Date: Tue, 25 Sep 2001 12:58:57 +0000 From: Darren Talbot Subject: gay male/adult youth/the library, chapter 7 The library Chapter 7 ____________________ I sat down hard in the chair, the ice in my glass clinking. Scotch. Light brown. I set it down on the desk. Next to the backpack. His backpack. I kept expecting him to come back for it, but the rest of Monday had passed, Tuesday had passed and now Wednesday was almost over. I had avoided coming into the office since returning. I had avoided sleep, as well. Thank goodness there hadn't been any customers. But still, the pack. It contained him. I had wanted to open it to find some clue of where he lived. Something about his life, but I couldn't. Every time I reached for the zipper, I couldn't go any further. I couldn't bring myself to violate his privacy. It seemed odd to me, even as I did it, but I just couldn't open the bag. It was torturing me, calling to me. I answered with the scotch. The bottle still in my left hand. I drained about half the glass in one long, cool swallow. It was only quarter after nine. It was going to be another long day. The pack itself was nothing too spectacular. It was obvious by the wear and tear on it's olive drab seams that he'd had it some time. But it's size, it was fairly obvious he'd had to live out of it before. It was an old military pack, I guessed, the kind you'd find in one of those stores that carries extras from the Army or Navy. It had stencils on it at one point, but they'd all rubbed off and now only the outlines showed. Some patches at one point, too, from the looks of it, but those were also only threads, now. I couldn't help it anymore. I reached over and grabbed one of the zippers and, pausing for just a second, pulled. Immediately his smell hit me, and my dick started it's slow climb toward my chest. The pack was filled to capacity. The first thing inside was a t-shirt. It was plain white, but ragged. I brought it to my nose and inhaled (somewhere inside not believing what I was doing): his sweat. His skin. Just under that was a pair of blue boxer shorts with white palm trees on them. Again, inhale: his delicate boys smell, the sharp metallic dulled with powder and spit smell of him. A pair of jeans, holes in the side of the leg: dark, rich earth. Underneath the clothes, there was a portable disc player with headphones, the new kind that wrap around the back of the head. I opened it. The disc was 'Fleetwood Mac's Greatest hits'. I almost cried. I took the disc out and walked it over to the small stereo I kept in the office. I put it in and pressed play. Though I'd never heard him listen to it before, immediately it reminded me of him. The power, the mysterious quiet. These songs were him (and have remained so) to me. I walked back to the desk and continued, letting the music play. Sitting down heavy, again, I found under that a small binder for photos. I wanted desperately to open it, but I couldn't. I knew what would be in there...the face that I couldn't see. His father. The man he couldn't leave behind. I set it aside. Next was a little bag. I opened it to find a toothbrush and a travel size tube of toothpaste and mouthwash, as well as a half empty pack of gum...spearmint flavored. I smelled it, and remembered his breath..the sweet edge to it that my brain had almost but not quite figured out. Then, I saw it. Half eaten by time, ratty and horribly abused; a copy of '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea'. I picked it out and simply stared at it. I started to bawl, as I had been doing for the past hours. Then, something happened. My eyes landed on his boxers. In a flash, I knew what I had to do, but I couldn't understand it. Even to this day, I don't understand why I did it. It just happened, and I couldn't stop it. I picked up his shirt and his boxers. I went to the closet and pulled down the blanket and spread it out on the floor of the office. I set his shirt down, stretching it out as if it were on his lithe frame, setting the boxers just underneath the shirt and doing the same. My cock was already full to burst, trying it's best to push the button off my pants. I opened my fly and let myself out and sat there on my knees, just looking at it what I'd made for a second. In Judaism, there is the idea of the Golem, the artificial creation that is brought to life. Here was my Josh Golem. I could see his legs spread wide for me, his flat stomach, his thin chest and shoulders. I masturbated myself, picturing his lying there, watching me. My eyes roamed his phantom flesh, his tiny clothes filled with him, though absent. In my head, I heard him whispering to me, encouraging me. "Cum for me, Daniel, please? I want you to cum for me, Daniel. Please cum for me?" He begged, and I could see him touching his own little cock, playing with the tiny head between his fingers, his other hand roaming over his smooth, hairless stomach, playing with his bright pink nipple. "Are you gonna cum for me, Daniel? Please?" He begged. And I felt that knot start to form in me. I leaned down and put my head near where his would be, smelling him all around me. I was close. "Please cum, Daniel. I want your cum on me." And with that, I lost control, spasming again and again onto the blanket, still hearing him, "Yes, Daniel. Oh, gawd...I love your cum, Daneil." And when I was done, he disappeared. His image fled. The magic gone. All that was left were abandoned clothes, and a sticky blanket. I licked my hand clean as I'd always done, remembering the taste of he and I mingled in his mouth, and I started crying again. I sat back up on my knees, then stood, pulling my pants closed again. The small release that had given me leaving room for the sadness to move in, now. I wiped the cum off the blanket with my hand and licked that clean, as well, tossing the clothes onto the desk again and folding the blanket up. I stuffed it back into the closet. I walked back to the desk and picked up the glass of Scotch. I drained it's contents in one fluid motion and poured it full again. I exhaled the bitter fire of it, then drank it half empty again. As I set the glass down, again, the ice clinking against the side, the bell above the door clanged. I was in such a hurry that I set the bottle down off center. I absently hoped it hadn't toppled as I rushed for the door, hoping and praying that it was him. There was no loud crash, so I assumed it had arighted itself. Donna Dammon was standing at the door. "Jesus Christ, Daniel!" She exclaimed, and I was taken aback. Donna had a strict no cursing policy for herself and asked others not to do it around her. She was looking me up and down. It must be a more grisly scene than I'd thought. "Well, hi to you, too, Donna" I said, trying desperately to put a note of casualness in my voice. I failed miserably, even to my own ears. "You look like doo doo, Daniel," she said, walking further in and setting her purse on the counter. She walked over to me where I was standing and adjusted my collar while she talked, "I'm guessing this has something to do with your man friend, Ron?" "No, " I said, "I haven't seen Ron in months." I said, lightly slapping her hand away. "Then what is it?" She asked, backing up a little way, hands lodging on hips. "It's nothing. Family stuff, that's all." I said, going behind the counter and plopping onto the stool. She came over and leaned on the counter, then decided better of being that close to my breath, and stood up. "What are you doing away from work?" I asked. It was, after all, barely nine in the morning on a Wednesday. "Inservice, today, and I didn't have to go. Thought I'd come by and ask if you wanted to close up and bum around with me, but I guess not." I rolled my eyes and tried my best smile. "Come on, you, " she said, grabbing my forearm and shaking it, "what's wrong? We've been friends for years, and you've never kept a secret from me." "I'm just not ready to deal with talking about it, yet." I said, putting my hand on top of her hand, and remembering the delicate weight of Josh's. A sharp pain going through the center of me. "Okay. Can I unload on you a bit?" She asked. "Sure. What's on your mind?" I asked, not really all that interested. "It's about one of my students." She said. I stood and straightened my shirt. I started to move away from the counter to at least get some reshelving done. Something to occupy my hands. "Do you remember the boy who was in here the other day, Josh Taylor?" She asked. I froze, "Yeah. I...I think I do." "He hasn't been to school since that Friday morning. I'm really worried about him. His father seems like an okay guy, but he's one of those odd types." She said. Stakes going through hearts don't hurt as bad, "Oh?" I asked, turning back to shelving so she wouldn't see my eyes fill. "Yeah. Normally, I wouldn't think anything of it, but Jean, the second grade teacher says that his little brother hasn't been in, either." At that, I whirled around, the book flying out of my hand, "Little brother?" "Daniel, are you okay?" She asked, pausing. "Umm..yeah. Sure. This...Taylor, was it?...this Taylor boy...he has a little brother?" "Mmmhm. His name is Christopher. Bright little boy. They both are, but Christopher seems much more friendly and open." "And the father seems like...what did you say he seemed like?" "Well, I have yet to meet a mother, so I'm assuming that he is thier sole gaurdian. Maybe she died or something, and that's why he's odd...but..I dunno. He is just odd. He sticks out in your mind." She said. "Ah." was all I could say for a long time, then, "I'm sorry, Donna. I'm not doing real well right now. I'm sorry that you're worried about one of your students. I'm sure he's fine, though...that they both are. They're bound to turn up soon." I said. She walked over to me, and kissed me on the cheek, as she'd always done, "Okay, you. But I mean it..get some rest. You look like hell. I have my cell phone with me, so call."She said, rubbing my arm with her hand, then turning on her heal and leaving. No sooner was she out the door then there came the crash that I half expected earlier. I rushed back into the office just in time to see Josh at my desk, shoving the shirt into the backpack. He was breathing very quick and shallow and soaked in sweat. "Josh!" I exclaimed. He looked at me, eyes wide, rabbit in headlights. His eyes darted sideways to the back door, still partially open and with a key sticking in the lock. I moved so that I was standing in the way. "Please don't. Oh, god, Josh...please don't." I begged. Slowly, he lowered the backpack onto the desk again, his eyes relaxing with each millimeter. I moved backward and closed the door, pulling the key from the lock, and folding it in my palm. It was warm and still wet from his sweat. "I can't stay." He said in a whisper. "Why not?" I asked, plaintive. "Because I can't." "Because of him, your father?" I ventured. I had to get him to talk or he'd leave again, this time for good. I knew that in the center of my chest. He cocked his head some, and his eyebrows drew together, "What? No." My reaction mimicked his, "But I thought you said you couldn't leave him." His hands were perfectly relaxed, now. The backpack resting on the desk. He said, "I wasn't talking about my father." "You mean Christpher, then?" I asked. His head shot up fast, "Who told you about Christopher?" "Donna was just here. She said neither you nor Christopher have been in school in days." He looked at the ground and almost sat down, then his lips firmed and he picked the backpack up, slinging it over one shoulder. He moved from behind the desk and started for the door, eyes down, "I have to go." "Why is it that you can't leave Christopher?" I asked, not moving from his path. He stopped, still looking at the floor, "Because." "Because why?" He looked up at me, fully fury on his face, "Because if I leave, then dad will start fucking Christopher. I have to stay and make sure that dad only wants me so he'll leave Chrissy alone." ___________________________ End chapter 7 more to come! *questions and comments are more than welcome!