Date: Sun, 9 Sep 2007 22:18:56 -0700 (PDT) From: Mark Adams Subject: Temptation of Adam - Chapter 1 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Temptation of Adam ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Disclaimer ------------------------------------------------------------------------ This story is a work of fiction. It contains sexual content between underage and adult males which may be inappropriate or illegal where you live. I do not condone the actions or choices of the fictional characters contained within this story. If you are offended by this or if it is illegal where you live, please go no further. Why would you? As several authors have done the same, I feel it necessary to inform you that by 'fiction' I mean these events did not take place. I doubt they could. I don't believe they should. Any resemblance to any person is entirely coincidental. Know why? Because it is fiction. Oh, one other thing. This story is probably technically copyrighted, but I could really care less what you do with it. Use as you see fit. Claim it as your own if you find it worthy. Sell it, earn a million dollars with it and I'll congratulate your ingenuity... A few thoughts before I begin: 1. This short story is my first attempt at writing fiction outside a classroom. Well, it's actually my second but I have a much longer mega-story which seems to have taken on a life of its own and it has became a labor of love (and hate). Since it seems I won't be able to finish the *real* story I wanted to write any time soon, I decided to take a first 'whack' at it (pun intended) with a shorter story. So this is actually my first attempt at *publishing* any sort of fictional story. We'll see how this goes... 2. I am not seeking feedback (positive or negative) and will not respond to any emails sent. I'm not seeking to form any relationships. This is only therapy for myself. Of course, I do hope someone out there reading this will get something out it (besides an orgasm) or I wouldn't have published it. But I don't really need to know that for this work to have achieved its goal. 3. Finally, although I have perfectionist tendencies, I don't really care if you find a typo or an error in this story. I tend to be overly wordy and overuse commas, ellipsis, and parenthesis. But you'll just have to deal with that on your own... I expect my stories will almost certainly be painfully slow at times, as life often is. But it's the kind of story I enjoy reading, so I hope this first/second attempt is somewhere in the middle... Temptation of Adam - Chapter 1 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ By 1994, at the young age of 23, I had already achieved a couple of my life goals. I had been moderately successful in acquiring a few rental properties since I was 20, earning me an above average income-- especially for my age. I was just finishing up my Bachelor's degree in architecture, and my income was more than enough to just pay for school expenses. It also provided me with a comfortable home in the Northeast Heights of Albuquerque, New Mexico near Manzano High School. It was about 20 years old when I purchased it and it had been a tract home at one point. About half of the homes in my area had been renovated, expanded, and most were in the Southwestern Pueblo style I've only seen in New Mexico and Arizona. So I thought it would be a good area to purchase a home and renovate it like the others, which I did when I was a junior in college. I'd also built a fairly nice physique, owing to my fascination with bodybuilding since I hit puberty back in the early 1980s. From about 13 to 15 years old, I wanted to be a professional bodybuilder, but I guess I was too dense to realize steroids were required to be a professional 'Mr. Olympia' type. That turned out fine because I eventually lost interest in pursuing bodybuilding professionally before I was 16 but my passion for weightlifting and attention to diet had become a part of my routine and the result was nicely chiseled body without any of the steroid side effects. One thing I hadn't accomplished, however, was to find love. Not that I was in a panic or anything. I had only had two girlfriends by the time I graduated from high school, but they were very short-lived and uninspiring for all parties, I'm sure. I'd only kissed one of them once, and it did nothing for me. It was like kissing a sister. Unlike stories I've heard and read, nobody ever gave me grief about my lack of interest in girls and nobody ever asked me if I was gay. I certainly acted (and felt) like a normal American boy, interested in sports and such. I had pondered my sexuality throughout the years, of course, but never really dwelled on it. I just hadn't met the right girl. And despite the fact that I typically thought of my friends when I masturbated was just because I tended to have a few, very close emotional friendships. Isn't the human mind amazing? But as I drew closer to graduating, I decided not to pursue my Master's degree or architecture as a career and instead focus on income properties. I had just recently finished the renovations on my own home, school was ending in May, and I guess it was only natural that I started feeling like something was missing, like I needed to find a wife and start a family. I just didn't know where to begin. I figured I'd get around to joining a singles group at church when I graduated. But something happened in early May that threw a wrench into my plans... *** One Saturday, I was at home in my living room watching TV while putting the finishing touches on a homework assignment when the doorbell rang. I lived about a two miles from my parents and, since I wasn't expecting anyone, I figured it must be my mother-- she never calls before coming over which tends to piss me off for some reason. I got up, stretched a bit, and padded over to the door in my bare feet. I opened the door and saw a child, perhaps 9 or 10 years old, holding a gray tabby cat in his arms. The kid was dressed in shabby jeans with holes in the knees and a somewhat dingy white tee shirt. The boy wasn't completely filthy, like a homeless person, but he definitely could use a bath. His hair was a unique color I've only seen on children who were half Hispanic and half Anglo-- a sort of medium brown with blond hairs throughout. Not quite medium brown and not quite blond. I think you could only understand what I'm talking about it you saw it for yourself. He looked up at me and I noticed his powder-blue eyes seemed unusual for two reasons. First, he was obviously half Mexican and blue eyes weren't a dominant trait. And second, his eyes seemed to belong to someone much older and wiser. Do you know what I mean? Sometimes, you can look into someone's eyes and you just know they have seen a lot of the world. But on a child, they almost looked out of place. If, as they say, the eyes are the window to the soul, this child's soul was old. I wasn't sure the boy was from the lower income housing that was a ways down the street. There were a few apartment buildings, closer to the high school, which were completely out of place with the rest of the neighborhood and, in fact, with much of that part of Albuquerque. These apartments which lined Lomas Boulevard were not full of criminals and drug addicts at the time (though that has changed somewhat since then), but with single mothers or other lower income families seeking to live in one of the better high school districts in town. In other words, the apartments were an eyesore but the people living in them were at least trying to better their lot in life. So the boy's scruffy appearance was entirely out of place with that part of town. Where did he come from? "Hey mister," he began, breaking me from my thoughts, and tossing his head to shake his medium length bangs from his eyes. "Do you want to buy a cat?" Upon asking the question, he looked deep into my eyes and raised his thin eyebrows in a way that asked "I know you probably don't, but would you?" I chuckled because the whole situation seemed a little weird. Door to door sales are just plain irritating and I don't know of anyone who's ever bought something from someone knocking on their door uninvited. But this, I suppose, was not really irritating, but interesting. This was not a salesman, but a salesboy and he wasn't selling vacuum cleaners or encyclopedias, but selling (apparently) a full grown cat. Was I on candid camera? I took a step out the door and looked around to see if anyone was looking. I lived on the corner of two streets, my door facing a seldom used side street that headed to a central neighborhood park. Looking back toward him, I asked "You're selling a cat?" I paused and then asked "Is that even your cat?" "Umm... never mind," he answered, seeming embarrassed and breaking eye contact with me at that point. He took a couple steps backward on my front porch and began to turn away. In profile, I now noticed his beautiful, small nose, extremely long eyelashes, and somewhat small ears. As my eyes scanned lower, I also noticed his sockless toes pushing through the front of his tattered shoes. And my heart lurched. As my eyes moved upward, I saw he was extremely thin and as he turned completely around, facing away from me, I noticed his ragged jeans were so tight it was if they were painted onto backside. If they hadn't had that expandable, elastic waist he probably couldn't have buttoned them. As he took the two steps down my front stoop, I heard myself say "Hang on a sec. I didn't mean to be rude." He paused and turned back around, looking even smaller than he actually was, clutching the cat close to him and gently rubbing his chin on the cat's head. I noticed that although he was holding the cat close, it wasn't trying to get away. In fact, it seemed quite content to be held and carried by this boy. I never particularly liked cats, but I know enough about them to know the cat wasn't being held captive. He just stood there, looking at me questioningly. "It's alright," he said. I can tell you don't want the cat." "Well, I don't really need a cat," I said, and it sounded even to me as if I were justifying myself. "But I still wanted to apologize for being rude." "It's ok. Thanks anyway, mister." "Why are you selling the cat?" I inquired, curious about his situation and finding myself trying to delay his departure. "Well," he began and then paused for some time, and I could see his eyes start to mist up a bit. "I can't afford to get her any food," he said and a single tear popped out of his right eye and ran down his flushed cheek. And my heart melted. "I'm trying to find her a nice home and you live close by." "Where do you live?" I asked. I was now wrapped up in this kid's story. He released his right hand from the cat and pointed down the street. "I live in those ugly apartments down the street." "Down Nakomis?" I asked, and he nodded, returning his hand to the cat and gently petting her back. "Do you want to come in? I think I've got some tuna and milk we could give her." I honestly hadn't considered anything strange about the request, I just felt drawn to help the boy whose name I didn't even know. But after asking it, I feared he would be afraid I was luring him into my home. "Well, I'm not supposed to go in a stranger's house," he told me. He didn't seemed scared or nervous, just like he was following instructions. "That's really good advice," I said. "But if you want, you could put her down and I could bring the food out here." That seemed like a reasonable compromise. I guess he figured that was a good decision, because he stepped back up onto my porch and placed the cat on the ground. "There you go, girl," he said to the cat. She didn't try to leave, but began rubbing against his jeans, working a type of figure eight between his thin legs. He looked back up at me and said "Thank you very much, mister." "Call me Mark," I said, sticking my right hand out to him. He extended his hand to mine and as he took it, I felt something. I'm not sure what it was, but it felt like something special. His hand was so soft and thin, it felt fragile, so I gently shook his hand. I didn't want to hurt him. "I'm Adam," he said as he shook my hand. I didn't want to break the contact, but I didn't want to frighten him, either, so I released his hand. "And this," he said as he knelt down to pet the cat, "is Casey." "It's a pleasure to meet you both," I responded. "Let me go get some food. I'll be right back." I turned around to go in to my house, leaving the door open and took a couple steps into the entry, looking over my shoulder in time to see Casey invite herself right in. "Casey," he called out as he began to follow her in to my house. He caught himself about three steps in and then said "Casey, come on. That's not your house!" "It's not a big deal, Adam. She's not a stranger anymore." I smiled at him and said "And neither are you, really. If you want to come in, you're certainly welcome." He didn't think it over. He just said, "Yeah. And if you end up deciding to buy her, I guess I'd want her to feel at home." But he didn't seem happy about the prospect of actually giving her up. "Go on," I told him. "Close the door and come on in." He closed the door behind him and followed me in to the kitchen. So much for 'stranger danger' training, I guess. When we got to the kitchen, Adam asked "Do you live here by yourself?" "Yes, I do." "It's kind of a big house to have for just one person, don't ya' think?" I looked around and, although it wasn't that big of a house, it certainly was more than one person should need. "I guess so," I replied. What a conversationalist I am. "We just have one room," he continued as I got out a two small bowls and got the tuna from the pantry. "Well, we also have a bathroom, but everything else is just one room. It's called a studio," he informed me. Of course, as a would-be architect and an adult, I knew that. "But not like an art studio or a music studio. Nothing like that." How cute is that? "Is that so?" I asked rhetorically, smiling at him. I opened the can of tuna and put some of it into one of the bowls. "How many people live in your, eh, studio is it?" I teased. He didn't catch it. I opened the refrigerator to get out some milk, and he seemed to look in. I read hunger in that gaze. "Just me and my mom," he answered after briefly scanning the contents of my fridge, and I left it open for him to take a gander. "Want some help?" he asked, coming up to stand next to me at the counter of the breakfast bar. From this distance, I could smell him now. He didn't smell too bad, but he did stink a little. Actually, he didn't really stink so much, but it seems his clothes had not been washed in several days. I knew I didn't need any help pouring the milk in the small bowl, but I also knew that kids like to help, so I said "Sure. Could you pour this milk into that bowl for me?" I'm not one to cry over spilled milk. "Uh huh," he said and reached up to take the milk jug. He wasn't so small that he couldn't reach the counter, but I also knew the milk jug was heavy and the height of the counter would make the task a little difficult for him. "Adam," I started, "how old are you?" When he didn't answer at first, I wasn't sure if it was too personal a question for him. "Ten," he stated, and I noticed his pause was because he was focusing on not spilling any milk. And then he added "And a half." His concentration on pouring the milk was so intense, he was sticking the tip of his pink little tongue between his full lips. "I'm going to make myself some lunch. Are you hungry?" I asked, pretty sure I knew the answer. He finished pouring the milk with only the smallest of splashes outside the bowl. He pulled up the front of his shirt and used it to dab up the little mess. Since I was standing at an angle to him, I couldn't see his tummy full on, but enough that I could that, despite how thin he appeared, he actually had a little six pack going on. He didn't seem to have an ounce of fat on him, and the muscles, though not large, were working together quite nicely. "Yes, Mark. I am," he said, and at first I couldn't remember what I'd asked. I had been somewhat caught up in seeing his naked back and side. As he started to turn around to me, probably checking to see if I'd seen the mess, I turned around looking into the fridge. "What would you like to eat?" "Well. Whatever you're having?" he said, making it sound like a question. He was placing the two saucer-like bowls on the floor of the kitchen, and Casey seemed to have no shame. She trotted right up and inspected the bowls. "How about turkey sandwiches and soup?" I asked, turning back around and raising my eyebrows. "Yes, please," he replied, with a little emphasis on each word. "So how old are you?" he asked after a pause. "I'm twenty three," I responded, and then added, for emphasis, "and a half." He giggled, catching my little joke. We spent some time chatting a bit about nothing while I made the sandwiches and heated up some green chile stew from the night before. Like pizza, it always seemed even better the next day. As I finished up the preparations, I told him "Adam, you need to go wash up before we eat." "Ok, Mark. Where's your bathroom?" I took him to another part of the house to the guest bath and showed him where everything was. As he washed his hands and added soap, I could actually see the grime from his hands coming off and rinsing down the drain. "I guess I really needed that," he said, making an icky face. "I guess so, too. Now my turn," I said, putting my hands under the water as he gave his a final rinse, our hands touching each other briefly. And it might have been my imagination, but I thought I felt that same 'electric' feeling when we touched. He, however, gave no indication of any similar reaction as he turned around to the towel, drying his hands. I started wondering if I had intentionally touched him again, and I knew the answer. I just didn't know why. We went back in and ate along with Casey, who was still enjoying her meal. I told him about my impending graduation, what I did for a living, and a little more about me. He told me that he was an only child, that he didn't know his father, and gave me a general impression of a somewhat poor life, though he didn't give me any details and he certainly didn't seem to feel sorry for his lot in life. Throughout the meal, he chewed with his mouth closed, never spoke with it full, and even put his napkin on his lap. Very pleasant. As we finished our meal, I asked him "So are those the only clothes you have?" "No, I have other clothes," he said, furrowing his brow. I guess it was kind of a rude question, but he didn't seem to take it personally, just a bit confused by it. "I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't mean to be to nosy. I just noticed your clothes are a little scuffed, and your shoes seem, well... a bit small?" "Oh, yes," he agreed. "these are my only shoes, but mom hasn't really been feeling well, and I don't have any money to do laundry." I thought it was interesting that he said he didn't have the money for laundry, and not that he didn't know how to wash his clothes. I think most boys would have just left it with their mother not doing it. And I was curious about what he meant by his mother not feeling well. "You want to come wash your clothes over here?" I asked. "I wouldn't charge you, of course." I grinned at him and he returned a smile. I noticed he had beautiful teeth and a perfect smile. "Maybe," he said cautiously. "You don't have to let me." And he left it at that. "Of course I don't *have* to do anything. I was just offering, and it's no problem at all. There's not much a ten... and a half year old can do without money, but there's no reason at all to go around smelling funky if a friend has offered." I guess I just made us friends and I hoped that wouldn't be taken the wrong way. He thought about it a second and nodded. "Ok. If you're offering, I accept." He didn't ask "Are we friends?" He seemed like a very smart young man. He was a pretty good communicator and he had excellent manners, so he can't really be a neglected child, but I was getting mixed signals. I was becoming very interested in him, and not just as a case study or a charity case. In fact, I was having some feelings about Adam I've never felt. Not sexual feelings, maybe something bordering on that, but I also just plain liked him. He filled my somewhat lonely house (though I didn't feel that earlier today) with his presence and gave it some... what's the word? Life? Love? No, certainly not love? He then said "So do I smell... funky?" "Well, just a little ripe, but it's not unpleasant. It's a good smell, just like a boy." Whoa. What was that? Who was speaking through me today? He just laughed. "I've never heard that before. I know I smell a little funky." He looked a little sad. "I'm sorry about that." "Nothing to be sorry about, Adam. I'll tell you what. Why don't we go get your clothes and you can come back and have a shower or a bath, too, if you like." "Ok. Should I leave Casey here?" he asked. "Yeah. Why don't we. Let's get my car and we'll just run by and pick up your stuff. Is your mom home?" I was pushing for a little more information. "Mark," Adam said softly. The mood had somehow changed suddenly. "Yes?" "I don't think I should take you to my apartment." He was looking down at his feet, which were swinging nervously. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ To be continued... ------------------------------------------------------------------------