Date: Tue, 11 Sep 2007 21:47:18 -0700 (PDT) From: Mark Adams Subject: Temptation of Adam - Chapter 3 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... 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... ....From the last chapter... "Are you gay?" he asked me, out of the blue, again without any sort of concern or disgust. "Well, that's personal," I said, but quickly added "but no, I'm not." And I guess he just accepted that. He turned off the water, turned around, and dried his face and hands on the towel. He then picked up his shirt. I reached out to help him pull it on to his body. "Don't take it personally or anything," he said, "but I kinda thought you were." And I pulled my 'helping hands' back where they belonged. I was shocked. "Umm... what do you mean by that?" I asked, incredulous. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything." He seemed sorry. "I just figured you were by the way you look at me and touch me all the time. I'm not scared of you, I just thought you might be." He stood, his weight on one leg, leaning against the counter looking up at me . His luminous eyes peered into my soul. And I looked away. "Why?" I asked. "Are you?" Stupid, stupid, stupid. I was just trying to push the awkwardness away. "I don't know." And with that he bent down and scooped up Casey (I didn't even know she was there) and walked out of the bathroom. Temptation of Adam - Chapter 3 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I turned out the light and exited the bathroom, heading back to the family room. I saw Adam crouched on the tiled floor of the kitchen, playing with Casey. With his back to me, bending over, I saw the red waistband of his underwear sticking just a bit up above the wrinkled elastic on the back of his tight jeans. I could see just enough of his underpants to know he was wearing some sort of boy's 'cartoon' underwear. You know, the kind with Scooby Doo or whatever printed on them. I just couldn't tell what the print was. Adam swiveled around onto his bottom facing me, pulling his knees up into his chest. "So are you made at me?" he asked, "or are you still offering for me to wash my clothes?" "Sure, you can." Despite the awkward feelings I had, I guess I couldn't really blame him for asking if I were... gay. Although I had nothing against gays or lesbians, I didn't consider myself gay. Not that I'd really thought about it too much, at least not recently. I had to wonder about that later, after Adam was gone. But for now I would just let it go. This boy needed some help and I was determined to do my Christian duty. "Do you want to go by yourself to get your clothes, or would you like me to drive you? I'm just thinking it might look sort of silly walking down the street with a basket of clothes." "Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "I guess it would look kinda funny, wouldn't it?" He was still sitting on the tile floor, playing with his cat. I imagined he was probably still a little embarrassed to have been crying in front of someone he barely knew. But, then again, he might not. At that age, I find kids tend to live pretty much in the here and now, not really dwelling on the past. And only under severe circumstances (such as Adam's) did they even tend to think much about the future. "Alright, then. Let's get going, shall we?" I said the last part in my best British accent and he giggled. "Is Casey an indoor cat?" I asked. "Yeah, she is." He stood and, once again, I noticed just how small this boy was. I've seen boys in my youth group at church who were in sixth grade, not much older than Adam, who looked like they were in fourth grade while other boys the same age appeared to be freshmen in high school. Of course with Adam, he didn't look starved but his lack of excessive nutrition probably meant his body was just about the right 'natural' size for his age. Of course, he was a little on the thin side, but it suited him. It suited me. "Ok, buddy," I said, "We'll just leave her inside. There's nothing she can get into. Of course, I don't have a litter box. Is she housebroken?" I sat in my chair and pulled on some slip-on shoes. "Uh-huh," he said, nodding. "She'll be fine, Mark. Won't you, girl?" he asked Casey. She just sat down on the floor, licked her paw, and swabbed her face with it. Cats are so strange. "Okie dokie." He giggled again as I stood from the chair. "Let's go through here to the garage," I said, leading him back down the hall where the guest bath was and headed through the laundry room to the three-car garage. When I renovated my home, I actually began my design with the garage, expanding the two car garage, adding a bay and a work area. I'd always loved puttering around in the garage. When we entered the garage and I hit the button to raise the door, light filled the garage and he saw my little Mazda Miata, which seemed to excite him quite a bit. "Cool!" he said, ogling my little sports car. It's nothing real fancy, but I just loved my little red roadster. It was fun to drive, got good mileage, and attracted endless admiration from the boys in my youth group and Scout troop. "Can we take this?" he asked, his face lit up and his eyes almost literally sparkling. "Sure can," I replied. I was already planning to take it instead of the Jeep Cherokee I liked to take camping or the less practical Harley Davidson I liked to ride sometimes, mostly on the weekend. Of course, when he went around to the passenger side, he spied the Hog. "Oh, cool!" he exclaimed upon seeing it. "Can we take this instead?" he implored. He ran his hand along the seat of my Fat Boy as if soaking up its essence through his fingertips. I wasn't a tough guy by any stretch, but I had absolutely loved motorcycles since I was very young. My parents still liked to tell stories of when I was so little I called them 'vroom vrooms' and I supposedly (as parents like to embellish stories of their children) could hear a motorcycle engine before anyone else. I would stop whatever I was doing and say "Vroom vroom!?" and my parents would say, "No, there's no motorcycle." Invariably, as the story goes, ten or twenty seconds later a motorcycle would drive up and everyone would be so amazed. Well, I'm still a motorcycle enthusiast to this day, so maybe there's a shred of truth to those stories... In any case, I told him "Not now, Adam. It wouldn't be practical for carrying your clothes. Maybe later?" "Yeah, ok. Maybe later," he said, still eying my bike. He returned his attention to the car again, and his smile told me he approved. He opened the unlocked passenger door and hopped in, fiddling around with things a bit. I entered the car and immediately began to put the cloth top down and put my belt on. There's nothing quite like driving 'topless' on a beautiful May afternoon in New Mexico. He beamed. "Cool..." he said, completely content. "Get your belt on," I admonished, and he complied. I turned it over and the engine purred, accentuated by the acoustics of my garage. His smiling countenance just plain made my whole day, his eyes sparkling as he looked over at me. I put her in gear and we pulled out, pausing just briefly to make sure the garage door closed behind us. As I approached the road, I checked both directions and while looking left, down the street, I saw where the field (we called them 'mesas') next to Chelwood Elementary was. I asked him if he went to school there. "Yeah, I'm in fifth grade," he said. But I just started going there this year." I knew he lived south of here, just down the street, so I turned right without asking directions. "Fifth grade," I said, almost with a sigh. "I've got a lot of good memories of fifth grade." He was listening, but also obviously enjoying the brief ride. "School's almost out, right? " "Yeah, in another week" he answered, grinning either from the thought of summer vacation or the ride. "I can't wait for summer!" I knew this would probably be his last real summer as a child. Middle school tends to do that. I remember how excited I was to enter middle school, and how much I now miss the carefree days of elementary. "Where to?" I asked as we approached the various apartment buildings. The drive was short, only about 500 feet! I almost felt goofy for driving, but I also enjoyed seeing him enjoy my car. "Turn up here, between the two buildings," he said, his youthful exuberance beginning to evaporate. I'm not exaggerating. It was that noticeable. And his tension seemed to creep into me. There were a few two-story buildings arranged in a square, with the parking area forming one quarter of that square. I think there was another building back behind those buildings. They looked decidedly poor, in my snobbish opinion. Brown siding, thin windows, and tiny brown-fenced patios on the ground floor and smaller balconies on the second. I pulled my car into the parking lot and there were several spaces. The vehicles in the lot all looked ancient next to my Miata. Adam released his seatbelt and opened the door, getting out of the car. I put the top back up and got out of the car. This neighborhood, a scant 500 feet from my suburban bliss, looked rough. I wasn't taking any chances, and I made sure to lock both doors. He led me through the courtyard area and we approached what was obviously his front door. No screen door, just a faded door, the paint peeling in places. There were no plants, no trees, no welcome mat. Mini blinds covered the windows. There was no pride here. He reached into his tight pocket and fished out a key, unlocking the door. "My mom's name is Ana," he informed me as his hand settled on the doorknob, briefly glancing over his shoulder at me before he turned the knob. I was impressed by his thoughtfulness. As the door opened, I could see all the lights were off and, with the blinds drawn, it was pretty dark inside. I didn't hear any music, no air conditioner, or any other signs of life. As I entered the compact living room, I could see it was clean, but not overly so. To my left was a small kitchen, a couple dishes in the sink and a tiny table with two chairs. Directly in front of me, beyond the living room, it looked like there was a bathroom and a bedroom to the right and left. "Is your mom home?" I asked. The apartment was warm and I figured the air was off for financial reasons. "Yes, she's probably lying down," Adam answered. "Let me go check on her first." "Adam?" I heard someone call from the bedroom to the right in a not-so-thick Mexican accent. "Estoy aqui," I heard him say. His slip into Spanish, while natural to him, caught me off guard. His accent, not present before, only endeared him to me. He moved toward the bedroom door and looked in. "Mama, tengo un amigo conmigo." I knew he was telling his mother he had brought a friend. "Quien?" she inquired, wondering who he'd brought home. I could hear the squeak of an old bed as she got up, with some effort it seemed. "Mark," he told her. I could hear her shuffling toward the door, and for some reason I was nervous. I doubt she expected a fully grown man. He stepped into the room, apparently to help her. A moment later, she turned the corner and stepped into the living room. She seemed a little surprised, but not shocked to see me standing close to the entry. Her eyes were almost certainly adjusted to the dim lighting, but she still squinted a tad, as if making sure she saw correctly. "Hello. My name is Ana," she said in perfect English. I was obviously not Latino. "Hello," I responded, stepping toward her and extending my hand. "My name is Mark. But I suppose you know that." Duh... She stepped forward and shook my hand very gently, still checking me out. I could tell she was once a lovely woman, but age and disease, it seems, had taken away her luster. She was somewhat thin and short, but that could be because she was stooped over a bit. "Come," she said, waving her hand toward the sparse seating in the living room. "Sit," she commanded, but not in a forceful way. I waited to see where she would sit, but she stood, waiting for me to pick a seat. I chose the chair and she moved slowly toward the love seat. To my surprise, Adam didn't take the seat next to his mother, but moved over to me and climbed into my lap. Well, that was sure awkward... I wondered if he was trying to show his mother he liked me or if he just didn't think about it. I adjusted my position to accommodate him. He fit perfectly into my lap and it felt right. He reached down to my right hand and brought it across his tummy. Rather than jerk my hand away, I allowed it to remain, but made sure not to rub his belly or anything. I knew the bottom edge of my palm had to be resting just above (or just on) his package, but I couldn't feel anything but the denim of his little boy jeans. My penis began to swell, not getting hard, but expanding. I wondered what, if anything, was going on here. So far she hadn't said anything. She was just watching the two of us. Her eyes were just as intense as Adam's, but their deep brown color made them seem even more so, in a way. She seemed to absorb... everything. Her facial expression appeared almost amused. Almost. She wasn't grinning, but neither did she seem appalled that her son had invited a stranger, a grown man, into their home and unashamedly hopped into his lap. In fact, I think I felt more confused by the situation than she. The silence was killing me and so I began to speak. "So, Adam and I just met today, actually." "Did you?" she asked. Was there some accusation in that response, or was it my conscience? She shifted her body on the love seat, taking up some of the space I suppose she had expected Adam to occupy. I could see pain etched into her face at times, but she remained dignified. "And so you are friends now, yes?" She chuckled softly, and I wanted to jump up and leave. But Adam broke the tension by piping up. "Mama, I was playing in the park and some older boys were picking on me, trying to take Casey," he began, lying his skinny ass off, as natural as can be. "Mark was walking by and saw the boys picking on me and so he yelled at them and scared them off." I, of course, nodded in agreement. My angel had a tarnished halo, it appeared. "I was crying like a little bebecito, but Mark took us to his house so the boys would leave me alone." Yep. He remembered every detail except the truth, it seemed. "You must have been so frightened, mi hijo," she said, obviously teasing but he didn't know. She looked up at saying, "And you. You're practically a hero." I gulped. "How ever can I repay you for saving my boy?" I couldn't just tell her Adam was lying with him sitting there on my lap, and I supposed she knew that. "It was nothing. Really." She just shook her head. She caught my drift, and he didn't. Everyone seemed happy but me. "No, no. You are to be commended." She was enjoying this too much. Returning her attention to Adam, she asked "So where is Casey, hmm?" "She's back at Mark's house," he replied, certainly believing he'd pulled the wool over mama's eyes. "He fed her tuna and gave her milk. And you should see his car, mama." He was positively gushing now. Liar, liar, pants on fire. Speaking of which, the warmth of his buns was radiating pleasure through my groin, the grilling by his mother the only thing keeping things at rest. At this point, Adam scooted up a bit on my lap, which pushed my hand nearly halfway over his groin. It didn't seem intentional to me, but now I was doubting the innocence of this little bullshitter. "Oh, also. Mark says I can take some laundry to his house if I like. I know we don't have much..." He cut himself off. He almost slipped. Talking about money in front of someone else was a no-no. His mother didn't seem embarrassed but I knew she would be. "Adam, you can't ask that of Mr.," she paused, waiting for my surname. "Adams. Actually, it's Mark Adams," I answered. "It's not a bother, really." "Mr. Adams," she continued and then paused. "Puedo tutearla?" "Por supuesto, Ana," I responded without thinking. And she smiled, a true smile for the first time. Perhaps it was flattering to know I cared enough to learn Spanish. Perhaps she now knew she could not speak privately with Adam in Spanish. Perhaps it was both. "Would you like some coffee, Mark?" she asked. "Yes, please. Por favor," I continued. She waved her hand, as if to say, "No, English is fine." "Adam," she said, directing her attention to her son. "Go play. Let the adults speak." He turned to look at me and I nodded slightly. Adam slid off my lap and padded off to his room. "Outside, Adam." He stopped in his tracks and turned, going toward the door. "Stay close," she commanded, and he opened the door slowly, pausing a moment as he exited the house. As she stood, I did as well, pressing my groin surreptitiously as if brushing something off my lap. *** As Ana brewed a pot of coffee, I gave her a slightly watered down (but true) version of the events of the day, including his disclosure of her illness. "He is such a young boy to have such fears," she said. "I just don't want him to have to grow up too fast." "I agree, but he knows. You can't protect him with ignorance," I said, hoping that didn't sound too harsh. But she didn't take it that way. She was no fool, but she was being foolish by keeping the status of her health from him. And she knew it. "True." She thought a few seconds before continuing. "Mark, I don't know you, but my son is a good judge of character. Yes, he's only ten, but believe me he is no ordinary boy. And that's not a mother's love speaking." "I believe you." "So I will tell you. I am terminal." I suspected, but it still hit me like a punch to the gut. "I have maybe 6 months, maybe more and maybe less." "I'm so sorry to hear that. Are they sure?" She waved her hand, dismissing my condolences. "They are sure. I am sure." She began pouring two cups of coffee. "How do you take it?" "Black is fine," I replied. She handed me a mug and I sipped at it. "So does Adam have any family here?" She sighed. "No. And if I didn't know better, Adam has been shopping for a father." The thought hadn't crossed my mind. She interrupted my thoughts by asking, "So what are your intentions with Adam?" She was as direct as her son. "I... I don't know," I stumbled. "I hadn't really thought of it, to be perfectly honest." "To be perfectly honest," she inquired "with me? Or with yourself?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ To be continued... ------------------------------------------------------------------------