The following story is about the development of a fully consensual and loving relationship between a man and a pre-adolescent boy. At some point through the story's progression, there will be a graphic display of sexual acts between the man and the boy meant to show the natural progression and development of an intimate and caring relationship. If the topic of man/boy sex offends you, or if this material is illegal in your place or residence, or if you are under legal age, please leave now.
Any similarities between the characters in this story and any persons living and/or dead is purely a coincidence.
This story is protected under the nifty archives license agreement, and the author (me!) releases the right for nifty and nifty alone to post it on the internet. Please do not post this story anywhere else without my consent or knowledge.
Once again it seems like I am apologizing for how slow my writing is going. This time, I had to do some major reflection on my writing style, and how I wanted a scene to come out. I think I have written this chapter a total of six times... Hopefully for the better.
I have also restructured the layout of the following chapters, which will make it longer, which is a good thing, right? I know I promised to get this story done by November, but alas... I am still definitely going to finish it, no matter what.
I know what you're thinking... "yeah sure, he's never going to finish it," but I hope to prove it with oncoming chapters. And I'm still going to try to end this story with the BANG I promised (which will definitely become clearer in this chapter).
As always, I love hearing what each of you think about the story, and I apologize greatly if I have not responded to you. Please send me an email to email@example.com
Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes. His sides felt like they were splitting wide open. His legs trembled and quivered like a bowl of jell-o. And still he kept running, running, running...
He didn't know how he was still running, but he was. It was automatic, the way his legs kept pumping, the way his lungs continued to suck in air. If he could have told his body to stop, he would have. But he couldn't. Houses, streets, trees, cars...they all passed in a blur of motion.
Josh swung his head backwards, checking behind him again. Consciously, he knew no one was chasing him, and it was silly to keep looking back, but that still didn't stop him. It didn't stop him from running at a break-neck pace.
Because if I stop running, I'm gunna start thinking.
When he took yet another look backwards around the street corner he had just turned, it happened. In one moment, his legs were boosting him forward, and in the next they were a tangled mess below him. All the air he had been using to breathe left his lungs as his chest crashed hard into the sidewalk. He felt like a puppet, whose master had dropped the strings and walked away.
The pain was sudden, but it passed quickly. What remained however did not. Emotions began crashing into him, jarring him far more than the sudden fall. Despair, hopelessness, anguish, loss. They all decided to stomp all over his crumpled form, making him curl up tightly into a ball. He thought about getting up, starting the run all over again, but when he took notice of the surroundings in front of him, all thoughts of continuing fled his mind.
Less than two or three houses away, Will's house stood in the distance. He couldn't have seen a more welcome sight. It was like a beacon of light in the growing darkness.
With strength he didn't know he had, he sprang to his feet and bolted past the last few houses, straight up to the front door. He didn't even wait a half second between ringing the doorbell and knocking on it furiously.
"Will, open up! I gotta talk to you!"
At some point, his frantic knocking slowed and his shoulders slumped. The garage door was closed. The van, which usually sat in the middle of the driveway, was missing. He couldn't recall ever seeing the garage door closed. Will always practiced out in the garage every day after school. Either banging on the drums, or plugged in with his guitar with the amp on high.
Josh groaned. He wasn't here. Will had told him that he was going out of town with his family.
"I need your help! Why can't you just be here?" He pounded at the door again.
He pressed his head into the door, staring down at the welcome matt, not feeling the least bit welcome. His whole body trembled involuntarily.
"What... what would Will tell me, if he was here?" Josh mumbled, trying to reassure himself that there had to be some reason his frantic run had brought him here.
His mind raced back through all the things Will had told him, all the crazy stories, all the jokes. Will always had some smart-ass thing to say about any situation. He just knew he would have something "choice" to say about this one as well.
Josh could her Will's voice in his head. "That one's a real bitch, man. Damn, if my mom put me through all that shit, I swear... I don't know what I'd do, but it wouldn't be fucking pretty!"
Josh let out a small chuckle. He knew he would have laughed out loud if Will was there. They both would have laughed. Will always trash talked like that, and most of the time, he didn't let it bother him. This time however, he thought Will might be a little more serious.
Then it hit him, an idea so profound that it made him weak at the knees, having to lean on the door for support. The gears in his brain began turning a million revolutions per second.
What if I... if I could just get... then there would be no way... she would have to listen. And if she doesn't listen, I could just...
But he didn't let himself finish the thought before he had flung his small frame off the front door and into a frantic search of the front porch. In a matter of moments, the welcome mat was flipped over, the potted plants were on their sides, and the seat cushions of the hanging swing were in the bushes.
I got to find the key first, then I'll get inside... and then...
His mind worked in hyper overdrive as his search continued around the side of the house, paying no heed to the flimsy wooden gate as his body slammed through it.
The back yard felt strangely empty. Every time he had come out here, it had been with his friends. Will would toss the bat to Sam and some gloves to him and Roger, and they messed around playing baseball for who knew how long. Then Will's mom brought out drinks, and they would just hang out talking on the patio.
Now he was out here alone, feeling like an intruder rather than a welcome guest.
Stop letting yourself get distracted. Gotta focus. Gotta focus.
Focus however, didn't seem to help much. Undersides of the table, chairs, and even the rusty old charcoal grill were barren of house keys.
It looks like the only way in is going to be...
The hard way in.
Josh let out a deep breath, surveying the sliding glass door that led into the dining room. The dirty glass looked thick and solid. Bad guys and detectives broke into windows like this all the time in movies, so it couldn't be that hard, could it?
Steeling himself for the task, he walked up next to the door, spread his legs apart and bent his knees, and propped his arm up for a great swing.
"Here goes nothing," Josh breathed out.
He counted to three inside his head, twisting his torso around like a wind-up toy. On the final count he flung himself at the glass with the full force of his weight.
There was only a split second delay between the "warbling" of the window as it settled back into place and Josh's howl of pain.
"Ooouuuuch!" he wailed, cradling his elbow like it had just been stabbed with a hot poker.
He glared at the door like it was some gap-toothed monster that had just taken a bite out of him. A deep urge to give the door a bashing he wouldn't forget welled up inside him, but he was going to need something stronger than his wimpy little arm to do the job.
Josh's eyes scanned the back porch again, this time looking for something large and clunky rather than something small and shiny. His gaze first settled on a push broom, but he shook his head, visualizing himself covered in sawdust, with a splintered wooden handle in his hands. After his experience with the door, he didn't think anything would break it.
Glass in doors has to be harder then, but maybe with the smaller windows...
Like the window above the kitchen sink right off the back porch. He seized on the idea, leaving the sliding door to some other unsuspecting victim who dared go up against it.
By simply leaving the proximity of that evil door, Josh's luck turned quickly. His heart skipped a beat when his eyes caught sight of Will's beat up aluminum baseball bat jammed into the bushes right beneath the kitchen window.
With his path forward now gleaming brightly, like the glint of the sun off of the bat, he hurried forward to pick it up. Like a practiced hitter about to bat one out of the park, he positioned himself in front of the window for the swing.
If there had been an umpire, he would have shouted "strike one" on Josh's first swing. He had whiffed the bat a good three inches away from the glass. The bottom sill, a good foot above the top of his head, definitely made things trickier, so hopefully whatever umpire in the sky that was watching would cut him some slack.
If the first swing was a complete whiff, his next one was just the opposite. Taking a big step forward, he swung the bat again, and it sailed straight through the kitchen window as if it were paper. If there had been a crowd watching that one, they all would have stood to catch a glimpse of the ball flying clear outside the park, shouting "homerun!" afterwards.
With adrenalin coursing through his veins, he pushed through the bushes, reaching his arm through the gaping hole he had just created for the lock inside the window. It took several attempts of almost scratching his bare arm on the jagged glass, but finally he managed to undo the lock and slide the window open. Fortunately, most of the glass that had fallen out of the window had landed in the sink, leaving the sill clear for him to squirm his slender body over. With a huff, he slunk onto the counter and swung his feet over to dangle off the edge.
Wiping the sweat off his brow and letting his beating heart slow to a normal pace, Josh looked around at the kitchen and out into the dining room and front hall. Access to the entire house was now his.
Now that he was in, he had to check... he had to make sure his whole reason for coming in here was still there.
Out in the garage, where according to Will it had been for the past three years, and had only been moved out of the house because Will's mother insisted that such a thing did not belong in the front hallway – or anywhere else inside the house for that matter – behind Will's band equipment and the riding lawnmower, stood Will's father's most prized possession.
His Plexiglas-covered, lock protected, gun display.
This was the reason he had come in here. This was the answer. Standing in front of the display that dwarfed his tiny form, Josh's mind whirred with the possibilities presented by the powerful instruments encased within the thick glass.
With a gun, I could do anything! People have to do what you say. They have to listen to you. Because if they don't you could just pull the trigger, and...
But Josh couldn't let himself get too distracted before he even had access into the case. Like getting into the house, he knew this was going to be difficult. Will had told him how paranoid his father was about keeping the guns safe. Not only was there a key to the display, but there were also keys for unlocking the guns, and yet another key for the lockbox that held all the ammo, sitting next to the display.
"So many keys," Josh groaned inwardly.
He couldn't let this get him down, not when his goal was only inches from his face. This was going to be the most difficult part, but it would also be the part that proved how resigned he was. If he could cross this barrier, then nothing could stop him. It was time to prove his mettle. It was time he showed he was up for the task, and that nothing would stop him. Not the door to the house. Not the door to the gun display. He would do whatever it took. He was going to get himself out of the mess his life had become and make things better. Better for both him and Steven.
His first order of business was in Will's parent's room. If there was any place in the house those keys were likely to be, it was in that room. Leaving the garage behind, Josh set a determined pace for the master bedroom. Once inside, he began searching systematically. He imagined himself as a private eye, on the scene and looking for evidence. Nothing was going to stop him from finding what he wanted, no matter how well the culprits had hidden the evidence. He flung drawers open; throwing out socks and underwear, mostly belonging to Will's father, and anything else he could get his hands on.
At the bottom of one drawer, he found another sock, rolled up differently than all the others. It definitely had to be one of Will's father's, judging by it's size, and the fact that it was navy blue, apposed to bright pink. He knew there was something strange about it when he picked it up and weighed it in his hands. There was definitely something inside, and his eyes went wide in shock when he found out what it was. Held together with a thick rubber band was a roll of bills, and when Josh turned it over in his hand, he could see the face of Benjamin Franklin on the side. There had to be at least twenty bills banded together, which caused him to shiver once he calculated the amount. His mind couldn't even conceive how much money this was, or what he might be able to do with it. Quickly, he stuffed it back in the sock, and placed it back in the drawer exactly how he had found it.
He wasn't here to steal money. He wasn't just a robber who had busted in here to take whatever he wanted. He was on a mission, he reminded himself. An important one, and he couldn't let himself be distracted. Stepping around the rest of the mess he had made with the other clothing strewn about the floor, Josh went to the last place in the room he had yet to search.
If the bedroom had had most of Will's father's clothing, the walk-in closet had most of Will's mother's. Shoes were stacked neatly in shoe racks. Slippers, fancy high heals, and jogging shoes lined the walls along the floor. And above them hung so many dresses that Josh thought there had to be multiple women living in the house. Once again, he set about his investigation, searching every article of clothing, because like that sock, one never knew what might be hidden within.
Unfortunately, the search inside the closet proved as devoid of keys as the bedroom. But like the bedroom, it had also unveiled something valuable in an unexpected place. In one of the high healed shoes, there had been a bracelet. At first, it didn't look like much, but when he brought it out into the light, and the small diamonds caught the sunlight streaming in through the window, he felt the same dizziness he had felt holding the roll of money. Quicker than the sock, that shoe was back where he had found it. He wanted no part of hidden jewelry or wads of money.
With the master bedroom thoroughly searched, the next likely place seemed to be the office. Unlike the bedroom however, the office was already a mess, so he didn't feel so bad when he made it worse. Though there was nothing but papers on the desks, a giant surge of elation flooded his body when his hand closed around something metallic and long on top a book shelf, almost out of his reach even when he had pulled over a desk chair and stood on his tip-toes. When he brought his hand back down and looked at what he had grabbed, his pulse rate soared to all new levels. Barely able to keep his balance on the chair as he stumbled down, he clutched the little key tightly to his chest. It looked just the right size for the gun display.
Josh didn't waste a second getting back out to the garage. Almost tripping on all the lawnmower equipment, he jabbed the key into the lock in front of the display. Though he was dead set on turning the key in the lock, it wouldn't budge once he had it inside.
"Fuck!" Josh screamed out loud.
He ripped the key out and jammed it in again and again, but no matter how much he played with it, the key wouldn't turn. He then tried jamming it into the lock on the lock box, but also to no avail. Frustrated beyond belief, he threw the key clear across the garage, hearing it bang against the garage door before hitting the ground.
No longer holding the illusion of being a calm and collected private eye, he stormed back onto the house and started ripping through things like a vicious little cyclone. The living room was the first to be attacked, then the dining room, then the kitchen. Pillows flew off couches, chairs got overturned, and rugs ended up in the hallway. Video tapes, CD's, DVD's, everything... It all ended up on the floor. The only thing that escaped his wrath was the plates in the kitchen cupboard.
By the time he had reached Will's room, his anger had fortunately abated somewhat. That still didn't stop him from rifling through everything his friend owned. If he was going to search the whole house, he might as well search it all from top to bottom. Most of what he found was boring stuff, typical of any thirteen-year-old boy's bedroom. Baseball cards, more CD's, a few books (not even close to as many as Josh had), and some Lego's. Also, like any normal adolescent boy would have, hidden under his mattress, a stack of penthouse magazines.
With shaky hands, Josh reached down to pick one up, stopping himself several times before finally making the grab.
I shouldn't be looking at this, his conscience kept screaming at him. He had more important things to do. But, like the mouse that smells cheese, or a monkey that's seen the glint of gold, he couldn't resist the urge to sit on the bed and flip open the front cover.
Forbidden images flashed across the pages. Images of women with their bare breast and crotches in full view. Though these pictures were nothing compared to what he had seen when Will was showing them that movie on the internet, they were still enough to cause a deep stirring in the base of his gut. A stirring that began to work its way further downward the more pages he flipped.
Mentally slapping himself before he could go any further, he forcefully threw the magazine on the floor. It was this kind of stuff that had started it all. It was all still so confusing. The pictures, the internet movie, and the way Steven had been with him had caused feelings inside him that he didn't even know existed only a few months ago. Steven had tried to explain some of it, but there were still so many unanswered questions. He still had so many things he wanted to ask Steven, but he knew he would never get a chance if he didn't do something to stop his mother.
Images of police cars, angry doctors, and Steven being hauled away in chains flooded his mind, completely wiping away any distracting thoughts that Will's porno magazine had caused. He sprung to his feet again. If there was going to be any chance of saving Steven, he had to hurry. No more time for distractions. There would be time to sort out all of these feelings later, as long as he stuck to his plan.
With a renewed supply of vigor, Josh launched himself at the last part of the house that he had left un-searched. The garage, which due to the countless paint cans, yard equipment, and machine tools, proved to be the most difficult place in the entire house to search. It took all of his strength to simply lift one of the tool boxes down off a shelf so he could open it. As he continued to sift through wrenches, screwdrivers, and hammers, later followed by drill bits, saw blades, nails, and whatever else was in a box or tool drawer, his somewhat orderly search degenerated into the same frenzied storm that had pulverized the rest of the house. The only things that were spared his wrath were the power tools and heavy hardware that he simply could not throw. Everything else either ended up on the ground or turned on its side.
Josh let out a low growl. Why couldn't it just have been in the dresser drawer in the master bedroom, or hidden up high in the walk-in closet?
He could feel the cold sweat dripping down the side of his face from all the heavy lifting. His breath came in heavy, labored gasps as he fidgeted from foot to foot; refusing to stop moving as his eyes desperately continued sweeping across the disaster area he had made of the garage.
"Why'd you have to make it so hard to find?" he yelled at the display, as if Will's father were standing in front of it, laughing at him.
He shook his head furiously. He was done looking for keys.
Josh stomped over to the display and grabbed a fallen can of paint off the floor.
"Urragh!" he screamed as he launched the can directly at the display.
Past the point of rational thought, he picked up another, then another, throwing them all successively as hard as he could at the demonic display. The sound of crashing glass and heavy thumps barely registered in his ears.
Only when he was out of paint cans did he realize that the glass display case had long since been conquered. Luckily, none of the can lids had fallen off, but several had rolled away looking like someone had beet them to smithereens with a hammer. The case was in even worse condition. A revolver had fallen off its hooks, and parts of the backboard were completely ruined.
He might have continued to stand there for who knew how long staring in a stupor over the damage he had wrought if the glint of something shiny hadn't caught his eye. Somehow, a paint can had knocked the lockbox on its side, leaving the bottom of it open to view. Taped to a part that curved inward toward the center of the box, in such a way that it wouldn't be seen by simply lifting it a little to check under it, was the key bearing the same brand name as the lockbox.
Josh's breath caught in his throat, hardly believing his eyes. He stared at that key for what seemed like hours, his feelings shifting from contempt to revulsion to shame. He tore the key away from the base, righted the box, and threw it open.
Inside, arranged in no particular order, were boxes upon boxes of ammo, clips, and several pairs of headphones. He had no idea which boxes went to which guns, or where the extra clips went, but he knew most of them wouldn't matter since he was only going to take one gun. The last thing the box revealed were definitely the most important. A key ring with keys that must be for the display case and all the gun locks.
Seizing upon his highly sought after item, he turned to face the gun display, studying it closely for the first time. He picked up the revolver that had been knocked out by the paint can and weighed it in his hands. The old fashioned gun may have looked like a toy in the display case, but now that he was holding it, it felt very real. He tried working the mechanism that flipped the revolver open, but the parts seemed jammed, so he set it down to look at the rest.
The other guns were all sorts of shapes and sizes. Some had to be rifles, with their long looking metal barrels. One of them event had a scope on it, and a strap for easy carrying. He didn't even want to try picking that one up, since it looked almost as long as he was tall.
The handguns looked far more manageable. One of them was so small that he thought he could fit it in his shorts pocket with room to spare. He looked at it a bit longer then dismissed it, thinking that with a gun that small, no one would take him seriously.
Another gun caught his eye, this one saying "Glock 17 9mm" on the side. This one looked exactly the same as the guns the cops had. A charcoal black exterior, with a magazine that loaded from the bottom. And the trigger, which was unfortunately protected by a thick lock. Will had told him this was one of his father's favorites, because it was light, and easy to fire. After he had carefully picked it up and weighed it in his hands, he didn't think it was light at all, though it was definitely lighter than the revolver.
"Freeze!" Josh shouted, pointing the gun at an imaginary person by the garage door.
The feel of the gun in his hands, the cold, roughly textured metal biting into his sensitive palms, sent shivers of elation through his body. There was no doubt this gun was real, and there was no doubt that when it was loaded, it could put a hole though the wall, or anything else in its way.
People listen to you when you're holding a gun. You can take people hostage, and they have to listen to your demands. If you threaten them, they have to do what you say, because if they don't, you can just blow their head off.
Josh repositioned the gun in his hands, holding it like he would as if he were about to pull the trigger, staring down the barrel with one eye, taking careful aim. How easy it would be... He would only have to squeeze with one finger, and BANG. Images of his mother flooded though his mind, backed up against a wall, on her knees... begging. But he didn't have to listen to her if he didn't want to. He would be the one in control, for the first time in his life. He could tell her what to do. He could make her do anything he wanted.
Before becoming completely lost in the fantasy, Josh looked back to the gun rack. There were still a lot of other guns to choose from, and his vision of the upcoming confrontation changed as he pictured himself holding all the different guns. The small ones just wouldn't do. It had to be one of the big ones. Big, scary, and mean looking.
Almost instantly, his gaze settled on the gun in the middle of the display, definitely the biggest handgun in the collection. Carefully hanging the other gun where he had found it, he reached for the large one. This one said ".44 Magnum Desert Eagle" straight across its silver chromed side.
This weapon looked much scarier than the Glock, and just by how all the other guns were arranged around this one, he knew this one was Will's father's prized possession. Will had told him about this one too, telling him that this one was what a lot of army people used. Almost reverently, he scooped his fingers around the barrel, lifting it off the hooks. Immediately, he could feel difference in weight between the guns. This one at least weighed twice as much as the other, maybe more.
When Josh brought the gun up to aim it as he had the other one, he completely lost his grasp on the weapon and stumbled forward. The gun hit the cement floor with the resounding clang of heavy metal, causing him to jump back and throw his arms over his head, cringing with the possibility that it may fire, or even explode.
That fear kept him there for many minutes, peeking between his arms at the gun until he was sure it wasn't going to seek revenge on his small, crouching form. Tentatively, he inched himself toward the weapon and carefully picked it up again. He let out a sigh of relief when he looked it over and was unable to find a single scratch on its metal surface.
Feeling somewhat guilty for treating the weapons with such disrespect, he set about finishing the task he came here for. Not sure if the gun was already loaded, he tried pulling the clip out of the bottom. After some serious tugging, he realized there had to be some other way to get it out, and with some searching, he found a small button right above the handle. When he pressed it, the clip slid out with ease.
He sighed in relief when he saw that the magazine was fully loaded, because he had no idea how to load it if it was empty. Sliding the clip back in proved much easier. He felt reassured when he heard it lock back into place. It took the longest finding the right key to unlock the trigger, but as the last remaining obstacle, he felt he could be more patient.
When he had the fully functional, fully loaded gun in his hands, with its trigger fully exposed to view, the shiver that ran though his body was twice as powerful as the one before. All he had to do now was flip the safety off, which was in an easy enough place to find, and the gun would fire.
Now that his reason for coming was secure in his hands, he took true stock of the mess he had made. The garage was a disaster area, and for that matter, so was the rest of the house. His forehead crinkled as he bit his lower lip.
Carefully, with the gun slid behind his back into his shorts with the cold metal against his bare skin, he made his way to the dining room. He had never meant to make a mess so large, and while he didn't have time to clean it up, he couldn't just leave things the way they were. Grabbing a pen, and a sticky note from the office, Josh wrote a note.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Connors,
I'm so sorry I made your house such a mess, and I promise I will help you clean it up later. I really needed something, and I promise I will bring it back.
I'm very sorry,
Taking care to put it right in the center of the kitchen table where they could see it, he quietly let himself out of the back sliding door.
This was it, he realized. Now there was nothing stopping him from facing his mother. He had what he needed now. He could feel the device for his success pressing into his back with every step he took, the weight of its metal now serving more as a comfort than a hindrance. Every time he reached back to adjust it, feeling its very real solidness, he gained confidence.
For the first time in his life, he was going to make his mother do what he wanted. Make her listen to his needs for once. His desires. There would be no way for her to argue. How could she when she would have the silver barrel of a Desert Eagle starring right into her face?