trained almost from the day he was born to get the most from each
lungful. He watched me closely, tilting his head slightly to show his
curiosity. I expelled a copious quantity of foamy saliva onto the fingers
of my right hand. Then, with my left hand clasped around his back, I drew
him back into my embrace. My right hand lowered to his bottom, transferring
the slippery wetness immediately to his crevice, wiping my fingers back and
forth along his crack. I easily located the dimple of his anus and I probed
inward, rubbing around the rim before poking into it. His anus felt firm,
yet rubbery. It was strong and tightly closed, just the way it was supposed
to be.  A virgin boy was always like that. He sighed then leaned forward
and kissed me again, once more offering his tongue, but this time easily
taking possession of my mouth.

I thought only of how appropriate this was, how absolutely special,
wonderful, and unforgettable. Then, how perfect the place was for what we
were doing, how beautiful Alesha was, how much I loved him. It quite took
me by surprise when I realized that my forefinger had penetrated. Indeed,
my finger filled his anus. It was buried several inches inside him, second
joint deep, far enough that the preliminary work was essentially done. I
could press against his prostate with little additional effort on my
part. It seemed to have simply slid right in by itself. I had no memory of
doing it. He had known how to push out. His instinct was strong, but a lot
of gay boys were like that. And then he tensed up, giving the sensation
that he was trying to reject it. A moment passed before I realized that the
grip was inward rather than outward, that he was endeavoring to draw my
finger even deeper.  What would I have given then for Vaseline, anything
slippery to ease the way further into his depths?

He sighed again, no longer kissing, simply relaxing in my arms, pressing
his silky head into my chest. His anus tightened again, instinctively
responding to the strange stimulation.  His pelvis moved simultaneously,
thrusting abruptly back against my hand.  His penis stabbed into my
thigh. I wriggled my finger and he gasped, sucking in air.

"Yes, I think you're ready to try it," I said softly.

Alesha merely nodded his head, acquiescing to what we both took for
granted. I withdrew my finger carefully, slowly easing it through the tight
opening. It was not unlike extracting a cork.  With giving it a second
thought, I drooled more saliva onto my fingers, transferred it back to his
bottom, smeared it into his crack again.

Surely he could feel my fingers locating his opening, guiding the
unyielding hardness of the blunt-nosed ivory between his cheeks, the
bulging pressure where I placed it between his buttocks and moved it around
slowly until it was centered over the target?  Surely, he knew where it was
going to go, what I was going to do with it? Yet, he didn't budge. However,
my hand trembled at the moment of contact. Be patient. Don't rush it. Take
your time.

"Are you going to put it in now?"

"Just relax," I crooned in his ear. "Not right away. I want you to get used
to the idea of it," I explained as I gently rubbed the tip into his
anus. "It feels a bit bigger already, doesn't it?"

"Yessss," Alesha hissed. He took a deep breath and pressed back against the
end of the ivory stake. I held it steady.  He was testing himself,
accustoming himself to the idea.  "Will it really go inside me?" he asked
nervously.

"Yes,... It will if we want it to," I said quietly.

"It's big." He was having second thoughts as the stretching began.

"Yes it is," I agreed. Maybe it was too big.

"Your cock is a lot bigger." Suddenly, he sounded anxious, yet there was no
doubt in my mind that he was interested in extending the discussion from
theory into practice, of trying to get it at least a little way inside his
bottom.

"Yes, I know."

"It feels funny."

"But nice right?"

"Yes." Judging by his tentative hesitation, he was not as certain as his
single word suggested.

"It doesn't hurt too much, does it?"

He shook his head slightly. "No! It feels strange.  Ramon said that it
feels like,...."

His voice trailed off and he avoided my glance. It seemed as if he was
embarrassed by whatever Ramon had said.

"What does it feel like?" I asked pleasantly.

It pleased me to see him self-conscious when it came to matters of sex. Too
often, homosexuals were very overt, blatantly

communicating and acting on their desires. Many of the boys who frequented
Appleboys were the same way, as if they were preprogrammed for infidelity.
In my opinion some shyness was a good thing for a boy like Alesha, although
I would never want to see him humiliated by being different the way that I
had been at his age.

"He said,...." He took another deep breath, letting it out slowly.  Pushing
back just a little bit harder. "When it goes in,..."  Alesha giggled
bashfully.

Of course, there was only one thing that Alesha and Ramon could have been
talking about. It was how every boy described the experience of anal
sex. It was entirely accurate.

He met my eyes. "It's like pooping in reverse," he finished with a smirk.
He waited for my response. Did he expect me to be shocked?

"That sounds about right to me," I said.

"He said it really doesn't hurt very much after the first few times,"
Alesha finished in a rush.

"There's some truth to that," I admitted. I stroked his buttocks.  "With
luck, you'll get used to it quickly. After a while you might even look
forward to it."

"It feels nice," Alesha murmured as much to himself as to me.

I moved the tip around, rotating and pushing in as hard as I dared before
backing off and making another circle. Alesha's hips pressed into me for a
second or two. Then, he pushed back deliberately. I held the ivory shaft
firmly, letting him strain against it. He whimpered as the pressure
increased.  After a moment he eased back, breathing in.

"Gently," I cautioned. "Don't try to take too much at first."

"It's so big, Mr. B."

"I know, Alesha." If he really wanted to do this then he would not stop
until he succeeded. I stroked his bare back, slowly moving my hand
downward. "Alesha, the thing is you have to be patient and not force it
in. Otherwise you could hurt yourself."

He nodded, then breathing deeply as he readied himself to try again.

The sunlight dappled his bare body. Standing before me, I was struck by his
small size. His waist seemed so narrow than I thought I could enclose him
with both of my hands without squeezing. His hips were bony and prominent,
yet he was as lithe and graceful as a feline. My thumb caressed his petite
muscular bottom, following the curvature of the smooth cheeks until they
flowed into his crevice. I was unable to avoid making the comparison with
the thick ivory shaft that I continued to hold in my other hand. It was
much too big. It would be like sitting him on the top of a picket fence.

I'd always thought that there were some boys who were naturally inclined to
anal sex, but perhaps it was wishful thinking on my part. It was true that
most boys were of the take it or leave mentality, or not under any
circumstance, but there were always the exceptions. They were the boys who
made life worth living for men like me. I had seen lots of them on the
beaches of Mexico and Spain, and not only the young prostitutes who
frequented such places. Wherever I went, there were always a few boys to be
found who enjoyed having sex with men.

Even at eleven years old, Alesha was showing clear signs that he was of the
variety who would willingly engage in anal pleasures given the opportunity.
And what an opportunity it would be, I thought. He had a waist that any
girl would have been proud of, his slim body seeming to defy the very
possibility of taking a man's penis inside him, yet from his every motion,
from everything he said, I knew that he would be very interested in doing
it when the right opportunity presented itself.

Indeed, it occurred to me, as we stood there in that enchanting glade, that
time was rapidly approaching. He constantly wriggled against it, testing
the limits of his virgin body with every squirming movement. My hand
trembled from simply knowing that he was eager to do it. It would happen,
we both knew it would. It was just a matter of time. I could only hope that
I was the lucky person who received the gift of his virginity.

"Try to relax back there, Alesha," I counseled softly after the fifth or
sixth attempt.

"I'm supposed to push out, aren't I?"

"Yes, do that. Just don't try to force it in."

He groaned almost with relief. "Okay,... I'll try to relax, but you have to
take over. You need to push harder."

I laughed and playfully squeezed his buttocks. The ivory had achieved
little headway despite his persistent effort.


"You realize if it was easy, you wouldn't be a virgin any more."

"Huh?"

"I would have finished you off in the Chinese room today, dear boy. I would
have skewered your little rump, with or without Martin being there. You
know that, don't you?"

Alesha giggled. "I bet there are worse places to get your butt fucked for
the first time, Mr. B."

"I'm sure there are," I rejoined, absorbed as much by his zeal as by vulgar
words that seemed so appropriate to describe the act of anal sex.

Indeed, I could think of many worse places for him to lose his virginity
than the glade we were standing in. I thought of the boys who I had enjoyed
intercourse with over the years. Once I was grown up most of them stayed
with me in hotel rooms, and on more than one occasion, on the back seat of
a car. Of all of them, I could be certain that only one boy had been a
virgin.  And then there was Alesha Yaroshenko. Could I do that to him?
Perhaps,...  For a few all-too-brief seconds, I dared to dream, imaging. It
was the only act for which the first time was of significance for the rest
of one's life. There could be no better place to make love to Alesha,
surrounded by such beauty that I was lost for words, here with this
stunning naked boy,... Saliva might be enough if I was careful. He would be
tight, but if I was careful,....

Suddenly, the inappropriateness of what I was doing struck home.  This was
Alesha, my Alesha, not some boy in a hotel room.

"There's no hurry to do this," I said quietly.

Guilt rose up inside me, overwhelming my lust. He was small, too small, too
precious to injure with the ivory stake that I held in my clumsy hand, or
worse, that crude male stake between my legs.

"Alesha,... despite what the other boys say, and what you might think,
having sex with me or an other man is not a race I'm interested in seeing
you win."

"Huh?"

I lifted the end of the ivory away, unable to continue. From his hurt
expression, I could tell that he did not understand.

I turned away, unable to meet his eyes, and shook my head. How could I even
consider doing that to him?

"I can't do it. I'm sorry but that's the way it is.  I'm giving this back
to Martin, when we return."

"Why?" The tone of his voice said that his excitement was changing to
rejection. "Why not? I want to,... I really want to."

"You won't be able to dance," I muttered, "Not afterwards." I stared at the
thing in my hand. It was thick, but it wasn't as thick as my penis.
Although he never once complained, Martin stopped playing soccer when he
started having sex with me. I could never use the ivory dildo on Alesha if
it meant that he would stop dancing. He lived to dance.

"Mr. B? Please?"

"Alesha,..." I shook my head. I could not stand to look him in the eye. His
expression was crestfallen, to say the least.  "We'd better be getting back
or we'll be late for dinner," I said tonelessly.


Intermission